Last Wednesday evening about 6:30pm, a pal of mine (Phil) calls me up and says he’s in my vicinity. I was in an extremely boring lecture at the time, so a distraction was something to look forward to. It ended at 7pm and I headed off to the pub to meet up with him. We got our own table, na Tusker mbili mbili zikaletwa. We chatted for a few minutes, then another pal, Jim, came over to join us. Jim is a talkative, eccentric guy with a habit of mixing up strange cocktails. On this night in particular, he had a double vodka, topped up with freshly diced pineapples and Sprite.
Shortly afterwards, a random chic walked up to our table and planted her Guinness Kubwa (and I mean the BIG one). “It’s so lonely drinking alone, can I join you guys?” Phil and I exchange looks, subconsciously communicating “why the hell not? Enyewe she’s kinda fly!” So we ushered her to sit. She excused herself to go to the little girls room.
Me: Jim, who’s this chic?
Jim: She’s just some chic. Her name’s Jane. She’s hot but she’s not very bright. One of the dumbest girls I’ve ever met. Just be careful with her.
Not much of a description, no? What exactly does “just be careful with her” mean? Phil and I thought perhaps we should just keep the conversation simple to avoid overworking her one and a half brain cells. The moment Jane returned from the little girls’ room, we were fully exposed to her daft-itis. She’s very pretty but doesn’t look Kenyan, prompting me to ask her where she’s from.
Jane: I’m just from over there, behind the counter.
Phil: No, dumbass, where do you come from. Yaani ocha kwenu iko wapi? Ama mnaishi wapi?
Me: Yaani, are you Kenyan?
Jane: Yes, but I grew up in eastern United States. That’s why I have such light skin, coz the sun doesn’t shine much over there.
We enjoyed our drinks, with Jane explaining her choice of drink. We had a really hard time keeping the conversation simple coz each time she lowered the bar. A tweep called even suggested that I ask her whether she knows that Kenya Airways has Concordes.
Jane: The one shaped like a pencil with erectile dysfunction? Yeah, I’ve seen those. I think I flew one to Mombasa.
Later on we spotted a couple of pretty chics on the next table (who we came to realize are Rwandese. Damn that country has beautiful women!) and we asked them to join us. Drinks flowed, good humour and banter and as the rain began to pour, we were guaranteed to have the pleasure of their company for another coupla hours at best.
As it got to about 11pm, the barman informed us that he would be closing the pub in the next 20 minutes so we had to finish up our drinks and scatter. Which was a good idea coz I was out of cash by then, and having a hangover at work is not a good idea. What happens if I’m summoned for an impromptu meeting with the boss the next morning?
Jim went his own way, the Rwandese girls went the other way, leaving Phil to drop me off at my place then he’d proceed on his way home. As we walked to Phil’s car, Jane appeared.
Jane: Where are you guys going? I want more alcohol!
Me: Chic, can’t you see the bar is closed? I’m going home to sleep coz I’ve got a long day tomorrow.
Then I spotted one of my lecturer’s stranded a few metres away at the entrance to the university. I approached him and asked if he needed a lift to the main road, and he said that he could do with one. So I opened the back door and ushered him in. Jane appeared from nowhere still insisting that the night was young and she wanted to party.
Me: Look Jane, I’ve told you I’m going home!
Jane: Then let’s go to your house.
Me: To do what? Mi naenda kulala.
Jane: I’m sure we can find something to do at your house.
She said, making use of her luscious eyelashes and rubbing my chest seductively. Instant standing ovation in my trousers.
Yaani chips kajileta kwenye sahani! Maajabu ya Musa!
I won’t lie, at that precise moment in time, I did contemplate the idea. Ka fwyne chic begging to be chipod mara pap! This would be serious wood throwing if I didn’t agree to the idea. Before the blood could flow back into my brain from head #2, chic had already jumped into the back right of Phil’s car. With my lecturer.
Now, my lecturer is someone who I always try to be on good terms with coz I’ll need recommendations once I graduate. So I can’t afford to be acting a fool in his presence. Besides, apart from being part of the senior members of the faculty, he’s also in charge of the university’s AIDS prevention unit. You know, safe sex, demonstrations of how to use condoms properly, the hazards of unsafe sex, kubeba chips ovyo ovyo, VCT (Vaa Condom Twende) and all that. Now he’s seated in the back with this airhead who has insisted on being bebwad chips. How much more embarrassing can this get?
I just prayed that she would keep her mouth shut for a few minutes, but she had other ideas.
Jane: So what do you do, I’ve never seen you on campus before.
Lecturer: We must be in different faculties. But we must have had a session on sex education when you joined the university. Did you attend my talk?
