Kigali part 3: The physical impossibility of death in the mind of someone drinking
Three weeks into my holiday in Kigali, I woke up one Sunday morning I couldn't remember how I got home.
Mind you I reached this conclusion after a lot of head-scratching. Had I grabbed a cab? Or had I jumped on the back of a moto as I had done many times? An analysis of the money I had left suggested that I had made the journey home on the back of a motorcycle. If so, surely I would have remembered? I had heard about this kind of thing many times but I did not actually think you could wake up one morning and have no idea about the mode of transportation you had used to get back home. I remembered the party-well most of it- and only dimly remembered the club.
A few days later I asked Louis "Did you see me leaving on Saturday? I can't remember how I got home"
Louis started laughing. He laughed so hard that no straight answer was forthcoming but I managed to decipher that the general answer was no, he hadn't seen me leave. he found the whole thing hilarious, I considered it a bit creepy. I don't like having gaps in my memory especially the kind of gaps in which my general well-being was in someone else's hands.
The thing is, you don't forget trips on the back of a motorcycle. With the guy going at 100 km per hour and the cold, cold wind blowing in your face it is not a mode of transportation you choose for the comfort. Your eyes are closed for much of the time because of the wind so you don't appreciate the view either.
Remarkably considering how many nights I spent outside the house, it was only the third time I had become drunk. This was despite the gallant effort of my esteemed friends but I couldn't really hold any of them responsible for this.
I still don't know how I got home that night.
Mind you I reached this conclusion after a lot of head-scratching. Had I grabbed a cab? Or had I jumped on the back of a moto as I had done many times? An analysis of the money I had left suggested that I had made the journey home on the back of a motorcycle. If so, surely I would have remembered? I had heard about this kind of thing many times but I did not actually think you could wake up one morning and have no idea about the mode of transportation you had used to get back home. I remembered the party-well most of it- and only dimly remembered the club.
A few days later I asked Louis "Did you see me leaving on Saturday? I can't remember how I got home"
Louis started laughing. He laughed so hard that no straight answer was forthcoming but I managed to decipher that the general answer was no, he hadn't seen me leave. he found the whole thing hilarious, I considered it a bit creepy. I don't like having gaps in my memory especially the kind of gaps in which my general well-being was in someone else's hands.
The thing is, you don't forget trips on the back of a motorcycle. With the guy going at 100 km per hour and the cold, cold wind blowing in your face it is not a mode of transportation you choose for the comfort. Your eyes are closed for much of the time because of the wind so you don't appreciate the view either.
Remarkably considering how many nights I spent outside the house, it was only the third time I had become drunk. This was despite the gallant effort of my esteemed friends but I couldn't really hold any of them responsible for this.
I still don't know how I got home that night.
posted by Minzo at 4:17 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home