Behind The Covid Muzzle


There’s a stringent freedom, free will and politically correct atmosphere around the masks uncle Chris wears to work every morning. Hitting the tarmac in his SK Subaru Forester, while tuned to The situation room. Calm & collected person i know. A good citizen, doesn’t fall out of law and very reliable. I admire him. Eventhough he only speaks when there’s neccessity, still i could listen to his quiet thoughts, emotions and more. That is, when his mask is off, or rather not muzzled. Like i said i admire him, just how he views life. I remember one of those days before covid, when i’d ask him to drop me home whenever i happened to be in town. He’d treat me to some Gallito’s nuggets, and share some of his views which got me wondering why he’s Da vinci’s replica technically. He just thinks differently. I’ve never bothered asking him why, its like asking Leonardo why Monalisa has no brows on her Million-dollar portrait. Chris’ trimmed massive goatee in place, mask on most of time not unless he’s eating or just stealing a free breath where the virus is likely absent. He keeps it on to avoid giving tea to traffic police . However, does he believe in the government’s statistics on the new variant of covid-19? Will he take the Oxford-Astrazeneca vaccine? Will he practice his responsibility as a patriot in the next ballot box? How about the economy sting…well, i wish i knew the magnitude of pinch he feels on the shooting fuel price, or just the taxes he has to pay and still take care of society expectations. If only i could listen to the conversation behind that comfy clothe that muzzles & neutralises the air he breathes .

Oh! I almost forgot of my mama viazi, I passed by this morning. As usual her kiosk open, fire on, her display box half full. One hardworking citizen i wish could win American Lottery. I wonder if she believes in the second wave of covid and thats why she’s practising covid precautions. Or is it evading trouble with the government officials? Well, her answer is confined behind that African prints piece of fabric hidding the severe pain she feels from the economy’s pinch. The wails from the bottom-wells of her dissapointed hope for a better lifestyle chocking her out, but the mask muffles them to tired sighs…& sad giggles… “Hmmph!!!” She smiles as always, but this time i have to include psychic abilities to figure it out. Her tired eyes crinkles at the corners and her sprouting cheekbones grow sharper. Yeah, she smilling at me. For a second i doubt if she heard the grumpy sound my gut made on realizing the size of samosas has shrinked lately . For a moment i want to ask her questions that ain’t for her to answer. “Non of her faults, i know…” and this words dulls away on the pores of my surgical mask. Anyways, i hope she heard my assuring happy tone appreciating her for the work she puts in to support our crumbling economy. So i get my cholesterol-rich breakfast like i do every monday & Thursdays. Wishing her a good day as i jog to catch up with the almost leaving Matatu or Tuktuk, i have to get to my hustle earlier to avoid tussles with my boss.

I’m lucky to board a three-seater psv tuktuk, for one its faster, plus i can breathe. Sandwitched by two nice smelling ladies on a three-seater is a sign of a good day. I remember being planted between a keep-fit fanatic whom i presume forgot to use the facility’s refreshing amenities before leaving and an early bird who comfortably balanced a half-way full sack of Omena on her lap. Yeah…it reminded me of why i need financial freedom... Oopsie! I’m being grumpy now… Well, the ambience inside this three-wheel psv appears to share one vocabulary understood by ordinary 254’ans only, ‘struggos’. Their opinions are muzzled by the surgical masks covering most of their foundation layered fresh faces. From the cornered-eye glances i get, i can grasp the scent of fresh college-baked citizens. The capitalised glares settling on my cool Nikes & my distressed butterfly locs, trying to fix me in a social class. Oh! Maybe i’m wrong, they might be figuring out why i smell like viazi karai or why i resemble a choir boy (Khaki shorts & tucked Tee). Well it doesn’t bother me for their opinions are silenced beneath the covid muzzles. The kind of awe & determination showing on the thick coal-soaked eyebrows furrowed so deep, when the driver stops to pee by the roadside. Explains the despair to make it to job in time to avoid losing the ‘small but better than nothing’ opportunities we got in order to maintain & manage the class we belong in. The kind of lifestyle we were taught in school, the one very alive in our system-infused eutopian expectations . One that is known by me & my generation Z mates, for only we understands this fairy-dreams 8-4-4 system drilled in our sick brains.


My mind is occupied enough that i fail to realize our driver is but a middle-aged man. He wears his Arsenal branded mask confidently below his unkempt goatee. The size of eyebags below his eyeballs explains how sleep deprived he is. He says nothing along the way, just adjusting his side mirrors to steal glances at us. If i could see past that mask muting the intra-personal conversation beneath. I wonder if its much of fraustrations or success. Like, the charm Arsenal got on him that he can’t shake it off for a second. Or just calculating the number of bets he’s lost since the return of EPL. Well, i’m just blubbing,. his thoughts are muzzled.

Thanks to covid, the political correct language reigns. A language spoken in silent tones by dear partriots, with the economy stinging up their nostrils, bitter wails escape but get trapped within the covid mask. A politically designed tool to shut your mouth in the irony of free speech & keep your thoughts beneath. Amazingly, the effects of corona virus are diverted to transform a mask into a muzzle. An option is available though, to accept & wade through the infested economy, work off your ass, muscles & brains every other day to retain a 50% and handover the other rightfully owned 50% to Covid Billionaires in the name of hiked taxes due to economy constraints. Ouch! I din’t realize how bitter the conversation behind this surgical mask i’m wearing is, i wonder if my fellow patriots feel the same. Maybe the prick is just within my soles, either way its a political art staged behind the covid mask.