December 2007


It’s the season for long lost Kenyans to return home for the holidays, the so called “Kenyans in the diaspora.” Hmm…diaspora…for some reason I don’t fancy that word. Say it to yourself five times. Diaspora, diaspora, diaspora….by the time you get to the third “diaspora” the word has ceased to make any sense. Diaspora ni wapi? And who thought up that word? It sounds like some sort of phenomenon, or perhaps a planet somewhere between Jupiter and Uranus. The latter is more likely though, seeing that it’s that time of the year when the word is thrown around loosely, to elicit some sort of favourable reaction.

Take for example last night, I was watching the news and there were these Kenyans from sijui where hosting a press conference at PNU headquarters stating that they had mobilized 75,000 Kenyans in the diaspora to come home and vote for President Kibaki. Well and good, but kwani your votes are worth twice the ordinary Kenyan’s vote? Ama on the ballot paper it’ll be indicated:

 

“tick here for indigenous Kenyan, tick here for Diaspora”?

 

You’re all within your rights to come home for the holidays, kula mwenjoyos and vote while you’re at it, but don’t think that you’re some specialist group that will have that much of an impact, like a World Bank economic recovery advisory committee, simply coz you’re from the diaspora.

I’ve actually met a chic called Diaspora. Well, I knew her as Di for a long time, but that was before I saw her ID. And laughed. And laughed a bit more. Ok I laughed quite a lot. So I asked her what the logic was and she told me that she was conceived while her folks were “in the diaspora pursuing further studies.”

The other day I was at a ka luncheon someplace and these two women were talking and one was like “that’s my son, he works in the diaspora and he just flew in last week!”

As I said, this diaspora joint to me seems like a ka planet where some Kenyans go to and observe the rest of their countrymen via satellite to see how (badly) they’re doing, so as to have some stories about how well THEY’RE doing, which obviously is much better than you’re doing. Or so they’d like you to believe. 

“I work in the diaspora. Where exactly? I work on Wall Street.”

He says nonchalantly. Look at it this way. There’s a big difference between working on Wall Street and WORKING on Wall Street. You could be a financial guru at some big financial institution, or you could be the guy who roasts maize has a cleaning contract with one of them big financial institution. For all intents and purposes si you both work on Wall Street? For all we know (coz these citizens of planet Diaspora rarely tell you straight up what they do) you could be flipping burgers in some miscellaneous fast food establishment in Nebraska. Hey, you’re still in the bloody diaspora!! I know life out there isn’t easy and guys have to do whatever they can to make ends meet. The so-called KYM jobs. Kama ni kusugua vyombo na chongaing candles, we’ve all done that. Nothing to be ashamed about.

Along with diaspora comes the distinction between abroad and overseas. If you’re a Kenyan working out of the country somewhere in Africa, you’re abroad. But if you’ve actually vukad a large water body somewhere, say…the Atlantic, then you’re overseas.

Swali la kijinga: in that case, a Kenyan businessman working in Eastern Uganda near the Kenyan border, or a Kenyan construction worker in South Sudan, are they also in the diaspora? Or abroad? For foreign expats (aka Red Plate) working in Kenya, do their people “back home” (I also hate this term) refer to them as Britons in the diaspora?

But there are those Kenyans here who are mightily impressed with these Diaspora fellows. And since it’s the season for them to “go back home” they’re like the hottest commodities in town. Summer bunnies. And with that comes the short flings otherwise known as summer bunny love. Just mention to someone that you just flew back in juzi, and you’ve got that polite accent from whichever part of the diaspora you were in, and they take to you immediately. It’s the coolest thing to proclaim that you’re from Atlan’a (or ATL), twang kidogo kumbe you’ve been there like a year and a half and you’re originally from DowntownMurang’aTexas. (say it with a twang)

The saddest thing is that some of those having a vacation fling with them summer bunnies think that it’ll last. The way I’ve been hearing quotes like “this is my boyfriend from the States” and vice versa. Please!! Enjoy the fling while it lasts. It’s purely symbiotic. Coz once that chap/chic boards that plane in the next few weeks and Captain Fulani announces that “we are now approaching the diaspora” your story will be quickly forgotten. Perhaps you might have a textual relationship (email, sms, Facebook) for a couple of months but that’s about it. People came down to have a good time so it’s rather foolish to assume that summer bunny will ditch his/her life in the States for your ass.