Jane: Naaah, I skived that shit. I don’t need to be told how to use a condom. I know that shit already. Archer, do you have condoms at your house?
(Speaking of rubber, I was completely out of stock, so that was another reason not to take her crazy ass home with me)
Luckily the drive was short and within the longest four minutes of my life, we had arrived at the main road, where the lecturer was about to take a cab to his house. I got out and opened the door for him.
“Mishale, be careful with that one. She doesn’t look okay in the head.” Said the lecturer as he walked away, wagging his finger.
“You don’t say!” I thought as I got back in the car.
Me: Gee, thanks Jane. You just ruined my rep. So where can we drop you off?
Jane: I thought we’re going to your house?
Me: Look, I really need to sleep. Just tell us where we can drop you off, ok?
That’s when she threw the mother of all bitch-fits.
“I WANNA DRINK! LET’S GO TO A BAR! I WANNA GO TO YOUR HOUSE! I WANNA F***!!!”
Phil: Boss, you’re in serious problems!
Me: I’m not going anywhere with your crazy ass! And that’s final!
Jane let out an ear piercing scream that left Phil and I pressing our palms hard over our ears, while Phil’s right foot applied max’mum pressure on the brakes. Chic jumped out of the car while it was still moving!
Phil: wachana na huyo chizi. Ata jisort.
Me: boss, it’s midnight. This road isn’t safe. If anything happens to her, I’ll be in shit coz I was the last one to be seen with her. Sitaki case kesho.
Phil: fine then, run after your bitch.
So I jumped out the car and ran after her. Those who know me also know that “fit” is not an adjective that can be used in the same sentence as my name. I was soon out of breath and panting like a German Shepherd on a hot day. Jane outpaced me fair and square. That gave new meaning to playing hard to get.
Eventually I caught up with her and convinced her to get into the car and allow us to take her to her place. I told her it wasn’t safe to be out on this road at midnight and she finally saw my logic and decided to come back with us. Just as we got to the car, she asked again:
Jane: Can we still go to your house?
Me: Kuwa serious wewe!
Chic hurled a whole series of expletives and sprinted away…right into a nearby maize plantation.
Oh fuck. Not again!
Think about it, a girl screaming while running into a maize plantation in the dead of night with a dude in hot pursuit, with a car waiting by the side of the road. I’d look like a rapist, right? Or a kidnapper at best. I gave up right there and got into the car and told Phil to drive off. I looked back to see her yelling like a mad woman, covered in mud up to her shins.
I was quite relieved to find out the next day that she made it home in one piece. I called Jim and filled him in on the drama.
“Dude, that chic’s lunacy is legendary! Why d’you think she was drinking alone in the bar? Everyone knows that bitch is crazy. But I hear she’s a very good shag.”
NOW you tell me that she’s crazy? Why didn’t he just warn me properly the previous night and save me the whole escapade? (That’s the problem with boys, they wait for you to walk right into a hole, so they can have something to laugh about later.) She may be a good lay as he says, but the fact that her sexual rep is out there means that she must be more than generous with the goods and I don’t want to be just another statistic. (I later found out that I know 11 guys who’ve been with her, out of a total 17 known “victims”) Dangerous stuff. Besides, I’ve dated a couple of nymphomaniacs and other sexual sadists (and I do mean SADISTS) in the past, so I don’t need that any of that crazy shit. I prefer to keep things very, very sane these days.
I think I need to change pubs. Again.
What’s on my Playlist?
Basement Jaxx – Crazy Girl
“When I met you/
you were sexy/
you were freaky/
I thought my luck was in/
then I noticed/you were CRAZY!
Did not know what to do…/
Crazy girl….crazy girl…”
I know I haven’t updated this blog in a while. If you’ve missed out on what I’ve been up to, I did a guest post on DiaspoRadical and a collabo post with Raymond Chepkwony. Check them out if you haven’t already
Last week, Synovate (formerly Steadman) did a survey on internet usage in Kenya. According to their survey, this suffering, neglected blog is the 19th highest read blog in Kenya. Some say that the numbers were cooked (and I’m inclined to side with them) but that’s not my problem. Number 19 it is. Thank you readers.
A story of two CEOs:
Shujaa of the month.
CEO – Safaricom Ltd.
Bob Collymore took over as Safaricom CEO on 1st November 2010. The week before that, he picked up a comment I made about unsatisfactory service from Safaricom. I had some issues to do with internet connectivity on my phone, which had been “solved” twice before, only to crop up again. And getting through to Safaricom customer care means setting an alarm for 4am in the hope of getting through. So you can understand my frustration and why I didn’t bother to contact Safaricom customer care and chose instead to rant about it on Twitter.
