OF SHIRTS AND SKINS: PIN STRIPED SUITS IN STRIP CLUB SUITES

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In the 1994 blockbuster Disney film ‘lion king’ we are introduced to a villian with dark hair and a blind eye named scar.

A lot of people who’ve watched the flick claim to never have forgiven him for killing the father of the hero protagonist scion Simba. I however have a different perspective, in the lion king-dom the darker the mane the more dominant an individual. Scar is always in the shadows, even conspiring with hyenas: a being not afraid to confront his demons. One never misses that which they never had otherwise it is just lust. Mufasa is a lovable character but he is too trusting. Sadly these type of individuals don’t last long; they either become hardened of heart like the rest or killed by the rest. There are no saints in the animal kingdom but Mufasa goes on to tell his heir flesh and blood about a fictional circle of life including the stars in the sky as their ancestors. When Simba regains his throne or usurps it ( facts only), he banishes Scars allies to the badlands: a PR. exercise hoping they would starve to death. The exiled faction actually thrives given the circumstance and Kovu an adopted son even revenges his familys’ disgrace with honour. Ofcourse it’s a fairytale hence the happy ending, although there are many youtube channels that expose sexual innuendos that ruin your childhood.

The year is 97′ its christmas eve and my family had a portrait taken. It is the official last one we are photo-ed as a nuclear unit. The framed picture is in my parents living room, my siblings and I don’t live in their house anymore although culturaly the lastborn son rarely moves out of the homestead, less than a year later before puberty I became an uncle. The thing is if fate would have it, this would have been last memorial of us with our patriarch. Due to nature of his work and national politics of the 80’s and 90’s, my dad and many other of his tribesmen were defacto in separation from their marriages and by extension their families. Well, that year was supposed to be last calender my father would be cut off from us but the powers that be won’t let us have it. On his way to his new posting, he was involved in a car accident. The right side of his skull was shattered and neither skin nor meat was left on it, his right shoulder and forearm all the way to his knuckle. Doctors on duty at Kenyatta refferal had proposed to amputate, fortunately he was transfered to Aga Khan hospital. On arrival there all doctors were summoned and told that they would never see such injuries on a live person let alone a conscious one. In a cruel twist of fate our wish to be re-united was granted, perhaps it was just mine and maybe his.

I have scars of my own, the superficial ones that left an indelible mark seem to be mostly on my right side and all are stupid juvenile mistakes; three stitches on my middle finger knuckle after I punched a window pane, a fissure on my Tibula just below my knee when I fell off a two storey high cliff face, a club or spade shaped burn near my ankle from melted plastic, faint lines where I slit my forearm from wrist to elbow. on my left palm I got one slaughtering a chicken; odd thing though I’ve never located the one for immunization: woe unto me should it be the only criterion for proof of nationality. Ofcourse there’s the circumcission ones. Then the inevitable ones on your knees because we didn’t listen to instructions. There loads of others that have healed completely or I simply don’t notice them.

The skin is the largest organ but the brain is most complex, there are many scars here but I won’t dwell there I’ll just ask you to be kind to everyone you meet for you don’t know what battles they’re fighting.

SIDENOTE: as a child i’d throw tantrums by literally banging my head on the wall luckily they were of plywood. Once in an altercation with my sister I threw a pesticide spray can hitting her forehead, our father was shocked didn’t even punish us, years later her husband just held his head with both hand when we narrated the ordeal. Along the way as time passed by I came to learn what is acceptable behaviour: I have an injury on my thigh that ended up on my abdomen, can’t seem to locate the scar, probably because majority of the dust in your house is dead skin cells. That’s the marvel of the human body, some parts heal faster like mouth and tounge: others are similar like elbow and scrotum.

   

This is getting self absorbed and probably why it’s not polite to stare let alone ask others about such matters of a personal nature.

    { “omar! omar! omar! omar! ”


  ~grass-hoppers in THE WIRE. }

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Just another guy, husband to a beautiful wife, sucker for nostalgia, good things past, better things ahead. Trying to make the world read, one soul at a time. Forging my own path, creating something beautiful. I'm certain you'll want in along the way. So just chip in.

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