Fastlane.

I once heard that you are most alive when closest to death. This week I had the opportunity to be extra alive for a short while courtesy of a conspiracy between the weather and poor human planning. God and man pulled a fast one on me.

I was in Nyali for one of my public servant jobs over the long weekend. I went down with the Madaraka Express, commonly known as SGR.  I got my ticket a week earlier as I had been informed that you can easily miss a seat especially being the Mashujaa weekend. I was very impressed with the Nairobi station and for a minute, I felt like I was at a train station in Shanghai. Well done GOK. You delivered this one for sure.

I got onto my window seat with my notebook and pen in hand, just in case some inspiration from the passing landscape came to me. That was exactly why I wanted to travel alone by train – to call myself to a meeting and just be. In my 40s, I am enjoying my own company more and I love it. It was a good ride apart from the usual noisy (and some high) Kenyans chatting animatedly as they went on holiday. We arrived at the Miritini station exactly five hours later and the train spewed out the sea of humanity. I plan to go back in December with my baby sharks. I’m sure they’ll love it.

My good pal Junia from Nairobi Serena Hotel hooked me up with the usual five star treatment at the Serena beach and they did not disappoint. Their hospitality game is at the top. Even the monkey that stole fruits from my room through the bathroom window was courteous enough to ask for them using that woiye monkey look. He even left me an orange. Customer service monkey style hapo.

My four-day working holiday was enjoyable despite the 18-hole sauna that was playing golf in the Mombasa heat. The morning moments at the beach were cleansing to my heart and mind. Watching the sea and hearing the sound of the waves collapsing lazily on the white sandy beaches was the paracetamol to the high fever caused by my anxieties. I’ve told you guys about them in the past. I even posted on twitter that the sea doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. Maybe it’s because it knows there will be enough waves for today and the day after. Be easy folks.

The event at Nyali ended well and on the day of departure my good pal Cecily, sent her cab guy to pick me up. She wanted to hook me up with a guy for some biashara. We met in this Chinese restaurant and devoured some chicken wings and spare ribs. As we talked, I glanced at my watch and it was 2:30 PM. My flight back home was at 3:45 PM and it was raining outside. I said my kwaheris and got into Cecily’s car for the ride to the airport. We only drove a short distance, before our fears were confirmed. Standstill traffic at Makupa. It was now 40 minutes to my flight and I was determined not to miss it. So I left my suitcase in the car, grabbed my backpack with my bucket hat on my head and jumped out for a 500 metre hop, skip and jump dash to where the nduthis were.

I jumped on one and instructed the rider to step on it to the airport. It was a ride mixed with fear, danger, panic and slight excitement. I told the rider to go fast yet carefully, whatever that means. I silently asked the Lord to keep us safe as we swerved in traffic, crisscrossing matatus that feel nothing for bodabodas and mean looking old trucks coming from the port. All this time the raindrops were slapping my face hard. My biggest fear was colliding with the tarmac and being scarred for life. I need to retain my looks you know. Especially now when I need to impress my second half new contacts.

We finally got to the Moi International Airport entrance and my superbike grandprix rider stopped, as he couldn’t go beyond this point. I paid him 650 bob which I found steep but I was least concerned as I ran towards the airport entrance. It was now 15 minutes to take off but  my dream of catching the flight were still valid.. I decided to hitchhike and this mzungu couple offered me a lift to the airport terminal. Those were real angels sent to my rescue. I jumped off  at Terminal one after blessing them thoroughly and sprinted to the gate  just to be told by the guard ‘Boss Jambojet iko Terminal One’. Wah! So, mimi huyo, running to Terminal Two. I went through security and met this Jambojet girl who asks for my ID and tells me to run.

Folks I made my flight and it was like the fast and furious movie trailer, Kenyan edition. There was no better feeling than getting to my seat on that flight back home. I don’t recall the last time I felt that alive. It was just too deadly.

Lesson for me was, in life, we have to think on our toes sometimes. Thinking on our feet may be too slow. Sometimes we have to throw ourselves out into the elements and take them head on. Chances are we shall get through on the other side just fine. Comfort zone at 40 or any other age is like a virus that will delete you from this life pap! If I saw the rain or matope on the road, I would have missed my flight. But having gone against the odds and succeeded confirmed that what we deeply desire is just on the other side of the rainfall or traffic jams that represent the domes in our lives.

Now how do I reunite with my suitcase…?