Of rides and crazy fellows

Have you ever travelled at the back of an open lorry on a rough, bumpy country road? If you have, then the poem below 'holds' a similar experience. I promise you, it's not the best of experiences.

A ride I took on 22nd of December 2001 occasioned the poem below. I was travelling to a certain part of Nyahururu in Central Kenya to attend the wedding ceremony of a friend. The place was Shamata.
And to digress, Shamata is well known for two principal things: biting cold and potatoes. When I arrived I looked like a baboon as I had ridden at the back of a lorry. What with dust all over my face, clothes and shoes, swollen hands and a throbbing headache! I hate to remember the experience.

Rough, bumpy ride

'twas on 22nd December,
The year two thousand and one,
When the mother of all bumpy rides,
Called out my three names.

I took my place in the lorry,
Sweet peace inundated my heart,
As I thought of a smooth ride,
A ride to 'potato-infested' Shamata.

Hell broke loose,
When this crazy fellow,
Took the steering wheel,
And slammed on the gas pedal.

I was thrown up and backwards,
I danced sideways, east and west,
My whole body shook,
My blood froze.

My eyes popped out,
As I saw death calling me,
All the while the crazy fellow,
Drove on in murderous frenzy.

In and out of every pothole,
Was the name of the game,
As I bumped my head,
I said my last prayer:

God you created this crazy guy,
You created me in the same style,
So why should I lose my life,
Because of his madness, why Lord?

God at once said:
I created you, Yes,
But I don't remember,
Telling you to be in this lorry!

With every mile we took,
Dust masked my face,
Red-brown dust,
Made me a human baboon.

As the lorry creaked and wailed,
So did my bones threaten,
Threaten to break,
If the crazy fellow didn't stop.

I cried and called out,
But the engine swallowed my voice,
So, ofcourse, I had no choice,
But to swallow the bitter pill.

At last,
The lorry drew to a stop,
After swallowing miles without number,
Miles I will live to curse.

The 'back' was opened,
And out jumped a baboon,
A baboon in white shirt and checked coat,
A baboon that asked for water.

All who saw me,
Nearly ran for their lives,
And shook their heads at a distance,
Wondering, why a baboon in Shamata.

But all said and nearly done,
I'll live to hate crazy fellows,
I'll live to detest blue lorries,
Which love to create baboons.