Arrested Dreams

I yawn sometimes at five O'clock on on a Monday morning, kick my blankets off the bed and slide off the bed reluctantly still rubbing sleep off my eyes. I remember I fell asleep at 3 am, so that was a two hours sleep. I pull the drapes and peep out of my bedroom window, no sign of those ugly diaspora clouds that bring about cold in the morning. I sigh in relief, no wearing a jacket today. After all I ain't going to court. I slip into my shower  gown, of course I have one, that which was carried as a souvenir from a hotel in 2009. I still keep it to date. It reminds me alot.

 The heater on my shower broke down last week and I keep reminding myself to report to the caretaker to have it fixed. So I have to contend with boiling water using the electric kettle which I find myself calling perforator, or is it percolator? I'll have to find out its true  meaning soon. I let the water boil as I brush my teeth. Two kettles of boiling water every morning and I'm like let the electric bill come...
As a bachelor there is one section of my apartment I don't venture into in the morning. That's the kitchen. I'm yet to cultivate that habit of fixing breakfast for myself so it means no breakfast for me. That's the pain of being a bachelor, some luxuries are beyond my reach. So after shower I iron a trouser and a shirt, polish my shoes, grab my diary and step out of my apartment. It is 6 am. Thankfully Rongai is not cold this morning. A reason to smile.

I'm on one of these Rongai matatus, noisy but comfortable. Thankfully the traffic on Langata road never flows smoothly especially on a Monday morning so I got an hour or so to sleep as we get stuck on the traffic. This is one of those days I thank God that I'm my own boss. I can get to the office at 9 and have myself to contend with. I wake up as we get to the city centre. It is around 7.30 which means I've had some cool one and half hours to sleep, like everybody else in the matatu.

The morning sweeps away lazily. I'm yawning and stretching in the office. I remember I didn't have breakfast so I'll have to take some fruit salad. I prefer that more than tea or coffee or juice. Perhaps my friend Otti was right when he remarked that I've consumed so much bitter things  that my body cannot absorb sweet fluids. There is a fruit parlor at the ground floor of the building. I take the stairs, I've no time for the lift. Ten minutes later I'm back on my desk with my salad, nicely packed on a plastic container which I devour as I take my mind to work. I've been trying to draft a notice of intention to sue the government with no success. I don't seem to find a precedent in my files and no one seems to have one.

My client is on the line..."Mwalimu", he begins, "Did you issue the notice? Have the proceedings been typed?". I lie about the notice but tell him the truth about the proceedings. "Not yet", I reply in relation to the proceedings, "I'll call Mutie in Mombasa to find out from the registry." Mutie is a paralegal at the law firm where I did my pupilage right after law school. He never seems to be in a hurry to have things done and my client doesn't seem to understand how our court registries operate, especially in Mombasa.

I get back to notice of intention to sue, I'm still trying to crack it. Should I improvise a normal demand letter or what? In the midst of that confusion my phone rings. It is Ken, a colleague from way back in campus. "I saw your Facebook update. I have what you want". Bless Ken and bless Mark Zuckerberg, if that's how his name is spelt. I quickly open my emails and download the damn notice. I'm good to go. I draft the notice and dispatch it to the office of the Attorney General. Some damn government is getting sued after 30 days.

 I call my client to remind him that we have two of his matters coming up this week, one in Mombasa and the other in Kitui. Need I need to tell you that one comes up on Wednesday in Mombasa and the other the following day in Kitui? I remind him I don't own a chopper and ask him if there are flights from Mombasa to Kitui. Well, I'm too aware that we don't have an airstrip in Kitui, but isn't it my point made?.

There are some plaints to be drafted but I don't feel like. I'm a procrastinator. I convince myself that there is still time for them after all the client is yet to avail filing fees. I take my diary. I've a client to call about some mention coming up on Friday. I need to know if he has decided to take the DNA test. Thankfully he is ready and I don't need to explain to him that there is no other way out apart from taking the test. After all we denied parentage in our pleadings. These children cases, I always find myself defending runaway fathers, or supposedly runaway fathers.

