I’m sitting in my crib, a second floor flat in Jacaranda Donholm. I have balanced a laptop, precariously in fact, on my lap as the theme song on the TV goes on and on about some “I don’t want to” crap. I have on my table a cheap glass of wine, cheap because its that Penasol crap they pack in green bags and call it white wine. But hey, I belong to the struggling low middle class and good wine is a luxury I can afford in special occasions. I have a solitary scone resting languidly on my table, puzzled, as to why I just let it wallow there in bored anticipation. I have thought of a million ways to write this post, a way that will appeal to all without discriminating upon those who believe, or actually are, on the upper echelons of the literal world. The only way to begin this post, is to ambush you, my dear reader.
My sincere apologies, perhaps I hit below the belt, perhaps I should have prepared you for the visual onslaught that I just waylaid your strained eyes with. But if I told you that my intentions were not to shock and inspire forced empathy in you, I’d be lying. yeah, I’m guilty as charged. Actually, I’m a self professed shocker of bloggers and fans alike. I’m not sick within my humble soul, neither I’m I a sadistic bloke bent on a path of torturing simple, law abiding readers in search of a fulfilling literal experience in the huge expanse that is the internet. All I wanted, ladies and gentleman, is to pose the following question and lay the ground for introspection and create a fertile ground to achieve the right answer. What if it were you sitting on that stool, without a small and vital part of the body we call a jaw?
What if instead of this comfortable couch that I sit on, oblivious to my blessings, unappreciative, indifferent and assuming that it should always be like this, what if I was standing next to that hospital bed like Maoga is? What if instead of this lone scone on my table lay a million tablets whose sole intention is not to quench hunger but to prolong a painful existence. Instead of this cheap wine, what if I heard several needles sticking into my veins pumping sustenance into my blood if only to see a few more days, days full of pain and haunted by the ghost of despair. Instead of this flat, if positions were exchanged and I dwelled in some roadside shanty in some insecure, cold and lonesomeness place of this unforgiving city. Imagine then, when nothing can be worse than the aforementioned conditions, that small refuge was demolished and you were unceremoniously thrown into the sarcastic street. What would I do, really, what can I do. What if all that happened not to me, dear reader, but you.
I see you lying luxuriously in your fat mattress and warm duvet, oblivious of this suffering and indifferent to those entombed by the misfortune of an unfair world. I see some of you enjoying a drink at pretentious joints in the city sipping you daiquiris and bloody Mary’s and doing what upcoming Kenyans do to feel important. I’m talking about you guys hanging at the roof top of the Sankara having candle lit dinners and looking down upon your rich ventures and homes too big, unwelcoming and completely unnecessary in the heartlands of our great city. So I ask again, what if you didn’t have a jaw to enjoy those dinners. What if your mouth gaped open and you didn’t have any vestige of confidence to venture out of your house leave alone flaunt your presence like a peacock on heat. What if no one would hire you because you terrified the bejesus out of them and were not the kind of corporate image they wanted to portray. But that’s not you is it? No. That’s Maoga, and sad as it sounds, all this is the situation mother nature has thrust him in and the poor guy has no way of remedying his situation. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. He can’t my fellow beings, and my heart goes out to him.
Because I’m not there, I’m going to do the only thing I can do. I’m going to go into my bank, and if that bank account is empty, I’m going to search every nook in my house until I find some money. Then I’m going to call Savvy, who started the campaign to rejaw Maoga, and I’m going to MPESA her my contribution. Since today I’ve been bestowed with immense prophetic power, I will prophesy as to what you, dear reader, will do in the next few days. You will dip into you pockets, you will extract some notes, any denomination being okay and MPESA it to Savvykenya. Some of you will pass by the ATM and withdrawal a lot of cash. Mostly to go out and have fun but also to MPESA some loose cash to the aforementioned person. Together, we are going to raise the 150K necessary to rejaw maoga. Some day soon, somewhere in Kenya, after a few hours on the operating table, Maoga will smile with gratitude and bless those who give with concern and love. For those who can’t give, may God open his stores and grant you his mercies. And those who refuse to give, karma is a bitch. For further inquiry you can contact Savvy though the number below or me through this number 0724073319
PS.Savvykenya’s MPESA Number 0727832685