We are a noisy nation. Forget alarm clocks, around here, you’re woken up by honking buses, touts banging matatu roofs and hollering at commuters. You hop out of bed, and when you’re still yawning and stretching, your neighbour puts on his radio and turns up the boom boom twaf to maximum volume.
When you’re still agonising, your rowdy children start fighting over who will be first to use the bathroom. The house girl, an equally loud character joins the fray. Before you can yell, “Noise!” your wife arrives at the crime scene. Slaps. Kicks. Ngoto (knuckle knocks). Wails. A fine mess.
Needless to say, there are two neighbours engaged in a shouting match over a clothing line or pegs or parroting about a couple that was loudly making love the previous night. While in the bathroom, you hear screams and curse words being bandied around.
Upon inquiring, you realise your kids are at it again; this time fighting over the crust of a bread. During breakfast, you turn on the TV. It occurs to you there is at least one loud pastor on each channel, shouting himself hoarse. Or rival politicians yelling at each over corruption on a breakfast show.
At the bus terminus, a hawker stalks you whilst alternately shoving and dangling a handkerchief, pencil or gumboots in your face. Meanwhile, touts are screaming themselves hoarse in your ears, and unintentionally spraying saliva on your gloomy face as they wrestle and forcefully shepherd you into one of the matatus, where you bump into very loud music. As you struggle to resist, two touts locked in a mock fight accidentally elbow you, step on, and of course muddy, your shoes — obviously, without apologies.
Once in the matatu, you dose off almost immediately. Reason? You didn’t have enough sleep the previous night because your wife nagged you all night over the underwear gift you have been promising since her last birthday. Just when you’re about to start dreaming of winning millions in a TV or radio competition you participated, your peace is rudely interrupted by a shouting match between the conductor and a passenger. Reason? The former is insisting on sharing the door seat with the latter.
The passenger fumes, sneers and rolls her eyes, telling him to go to hell. Of course, the conductor doesn’t take it lying down; he taunts her, “Hii gari si ya mamako,” asking her to buy her own car if she wants comfort. The passenger, seething with rage, launches into a nasty rant, which spirals into a full blown skirmish. She points a warning finger in the conductor’s face who hurls choice expletives at her.
At work, your racist or tribal boss who just hates you because you have a big nose, yells instructions at you. You’re tempted to shout back, but because you fear being fired you keep quiet. You sulk and start reading the newspapers. But the first story you bump into is President Uhuru Kenyatta telling off opposition leader Raila Odinga or vise versa. Arghh!
In the matatu on your way back home, you have to contend with more drama; either some know-it-all ‘political commentators’ riotously analysing Raila’s chances in 2017 or a hawker nagging you. The moment you alight, you are met with the noise of a pastor at a crusade shouting at his ‘crowd’ of three people, forcing them to get born again.
And when you get home and turn on the TV, the first news story is of the drama that ensued when MCAs clobbered each other at the Assembly. God help you if a talkshow host is hosting riotous guests like a certain Matsanga. Remember, your wife is waging cold war, following previous night’s tiff. Thus, she is dangerously quiet, so much that you don’t sleep easy.
