FRANKMWENDA

The Writing of my Place in History

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Amerucan in America

Denver, US of America

On a certain night last month, I was playing hide and seek with Calla at JKIA to start the longest flight of my flying life. About 26 hours’ journey (of course with the 2 layovers). Destination: the United States of America, specifically Denver, Colorado.

This was the result of a 2 month torturous preparation, getting the US Visa in the confusing times of the Kenya e-Passport.

If you have ever applied for a Visa to some of these countries, you know it’s a tortuous exercise. I have done it before and gotten denied, by the UK back in 2016 for not showing proof I would come back. As if we poor minions of the world hate our countries so much we want to run away and never come back. It’s true, I hate our political baboons, our hunger, our tribalism, our lack of equality…even our poor Airtel internet, the only affordable internet we have. But there are things and people you can’t run from. Like our athletes, literally. Seriously, our old Kabete matatus, our miraa which is now illegal in most places we would want to run to, our ugali (imagine not eating ugali for two weeks)… even tweeting away from home like Miguna Miguna doesn’t feel right.

UK visa denied

When the UK denied my visa

Anyway, as soon as I knew I would be going, I started the process of filling the form. I collected pictures of Calla, her mother, my mother, my father and my entire clan – you need to show those people you are a njuri ncheke elder and if you disappear they will put a curse on you. Every asset documentation I have, including the wheelbarrow receipt also went into the envelope, along with the proof that I can and have made a small human being who’s fully dependent on me. I got letters (in plural) from my employer, I made flight and hotel reservations and printed all those. This time they had no excuse.

So, I was surprised when I went to the Visa interview, which took a painstaking 30 full days to happen, and they didn’t ask me for any document.

Seriously, all my preparation and reading…which all said I have all the documents and for every question I would get asked, produce a supporting document, were dashed when the Immigration officer told me the documents would not be necessary. I got this sinking feeling that that meant I was wasting my time – just go home – because just on the queue, I had seen a couple of people turned away.

2 minutes later, I was told, “Your Visa has been approved. Go and pay at that counter…”

Look at God.

United States of America Visa

US Visa

It’s a long way to America

When I growing up in Gitura village, the farthest one would think of was hapo mbele mbele ya Nairobi. I came to Nairobi and went further, but America should be the new simile for far. America is far.

I took British Airways, which passed me on style ya matatu to American Air stage ya London Heathrow. 8 hours to London, 10 hours to Dallas and 3 hours to Denver. That’s a whooping 21 hours! It’s like taking 3 trips to Meru in Kensilver. And I only sleep in bed, so, I spent all those hours macho.

landing into Dallas

Landing into Dallas

Dallas was the point of entry, so, customs questions that would have been asked at the Nairobi Embassy were asked here.

Eti, Why are you here? I’m here for some business meetings.

Oh, eti research company? Do you have some samples of the research you do? No, I am not a researcher myself, I market.

Oh, eti how do you market? It’s a lot of things, hautashika saa hii.

When are you going back? Sikai saana – just a week and I’ll be off to the third world.

Then my passport got stamped. Have you noticed the e-passport is not being stamped a lot? I would have loved a stamp for every airport I visited, even if it was a connection. Now, they don’t. ūüôĀ

But I got that one, and with it, a license to roam the United States of America.

Denver.

My destination was Denver, Colorado. Denver is a quiet city, you don’t see a lot people in the streets – not like our Tom Mboya Street, not even like the quietest places like Runda or the real Karen. It could actually be smaller than our Nairobi. Especially what’s supposed to be the CBD – it only has a handful of buildings, none too tall – and the rest of the city is made up of townhouses and short storied buildings.

Reason? The city decided to never lose their sight of their beloved mountains, so they restricted building heights to a certain level. And are the mountains lovely or what?! I mean, look at that landscape!

Denver mountains frankmwenda US

Denver mountain view

I was staying at a lovely AirbNb right by the road. Which was the other amusing thing about America for a Kenyan like me – there are no fences! People build right next to the pavement with the doors and windows right there. You can literally peek into people’s houses and if you are a thief, the doors are so invitingly close. My room was by the road and didn’t even have a lock. OK, I lie, the door had a password. You would expect a big ass padlock with chains and dogs, right?

Speaking of dogs, virtually everyone has a dog. There are a lot more dogs than children, and people take their dogs everywhere. Especially to the office. You go to work with your dog and the dog waits for you. And gets petted by all these dog-lovers. Because everyone has a dog. 

dog walking

Gay Pride

If dogs in offices is weird in Nairobi standards, how about the fact that men kiss other men in public, and walk around eating ice cream and holding hands? Yes, homosexuality is legal in the US! Women freely date other women and men other men and its perfectly normal. They get married, too, a lot. I was there during the Pride Month, so everyone was proudly showing off their pride and flag – while in Africa, the pride month is the shame month. Let’s face it, though: there are lots of gay men and lesbians all over, I know several in Kenya, only that they hide from this whole judging and discriminating society.

A lesbian waitress  in a bar, after seeing my Kenyan passport, asked me if we jail people of the LGBT community, I told her the constitution says they should be jailed but Kenya doesn’t enforce that like many other countries and she gave me a lecture on freeing of the mind. Story for another day. ūüôā

Wonder how the waitress saw my passport? Well, they take IDs very seriously in the US before selling you alcohol, or weed (which is legal). You have to show your ID, even if you look 50, and there are no hard feelings… vile we feel bad when bouncers ask for our ID pale club Spree especially if you are with a Msupa (why don’t they ask the girls, even those that look 12?)

I could go and on and on, you know, about everything, the mountain hike, the train experience that almost made me miss my flight, the food, the bikes for hire, the rickshaws, the beggars, the Nairobi Park in Denver, my first Walmart experience, the highry and the celebrities, but tuachie hapo. For now. 

See you again soon, America.

GNLD, Forever Living and Other Stories

 

GNLD session

It’s many moons ago, and I am fresh in Nairobi (just after I had come into the city in search of education and proper initiation into the world). I have lots of time in my hands and it has not occurred to me that I could use that time to William around and build an empire (Those who did CPA full time know you aren’t in class all the time). So, my free time is spent lying on the bed with kina Kero and Flo staring at the ceiling and imagining how we’ll stop eating Ngumu Strungi and start owning Nairobi, “because if kina Kibaki own the city, why not us?”

One day, Flo, drunk with strungi says, “My cousin is quitting school to concentrate on another business she’s running. You know she just bought a car… what else would you be looking for in school when you can buy a car from your business?”

“What?” That jolts me out of bed, with lots of questions. I want to buy a car too and if this Third Year cousin of Flo’s has quit to buy a car, why am I struggling with this CPA which isn’t my passion, anyway?

We bug her so much she promises to introduce us to her cousin, which she does in a few week’s time.

I meet Esther. She is very very charismatic, articulate and she’s a girl who knows what she wants in life and is mapped out. She gives me this motivational speech on life and how I can get the position that I so deserve. I ask her if and how she can help me attain that, given that I have heard stories about her success.

So, she invites me to a meeting in Eagle House, 6th Floor, I think. And my-oh-my… That’s a superbly motivational meeting. People are giving testimonies of how right they are, how they quit employment and school to become very very rich. This year, the top “managers” are going to holiday in the US or some other country.

It gets me dreaming, this GNLD meeting.

I grabbing the opportunity to own cars in Nairobi, then buildings, and who knows, even Nairobi!

Registration is Sh. 6,300 which I promptly pay. (Remember I saved some money when I went to Visions Institute of Professionals rather than KCA?). Yeah, so I pay and forth to convince people. Esther, my manager, tells me I don’t have to convince people. I can identify people and she will do the rest.

2 months later, and I don’t have a single follower. Maybe that’s why I’m not a pastor. I can’t convince people to do shit.

how GNLD works

How GNLD works and all these networking stuff works

And there is another major detail that was conveniently left out: I have to buy and sell products worth Sh. 6000 or so (I think)! That’s should shitty… Why didn’t anyone tell me that? Esther again tells me no problem if I can’t sell, she will have someone sell it for me and give me the money to buy another one. The catch? Buy the most expensive thing and break it down into small packages. It was a cleaning liquid. That was another Sh. 3,600.

To date, I have never received a single cent from that… and my 10K+ with GNLD drank water.

A con job interview

A few years later, I’m still lying in bed, after class, browsing the internet. I’m looking for a job and I see an exciting one on Brighter Monday. Someone is looking for an accountant, with at least CPA Section 2. I have already completed Section 4 so I know I’m very qualified.

So, I send my CV and application letter. 2 days later, I am invited for an interview at Nairobi Cinema. God has answered my prayers and I’m finally leaving Satan’s poverty.

Dressed in a suit complete with a tie, I go to the place. Only that I see other smartly dressed people in a full room with a teacher at the front, doing sums on a whiteboard. I’m confused. Is this an interview or a training. I think they are teaching us something, then give us a small test for the job.

It takes me almost 10 minutes to realize that this ain’t no interview. The bastards are telling us about GNLD!

All the people on the room are CPA students and graduates, and the guy at the front was an accountant who quit to do GNLD full time. I am hurt, very hurt. Why would anyone do this to all these desperate people?

I raise my hand as if to ask a question and he excitedly allows me.

“You invited us for an interview to sell us this shit GNLD scam? Guys, these people are con men! All this is is bullshit!” I say with the anger of a Baite and walk out, leaving the teachers with open mouths and a few of the students scrambling to leave.

My friend Bernard Muiru also got this GNLD “job”: Part 1 | Part 2

—-

The Crush Calls… wants us to Live Happily Forever

Yet a few years later, an old classmate of mine, Josephine is reconnecting. We have not been in touch since we finished school. I’m thinking she is missing me because she keeps calling me. All.the.time! I’m actually feeling lucky – Josephine was a cutie when we went to school together. And we were quite good friends… after the crushing ended. Could she be crushing on me after my crushing on her ended? Or does she want us to settle and make a family? ūüôā

She tells me she will buy me one glass of my beloved mango juices, because she wants us to talk. Badly. Feels like a booty call.

So, of course I agree to meet her. And we meet in one of those restaurants in town, drink our juice and catch up. You know, what we are doing after CPA… I’m interning at an IT firm and she’s in business, because jobs are hard to get. Bla bla bla. And she wants me to meet some people who can help.

So, off we go, to Eagle House again…and it gives me a really bad feeling.

“I hope we aren’t going to GNLD”

“Oh. You know GNLD?”

“Yes. And I really hope you aren’t taking me there because this will be bad.”

“No. I can’t be involved with GNLD.”

Phew! We walk into a huge room with desks. If this ain’t GNLD, is she introducing me to Illuminati or something?

Only that it’s not. I get introduced to everyone around a table, who are all genuinely pleased to meet me. They tell me I must be a very good friend of Josephine – she must love me to give me this opportunity.

Of joining Forever Living!

Forever living discussion

It was a round table discussion like this. Image: teachingprofessor.com

I tell them I know Forever Living is like GNLD and they tell me those are two very different things. You don’t have to carry bags of products or even invite people if I don’t want. You just start amassing wealth as soon as you join. They show me progression charts and what you get when you get to a certain level. You start with cars, then houses in South Africa and some other place, then a helicopter and finally a yacht!

Do you know anyone who owns a yacht anywhere? I would be that guy.

By then I am streetwise enough to know nothing comes that easy. Hii ni Nairobi bwana!

“Don’t you have relatives to show this shit before showing a stranger, me, such an opportunity to get rich?” I asked.

They look at me, fumbling for words.

“Exactly.” And left with a glee.

Conclusion

You can’t get rich through these network pyramid schemes. Unless you started it.

Celebrating the Death of “those people”

Meru-accident-death

Last weekend was a dark weekend for our village and the surrounding villages. The dark cloud still hangs over us like a giant rock about to crash us. What you saw on TV and read in newspapers and social media actually happened to us. The horrible accident in along Meru-Nkubu Road that killed 8 people affected is directly. To us, it was not just a statistic. We lost family members, neighbours, close friends. Children are mourning the loss of both parents, parents distraught at the loss of their children… and we’ve been crying, wailing in pain, asking God Almighty all the questions and receiving no answers. See, it’s barely 2 years ago since another accident claimed the life of Mfa and 3 others that we are still not through.

And so, again, we were in the news for all the wrong and unfortunate reasons. Everywhere we turn, is news of a “grisly accident in Meru that killed 8 people” some say 9 and others 10. See, to the media and all these social media journos, it’s just another horrible statistic.

Yet that’s not the worst thing. The worst thing is the comments under these social media posts.

People are celebrating our pain. People are actually jubilant that these “Merus” died. Heartless people are stomping on the blood and tears. Some people are actually wishing more died, that it was a bigger vehicle and if they were gods they would have killed more because they deserve it.¬†

Some reasons have been given, and the more you read them, the more you feel like gagging. These Merus deserved to die because they didn’t vote for someone, because they promised a certain politician votes but betrayed him and his tribe at the last minute. There’s also the celebration of the election winner’s sacrifice to the gods, they voted for him and he’s paying their souls to the devil. Also, the police is killing their tribesmen and this was the gods’ way of avenging them.¬†

All this because of elections! We have been turned into heartless objects (no animal can be this heartless) by politics. Never mind everyone involved got his share of votes in Meru and you don’t know who these people voted for! And even if you knew, is a freaking election worth all this insensitivity? All this madness and lack of soul?

Don’t believe that? Just look at the comments on KTN, Citizen TV, NTV and K24 posts on Facebook on the accident. Here are a few (click to expand the comments):

There are other Kenyans celebrating police killings. Okay, the Police is trying to prevent anarcy from happening, but killing citizens is not the correct option, and no one should be dancing about it and saying these people deserved it. No one deserves death! Unless you are a killer yourself, 0f course. 

A friend of mine posted on Facebook about the IEBC Chair, Wafula Chebukati’s report that his life is in danger. You should see the bile in the comments. Almost everyone in there wants that report to be true, almost everyone ¬†wants him to die. I mean, really? Is elections worth a life?

These elections have taught me something. Loss is difficult, in all ways. Even if it’s Chelsea losing to Burnley because the referee gave two red cards. If your hope of positive change was pegged on someone and he lost, you will be understandably disappointed. This gets worse if you believe the loss wasn’t fair. That’s all human nature.

So, if you see such comments, try to understand. In a way, these people are mourning a loss also. Extend a hug, comment back and tell them you love them, show them you understand. If we insult these people like they are insulting our dead, it will be a spiral of negativity, which is not fair for anyone. We all need to heal.

But, as disappointed as you are, don’t make politics a matter of life and death. Especially death. Never wish death upon anyone, never be insensitive to anyone who’s mourning. It can happen to anyone, any time.

Yo! Yo! I am a Rapper.

Frankmwenda the Rapper

I am a rapper. At heart, everywhere. And now, it’s time to roga you musically. How do I know that? That I am a super MCee, super lyric buster? I just know… I know my talents and rapping is one of them.

This rap mojo started when I was in high school. In Form 2, to be specific. My Gitura ushamba was slowly wearing off and I was making up for lost time. I was sporting towards “becoming a G”. My Lyric Book (remember them?), did not have those mellow Westlife shit yours had. No! Mine was Gangsta… I collected lyrics from XZibit, Busta Rhymes, Dr. Dre, Lil Kim, Wu Tang,¬†Run DMC and such – it came with a Parental Advisory sticker because, well, it was explicit content.

How did I get these lyrics, you ask? Way before there were Cyber Cafes, Posta used to have computers that connected to the internet. All you needed to do is buy a SurfCard worth kedo 100 bob and use the internet for 3 hours. I would use my full days during the holidays researching about Hip Hop and writing down the lyrics, writing, not printing. That’s how dedicated I was to Hip Hop. Then when the school opened I would be the real thing, debating underground and old school Hip Hop with the cool kids from the city.

Then I bought cassettes, lots of radio cassettes loaded with Hip Hop. CD ni za jana. I even bought MP3 CDs, never mind we had no CD player, and there was no place I would listen to it. I was just intrigued that I could have 150 songs; Hip Hop songs in one place. Again, it would give me front seat in the hall during Entertainment Fridays.

Hip hop cassettes Frankmwenda rapper

Some of the tapes still in my collection

In school we had factions. East Coast and West Coast that never saw eye to eye. Tupac and Notorious BIG wasn’t as vicious, those lived on different Coasts of the US… we used to live in the same dormitories and learn in the same classes. It was war! And the neighbouring Kanjalu Girls School had their own G-Unit… so we formed our Terror Squad and terrible disses flew.

Church Rapper

My G culture carried on even to the village. To Church. Soon, I was freestyling the Good Gospel of the Lord. I would ask for a slot to “kuwaimbia wimbo mmoja” and rap my message. One time, during Christmas I called the Wise Men “the smart dudes from the East Side”… and made the E sign. A church elder called me later to counsel me. ūüôā Or that time when I was playing Black Eyed Peas’ Where is the Love song in Church (it sounded gospel-ish, no?) Only that it was a cassette and Side B had DMX’ X Gonna Give it to You. Started like this:

Uh, yeah don’t get it twisted
This rap shit, is mine
Motherf****r, it’s not, a f****g, game
F**k what you heard
It’s what you hearing

Another time one of those Holy Joes in village churches who judge the lesser, more sinful people¬†using their own definitions of Christianity; said something about my dressing and I hit him with a verse from Kleptomaniac’s Bado Niko.

mimi bado niko mi Frank ni hatari
na si swali
toroka songa mbali
fimbo yangu mic mzee chunga maslahi
niaje unanipinga mi ni Musa ama Msinai
mi huwanga na sumu ndani ya saliva
niki-spit naenda deep kama deep sea diver

When I came to Nairobi I started attending (free) Hip Hop concerts at Sarakasi; those rap sessions. And this other time at KICC when we stayed at a Ukoo Flani Mau Mau Hip Hop concert so late we almost got mugged.

Kero the free-styler

If you thought Kero was Mshamba think again (okay, to some extent he was)… when we didn’t have a radio, we would use his phone’s Bomfunk ringtone to freestyle ourselves to sleep. We had lines. Better lines and flow than kina Khaligraph Jones.

Too bad I left Nairobi for some time, started growing up and looking for money in the corporate world – made me forget that I was a rapper at heart.

And then recently I started meeting rappers for coffee, still in the corporate world. Like Kaka and Juliani and asking them about their lifes in music- you know, learning from the real Gs.

King Kaka frankmwenda rapper

Don’t you think my stars are aligning? Isn’t that a sign that I should be a rapper?

Yesterday I decided to roga my fans with a freestyle on Facebook… and it all came back to me. Check that out here, the real killers are in the comments.

Hip Hop is in my blood. I should become a rapper. I have some sunglasses, that stadii hat, lines… and I have an Amerucan accent. All it takes to be a rapper. Want an autograph?

KnowWatI’mSayin’

When a Thika Prostitute Pins you to the Wall

prostitute thika

I hate Thika!

The first time I went to Thika was less than two years ago when Mfa passed on. I have since associated Thika with death and I only go there if it’s absolutely necessary.

Like two Fridays ago when we had some work to do at Thika Technical.

There are few good things about Thika, at least to me. I don’t club so if you worship Thika clubs like some of my friends do, sorry, that’s boring. Neither am I good friends with the sun, and Thika has a lot of it. I think the only good thing about Thika is pork.

And after work that day, we walked to the Pork street of Thika. They have a whole street dedicated to pork restaurants. That might have been the biggest mistake we made that day – eating pork on a Friday like true kaffirs.

Why do I say this? Because of what happened shortly after enjoying lustful amounts of the dirty animal.

