Freedom from boredom walk

Last Sunday I did something you may call strange. I left my house at three in the afternoon and walked to town. Now why would I do something medieval like that? What could have possessed me, etc, etc?

Earlier in the week, the matatu (public transport) guys in Nairobi went on strike. By the time I got into the city center from work, all matatus were steadfastly going nowhere until the striker’s grievances were sorted out. So there I was at the end of my day, a little fatigued but even more frustrated that I couldn’t get home when I wanted. What to do? Being the practical and impatient chap that I am I took matters into my own hands (or feet) and decided to go ‘route 11’. I started walking in the general direction of South B (where I live) until perhaps I came across a matatu willing to ferry me home. Well, the said matatu hadn’t shown up by the time I was a quarter way home but by that time it wouldn’t have mattered. I had already made up my mind to leg it all the way. And I made it. Walking at a leisurely pace, I was home in an hour or so, quite pleased with myself.

Back to last Sunday. It was around two in the afternoon and I was home alone, feeling rather miserable about how uneventful my weekend had been. My financial status was also rather grim so I didn’t have options like going for a movie or calling up someone for an impromptu date. I had laundry to do but with my low morale that wasn’t going to happen just then.

Somewhere in the midst of my pity-party I felt the one thing that would make me feel better instantly was some movement. But movement to where? Aah, yes! (A bright idea moment.) I instantly recalled having walked home earlier in the week; why not try walking to town instead? In fact, why not walk there and back? That would give me an ‘event’ to fill up what was left of the weekend. I also love walking so the exercise would definitely cheer me up.

Problem solved, in the shower I jumped and 15 minutes later I was out of the house whistling some tune. Or humming, can’t remember which.

After a brief stopover at my favorite groundnut seller I set off chewing cheerfully on my journey. It was strangely hot for a day in our winter (July-August) and a bit uncomfortable after a while. I even had to remove the light sports jacket I was wearing lest it got drenched in sweat. Apart from the heat, I don’t recall much of my walk to town, except walking behind this lady who didn’t seem to be going very fast but for some reason I couldn’t get past her. I later realized it was because she had long legs. It didn’t take much for her to stay ahead of me.

This time my walk to town took me thirty minutes, almost to the second. By now I was out of my misery zone and was trying to decide where to go next. Nakumatt, maybe. I could always kill time doing some shelf gazing. As I got closer to Nakumatt, I changed my mind. Why not go to Central Park? It had been a while since I visited and I honestly needed to sit down and cool off. That turned out to be the best decision I’d made all weekend.

So I got to the park and like I always do, I let my eyes casually absorb the scene. As I took it all slowly in I eased myself into an empty spot on a bench and started to take mental notes.

Let me describe the categories of people I saw. Some college-student groups were seated in circles: they looked rather C.U. (Christian Union)-ish. Others were mixed age groups, with toddlers to primary school kids and adults, kicking a football around: definitely families. Most interesting was one group that had some ladies of mixed age and I believe mixed religions. Perhaps they were members of a ladies self-help group or an NGO. Several in this group wore bright headscarves and similarly bright dresses while others were in jeans. They had a group of kids with them and together they were doing some nice little jig with their hands on their hips. It looked like they were having so much fun; I couldn’t help smiling. Then of course there were the loners (like moi). These were mostly seated on benches but some were on the grass. They didn’t talk to each other much but they definitely had something in common. All were staring misty eyed into the distance seemingly deep in thought. In between thoughts they would lazily look at the people around them then zone out again. So close yet so far from it all. Weirdoes.

How could I forget? Last but not least were the lovers. Ha! You never go to the park and not see these. For a society that isn’t too keen on public display of affection (ok, apart from a few), once we hit our public parks all inhibitions are thrown to the wind. It’s cuddling time! Ninety-nine percent of the couples I could see were lying in the grass with at least fifty percent of their bodies touching. The most common pose was one person sitting with their legs apart while the other one lay with half their bodies in the sitting ones’ lap. And these were the modest ones. The more ambitious lay side by side facing each other, legs intertwined, with hardly any breathing space between! The man in this setup always seemed to be whispering his undying loyalty, looking intently at his woman’s face, while the woman stared sheepishly aside, trying to decide whether her dude was for real or not. Yet again I saw a societal norm turned on its head: I thought that Kenyan men were all intimacy phobics.

Interwoven in all my musings was a constant thought. How easy it is to have a good time! One doesn’t need to have lots of money to go to fancy places in order to enjoy life. I mean, look at all these people living it up in a free public space for hours on end. The weirdoes and families and lovers around me had discovered this secret yet I’d spent most of my weekend watching series after series and sleeping.

I walked back home later that evening with my pocket empty but my heart full: full of memories of laughing families and cuddling lovers.