I'm out for lunch. A friend has volunteered to buy me roast chicken for lunch. Thankfully I've been the one buying in the past few days so I don't feel guilty as I go for quarter roast chicken and you know how much that can cost in places like Westlands.
Midway through my meal a client calls, those kind of clients who always have legal problems but are never willing to pay a retainer or some consultation fee. He is in the military, or was in the military before he resigned and took up a lucrative job in Iraq six years ago. His contract has expired and he comes back to the country. And guess what, the military pounce on him and accuse him of deserting the military. He is like they are convening a court martial to try him along with other returnees. He wants to know if I can handle the case. Call me after thirty minutes, I tell him, I'll have an answer. Looks like by the time I turn 29 I'd have appeared before every court in our judicial structure. I salute myself. A jack of all trades indeed.

I don't know anything about procedure at the court martial. I call my senior colleagues but it turns out that none of them have in their professional career appeared before one. I'm on my own. Thankfully research is my hobby. In less than thirty minutes I have my opinion ready. I'm taking up that case. I call the guy, and he is happy to know he can count on me. I give him a comprehensive legal opinion and invoice him immediately thereafter. A lawyer has to live, and live abundantly.

I place a call to my uncle who has an office around Westlands. He is still in the office and he'll pass by and pick me up on his way home. I lazy around trying to think of something important to do. I remember to call the bank about some cheques that were issued to me sometimes back and which I've been reluctant to cash.

 I had some premonition that they may not be genuine. Some dude who had been charged alongside my client had been trying to play it smart with me. I had successfully had charges against my client dropped by the DPP and so the guy remained the sole accused. He knows that my client will testify against him and he knows my client's evidence will have him convicted. He wanted to settle the matter out of court. Pay up, I told him. On the day before my client was discharged he called me with a proposal. I turned it down. The following day a parcel was dropped in my office with four cheques worth 3.6 million. I called my client and he informed me that he too had received some cheques worth 10m. That's half of what we had sued for. I did some quick maths, I'm not that I'm good at it anyway, and realized the 3.6m was part of the costs of the suit. But all in all something does not add up. The cheques were all sent from Kisumu. The guy is remanded at Shimo la Tewa prison. As far as I know his company has no office in Kisumu. The registered offices are in Mombasa. I called my client. Don't you dare cash the cheques. This could be a trap to implicate him as his accomplice. I instructed him to send the cheques over to me which I forwarded to the bank with a request. Investigate the validity of the cheques. So when I call the bank today it turns out that all the cheques were fake....made in River Road!

My uncle pops up just as I'm about to call him again. We go out for coffee. No alcohol today coz he is driving and with this alcoblow thing on our roads drinking has become a science. We chat over nothing. I'm tempted to tell him that I've found a lady who gave me a rating of 7.4 out of 10 but I hold back. He has to know anyway, somehow.

He drops me in town. It is about 7.30pm. I board a matatu back to diaspora. My working day is over. I love working because it keeps me preoccupied. I tend to forget that I'm a bachelor. Now as the matatu navigates through the jam on Uhuru Highway the impact of my bachelorhood comes to my mind. I remember a call I received yesterday from my little sister and the message she had been told to pass to me by my mother. Mother is worried, she said, that you ain't getting married. What are your plans? She wants to know. I'm like I'm 28, is that a big deal? She reminds me that my dad was only 22 when he had me. Oops, now I have to get her an answer to give to my mum. Tell her, I say, I found a woman to marry. That is it. She hangs up. My mother must have spent the whole of today humming a nonexistent tune. My son is getting married, my son is getting married! That will happen, as soon my ratings get to 10/10!

I get home, and as soon as I open my door my phone buzzes'. A whatsapp message. I smile. She can only be the one who makes me smile. If this smiling continues, well my mum will have no reason to worry anymore.

That was my day. I'm back in my house. I'll go to the kitchen and fix myself something to eat, or drink and sit back and chat with this lady who makes my heart warm and beat fast. Today I'll sleep again at 3am, but do I complain? No. I won't and will never. It is her, and she is all that matters.