It was around 8:00 pm, thereabouts. Still strolling around Thika with toothpicks in our mouths like Kikuyu sponsors, we came across a street that had women lined. All sizes of women. The slender ones who looked like they were malnourished. The huge ones who look like a certain Njoki who works in a Limuru pub. And the plain janes who haven’t chosen a side. (Btw, I don’t describe women by their body shape unless they wrong me) Some in small dresses, others wearing only handkerchiefs around their crotches and chests, others in plain jeans and tops. I swear I saw one in a kitenge, like a church woman. Clearly, this was no church, these were ladies of the night. And this, right here, was their open market.

The first few in line; I think those were the freshest in the market (oops!), just looked at us pass. We did not look like we could pay, I guess. The next batch showed us some interest, and we earned some cat calls (is that how you girls feel when men whistle at you?).

The third batch was made up of the “beatest of them all” (or what would you call kuchapa?). These ones were blatant. The veranda was thin, so we walked in a line, Ben and Dan ahead of me. I saw two women block their path and start hugging them, you know like they knew them. I burst out in laughter. Women were mishandling two grown men! But men being men, they were playing that game – you know, asking them the price of certain elements like “touching” “room” “things I won’t say.” I was just laughing at them, with a tinge of embarrassment.

Not for long. Remember Wrestling? When a wrestler would pin another in a corner in the ring and work on them? That’s what happened to me next. Only this time I was Mysterio and the other wrestler was Rikishi.

Rikishi of Thika, Kenya

This is Rikishi, btw

And, this time, it was not a soft ring… I was pinned to the wall! By Rikishi’s sister!

fat-Thika-woman

This one

 

Sexiest, literally, woman in Thika?

I was defenseless, as she started daggering and whining and doing what Jamaican riddim dancers do.

She kept telling me in Gikuyu:

Tuthii kashoti kamwe mundu. (Something to do with shots)

Of course, I was squirming like a kid refusing his medicine. I tried to shove her but she couldn’t move an inch. She was heavy. You can’t just move Rikish.

I was suffocating. she had a whiff of a stink. Probably people’s shotis.

“Mani, andu arume ni manjui guku Thika. Service yakwa ni best!” (Man, Thika men know me. I have the best service).

I was on the verge of puking now. Her three stomachs were bumping at me. She moved her hand to my crotch like she wanted to touch me down there and that’s when I swerved and hit her chest with my head, running away; I was almost run over by a car.

They laughed, their laughter sounding like the devil enjoying a scene in hell.

“Wewe ukajua vile mimi¬†ulilisha wanaume hii Thika haungehepa hivyo kama mtoto.” (If you knew how I make men cry/moan in this town you wouldn’t have run like a baby.)

I didn’t talk back. I just stood away as she called out to me and waited for Ben and Dan, literally shaking. Not with arousal… that woman would have made m impotent. I am still scarred.

So, we walked off discussing our ordeal. Turned out they also had had their share of tough loving – those Thika women are too aggressive. Can easily rape you.

Or, wait! They can steal from you. I paused, felt my pocket – my money was still in the back pocket. I am a wise guy, no one can steal from me. Or not.

Checking again, there was only a 50 bob note in my pocket! She has expertly separated the money and left a ka-50!

The prostitute had mugged me! Don’t tell me that’s pick-pocketing. That’s robbery with violence.

This is yet another reason to hate that damned Thika and I probably should start a Thika Initiation series.

Main Pic: Business Insider

My Bad-ass Valentine’s Day Ideas

valentines-day-1159281_1280

Last week, I was live on Radio Jambo, talking about Valentine’s Day and how to spend the least but make the best impression on Valentine’s.¬†So if you had any doubts about my expansive knowledge¬†of the subject of love, there you have it (twitches my fingers like a badass mafia capi). You can say “…awww, his girlfriend is soo lucky, dating such a romantic bae”. Well, Awww to you too! ūüôā

Now that we have established I am an expert in these things, up there with Chris Hart and Gertrude Mungai, read on carefully on how to rock your Valentine’s Day on a shoestring budget. (Okay, the point is not the budget…)

Invent the Valentine’s Gift

You don’t have to buy her flowers because everybody else is buying her flowers. Actually, flowers are nonsense, and they are too boringly cliche, and they dry fast. Back in the days, right after high school, I got Lorna a muraa¬†(that’s singular for miraa) as a Valentine’s flower. It was a joke but I am sure Lorna remembers that particular flower.

I am not saying that you get your girl a muraa – leave that to me… but invent. Show her that you gave her a special thought and did not just get her the trendiest thing on the street. Write her a letter on a flowered writing pad as we did back then (spray some perfume, too), give her a bunch of carrots, decide to have your Valentine’s the day after. Be unique.

Valentine's Day Kenya

Don’t Go to a Movie or Play, Act yours

Cinemas and play theaters will be fully jammed Valentine’s Day, so, don’t go to iMax or Alliance Francaise or wherever. You can do that on Saturday. This Valentine’s, act your own movie. Fight on the streets for her¬†(make sure you win if you are the sterro of your movie), buy those water gun¬†toys and “kill” each other, play some game, like kati or¬†bathe in the river mpararo. Let her slap you so that you can kiss her in exchange, you know, the things that happen only in the movies.

Make it a dramatic Valentine’s!

photoshoot Valentine's

Take photos, enough photos to last your Instagram a year!

Stay Home and Cook, naked.

Well, if you aren’t married forget the “naked” part. Thou shalt never see each other’s things before marriage.

Yes, you can stay at home and cook something that you are not used to. It is okay to try new things, like boiling mukhobero¬†with njugu and waiting to see the result after eating. Lingerie is too overrated, make your house the Garden of Eden before the snake – kaa bila. ¬†If you decide to stay naked, make sure you stay away from the oil, that badass can destroy your skin… oh, and don’t touch each other with pepper.

It is okay to get carried away… the food will burn, but it will be fun.

cook together

Make it spicy, literally

Walk around town aimlessly

Pretend you are kids and walk around town with no destination in mind. Walk up and down like you did on school opening days. Pop into a chipo joint and order chips with kuku pono. A lot of people will be doing proper dinners so the chips joints will not be full.

Then walk to one of those benches in town, sit down and talk. Flag a hawker and order one of those Ginger Biscuits and Tropical. Enjoy the moment, gossip about the couples walking in red carrying stupid flowers and life size dolls.  And then walk into a park, remove your shoes, lay a leso and lie on the grass. Watch the ants. Buy a soda and bread. Drop litter and run from kanju, it is fun.

sit and talk this Valentine's

Just sit on a bench and talk about everything and nothing. Gossip!

Remind yourselves of the First Day

How well do you remember your firsts? The first time you saw each other, what were you wearing? Wear that. What did you say? Say that. Where did you go on the first date? Go there.¬†¬†How was your first kiss? Redo it. See how much you can remember, and every time one forgets something, pinch them… or fine them. This way, I swear your love will be renewed.

Remember why you will be doing this – it is not that you have no money to treat each other, you will be doing this for the sentimental value and it beats any of those things people do on Valentine’s Day.

And in any case, Valentine’s Day is too overrated. Love your partner every.single.day!

 

Miathene Mono – My First Day in High School

Miathene Mono Kenya

I have seen a few monos in the streets this week. You can tell a mono from a mile away, you can smell even a mono. You can see it in the clothes, brand new, with ridiculously sharp iron lines, blindingly shone shoes, crudely knitted names on the sweaters, shirts and sometimes, even pants.  And the faces, the faces betray monoism, frightened eyes, wildly chewing jaws, bouncing steps (fake confidence). I see them and I shake my head. If only they knew where they are going.

Reminds me of my mono moment, years ago.

I was a fresh ntane, initiated into a full Meru man after Primary School, right before High School. So I was swollen. I mean, fat (when people are circumcised in Meru, they are secluded and fed. It was said, your only work in seclusion was to eat, lie down and poop, so it was a mother’s prestige when her son came out with closed eyes, I mean, fat cheeks and fat eyebrows).

When I was called to Miathene Boys’ I was both elated and sad. It was my first choice and it was the first time I would be leaving home for a long spell. ( Mother and I had shunned boarding school in Primary). My most hated aunt (everyone has that one hated relative) said Miathene was far and she wouldn’t come for Visiting Days (I was happy she wouldn’t be coming to see me, anyways) but I was scared. Where was this Miathene? Why did I choose a school I had no clue where it was?

But then, I was now a man and wasn’t allowed to tell my parents I was scared. I was gonna be a man and go.

So, we went out, did shopping and got ready, and did the normal monoism rituals. We had the uniform marked, and the dictionary and Atlas and the Bible (given to me by the Church) written in blocky red on the sides and random pages inside. Even my metal box was taken to a paint artist who wrote in a fancy font, FRANKLINE M. KIBUACHA.

I couldn’t say I needed boxers so I waited till the last day and told Kathee, my day father (LOL, that’s the person who takes care of you inside seclusion).

To Dusty Miathene in a Landrover!

A neighbour gave us his Landrover, and people to fill it started queuing for a place. By the leaving day, we were a full Landrover. It was open at the back, so about 10 of us stood back there and started the journey. The son of the village was going to high school and the whole village had come to take him there ¬†(It was such a big deal then in Gitura). Those who didn’t go gave me tokens. I was loaded.

When we branched off the main tarmac road at Kianjai, I started praying that this was a shortcut and we would soon join tarmac past Meru town. There was no way I would be going to school in such a dry, dusty place! Yes, it was so dusty we took lesos and covered our heads (even the circumcised me).

And we covered several kilometres of this, with the February sun shining angrily at us for daring disrupt it’s beauty sleep with a trail of dust and the roar of an old Landrover. We soon came to a Market called Miathene and it all dawned on me. I would be spending 4 years in this godforsaken place which was definitely not what I had signed up for. The owner of the Landrover had an aunt in Miathene market, Mrs. Nkumbuku and she had a shop. We passed by her and she committed to be my mother, that I was to lack nothing.I. oils the anything on credit and she would be paid back. If any problem arose at school, she was to be there for me.

Miathene Market

Miathene Market

Grand Entry

We then drove into the school. Dry, brown playground with grass drying from the hot Tigania sun, old timber and mabati buildings before you came to the Administration Block which had a roundabout that held the flag post. Students came out to stare and point at our vehicle. Our Landrover had made quite an entrance. ūüôā

We hopped off. The murram felt punishing under my Landrover-lagged feet. I looked around, there was a long queue of metal boxes snaking to the Admin block, which looked like a classroom. It was after classes, the bigger boys were already milling around to take a look at the monos. Some were too huge, some had beards (imagine beards in high school) and many had these menacing looks – more like predators waiting for their prey to finish up admission into the jungle. I was scared.

Luckily, two bigger boys came forward. Morris (a menacing Form 4 from my village, who I didn’t even know was a student) and Felix (a Form 2 who had spotted my cute cousin Doreen). I heaved a sigh of relief. With these two, no one was going to touch me! And they assured as much – Morris to my parents, and Felix to my cousin (he clearly had a crush on her, which helped).

Touch him again, Mono!

When we were cleared to go to the Dorms, I walked ahead carrying my bucket as Morris and Felix carried my box. Suddenly, a boy came out of the blues and ran a rough hand across my face and announced that he was “removing cobwebs” while trying to snatch the bucket from me. You should have heard the slap Morris gave him!

“You touch him again and I will kill you, MONO!”

He was a Form 2, and to a Form 4, everybody up to Form 3 was a mono! And I was happy to be his mono.

This is a class in Miathene

This is a class in Miathene

The following few days were so interesting, I should make a movie out of the experience.

__

Main Pic: Njugush. Source: Standard

Chronicles of my Village, Gitura

village Mamaa

This is NOT Mamaa

The other day I was told of a women group on Facebook rivalling Kilimani Mums… it’s called Vuteni Stool. When a woman says, “vuta stool nikuambie”, know it’s going to be a hot story.

I’m not a woman, not even remotely with this smug face of mine, but vuta stool I tell you about my village. It’s one of the best, most comic places you will ever find.

Life in my village is a comedy movie.

To the uninitiated, I’m a son of Gitura, some 3km East of Maua town CBD (yes, Maua has a CBD). If Maua was a bigger town, Gitura would be its leafy suburb.
Some years back, Gitura was a Kosovo. You wouldn’t have dared walk around if you were a visitor, or a skimpily dressed girl. It was a dangerous place. And rightly so, people were not going to school (you can blame a booming miraa business if you want but I won’t). So, people lived around. Our group was the first to come to Nairobi in search for higher education. When I came to Nairobi, I didn’t know anyone… that’s why Nairobi played me as roughly as it did. (Haithuru, I made it better for the next generation).

But then Gitura went through a change, people became more focused, parents started valuing education, the two churches became United and stronger…and things started getting up. We had piped water, a secondary school of our own, electricity, etc (only the main road remains a stony shamba that only Landrovers can navigate. F— the politicians).

Now you have the background, lean closer. Like every village, Gitura has intrigues.

Some village mushene

Kambura beats her husband, almost every week. And she sleeps with her daughters’ boyfriends. And she is the man of the house, literally. She handles the family miraa farms, she takes the husband’s salary, she is the one the kids fear… that woman even drinks Guiness while her hubby drinks Fanta and sugarcane. Where the feminists at?

Mamaa: They steal my wives

Let’s talk about Mamaa. I love that man… that’s right, Mamaa is a man. His life is a comedy strip. That man is soo good, soo friendly, soo funny. Some time back, Mfa joked to him he would bring him to me in Nairobi. Mamaa was ecstatic. The only other time he had hoped he would reach Nairobi is when he came to a pass-out at Kenya Prisons College in Ruiru. Mamaa was mad, they had told him Ruiru is in Nairobi..And how he was so close, so far.¬† So this time he went and packed a bag, bade his family goodbye and with some swag, went to Mfa’s. But dude was asleep. He wasn’t going to Nairobi. Mamaa was too pissed and embarrassed to go back home, he went and slept at some place for a week.

miraa taxii

He looks like Mamaa. Expert “Miraan” with perfect taxiis

Mamaa is a master miraa chewer. I have always seen him with a full cheek. He makes a taxii so hard David would have borrowed it to kill Goliath. So it came as a surprise when one week, Mamaa wasn’t seen doing his miraa. When asked me said he had a new wife and since people take his wives as he’s chewing his miraa in the market, he was protecting his new wife. And he was serious, people would snatch his wives. This time he stayed at home with a bow and arrows, waiting for any man to go near his wife! Mamaa is a legend.

village Mamaa

This is NOT Mamaa

Mamaa had a neighbour called Miriti (God rest his soul). If Mamaa is Churchill, Miriti was Mc Jessy. He even talked like him. Guy used to drink…all the time. He would drink and crawl home. One day, he quarrelled with his wife and took a rope to hang himself. With the rope around his neck, he went up a tree, and started doing a last dance. Unluckily, the branch he was stepping on snapped! As he went down he shouted “Uuuuwiiii! Mukundo mbita murii ntiukari serious!” Loosely translated to “Cut the rope, asshole! I wasn’t serious (about killing myself)! They cut the rope and gave him a serious beating. Unfortunately, Miriti committed suicide years later.

Village Clowns: Kirianki and Bandia.

Another ludicrous pair is Kirianki and Obadia (Bandia) They have been beat friends since we were kids in school. And I don’t know where they got their stories from, but during break time, we would sit around them to listen to their stories. Complete with songs like, “Kasabubu saided, aah saided, Kasabubu uumira aah uumira.” They would have won any high school oral narrative. And when the teachers noticed this, they made them start a school band that used to go all the way to District Drama Festivals. District is a big deal to Gitura Primary School.

graderdance5

People would be sitting in a chromed kiosk and Kirianki breaks the blissful silence that comes when miraa starts to shika and says “Bandia Bandia, kuna network home?” Well, Safaricom is quite strong those sides… what he meant was, “Is there food at home?” And Kirianki would be very creative. Picture this, he and another guy called Muriki would be eating mangoes, well, Muriki would be in a tree with mangoes on his lap and because Kirianki was a bit big and would not go up the tree, he would be gawking like the fox who said the fruits weren’t ripe… And then ran away suddenly, screaming… Muriki fell off the tree in fright, and fled, leaving the mangoes, only for our Man Kirianki to come back and take all the mangoes!
Kirianki, his brother and the cow.

And there was this time Kirianki bought a cow, which he would leave hanging out in his brother’s maize garden, enjoying itself. His brother confronted him and Kirianki told him, “if that cow as much as smells your maize again, sell it and drink the money.” The following day, the cow was having a good time in the maize garden again…and his brother, another cracker nut, took it to the market, sold it, drank beers instead of chang’aa that day and even bought Kirianki a beer. As Kirianki took the Tusker, he wondered how his brother had suddenly become so rich and philanthropic. So he asked him:

“Murume, why are you so good today? You have never bought me even the small soda ever.”
“All thanks to you, brother. Your cow ate my maize.”

Kirianki fainted.

Hey, can we fight?

fight

One day, my girlfriend (now ex) got into a fight with me because I didn’t fight her. Close your mouth… I also get girlfriends, I have a girlfriend. I just don’t post her photos on Instagram because, you know, witchcraft is real, and some jealous neighbour may see our heavenly happiness and decide to roga us. I hate witches, those jealous people.

Now that I have finished dreamily staring into space with the sudden feeling of love, let me tell you about this ex of mine. She was frustrated because I was too loving, literally. And she had read somewhere that people don’t love you if you don’t fight. And she was wondering why we never fought. She would bring up opportunities to fight but I never took them, she even hit me with her phone one fine evening and challenged me, “If you are a man get up and fight me!”

Of course I should have stood up, walked to the bedroom and came out with a whip or some cane and caned her thoroughly like my great grandpa did about his wives. But I’m a lover, never a fighter… and I (almost meekly said), “No, love, I won’t fight you, I will fight for you.”

She was clearly not impressed by my Shakespearean romance because she took her now broken phone and left. Like the good gentleman I am, I didn’t follow her. And that’s how I became single.

See, I was never brought up to fight. If this was the medieval times, I would have been a war secretary rather than a soldier. My extended family is a fighting one, I’ve never fought. Not even in Primary school apart from this time a new student and his elder brother ganged up to fight, no, beat me one day after school. Luckily for me I had a cousin who’s a renowned fighter. Ken took on both of them and left them with red noses and asses. That must have sent a warning because no one challenged me to a fight again.

My friend, Ryan, was a fighter, and he was gutted when he heard I have never fought. He’s a huge American so he looks for brawls. He was always looking for fights in the bar for me to test my fists. Never materialized. He called me sissy. A title I wore with pride. It’s better than stitches or the mortuary slab, right?

Until the other day. I was in the centre of a mighty fight in a strange place…

Picture this: we’re totally knocked out some place in Kiambu. We’re walking out of a joint when a total stranger in a rowdy crowd spanks my girl. Not even a sissy would take that. So I throw punches, she throws a few slaps. Her friend comes in with a bottle. And hell breaks loose.

It was a war. Literally. I was fighting for my pride and these two girls were my loyal soldiers. It became a spectacle, we even got fans. I think we were doing our fighting quite well. We had a cause, our enemies were being driven by alcohol demons, and remember, we hate demons. So we were beating the demons out, not them.

Bouncers were no match. They threatened US with the police and I lend them my phone to call the police. We told them to call KDF.

You should have seen and felt the way we licked our lips when everybody backed off. Victory tastes great, friends.

And, after the war had ended and we were headed to the car, Kero(yes, he had to be there), who was trying to “separate” us all along decided it was his turn to hit. He came in with so much fury we had to carry him off one of the hooligans! Totally inexplicable.

I now knew what I had been missing throughout my life; the joy of fighting.

So, are you going to sit there reading this all day, or are we gonna fight? ūüôā

Boys and Dogs

boys eat away from the rest

It’s Sunday morning. It’s been a week since you had your last bath. Your legs are the real definition of mpararo – complete with whitish-greyish drawings, atlas maps on your legs.

