Fan Service
I should warn you. I am going to let you in on a number of secrets in this article, and the first is that I absolutely hate clothes.
I understand why we need clothes. We need to look dashing and proper, depending on whatever occasion in which we unfortunately happen to find ourselves. Moreover, without clothes, our most distant relatives at the far north and south would perish, not forgetting our very own closer to home especially since it is July. Thirdly, the types of clothes we wear express our status in society, which is meaningless since we have all seen kings who wear the same type of T-shirt every day, and peasants who dress like they now own King Solomon’s mines. However, the fact still stands that I might secretly be a nudist.
...Might.
Secret #1: The Secret Nudist.
My favourite clothes are a tank top, a pair of the shortest shorts and a pair of flip-flops. I sweat a lot. Merely driving a car makes me sweat, which might contribute to why I hate driving, and also to why I love working out. I mean, when everyone around you is sweating, grunting and screaming nearly as much as you, there is no reason for you to feel out of place. Also, I might be dark skinned but I still get fascinated when I get tan lines. Oh, my bad. In Africa we call them sunburn lines. Therefore, yes, I still get fascinated when I get sunburns.
One thing you need to know about wearing minimal clothing is the feeling of a cool breeze against your skin. It is sensational, like a caress or a soft kiss, the type that makes you all hot and bothered inside and leaves you wanting more of that frigid touch. Oh God it is ecstatic, and I confess, at times when I am at the beach, I am tempted to strip down to my swimming trunks and just lay on the sand and bathe in the sun until my tan lines – sorry, I mean my sunburn lines – make me feel so much closer to death that I can almost kiss his skinless cheek.
Unfortunately, reality would have none of it. I live in Kitengela, which means that the only thing I can bathe in is pools of dust and sand. If I left my home in a tank top, a pair of the shortest shorts and a pair of flimsy flip-flops, with my bare arms and legs covered in the finest film of pure olive oil, I would return five minutes later looking like I have been living at the posho mill for the past five years. Instead of sunburn lines I would be having dusty lines of stress on my forehead. Instead of glowing, golden brown skin like a 'god covered in baby oil' (wrt. Tony Stark to Steve Rogers) I would look like I suffer from leprosy. Therefore, I am forced to sink into the baggiest pair of sweatpants, an ancient, discoloured T-shirt, and a zipped, red sweater from the 1980’s era just to keep the dust at bay. And this leads to...
Secret #2: Semi-nude Endings
As you now know from FudgeCake Vs. The Abominable Mondays, I let my imagination do all that I cannot do in real life, which includes stripping. But of course, it will not do to have characters that just strip for no reason. That would be uncouth and meaningless. It will show that there was no foundation or meaning in creating such a situation, like Gray from the anime Fairy Tail. Don’t get me wrong: I love Gray. He is one of the coolest characters I know, but... meh. There is still no sense to stripping just to balance out the male-to-female fan service.
At least one person is in his or her undergarments at the ends of the first three novels of The Orisha Saga: Orisha, Bennu, and Artemis’ Heel, and no, this does not imply that an orgy takes place. But spoiler alert! They are not half naked because they want to be, and neither are they naked because of some kinky, ‘Fifty Shades’ kinds of weirdness. If I could use a phrase to explain it without revealing much, I would say, “picture a baby in its mother’s womb.” Doesn’t make much sense, does it?
Luckily, for those disturbed by the absurdity of this post, here is a spoiler just for you: the fourth book ends with a woman in a bloodied and torn wedding dress.
Secret #3: Powerful Climax
When I first came up with the theme of this post, I had no idea it would sound so erotic. All I wanted was to write a post about nudity, finishing strong, and how it all connected within The Orisha Saga. I guess this is the right time to explain how it all leads to this final secret, which is to see my books turned to major blockbusters.
It is said that if your dream does not scare you, then it is not big enough. I can therefore say that I am deathly afraid of that million dollar movie/series contract right now. No, I am being serious. Other than the shocking excitement capable of causing a heart attack, who would not be afraid of seeing their creation come to life on the silver screen (or mobile phone screen)? Who wouldn’t be afraid of pouring their life and essence into something that most baby-boomer parents would not approve, afraid that the world might hate it as much as I hate clothes? Who would not be afraid of finding their art, their blood and sweat created through trials and tragedy, being played on Gikuyu TV and narrated by the one and only DJ Afro? (Okay, his movie renditions are hilarious, but still, it frightens me.) But tempestuous as the rising emotions may be, I would still want my people to watch it.
I am glad there is a rising culture of readership in Kenya. It fills me with great joy to see someone reading out there, even just a pack of cigarettes clearly labelled ‘SMOKING IS HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH’. But long before this, I noticed that Kenyans prefer to watch than to read. It is no one’s fault, really. It has been an African trend to listen to stories being passed down from generation to generation, and to watch as the narrator comically enacts them. Mwacha mila ni mtumwa, the sages say, don’t they? But whether or not a story is read or narrated, the end goal is to see that it had an impact on at least one life.
That is my goal, my powerful climax: to finish strong and to inspire hope. A guy can dream, too, can’t he?
P.S: Next week on Owners of the Chi: a discussion on... publishing! (Screams in agony) Click on the 'Home' button to access more from the author.