The Fetish

It just stood there staring at me. Looking mighty fine for all the world to see. Ok!not for the world to see. It was just me and my imagination was running wild about it taunting me. I can bet you if it could talk, I can bet you today my status would be reading "Wairimu Maina has changed her status to 'bebwad kama kuku sama'". Thank God for small mercies and the smaller one that the people around me couldn't read minds.

The day started rather normally as usual. I had no plans set for that day other than the bank. I had told myself I was going to buy a book called "Purple Hibiscus", probably go get my toe nails did then read my book at Java while I waited out the "chama" that was taking place at home. My brother had pretty much taken over my room that morning so I had no laptop, TV or bed for that matter. My plans were sound and well intentioned. So off to town I set off. Shorts, slippers and a wallet. Like I said, just and well intentioned. So when I got to town and found that not a single place was open, including the book shop, I had to change plans. And boy did the plans change!!

That is when I met my fetish. Red rims, white exterior and an engine that purrs like a lion in the Mara. I have never told the owner this but if I had been born in the hills of Murang'a instead of in the Suburbs of Nairobi, his car would be in some serious danger. I had been in it, I had been around it but I had never been where it really mattered. Behind the wheel. And suddenly the opportunity fell on my lap. (Quite like a lot of things that weekend!)

There was a need for a driver for the fetish and who was I to scorn opportunity in the face. When I'm given a car, I prefer not to drive it the first time with the owner glaring at me from the passenger seat. Fear is not an incentive to understanding a car. So I stood there staring at the driver's door wondering if the same rules of driving apply to the fetish or did I need to first go for special classes where a ritual is done as I was bestowed with the keys. Since I wasn't called into a ritual, I figured clutch ndani, turn the key, put it in gear and ease off without too much drama. When he gave me the keys and I slid into the driver, my only thought was "if you stall baby, I will kick you in the engine!"

Then the best part of the drive came....Langata Road. It was just me, the car and the open road. Now I could really feel the car by myself. No noise beyond the enging. The peak of the car, the growl of the revs, the changing of gear, the heavy pedals....it was like I was in a quiet bubble where there were no problems and me and fetish lived in pure bliss. Given half the chance I'd have driven to Mombasa just to test its performance. For a few moments there, we understood each other. We were one. It was everything I wanted minus the clutch that occasionally refused to co-operate. Probably because of its sheer weight and my not so strong foot on it.

Eventually the dream did come to an end. Down Langata Road, up Upper Hill and into Westlands with a bunch of passengers whose powers of direction were quite questionable. (I love y'all but good people, next time you are all squeezing yourselves in the back seat!!) That was so much better than reading a book in Java and queueing at the bank in a move to put myself into more financial turmoil. Plans did head way way South after Westlands. Me and my well intentioned shorts included. But truly truly sometime in the distant future I will own me a Subaru then I can enjoy my fetish every single day (minus weekends, servicing and when my brother steals it!)