Wanja Kavengi on Life is Funny: “Of on-foot commuting and why I seriously need a car”

If you often rely on your legs to transport you from point A to point B, then you must have had one or two awkward encounters in the course of your on-foot commuting.

Like, for instance, you're walking along a busy path, or pavement, bathing in rays of sunshine, marvelling at the wonders of things as innocuous as tortoises or memes. Your data bundle is not finished. You were not caught in the fraudulent traps of Simple Homes.

You found a fast-food restaurant whose chicken pieces actually look like chicken pieces - you can tell what part of the chicken you are eating - unlike some fast food joints where a piece of chicken looks like a potato.

You won a Sportpesa multibet. Water shortage did not hit your plot because you guys use a borehole. Life is good so far. All is well. You are happy. You thank God.

Then, suddenly, because your enemies have been tirelessly working overtime, someone walking behind you cruelly stomps on the back of your shoe, painfully grazing the skin at the back of your heel in the process, as if they are avenging the assassination of Tom Mboya.

"You even feel spasms of shock cutting through your backbone,

and you yelp and bend a little, holding the small of your back

as if you are having labour contractions. "

The impact of the step is too powerful that the shoe actually comes off, and you only realise this after you find yourself making one step barefoot.

Then you awkwardly hop on one leg while you turn around to confront the monster that is unjustly causing pain and suffering to a kind and loving person. But the loathsome agent of Satan already flitted past without even apologising.

So while balancing on one leg, you start looking for your missing shoe, which has now been stepped on by thousands of people and has lost its colour, shape, and shoelace. And the sole is hanging loosely. Or perhaps you're in a terrible hurry. You are almost late for a very important interview. Or could be that you are chasing a suspicious government tender. Or maybe you are the main speaker at a GLND gathering and you are getting late for that meeting.

So there you are, hurrying along and sweating in parts you can't mention without feeling slightly embarrassed, when you accidentally bump into something. You stop to look at the scene of the accident. Has someone been hurt? Have you stepped on the back of someone's shoe? Then you see. The dust settles and you see. You realise that you blindly bumped into two people who are strolling leisurely in front of you, side by side, unbothered by the human traffic they are causing.

They have occupied almost the entire width of the path, and for you to pass them you have to ask them to give you way, or you have to use an elbow, a shoulder, and all your strength to violently shove them aside and pass. Since you are a peace-loving, civilised human being, you kindly ask the two snails in front of you to let you pass, but they ignore you.

You completely refuse to let this challenge discourage you, so you go for plan B. You decide to use your shoulder to shove one of them aside and pass, and what follows is a nasty verbal exchange and a demonstration of Karate and boxing skills.

And you cancel your plans and go back home to douse yourself in Deep Heat and regret. Or you're walking along a narrow path. Because you are not blind, you can see someone ahead of you, walking in the opposite direction. This is nothing, you know. Because as they get near, you will just move to the left and give them enough room to pass by without issues.

The person gets close. So you casually move to the left to let the person pass. But this person also moves to the same direction. Instinctively, you make a quick dash to the right and leave the person there at the left to continue with their journey, but the person also makes a quick dash in the same direction, at the same time, your confused, embarrassed faces colliding.

You both pause for a second and look at each other, each of you mumbling something incoherent, pointing to the right or left with your hands. You decide to end this situation by making a final jump to the left. Like an admired, seasoned long-jump athlete, you leap to the left so that you can both pass and be on your way.

But, alas, this person jumps with you too and you collide again. You look at each other with awkward, frightened smiles, and mutter equally awkward, frightened apologies. Then you make space by standing at the edge to finally let the person pass successfully. This is why I need a car, DT Dobie.