Speaking of legs, you are showing lots of skin because your green, yellow or brown shorts reach mid-thigh like a socialite in hot pants.

Your hair looks like a lawyer’s wig. White from the kamuithia you made with ashes on Monday. And yesterday’s swimming at the stagnant pond nearby.

You also have slight bumps where your mother caned you on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Your elder brother also gave you a beating yesterday when you tried to run from your mother, properly beating you before handing you over. And now, you have to be washed together with your smaller sister in the compound so that you can attend Sunday school. The home has no fence, so your classmates going to Sunday School are watching your kaninii from the fence. You want to die.

Visitors

When you come from Church, kitchen aromas flow. See, today there are visitors. And visitors are a big big deal. So it feels like Christmas. You never cook rice or chapatis or chicken or spaghetti if it’s not Christmas or visitors’ day.

But you are a boy. You are hastily told to get rid of your church clothes and get the cow grass. You throw a mighty tantrum, but look at mum’s eyes and immediately pick a sack and run. Those are eyes that beat you. Your sister remains home in her Sunday best.

When you come back, the visitors have arrived and are talking merrily in the sitting room. You want to go to them but you can’t dare. Your aunt, not mom, in the kitchen serves you just one meal out of the many… for example only rice with salad when there were 13 different dishes. You whine like boys do and she tells you, “visitors don’t finish food. You will eat the left overs.” You pick your plate and drag your feet in protest towards the house. She calls you back and harshly tells you to go to the back of the kitchen, towards the cow shed and eat from there.

boy-and-dog

Only your trusty dogs join you in your agony. You want to break something.

Meal done, you trudge off to play with other boys in the neighbourhood. Dirty and tired, and without your sister to bully, you come back home, mpararo again. Visitors are laughing. You can’t miss this. So you go and lie outside the door, longingly looking at the table with barely touched chapatis. Beyond that, your sister sits blowing a balloon with a visitor kid. She looks happy. You look at her like a dog, and try to beckon. She is either too busy or ignoring you.

Eyes

To capture her attention, you go closer and closer. She now has your attention, but when you stretch your hand like a chokora pointing at the table, she changes her expression and swings her neck like they do. Undeterred, you go to the window and look in. There is too much fun in there. You hang at the ledge looking in.

Your mother sees you and you totally avoid her eyes. Because you know there is murder in there.

A dog comes and licks your leg and sends you tumbling. You go to the door and signal your sister to songea you. You walk in, no, crawl in under tables like a mouse and plant your small ass next to her. And start enjoying the stories.

Soon, a visitor notices you and muses “…na huyu ni nani?” Your mother notices you and with a plastic smile, she says you are Mwenda. Remember Mwenda? Ooh, he is so grown now. Which class is he in? Ulikuwa number? Ooone… wow! Very smart boy. Umetoka wapi? Endless visitor questions that are irritating your mother. Before long, you have a chapati in your hands. A visitor pours you some tea and you are now part of the party.

Until your mother calls you outside.

“Ngoja wageni waende utanitambua leo. Hiyo chapati umeniaibisha nayo utaitapika.”

You know you will die today. And you spend your last hours with your dogs playing in the farm, until the visitors time to go reaches and as they are escorted, you also escort them, but from far. That’s how revered visitors were. You just couldn’t resist the urge.

True to her word, your mom gives you a proper beating in the evening, after making sure you have eaten to your fill. She even bites your hand as your sister laughs away.

Boys and dogs behind the classroom

At the moment, only your dogs seem to love you licking your woods and striving to please you.

Remember last Saturday when there was a wedding? Your sister was¬†shikaing the wedding¬†and the MC said, “ladies, please take food to those bi√ģj√ģ na kur√Ľ¬†(boys and dogs) behind the classroom.”

crying boys

It’s tough being a boy. Boys were hated by everything and everybody.

If you are Circumcised

uncircumcised-penis banana

“Kama umetahiriwa nitusi tena.”

I was in my village last week. And I took a walk around the village one fine evening inspecting projects of development.

The girls I knew as babies were shyly smiling at me. Grown women who are now worthy of visiting my simba.  One or two now have babies of their own.

Boys I saw being taken home in baby shawls from hospital are now fearsome young laing’o capable of filling both cheeks with taxiies of veve (a feat I have never accomplished).

This is why I don’t go home often. All these people, plus my grandmother asking me if I have tested my masini to see why I don’t have a wife and children… these people make me feel old. Na mimi ni mtoto tu.

Back to my development inspection. I take my rounds, greeting everybody I meet, because, from the smiles everybody knows and loves me. The smiles are very very genuine. I should become a village elder.

Man-And-Wife-Fight-Each-Other-In-Public-Over-Infidelity-Accusation-PHOTOS

Until I meet an old couple fighting. They both look familiar but I probably know their parents. The woman, bleeding and carrying two stones, runs towards me, gets behind me and proudly announces:

Kama umetahiri rushia classmate wangu mawe, choo wewe.”

“Hata mimi Calif ni classmate wangu.” The charging man bellows.

How could these people have been my classmates? I muse, confused. Insults are raining around me and I am the shield. The Man has a slasher, and, like the woman, is bleeding for the face. He must have eaten a few rocks. It’s a bloodbath, literally.

Neighbours are on the sidelines, cheering them like it’s WWE SmackDown.

I ask the woman, “Classmate, what’s happening?”

This kiiji (uncircumcised man) beats me every day for nothing. As if he drinks my chang’aa”

Who are you calling uncircumcised? I’m killing you today! Toka nyuma ya Calif uone.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the worst insult you can call a Meru man is Mw√ģj√ģ, uncircumcised. It’s like committing suicide. This here was a worse battle than the slasher and the stones. It is a war. And people can die.

To us, circumcision reigns supreme, and trying to insinuate otherwise, especially if you are a woman or a boy can land you on hospital with severe panga cuts.

It’s our ego. ¬†And here is¬†a woman committing this cardinal sin.

Somehow, they respect me, I calm them down, and the woman, now sobbing uncontrollably explains that the man, since miraa was banned in the UK, has been drinking without a care in the world, never mind they have three children in school. If she asks for money to buy food, he turns violent. And now, “punda amesoka. Akinipiga nampiga.”

That’s an empowered woman.

The man simply says, “Mwenda Caliponia, this is not a woman. This is a latrine. When other women are working in farms, she spends the day gossiping and waiting for me to bring her money.”

And he leaves, to the woman’s “mwiji” jeers.

As I walk back home wondering if I will get married and trying to remember if I got circumcised, I wonder what circumcision has to do with anything. In my culture, circumcision is very important. It signifies a graduation from childhood to responsible adulthood.

And it should be… along with whatever your culture uses to initiate boys into manhood.

If you are circumcised, act it, dammit! If you are circumcised take care of your family. If you are circumcised don’t do explicit hip-hop style hits in your mother tongue in your village. If you are circumcised don’t pee and shit on yourself drunk in a mtaro.

If you are circumcised get your ass up and toil for your family like God told Adam at Eden. If you are circumcised don’t beat up your wife. She ain’t your undisciplined child. If you are circumcised, respect¬†your mother and father and everyone their age, and save everybody your crap.

If you are circumcised don’t effing embarrass me in my own village. Or I will help your wife beat you.

Man up.

Random Memories 2: The Sexpert

random memories sexpert

I was telling you the other day about my life with my grandparents. With the worms gone and a contract for the supply of mandazi signed with the local chef de mandazi, Kombo, life started. I went to school quite early, barely three, given there were no baby classes and kindergartens back then. They had to find something for me to do rather than spend time chatting with grandma’s drunk customers and getting tempted by yummy mole hills.

That was the first undoing. The other pupils were much bigger than me. They would harrass me. That big Murithi once shouted to the teacher that he had seen a flea jump from my sweater when I had never seen a flea. I didn’t know what it was… And the teacher, Severina, spent some time teaching us about fleas and personal hygiene. The other kids knew what she was talking about. I didn’t. I ran home in shame, because, in effect, they were saying I was dirty. Almost quit school.

The second setback came from my shoes. I had the best shoes, Bata Bullets, but my grandma always put shoes on komboo – Left-right. Right-left. She still does sometimes. And that’s how she would randomly dress me. And laughter followed me wherever I went. But I excelled in my tests and they all wanted to be my friends. They suddenly started viewing me as a child that didn’t need bantering. And I became friends with some bad bad company so early.

I knew about sex by  the time I was in Class 2!

I started noticing my friends disappearing to the busy school farm with girl classmates during break time and I was really curious. I asked one and he told me they used to go to kufanyana. Ah! And what was that? He explained to me. I wanted some of that, badly. One of the girls in the squad was my seatmate, a bubbly girl we will call Joy because she is now happily married and her child is big enough to read this blog. So I tell her during class one day:

“Najua chenye uwa mnaenda kufanya break time kwa shamba”

Earliest blackmail.

“Eeh. Ulijuaje? Ata nilitaka twende na wewe. Si nilikwambia Nancy?” She asks the girl seated behind us.

“Lakini si tulisema Frank ni wangu? Wewe ni wa Kim (her seatmate)”

“Hapana. Mimi na Frank. Kim ni seatmate wako mfanyane na yeye.”

I was feeling rather sweet, with these two girls fighting over me. To solve the case, I told them I would fanyana with Joy that day, and then we exchange with Kim the following day.

I was going to get some!!!

It never materialized. The school farm was ploughed that day. I must be one of the unluckiest people in the whole wide world.

But I wasn’t losing hope. There were girls near my home. Within the week, I was humping the two girls on both sides of our home, Let’s call them Abby and Bianca. It was very easy and enjoyable, just lying on the girl and thrusting my waist.

Si hivyo… ni hivi!

One day, I met a boy, Edwin, who was visiting our other neighbours busy … on Bianca in our miraa farm! I was with Abby. But he didn’t know how to do it, Bianca must have tried to teach him the new game I had taught her. Poor boy. So I told Abby to lie down so that we could show them how it’s done.

“Edwin, si hivyo, ni hivi!” … happily humping away. There were no hard feelings. We could share. It was just a very good game.

I didn’t know the older kids, coming to the farm to have a release of their own in the guise of cutting grass for the cattle, were listening in to our sexcapade behind a bush. We heard people cracking in laughter. They still remind me ‘Si hivyo, ni hivi!’

My relationship with Abby ended one day when I was forcing her to hump me. I couldn’t understand how she couldn’t do it to me so that I also feel what she used to feel. Just lying on me and humping… And she couldn’t. I showed her a couple of times, but every time, she would get on top of me and do nothing!

So, I slapped her and walked out of our relationship, literally. For a few days.

My cousin came one day and told me if you pee on a girl, she buys a child. And me, being a lover of children, I started making it rain on my girls. That’s when I started undressing, no, dropping my pants and raising her dress during mfanyano.

I was the father of village “Cha Mama Cha Baba”

This Fisess Girl

Then I became a shy boy when what I had been doing finally dawned on me . When my new seatmate in class 3 insisted on holding my weener in class (some of these girls start early). She would shove her hands into my crotch every time. Even when the teacher was in class! This sexual harassment almost made me quit school. I told the teacher I wanted to go to the front to escape this. The boy we exchanged with now had a permanent smile on his face. He was enjoying the new life.

In class 5, I was back at it. The girl from class 3 was still after me. She even told her parents and bigger sisters that she wanted to get married to me, and they would roundly make fun of me every time we met.

Caught in the act

So, I wrote her a letter one day, and told her it was time to prove if she really loved me. That we should consummate her love for me that day in the evening. So I wrote:

“Let us meet in the evening after class for mfanyano” ūüôā

I used to sit at the front..what I didn’t know, is that the letter had landed on the floor and the class teacher, Mr. Kathukumi saw it! He picked it up, read it, looked at me and smiled. I almost died.

He silently cut the paper around the edges silently, put it in his coat pocket.

And I went to his desk and told him.

“Mwalimu, hiyo letter umeweka kwa mfuko si yangu”. He calmly patted me on the back, and told me not to worry about it.

I was not a street smart kid, me. But I was a sexpert. In theory.

Today, I won’t tell you about the letter I wrote when I was in class 7, to a class 8 girl asking her to act porn with me. I will tell you how that ended, though- she sent our pastor to me.

Have You Seen This Idiot?

Kay Eye Isaac
I hate Whatsapp! Let me rephrase that. I dislike some aspects of Whatsapp. Like the endless viral messages you receive from 69 people and in 13 groups. You may get the same freaking picture 7 times in the SAME group! I would uninstall it any time were it not for my stinginess with airtime. Why chat on Bob’s expensive airtime when you can do it for free(almost?).

By the way, it is official! You will NOT be paying for annual subscription for Whatsapp! I would not have paid. Kwani ni stima?

Back to where I was. Sometimes I don’t view the images and videos sent over Whatsapp and later, muuch later, I chance upon weird things in my phone that I don not remember downloading. Some are funny and silly (few things are funny and I looove silly things, because I am silly?).

So, today, I saw this video in my gallery three times. THREE times! I could not trace it to anyone . Okay, I keep deleting Whatsapp chats due to reasons known to myself. ¬†I have been told it is doing rounds on the App. It was featuring my guy- Kay Eye! Remember the guy I told you quit his job while we were at Bata to pursue his singing talent? I have not met him since but I have seen him doing stuff that I want to do when I grow up…. Be on TV, nini nini. Oh, he has won the Riverwood Awards, too!

That is singing and dancing and acting. But in this video, he is an idiot! A complete idiot!


Now you agree with me. Kay Eye, if you are reading this…you cracked me up! Go on, become the biggest comedian from Ukambani since rain. (see what I did there?)

THAT Year After High School

high school jobless kenya
KCSE is over! I had forgotten about KCSE, it’s existence, and importance till this year. My brother, who has had a very difficult high school life and a live-in cousin have both completed KCSE. Welcome to semi-life, Evans and Alex. Now, please stop, and tell your parents to stop, calling me asking if you can come to stay with me for some time. I’m a bachelor about town and I like staying alone. More importantly, I want you to stay at home and ‘enjoy’ life as I enjoyed it back then-raw!
 
It was quite a year, well, not really a year because life became hard and I shipped myself to college too soon. It was a year I had been looking forward to for four years- when I would be finally free from the high school bell(I hated that thing), githeri and Maths. I would also turn 18 at some point in that year, and hence the license to do adult things.
 
Right after high school, an older cousin of mine talked my mother into making me go to her place to help her run her shop. It was fun for me because then, our part of world didn’t have electricity and I was a sucker for music, movies and coloured TV. I would spend the day alone in the shop in a very bad location, reading novels, listening to music, playing Snake on my Nokia 1100….. and entertaining girls from the neighbourhood, also Form 4 leavers. Winnie, are you reading this? ūüôā
 
It got boring. I had fast, warm blood and I didn’t want to stay in a remote town doing nothing. I wanted to go back home where I knew more people, and where I would stay without working.
So, I ‘resigned’ and went to Computer School. Those computer basics classes people go to study Microsoft Office and MSDOS. Here, I reconnected with friends, made new friends(Are you there – Jon, Maureen, Aggy, Matthew, Deno?). It was a fine, two hour class, after which people would take each other for lunch, go to one of the rich kids’ house to play computer games and deejay; laze around, or go home. Life was good. Until KCSE results came out in February! People separated themselves-those who passed, those who failed and watu wa katikati. It was a childish game of esteem. Don’t ask me where I was.
 
In the process, I got a job! You see, I was, and I think still am, a fairly respected member of the society and I was offered a job to teach every afternoon, after computer class, at the local secondary school! They didn’t have many teachers and had to share classes among three or four teachers, but then, there were only two classes, Form 1 and 2. No one could teach Geography. I asked them to give me subjects I loved, like English and Swahili but the elder who approached me told me they believed I was capable of teaching any subject. So Geography it was-never mind I didn’t take Geography in high school. I simply summarized the text book and dictated notes. For a whole two weeks! And then I resigned. Teaching wasn’t fun. Ladies and gentlemen, this was how long my career as a teacher lasted-two weeks!
 
Since there was nothing I was doing in the evenings, I started going out like a proper circumcised Meru man. I would go to “canteen” ( take it to mean town or shopping centre) and hang out with other guys. I have always been sensitive about who I hang out with, so, I never misbehaved too much. I never chewed miraa, which everyone else was, so, I would always get tea and ngumu and make intelligent analysis of the village politics, play pool and watch soap operas. I did not miss a single episode of Love is Timeless on KBC!
 
I had just discovered Hip Hop and in true gangsta livin'(knowwhatamsayin?), we would spend days in Maua town, listening to hip hop in barber shops, photocopy bureaus, and cyber cafes. The crew- Marti(he used to run his father’s battery charging joint), Royson, Kawaida, Kiumbe, Anto(the only employed person in the group-those chopees work for Equity after school), Mwalim Tembe(he had accepted the teaching vocation) and Alex (he used to run a photocopy)- had formed a clique, clad in flashy tshirts, baggy jeans and standin’ caps). Sometimes, armed with Marti’s car batteries, Anto’s woofer, Alex’ computer and my music CDs, we would go to parks, blast music (I should have become a DJ, Virtual DJ) and fool around with the hottest girls in town.We were living the gangsta life, man.
Don’t they look G? Royson, Marti, Kawaida and Chief Kiumbe
But then we started disintegrating, or growing up. Some of us were shipped off by their sore parents. At some point, an NGO appeared, giving courses on community mobilisation and HIV to idle school leavers. We formed an objective group of five. We called it Touch and we had lots of dreams for the community. We would perform play-skits in churches, youth camps and an event we developed-The Touch Extravaganza. It was fun. We were talented. We would not write the scripts. Since I was tasked with coming up with ideas, I would write one paragraph synopsis, and the team would know what to do or say. I have paused here to stare at the ceiling in nostalgic memory. That was a good team. Me, Alex, Doris, Bessy and Mfa (Bless his soul). I think this is how the high school leavers should spend their one year. Getting creative for the society.
 
I also had a girlfriend(say Amen). She was still in high school and I would make her late for school every time on opening days. When she was around, we would spend as much time as we could. She had two other friends and with my clique of Alex and Royson; and a few introductions and match-making, we became a group of 6 young lovers-3 couples trying to outdo each other in love antics. We did crazy things. Not bad things-my girlfriend dumped me because I was not ready for sex no matter how hard she tried. Story for another day.
 
Buoyed by the new free labour, my father finally bought a cow. For too long, we had been the only home in the neighbourhood without a cow. And the cow he bought was a guzzler. A Fresian cow. Those things can eat- they are supposed to eat 90 kilos of food and 50 litres of water every day. Living in a suburban place, there was no way we could get this much food. She was placed under my care and life became hell. I cut all the banana migomba at home to feed her, I ran a fence to the ground, I drained the water tank, and the cow would moo throughout with that loud mouth of hers. I decided that was tabia mbaya and resorted to corrective action. Every time she mooed, I would whip her, or hit her with a stone. Soon, she associated mooing with pain and stopped. What was the name for this from Biology?
The Fresian cow is a beast. Pic: LIC
 
But she was a snitch. Any time she heard dad come through the gate, she would throw tantrums like a kid. She knew this would always earn me “why is the cow hungry” questions. Another thing, she hated women. No woman would go close to her. And I was the only guy spending time at home. Why do females hate each other so much?
 