A.O.B

The year comes to a close in a few days’ time and this is likely to be my last post. It’s important to look back at the year that has been, the ups and the downs, and to find the positive things that have happened that I should be grateful for.

  1. Being alive – this is something that we take for granted. There’s no greater gift than that of life, coz that’s all we have. Without life, we cease to exist (I haven’t made much sense there, have I? Obviously if you’re not alive then you’re dead!!)
  2. The many friends that I’ve made this year, many of whom have become really close. They are too many to name, wengine wenu mnajijua, you’re all thibecio.
  3. Being able to sort out my uni mess and to be able to resume school in January.

There are many other things I’m grateful for this year but due to time….

Be safe this Christmas, don’t drink and drive coz we need you all to make it into next year. Vote wisely – whoever you choose in as your next president, that’s up to you. As long as Karoocy isn’t in State House on Jan 1st. But as for MP, if your MP has been in parliament for 10 or 15 years or more but he/she’s done nothing of significance, please don’t hesitate to send the idiot home. I’ve already given my MP the red card despite having campaigned for him back in 2002.

One of the reasons why I’m really looking forward to 2008 is that finally we’ll go back to thinking of the next person as an individual and not as their tribe or political inclination. The only divisions worth having are “Hi, I’m Bob and I’m a Gooner” or “I’m Wangari and I’m a Scouser” or “I’m Archer and I’m a true blue.” Hiyo tu. It’s interesting how tribalism becomes a major issue every after 5 years.

Oh, and please strap up before you do the freaky biz. Too many HIV infections/unwanted pregnancies occur in Dec when people are barely ever sober enough to make wise decisions.

Merry Christmas and a happy new year.

What’s on my Playlist?

Time is now – Moloko

I come from a community where everyone happens to be related one way or the other. I have no idea how, but someway, somehow, if two random guys were to investigate their family trees, there’s a very big possibility that they’d find a common link somewhere. Which is not a bad thing. Things only get messed up when it comes to the mamas.

It is for that reason (coz we’re all related somehow) that I would never hook up with a chic from my community. I’ve seen about three or four situations in the past where one of my cousins met a guy/chic, fell in love, kicked it pamoja for a few years, the chap proposed and when it came to doing the family intros where they’re told “ahaa, I see you’ve met uncle so and so’s daughter/son! That’s your cousin!” Drat! Yaani I’ve been bumping pelvises with my cuzo? WTF??!

There’s a very big possibility that someday in the future I might marry a chic from Central Kenya coz for some reason my arrows never land further. They fly over Nyeri and Murang’a and ensconce themselves there. I’ve even read Kenyatta’s Facing Mt Kenya, particularly the chapters that deal with courtship & marriage, so as to acquaint myself with the Kikuyu customs in preparations for such an eventuality. And I’ve attended a few ngurarios as well. Anyway, that’s not the point.

Two weekends ago I was at my cousin’s graduation bash where I ran into a couple of my boys so we hang out. The two guys couldn’t see why I wasn’t hitting on any of the many chics there, and I was like “huyo? Cuzo. Even that one. Huyo pia. Damn Jesus! Even that one with the nice tanye apparently is my cuzo though I’ve never seen her before.” And that was the beginning of a long conversation about how all my tribesmen are related.

I blame it on my grandfolks and their predecessors who just spread their seed all over the place. My grandpa had 4 (known) wives, each of whom had about 10 kids. I haven’t mentioned the clandes and the wives who were fukuzwad for whatever reason. The chap was a superstar. In fact his 10th anniversary is this Sunday. R.I.P grandpa, you were the greatest.

A while later one of the guys (let’s call him W) introduced me to a ka hot number who as far as I knew was a friend of a friend of a friend of my cousin who was graduating. Then he asked me to guess which tribe she was from and I couldn’t. (I’m actually quite good at these things by the way) so I guessed she must either have been a Meru, from Coasto ama somewhere there, or just for good measure (coz it’s hard to go wrong with this guess) labda ni msapere.

