How often do you wash your towel? Some people wash once a week, while some, once a year. The towel is a fertile breeding ground for millions of microbes, especially those found on human skin and on the gut. No wonder the towel is one of the objects that facilitate fecal-oral contamination (literally connecting the two ends of the gut). Worse still, most people keep towels in the bathroom (near the toilet). Every flush of the toilet sends mist with millions of microbes, ranging from H.pylori, salmonella and other deadly bacteria and viruses. When you wash your hands ready for a meal, and dry them with your body towel, there's high chance you are directly ingesting your fecal matter, or, if in a shared lavatory, someone else's faeces. Unless cleaned well, viruses such as human papillomavirus (causes warts, anal cancer and cervical cancer) can be transmitted when towels are shared with infected individuals. So, what to do? 1. Launder towels once a week. 2. Use hot water and det...
I was once stranded in town when I was new in Nairobi in 1999. It was 8pm and I desperately needed to go back to Umoja Estate where I was living with my elder sister.
There were no cell phones then and I didn't even have money to call any of the land-lines I knew. Even if I did, there was no likelihood of anyone I knew to be in the office then, including my cousin who was a City Magistrate or my aunty who worked at View Park Towers. I was certain my brother-in-law too had left the University where he still teaches to-date.
I stared at the real possibility of spending the night in the cold streets of the city. Nairobi then was a little too hostile, with menacing gangs prowling the streets with wanton abandon. I was frightened to the bone.
I slowly started walking from Kenya Cinema along Ronald Ngala street, towards the matatu stage. I was engulfed in fright. I was toying with the idea of walking to Umoja, but wasn't sure I could remember the road well at night.
At the junction of Ronald Ngala and Tom Mboya Street, where there used to be Savoy Casino, I spotted two traffic cops directing the evening traffic.
I took a deep breath and walked up to them. I had been told of horror stories involving the police, including arresting you for nothing and trumping up all manner of charges, including planting bhang in your pockets and such things. Worse still, I had never interacted with any police all my life. I mean, where would one interact with the police in Kaliini village?
I drew their attention, and initially they seemed agitated by my intrusion, given that they were busy waving traffic in four directions.
I explained my predicament, my entire body shaking like a leaf. My voice had literally hibernated in my lungs. I had to repeatedly answer the same question to be audible enough for them. They sized me up from head to my dusty shoes. All I needed was thirty shilling to get back home.
After an interrogation that felt like an eternity, one of them dug into his pockets, sifted through a wad of notes and handed me a fifty shillings note. I saw heaven come down right before my eyes.
I profusely thanked them, almost hugging each of them before the one who had not given me the money yelled, "wewe kijana enda nyumani!"
I scurried off like a cornered rabbit that just got an opportunity to dart into the nearest bush.
I don't remember ever sharing this experience with anyone, but it never left my heart. For from that day, I saw another face of the police that I didn't know.
Big salute to the many kind police officers out there, who continue to give a human face to the service.
Lone Felix, I bet this passes for
There were no cell phones then and I didn't even have money to call any of the land-lines I knew. Even if I did, there was no likelihood of anyone I knew to be in the office then, including my cousin who was a City Magistrate or my aunty who worked at View Park Towers. I was certain my brother-in-law too had left the University where he still teaches to-date.
I stared at the real possibility of spending the night in the cold streets of the city. Nairobi then was a little too hostile, with menacing gangs prowling the streets with wanton abandon. I was frightened to the bone.
I slowly started walking from Kenya Cinema along Ronald Ngala street, towards the matatu stage. I was engulfed in fright. I was toying with the idea of walking to Umoja, but wasn't sure I could remember the road well at night.
At the junction of Ronald Ngala and Tom Mboya Street, where there used to be Savoy Casino, I spotted two traffic cops directing the evening traffic.
I took a deep breath and walked up to them. I had been told of horror stories involving the police, including arresting you for nothing and trumping up all manner of charges, including planting bhang in your pockets and such things. Worse still, I had never interacted with any police all my life. I mean, where would one interact with the police in Kaliini village?
I drew their attention, and initially they seemed agitated by my intrusion, given that they were busy waving traffic in four directions.
I explained my predicament, my entire body shaking like a leaf. My voice had literally hibernated in my lungs. I had to repeatedly answer the same question to be audible enough for them. They sized me up from head to my dusty shoes. All I needed was thirty shilling to get back home.
After an interrogation that felt like an eternity, one of them dug into his pockets, sifted through a wad of notes and handed me a fifty shillings note. I saw heaven come down right before my eyes.
I profusely thanked them, almost hugging each of them before the one who had not given me the money yelled, "wewe kijana enda nyumani!"
I scurried off like a cornered rabbit that just got an opportunity to dart into the nearest bush.
I don't remember ever sharing this experience with anyone, but it never left my heart. For from that day, I saw another face of the police that I didn't know.
Big salute to the many kind police officers out there, who continue to give a human face to the service.
Lone Felix, I bet this passes for
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