Hobbies. We all have them. They are choices we make consciously and choices have consequences, some greater than others. Too bad you sometimes realize that when it’s too late.
It’s 7:50 AM on a Thursday morning. I should probably be behind a screen, but today I’ve joined the touch-grass movement. I’m in an unusually silent forest. The ground is slick with dew and I’m standing face to face with an adult monkey.
She’s—notice I say she because this is definitely a light-skinned middle-aged monkey, judging from her attitude. She’s standing body facing away from me, head fixed in my direction and I can read the smirk on her face. She's probably lived long enough to know the proverb about monkeys being unable to see their own kundule which is also likely another false quip from our infamous Wahenga. She tilts her head as if to say, ‘The nerve!’
As a young mzee in the current economy you can’t go on sleeping after sunrise. I was already somersaulting out of bed when the alarm went off. Having cleared my backlog, I spontaneously decide to go on a long ride.
Usually, when you think of doing anything strenuous; folding the clothes sitting at the foot of your bed or hiking Mt. Kenya, you prepare days ahead. That's what you’d think I'd done when you saw me join the highway in the 6AM winter in cycling shorts planning to hit another PR on strava. I hadn’t looked up the state of the route. Makosa ni yangu. I knew that I only needed to cover more than 70K and I'd found exactly that after a few twists with Google Maps.
I was probably three kilometers into this hilly murima—a bike ride turned hike, when I spot an infant monkey. She jumps from one branch of a tree to the next with panache. Paranoia hit and the first thing that came to mind was the food chain and surely, if there's a monkey, there's something that eats monkeys. I scan the trees for lions. Every rustle of a leaf becomes a threat to my life. Luwere!
When I saw the other monkey barely ten meters away in the trees, my legs had given out from the 40K I’d already covered to get here. I couldn’t run. The only mythical fact I knew about these guys was that they can aim better than any Otieno. I could probably fight one monkey if there was a rule against throwing stones—I’m based like that. Ha! But it's not the one monkey I'm worried about now—it's her cousins. I could spot three more a few meters ahead on the side of the road. This is probably what old age feels like. Crossing the road, seeing a vehicle hurtling toward you and all you can do is helplessly surrender.
The 16-year old kid whose only interest was bingeing episodes of Prison Break wouldn’t recognize what I’d made of him. How pathetic a death this would be. When you are faced with such a situation, everything seems to add up. In Jerusalem, the last supper was chapati, which I’d had the previous night. I didn't need more convincing, the Shinigami must have written down my name and I would be history in minutes. When you're faced with the possibility of death in a forest you remember every nature documentary you half-watched and picture yourself as a cautionary tale to generations to come.
When I made it out of the forest, I couldn't help but laugh as my trembling legs pedaled away. At that point, the fear and leg pain turned into euphoria. I remembered other times I'd felt this way—solo hikes where I could hear animals in the distance or hisses of snakes that grew louder in my ears as I leapt away. Another lesson nearly learned, and a ride to remember.
You like seeking out situations that make you distraught? This is the text I received while I sat in the kibanda enjoying some chapo ndengu, a lunch to counter the thought of that last supper. It’s not the first time I’ve found myself at the end of this question either. But to be in full bloom of health—to hop on a bike and ride 100K without thinking twice. Fitness, time, freedom, working limbs, the delicacy of youth, what a privilege! So yes, maybe I do seek situations that make me distraught.
I've found discomfort is where I feel most alive. The burn in my legs, the mental negotiation when the mind has given up, and the story is usually the same; the light at the end of the tunnel, the triumphant feeling when I roll back home—that's something I can't find sitting still.
As for the monkeys, I’ll probably see them again next week!