SERVING THE GODS

By Brian Nzomo

When I took my first breathe, my friends and I were huddled together and bound with an uncomfortable rubber band. I cried out in pain, but my voice was inaudible. The asphyxiation, the stuffiness, motion sickness…”I wonder where they are taking us?” I could not see anything except darkness. I would not see anything for hours because I passed out.

When I woke up again, there was still darkness. I wanted to cry, but I was not alone. Everyone else was whining too. Lamenting about the inconsiderate god that had made them. The days fleeted slow, they fleeted fast. Monday came, Friday went, Monday came again, Friday glided away. Time looped interminably in the darkness of our conscious. Nothing else mattered to its progression. Some of us cried, pondered about life, cried again, slept, fainted, cried, hated life, hated man, vowed vengeance, cried, pondered at our inutility, fainted, willed ourselves dead…But only time and darkness mingled unstoppably. The only constant entities that reigned in perpetual tyranny.

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Then one Monday afternoon, I was recovering from another bout of faintness when I realized I was being jutted out of a machine through a narrow slit. ‘Tis the first time I saw light. And god. Or a version of him. A sinister smile displayed on his fat cracked lips. My clean unsullied body tainted by his greasy hands.

“Stop! Please!” I cried out. “Wash your hands first, will you?”

“Ha! A newbie!” An older note scoffed.

I was not alone. There was a guy in pink. He was elegant. I kinda wished for a moment I was as beautiful as him. There was also a green guy, one blue guy, and several of us brownies.

“Excuse me!” I began. “You mean, he…he can’t hear us?”

“He is god, or a version of god anyway!”

The god was running his fingers across our bodies. His lips quivering slightly, whispering numbers…”Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…”

“But he made us. Why can’t he hear us?”

“He’s god. Gods don’t listen to their creations. They use them!” The blue guy chipped in.

“Nice to meet y’all by the way!” I said thoughtfully.

“Baah! No need for that!” The green guy said. “We won’t be together when this day ends.”

“At least there isn’t any darkness and senility anymore!” I cried excitedly.

“Before this day ends, you’ll wish you never emerged from that darkness!” The pink guy said.

“But come to think of it. He is a brownie. Quite lucky I must say! Not every Kamau, Mutiso and Otieno would touch him. Unlike some of us!” The blue guy pontificated.

“Yeah. But still, he will have it rough,” the pink guy persisted.

“Hey! Come on. Living away from the darkness can’t be that bad! I mean, while in there, my solemn wish…at least for everyone…was to leave that place and do something. Be useful for once,” I said.

The other notes laughed in contempt. “Oh my god! You really are a newbie!” Greenie said. “And a naive one!” The man was satisfied. He instantly dipped us into his wallet, took out his cigarette and began to smoke. The wallet was warm and cozy. There was nothing else there except a few cards and an ID.

“Nebuchadnezzar Ong’eng’o!” I read the ID and thought ‘what a stupid name.’ “District of birth…Nyamira.”

From afar, we could hear the hooting of cars, the raw bustle of a city, noise, more noise…Then the noise reduced. And it progressively became silent and silent. But I became motion sick, and I knew we were in a car, a vehicle…or something. When it all stopped, I was grateful.

Ten minutes later, the man pulls me out from the bunch. My first separation. He hands me over to some fat woman in a shop. “Huna pesa ndogo, Baba Carl?” The man shakes his head, denies having a lighter note. He is lying ofcourse. He is just tired of me. And I am tossed into a dank cash box.

It is dark again, and for a moment I miss the darkness. I sleep soundly. This place is warmer, and I am more free. But it won’t last. Because the shop woman takes me and hands me over to a young boy. He instantly pockets me and hops away home. But there is a hole in his pocket. I slip through it stealthily and fall. I am on the grass, and I see the boy run.

“Stupid kid!” I laugh. I have no business serving kids. It won’t take long before someone else notices me. A pubescent girl passes by. I silently pray she doesn’t see me. Thank goodness, she goes on. A young woman sees me. She gazes around her, cleverly strides towards me and plants her canvas shoes on me.

“Why are you stepping on me?” I lament. “F**k!” She picks me up and instantly shoves me inside her boobies. “Finally!”

In my entire life, never have I wallowed in such paradise. The softness of her round boobies, the sweaty chasm between them. I wished that I could live there forever, implant myself on her skin and remain an inseparable part of her. But I was not made for this purpose. This goddess would hand me over to a liquor store.

“Chrome gin?” I scoffed at her. “B**ch! Really?”

An hour later, I was handed over to the caretaker. The caretaker took me to a shop. The shop handed me over to a bread supplier. The bread supplier to another shop. The shop handed me over to a campus student. The student took me to a liquor store. The liquor store to a shop. The shop to another young man. The young man to a gas station. The gas station to a gas dealer. The gas dealer to a club. The club to a shop. My existence became insipid whoring. Dirty palms, clean palms dirty palms, oily palms, wet palms, sweaty palms. Even palms I had just seen intensely rubbing penises and milk out some creamy fluid.

I saw rich houses. Poor houses. But rich houses mostly. It was Friday, and someone took me out to a strip club. I was feeling dizzy from all the electric music that blared around me. But never in my life had I seen so many juggling booties. And boobs, my god! Then it was Sunday, and I was in church again. Someone shamelessly slid me into an envelope and handed me to the ushers.

A week had gone. I was tired of living. But we never die unless our gods says so. Our entire existence is geared to serve them. Only time can determine our salvation. For time is the only deity that our gods called men cannot control. Time is the only entity we all bow to.