She said I was wrong on all three counts but refused to divulge her tribal roots. Not that it mattered anyway (by then I’d already forgotten about the conversation with W and the other chap) so we hang out for a few minutes, made conversation, had a couple of drinks, flirted a bit, exchanged numbers and of course Agendas X,Y and Z were made for after the graduation bash came to an end.

See, W is one of those guys you don’t leave with a woman for more than 5 minutes. If you do, you might as well forget about her. He’s lethal like that. There’s once on the hanye he was feeling the don, so we picked on a random mama and challenged him to get her panties in 10 minutes or less. He embarked on the mission and best believe he had her panties in his hand in 8 minutes 53 seconds. So vile I’d seen that he’d zubaad kiasi, of course I took advantage of his absence!

Then W came back. “I see you guys have now acquainted yourselves, sivyo? Haiya, my guy, this mama is from your tribe!

Archer: Ati what? Impossible!

Hot number: Actually it’s true.

So W dared us to investigate our family tree to see if there was any possibility that we might be related. Which I prayed wasn’t the case coz the way I was planning to descend on that sianda…….

Same tribe, same district, kwanza the constituency is right next door to ours! Hapo there’s no need to start dropping names coz the probability of consanguinity is already over 80% .

Before you ask, W went home with her that night.

Life is so unfair sometimes.

 
What’s on my playlist?

Makes me wanna pray – Madonna

 

I have this friend, let’s call him PWT. Now, PWT and I were partners in crime in SA. Whenever there was some drama unfolding somewhere and you heard that one of us was involved, best believe that the other was in close proximity (although most time he did the getting into sh*t, I did the bailing out. The night I assumed flight over a couple flights of stairs in SA, we were together. He just took off from the other exit) but yeah, we’ve had some good times the two of us.

But I really need to saidia this pal of mine. See, PWT is a perpetual wood thrower (hence PWT) coz he’s got the most dubious taste in women. Every man is allowed to throw wood once in a while, but when that becomes a constant affair, then there’s definitely a problem somewhere. Sure I’ve also lost the plot a couple of times, but I think 1 suspect mama per year is not a bad ratio, after all they do need some loving too, au sivyo?

PWT studied in the States for about three years before transferring to SA and he used to regale us with tales of how they used to kick it with some fine ass hip hop video material chics (he made guys believe that what we see on TV about Miami is indeed a true reflection of the entire country, whilst forgetting that the US has been the world’s fattest nation for many years until last year when they were overtaken by SA) and that they have a high affinity for Kenyan men. Something to do with Paul Tergat and all those other wonderful athletic ambassadors and the perception that all Kenyans have mad ass stamina. Guys had believed that PWT had mad game when it came to the ladies, until he showed us pics of his ex girlfriends.

The first was La Qu’aisha (I’m not kidding) sijui La Kwisha who has got to share some genetic qualities with an amoeba coz for real that mwili of hers was amorphous. Then she had one horrendous weave, coupled with a very thick layer of make up which was so bad… both of which actually make Lilian Muli look like a very decent member of her Church choir. His second girlfriend was even worse. And he dated both for a total of three years.

His first order of business after arriving in SA was to hook up with a thoroughly injured Zimbabwean mama who unfortunately had the distinction of being called the wackest mama on campus. (her nickname was Dikwonkwo) I’d just met him at the time so I didn’t feel it was my place to chanusha him, but I still found a way to ask him kwani he couldn’t do better? His response was that “he was getting acquainted with the local scenery, and one has to start from the bottom and work his way up” but he probably didn’t realize that women will treat you to some extent based on your own taste. No one will take you seriously if you’ve been known to date the wackest mama on campus.

Lemme give you a picture of how wack this mama was. There was a time we were in a jav from campus and PWT and the missus had a polite argument. It went on for a while before PWT said “sweetie I think you’re being very unfair, but you have no idea how much I’m in love with you.” All the passengers (all students) burst into laughter. One even commented that PWT must have a huge stockpile of porn. Figure it out. If you can’t, pole sana.