Silly cow made me cut my free year short and go to college.
Main Pic: Unemployed youth www.amshaafrica.org 

A Kenyan Man Goes to Buy Condoms

conndoms

So the girl you have been eyeing for ages has finally accepted a sleepover and you have a feeling that this will be a good night. You had praised your kitchen skills on Whatsapp and she wants to taste your food. You will cook for her. So, you go to the market, or supermarket depending on where you are, and buy cooking stuff you don’t use in your bachelor pad, like carrots and cucumbers, garbage. You get ginger, dhania and pilipili hoho, too. If you are like me, the only malighafi(read spices) you normally use are salt, a small onion and tomatoes. Today you are stocked. It will be a hot dinner. You aim to impress the empress.

Your bachelor pad has only one bed, and you have a feeling that the kitchen won’t be the only hot room in the house tonight. You see, on Whatsapp, in your late night chats, you have started raunchy Truth or Dare games with raunchy details. You have this gut feeling that you have been blessed. Not for procreation purposes – she is not here for marriage. And you don’t want to return home ‘on a vehicle carrier in a box’ as your grandmother once said.

You will need condoms….. you know, just in case.

So after your shopping, you set out to look for the sheaths. That’s where trouble starts. You don’t buy these things like you buy potatoes. You have to sweat for it. As they say, good things rarely come easy.

So, you walk down the street, peeping into shops to see, one, if the good old packet is hung on the shelves and two if the shopkeeper is an approachable agemate. If you live in a small town, the shopkeepers are mostly women the age of your mother wearing glasses and kilemba. Such shopkeepers don’t stock condoms. It’s a sin. Your best bet is a chemist. So, you keep walking, looking for chemists.

condoms Amazon
Assorted Lifestyle Condoms: Amazon

Chemists

Chemist 1 has a queue. There is no way you will queue, and in the full glare of the public, ask for the forbidden sachets. Pass.

Chemist 2 has more than one attendant. You can’t imagine walking in and whispering to the guy that you want Durex and he shouts to the lady. “Do we have Durex in stock?” To which she shouts back, “No! Tell him we have Trust Studded and Salama!”. And after you leave they will discuss you, anyway. Pass, again.

Chemist 3 has one, approachable guy. But there is an older guy there, eating stories with him. He has even been given a chair, and from the looks of it, he is not too sick to stand. He plans to stay for long. You kick an avocado seed in the street in frustration. Why do people go to talk with the pharmacy guy? These people are cursed.

Chemist 4. Voila! There is only one guy inside so you pull your hood to your eyes and walk in. You find him talking on the phone and he cheerfully lifts his index finger, to please wait ooone moment. You place your shopping paper bags on the floor and shuffle your feet impatiently. Then, just then, a cute girl from the neighbourhood walks in. There is no way you are buying condoms in her presence. You never know, she may be a potential. You ask for mosquito coil, and ABZ, for de-worming. “This elnino has come with too many mosquitoes”. You explain.

How to buy condoms

Kiumane

You start walking back the way you came. Popping your eyes into the chemists. There has been no improvement. You start trying to remember if you have any leftover CDs from previous sexcapedes. You have one piece of Trust, two pieces of Femiplan, one piece of those brown government condoms, and an empty packet of some Durex under the bed. From what she had said on Whatsapp, she doesn’t do the deed in the dark. Chucking brands upon brands of condoms will be suicidal.

You decide….kiumane. You walk into Chemist 2- it also has M-Pesa:
Naweza toa?
“How much?”
3-fefte
“Sawa”

As the guy is perusing his M-Pesa book, you ask discretely.¬†“Uko na CD gani?” He unashamedly turns and takes you through the entire wall of condoms like those Bata attendants showing you different shoes in a rack. You cut him short. “Give me 5 packets of Femiplan”Femiplan has 6 pieces per packet and with 30 condoms and a limited supply of partners, you know they will last a long time. You don’t want to go through this gruelling experience again.

You walk home, feeling like a Roman general who has just conquered the entire world.

Your guest arrives to a hot, saucy meal and when that time comes… it turns out it is that time of the month for her. You will not be using the condoms tonight, or anytime soon. You wail in agony.

And die.

****************

condoms meme

To My Teachers and all Teachers: I Love You!

teachers punishment Kenya

I am who I am largely because of my teachers. I am even writing this blog, in part, because I don’t want to let my teachers down. They all thought I was going to be a journalist, or editor of some sort, because, English and Swahili were my bread and butter. Oddly, all teachers, both in Primary school and High school; even teachers who never taught me but knew me… They all advised me to be a journalist. I feel like I let them down. Or maybe I should write a newspaper article and send copies to all my teachers.

 Somebody hook me up with a newspaper!

¬†I joined nursery school, or preschool to you, at three years old. I think my mother was busy and she wanted me to spend my days in school. Who else went to school that early back then? And so, my second¬†mom¬†became Teacher¬†Seberina. She would take me to the¬†ruhusa( that’s short call to the uninitiated),¬† she would feed me and do all the things¬†moms¬†do. And because my parents used to teach me how to write the alphabet, my name and their names (first child syndrome), I was very bored in class, I knew most of the things¬†Seberina¬†taught us.

Our Class 1 entry test was “Write your name” I wrote mine and Teacher¬†Seberina¬†promoted me to Class One. But the hunger I felt that day! Nursery pupils would go home at around 12:00 noon and Class One pupils would go at 1:00 pm. I simply couldn’t handle the hunger… so, the following day I went back to Nursery and told¬†Seberina¬†my mother had told me to go back. I never told my parents – they knew after a few months –¬†Parents, check your kid’s books every evening!¬†If you know¬†Seberina, and where I can find her, please tell me.

When I decided time for Class One had come, I went ahead and met Teacher Mutunga. Now, Mr. Mutunga was feared by pupils in Upper Primary. But to us in his Class, he was every so gentle. He rarely caned us, and was just too patient. In first term, I got paracent(100%) in all subjects except Kimeru, where I got 36%. So I had 736/800 points and I was still number 16 out of 81 pupils. It was a huge class of clever pupils managed by one teacher. Mr. Mutunga called my grandfather to school (I will tell you about my father one of these days), and told him to buy me a Kimeru textbook, and he would be amazed at what I was capable of doing. I got a Kimeru book, and needless to say, the following term I shot to number 1. My grandfather still talks about this one incident. Long live Mr. Mutunga.

¬†By class two, I was a philanthropist. My teacher was Mrs. Maore. She, like Mr. Mutunga, had two sides. The gentle one, and the tough one. She taught us the National Anthem in both languages, the Loyalty Pledge, and the Lord’s prayer. I think that was her mandate. We were the only class in that whole school that knew the Loyalty Pledge. One day, I did homework for my best friend, Barnabas, and Mrs. Maore knew from the handwriting. So, she sent me to the staff room to get a cane. The only cane in the freaking staff room was this¬†loong¬†bamboo stick! The teacher who handed it to me just told me¬†‘Good luck to whoever is going to be punished with this’. To cut a long story short, I have never helped anyone else do their work since then. ūüôā

teachers were savage

 Class 3 was also a big big class. We were 73, in one class. So big it was divided into two classes though in one class room. Two rows were a separate class from the other, with a separate class teacher. Miss Susan and Mr. Kathukumi. They split the subjects, but marking would be done separately. They would sit with us in class, each on their side of the class. And they somehow managed us. I was position 3 in all three terms.

Upper Primary: Coming back after lunch!

Now, Class 4 was different business altogether. Upper Primary. On a separate block and “coming back after lunch”. Discipline was paramount and you were now a responsible youth. Our big Class three was cut down to only around 40 pupils. Some were ‘asked’ to remain in class 3 and others just dropped out. Others went off to boarding school. Mr. Kathukumi went with us as the class teacher-all the way to Class 8, but now we had to live with many teachers. Different subjects. Life was tough.

¬†Mr. Kungutia taught us Home Science and Mathematics. This was another crazy teacher who I hated with¬†passion¬†in school…and loved outside school because he would always come by our home to chat with Grandpa, and buy Mr¬†maandazi. I meet him every time I go home, to date. And he has maintained if he didn’t beat me as he did, I wouldn’t turn out how I did. But he says he wished I was bigger- I was so small, “nilikuwa¬†nakosa¬†nitakuchapa¬†wapi“. He became my best friend when he was transferred.

students share a desk Africa
Pic: www.npr.org/

Mr. Mbogori taught us Music and Mathematics at some point. He would give you one stroke of the cane for every sum you got wrong. And since I was one of the poorest in Maths, I was an enemy. I was guaranteed to receive canes. One day, he came to Music class and said “There are two clefs in music. The G-Clef and …….¬†“. Being a¬†mjuaji, I raised my hand and said “Bus Clef“.

Stupid! Which bus are you talking about, Kensilver, Stagecoach, or Kamawe Bus? It is Bass Clef.. pronounced, Biis”.

I was the happiest when Music was scrapped and he became our English teacher. He became my best friend henceforth. Last we met, he introduced me to his teacher friends as “.….he used to write compositions better than most novelists….

¬†Female teachers are so much like mothers. Smiling with you one minute and beating the bejesus out of you the next. Take, for instance, Mrs. Mutua. She was a very good friend of our family, and her daughters, Dorothy and Bessy, were and are some of my best homies. We loved her in church and the community (still do), but when she was on duty at school, woe unto you if you came to school late. She used to cane our bare feet-in that cold. One day, it was raining and I refused to be beaten. We had running battles all day with her, and I presented myself to her in the evening when she threatened to report to my father. Mrs. Kamau, too. She taught us CRE and was very motherly, always counseling and advising our adolescent heads. Until she caught you getting naughty. She would cane you while advising you. “I-am-doing-this-to help-you. You-Mwenda-will-remember-me-in-future!” How many hyphens did I use? Those are strokes of the cane.

 Did I tell you I loved and thrived in languages? My favourite teachers, obviously, were my English and Kiswahili teachers. Mr. Marete and Mr. Ngeera. I would entertain them using my English Compositions and Inshas and they would repay me with special care. They would give me books-novels and riwayasРand compositions from other schools. Where I lost points in Maths, I made up in languages. We talk with Mr. Ngeera all the time on Facebook, and I still exchange novels with Mr. Marete whenever I go home for holidays.

Sorry, I never made it to a journalism class as you had wished.

 Head teachers

There is a time our school had a different head teacher every term. I don’t remember most, but it was a very unstable phase-when I was younger. The school performed very poorly-inevitably. This changed in my upper primary years. We had two headteachers:

¬†Mr. Meeme ¬†did so well, all the surrounding villages sent their sons and daughters to our school, and he was poached to head Maua Primary School-where he is to date, because-it is in town and, and, as the face of the division, we want Mr. Meeme to maintain it for the visitors. How crooked is that? ¬†Now, Mr. Meeme was a no nonsense teacher. He also used to come home and talk for hours with my grandfather-an education pioneer in the region-but would not be smiling at us in school. He had what he knew as, “Twenty Strokes of the Cane” Twitch your Chill fingers…that’s how he used to demonstrate it. He would have you hold the flag post during assembly and work on your small ass with his rapid fire cane.

 After Mr. Meeme came Mr. Mutua, commonly known as by his first name, Richard. Now, Richard was a nice man with lots of stories. He taught us Mathematics in Class 8, and oddly, I have never hated him like I hated all my Maths teachers. He had stories. And he was the sponsoring church chairman. And he was very caring.

I was crazy enough to sleep away from home on the second day of KCPE, and I came in late-who does that?-¬†Poor Richard! I met with him at the school gate coming home to see why I wasn’t there yet. He hurriedly took me to the class, where the papers had already been handed out. He is so caring, still. We talk from time to time, and the other day, when the rogue NGO was hiring, I was on top of his list. Since retired, he is now running a school of his own and is quite successful at it.

Unbroken records

Frankmwenda Gitura Primary School classmates
Some of My classmates

We had good teachers. Teachers who had taught our parents before us, there was stability in Gitura Primary School. They produced the best class ever in the school-us, and most of them were promoted and transferred to other schools right after we left in recognition for their good work. And the school has never been the same again. It pains me that the record I set- I came in the first position-has never been beaten, so many years later. Neither for Boniface, who came second, and Lenana, who came third. The school has never beaten our mean score, and the way things are, we will hold the record for some time. I wish I could save it.

Sadly, the big class of 81 we had in Class One completed with just 23 pupils. Some repeated, some never completed. It is all good. Those that completed are doing well- we met the other day, at Eric’s funeral. We are represented in¬† most professions, some of us are married, with kids and I am looking for a wife. ūüėČ

I am glad the teachers’ strike is over. But teachers deserve the highest salary affordable. It should be the best-paid profession. I am here, writing this blog because my teachers taught me. You are reading this blog¬†because cliche as it may sound – a teacher taught you how to write. LET US PAY TEACHERS!

Baite Inside! Yes, I am a Meru!

Meru Boy chewing miraa

A few weeks ago, I was lazily scrolling my Facebook when I saw a beauty. Some of you will call me a¬†fisi, but males are supposed to “see” beautiful females, right? ¬†I see them a lot. But this one caught my eye. She was beautiful. I just like such photos. But I commented on this. See, she was wearing a tee shirt that resonated with me. It had this message that I had seen before but, frankly, hadn’t given much thought:¬†Baite¬†Inside: Proud to be Meru. A few inbox messages later, I called up Ivy, who happens to have a very callable voice, and we struck a deal. I wanted my tee shirt delivered to me in diaspora!

A day later, my shipment arrived, complete with a complimentary CD-of a collection of some of the best Meru hit songs. It is a black cotton Baite Inside tee which is as comfortable as it is head turning. She has a whole line in several designs and messages and they are too cool to be missing in your wardrobe. Stay with me, I will tell you how you can get them.

 

Baite Inside t-shirt and Meru songs
This is the package

This t-shirt is not a fashion statement for me. This is a memoir. A constant reminder of who I am, and where I come from. Remember, it is okay to be aware and proud of your tribe without despising other tribes. It is okay to celebrate your music(or lack of it), your customs, your history, your beliefs, your politics, your financial activities, and basically, who you are.

I will close my eyes down this roller coaster:

Once upon a time, a community was¬†slave¬†to another community that wore red clothes(Nguu¬†Ntune) that lived in Mbwaa the. They suffered so much, they needed to escape. So, led by their god-chosen leader, they went to the master king and demanded freedom. They needed to move. Since their¬†labour¬†was needed, the king adamantly refused to let them leave. He put them under hard tests with a promise to let them leave if they passed the impossible tasks. This community was so¬†bright,they¬†managed every time, but the master king wouldn’t let them leave. So, one night, they escaped¬†Mbwaa,¬†but came across¬†a Red Sea(√éria √étune). They panicked. The master community was closing in on them fast. The gods instructed the community leader to strike the Water with his stick, and guess¬†what-the¬†water parted! They crossed, walked through deserts and eventually reached the land of milk and honey, around the center of Kenya.

Sounds familiar, right? Yes, from the Bible. But this story had been told even before Bibles came to Kenya. This is the story of the Meru! See, we are like Israel. There is a place in Meru where Jesus walked. We have footprints to show! Do I sound proud enough, or should I up my game?

 

Njagi Junkie Jesus footsteps Meru
via: @njagijunkie

Yes! I am a Meru

Yes. I am a Meru. I am as arrogant as Prof. Kaimenyi. I don’t have to listen to what you have to say because where I come from, men are automatically what psychology calls Assertive Sanguines. I am not sure that exists but hey! It exists because I said so. It is, in reality, not arrogance, but sheer¬†self belief. I am an alpha.

Yes, I am a Meru. I speak loudly. You may have your ears close but I will shout¬†into¬†them. I shout into the phone and I shout my whispers. Why? The point above.¬†Self-belief! And then I don’t like repeating myself. Once I tell you something, I have to make sure it is loud and clear. Especially loud.

Yes, I am a Meru. I am hot tempered and I can cut you into pieces at the slightest provocation. Sorry, remove the “cut you into pieces”. We don’t cut people to kill, we cut people to teach them a lesson. We will cut your hand for stealing miraa(not food). Your face for grabbing someone’s wife. Your leg for trespassing. We will never cut you to steal your livestock. Or because some politician didn’t win an election. Or because you are from another tribe. We will cut you to discipline you, and take you to¬†hospital¬†afterwards. We are peaceful people.

 

Miraa farm in Meru
Money on a tree. Hands up if you have ever seen a miraa tree

Choose your punishment

Speaking of discipline, a man from Laare (google that) caught a thief stealing his miraa. Ili liwe funzo kwako na wengine kama wewe, he generously gave him four options:
  • Wear gumboots filled with boiling porridge.
  • Get his left hand cut off.
  • Eat a bowl of latrine soup. That¬†is,¬†the smudge:¬†combination¬†of shit,¬†pee¬†and worms fetched from a pit latrine. Worse than sewage.
  • Eat a live chameleon. (Those things are as creepy as they are poisonous).

What would you have chosen?

Yes. I am a Meru. I live on a herb. Miraa! My father built our home strictly with miraa money. I was educated using miraa money. I am building a house using miraa money and I will take my children to school using miraa money. Our churches, schools, community health centers are built and run using miraa money. And yes, we meet every evening to chew the holy herb. We chew and tell stories, dreams, visions- miraa is eye opening- and then go home and perform our “family duties” exquisitely. And it is true, miraa is a drug…. just like coffee,¬†tea¬†and Panadol!

Yes. I am a Meru. We have beautiful, humble, intelligent, hardworking women. Our women let us the men run affairs like the Bible wants women to be. They take up the role of the neck nicely. They support us (also hardworking) men wholly. They leave the responsibility of, say, cutting, to men. They don’t cut men’s transformers like some people we know. And men, even in all the cutting skills, will never cut their women. Who cuts a good thing? If a woman wrongs a¬†man,which¬†is rare, the discipline is meted by the man’s woman: wife, sister, mother or cousin. We don’t fight our women! We went to Beijing.

 

Ivy
Soni: via Ivy

I am talented but I won’t show.

Yes, I am a Meru. I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I can’t act, I can’t play any professional game. I don’t seem to represent Kenya anywhere. But that’s just me. There are 4 Kimeru radio stations and 2 TV stations playing 80% Kimeru content. We do sing(btw, who was that Meru guy singing in Churchill Show with Ali Kiba the other day?) We have comedians commanding the industry. We just don’t shout about it, and it is a good joke, anyway, when people say we can’t do all these things. We just don’t, because we have better things to do than cry on stage or play like children.

On a serious matter of Life and Death:¬†You must visit Meru county. You must visit the wildlife conservancies ….experience the Meru hospitality in the hotels, streets, markets…. Get Grade 1 farm produce straight from the farm(money being the root of all evil, we will sell to you at almost-free prices)….. Awe and smiles are infectious in Meru..and please don’t forget to catch the enviable Amerucan accent!

Yes. I am a Meru. I stop when I want, and I am done with this story. You can share your Meru experiences in the comment box below.

Let’s now talk about Ivy, the Kamanu Entertainment and the ensemble. Call Ivy on +254724398865¬†or¬†catch up with her on Facebook. Tell her I sent you, and make demands, like you want a CD as well, and you want her to deliver personally. She may send me a free hood if you buy. It’s totally worth memoir, no matter where you are from. And, oh, I am not sure if Ivy is married.

Here is part of the collection:

 

All these messages can be replicated to any of the designs. You get to choose your message, and the design!

ION: I want to join the Njuri Ncheke. Does anyone know how?

Nairobi Initiation 6: I Have Been Conned, and Mugged.

I am walking home from college. Remember, I am doing CPA at Vision and I live in Plot 10, Kirinyaga Road. Just past Globe Cinema, this guy meekly greets me. He is lost, and wants to know where KCS house is. I tell him I don’t know. He has this heavy Meru accent, and I ask him if he is Meru… He is. Where? Kianjai. Wow! I went to school near those parts. Next thing I know, we are korogaing deep American.

