"That man is crazy!" that's what they said. "He has ruined his life." that's what they told me. I lived in UpperHills those days. Yes I have loved in Upper Hill. That place with dogs in town. I can't tell you the details of why I have lived there. That would be a story too thrilling for now. He also lived in upper hill. He once was dragged covered in mud to his bed. The guy was a disaster. That's what everyone said.
There were rumors about him where he lived. No one was exactly sure about how accurate the rumors that surrounded him. Do you see that man? He has kids studying in really good schools. You see that man there, they pointed at him. They hoped they weren't seen by him as they pointed at him. They pointed behind his back. Does that sound like back stubbing? They were afraid of getting caught by him. Cause he had a loud mouth. He was the kind of man who would scream words at you. If he found you on the wrong. Then everyone would look at you. And feel sorry for you. I never wanted to be one of those people who that was done to. So sometimes, most of the time I kept my distance from him.
One day as I was walking into that well maintained building with a neat compound in UpperHill. There was an unfamiliar car. It was absolutely neat and stunning. It was nothing elaborate. But it was excellent. There are two kinds of people who drive similar cars to each other. But of the two you admire one. Sometimes it's the way the owners carry themselves, sometimes it's how well maintained their cars are. The vanilla aroma in them, that hits you even when you are out of the car, when the window is open, the almost shiny dash board. They make you feel like throwing your elaborate boots for canvas. She walked out of the car. She looked proper. She was not young. She was beautiful for her age. She was the kind of people you could tell how their house looks like. A hot house and I don't mean temperature wise, it's the kind that would be cool inside when it's too hot inside and warm inside when it rains cold out side; not as big as a castle, not as small as disappointment. The average size, only that it wasn't average. The floors must be polished. The house plants must be healthy, the lawn perfect. The tables shiny. She must have the house-help use Mr.Sheen. Very proper. That's how she looked. Healthy, beautiful and proper.
That's the wife. That's what rumor said. I was fascinated. I had admired that man. He wore slippers that were as dented on one side as a boarding school mattress slept on by a fat kid for years. They are divorced. Or separated. That lovely lady was his wife.
The contrast was absolutely stunning. Even you would be curious. I wasnt going to settle for the rumors. I had to know why this man had turned into buying cheap liquor. Being carried by the watchmen and the cooks from iron sheet walled bars. The ones that talked bad about him. How much he was a disaster.
"hi"
"hello"
I expected it. He was the kind to complete his "hi's" into "hellos" or "howdys". He was the kind to know such. Slowly, the conversation changed to how rainy it was. Strangers talked about the weather. We stopped talking about the weather. Most of the time he would do the talking. The conversations you have on the corridor when you meet someone going their way and you your way.
I hoped he would reveal something about himself. That was what I was after. Who he had been before worn out slippers and hard-unrefined liquor. He must have been somebody. He lived there for free. He didn't pay rent like we did. He never revealed anything about himself. But I started to listen to him. The guy was literally a text book. An encyclopedia. If Wikipedia is written by man, he would be the one who writes it. I mentioned planes. He explained Bernoullis Effect as wonderfully and as passionately as you would explain your first kiss. He explained it like he was seated there with Daniel Bernoulli writing ' Hydrodynamica' in 1738. And wasn't a physicist.
He also talked about the televisions with large asses. What's with this generation with slimness? Even women want to be flat screens? He explained the electrons and cathode rays. You would want to think he was a professor. And not the kind that are in Nairobi University. The kind we see on Telly, with the tweed jackets. The kind that walk into class with a bow tie and ask you to throw your books. Then they teach you something so profound. Like the origin of number Zero. Did Prof. Saitoti really explain where the number Zero came from?
This guy wasn't a lecturer but he could throw your books. Then teach you. Oh I wish he taught me. He could explain the origins of the number Zero. As well as clarify the rumor about Proff. Saitoti and his Zero. Alleged Zeros. He wasn't a mathematician or a history prof.
But he knew all this still in his pink worn out slippers. They must have been red when they were new come to think of it. He was an encyclopedia but most of all, he was an architect.
His work was doted around Nairobi. He was one of the first. His work was also dotted in Europe. He might have drunk like a lunatic. But the guy had passion. The guy was as intelligent as day. He could see everything. You would feel like a torch in a dark night around him, just seeing the grass as green. He was like a microscope he saw photosynthesis in grass. Just looking at it. He was the sun of brightness. How bright is the sun? How often do you just stare at it with plain eyes?
Yet people talked ill of him. I tried to fish informtion about him. The furthest I could get was that the office in one of the buildings was his. The office was just larger than a store. It's window ran from the floor to the ceiling, it had no petitions and it was large. He had designed it himself.
There was a large stand too. Like one used by pastors in church at the pulpit. Only that it was larger. Therefore looked like a painters drawing stand. There was a bar stool right behind it. There were a pair of shoes there. The ones you think ugly when young. All you want to do is donate them to charity, then later on when you become older. You start wearing them, after a little renovation. Inheriting father's old shoes. They didn't make shoes with machines those days, shoe-makers. I have never seen that room opened. That office open. But I could see it through the window. The large window. Everyone saw it. But no one was let in it.
Sometimes he would dress absolutely well. In a tuxedo. He had a tuxedo in his room. Aparently, you would never think he did. And he looked absolutely stunning in it. Tall, proper, elegant, slender like his wife.
But that was him, an office that looks so elegant from outside, no one is allowed inside. Maybe his art made him run partially mad? It wouldnt be the first time art ran an artist nuts?or maybe it was his intelligence? Geniuses ran mad right? But wasn't the man successful? Kids learning in good schools? Likes of Oxford? Strathmore? Wife properly taken care of? His works could be seen? Elaborate buildings? I never saw him bring strange women or any women at all to his house. He was neat. He showered. Decent. But when we he was drunk he blackout on mud. Upper Hill has hills and slopes. When it rained who wouldn't slip and fall, even when sober people slip and fall. He might have been ruined by love, artist get ruined by such things. Walking in Nairobi, Kenya, England, South Africa and maybe it was him that designed that beautiful building you saw. He must have, meet him and you would know. I admired him. Am I wrong to admire him? Why were the cooks hating? The watchman too? Aren't they the same men who lack commitment to anything? No passion and cause pain at home? What had they to show? Why were they hating on him?
Something must have happened? What happened. But even though something happened, how would I know, the arrogant guy was graceful. He never blew his trumpet. His personality and properness instead blew the trumpet naturally. He was a mystery. He is the rockstars of Architects.
I will never get to get into that office, but I saw it from a far, through the window. Sometimes when no one saw. I did a proper peep like small boys so passionate about cars, peep on the driver's window of parked cars, to see the cockpit of the car, what the top speed is? The gear box?
I peeped but all I could see was elegance, intelligence and mystery.
As mysterious as the moon, as bright as the sun. I am not wrong to admire him. I see more than the excess alcohol. If he was a politician he would be the kind to get his black simple well fitting elegant suit dirty in mud trying to get water, a library, a school or a dispensary in a village so maginalized it doesn't exist in the map. He reminded you of intelligence, courage, deceny, passion so much he would make shiny sleek big cars feel Yuck.
What happened to him? I will never know, or maybe I will one day, when he is walking out of the hospital after recovering from a bad accident, and the media and presidents say something brief about his courage. Then everyone would go silent and he will go back to his slippers. Like he didnt exist, cause he doesn't... What's behind the glass window I can't see?
