Wanja Kavengi: My oily skin is heavenly sentence

When God created me, he did it with so much love. However, I was the last one in my batch to be moulded, and there was still so much oil left. God looked at the billions of gallons of oil and said to angel Gabriel, “This oil will go bad soon, Gabby.”

“How do you know?” Gabriel asked.

“What do you mean HOW will I know? I’m omniscient, man.”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

“We will use all of this oil on this last human.”

“How is that even possible? This is, like, oceans and oceans of oil.”

“And that’s exactly why we should use it all before my son turns it into wine and…”

“Cheeses! He’s got a drinking problem!”

“Sshh! Not so loud,” whispered God.

“He’s got a drinking problem?” angel Gabriel whispered back.

“No, but I suspect he might be planning to open a wines and spirits shop.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’m sure Noah would love that,” said angel Gabriel with a chuckle. “Still, it is impossible to use all this oil on just one human.”

“I am God. Nothing is impossible with me.”

And so I was created with the billions of gallons of oil, and it took quite a while because it was a very slippery affair, and angel Gabriel acquired a few injuries and bruises from slipping and falling all the time.

“Can’t you just fly instead of walking around, you clumsy moron?” asked God after healing Gabriel’s broken skull from a hard fall, for the fourth time. “For what in heavens did I give you wings!”

Throughout my slippery creation, while they injected the billions of gallons of oil into my skin, Gabriel would giggle, and chuckle, and get terribly worried for me, but God would assure him, “Come on, she’ll be fine. A little oil never hurt anyone.”

Which was true, because living life with extremely oily skin is fun.

When I wake up in the morning, and anyone sees my face before I wash it, they are bound to get visual complications from the blinding shine and oily glow of my face. What else, do you imagine, could be the reason for my semi-blindness?

It’s a result of looking at my face in the mirror before washing it, without using protective eyewear, like those big, black welding glasses. But do not fear, that small visual difficulty is usually resolved by use of spectacles.

Spectacles that keep gliding down the greasy, lubricious bridge of my nose every two seconds because, oh, the oil! The oil, which leaves my bed sheet with a dirty, oily patch every morning, making washing bed sheets the second most performed activity in my household, after wiping my oily face.

I only use nylon bed sheets now, though, after the cotton ones completely refused to let go of those embarrassing grease stains, opting to keep them for blackmail purposes, and for weakening my self-esteem.

Five or so minutes after thoroughly washing your glimmery face, it starts glistening and shimmering again. You cannot even use make up on such a face. It melts off.

The oil dripping out of your pores makes sure of it. The foundation and primer will be dribbling off your face within ten minutes, and for someone with oily skin, applying make up is almost a hardship, because it takes a few weeks to apply make up, since there is usually a lot of wiping and re-applying, and tearfully screaming obscene expletives in between.

I’m not sure what a primer is. I just used it to sound make-up-savvy.

And pimples love oily faces. As soon as you’re done battling with a cluster of them, new ones emerge, stronger, and bolder, and happy to torture you.

Some say that oily skin will make you age gracefully, but I don’t think I want to keep on looking like my face is still undergoing the rough, physical symptoms of adolescence, in the form of pimples. I’ve been looking like a teenager since I was 13, man. Not cool.

Smouldering heat

Hot days (which is every day, for me,) are a nightmare. Sweltering under that smouldering heat, and with your pores dilated to their maximum, weh, heh, sweat mixes with all that oil to produce a thick, ghastly, clear cream that anoints you unapologetically, until you can feel your feet sliding back and forth in your shoes as you walk.

That feet-sliding thing is so uncomfortable. That, and ill-fitting shoes. But I’d rather wear shoes that are two sizes smaller than live yet another day to collect a pool of oil at my chin, enough to power 54,632 transformers, and still have enough left to deep fry several whales. My diligent, hard working, and talented sebaceous glands are giving Saudi Arabia a fright. The oil giant might just be toppled off their number one spot.

After receiving or making a phone call (the screen of) your device looks like it was involved in a spillage accident in the Elianto factory, most possibly the poor, traumatised victim that will never recover from the oily assault, and even taking it to the fundi to ‘flush' it is futile. Even taking a good selfie is challenging.

Sunlight’s reflection

Still, your face will glisten and shine in the photos because of the sunlight’s reflection on it in the daytime, or the camera’s flash light reflection in the evening. Either way, you’re selfie-doomed. And you’ll be advised to do everything you’ve already tried doing.

As if you haven’t been stalking dermatologists and anonymously threatening them, through strongly-worded emails with photo attachments of the, uh, evidence, to find a real combatant to fight for you in the war your oily skin has been waging.

Oh, and you lying, deceptive manufacturers and sellers of skin care products and soaps, who have capitalised on our suffering, and you swear and promise that some of your products are ‘for managing oily skin’, and then you throw in some words like ‘scientifically-proven’ or ‘approved’ or ‘miracle’ or ‘long lasting' or ’24 hours’ just to make us, poor, unsuspecting victims, believe in your fraud. Well, heaven and hell have put their differences aside, joined hands, and agreed to personally see to your deserved damnation.

What I said up there about wearing shoes smaller by two sizes? Yes, well, I’ll admit I got a little bit carried away. I can’t wear shoes two sizes small. I’m not stupid. Well, unless it’s for money, then my principles are quite flexible and accommodative.