He just arrived in Nairobi to cash a Kenya Charity Sweepstake and wants me to help him get to KCS house. I honestly don’t know where it is, but he tells me he had already been there a few hours back. But the person who had taken him had turned against him and he suspected he had people waiting to rob him of his Sh. 200,000.

Wait a minute! That’s 200K Kenya Shillings. Being the curious Frank, I tell him to show me the card. There it is, 3 clean 200,000 figures scratched.

He tells me that if I help him get the cash, he will give me Sh. 30,000. I tell him that’s too little. We bargain to 40K.¬†

I am trembling with anticipation. I have never seen that kind of money in my life. I can traffic cocaine for that, sembuse taking someone to some place in town. He asks me the time and I chuck my phone. The hottest smartphone back then, Nokia 6600. He stares at it for too long, as if he doesn’t believe when I tell him it’s 6:00 pm.¬†

So, we go. He is visibly frightened. He believes people are following him. Or waiting for him near the cashing house. So we go rounds and rounds till it’s dark. It’s past 7:30 when we get to Kencom and he points out KCS house to me. I am to walk in,cash the amount as my own and come back out with it.¬†

There is a catch, though.

“Leave me your phone”

No. I can’t.

“Do you think I am stupid trusting you with 200,000 when I have nothing of you

It’s a small security, and if you get lost, I can track you using it”

 I make a mental calculation and decide, for 40K, I can leave my beloved phone. I instinctively remove the SIM card, leave him the phone and saunter in.

¬†There is no one in sight-it’s late, so I catch the lift to the said Floor. There is still no one in the office,but it’s open, so I walk in looking into the offices. I mean, I have a right to be here! I am a winner. I finally get a lady who could easily be the CEO.

¬†Who else leaves the office last? I tell her I have won and she tells me to come back tomorrow, working hours. Man! This woman is delaying my blessing! I try to tell her I can’t wait but she dismisses me. I begrudgingly leave.

You will spend 20 years in prison for forgery

Outside, I can’t see my guy! I think I am mistaken and go around the blocks, all the way to the High Court, back to Uchumi City Square, round Kencom. But can’t see him! Who would leave 200K for an old 20K phone. I am worried. Not because of the phone, but because this poor guy may have been attacked. He was afraid of his life! An hour later, I have to go home, sad, worried.

The following morning, I am the first person at the Kenya Charity Sweepstakes House. I walk in and report to the Security Desk that I have won and am going to cash my card. He asks me to show him my card, and grabs my hand, hard! 

“Where are you from, kijana?”

“Meru”

“Where did you get this ticket?”

“Kangeta”

“You see that building over there? There is a Police Post. So, I will ask for the last time… Where did you get this ticket?”

Kamenuka. I crack like I have just been tortured in the Nyayo Basement. Telling the entire story. After I am done, he looks at me with this fatherly eye.

” You are lucky, young man. This ticket is forged. ” He says, casually erasing the 200,000 numbers with a fingernail. “I am a Kamba, and we and Merus are brothers. If you were a Jaluo, I would have taken you in. Do you know how it could have been?”

I shake my head, trembling.

“That would be a million Shillings fine or 30 years in prison for forgery.”

Wow!

“To avoid that, I want you to give me Sh. 10,000 for me to release you”

What! Is he mad? I am now looking at the prospect of going to jail. I can’t afford 10K. We bargain…this is one of my main talents.. to Sh. 3,000, which I don’t have. He tells me to go look for it, and if I don’t come, “utajua mimi ni Mkamba na tuna uchawi”

When I reach the house, it hits me. I have just been conned! And exposed to crime. Have you seen a grown, read circumcised, Meru man sob? I drench my pillow with tears.

A phone made of sponge

The next day, I am in a mission to reclaim my phone. Guess how? Have you walked through Tom Mboya street looking at the phone displays? If you have, someone off the street must have approached you, offering a phone for sale. I figure those are stolen phones, and my phone would be offered to me for purchase. This works… At least the someone offering a phone part…. It is a Nokia N9. Another hotcake.¬†

It is a youngish guy, and I tell him I am interested. So, we walk, talking. I even tell him I am looking for a lost phone, if he had seen any of his friends selling a 6600. He hasn’t. So, I decide to buy this. We agree on the price, only Sh. 2500, and proceed to an M-Pesa to withdraw. Nature is against me, I don’t have my ID, so I can’t withdraw and have to run back to the house for the ID. We exchange numbers and I leave. When I come back, with the money and call the guy…

“Ah. This phone is on demand, my guy. I have already sold it”¬†

Damnit! That was clearly not meant to be mine. So I walk away, crestfallen. Hours later, the guy calls me. My prayers have been answered (thank God)..the guy didn’t, after all, buy the phone, so I can get it. We meet at the same spot we had met, Tom Mboya Posta. He shows me the phone…working perfectly. My bargain bug bites me and I ask him to drop the price by 500, to 2,000. He can’t.

Mimi ni Mgodii jo. Niko hustle buda. Ka na phone yako unasaka enda police(I am a¬†Mgodii¬†on the hustle,dude. If it’s your lost phone you are looking for, go to the Police)”

That Sheng lingo is too tight for me. I don’t know what a¬†Mgodii¬†is, but I can’t show I don’t know. That’s¬†usamba.

Wazi maze. Mayouth ni kusaidiana. Nipe tu.(Cool, man. Youths should look after each other. Give it to me)” He gives me the phone, and we part our ways. I can’t brandish this phone in the street and I excitedly trudge to the house to inspect my discovery.

I press the start button and it sinks. I open the back side and….. The phone case is filled with sponge!¬†

Just last week, my friend Jeff had been conned this way and we had laughed at him for being so gullible. Now I had been conned. I have lost money in the most foolish style ever. I cry again. I can’t tell this to anyone. It has to be in the heart. It’s my little secret.

Nairobi had scored me 2-0 in two days.

I call up a friend of dad’s living in Nairobi to assist. He is a good man. He is indebted to my father so he always assists me. True, he brings me an old Siemens phone with a broken antenna, that I name BlackBerry. It is so old, it is actually cool.

The following week, we are walking to school with Kero and Flo. There have been riots and running battles between the Police and Grogan mechanics. The air is full of gunshots and the choking tear gas. Police everywhere. No vehicles…just battle. Flo says people get mugged on such days. I don’t believe her. I tell them that if someone tries to steal my BlackBerry, I will cut him to pieces.¬†

Minutes later, a friend I don’t remember stops me to say hi. Kero and Flo keep walking.

Niaje buda. Tuachie yetu( Wazzup bro. Give us what belongs to us)”

I am not amused. So I quip.. “What?”¬†

I suddenly realize I am surrounded. My ‘friend’ is now holding a hammer. Someone else has pliers, and someone has these huge iron sheets scissors. I am being mugged. Flo tries to scream, but a hammer is pointed at her and she zips up like a scratched CD. They empty my pockets right there in the crowded street and no one seems to care. I have been mugged! My BlackBerry is gone. And oddly, I laugh. I laugh so hard that people stand to stare. Maybe it’s because I am laughing and crying at the same time.

Probably, that Kamba security guard actually bewitched me.

Nairobi 3-0 Frank. In one week.

Nitakupaka ****

Sorry. This is disgusting
One of Nairobi streetchildren’s oldest trick in the book is walking around with human (shit) in their hands, and offering random people in the streets free make up sessions if they don’t pay up. These are mostly not empty threats, because, my friend, you will get a mighty smear on your suit.

Nairobi played this on me. I am escorting a girl, a first time date, to Bus Station (I don’t remember her name because that’s the last time I saw her); when we are met by a black person. By black I mean, charcoal black. Only the bloodshot eyes and strangely pink lips are visible. The guy is a walking chimney. He is wearing all black-I doubt the clothes were originally black, could have been white. He is dirty, and is accompanied by a big gang…of houseflies and this smell. The only thing I see is the girl running across the road, with her big, Luhya hips swinging clumsily. Well, I must admit I hadn’t noticed those.¬†

Boss, leta punch ama nikupake” (I want Sh. 500 or I will smear this on you)

I look to see what the make up is, and it’s right there-black slimy diarrhoea human output. I swear I can see a billion pieces of cholera and other assorted diseases therein. The smell itself can make a skunk cover its nose.I don’t know why I am not scared. Maybe I have had a shittier day already. I tell him in a snap that I don’t have any money for him. And I don’t care because kill him if he does. You know, it is a public bus stage, and I expect people to move in. I at least expect my girl to scream.

But this is Nairobi. I have to fight my battles alone, People are watching us from a distance. I can’t see my escort. I tone down.

The guy opens his jacket and removes a large syringe. Those big cow and hippopotamus syringes. Filled with thick blood. 

Hii ni AIDS, an ukijifanya mjanja nitakudunga“(This blood has HIV, and if you act truant I am injecting you)¬†

I am now sweating. I honestly don’t have money, otherwise, I would have given it all to him. My negotiation skills come into play.¬†

“I don’t have money”

“You are wearing a suit. Don’t lie to me” I was in a suit, remember the date?

“Sometimes we wear like this to look for jobs. I am a sufferer like you, man”¬†

We keep bargaining as if he is a hawker. I bring him down to friendship terms and soon, we are on first name basis. His name is Kim, or something, and he is telling about how he came to Nairobi to be tout, got fired, became a street boy, and now he was forced to be a mgondii. By the time I left, he even wanted to give me something small, to get me home, but I told him I was better, and gave him a loose Sh. 5 to get a maandazi on me.

Talk about random acts of kindness. Try to understand your mugger, or your conman. And forgive them if you can. I am still trying to forgive the socialite who abused my kindness to con me of money and she still tweets her good life. Story for another day.

Nairobi Initiation 5: Plot 10, the Sin City.

Have you ever lived in a remote control house? These are the houses, err, cubicles where a 6 by 3 ft bed fills the room. You can touch all four walls lying on the bed. You can close the door and window, cook, reach the “wardrobe” side of the room, and the TV that you have to hang from the roof because there is nowhere to place it. That, my friends, a remote control house.

Plot 10 is located right in town-yes, we lived in the CBD! Our life was improving, no? It is a three storied building along Kirinyaga Road, right below Roast House.

That’s where our mkokoteni from¬†Nairobi Initiation 4¬†took us. Kero had used his immense convincing skills to get us the house. It was very convenient, since we would no longer be paying fare to town, we were always in hand to receive friends and relatives from upcountry, take them around town, for a small token, of course.

The room was located just outside the communal sink and bathroom. From the house we would literally look through the bathroom door cracks….to, you know what. Whereas we enjoyed seeing these “things”, we were always drying the house. Water would seep in, below the PVC carpet, to a mighty stink.

And it was bigger than most! Remember the Kens from Initiation 3? The guys that caused us all the troubles we passed through? They were living in a much smaller room, all three of them! So, their resources, including the bed they had said we had to hire, were in the underground rat infested store. They had the audacity to ask us to keep a computer monitor for them. I almost committed murder that day.

How families lived in these rooms, we never knew. I am still trying to figure that out. Take, for instance, an old woman we all used to call Shosho who used to live with her fully grown watchman son and his wife. She never left the house, so we all wondered how the son, Pato, used to, you know, get to, you know, get her pregnant. There was also this family, whose son was initiated in the single room house he used to share with his parents and 3 siblings. We from the Mountain just watched at the unthinkable from far.

The 2009 Census was god-sent. Kero and I landed enumerating jobs, at 24K, and boy did we have a blast! My wiz dream of owning a computer came to be. I bought this large Dell desktop tower with a 15″ CRT monitor, and Kero bought a¬† Ampex subwoofer system and a gas cooker.¬†

We became overnight celebrities in the plot. We could afford to throw parties. We could now walk with a swag in our steps. I could now pursue my deejaying passion with my PC (when I was younger, I used to visit a classmate whose family had a computer with VirtualDJ installed. I could scratch scratch and that was the first reason I bought a computer). We could now watch all the movie series the cool kids were talking about. We could now blast music respectfully. And we could get any girl we wanted around! We were jogoo la mji now!

Did I mention parties and girls? We used to throw BYOB parties every day, any day of the week. All the cool kids in the plot would come to our house, newly renovated with white curtains, to have a ball. Requirement? Bring alcohol! At any given time, we would have Kibaos, KCs, Naps, jugs of Senator keg and miraa to last to the end of the month.

One day the liquor was too much, and there was no water in the plot. So, drat that, we cooked rice with alcohol! Add alcohol of assorted types and boom! No one slept in their house! Everyone was everywhere. I slept with the newest chick in the block, Emma. Stop frowning…we were too stoned to do anything. After puking her intestines out, she crashed into bed. I also¬†chewed blackout¬†while gentlemanly trying to cover her. The following morning everyone was singing my name. I had slept with a woman! A beautiful woman! I didn’t deny those “allegations”.¬†

Word spread, and soon, our house was the hub of parties and sin. People from all over the world, yes, all over the world-or how would you explain the Kirinyaga Road Indians and a certain Mzungu(never mind he is born and bred in Kenyan streets) all used to drop by for a dose of hip-hop. It was the joint, where people could abuse their elements in peace. Disclaimer: We didn’t allow smokers or hard drug users, though some of our guests would smoke their weed and inject their injectables in the basement store. How we never got influenced, I don’t know. God’s Grace?

Hell

That wasn’t the only sin in Plot 10. There were sins that would make Sodom and Gomorrah a holy shrine. Take your pick:

Fetishes-¬†Tabia Mbaya¬†was at a premium in plot 10. People would get some anywhere, anytime. Have you heard the phrase¬†“266,000 people around the world the world are having sex at any given minute, including this very minute?”¬†That would be Plot 10. At any give time, someone was getting some in one of the 52 rooms, in the store, even on the stairs. Let’s leave that here…. This is not a adult blog. ūüôā

Nerea-People got pregnant at Plot 10. People aborted pregnancies at Plot 10. Then they would get pregnant again and do away with it. It created business for Kero, who knew a few bargain quack doctors to do the operations at a small commission and mark up. 

Mob justice- Justice used to be served Embakasi style.¬†Mara that that!¬†Thieves would be beaten into pulp. There was this day a guy cam into our room and joined our conversations, he even got ¬†a chance at my coveted DJ chair. I thought he was Kero’s friend and Kero thought he was my friend. I left at some point and Kero wanted to leave, so he called and asked who the guy was and I was like ” Which guy?” Hell broke loose. The guy was flung out and given a proper beating. See, he couldn’t explain how he got into the house in the first place. Several more people were beating, including some gay people who were caught having some in our sin-store.¬†

Remember when I told you about the strategic position of our house in the city? At any given time we would have a full house. Either partying, or folks from ocha seeking shelter, or homeless people being kept, or students on holiday but not curious to go home. We should receive a Nobel Prize, no? But people abused this hospitality, human nature.

¬†Take Robert, or Rumpu. He used to crash at our place any time he was on holiday or whatever. We didn’t have much problem, but he had this uncanny behaviour- okay, we used to cook¬†ugali sukuma¬†DAILY- Rumpu had loads of money and would leave us to our¬†ugali sukuma, go eat chicken and come back with that chicken perfume all over him. In the morning, he would leave us to our¬†strungi¬†and¬†ugali lala, and go take a B.E.S.T. breakfast. Of course we used to mind, but never talked about it. The straw that broke the camel’s back was, there was this time he went and brought all his brothers to come live with us-all three of them!! Now, these were noisy braggards. They would talk about home all night, with these shrilly, annoying voices. I love my peace and this would aggravate me to breaking points. There was this day, we were watching the World Cup and they started betting on the match, big money, money that I didn’t have, money that I needed, and they were here, betting, right after coming into the house with their chicken aroma and we were broke as hell.

I threw them out! And we decided to never let vagrants into the house ever again. 

That is, apart from the throngs of girls that thought we were cool-Kero used to mesmerize them with stories and attention that I could’t afford. Most were just that, friends. We would have girls over for days, and we would treat them like boys, eating ugali sukuma together, playing cards, having man-talks, sleeping on the floor-and using them to rope in¬†sponsors¬†for meat and other favours.

¬†There was this time a girl who had had several stints in several houses within the plot-she was a known (you know what)- came along and former hosts couldn’t take her in, probably because this time she came along with a guy friend, and were looking for a place to wait for her last plot boyfriend. Now, this is the type of girls who, once you make the mistake of having them in for a day, will move in. And I knew it, though I figured she wouldn’t, with the guy. So, I let them in, expecting them to move out once their “friend” arrived. It wasn’t to be. They requested to sleep on the floor, and I lock the doors and let them. In the middle of the night, I woke up to noises. Noises that I knew from porn videos. In my dryspell on the bed, I was too irritated. So I woke up, turned the lights on and went back to bed. You should have seen the awkward position I got them in. I think they cursed me because the following morning I woke up with too much pain down there. Story for another day. ūüôā

Wanaume si mamako

Kero once broke one of these cardinal rules with our girls.A friend of mine from home. See, we had this unsaid rule that, if a girl was a relative or friend from home, no hankypanky was allowed. So, one day, he took this girl to the next door lodging, without my knowledge-not that I would have minded that much, but it was necessary for my records. He did these crazy things with her like spreading flowers on the bed, burning scented candles and all these things that we only read in romance novels. Girl was mesmerized. She was in love. And she told me all about it the following day. I just laughed quietly to myself, LQTM, literally. Sheep with this love towards wolves.

Hell broke loose the following weekend when Kero’s girlfriend came visiting. Let’s say I had to pull an instant Kofi Annan to save the occasion. Kero took his girlfriend to the same lodging he had taken the other girl the previous weekend! My mother says¬†“Wanaume si mamako”¬†and she is right. We men, aren’t your mother! J was crashed. She cried… My offer? As much as I hate clubs, I took her to Roast House for a drink and dance. Remember I dance like a tortoise-so I never hit the dance floor. So I sat in a corner and watched her dance with people while I got the dividends- drinks being sent to my table in a stream till I had enough and dragged her out. She was hysterical, especially when we reached the lodging-Screaming how¬†“….he is ******ng her in the same room he ****** me in! She must be thinking she is the only one. Oh God, I am a ****!

That’s where robbers got us, while I was trying to drag her in. Just like that, out of the blue, with rungus and pangas. And I jumped into the gate, and closed her outside with the muggers. You must be wondering what kind of man I am. Well, me too! I someties wonder what kind of man I am.

My reasoning was simple. None of us had a phone. Not even a single cent. Being the guy, I guessed they would have beaten me, cut me, or worse, killed me in frustration. In my drunken stupor, however, I was thinking, in my imaginary super powers, that if I opened the gate, I would hit one of them and kill him. Which is a sin. All this while, I was screaming my lungs out like a proper sissy coward. This was a day to forget.

Let’s pray for our shoes

We started looking for jobs while still in Plot 10. Me, Kero, Marti,¬†Alex¬†and the all crazy Musila whose story I will tell you another day. We would print CVs, walk around town dropping them with the help of a directory. Evenings would find us too tired. To improve our chances of getting jobs, we each invested in a suit, and new formal shoes. One evening, the Monday after we had bought new shoes on Saturday, we came home tired, and there was a blackout. We dozed off in the darkness, Kero, Alex and I, only waking up early in the morning for another day of tarmacking for jobs. We took our showers, wore our recycled suits…and then Alex stepped out.

“Where did we put our shoes?”

“They should be at the door”

“No! They aren’t!”

We thought he was joking. So Kero went to check. Our shoes were missing! That was a new low. We were crushed. There went our several-month savings, and probably our chances of getting jobs. Solution.

“Let’s pray,” Alex said. In desperation, we knelt down to pray. In Faith. Singing a worship chorus, Alex told us that if we opened the door slowly and shouted¬†“JESUS!”¬†six times, the shoes would be there in the seventh open.¬†

Jesus Himself must have smiled at that, because we didn’t get our shoes!

