My name isn’t Robin Hood

I’d wake up at 4 am, an hour when the girl from Rumuruti is in her dorm room totally unconcerned with whether her bright green jeans and yellow top paired with gladiator sandals met Sylvia Njoki’s standards or whether Jamo her long time boyfriend that sells eggs at the market and hawks movies iver the weekend meets Njoki Chege’s German machine driving latte drinking explosive  sex giving standards – she has no time to keep up with the Njoki’s.
She has burnt the midnight oil and borrowed some, okay all, from her passed out guaranna drinking comrades and is straight on her way to get a first class.  4 AM, that’s when gents are staggering home after unsuccessfully trying to park their car and leaving it unceremoniously angled in front of their gates reeking of eight tuskers, three vodka cocktails and twelve tequila shots. This is that time night runners are hanging their boots or putting them on.

At this hour there is nothing creative flowing in my blood. My mind is the Sahara desert, ideas are scarce and I’m the Khoisan trying to squeeze a few drops from a dug up root. I have as much creativity as Wanjiku in a kitchen hut working with warus and cabbage. You can say I’m not a morning person, but, it only makes sense; nothing ever good happens at 4 am unless you’re drunk and just about to go home with that lass you’ve been buying drinks the whole night. She has one of these weird names like Annarose or blessing or even copy.  Yes, copy. You’d get a call from the missus and she’d ask what you’ve been doing and you can confidently say:

“Hun I’ve been banging copy all night.”

She knows you’re a writer so it’s not in the slightest bit weird. She’s as clueless as a first time car owner whose car stalled and they have the hood open standing there with one hand supporting her weight on the open hood and the other pressing her phone firmly into her ear. Should you ask them what’s up they’ll just blankly stare at you and say their mechanic is on the way. At least he won’t have to open the hood.

4 AM is that hour a fuck boy will wake up next to his night conquest and put on the data to his phone and reply a 4 PM text saying how sorry they are they fell asleep. They will then coil back under the covers and rub their legs against a sleeping piece of flesh and probably get in another round before never talking to them again. He won’t even be subtle about it and when the girl finally gets a goodnight message at 11 AM she gets the message.

At 4 AM the fuck girl is up conjuring deceptive lies – as opposed to the non deceptive ones told by pastors, politicians and prostitutes who say you’re re best they’ve ever had – to trap this upwardly mobile guy.

“Babe I missed my periods.  I think the condom broke. Sasa tudo?”

Then she will wait for the guy to wake up at 6 and read the message. She will be happy with herself or so she thinks until she gets the reply:

“Wrong babe here we’ve never even hugged :)”

She will realize at 4 AM she sent the message to Pete instead of Peter. There goes her chances with Pete now.

Why I wanted to write at this hour is still a strange concept. However, I did have some of the best conversations with myself at that time. There’s nothing as refreshing as talking to yourself or a hot shower or talking to yourself in a hot shower. You get to ask yourself questions and watch yourself squirm at the candidness as you try to find an answer. It’s darkest before dawn and in that darkness you find a clarity. You interview yourself and sound like that HYFR song by Drake and Lil Wayne, or is it Lil Wayne and Drake?

Strange things go through your head.  Like why it’s called morning wood, you know, that boner guys get in the morning. So you ask yourself why it’s morning wood and you think for a while before answering

“Maybe because it’s called building a family”
“So do people with ED call their erections soft wood?”
“Shut up shad think about your life it’s too early for boner talk!”

You hi-5 your brain and swear to tweet that as soon as you get data bundles or to the office wifi.

At 4 AM as I found, I’m at my most romantic. Maybe it has something to do with my semi comatose brain that’s not yet at full reasoning capacity. I am not saying being in love means you’re not fully reasoning but is sugar cane sweet? I rest my case. There’s that one girl you wake up thinking about. The one girl you wouldn’t mind waking up to and bothering her with your 4 AM shenanigans. But waking up a girl at 4 AM is like walking through a bear infested forest with a chain of bacon around your neck. Girls at 4 AM are groggy but dangerous. You probably interrupted prince charming from whisking her away from your bed sitter to a castle on the coastlines of Scotland – I don’t  know if Scotland has coastlines but it’s a dream go hang.

“Babe wake up!” You’ll shake her excitedly
“What? Is the baby crying?”
“Baby? We don’t have a baby.”
“Then wtf shad! What time is it?”
“4 AM”
“JESUS! What do you want at 4 AM?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”

At this point she’ll turn to face you, the stocking on her head covering her brows so you can only read the death stare in her expressionless eyes.

“Morning wood maybe…”

Your voice will trail off as you hear the absurdity of your statement.

“Morning wood eh! Do you know what happens to wood in the morning?”

You’ll shake your head

“It’s chopped!”

She’ll go back to sleep and you’ll sit in bed wondering when your princess Fiona turned into Shrek. You’ll bam sausages in your house and anything that slightly resembles the shape of wood. So you’ll be eating cabbages and potatoes and minced meat Like you married from the central region.

At 4 AM you can hear your thoughts and you can hear your neighbor sluggishly wake up as they hit their light switch and open a creaky door to take a leak. You hear the steady stream of urine as it hits the bowl and try to figure out if that’s the Mrs or the Mr. You can hear the engines of matatus come to life as their obnoxious horns fill the air. At 4 AM you wonder why they are hooting, maybe to announce they are the early birds? Okay we get it, you get up early but you don’t have to toot your own horn. See what I did?

But at the end of it all I woke up at 4 AM because regardless of whether I could string a few words together or come up with a concept for an article I did it because I loved it. That’s what you do for love, so you there reading we’ll wake up article 4 AM to talk about morning wood or my name isn’t Robin Hood… Wait?

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