Anyone with an iota of their inner child in them loves fairy tales. We may be grown up and know that no such baloney exists in this sometimes excruciatingly dull life, but it doesn’t hurt to immerse ourselves in the make-believe world for just a few moments.
Well, I have read all the Disney classics and fantasized about luscious blonde locks and sitting atop a sky-rocketing castle window looking down into the eyes of my prince charming with his loving gaze beckoning me to come down. I have done that and it sure felt good to imagine myself in another skin and surrounding.
But I just had the strangest urge to rewrite the stories in the typical Kenyan backdrop. A story vastly different from the enchanting stories that leave you dreamy eyed and enthralled to… Well, I shall let you tell me what feeling the Kenyan fairy tale evokes. So here goes nothing….
“Quinta had just finished watching the third re-run of a certain soap opera that she adored. It was one of those lazy Saturdays and she had resolved to dedicate the day to pampering herself. Soaking her tired feet in hot water, rubbing her legs with a handy home-made concoction and hair wrapped in a tired looking scarf. She was immersed in herself and she didn’t care because she was home alone.
It was getting a little chilly indoors and she yearned for a taste of the warm sun rays. The only problem was the she was not willing to drag her currently non-motivated self down the three flights of stairs. Fortunately, she noticed the sun was at her window and she decided to perch herself there, remover her scarf, and soak up the sun before the demons of height phobia would take over. The psychiatrist told her to desist from calling it height phobia but instead call it fear of falling. Whichever way, all she knew was that looking down made her nauseous.
Quinta was lost in her own thoughts induced by the soothing sounds of Sauti sol that was playing in the background, when she heard someone unabashedly shout out her name. Looking down she could not help but sneer. Coupled with her crippling height phobia, she was sickened by the sight of her not so charming neighbour, Johnny, who could not or just plain refused to take no for an answer. He was frantically waving at her with a sheepish grin plastered on his flushed face. Quinta whole heartedly raised her hand and waved her middle finger in acknowledgement and crowned it with and indignant toss of her newly done weave. “What is wrong with this idiot?” She wondered. “He should get a life.”
Johnny was enthralled and everything that Quinta did was a kiss from heaven regardless of whether it was meant to mock him or not. He was smitten and that was all he could register. He knew that Quinta would one day succumb to his charm and he would win her. He blew her an awkward kiss as he strutted away with dreams of him and Quinta with their own brood of little ones who had their mother’s eyes. It was love and it was bliss.