A messenger worth the honor

02 Mar

I recently hosted one of the staff writers with a giant media house,and i honesty felt honored after so many years of trying to reach out to someone out there who would listen to our side of the story or at least help us reach whoever is responsible.
I had talked to the Nation media staff writer a week before through what i can only call an act of God. I say it’s an act of God because it so happened that, she wrote an article in the Monday paper that I felt was positive and truly reasonable. I wrote back to thank her for her article and that’s how it all started.
That  morning of the big day she was coming to get our side of the story, I left home earlier than usual, I was more than certain she would honor the 11.00 o clock appointment. She arrived a few minutes to mid day. I was waiting at the main stage and as luck would have it, she had commuted to Rongai in a matatu driven by one of the drivers I had selected for her  to interview.I watched her from where a was standing as she walked to the restaurant where were supposed to meet, I had mastered her face from a picture that had appeared on that day’s paper next to her article. She was more beautiful in person now that you connect the pretty face to a perfect figure.
After the Hi, am ……and– the pressure to meet you,,,I took her to a fresh fruits juice joint as we waited for the other drivers to arrive. As I sat across her , I could not help to imagine what it was like to be a career woman,a wife and worst of all a writer. Forgive me if am wrong but if the  ghosts that haunts me until I pick a pen and write something, also pays her a visit, I guess she is in a lot more troubles than I am.  She makes a living through the pen. but at least she works for a media group, that is probably the biggest we have in East Africa.
The first thing I learned about her was that, she is probably in a very happy relationship,{ she kept mentioning her husband and relating events where he has been involved. {that really works for Guys,I hope my wife does the same. it makes men feel guilty to even think of coming between such two people.} Other than that,she was your every day Modern girl having an ordinary day out in the sun.
The interview went well and  She seemed satisfied with what we finally managed.
What actuality captured my attention happened when she was leaving, I did feel a bit of guilty seeing, I had not offer her some water to wash her feet as was the custom of the early Israelite. Rongai is part of the larger Masaai land and is mostly dusty during the dry session.

We stopped by a shoeshine to wipe off some dust. As the shoeshine  was  wiping  her shoes, i recalled an incident written in the bible in Matt.10-14, where Jesus had told his disciples to– shake off the dust from their feet whenever they went to any city and the people of that city  refuse to hind to their words. The bible says that a curse would befall that city,  Well, I hoped the curse would not befall us seeing we had not only listened  to her words but we had also share our story with the messenger.
As I escorted her to bound a matatu back to her work station, i knew deep in my heart that  the day had finally come. Here was a woman who had already made it big time in my area of interest. And judging by her personality , she was the angel. The word says that – when the Lord wants to bless you, He sends a person in your life. well, I guess my angel did finally arrive.

Just when all had been finalised and she was ready to go,the ugly face of the matatu industry just decide to show up. We mistakenly bounded the wrong Matatu at the most un-supposed to happen time.The said vehicle  is known to be fitted with very loud but poor quality music system, i hope she survived the noise.

1 Comment

Posted by on March 2, 2011 in Matatu matters



One response to “A messenger worth the honor

  1. wambururu

    December 23, 2011 at 12:18 pm

    Its my joy to know I’m useful to the human race. Thanks for your comment. I hope to keep writing. Please take tame to check on this blog. Welcome.


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