Anyway, Collymore read my comment and asked me to email him. I thought about it for a couple of days before I decided to email him. Within an hour of sending the email, I was called up by a few customer care guys to enquire about the nature of my problem. They sorted it out, and called a few more times during the day to make sure that everything was working as it should.
I tweeted at Mr. Collymore and thanked him for sorting out my problem.
It didn’t end there. Collymore emailed me later in the night to find out if I was satisfied with the work that had been done, and asked me to contact him should the problem crop up again.
Can you spell I.M.P.R.E.S.S.E.D? I definitely was. Think about it this way. Just how often do CEOs of Kenyan companies, or senior management for that matter, interact with their customers on a one on one basis and give personal attention to their problems? Just how accessible is the average Kenyan CEO? We only see them on TV, the rest of the time they’re hidden behind tinted windows in their Mercedes S-Class cruising in absolute comfort from one important event to the next. So this really does go a long way. This is an example of what Kenyan CEOs should change about the way they run their companies and how they should interact with their customers.
For this, Bob Collymore gets my “Shujaa of the month” award. As one @BobQamz said, new brooms sweep clean. Kudos, Collymore. As Kibaki would say, endelea stairo hio hio.
Fokojembe of the month
Chairman, Chelsea Football Club
It’s a well known fact that Roman Abramovich runs Chelsea FC with an iron fist, completely disregarding what anyone else thinks, especially the fans. Which is understandable, seeing as he’s spent hundreds of millions of pounds of his own money buying the club, players, building the world class training centre in Cobham and all that. However, his most recent decision to sack Assistant Manager Ray Wilkins, a Chelsea die-hard who’s spent close to four decades with the club as a player, coach and Assistant Manager was perhaps the worst after sacking Jose Mourinho back in 2007.
You don’t have to be a genius to see the direct connection between Ray’s sacking and the immediate slump in Chelsea’s recent performances. Swallow your pride, Roman, and get Ray back. Otherwise this season will end in disaster.
And he wonders why the fans are yet to compose a cheer song all these years later? Listen to the fans, Roman. Coz we were here before you came along, and we’ll be here long after you’re gone.
What’s on my Playlist?
Anthony David – Something about you.
I see crazy people
A couple of recent incidents have led me to believe that mental illness is a very serious issue in Kenya and efforts need to be stepped up for people to have themselves checked. It’s a known fact that many people live with one sort of mental issue or the other without being aware of it.
I’ve just walked out of the exam room with an hour to spare. Either the paper was too easy or I’m too smart. I dunno. Since my house was undergoing a thorough cleaning at the hands of Njeri, my industrious cleaning lady, I saw no point in going back home just to get in her way. So I bought myself a copy of the Saturday Nation and headed to the pub to have breakfast. As I walked into the pub, the first person I met was an old friend, Otis. Dude was already well into his weekend, 4 double Kenya Canes & Krest already dispatched. He informed me that he was late for his exam and the lecturer wouldn’t let him do it, so he decided to marinate his liver instead.
Otis is a chap I’ve known for about 5 years. Very fat guy. We mostly meet in the pub and that’s about it. A drinking buddy. He’s very entertaining, one of the funniest men I’ve ever met in my life and his football knowledge is second to none. He’s good company until the point where he starts to pull major fibs, like how he (apparently) shagged a chic on the hood of a Vitz until the front suspension broke.
So I join him and have my breakfast. He says that he’s going for his ex-girlfriend’s wedding later in the afternoon and asked me to be his plus one. Before you conclude that I was about to put on a summer dress, sunglasses, a huge hat and high heels, apparently he was in shit with the ex’s fiancé coz he (apparently) made out with her in the club a few weeks previously and there was a price on his head. That’s why he wanted me to be his backup/wingman. So why attend the wedding? He said that he had initially refused but she (apparently) begged him to. Still a dumb reason if you ask me, but hey, that’s his problem. I didn’t mind the free booze and a chance to increase my social network, especially with a pretty lady or two since my love/sex life currently bears a striking resemblance with that of Cardinal John Njue.
Seeing as the day was young, and our ride was only coming through at about 4pm (apparently it was an evening wedding) I decided to have a drink as well. Double VAT69 & Coke kama kawaida. Otis and I chatted for a while, during which time raoz were thrown back and forth and we were getting tipsy fast. A pal of mine walked into the pub looking a bit down, so I asked him to join us and a cold Tusker was quickly sent over by the barman. I call this guy Semantics, coz of his expert mastery of the Queen’s language. He’s the kind of guy who quickly raises the IQ of a conversation, so why not have him join us before Otis decides to tell me how he (apparently) joined the mile high club with a hot muarabu stewardess aboard an Emirates flight to Kisumu city.
