It was just after midnight and I was driving home with my window down, figuring what to do if I come across the gang of carjackers involved in that night’s shoot-out in Parklands; I needed a plan of action. One that preferably didn’t involve me peeing in my pants…or getting shot at.
That intensely annoying song was playing on the radio,
‘You know what to do with that big fat ****
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle’
Whoever produced that song has figured out some sort of musical algorithm that messes with our brains; it is one of those songs you just can’t turn off, and find yourself singing out loud at the most inappropriate of times.
As I enter the Museum Hill overpass from Chiromo Road, I see something blocking the road a few metres away.
A white cow, just out of calf-hood, stands in the middle of the road, intently chewing. As I gingerly drive around it, it turns its head sideways to look at me defiantly, as if daring me to do something about its presence, if I don’t like it. It has puppy dog eyes. I almost want to shake my fist at it and yell you don’t scare me….you have puppy eyes! But I am going to sit this one out. There can be nothing good that comes out of arguing with a puppy-eyed, masticating white cow standing in the middle of Museum Hill road.
I remember a story my grandfather told me. Many years ago the family was driving from Mombasa to Nairobi, and hit a deer on the road. My uncle promptly got out of the car, slit its throat, dumped it in the back of the car and onward they drove. My granny was only mildly irritated that she had to spend the rest of the journey with a dead deer bleeding all over her shoes, but positively livid that once they got back home, she would have to spend the next couple of hours making deer curry, when all she really wanted to do was wash her hair.
I want to yell at the cow, you are lucky my grandfather is not in the car!