We used to throw a lot of parties back then (coz the hanye only plays kwaito and house, and there’s only so much kwaito and house that one can stomach) and of course I’d invite PWT. But the fala kept showing up with Dikwonkwo so he was always frozen at the door. I took it upon myself to try and chanusha the brother so I’d invite a healthy number of Malawian chics…

Slight digression: Zack, I agree with you that we have very beautiful women in Kenya. We do, Kenya is quite blessed in that regard. But the main problem with Kenyan women (sisters, don’t shoot me, I’m only telling it as it is) is that they pima us guys too much. When the average guy steps up, even before he’s reached out his hand to introduce himself, he’s already been stripped of so many marks that it’s pointless for him to make a move on the chic! I think this is how it works; every guy starts out with 10 marks. From the time he makes eye contact with said damsel to the moment he musters adequate courage to approach her, he’s lost 1 mark for dress code, 1 mark for the 500 bob watch, 1 mark for drinking his beer straight out of the bottle, another 1 mark if it’s one of those ka funny beers like Allsopps & Ranger which EABL only market in the bundus of Ndallas and Masayoosets. The shoes…good lord, minus 1 mark immediately! Then he has a Nokia 1110? No thank you, minus another 1. Final assessment: the dude’s a brokeass, which is a crime, therefore minus 2. So, before the jamaa has opened his mouth even if he has vibes laced with honey and caramel, he’s operating on 2/10 marks. Success, in this case, is a nothing more than a mere rumour.

Take for example two weekends ago, I was at a barbecue at a friend’s place, and obviously there were some women there. I’d been pimwad thoroughly for one reason or the other (ok I hadn’t shaved for a week and I had some ill-fitting Kenya Rugby team t-shirt -it shrunk after the first wash) so my cheap phone and I were operating on something like 2.5 marks. So I didn’t get very far. But as we were leaving and I was walking to the car, everything changed.

 

“Wow, is that your car? OMG! Dual DVD screens? Radio phone? So cool! Can I get a ride?”

 

then the other chic adds

 

“You don’t know him? He’s Archer. He’s the dude who threw that wicked bash last weekend!”

 

“The one in *insert neighbourhood here* yeah I heard about it, I can’t believe I missed it! Are you having another one soon? Here’s my number, call me! Kwanza where are you going after this?”

While (as one much missed Devious would say) brrinking shameressry an obvious hint that she was chips funga-able. All that without me even saying a word. I hate opportunists and gold diggers.

Malawian women on the other hand, are not only very, very beautiful (I reckon they’re some of the most beautiful women in Africa) but they’re also very elegant, classy, polite, cultured (which is a very rare and understated quality) and generally very intelligent. Na hawana siasa mingi. They beat Kenyan women hands down. 10 nil. Easily. Sio kwa ubaya, ni ukweli tu.

(3N, organize that exchange programme soonest possible)

Anyway, back to the story. We used to invite them fwyne Malawians (every Kenyan guy wanted to hook up with one coz it’s good for the CV and obviously to spite the Kenyan mamas who used to feel very sweet for us and were therefore never invited for these bashes) and being the good friend that I am, I couldn’t leave PWT behind. I tried severally to hook him up with them Malawians but he’d always do as his name suggests. The trunk, the branches, even the leaves and the roots and the loose soil around them, he’s throw them all.

Another time there were some German students who came on a semester long exchange programme and those women arrived with some serious jungle fever. Perhaps they heard the usual stereotype about African men, and one day PWT called to invite me for drinks with his latest acquisition who he fondly referred to as his Mercedes SLK Kompressor. I thought “it’s about time this guy got his act together” but that was before I arrived there. SLK resembles one of those Ukrainian power lifters who have been banned for excessive use of anabolic steroids. She had stunyad like Conjestina (and her 2 brothers) and had a face like Fatuma Zarika. Kompressor indeed.

PWT landed in the country the other day and we met on the hanye and as usual, he was (rather excitedly) telling me about his latest conquest from Zambia. “Ngoja I show you her photo!”