After a while, our cash ran out, so we decided to relocate to a cheaper pub where we could buy a mzinga of Kibao for 400 bob. A quick dash to M-Pesa and I was sorted. As we checked into the cheaper pub, I met a few guys I hadn’t seen in a while. I got carried away by small talk and only rejoined Otis & Semantics about 25 minutes later, during which time they were not only halfway down the Kibao, but there was another guy in the booth. Let’s call him Pete. I’d never met him before, but he seemed like a fresh chap and any friend of Otis/Semantics was a friend of mine. The more the merrier.
It’s interesting how a small gang somehow gathers upon spotting a mzinga on the table. Shortly afterwards, two other guys joined in. Let’s call them Karis and Karao. Karao is one of those loose chaps who somehow always shows up where there’s alcohol, while I’d never met Karis before. I was told that he was a friend of Semantics and Pete’s. You know what goes down at a sausage fest. Lots of talk about politics, sports, money that we don’t have, women, this that and the other. So it came as no surprise when the first mzinga ran out, so we ordered for two more, and the banter continued.
At about 3pm, it started raining heavily. I thought it made sense to stay in the bar and while it out. Otis thought otherwise. Without warning, he dashed his fat ass out of the bar and sprinted back to the first bar. I called him to find out just what was going on. He told me that it would be in my best interests to leave the bar as soon as I can. I didn’t know what was going on, so I sorted out the bill and ran in the rain too.
I caught up with Otis and asked him what the fuss was going on.
“Can’t you see it? Seriously? Archer kwani you’re blind?”
I really had absolutely no idea what he was on about. Coz one moment we’re all hanging out and the next minute he’s being all dramatic. It took an hour to get him to tell me what the hell was going on. Eventually he came clean and said that two of the guys on the table (Karao & Pete) were murderers and that I had sent them to kill him.
You can imagine my utter shock at hearing that allegation. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Was Otis someone that important that someone (let alone me) would want to kill him? Secondly, why would I want to kill him? Thirdly, if I did want to kill him, why then was I sitting in the pub with him at the precise moment he made the allegation? He claimed that he saw guns hidden underneath their shirts.
We got into an argument which quickly degraded into a scuffle (during which time someone privatized my beloved MP3 player). Otis said he’d beat me to death before I’d have the chance to kill him. He’s always thought me to be soft, but he didn’t see what was coming his way. I dragged him out of the pub and roughed him up a bit. No punches were thrown, no kicks or any such like jabs. All I did was to shake some sense into him.
A few minutes later, the two suspects arrived, accompanied by Semantics. I asked Otis to repeat his allegation in the presence of the guys, which he refused. I told them what he had accused them of. For good measure, I asked them for permission to frisk them and to have a look at their student ID cards. No prize for guessing what my search revealed. No hidden guns, and they were legit students. Otis kept talking shit, the guys wanted to beat him up, but I stopped them. Regardless of what had just gone down, Otis is my pal. We’d had a good afternoon before the drama, so I asked him to go his way and I go mine. Semantics, Pete and Karis also went their own way.
During the whole fracas, a chic pal (Jen) found me and told me to go over to her house after we were done scuffling. So I did. About an hour later, I received a call from Semantics saying that Otis had had an accident. Apparently he tripped while crossing the road and got hit by a car and broke his leg. Semantics also informed me that he had rushed Otis to Aga Khan hospital. That was about 8pm. I asked Jen to take me to Aga Khan since she had a car. We arrived there and the nurses pointed me in the direction of Otis’ ward. We walked in and his sister started hurling insults at me, while Otis was hurling accusations at the top of his voice. WTF? Apparently I sent the same two guys to ambush him, beat him up, throw him into a 6 foot ditch, fetch him out and rush him to hospital. In that order.
Tell me if that makes sense to you. Coz it sure as hell doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would I “order a hit” on someone, then go visit him in hospital later? I’m not anywhere near that sadistic. Anyway, Otis had some superficial injuries and was discharged the same night. No bruises or broken limbs.Relief.
Two weekends ago, I attended a concert at National Museum, where I ran into Otis’ close pal. When I went over to greet him, he angrily accused me of what happened to Otis.
“I’ve never known you to be a violent guy. Short tempered yes, but not violent. So tell me what happened”
Which I did, and I managed to convince him that I had nothing to do with Otis ending up in hospital. I didn’t even hit him during the scuffle. But he warned me to watch my back coz Otis has now put a price on my head.
Later on I was informed by several people, including Jen and the barman, that Otis is not exactly ok upstairs (maybe bipolar?) and has been known to pull such dramatic stunts before, as recently as the previous weekend.
How come I was the last to find out about this?
What’s on my playlist?
Memories – Kid Cudi