Goats!

Coffee break.

It’s not like I do anything important but I need a self-imposed break out of normal thoughts.

Anyway, today I’ve actually been dragged by a pal to a coffee outlet because he suggests he has upgraded and stopped doing home brews. It’s obviously better than drowning in my own garbage in the house either way.

Whatever.

Coffee can mess you up in a restaurant if you don’t know the brands. And that’s how a good waiter ended up chatting us up and we got informed that it’s goats that actually discovered coffee! I pretended not to be surprised by the new unfoldings, considering that goats’ kids are in fact called kids. They must be clever animals after all?

So, this goat herder in Ethiopia saw his goats behaving more sprightly, sporty and stoutly after eating from a particular bush and realized things had ‘goat’ too far. He then tried it himself (this’ my type of buddy now) and felt like the devil; vivacious and full of inner demons. Like a goat. Reminds me something that I’ve been burning to ask the whole past week.

Ever been chased by a goat, then you ate it?

Sounds like something that would happen several dreams deep into slumber-land. Or karma. Or maybe it’s just some fever. Fever makes me hallucinate. If you have flu like many of us, welcome to the tribe.

That happened to me last week. At Langata. I was jogging my health away one evening and the beast emerges from the hedges ready to gore out my entrails with his horns. I tripped and fell. I crawled away from him on fours while he pursued until he reached the end of his rope. Oh, thank heavens. He was all tied up. Then I left knowing his destiny, like for many goats, is written on stone. Butcher’s knife. But I didn’t swear he’d end up in my guts. Mark you, eating meat is my carthasis. Obviously, after poopcrastination.

Anyway, 2 days later, that’s exactly what happened. I make acquaintance with a newbie in the hood (obviously because he  had this cool mountain bike and me and mountain bikes have real potential). A few rides later, I’m invited to an ongoing bash while returning the bike to that house whose hedge harbored that goat and you can guess the end game. As I enter the gate, I see the horned dude’s head gyrating on the grill in suggestive twirls like a stripper and I immediately recognize him. I ate him. I haven’t told anyone until now. Wow.

Sometimes we play the goat in this shrewd life. I obviously know how the goat felt. It’s like planning someone’s funeral and they ruin it by coming into the room and talking to you. Sorry. I’ve accidentally revealed my psychopathy.

In other news, apart from whining over a cup of coffee about the disappearance of the hood’s goat, I’ve been apparently appalled by the high rate of disappearing and appearing of things. In my room. In my bag. In the public loos. And, in the world in general. Like tissue paper.

I’ve, until recently, been amused at a smiling president’s portrait watching me from the wall at the public urinal in town at Odeon while I’m busy irrigating the premises. But what I don’t understand is how yesterday evening he wasn’t there. Who said we don’t like being watched? Not enough though. We were not born yesterday. We know there’s a scandal. Would the miscreants at the paying booth whom I paid 10 bob just to check on the portrait today morning be investigated because the portrait was miraculously back? Wait. In a different shirt though. Please! I need answers. Or someone will eat shrubs, like a goat.

Meanwhile, let me take you down the rabbit hole with this. You can enjoy your goat meat in the serene Mt. Kenya breeze in my pal’s self contained house with the provision of a local barbecue grill near Ol-pejeta conservancy and Barney’s airport in Nanyuki. Click here for the pics and your 30$/night offer. Enjoy!

my-goat

 

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