Bugs and rats

Tell me what you know about bedbugs. I know bedbugs, trust me. Plot 10 was an Animal Conservation park. We used to have human size rats. You would meet with a rat in the stairs, thing stares at you and you pass slowly. Rats that had this mean look of¬†“Don’t make any sudden moves, or you will die”¬†That was no big worry, because our rats were street wise buddies who knew how to use the sufferer space with the sufferers-they never ate clothes or books. We had this mutual respect. But tell that the their little cousins-the bed bugs. Those things have no respect at all. We had this infestation that could easily make KU jealous. And they used to show up in the worst times-when you had a visitor, or in public, in class or when you were tarmacking. And they were in every house. That’s why when I moved out of Plot 10, I only left with my computer, and the clothes I had on. I couldn’t risk carrying those bugs.¬†

For the time I was at Plot 10, I never saw the landlord. We used to deal with a manager/caretaker and never cared about the owner, until we received a letter raising the rent by a cool Sh. 3,000 in that month end. Less than three weeks. Never mind we were all students in an unpainted, unmaintained, rat infested, stinking plot.That’s the only time we came together as a plot outside Sodom, and sued him, with the legal advice of a law student with all his experience. We went to court, all of us, and declared that we would not pay rent for three months. Of course we were overruled, but that sent a message to the landlord that we were not in it for games. He backed down, sent some mzee friends of his to plead with us to take the case out of court, and agree on a compromise. We had our way, and of course the money we had contributed for court was enough to buy several jugs of Senator keg and Kenya Cane beehives. ūüôā¬†

The “Adventures of Plot 10” would be a complete novel. Just can’t cover it here. Buy me a drink one of these days and I will give you a proper narrative. But Plot 10 remains. We moved on, and left the room, with everything, to some boys from the village,as a memoir of a very important phase of our life.We vowed that the room would remain ours for as long as Plot 10 exists. It will be passed down, intact to the younger guys coming to Nairobi from upcountry.¬†

Ni kama vindio ni kama ndrama.

Main pic: Full house, full bed, any time, Twitter.
King Rat: Penguins of Madagascar, Fanpop

Blame these politicians for the terror

Bad things are happening to my country. …very bad things, of serious insecurity types.

Kenya has been known as the island of peace and economic stability in a region under siege….we have been brokering peace around us since independence.

Now,the tide has changed.  We are on the receiving end of the very things we have been consultants against. Insecurity topping the class.

Previously. , we only knew of bombings from international media: the Palestinas, the Iraqis, the Somalis, etc. Not any more.  We now know the smell of explosives, gun powder, and definitely the smell of blood. Innocent blood flowing in torrents….every other day.

Kenya is crying. Deaths are too many. Tourists are fleeing. Investors are cashing their investments and leaving in a huff.

And most sadly, politicians are taking advantage of the debacle.

Granted, the government of the day is a joke, the intelligence situation is foolhardy, the Minister of Security is a caterer, cameras are being installed everywhere and our troops are still in Somalia.

BUT. But politicians are to blame. Why?

Where is our security policy?  The parliament is busy plotting how it will force us to call its occupants Honorable!
Why are the same things happening every time?  We almost expect them to happen. Our Intelligence Service is busy looking for people’s academic papers.

Why are we out of ideas?Because we aren’t united to one cause at all.  The Opposition is busy holding rallies and fathering crowds. Because the government of the day stole an election.

Then, why are we being attacked every day?  Because of illegal immigrants?  Because Muslim youth are being radicalized? Because IEBC failed in the last election? Because the father was away? Because we don’t have enough policemen? Because of corruption? Because the government has kept the soldiers in Somalia? Because County Commissioners were empowered? Because Anglo Leasing was paid out?

I am not an expert in matters governance, security or politics….but I think those aren’t the reasons.

I think it’s because one part our divide thinks the acting side is doing a bad job, and the other part is busy depending itself.

I think it’s because we are too busy talking about dialogues that we can’t focus on the real issues.

I think it’s because we are too divided.

I think it’s all down to politicizing a national scourge.

I think it’s because someone can’t hold someone to account to maintain political ego.

I blame politics and the holding politicians.

God help Kenya.
Pic: How it started. 1998 bomb blast. Telegraph

MCashBook: The Ultimate M-Pesa Application.

In a world of hundreds of Thousands of Android applications, I have ‘discovered’ an Application that is actually relevant … that works for me.

M-Pesa is arguably the greatest innovation of our time, a revolution in mobile banking. Any banking has to have a trail, though-bank statements, a transaction history, among other reports. M-Pesa has been lacking these, and sometimes all you have to show for your transaction is an SMS-which you may lose! Granted, Safaricom Self care is now solving some of these, at least you can now get your statement. But that’s still basic!
This is where M-CashBook comes in! M-Cashbook is a mobile phone application intended for M-PESA mobile money transfer users in KENYA, designed to help you keep and easily view your MPESA transactions-even if you lose the MPESA confirmation SMS messages.
MCashBook will automatically save your MPESA transactions on your phone immediately the MPESA confirmation message is received by your phone. Transactions that were previously done prior to installation of MCashBook on your phone and are still in your inbox can be scanned and saved by the application. MCashBook will also enable you to backup all your MPESA messages in your inbox to an excel file that you can transfer by bluetooth or email to your PC. 
So, MCashBook can be used by both MPESA users and MPESA agents to keep,manage and backup their MPESA transactions.
Some of the features it boasts include:
  • Backup SMS messages. 
  • Export MPESA transactions to excel. 
  • Organise transactions into different categories. 
  • Create reminders. 
  • Scan messages for and retrieve MPESA messages. 
  • Group transactions into categories i.e. Deposits, Withdrawals, Bill payments e.t.c
  • Handles both MPESA client transactions as well as MPESA Agent transactions. 
  • Summary and transaction details reports.
I have tried all these, and yes! It works perfectly! 
What’s more-it is FREE!
Download it here: SAFARICOM APP STORE or SAMSUNG APPS
M-Cashbook has a phenomenal 4.5/5.0 rating on Samsung…I give it 6.0/5.0.  ūüôā

Pledge to Plant a Tree – Twestival Nairobi 2013.


Warren Buffet once said : Someone is sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago. 

Let’s face it-The quest for a super skyline is destroying our Greenline. Unless someone does something NOW, the coming generations will be living in a ballast forest-so to speak. Imagine Nairobi without trees….and the title we all love- The Green City in The Sun gets lost. 


“The cost of planting and maintaining one seedling is Sh.200. Donate to this cause via M-pesa 89857 #PAWA254


We wouldn’t love that, I would abhor imagining that! And that’s why I have to tell you this:


Twestival Nairobi seeks to raise funds to assist the Nairobi Greenline, a KWS ‚Äď KAM project to protect the Nairobi National Park by planting and taking care of at least 750 seedlings, online and offline. The climax of this all will be on the PAWA 254 rooftop on the 22nd November 2013 from 6pm. ” The seedlings will be planted on the 23rd November 2013 and will go a long way in ensuring that the 30km long, 50m wide forest of indigenous trees shielding the Nairobi National park from our growing metropolis target is achieved “


There are various ways you can help achieve this noble target:

a)      Send monetary donations to MPESA BUY GOODS TILL NUMBER 89857
b)     Attend the fundraising event at Pawa 254 on November 22nd from 6pm. 
c)       Purchase merchandise to support the cause. Merchandise can be ordered online or bought during the event.
d)      Email twestivalnbo@vancemuriu.com to partner with Twestival as an individual, a corporate or brand. 
e)      Join in the tree planting exercise on Saturday 23rd November 2013. 

For more details:

Visit nairobi.twestival.com for more details. 
Twitter: @TwestivalNBO.
—————————–

 TWESTIVAL is the largest social media fundraising initiative in the world. It’s a movement that uses social media for social good, empowering communities around the world to organize one-of-a-kind offline events in support of a greater local cause of their choice. All events are 100% volunteer run, and all proceeds go directly to the projects.

SHAMED BY MY MP

There is a TT dubbed #SomeoneTellLinturi regarding an MP who appeared in TV stations on Wednesday, whining in a rather accented voice that the Salaries and Remuneration Commission that deals with MPs and other Public Officials’ salaries had overstepped their mandate and called for the Commission’s wind up.

Previously, MPs used to mug us, Taxpayers at gun point.  They would wantonly set their pay, and resist any tax on it, they drove huge cars-my sweat. A traditionally severely divided lot, they would speak in one voice during such discussions. At one point, only Karua and Peter Kenneth were against such a move.

When they were ordered to pay taxes, they said they wanted more salary, so that the taxman can deduct that extra amount as tax, one said they were not gaining, it was a +1-1 math. Then a few of them decided to make it a publicity stunt, Queing at KRA to pay tax. It was ceremonial to them- to us, it’s a crime not to.

Anyway, that is past.

Only that the past is back to haunt us. The devil bearing it this time is my MP.

I haven’t accepted him as my MP, whereas I wasn’t around, little birds tell me that he didn’t win fairly. Dead people rose to vote for him. IEBC official stamps were found somewhere in a bush. The man who was so vilified somehow won the election. Wonder where he got the votes-Don’t quote me.

Now, seeing him talk like that, and #KOT telling him as they (we) do, I felt ashamed.

Why do people have to be so greedy? Is it a curse unique to that house? Or is it a haunted house? We have seen several seasons of the Reality Show that is Kenyan Politics behave in exactly the same manner. Total disregard of the laws that be especially where their greedy, huge tummies are concerned.

And why did my MP choose to be the King Pig? I feel the nudge to call him a few select words, but I leave that to Cabu Gah. 

Friends, as it is now, I don’t have an MP.

I don’t. I am not at home anyway.

Its Kenya Vs Nigeria on TWITTER!

Well, #KOT is at it again.This time against Nigeria.

How it strarted: When the Kenya National Team went to Nigeria for the World Cup qualifier against Super Eagles, the Stars were humiliated by the worst reception a Federation can give a visiting team-they were given a school for accomodation and no training ground.

Well, #KOT did what they do best..’tell them’

And Nigerians on Twitter retaliated-in a big way.

Who won? The jury is still out.

WHAT POLITICIANS POSTED ON FACEBOOK AFTER ELECTIONS

As always, Kenya has one of the craziest, most creative lot on Facebook and Twitter.

When they are not telling foreign journalists off, they are cajoling someone for what she said on reality TV, or analyzing politics with abandon.

Immediately after elections, this is what Politicians are ‘alleged’ to have conversed on Facebook,according to  Fans of Crazy Monday.

MUDAVADI Updates:
“I wish I knew”
Uhuru,Ruto,Balala and 467 other
governors and senators LIKE this.

UHURU:
Hehehe,told ya! *Ruto and 185 others
LIKE this*
RUTO:
@Uhuru,hehehe,you guy!
MUDAVADI:
@Ruto,whats funny??? Nkt!
RUTO:
@Mudavadi,ai, Everythng! Hahahaha
NGILU:
@Uhuru,hehehe,aki wewe! Spare the
guy! @Ruto,ati everything? Hahaha
MUTHAMA:
@Ngilu,hata wewe unacheka
Mudavadi? SMDH. Nyani haonikundule…I thot u lost da senator’s
post,
KALONZO:
@Muthama,tihihi,ati nini??
NGILU:
@Muthama,was I talking to You?? Puh
leeeeze! @Kalonzo,so utacheka ALL
DAY ama? Btw,i thot uko kotini ,
KALONZO:
@Ngilu,Kortini nikiduu? We send
lawyers ,my dia! Unafikiri kwenda kotinini ka kuchimba borehole? Lol!
MUTULA:
@Kalonzo,pwahahahahahaha! Ebu say
that again!
SONKO:
@Kalonzo,ai boss,wacha kucatchmafeelings buda,ni fb!
WAITITU:
@Hehehe,am enjoying the
conversation,
BISHOP WANJIRU:
@Waititu,keep enjoying the
conversation while KIDERO is enjoying
the victory!
WAITITU:
@Wanjiru,are YOU enjoying ANY
VICTORY YOURSELF??????
MUNGATANA:
@Wanjiru,we may have lost but aleastwe wil b in tha Government!
UHURU:
@Mungatana, hmmmm,okay….
RUTO:
@Uhuru,hahaha,na si unanibamba!
KABOGO:
@Mudavadi,too late 4u bro. Endaukauze miwa! lol !
RUTO:
@Kabogo,ati miwa?? Pwahahahahah!
Man,you just killed it!

MUDAVADI XYZ
XYZ

MUDAVADI:
@Kabogo,atleast it is LEGAL to sell
sugarcanes…..#peddler
KABOGO:
@Mudavadi,peddler my ass! Kwani niwewe na peddle??
MUDAVADI:
@Ruto, haiya,kwani leo unacheka? I
expectd uanze kulia!
NAMWAMBA:
@Mudavadi, pwahahaha,iyo ni kali !!! #
crybaby
DIDA:
You should ONLY insult when
offended. And when You do,dont over
do it. Leave some space for a reply.
SONKO:
@Dida,weh na wewe hapa sio debate!
Peleka ma punchlines Brookside!
MUITE:
@Sonko,ni BrookHOUSE. Sio
BrookSIDE. Brookside ni maziwa
budah! Hahaha

SONKO MANIFESTO
AREA 254

SONKO:
@Muite,kumbe umeONA iyo makosa??
Hehehe,enyewe uko na MACHO kali
boss! Lol!
KUTUNNY:
@Sonko,pwahahahaha! Wah! Iyo ni
kali! @Muite,de-activate account buda!
KARUA:
@Muite has a right to be heard and be
respected!
NGILU:
@Karua,kumbe Gichugu kuna network
ya fb??
WAITITU:
@Ngilu,Buahahahahahaha,aki umeni-
murder!@ Karua,iza jo!
KIDERO:
SMDH
KIYAPI:
@Kidero,SMDH too. Ebu twende inbox,
hapa ni utoi peke yake!
SHEBESH:
@Kiyapi,mafeelings nayo! Relax
buda,ni fb!
KIYAPI:
@Shebesh, yaaaaaaawwwn
SONKO:
@Kiyapi,una yawn na hauna meno??
ORENGO:
Dida diet@S√∂nko,pwahahahaha,i‘ve never liked
you lakini leo jo! Umeni-murder!
MARY WAMBUI:
@Chebes(shebesh) aki ya mungu reo
mumeniua! *Dead and Kiriamiti *!
NAMWAMBA:
@Wambui,ni CREMATED. Sio Kiriamiti!
Lol !
WAMBUI:
@Sasa wewe Namwaba,unagamba
gamba nini hapa? Unajua nirichida kiti
ya Othaya wewe? @Chebes,ta reke
jooke wíra itana shunwo certificate ya
TNA ni Mugambi,pwahahaha
SHEBESH:
@Wambui,pwahahaha,lakini tumia
lugha ya taifa hata kama bana! Lol!
WAMBUI:
@Chebes,lugha ya taiva kwani Othaya
ni taiva? Pwahahahaha!
*Mudavadi Removes Post*

THE TUJUANE MEME COLLECTION

Tujuane.
Lets know each other.
Well, that sounds like a dating site…only that now it’s a TV show on KTN.
I wouldn’t have watched it…OK, I haven’t watched it yet, but it started a huge world trend on twitter.I would have collected all the tweets, but the memes were something,really.
As usual #KOT rocked and blew it out of proportion for the poor lass.
Some in the most haphazard arrangement possible:


 

That,and the thousands of tweets,the conclusion is Don’t rattle #KOT They will burn you.

CRAZY #KOT AND #MKZ DEBATE ANALYSIS

Dictionary for Dummies:#KOT-Kenyans on Twitter#MKZ-Mukuru Kwa Zuckenburg-Facebook

Having nailed that,The First Presidential Debate went down featuring eight 2013 Presidential candidates.
Well,initially they were 6 until:
Presidential Debatehence






Then the debate went underway and as usual,Kenyans on Social Media assisted by one Dida made it a worldwide trending topic.
I got some of the whiffs:

  1. To save Ole kiyiapi,Sms the word “PENGO” to 2013……. Mchongoano
  2. Ati huyo mtu wa sign language hapo down ati wakisema Ole Kiyapi ana point meno #KEDebate2013″
  3. Ati Kenya cannot be run from Skype???Mboss haujajaribu Faimba??
  4. Mudavadi si apewe 3 minutes atume salamu ingo au vipi?
  5. The closest my kids will ever get to going to #BrookHouse is me showing them pirated cds of #Debate254.”
  6.  #BBC and #CNN will only air LIVE genocide footage from Africa. NOT SOBER DEBATE like #Debate254.Proud of @AlJazeera #AJEKOT”
  7. Linus moderated a debate. Julie hosted a talk show. #Debate254
  8. The debate is soo boring right now I’m actually looking forward to Abduba Dida’s turn. At least he’s funny #debate254
  9. Kwani these candidates pakad Viagra on their knees? Wamesimama for long na hawachoki bana. #Debate254
  10. kai kai iThink this guys should get a break now. To check on their cars maybe because Gumo
  11. If presidential candidates can stand for this long, why did we invest so much on parliament chairs for mps? #debate254
  12. Please be nice to Paul Muite, he’s had a long day chopping wood and putting together that extra podium.
  13. Dida chewed on old undies. His crazy can only come from genital excretions
  14. Am just imagining how the debate wud have been bila Dida and Muite, what were the media thinking? Missing all that comic 4rm Dida
  15. As for Madvd surely with his hot wife, how could she let him leave the house looking like that?
  16. My funmost moment was when Julie said ‘lets start with the lady’ and Martha looked around
  17. What would this debate be without Dida?
  18. Hahahaha what’s Dida saying? How’s eating when you’re hungry in line with preventive medicine?
  19. As Dida says “Somebody with a PhD in electricity will spend in the dark but a class 8 dropout will fix it.”
  20. Presidential candidates now ‘Writing their names and index numbers on the answer sheets’
  21. I hear Kalonzo is yet to decide which station to tune into for #KeDebate13
  22. Today you are still cleaning feet of jiggers and teaching kids to wash hands. All those years, where were you?” DIDA
  23. Dida ni baba ya eko dida?
  24. Ati Everytime Dida spoke the chiq translating was doing gangam style *I’ve been kicked out*
  25. The closest Dida can get to statehouse is by being a teacher at statehouse girls”,lol*hides*
  26. Dida: its true,when Kanu ate, we got the crumbs..these ppl even lick the plates!
  27. The only person who did worse than Musalia Mudavadi last night was Julie Gichuru.
  28. Collectively Raila, Uhuru, Ruto and Mudavadi have been in more parties than Paris Hilton. #Debate254 #KeDebate13
  29. Dida’s really making Uhuru look bad #kedebate13 he must be thinking “oh damn this pebble in my shoe!”
  30. First rule of presidential debate: Beware of candidates like Dida who have nothing to lose. They can bury you. 
  31. Mudavadi on education: “We can privatize the port of Mombassa”
  32. Tonight’s winners: Martha Karua, Linus Kaikai, the hashtag#KEdebate13, Abuda Dida and democracy.


