Camels and Mangoes

I have been on a camel only once in my life, well at least that’s how I remember it. I have probably had myself more than one of those pleasant rides. Here I use the word ‘pleasant’ rather loosely. You see, in my sole memory of camel rides, the experience is ANYTHING but pleasant. The caps are for drama. Here’s what I learnt from that single ride; PEER PRESSURE IS REAL. Peers in this context being my parents and their friends, who also happen to be parents. The irony is, these friends to my parents did not put their own spawn to such a harrowing, scarring, life-threatening (yes, I am exaggerating), depression-inducing experience.
“Oh-my-goodness, Allan, look, a camel! Wouldn’t you want to ride one? Oh I’m sure you do, come let’s ask your dad,” said Parents’ Friend 1 (a lady)
“… Baba Allan, si you just let your son have the time of his life on one of those camels, amesema anataka umlipie,” she continued.
NOTE: All through, nowhere has my input been considered, nowhere did they want to know if my stomach was doing that thing it does when I realize the deadline for assignment submission is fast approaching and my computer’s keyboard is jammed and the power has gone out and I just want to lie on the floor and cry my eyes a rich-crimson red.
“Aah, mbona hajaniuliza mwenyewe? How much is it for one ride?” that is my father looking me dead in the eye while moving a toothpick from side to side in his mouth.
“150,” my response
“He has always been adventurous, he just loves seeing new things,” my mother’s contribution. She says this as she sips on a cold Fanta, not these fancy new flavours they brought juzi, no, a solid Fanta orange, complete with the bottle with the pimply-things just under its neck.
The confidence with which this statement is made is very convincing but no, ladies and gents, it is all FAKE NEWS. I have never been ‘one of those people’. The ones who will walk around Kayole at midnight just because they want to ‘see this part of the city’. To whom was mother dearest making this statement? Well, Parents’ Friend 1 had a husband, Parents’ Friend 2, who just happened to be the recipient of this false information.
“Sawa, shika, enda ulipe,” my father giving me the 150 for a camel ride I honestly was dreading and which would later leave me scarred and with a troubled childhood.
That walk to the camel! I am not exaggerating when I say, I was sweating blood and my Saliva tasted like gall. We (PF1 and I) get to the camel, pay and it is time! My legs felt like lumps of lard. I have no memory of how I got up on Cam’s back (I’ve named him Cam). One moment I am light headed with a racing pulse, the next, I am in full near-death mode as Cam did his getting-up thing. First, the hind legs, such that I was angled dangerously toward the front, then second, the front legs. I feel like this should be the yard stick for unstable situations. Example:
“Our relationship was as unstable as a camel getting up.” Or “on a scale of One to A-Camel-Getting-Up, how unstable are your finances?”
With such a welcome, who would be uncomfortable right? I mean, all your fears have been set aside and you are confident you are in good hands. If this is what PF1, PF2, Mother and Father thought was going through my mind, then they shan’t see heaven. I think I had 200 mini pass-outs whilst on Cam’s back. I was deep in prayer the whole time, my eyes could barely see because of a thin film of tears formed not because it was windy, no no no, I was distressed, I was writing my eulogy at that moment. I was thinking of that slice of bread I stole from Sarah’s bag during tea break, the lie I told my mother so I could watch Power Puff Girls (I loved that cartoon by the way), instead of doing my homework. I thought of how these activities had earned me a place in hell with my father the Devil (when I was younger, I was told the Devil is the father of all sinners, *sigh* I know, I know). Just as I was coming to terms with my early demise, the worst happened! (These exclamation marks make the story seem a whole lot more dramatic, I love them). Cam came to a halt and I heard his handler say something to him and suddenly, the world started to swallow us up. Rapidly. The speed was dizzying, my ears were popping, my nose was bleeding due to the sudden change in pressure, my heart rate was so rapid I raptured a whole artery, I bit my tongue so hard, it actually fell off, I had to pick it and watch my life fall into shambles. Cam was descending. The front feet first, then the hind feet. My experience with camels.
That was six-year-old me trying to find his way in this life, not trying to cause any trouble, just trying to survive. Also (completely not related to the camel story), those were the days when the homegirl, Natalie Githinji (the one who did the financial literacy post here a while back), and I would feel too cool for school with our painted faces. Man, I kid you not (no pun intended), face painting was the bomb, ask Nat, she’ll tell you. Six-year-old me decided peer pressure was the last thing he would get himself into. I am very sure he would look at me with disgust if he saw what I had turned into; a walking cesspool of peer pressure. He would spit on me and to be honest he would be justified. I feel like I have gone into full self-depreciating mode. The only thing that would get me back to feeling like I own you humans is of course food! Ladies and gents, boys and girls, Mango Sorbet.
Think of sorbet as ice cream with no dairy, just water and fruit and sugar and honey.

Ingredients:
1 mango cubed
3 tablespoons honey
3 tablespoons sugar
½ cups of water

Method:
Put your cubed mango pieces in a dish and add the sugar. Refrigerate for 12-24 hours (I did 24). Once done, take the mixture out and put in a blender, add the water and honey and blend to a consistent thickness. TIP: the thicker the blended mixture is, the better your outcome will be. Put this back in the dish and refrigerate for 24 hours. Scoop and enjoy.

Serving suggestion:

I used a pawpaw half. Cut the pawpaw in half and take out the seeds, in the cavity put yogurt and scoop in the sorbet. Drizzle chocolate sauce.

Thank you so much for taking time to read this through and sharing. As we go into the voting period as a nation, let Kenya remain one, there’s life after the elections, and I would like us all to be part of it.
Asante and Kwaheri.