The one where I began adulting?

I sit on my bed as I conjure up possible scenarios of the following day’s events. I’m anxious, I don’t want to form unrealistic realities but I can’t help it.It’s a Sunday night, so naturally some chill music is pouring from the stereo, afro-house, tropical house or jazzy sounds from one of my favorite playlists curated by Dr. Saxlove on YouTube (yes, I truly love and enjoy jazz)Not so long ago, I got another mattress to sleep on because my bed-cum-couch was making my heavy bones creak and ache all over and I always felt the wood-not that wood (pun intended). Is this how you kings and queens feel when lying on two mattress? This feeling that surpasses bliss,huh?I hop on the bed and I get swallowed and finally my body mass is collected at the middle and it feels so heavenly,not to be confused with heaven because we all have no idea how this place looks like right?that’s if it really does exist,( wow can you sense my existential dread issues?) My folks were as surprised as I was that since 2016 I had never added a sleeping companion, to make my days brighter and I almost used that as the reason why my schoolwork was suffering, because my body was suffering and that equation seemed to add up. I digress but two is better than one,seriously.

I’m at that point where my school requires you to do an attachment, to now practise what you’ve been doing in class and boy, am I not stoked for this? I love new things, the notion of meeting new people and experiencing the beauty of our diversities as humans but just for the first few interactions before all that fades and we reveal the mundane similar creatures that we are, this is the only reason why people around me think I’m extraverted but it’s only for the purpose of feeding my curiosity, it’s so easy to unwrap people and see what they are made of, not the phalanges but the masks they decide to put on to hide their basic bullshit.

I get to the workplace as expected, with eyes bright as a four year old starting kindergarten, only that this time I’m neither excited nor am I hopeful, you know?I just want to be done with the stipulated eight weeks. I’m still anxious but not nervous, hoping that my supervisor won’t be a shit person and the people I’ll be bound up with won’t be assholes, calling me mrembo and smiling at me weirdly or checking my butt or grope me or, the one I dread the most,won’t address me like some spoilt ,entitled little girl( so far so good,by the way) I am directed to the office where I’ll be assigned my program, I did not even realize I was holding my breath. The lady is called Tabitha, she’s understanding and she doesn’t give me the stink eye, you know that eye that some women, especially older women tend to show you? She quickly explains to me what is required of me and how the rotation will work, different departments for the eight weeks I’ll be here and I just think, shit, all that paperwork and running up and down seeing the building architecture,I’m quite ecstatic about this. The hallways are narrow and stretch for ages, but that smell that hangs heavy in government offices is missing, I relax a little. Furthermore, not so many people are moving about, which is another relief. After several turns, she leads me to a room with a placard on the door written ‘imprest section’, the door opens to an airy room with four desks and three guys, one who’s probably in his late twenties and two, my dad’s age,my inner self is gritting its teeth and I’m holding my heart in my hands chanting silently ‘ I hope they are not micro-managers, God, please let them not be pricks. Please, please, help your daughter over here,this mere mortal’. She does a brief introduction and leaves me standing in the middle of the office.

Images of my accounting lecturer are still vivid in my mind, I did not love that unit, not one single bit, and now I think to myself how I am going to do all that mumbo-jumbo. Don’t get me wrong, accountants and their meticulousness gets my juices going but there’s no dynamic, it’s the same thing you do from day one till Kingdom come, no opportunity for someone (me) to think out of the box, come up with solutions, come up with avant-garde ideas(my self-confidence is running on steroids)Goodness! Why would someone (me again)commit this kind of suicide, every goddamn day, you know it’s as if one turn of the knife isn’t enough, let’s do it again, deeper and deeper. I am received with such warmth, I had prepared myself for the tribal-ness, more like tribal-mess,that will be running its due course. Their enthusiasm is unfathomable, it’s like they have found their long-lost sister, you know how generation Xs get right? The gusto, the mighty handshakes, the beaming faces, reminds me of the uncles I see once in forever.

The last of my impending fears was the cloakroom aka the restroom aka the washrooms aka the ladies’. Every time I’m at a new place, I cross my fingers so hard and hope that the toilets will be sanitary enough for my consumption, you know? I’d rather not have a drink if the situation is a mess I can’t stand. The cloakroom was better than fine, this is what happens when you lower your expectations, the outcome pampers your ass so good, it’s unbelievable, not suggesting that I sat on the toilet seat but did that bend-squat position everyone feigns when it’s a toilet outside your home(at least every sane person I know).

It’s a Friday afternoon as I type this, the atmosphere here is tranquil, there isn’t much activity going on. My typical day consists of me struggling to wake up early enough, have a rich breakfast or none considering I snooze like the best snoozer there is on this planet, hustle to get to town and catch a matatu to Westlands, get here at around 8.45 ish, 9.00 ish, (okay 9.30 latest, I promise) fire up the computer(their workmate is on leave,bless you Irene) read articles online, get an assignment here and there which doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes, read my book ( I now carry three physical books,look at that,2019 is really going to be the year I get back on to reading consistently) open google docs and make myself look busy,write a bit and drink tea,lots of it. I see the reasons why people stick to a 9-5, because it’s the safe way out and all that stability hubbub. Uncertainty remains to be waters that toes rarely dip themselves in( is this English?), uncharted paths, but what does it mean to really live? Man’s greatest question in his search for meaning[story for another day]

Also, I did not know that handshakes are this frequent at government organizations, Jesuuu wangu! I shake numerous hands, I should probably purchase dettol hand sanitizer. The theories I have, have tripled, I can tell who you are by your handshake, it’s the little things right? It’s enough that I’m in Strathmore and there are subliminal yet overbearing rules of thumb on shaking hands in this small school of ours. Decent humans never go wrong with the art of shaking hands.Are you a decent human being? Where do you lie on this scale, using this art as the metric,hmm? Maybe next time you’ll be mindful about that handshake. Ponder on that. I need to get back to my new friend, my new companion, more about [new friend] next time.

Till next time, love,peace na furaha!