Day 225 (Rusty)

Mood: Bubbly

Mode: Heureux

Thoughts:

And the curtains close on yet another “eventful” weekend courtesy of yours truly, Rusty.
If you’re just tuning in, I have recently been upgraded from being a dot among the sea of dots you’d ordinarily see if you google-earth’ed Ken-Com Bus Station at rush hour. Yup, I got some wheels! or a ‘dudu’ as Kipepeo would call her. The personification of my car Rusty as a ‘her’ stems from an extremely fluid love-hate relationship that me and my car have managed to build up over such a short space of time. She’s not much. A late 90s Vitara that gets me from point A to B and occasionally C if she’s feeling generous. From my bedroom window, I can see her parked outside and I often imagine all the things she’s seen and her four rickety windows have heard over the couple of months or so since we’ve been together. I’m sure that list would go a little something like this:

“Wooops!”
To begin let me just say that driving a 4th hand manual car is an experience which defies explanation. First off, I have learnt a lot about cars (repairing them and maintaining them) just from my escapades with Rusty that are way too many to enumerate.
There’s never a dull moment: a burst tyre here, a burnt clutch there, a worn out gasket here, a jumpstart there…yup, it’s been quite a ride. As for fuel consumption, Rusty does her best although on occasion I have been known to yell “Oh f*Ck, funnel time!” before pulling up on the side of the road, hopping out, getting my mtungi and jogging to the nearest Petrol station.
As for that loud screeching sound, I admit I occasionally put in the wrong gear while cruising over 80 kph, although my balancing skills haven’t let me down once.
After getting so used to ma duke’s whip aka the silver bullet, driving a manual again is an adrenaline-rushing adventure with the added advantage of being able to go off-road and bounce around on the dusty paths around the shamba.

“Boss, is how you haven’t “pimp’d up” the Batmobile?”
First off, let me just say I have issues with the way Kenyan men call other Kenyan men ‘Boss’ or ‘Baba’, ‘Chief’, ‘Daddy’ or “Mbuyu”, “Buda”…hmm.. whatever happened to just taking my first name and adding an elongated “O” or “I” sound to it? Eg. “Vick-iiii” “Jam-ooo” etc..
Anyways, before Rusty came along I once told my man G that in my desperation to get my own set of wheels I would gladly settle for one of these pink Vitz’s that all and sundry seem to driving around in nowadays. I added that all I’d need to do is tint the windows so no one sees me in it and only use it for late-night marauding. But I digress. The reason he calls Rusty, the batmobile is because I only drive her at night and during the day I walk like everyone else. Oh well, I guess that makes him Robin seeing as he’s always the one riding shotgun pointing out “where the party at” over the weekends.
As for “pimp’ing up” Rusty, I’m only willing to go as far as getting a new car stereo but that’s after i figure out what’s wrong with central locking, and get keys replaced and sort out the electric windows as well.. okay you catch my drift, Rusty needs alot of work done so for now I’ll stick to giving her a good wash every so often and making sure she remains in good working order.

last but not least….

“NV, si you drop me and galz home?”
Wa! Kenyan women are brave! Ok wait, before I get to the whole bravery bit, let me just say that there’s nothing that irritates me more than that word “Si”: “Si you…[insert outlandish request here], “Si you know… [insert annoying assumption here]” Ladies, y’all need to cut that sh*t out. Thaaaanks.
So where was I? Ah yes, the brave women I’ve encountered in the city that never sleeps. If you ask me it takes bravery to leave your parent’s home dressed to kill but with barely enough money to get where you’re going, let alone cover your expenses or find your back home. Now wait, dont interrupt. Then, you’re introduced to me by my man G and I immediately become your ‘sponsor’ for the reminder of the night? No, wait… what’s in that purse of yours any way? I only ask because I didnt see you reach for it once this whole night except for your phone and when the waiteress came round all you did was ignore her until I ended paying for you…and your friends. Theeeen, lemme finish.. at the end of the night, after club hopping and having the time of your life at my expense, you look to me to literally take you to your doorstep.. never mind that you live those sides of Gachie.. which if you ask me is like on the other side of the world especially at 4:45am. You’re welcome btw.

So anyways, thanks to Rusty I’m slowly but surely discovering what this country is all about…

NB: This is the first and only post I’m doing about my car. I’ll leave the “Love letter to my car” job to the ever so talented Mr.|d®|

——

Now playing: J. Cole – “Who Dat”

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One thought on “Day 225 (Rusty)

  1. You’re a funny man, Mr. NV. I’m always somber when I’m here at work, and this here made me laugh out loud. Hilarious indeed.

    Batmobile? Your boy got jokes.

    Ooohweee! And that calling another dude ‘Daddy’ is one of my major peeves too.

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