“Oh no, please don’t tell me you did it again. Please, for the love of the good Lord upstairs please don’t tell me…. Aish Chief! You never cease to disappoint!!”

Sidebar: do Kenyans ever chanuka really? Yaani guys still go to studios to “beat snaps” with their other halves, bright lights, Vaseline, shady backgrounds and all? Jameni!

I’ve really given it a lot of thought, what causes bad taste? Is it genetic? Is it intrinsic? Is it as a result of low self esteem coz you feel like you can’t do better? Really, what causes bad taste? And how can it be cured?

Don’t give me that crap of “beauty is in the eye of the beerholder” and “what’s beautiful to one is not necessarily beautiful to another” coz I’m talking about SERIOUSLY bad taste. Chronic if you may.

Some people say that guys are usually attracted to chics who share certain characteristics with their mothers (whether behavioral or otherwise) and that the reverse happens to chics. But I’ve met PWT’s old lady and it’s quite obvious that she was a hot number in her days. PWT has 3 sisters, two of whom are very attractive. So that negates the theory.

I need to help this brother of mine real soon coz (during one very drunken moment) he said he wants me to be his best man at his wedding one day, and to be godfather to his tois. But as the potential best man, si it’s my duty to ensure that he marries someone worthy? Si people will ask me what the hell I was doing as PWT was scraping at the bottom of the barrel? Aren’t I supposed to be his friend? And there’s no way I’m going to be godfather to (as M would put it) a kid whose face resembles the back of a departing Peugeot 504.

All ideas are welcome.

 

A.O.B

I’ve recently come to realize that the Nokia 1110 is by far the coolest and most popular phone in Kenya. Everyone has one. If you don’t, wewe ndio mshamba! Get one from your nearest distributor, only Ksh 1,995/= only. Hurry, while stocks last.


What’s on my playlist?

Pink & Blue – Outkast

 

 

 

 


This morning as I was looking for a magazine to read as I did my morning flight over Baghdad, I found a copy of HM magazine from December 2005 in my bro’s room. There’s an article here called “Seduction Strategies that work.” Show any man a title like this and he’ll definitely want to read more. But now I wonder if these strategies are meant for Kenyans of the homo sapiens disposition ama goats.

Sample this:

 

Strategy 6 – Shake her socks off

I.R, a 30 year old doctor in Eldoret takes a proactive approach, and he’s not worried about letting it get a little pornographic. He met a girl called B at a party; she gave him her number. She returned home that night to find that he had left a message on her machine, with a fairly lengthy and very detailed account of what their first night together might be like. He was in bed watching TV when his doorbell rang. It was B. “She said she hoped that she hadn’t woken me up,” he said. “I asked her how she thought I’d be able to sleep after having left a message like that, and she laughed and asked how I thought she’d be able to sleep after hearing it.” And so, IR slyly reports, at that point they decided they might as well stay up all night.

I dare any man to try this approach and come back and tell me if it worked. Which women are these that you meet and on the very first day, unleash all the unsavoury thoughts in your mind, she actually gets in her car or takes a cab to your house (um…which she knew how exactly?) to satisfy your fantasy? I doubt that there’s any woman in the world who would do this, unless she’s a professional.

Strategy 7 – The brazen-broad way

MN, a 34 year old marketing manager who lives in Meru, met shy P at a party and knew instantly that she liked him but could also tell that if anything was going to happen, he’d have to make the first move. The next week he proceeded to “run into her” at a coffee shop down the street from her house. MN sided up to P’s table, said hello, and asked her to come out to his car – he wanted to play her a song on his tape deck. Once they were inside the car, he handed her a blindfold and told her to put it on. She looked scared for a minute, but then she shrugged and did as she was told. You’ll find that most women will. “I drove around the block a few times so she didn’t know where we were going,” he laughs and smiles sheepishly, “then I took her to a nearby motel room, sat her down on a bed, and pulled down the shades. I took off my clothes, and then I took off her blindfold.” P was shocked, he said, but thrilled. “She told me that in 20 years of having sex,” he admits immodestly, “it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.”

