Dennis Peters

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A Driving Force

by Dennis Peters
Posted on September 24, 2018October 29, 2018

You can almost always tell whether someone is a storyteller or not. Storytellers have this…

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I was almost suspended from high school one time. It is not even something I'm proud of, or something that would make me a cool gangster. We shared a cubicle, eight of us. Some of the coolest guys around school, most of them I see them around on the internet acting like they forgot what we did. Walking around in new cars, new degrees and beautiful girlfriends. They are here. So, we had this neighboring cubicle, it was not as cool as ours. It was big and they were like fifteen of them sharing that cube. Then, in that cube, there was this guy, I remember his name very clearly, but for the sake of security (his security), let's call him Guy X, actually, he was a boy, so Boy X. Boy X was apparently dating Boy Y's ex girlfriend. And, Boy Y was from our cubicle, and clearly, was not over his ex girlfriend. Naturally, brotherly instinct was to hate Boy X, it was written in the cube bro code or something. So, when our cubicle was ransacked by some very mean people who stole our illegal contrabands like blue band and chocolate, it was very easy to blame Boy X for the crime, without even trying. So we beat him up. And when he did not confess we beat him a little bit more. Kumbe, he was to go and set us to the teachers, and I thought beating each other for fun and games was a private thing, us students. It was not supposed to get to the teachers, especially when the bone of contention was contraband. Anyway, instead of suspension, the teachers gave us a serious beating and when we did not seem to have learnt our lesson, we got beat a little more. There is nothing violence cannot solve, even love.

I wanted to be a politician when I was younger. Not that I understood what it meant to be a politician, really, but I had a lot of love for the television. Every time father would tell me that he was going to Nairobi, I would ask him whether he would be on TV. He always said no. Sometimes he lied and said yes, but I never really got to see him on the television. So one day I asked him whether he would be on TV and he asked me what he would be doing on TV and I did not have a response. He explained that TV was for politicians and since then I decided I wanted to be a politician. That dream was short lived, however, and I'm glad it was. In our country it is almost impossible to become a politician if half the country does not hate you. I can handle many things, hate is not one of them. I think. Another clear memory was when I was determined to be a superhero. Not something impossible really, something like Batman. No super powers, no hot laser beams flying from my eyes or gills on my skin under water, no, I just wanted to be a Batman. Rich, resourceful and, most of all, on the television. Of course I grew up, removed the superhero and the politician part of the dream, but still the television remained. I am not sure the whole idea still exists since the television days evolved from Greatwall TV to YouTube, Cinemas and Netflix but the dream still comes to me late into the night. Like yesterday. It is not usually a big TV, nope. Just a humble Greatwall black and white set. I do not know what I am usually saying but my voice is often very soft, like the inside of a rose, and, most of all, I am usually on TV!

I'm just naturally bad at gifts. I am working on it and there is a promise to improve. My therapist prognosis is that I have an acute sense of doronophobia, which is basically the fear of gifts. This fear has dug its way to my capability to come up with legitimate gifts. I am under rehabilitation and with the help of friends and family I will make a full recovery. Yesterday, my therapist, had me describe the gifts I have ever given loved ones in the past. 1. My elder sister's 15th birthday - a bag of chips. 2. My girlfriend's 19th birthday - a bar of chocolate. 3. My girlfriend's 20th birthday - a huge argument. 4. My small sisters 12th birthday - advice about teenage. 5. My mom for mother's day - a phone call. After careful observation and comparison to gifts I have received, like an entire pool party in a 4 star hotel for my 20th birthday by my elder sister and a complete three piece suit, with a card and a dinner for my 21st birthday by my girlfriend, I have decided to get help. Getting help is first step to getting better. The other day, the one before the other one, I was reading something about the science of gifts where they said the most precious gifts are timeless and priceless. I understood all that but surely, my girlfriend will not show off with a priceless gift. She may be many things but most basic of all she is a girl. Girls like things they can eat or show off, mostly the latter. I have therefore found myself in even more conflict than when I begun this treatment. In a few days, my treatment will be put to test and I will go out looking for a perfect gift for someone very very important. I have a strong feeling that I will fail. Terribly. Mostly, because I have been administering all this therapy to myself. This is actually a cry for help. Anyone? Please?

