So the other day I was on my way to work. I grapple with public transport so I got into a mat and sat restlessly wondering if we’d ever get to town. I like public transport in so far as it affords me an opportunity to read books while in transit since I’m just a book buff (if there is any such thing). Anyway I had finished my previous book just the day before and didn’t have much to do. I remembered that my phone was one of those that store music and figured that that was what would entertain me on this journey.
I took out my earphones and went about untangling them, happy that I had found something to do. As if inspired by my actions, the young, prim, important-looking lady next to me in a hip hair style and a power suit did the same. I really had no problem with her other than to think in a childish voice in my head ‘copy-cat’. I listened to my selection of music and all was well with the world - until the girl next to me starts singing.
Take a step back in order as to better understand the situation. This is an junk of a nissan (late risers can’t be choosers) and therefore has no music. Those without today’s state-of-the-art telephones (but do I say) are left to listen to the chugging of the exhaust pipe and rattling of window panes for entertainment. Enter Chick-D who thinks that the only reason she’s not Céline Dion is that she was born in the wrong continent. And it would most certainly have helped if her voice was in the same category as Céline’s … or Mary J’s … or even the mama of ‘Nipe Shilingi’ fame (whatever happened to her?). But that was not the case. She reminded me of that guy in Idols who during the auditions sang an own composition that went “I really really love my mom …”! I mean, she would have made that ever so mild Tanzanian judge on Tusker Project Fame II (Dan Kiondo) pull an Ian and maybe call her a ‘twit’! If your not with me, let me just break it down and say that her voice was really really not good (politically correct).
And then the chick picks up momentum as she steadily manages to ignore all the curios glances she’s getting from the whole mat. At some point, she’s singing along to a spirited Jang’o Christian song and I seriously feel that it’s all she can do to keep herself from waking up and dancing.
People! Do some among us not grow up with siblings who bully away all inclination we ever had to sing along to anything playing on our walkmans/radios? Do we not have friends (for some of those TPF and Idols contenders) who tell us that we just can’t sing? Do our dogs not growl in agony as we pretend to be Barry White in the shower? Je huu ni ungwana?
I took out my earphones and went about untangling them, happy that I had found something to do. As if inspired by my actions, the young, prim, important-looking lady next to me in a hip hair style and a power suit did the same. I really had no problem with her other than to think in a childish voice in my head ‘copy-cat’. I listened to my selection of music and all was well with the world - until the girl next to me starts singing.
Take a step back in order as to better understand the situation. This is an junk of a nissan (late risers can’t be choosers) and therefore has no music. Those without today’s state-of-the-art telephones (but do I say) are left to listen to the chugging of the exhaust pipe and rattling of window panes for entertainment. Enter Chick-D who thinks that the only reason she’s not Céline Dion is that she was born in the wrong continent. And it would most certainly have helped if her voice was in the same category as Céline’s … or Mary J’s … or even the mama of ‘Nipe Shilingi’ fame (whatever happened to her?). But that was not the case. She reminded me of that guy in Idols who during the auditions sang an own composition that went “I really really love my mom …”! I mean, she would have made that ever so mild Tanzanian judge on Tusker Project Fame II (Dan Kiondo) pull an Ian and maybe call her a ‘twit’! If your not with me, let me just break it down and say that her voice was really really not good (politically correct).
And then the chick picks up momentum as she steadily manages to ignore all the curios glances she’s getting from the whole mat. At some point, she’s singing along to a spirited Jang’o Christian song and I seriously feel that it’s all she can do to keep herself from waking up and dancing.
People! Do some among us not grow up with siblings who bully away all inclination we ever had to sing along to anything playing on our walkmans/radios? Do we not have friends (for some of those TPF and Idols contenders) who tell us that we just can’t sing? Do our dogs not growl in agony as we pretend to be Barry White in the shower? Je huu ni ungwana?
3 comments:
Kibwagizo chako ndicho kingekuwa kichwa cha habari hii. And in answer to your kibwagizo, huu si ungwana hata kidogo. If I was seated next to her, I'd probably have told her what her friends and family don't.
Huo sio ungwana hata kidogo.
Hey Digzer, browsing your archives. Nice blog! Kweli, Mbotela wouldn't be amused.
Bomseh, that's what went through my head. That I'd have confronted her. But then again, I remember the guy I shared a mat with a few months ago that had his tiny radio playing (horrible, monotonous) vernacular songs loudly and no one so much as spoke up. Easier said sometimes...
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