I know a Superhero. Or at least I suspect I do. He goes by the secret super code name Spyke (you should hear me say that). By daytime Our superhero lives his life as a veteran dog in an estate somewhere in Kenya and answers to the name Spike, but I am convinced(good luck convincing me otherwise) that by night Spike turns into the hero Spyke(you really should hear me say that). He roams the streets of Nairobi keeping it (relatively) safe from crime and criminals.
Let me tell you why I believe Spike the dog is secretly a superhero. Spike has been around for longer than I can remember. Ever since I was a child Spike was in the estate, and for a dog that is no small feat. Yet he doesn’t seem to have gotten much weaker. Yes, he now has a slight limp but isn’t that like an occupational hazard of being a superhero? He really inspires me, as I have already said he is like a million years old in dog years, yet still stays strong. I have seen him get into fights (and beat down) younger, fitter dogs. Every day on my way home from wherever I pass by our superhero and watch him as he silently listens to the still of the evening listening for signs of distress around the area, then with a hop and a bark he is off, to some secret corner to turn into Spyke and once again save the day.
I feel a lot safer in our hood that way, for what can happen to you when a super hero resides in your midst? Although, from my TV watching I suspect that it makes your place a little more vulnerable to attacks, I mean Townsville is always being terrorized by some beast or the other. I still feel safer knowing that in case of any danger with a hop and a bark Spyke will knock bad guys out of the park (and now he has a cool catchphrase too). Onto serious matter now though what makes us feel safe? I mean, I have my dog named Spike who doubles up as Superhero Spyke, others have houses built and fortified with 10 foot high walls topped electric wires. We build ourselves mini- prisons to live in are we locking the bad guys out, or ourselves in?
Last week just before the New Year’s celebrations my cousins got robbed in Mombasa. They weren’t doing anything wrong, they were in one of the safest houses there, but they still got robbed. Though what got me mad is not even that but the fact that since my Uncle (once removed) is white the first thing that the cops did was assume that my Aunt is a cheap prostitute and went on to insult her. Are they meant to make us feel safe? When I was a kid the safest place in the world was in my Father’s arms. Nothing could possibly go wrong if dad was around. How? I mean we all need that thing, that one place that makes us feel safe, some call it home some call it solace, I call it comfort and my comfort is in knowing that a superhero Spyke is just a couple of houses down the road. What’s your comfort?