When they went for a break

Kiyiapi’s toothbrush
Mudavadi went for a tea break
Uhuru went for vodka
Raila went for supu ya kichwa ya samaki
Martha went for lipstick
Dida went for miraa…

The President of Wajiya 
 we had 
One host(linus),
One invigilator(jul ie), 
One standup comedian (dida), 
One pastor(muite), 
One fashion disaster(mudava di), 
One others, 
Another others, 
Another others, 
And two presidential candidates…

Conclusions by a self proclaimed analyst:
1.Dida is a joker.
2.Ole kiyapi ..pass.
1/3 Githeri,1/3 Water,1/3 air-Dida Diet
3.Uhuru was coached and tried so hard to be composed.lol.
4.PK is fake.he was over confident and tried to copy Obama.
5.Mudavadi is sober but no policy whatsoever.
6.Martha Karua is straight but she acts like a school prefect.
7.RAILA told it as it is and he looks like the man.lol.
8.Paul Muite is good.he knows things but he is just bitter

If it was a classroom

Muite – would be the annoying ‘mbenye’ prefect
RAO – would be the guy who gets D’s in school but straight A’s in Street smartness
Martha – is definitely the A student, Teachers Pet
Musalia – is the boring guy uko back bench
PK – is the guy who uses big words to impress and is saying what everyone says
UK – is the guy you sneak out of school with,he skips all classes yet gets straight A’s
Ole – is the kid who carries the teacher’s books to the staff room (spy)
Dida – is the coolest kid, the sportsman but the guy who fails even P.E

Did I miss anything?Add yours below….

Disclaimer: None of this mumbo-jumbo is my creation.All courtesy of #MKZ and #KOT

KALEMBE NDILE’S LETTER TO MICROSOFT:HILLARIOUS

Got this from circles.Had to share:

1. We have bought a computer for our home and we found problems, which I want to bring to your notice.

2. We are unable to enter anything after we click the “Shut Down” button.

3. There is a button “Start” but there is no “Stop” button. We request you to check this.

4. We find there is “Run” in the menu. One of my friend clicked “Run” has run up to kibwezi town. So, we request you to change that to “Sit”, so that we can click that by sitting.

5. One doubt is that any “Re-Scooter” available in system? As I find only “Re-Cycle”, but I own a scooter at my home.

6. There is “Find” button but it is not working properly. My wife lost the door key and we tried a lot for tracing the key with this ‘Find’, but unable to trace. Is it a bug??

7. Every night I am not sleeping as I have to protect my “Mouse” from the Cat, So I suggest you to provide one DOG to kill that cat..
(In fact ma worry is , once, the cat went near the mouse but it dint move, could it be dead?)

9. My child learnt “Microsoft Word” now he wants to learn “Microsoft Sentence”, so when will U provide that?
10.And the final question, Why do u call yourself Gates and u sell Windows?

Best regards
Kalembe

Talking Advertisements


Companies can say or do anything just to sound cool and look cool, and gain customers in the process. It’s called promotion and includes seven elements: advertising, personal selling, direct marketing, sales promotion, publicity/public relations, corporate image and exhibitions.

The company chooses the method through which to promote its business depending on the circumstance and the product. Some, like Public Relations are ongoing processes while others are once-off affairs, for instance exhibitions. Dissect these methods and you come up with a thousand and one ways of promoting your company, or product, or person- if you are a you-know-who.

That‚Äôs done, I am not a promotion lecturer, just a works guru. By the way, contact me if you need an expert in branding.  
You may have seen all these drives by Kenyan companies to have you jump into their bandwagons, some of them are rememberable, hard to forget-they are either outstanding positively or sloppily.
You should use your promotion method to communicate your intentions clearly. The target people should not strain to catch the jist of what you are trying to tell them.I have seen Safaricom and DSTV/MultiChoice guys dancing in the middle of roundabouts-just their t-shirts identify them. Ok, I think there should be more than that, like a brochure, or a bill-board behind them to tell us what they are up to. But, anyway, they offer us entertainment in the jam. Maybe it’s a new style.

Your style should be attractive to the eyes and ears. It should have an unforgettable aspects that makes people look forward to it, and instill interest in the product. Fiatu Fyangu, we all know this Kiwi advert, not because it is entertaining, or because Rudisha is the superstar he is, but because of the way he speaks‚Ķ.which I don‚Äôt think even the Kiwi guys intended(what a mountain of luck!)Other companies have tapped into the ‚Äėfunny-talk‚Äô advert styles are Yu with the ‚ÄúOwya Omaree‚Ķ.Owya Odhisiiii‚ÄĚ thingy.Its such a laugh-and hits the nail on the head. We love it, don‚Äôt we? Peter Marangi, too.

As far as your brand goes, I think it should be so common to all that some things such as colour are automatically attributed to you. Tell your thing again and again. Don’t do a one-hit wonder if your company/propduct is on-going.Do it like Safaricom,everybody knows about M-Pesa but they advertise it daily,the Safaricom Green(note the name) is so common,no wonder Safaricom remains the largets brand around.
Some stay so long that they get outdated. Its good practice to change your advert over time. You may have seen these billboards announcing a date that is long past? They are many. Have you listened to Radio Jambo lately? What‚Äôs with the ‚ÄúStesheni Mpya‚ÄĚ fib? Radio Jambo has been around like forever, they should update it to something more true.

Others are plain crude and rude. I am of the view that, no matter the nature of message you are communicating, don’t be rude. You may destroy the company’s face completely. You saw these Nairobi and Mombasa City Councils’ adverts ordering property owners to pay their rates. The Give to Caesar saying was all wrong. It sounded slavish, oppressive and insensitive to the people. Not that Nairobi City Council is all that sensitive, anyway.

PREACHING PEACE?CRAP!!

Politicians,activists,church leaders and many more are criss crossing the country,holding forums and huge rallies for peaceful elections-in a bid to encourage a peaceful election in March.

I think its a drive in futility.Its a waste of time and resources.

Now you think I am mad,and I like violence…maybe I am a Hague candidate,but think about it this way:

What causes violence?I’d say stress,perceived and real inequality and discrimination,idleness and Poverty.We all know Kenya has its enough share of these.There is too much of them,in fact.

The financial strain is too much,the gap between the rich and poor is astronomical,our tribal intolerance too much,a very high level of unemployment,land issues among other fuels of violence.

Now,’Mr.Rich Man’ goes to tell ‘Mr.Poor Man’ to vote peacefully.You cant lecture a hungry man.

In the last elections,people fought,not due to rigged elections,but due to other issues-land inequality,ethnic cleansing,negative politics,wealth disparities,the list is quite long-of which none has changed.

Actually,most of these have escalated in the last 5 years,plus the current extremely greedy and tribe-minded politicians and oh,IDPs,you get an emotional Kenya.

No preaching can change that.MPs going to expensive Peace forums doesnt help the situation.Considering that the money being used can be used to improve a Kenyan’s situation.

To avert the violence pot,we should be looking for ways to uproot it from its roots,cutting the buds isnt enough.Lets address the cause,not the end result.

Somebody said,an Hungry Man is an Angry man.

NEEDLES FOR DRUG USERS?


There has been news in the past few weeks that there is a plan(if not already being implemented) to provide free needles for drug users..in a bid to prevent HIv/AIDS from sharing needles.

And I dont like the idea-at all!

You see,drug abuse is a personal choice.You go into it knowing exactly what you are doing..and its for yourself.Why should anyone care if their personal choices kill them or not?

Again,who pays for those syringes?Taxpayers’s money or donors’ money?Whichever the case,I dont think its worth the waste.There are AIDS orphans everywhere.Why not take care of them with that money?Or even throw a bash for those who get out of drug addiction.

AIDS kills,but,so do drugs?Actually,some drugs kill faster that HIV..and HIV has ARVs….why not provide more ARVs,anyway..so that those who chose to die,die comfortably!By showing interest in the losers,we are choosing one evil,over another.And our choice isn’t worth it!

The cost begs a question.You know Kenyans are not to be trusted with money.Dubious tenders and contracts.Don’t be shocked if you hear of another Clinix…the suppliers of the syringes are likely to be the leaders of that initiative..Watch this space keenly.There has to be a connection somewhere.Somebody saw an opportunity to make chumz…and came up with that unthinkable proposal.

Final thoughts?Let sleeping dogs lie.Instead of discouraging these people,we are encouraging a menace.

Lest we forget:DRUG ABUSE IS ILLEGAL!

SAKATA BALL:WHY THE ‘F’ IN FKF DOESN’T STAND FOR FOOTBALL

I had just seen my email invite to the Safaricom Sakata Ball Launch…happy and excitedly!Ready to attend the spring of Kenyan youth football.

Making a ground check on the event on the net,I see headlines to the effect that Sakata Ball Season 3 launch has been postphoned…I go back to the email..This is Season 3 alright….back to the news..its today’s date.

I think its a joke and I RSVP that I will attend.

Then I get a reply,confirming my fears..followed by the Press Statement cancelling the whole thing!

And the reason?Sad,but not shocking….. In part:

This follows a last minute move by the national football governing body, Football
Kenya Federation (FKF) to impose new requirements on the running of the
event through a letter to event organizers dated 30th May 2012. In its letter to
Safaricom, the FKF demanded to be paid 20% of the total sponsorship cost of the
Sakata Ball tournament as administration fees half of which was to be paid prior
to its launch, failing which it would disown the event.

 That’s FKF,the body proposing to be the protector of Fottball interests in Kenya…alll for one reason..MONEY!

Lets take a background check on Sakata Ball:This tournament started in 2010 primarily involving children teams from all over the country in a progression set up from the grassroots to the national level.

In 2010,it saw 1057 boys‚Äô teams from six regions around the country participate and expanded in 2011 to cover eight regions and include 1526 boys‚Äô and 533 girls‚Äô teams. Today, ex-Sakata players comprise 90% of the U 20 girls‚Äôfootball team while others like Abdi Malik have played for both the U-20 team and Harambee Stars.

Now, that’s a genuine effort to foster the growth of Kenyan football into the future..a mission with results.

Now,tell me what we can call a person against this noble mission if not an Enemy of the Game,and State? Intriguingly, this enemy is the same one tats is charged with the duty of doing that-growing football in Kenya.Well,they failed to do this-they didn’t even try..and now they are fighting anyone who tries to do it…all for money!

Earlier in the week,the Vice Chairman had pointed out pressing issues in FKF..endemic corruption,abuse of power,extortion,empty promises,misuse of funds,among others..and you are left wodering..if the caretaker destroys the house,who will take care of it? There were elections the other day in a bid to sweep such things..and now its worse.

All I say…FKF doesnt represent the interest of Kenyan football..the Fs in the abbreviation don’t stand for Football!Telol them I said that-because I don’t think they will read this-I doubt they read any football commentary,even in the papers.Otherwise they would know we don’t approve their selfish ways.

If this continues,the future is quite bleak.

God Bless Kenya.

IDD AMIN SPEECH

IDD AMIN DADA SPEECH AT A FORUM HOSTED BY HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND:

‘My majesty Mr. Queen Sir, horrible ministers and members of parliament, invented Guests, ladies under gentlemen, before I undress you, let us open the windows for the climate to come inside!

I hereby thank you completely….. Mr. Queen, sir; and also what he has done for me and my fellow Uganda who come with me.


We have really eaten very much. And we are fed up completely

But before I go back to my country with a plane from the Entebbe airport of London I wish to invitation you Mr. Queen, to become home to Uganda so that we can also revenge on you.

You will eat a full cow:and also feel up your stomach and walk with difficult because of full stomach completely. Even when you want to rest at night; I will make sure that you sleep on top of me in the top up stairs of my mansion completely so that you can enjoy all the gravity of fresh air.

‘But now am sorry because I have to tell you that I have made a short call on you only. But next time I shall make a long call on you to last the whole moon completely. Thank you very much to allow me to undress you completely before these extinguished ladies under gentlemen sir.

Lastly but not list, I ask the band to play our international anthem of the republic of Uganda and also the British international anthem..Your majesty sir, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and from the bottoms of all the people of Uganda.

With this few words I thank you Sir.

THE KENYA ANIMAL FARM

Smart MPigs
George Orwell’s book,Animal Farm is about animals in a farm who are fed up with the oppressions in the farm and seek a revolution…which happens without much planning..it just happens and they chase away the owner and other humans from the farm.
 They resolve to live together as a family…under the leadership of Pigs under a set of rules.
 The first few days are heaven on earth,but as the days progress,they gradually know who the pigs are:They are selfish,greedy,dictatorial and take advantage of those under them-the animals.
The pigs live in the farm house,eat luxurious meals,sell off sick animals to the butcher and amend the rules,particularly,ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL..is amended to include-BUT SOME ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS.
When the current generation of MPs was campaigning,there were words such as People’s Servant, Integrity, Fight Corruption, Bwana Tamaa na Maendeleo among others.The older ones chased away the Human Colonialists,others, the Human KANU regime and others, the Human Immediate former MPs…and promised us heaven under their leadership.
 That changed IMMEDIATELY.
 Since,some were unable to dettach the Main Human…they induced the other animals to kill fellow animals. The first major indication of bad things to come was the widespread blood shed…Kenyans bathed in their own blood and warmed themselves with the fire of their burning houses.And the MPigs sat,took coffee,and laughed their way into pacts..political pacts.No apology. The dying ‘animals’ were less equal.
Then came the crazy perks.The MPigs in the Farm House started enjoying even more than the Humans they had chased away used to enjoy.Since there were burials,weddings and political rallies to attend,they needed more money.Previously,they would argue about bills such as Health Bill nad Budget..but were unanimous in this..they badly needed an increment because the economy was going bad.That, they gave themselves.
 Scandals began..They started selling Farm assets,roasting it’s maize,using cemetery land for their use,even ploughing the forest part,buying land far away at inflated prices,grabbed the forested areas,among other embezzlements…the other animals cried foul,and the pigs simulated action..till the other animals,in their forgetful nature,kept quiet..and things went back to normal.,the pigs kept eating cheese.
Tax issues arose.Among the rules was that everybody should contribute to the Farm kitty through deductions of their hay-taxes.Again, the Mpigs could have none of it…Their hay was ‘too small’ to attend burials,service car loans and again .the economy was that bad.unless,of course,they recieve more hay so that they can give some back.A few philanthropic ones queued at the store,to return some.. didn’t everybody see them do that?They were the few good ones..my hoof!
Then they amended the new rules to add their stay at the Farm House..they said that since they had come ‘late’ they had to leave late,unless the animals were willing to pay heftily for that.The animal Kenyans kept quiet..and are still waiting to see whether the next generation will want to be paid for the time taken off their regime by the current generation.
And then,the mother of all atrocities..they have robbed the Kenyan animals..again!This time,they each want 3.7 million stacks of hay,as gratuity for a ‘job well done’…they reckon they deserve all that,possibly more.. haven’t they done so much for the Farm?
3.7m,while the animals who paid for their ‘revolution’ are stilled holed up in IDP Camps,from where they will vote again!
And a current MPig might come to ask me for my vote.
I WILL BE DAMNED!!TIME FOR THEM TO GO BACK TO THE PIG STIES THEY CAME FROM!!!
This is my opinion….not necessarily yours.My vote,My opinion! 

MY BAKE AWARDS NOMINATION:AN ACCOLADE

BAKE awards
So,the other day I am sitting idly in the house when I get a twitter mention by Ghafla Kenya….that I am among the nominees for a BAKE Award..with a link.
At first,I think its a link for me to vote for them…but,oh my!My football blog has been nominated for the Awards!Ok,I don’t remember submitting it,maybe a fan did(God Bless Them)..and.of all my blogs,this is the one blog I pay least attention to..and it has a nomination?
I must say its the highest point of my blogging life(I almost said career)..and it took me some time to get the gist of it all.

The BAKE Blog Awards rewards bloggers that post on a regular basis, have great and useful content, are creative and innovative.

You see,I am not much of a blogger,but I do it at times..its like my public diary…Thanks to my IT dad Alex Mwiti,I own a domain..which is quite a huge step made in this practice.Ok,I used to blog before,and I was quite undecided on what field to major in,so,I tried many,getting bored fast… PoliticsFootballMusic,Jobs,Inspiration,et all…I even tried being naughty.
Well,I concentrated more on Poems, Inspiration and Frank Opinion on everything…including the football that won me this.
It was a glorious moment..I have been glowing.
I don’t know how many votes I will get,but this nomination is still great for me..A win would give me wings to fly.It would surprise me,but this nomination gave me a good preparation for that.
My readers can VOTE FOR ME HERE under the BEST SPORTS BLOG category.

WHY I AM HAVING MANY CHILDREN!

In explaining interest rates and maturity of bonds,my lecturer gave an example that elicited murmurs from all.He said,money(or lack of it) is not reason enough to have small families.One should have as many children as possible-for the future!

This,with the economic times and the cost of raising a child!

Then he brought up an angle that we don’t time to look at!We inflate the cost of raising children-ourself!Think of it:

Why pay Sh.30000 per term for kindergarten where all the child goes to do is play and sleep!Things they could for free at home!They dont learn anything new there,do they?

Or,oh!They learn to speak English.So,when you go upcountry,they will be perceived as clever,as revolutionized.. “See,he speaks English!”Come on!An English speaking child doesn’t bring food on the table,does he?So,why pay that much,yet there are no returns?

Then they proceed to classes that never existed when we were there..Baby Class,PreUnit, Nursery C,B,A…..so that by the time the Child joins Primary School proper,he has spent a fortune..yet has nothing to show for it-apart from ‘urbanized English,of course!

There are foods that only children of the rich eat,its almost a prescription that they take expensive cereal,margarine and several other things that I don’t even know.This gives rise to obesity,teeth cavities,etc.Note,there are many better and cheaper alternatives to these.Ask you mother,she will send a bus-ful of indigenous foods fit for your child,the same food that made the healthy you!

Meanwhile,the kid is in a high-end primary school that requires Sh.70000 per term.This,and the child is a day-scholar,carrying the expensive food in expensive lunch boxes,just to fit in.Thereby,an average child uses more than Sh.100000 each three months-all in the name of ‘Quality Education’.

After all this comes the Final Exam,he is defeated by a Child who went the Kibaki System of (Free) Public Primary Education,or slightly defeats them.Then the quota system of allocating secondary schools sets in.The other child goes to a good Public School,while yours manages a village or district school.This is the bidding of the upper middle class,so,you get him into a Private Secondary School,still in quest for quality Education.MORE MONEY!

That is just one example of education.There are many more…

For Instance,clothes.THe same clothe may have different prices,but since your child is high class,you insist to buy their clothes in high-end malls.I buy mine in Gikomba and they serve the same utility!

You used washable nappies worth very little,but now you have a multi-figure budget for diapers for your baby.

Ultimately,it becomes hard to raise two children,actually,they turn you bankrupt,whereas you would have raised them comfortably.Even added more.

Why have more?Talk to your grandfather.he will tell you why many children make Old Age merrier.No contesting that!It makes living feel worthwhlie,taken care of!Ypu will die a very gratified person.Its the ultimate return of your investment in children!

As you can see,with the right mind,having a huge family isn’t economically unrealistic.Its a viable investment with positive returns.

So,friends,thats why I am having a football team!

NSE Gets New Board in Restructuring:A DEMUTUALIZATION STEP?

My Finance class has been rife with speculative stories on the prespect of the NSE being demutualized soon.One of the conclusions we reached was that we still,are quite far from that,since the right infrastructure has not been put in place.Well,seems we were wrong.

Barely a day later,this is in the news!

