Aimed

The high pitch of the siren as the ambulance it’s way to the hotel could be heard from a distance.
It came to a grand stop at the hotel and two people carrying a stretcher got out and ran to the room where my friend lay looking lifeless. They yanked him on the stretcher and hauled him to the waiting van. The siren came to life again as I sat next to my friend Kīmiti urging him to hold on to dear life.
Soon we arrived at the emergency room where he was examined and put on a drip. I however was instructed to get a P3 report at the police station so that he could get further medical care. I hurried towards the police station and found the hotel supervisor already there.
After thorough grilling we were let go and I was given the much needed P3 form. I exhaled as I walked out and bid the hotel’s supervisor goodbye. Then as I was walked towards the hospital a thought struck me. How about testing that old adage of, ‘gūikia ihiga borithi’ throwing a stone in the police station. Immediately, as if the devil on my shoulders had command, I spotted a stone. I took it stone, aimed like David did the skull of Goliath and released it with all the potential energy within me. Then I ran as fast as my legs could carry me and by the time I reached Jamii hospital, I was out of breath. I handed over the P3 to the nurse and dropped on the seat to catch my breath. I breathed in and out several times until my lungs regained their normal functionality. Then I let out a cacophonic laugh. I laughed and laughed like a child being tickled until the psychiatry nurse came to check on me. He didn’t stop me from laughing he just sat there with me and held my hand.
That’s when I heard it, that song my friend used to love so much and often loved to sing when he had imbibed one too many. ‘Ndahunyūkīte ngiuma kwa Waing’a…’ At first I hadn’t given it much thought until I realised that it’s Kīmiti who was actually singing it as he began to come out of his rice induced haze. Tears of joy streamed on my cheeks, I could have lost my friend. It’s like I’d suddenly acquired bipolar disorder.
And by the way Waing’a was a medicineman, not the devil.
To be continued…
#StillTheChronicler.

Published by Nyar Kaheti

Born and raised on the picturesque slopes of Mt Kenya, Nyar Kaheti is your girl next door vibe kind of girl. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, and listening to country music among other things.

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