I’ve just happened to visit Kelly when she’s babysitting all kids in LA hood. You know what happens here, on afternoons like today, half-day school going kids decide to visit one home where they spend the whole afternoon making all the noises and arousing suspicion when they go silent. The plan today afternoon was come over, with my friend Ferrari, help fix some satellite dish and DSTV paraphernalia, then voila; earn good bucks. But Kelly lives with her parents by the way; and she has this baby sister who just loves knives or anything looking sharp, except me.
Me? Yeah … because I’ve spent a good bite of afternoon pie trying to prevent being poked by knives, rearranging cushions, collecting bolts and nuts together lest they get swallowed and such stuff of nightmare that kiddos can put you into. Ever tried cleaning a house with kids in it? It’s more like brushing your teeth while chewing some groundnuts. I’m just here laughing at a friend’s effort to restore meaning to the word orderly; after even the government has failed in such quests.
But this type-away hasn’t been triggered by kids just being kids; or me being stabbed and having to receive a donated organ. It’s about hearts. Or maybe livers. Or kidneys. Or the good old unfaithful tummy. The one who cheats on pizza with roast maize when you’re broke and the end-month is way far.
I’ve just eavesdropped a dialogue from the kitchen between Kelly and a visitor who’s left green crocs at the doormat. I’m not making this up. Fashion sense. Why green, though? Because green is the color of money, grass, oak leaves, and alien bombs. How the hell would I know why it was green? Anyway, she’s sobbing uncontrollably. She’s told Kelly, amid her spasms, that she’d given her heart to someone. The whole of it. And as if I haven’t heard enough, this dude broke it.
What? Heart. So people do that? Yes. Organ donation.
If you ‘gave someone your heart’ like Kelly’s friend, and they died, did they take it with them?
Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn’t be filled?
(Insert Oga accent)
Why round pizza come in square box?
I should have informed you they’d be dumb questions. I’m kinda dumb. I know why. I’ve been listening to these Hans Zimmer – Time (that one in Inception), James Horner’s ‘Gift of a Thistle’, ‘The Execution Bannockburn’ by James Horner and Gladiator – Now We Are Free songs. They have that effect. They take me to that red dirt road and acacia trees where I’m hunting a porcupine. I know. It’s not wise. It’s like us going on together in this blog post. Yet I understand. You cannot leave this alone. I am the same about porcupines. These songs make me hear a beautiful bird chirping. It’s a mating call. That pretty little bird is trying to get laid. These tunes take me to the frigid waters to drown the ‘head’ of this blog post. Until it lets go. Succumbs. And gracefully sinks to the icy fathoms below. These songs take me to that boulevard of broken dreams. Then leave me kinda dumb. But excrement happens. It does when a reader has stopped to wonder at your delamificatious vocab-poetry.
Coincidence though. Last week I had coffee with a doctor friend who just flew in from Malaysia. Yes. I’m not exactly a useless cream puff. I know people. Doctors are great as long as you don’t need them. She tried to sweet talk me to donating a kidney. Or any other organ when I die. Like, sign an organ donor card with next of kin as a witness and … yeah, it’s done. That’s like telling family members I’ve been thinking of dying. But hey, sounds cool. Playing with death? Sounds taboo to the black, mostly African race. Very superstitious lot. I played dead once, ages ago with the landlady knocking at my door. Yet I didn’t die when I got up. According to BBC, some Africans have pledged their organs, but that isn’t always enough. In one case, a team sent to extract corneas from a donor was turned away by the family. It is not the kind of fight one would want to get into with grieving relatives.
Organ donation is cool. I’d do it like I’m representing the whole clan. That way, you get to know whether kidneys are really there. When you’re deceased, your friends will know whether you really had all those ‘guts’ as you claimed on social media. Or whether you really had the ‘balls’ to attempt stuff. Is it true if you love chicken you’re chicken at heart? Probably chicken hearted? We’ll know then!
Just so you know, a living donor can give part of a liver and in some circumstances it may be possible to donate a segment of lung. In a very small number of cases, part of the small bowel may also be transplanted. But tissues, whole liver, heart, whole lungs and pancreas; (please bang that desk) on my dead body! Completely dead! Tissues (the cornea, bone, skin, heart valves, tendons, cartilage) can be donated up to 24 hours after someone has died, and in some cases up to 48 hours. So, one phrase to peeps refusing to pledge their corneas; who because of their religious beliefs, say they have to see heaven: Who birthed you? Help someone see this world.
I used to be against organ donation what if I donated my stuff to an upcoming terrorist? But I had ‘a change of heart’ after realizing I won’t need any of these for the rapture.
Can’t put the post’s head under water for long though. Back to broken hearts. Why let someone break your heart when you can donate it without patches and stitches? Whole. Give it to some fella. Over your ‘dead body’ of course! Cupid is a fairy tale.
To Kelly’s friend: If your heart was really broken, you’d be dead. Gave someone your ‘thump thump’? Go grab it back!
To fellow Kenyans: Currently, only blood relatives and spouses can donate organs to patients in the country. But you can donate blood. Check this Health Bill 2015 Sections 48, 49 and 50; though still in the Committee Stage I suppose. Hold your horses. And your livers too. Pray that it passes. Even though KNH has liver transplant facilities, legal impediments stand in the way of allowing Kenyans to give away their organs when they die in the country. So either pledge them elsewhere, or go die elsewhere lol.
To myself: Why not? Out of all the flavors there are in the world, why choose to be mean? Who won’t want a piece of awesome me.
- So that I’m not sued for incitement, remember you can only donate your own organs! Not the cop’s, landlord’s, neighbor’s, enemy’s, friend’s or relative’s. Strictly yours!
- You can sell (not donate) your kidneys in the black market, but if the buyers do not gouge out your heart, pancreas, liver and middle finger too in the process, visit me for caffeinated during a Saturday lunch.
- Take care. Don’t read such posts while driving. Do that and become a beacon of hope for those in need of new organs.
- I didn’t say ‘don’t steal her heart’ this weekend. Go buy her pizza!