As part of its ongoing
demutualisation process, the Nairobi Securities
Exchange has elected a new board of directors that
will foresee the separation of private ownership from
the management of the exchange.
NSE Chairman Eddy Njoroge said the board
restructuring will allow for more autonomy in the
company that is now limited by shares and subject to
regulations under the Companies Act.
“There should be a little more independence in terms of
how the Exchange works. It will not be controlled by
the members. Before when it was a mutual club it was
the members who used to decide,” he said.
The new board will now comprise six independent and
non-executive directors, two trading participant
directors and one Executive Director who will serve as
the Chief Executive Officer (CEO).
NSE members would hold 80 percent in the
demutualised Exchange, while the government and the
Investor Compensation Fund would be allocated 10
percent each.
The 80 percent stake held by members, however,
would be further reduced to 40 percent, which Njoroge
said would be facilitated through a subsequent offer of
shares in the Exchange by private placement or initial
public offer.
“In total we will have 22 participating members. We
have given four percent to each of the participating
members. Once the regulations are done we could
allocate up to four million shares – about eight percent –
to government and to the investors protection fund,”
he noted.
Stockbrokers Shah Munge and Francis Thuo have also
been admitted as individual shareholders into the NSE,
on certain conditions, which Njoroge was not willing to
divulge just yet.
He added that as the demutualisation process
continues the company plans to be listed on the NSE by
2014 to unlock more value for shareholders.
Now that the NSE is pursuing status of a self-
regulatory organisation it will assume some
responsibility from the Capital Markets Authority
(CMA) in terms of compliance and regulations within
the market.
Njoroge, who is also the KenGen Managing Director,
will maintain his post as the NSE Chairman.
New board members will include Winnie Nyamute, an
ICPAK Audit Quality Assurance Committee member,
Farhana Hassanali, HassConsult Property Development
Manager and Samuel Njuguna Kimani, Jamii Bora Bank
CEO.
Uchumi CEO Jonathan Ciano, Hosea Kimutai Kili (Chief
Executive and Managing Trustee of the Local
Authorities Pension Trust) Bob Karina (Executive
Director of Faida Investment Bank) and Geoffrey
Odundo, Managing Director and CEO of Kingdom
Securities Limited will make up the rest of the board.
The names of the elected board have been forwarded
to the CMA for consideration and approval.

                                                                                            ALL-AFRICA

FOOTBALL MURDERS

There are some things that exceed human stupidity. I call it ‚ÄúExcessive human stupidity‚ÄĚ for lack of a single solid term to describe some actions. It‚Äôs even worse when these actions are done by men who have gone to school and call themselves educated. Some of these actions include the disgraceful actions from a clique of Gor Mahia fans yesterday after their 0-0 draw with AFC Leopards.

Two AFC Leopards fans lost their lives after unfortunately being caught in the middle of wanton destruction and violence from zombie-like, almost brainless, childish men that insultingly call themselves fans of Gor Mahia. May their souls rest in peace.

It is always the hope of every one a fan out there that the Kenyan Football scene is devoid of such violence witnessed yesterday. The truth is, most fans are truly worth the name ‚ÄúFan‚ÄĚ; they support their team in sensible ways like composing a team anthem, acquiring themselves a jersey, attending matches when they can and overall, being disciplined in their exploits as fans. This has been the norm for most of us who call ourselves fans. But what happens when some hooligans inject insanity in their football emotions? Absolute mayhem and sadly, death.

Those who participated in that stupid stone-throwing session should feel extremely ashamed of themselves! All they did was taint the name of Gor-Mahia as a club and brought Kenyan football to its death throes. They have taken us a few years back when a young boy lost his life in Nyayo Stadium after a game. They have taken us back to those years when people avoided going to stadia since violence was the order of the day. It’s unfair to football as a whole that a small group of football goons have caused this much harm. Such people should be identified, arrested and given time long enough in the gaol where they can have adequate time in their hands to stone each other and the jail mice.

In perspective, the violence that happened yesterday was a huge dent in the Gor image (that had been getting better with every sunrise) and should as such seek ways to discipline their rogue fans (If they ever were). The KPL should also step in and make sure Kenyan soccer doesn’t go the Egyptian way. They should issue stern fines where need be. Some of us are really done for with this soccer violence from adults with beyond-childish demeanors.

A cry from the true fans out there who want to watch peaceful football and go home to their beds goes out to these excessively stupid humans: STYLE UP OR STAY OFF FOOTBALL!

STONES cant win a FOOTBALL League…..Its a GAME,not WAR!


TO BE AFRIKAN

adoptanegotiator


To be Afrikan and what this means to me,
Is a task that sheer words cannot dare to treat,
For the beauty and warm feel of this majestic continent,
Is one I’m always sure and totally confident.

To be Afrikan, I wonder……….
Is it to have the awesome complexion of the midnight sky?
Or to possess the skill of crafting that delicious meal?
Is it to be blessed with the never ending smile of the sun?
Or maybe, to manage that intricate dance or beat of the drum?

Am I Afrikan because of the nature of my walk?
Or by the manner in which I pattern my talk?
Am I Afrikan because of this dear name I hold?
Or by fact that Afrika is where I have a place I call home?

Is it a feeling, is it a destiny?
Or just a mere form of identity?
Is it an attitude, is it a lifestyle?
Or just another cultural dwelling?

I believe it is all these, and more than entails this list,
That give me strength and with confidence fill me in,
To here boldly stand, and with kingly authority confirm,
That I am a prince of my Mamaland:
I am an Afrikan Child.


>>>Anzaa Makena

LOVE’S BLACK HOLE

what if you tattooed my name
upon your bosom
and showed it
so everyone knew
who i was
and what i mean to you

what if i
was your everything today
your heartbeat
the reason that you smile
at life
your very breath
what if i was all this and more
today
but when you woke up tomorrow
you feel nothing at all for me?

no hatred or reason to fight
no bitterness nor need for it
no antagonism
and no affection

nothing

what if the magic just
disappeared

there are things i fear
in love
more than i fear
the other woman
more than i fear my lover leaving
without a word

love lost
the feeling of feeling nothing
nothing at all
that i fear most

tracking stray things
i can
rekindling a flickering flame
that too
but making things
reappear from the air
like a magician’s abracadabra
i cannot

how do you create love
or anything
from nothingness
i am not God

what do you do
when cupid
does disappearing acts
and you love no more
feel no more
no matter how much
you wish it be

walking away
from hurt and betrayal
i can handle

but looking at you
and i want so badly
to touch you
to hold on to this
this void
this left emptiness
that none of us is guilty
for making
that i cannot handle

that’s what i fear most
in love
when it breathes warmly
in your ear
and whispers of forever
only to grow wings at midnight
and leave an emptiness

between two lovers
who are left
to stare at each other
with tears in both their eyes
as they wonder
what went wrong

no
not another woman
not my man leaving
not even finding him cheating

love leaving
and like a black hole
leaving nothingness
and an emptiness
that’s neither cold nor warm

that i fear most




>>>Masido Mwambi

A very talented and reknown poet….Knowing her was a discovery!…a relevation!

Sometimes

Sometimes
Sometimes i reach out..
sometimes i hesitate. 
Sometimes i hold on..
sometimes i let go. 
Sometimes i look back..
sometimes i look foward. 
Sometimes i lose my way..
sometimes i find a brand new path. 
Sometimes i falter..
sometimes i stand firm. 
Sometimes i fail..
sometimes i succeed. 
Sometimes i give up..
sometimes i persevere. 
Sometimes i am stupid..
sometimes i am wise. 
Sometimes i use my intuitions..
sometimes i use cues. 
Sometimes i overestimate..
sometimes i underestimate. 
Sometimes i look at the black and white..
sometimes i include the grey. 
Sometimes.


>>Lornah

More Is Less More or Less

In a country,
A country of
More laws and fewer morals
More people with less power
More religions but less God
More money but less to spend
More clothes but less length
More weaves and less dreads
More guys, less gents
More lovers, less wives
More hugs, less love
More radio, less music
More songs, less music
More cars, less drive
More food but less health
More ‚Äėbeef‚Äô and less veg‚Äô
More tweeps but less friends
More tweets but less said
More words but less spelled
In such a country,
Our death shall be
More poets…
But fewer poems.
Buzz,SN,18,02,2012

GAY SOCIETY

 “Pastor!I cant sit there,and let you defile the Lord’s alter with such an immoral topic”

 “Yes!I agree with that…this is not the right topic in the House of the Lord”

This is what transpired on Sunday,in my Church,Mamlaka Hill Chapel immediately the Pastor announced the topic for the day.A man came charging to the pulpit,demanding that the pastor ceases from preaching on that topic.”..its unacceptable in the house of the Lord”

The Topic was “The Gay Challenge”

The reaction,thankfully it was a prank,epitomizes the attitude our society approaches the Gay issue with.The ‘socially upright” especially Christians have assumed a no-tolerance stance-and it remains so.The gay are extremely sinful and dont deserve as much as a mention-It hurts the ear!

The truth is,it is an issue that should not be ignored considering the levels Gay behaviors have covered in the society,everywhere you turn,there are girls smooching,or men in heels and make up.There are Gay Clubs in all major towns in Kenya,every weekend has a gay party somewhere,there are lobby groups every other day in the streets fighting for Gay Recognition,Gay sex workers dot our streets-You cant avoid it!

So,how do we approach the issue?Intolerance is not an option!

The pastor pointed us to the story of the woman who had been caught in adultery and brought to Jesus.Remember…. “he who doesnt have a sin cast the first stone”?

And I agree with the pastor.

Don’t call someone “shoga”,hence you spit at them,whereas you bribe a Traffic Police Officer,or you fornicate!A sin is a sin no matter how socially (un)acceptable it is!Yes,we know its not moral,but they have somehow found themselves in it…Who are we to judge them?Do you judge somebody without hearing their side of the story?That would be a sin in itself(Do not judge)-and we are back in Square One!

They are our people,befriend them…..and since Homosexuality is NOT inborn(there is scientific proof),help them join the good way-Salvation as a totality.

And as we do that,lets examine ourselves first,before being judge-mental.Keep the stigma away,Christian..we are all of the same God.Talk to them,help them open up to what’s natural…draw them nearer to God,and the community,not deeper into the abyss.

If you need help in this,please contact help@mamlakahillchapel.org

Life and Times of a Idle Youth

The phone rings at 8:00 am,very irritating….I look at it with one eye and gauge its importance in my dream.Its dad..he can wait.I hit the silence button and sink deeper into blankets..
It rings again at 8:50…its Mum…..again I turn a blind eye…but her words since my childhood “..a little slumber..(you know the rest,I bet your mother also told you)..” jolt me to smithens.

I look at the gas cooker at the corner of my ‘remote control’ house…the dirty dishes of last night(the girl next door came just when I had finished cooking,and cut my ratio in half,thats why there are two plates-otherwise,I eat off the sufuria). Last night’s ugali is enough for now…so I make black tea,get the remaining chunk..and I’m good to go.I brush my teeth and clean my face..hell,I showered yesterday,and I didn’t sleep in the sewage,did I?

Its time for work-the jobsearching kind.And is it tasking!I write myself into a frenzy…I even got myself a directory.Yesterday it was hospitals,today its hotels.

In the midst of my writing, a call comes in,its a customer.You know,I own several bluechip companies on the net….and that totally disrupts me…its thinking time. So,I place my legs on the table, lean back on the plastic chair,and start dreaming-my company will be  huge.

“Wee msee,umelala kama umeketi?”…its my ‘homies’ from next door..jeez..I didnt hear them come in.Its talk time!All girls in the plot get their biographies plotted…two hours later,we realize a number of them make common denominators…of the intimate type..and laugh ourselves silly.Men love sharing!

In the process of monkeying around,lights go on!Its 4:00-thats when the power ration ends…another day has gone and I havent dropped any of my growing library of application letters! Tomorrow…I will make sure.

I drop in front of the computer.Its Movie Time!I was watching this series last night and I must complete it today-before supper!

I have the sukuma wiki ready-thats the bachelor’s perennial staple food…

Tomorrow..I will wear my mtumba suit,complete with a borrowed tie..and hit the tarmac.Wish me luck

COUNTRY ROAD

Walking,
Running,
Ah,this road terrain,
Worsened by the rain,
It’s literally a earth road, sorry, rocky road, no murram,
Not even in this Christmas time.

No cars,
No bikes,
Vehicles cant navigate these boulders,
And the dust,
Makes me feel like a Survivor cast,
Oh,there’s the only lorry that can take me to town!

Chromed,
Jammed,
Thats the situation in this lorry,
This goat is looking at me as if to say sorry,
Frank,this isnt Nairobi,
Move your bag,I want to pee!
You can report me to your MP.

Chanting,
Teeth gritting,
Everybody is mad,
Why did we vote for that toad,
He uses a plane,not this road,
Even with his billboard,
He can forget our vote this time,
But wait,thats what you said last time!

Mad,
Dead,
Thats my phone battery,
Can’t type anymore,let me listen to this story,
As I tread on my country road!
And watch miraa trees dusty on the roadside.

Sad,
Bad,
My country road.

BACK TO BASICS

A friend of mine came to ask me for advice the other day.
Problem?
She’s pregnant!So,do I know anybody who can ‘get rid of this?’ Because
‘I’m still very young,man,I cant support a kid!’
I looked at her and said ‘yeah,I know many people who can do that’ You
should have seen her face light up!
But wait…
“But I wont hook you up with any!”
“What?”She looked at me in surprise,its like I had told her I wouldnt
share a last meal with her.
Before she banged the door to leave,I told her..”Dearie,go back to the basics”
You see,everything you do under the sun has consequences and you
should either avoid them,mitigate them,or accept them wholly!
For instance this girl,lets call her Makena.She couldnt have just
happened on her condition,she must have ‘eaten arrowroots’ as granny
would call it.
Sex is good,its sweet,especially when you are not supposed to be
having it.Your parent would say Abstain,Jimmy Gathu Be faithful to
one,doctors,use a Condom.Everybody know this,its EVERYWHERE!Those who
have gone to school get it in the syllabus,Makena is in Second Year at
University,She knows!

But she chose to ignore it,or throes came above her reason.She enjoyed
it,I bet,they say candy is sweet without wrappings…I wasnt
there,maybe I was cold and lonely somewhere in downtown Nairobi or
Meru..
But now,she wants me to join in her woes,by killing!Thats how I view
abortion,its MURDER!
She sees it as my responsibility as a friend.
Now she wont talk to me,and I wont back down..how can I call her and
say ‘Make,come,lets go kill that bastard’
I’d be damned.Go back to basics and explain (to yourself) how it
happened and if there is a choice.
If your car gets involved in an accident.Go back to basics and see
where you went wrong,could you have avoided it by not speeding?or
checking the brakes?
Go back to basics.

victor brian: THE ALPHABET KENYAN STYLE

victor brian: THE ALPHABET KENYAN STYLE: If the alphabet was to be taught Kenyan style, it would go like this: A for Al-Shabab: Obviously nothing makes better headlines than…

Kenya is angry,but we shall overcome!

Kenya is an angry country…intra-nationally!
Everybody is angry at somebody else
Women think all Kenyan men are broke,mean and cheating ‚Äėbeasts‚Äô and theey would rather give their love to Naija men and white men who are moneyed and willing to share it.Men,on the other hand say Kenyan women are gold diggers after their pockets and hard-earned cash and will readily run away with more moneyed guys,at the slightest notice.
All Kenyans are super-angry with the government.It demolishes their houses and takes away their plots calling them forging thieves in parliament as they amass more untaxed money.It tampers with the economy,messing with their beloved shilling and interest rates-to make money for campaigns,they sleep on their job and wake up towards the elections,or when they want to push any emerging nemesis off the edge,again for election sake!The selfish ******s!
They are angry about the oil prices and they commissions established for the purpose of raising prices…Energy Raising Commission.They are angry with The Police and their meaner wanna-bes,Kanju-for all the extortion, harassment and corruption.And oh,the extra judicial executions and fines!
Employees are angry with their employers,again including the government,for not raising the salary despite the tough economic times,not reviewing their salaries for decades and dutifully deducting tax to pay MPs salaries and Donors’ money pinched,no,grabbed by the same ministers.
And not being let to drown their sorrows with their favourite drink any time they want-that Mututho!They are even contemplating transferring their votes to Naivasha to vote him out!

But…despite all that,we have uniting and reconciliatory forces such as when our Athletes sweeps the boards,when Harambee Stars thrash some Oceanic teams,when we get out in the streets to demonstrate,or when we sit in Jevanjee gardens for a Bunge la Mwananchi session.
We are Kenyans…and despite the storms and hurricanes beating us around,we are tolerant of each other-recent history has taught us to be.

We are held together y Hope,Hope that tomorrow will be better,Hope that we will unite as one and challenge the wildest of our nightmares.
Keep on keepin on,Kenyans!!

To Be Kenyan is to be These


Maziwa ya Nyayo

To be Kenyan is to be these…
I went to a local primary school,
Used the same bag for seven years,
It was pure leather from K.M.C. products.
I drunk K.C.C. milk thanks to a political strategist,
Who I have come to both ridicule and praise.
I didn’t think much of my future,
My dad did much of that for me…
Time he stopped doing that,
Like I’ll stop cowering from wondering,
If the system continues to fail so bad…
Then more of us will die,
From secret assassinations,
When another group emerge harness disorient youth.

I am glad I got what I have,
Straps of sandals on clean feet,
Articulate in my matters and affairs,
I take little to a fool’s whim.
Why should 2012 be any different?
Same mongers seat on the throne.
Shame politics still tribal,
Jesters and my future employers.
Because I might as well be their recruit.
Or else I live doing examinations in lecture rooms.
Till I have every degree that makes a C.V.
So that am accepted clean into the running of things.
But true is that,
How many get in clean,
Dirty business dealing with kids,
Even charity and N.G.Os seem a little hood wink,
Why do we have so many things need protecting from?
More ladies driving on our roads,
Congratulations to them, who know how the world goes round…
Same as it did back in the day.
It is the smart ones that have it going good.
That is food for thought in our books,
Before another magazine define how unromantic we are,
The Adams apple will rumble right,
Cause an evening fall down,
Because it needs a boss.

Laughing at the same ranting,
How advanced we are going to be,
Talk about the Kenya we want,
What we don’t want is more talk.
All good things come to an end.
At least make as many people get taste of it.
Before we have a repeat of December ‚Äė07.
Let’s enjoy the peace we are having,
And not take it for granted that we live like this.

Youth will make love with condoms,
Disregard that A.I.Ds. exists,
Until there are no more virgins to conquer,
Till our morals waste away at Carnivore,
Over and over again on a local tune,
The new heat wave taking over us in our millions.
Because I get the feeling no one believes in love anymore,
Like we have take away at everything,
No more home cooked meals,
Take away at clubs joints.
Taken away by the western plague.
Playing marbles with everything,
Tapping fingers on our desks,
Hatching new conquest and ways to make ourselves,
Today’s talk and press release.

Wait till am done with this formality,

Proudly

Get my degree…
Pay back my dues to my mother,
When I get this talent working for all
For the good and entertainment of all.
When I get it right in the manner of things,
How to proceed with an extra cautious foot,
Because I am about to roar,
On a pillar and call out a crowd,
My small crowd, the ears I get to…
The minds I touch and move,
As my blood moves and penetrates.
There is nothing as lively,
Until we start sipping into the system,
Until the great tools of year gone,
By Greeks and Romans,
By the Chinese in the yellow river valley,
By Kwame Nkurumah,
By my History teacher,
My geography teacher who I imagined wrote notes,
Of deep and intrinsic thought.
How is that we start legacy?
Is it not like these…?
To be Kenyan is to be these.
 

Merlin Mwaura 

Swagger

Sailing Away…..

I start with a wobbly step,
Gaining a steady foot
On the sandy beaches
I must reach the boat of hope
Before it sets assail
I can’t loose this will I’ve found……
No, Not now!
No, Not today!
I have to gain a pace
To remain in this race
In my backpack
Are a pack of lessons past learnt
From broken trust and prommises
A load of scarred wounds
But then again……
A ton of determination
brewed from a mix of
Endurance and Patience
My constant reminders
To why I must set foot into the seas
To why I must loose the shores
Of pain and hurt
Of heartbreaks and regrets
Dissapear into the horizons
I know the chances
Of facing strong storms
Encountering vicious sharks
But I will fight
I will survive…
Am not loosing this will I have found
No, not now
No, not today !

>>>Pretty Kananu

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