By Samson Kirui
When the first case of the Covid-19 was reported, the government put everything to stand still. Curfew and partial lockdown were declared and people were advised to stay at home.
As I told you earlier, I have a problem with the worms in my stomach. I feed them but they do not want to eat. That is the reason behind my inflated stomach so I am not wealthy as wrongly depicted by my tummy that looks like there is a calf inside.
Just to remind you, I am one of the privileged Kenyans who are enjoying salary without doing anything during this time of the Covid-19 pandemic but the rude worms in my stomach do not want to utilize the rare opportunity.
I must, therefore, thank my boss, and perhaps thank God for giving me a generous boss whose well has never gone dry. I would wish to be buried next to him when I die to continue enjoying his money.
However, the act of eating and watching in my room has seen a mountain at the base of my chest. This serves to remind you that I am not pot-bellied as sometimes put by some people. I am base endowed.
The inflation of my belly has been received with biting rejection from the mother of my son who in turn, has seen the need to not giving me supper as an excuse for maintaining my body weight.
Being the Prime Minister in my government, she has proposed that I should take some bitter herbs that are extracted from an ugly fruit called lemon and another one called tangawizi.
In addition to that, she has seen the need of separating me from my warm duvet at 6:30 am for exercise saying that it will help me reduce the weight that I have not complained about.
I am compelled to believe that she is insecure in the effect that many daughters of the rib might say yes to me at a glance of my tummy that has been in many instances mistaken for wealth.
Over a week ago, she suggested that we should go to the valley where I was born and bred to check on some green leaves she has in her garden.
I was delighted by the proposal having in mind that I will not be waking up in the morning for the purported exercise but I was wrong, she is in a mission to bring down my admirable tummy.
The following morning in the valley, despite the biting cold, she woke me at 5:30. I put on my tight short and sports shoes and set for a kilometer journey.
I must have run for 500 meters when I was stopped by two people on the road. “Ndio huyu,” said Chula, son of my immediate neighbor. I didn’t give him much attention since they are people well known to me.
“Simama wewe,” Nyangula stopped me when I tried to mind my business.
“So you are the reason why we no longer have milk in this village ee,” said Lesebet. I had not understood what they were talking about to the time Kipchonge made a call telling the respondent that they have caught a night runner.
“I am just keeping fit,” I told them. “Sisi sio wajinga,” responded one of them.
I had started sweating profusely when the area chief came to my rescue. He explained to the mob that was thirsty for my blood the reason behind my early exercise. He told them that it is a norm in the city of many lights (Nairobi).
I rushed back to my house, dressed properly, and swore not to run again. I poured a bucket of insults and threats to the mother of a thug in my house who has been formatting my computer daily for contributing to my new name ‘Night runner’ in the village.