I have been in Nairobi for four months now, time seriously flies, si it was the other day I was here telling you guys that I had been arrested on my first day to work and you guys thought I was pulling your legs? Nothing has changed, I still talk, and you people still do not believe me. I have struggled to find a cool place I would love in the entire city and for four months, I have found none. Nairobi has just been chaos, noise and unnecessary charades until I went to Karura and fell in love for the second time with someone/something from Nairobi. Karura is a piece of paradise magically placed in the middle of a catastrophe. It is like a part of every place I have gone to and loved all combined together. One thing I find entirely irresistible is that there are more trees than there are people. There are more birds than there are words been spoken, making it the only place you will find silence in the city. You find couples making out on the benches or holding hands on the trails from all kinds of races and you feel right at home. It is amazing that we have to thank Wangari Maathai for all of this, she said that she did not want Karura to be turned into an amusement park, but rather a place for all people to enjoy quietly and contemplate the importance of our environment. I certainly felt that. Thanks Wangari and thanks @MukiriGitiri for a perfect evening. This settles that debt you owed me from my birthday. #dennispetersblog

Women in Nairobi are really beautiful. These are facts. Hear me out. A month ago, I started a monologue on Twitter where I would make fun of stuff that happen in Matatus on the daily in Nairobi. It got old fast because my sense of humor comes in waves plus the crowd on Twitter is very hard to please. Recently, I started another where I would make sure I left a compliment to a lady, mostly the ones seated next to me in Matatus. The line is mostly, "Hi, you're really pretty" and then record their reaction after they have left on my notepad. The shy ones never look me in the eyes, they just say a quick "thank you" and are fast on their way. One really wanted to continue with the conversation but was having a really difficult time going about it so she shifted in her seat until I decided to be kind and commented about the weather. The funny ones never know when they are hurting my feelings. One said, "You too" as she was on her way to the bus exit and I could see her giggling at her joke from the window. She must have felt like Kevin Hart (on a good day). The confident ones are scary. They will look at you directly on your eyes and because most of my confidence is inexperienced, I will turn away. They will have won the confidence battle and it will be my turn to be uncomfortable. The uninterested ones, smile and say "thank you" and put in a crafted line after that to try and sound kind while what they are thinking about is the accumulated paperwork and the unbalanced accounts in their excel sheets. These ones need to learn to relax, life is not that serious. Others we have ended up being serious friends. There is one, after my comment, she was all cool about it. Later, I was on Instagram and she whispered close to me, "do you want to gain one more follower on Instagram?" And I gave her my phone and she typed her account and told me not to stalk while she was there. Later she opened her Twitter app and I extended the olive branch and asked her whether she wanted one more follower on Twitter and she gave me her phone and I typed in my username. Such are the moments I live for. Just because we are stuck in traffic does not mean we have to be grumpy, does it?

There are these sandals that look like sandals but are not really, we call Nyamburas (No relation). We like Nyamburas because they are easy to slide in and comfortable to walk in. They are normally a little paradise for feet. It often feels like walking bare feet along a sunny beach with warm sand caressing your feet. Nyamburas are amongst the greatest achievements in the history footwear. I wear Nyamburas on Sundays when Mukiri Gitiri has to go look for brilliant dresses and unique patterns of linen for her art (rolls eyes). It is usually a tiresome job and I often find myself wishing something could caress my feet and make me feel like I am walking on a sandy beach. Sasa si last Sunday I was all about my business holding first choice linen as Mukiri was busy choosing from sea of them. She usually has first, second, third... all the way to ninety something choices. Its a ridiculous job. The upside of this hustle is that nobody knows me at Mwiki, or Ngara or Gikomba sasa I am usually very comfortable. Everyone is a stranger. Last weekend took a different turn when a couple, a beautiful couple, stood right in front of us and called us out by our real names. We were in Mwiki, we had successfully managed to get the best backdrops Mukiri has been fantasizing about. It was a good day. She was happy. I was not happy but my feet were. So here comes someone who knows us from the blog. It is like we had been caught with our hands in the sugar jar. We froze. Like an antelope in headlights. So they said they knew us from the blog, not because I asked, they offered because we just stood there like the naughty dirty kids we were. The highlight, however, was the look on the lady's face when she saw my dusty feet. It was like she was disappointed. I can't tell whether it was because I look nothing like my stories or it was because of my Nyamburas. Anyway I hope she don't shame me on Twitter. Mukiri calls her current project 'Home not Home'. I have not seen it but it has linen, dresses and stuff. I think. She says that she is writing her story and nobody reads a story before it gets published. I still think we should a get a peek. #HomeNotHome #MukiriGitiri

What did the Cat say to the Donkey when they first met?

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