Seriously? I don’t even have words for this scenario. A “shy” lady somehow agrees to enter a car belonging to a chap that she’s met just once before, ati to listen to a song on his ka radio (kwani she’s 12?) and actually AGREES to wear a blindfold (?????????) and to be taken to a strange building and made to sit on a bed, where the first thing she sees upon removing her blindfold is an upright member? And afterwards admits that it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her in 20 years of having sex?

**slaps forehead repeatedly**

They call this seduction? Kwani previously she was having sex with what? Did it ever occur to her that this man might be a rapist? Did she ever question where he was taking her? And this man and his 2 bob tactics, he definitely must be a rapist or a paedophile. Ati “come to my car and listen to a song on my radio” what’s the difference between that and telling a 9 year old girl “come behind this building and I’ll give you a lollipop.”

Once again I dare any man to try this approach. This is what will happen.

 

  1. Woman screams in fright, “concerned wananchi” storm into room to find naked man attempting to calm her down but instead looks like he’s trying to force himself on her, they drag him outside and stone him to death and set his body ablaze. All major TV stations arrive shortly thereafter to interview terrified victim.

 

  1. Woman screams in fright, grabs cellphone and calls the FIDA Kenya hotline which she has on speed dial. They arrive at the scene within 2 minutes accompanied by a navy blue Toyota Land Cruiser packed with Kiganjo’s finest. Naked man is arrested and charged in court with attempted rape, and is jailed for 10 years.

 
The lousy attempts that some magazines make to imitate FHM and Men’s Health (both of which I think are crap magazines anyway, especially Men’s Health) are truly amazing.

 

A.O.B

I’ve set up a Facebook account for this blog, If you’re a member, you can check out my profile here.

 

What’s on my playlist

 Flexxx – Nyundo

 

 


I hate hosting parties. I’m a good organizer though, you could be having a bash at yours and I’ll help out with brewing some lethal punch, marinating and grilling the nyakez and chicken and all that, as long as I’m not DJing coz my playlists will send people away faster than they arrived. But that’s about it. Hosting? Hapana. I’m a highly irritable person and petty bullshit is bound to tick me off, that added to a very short temper can only lead to fracas. The last time we had a bash in the digz was in Dec 2003, where there were guys shagging all over the place, others randomly looking for Mwaura, some idiot was lighting up a blunt in a room somewhere, some stuff got broken and all that. I decided then that there will be no more bashes in the digz.

The other weekend I found myself hosting a bash. Reluctantly. OK not really, as long as I was going to have my liquor, some music and a good woman, I was good to go. Many of my pals are back in the country on holiday from all over the world and we were initially having a ka-small drinks plan at my digz. Just a few friends, four or five bottles, some music, then after that perhaps we’d hit the hanye. But it being Friday, everyone’s phone was ringing continuously with plans being sought and arranged, so my pals suggested that we invite a few mamas over. I ended up having 9 mamas (8 of whom were fly – 1 was injured thoroughly) and no idea of what to do with all of them.

Thing is, most such plans end up being sausage fests. If you thought sausage fests were bad, think again. At least a bunch of jamaas can sit together over a pint and discuss important stuff, throw in a bit of very general loose vibes (aka gossip) but the percentage would be something like 80% politics, football, cars, business, and 20% gossip. Which as I said is very general, guys don’t go into too much detail.

A: Word has it that you kwachuad Alice very seriously last weekend, how are the strokes?

B: either of  

  1. The strokes were on point kabisa, the chic has some mad skills. Definitely worth hitting again, several times over.
  2. Ish ish. Nothing spectacular. Super average.
  3. Totally wack. She’s a hopeless lay. It was like throwing a sausage down a corridor (Aco 2006)

But with chics on the other hand, it’s 70% very detailed gossip, 10% important stuff and 20% assorted nonsense (read fashion and other crap) all wrapped in a lot of coded messages/parables and innuendo that quickly eliminate anyone who wasn’t meant to be part of that conversation.

So the ratio had to be stabilized immediately and the SOS was sent out.

Another interesting thing about Kenyans is that we seem to have inbuilt liquor sensors. Just mention the words “bash+alcohol+women” and dudes will show up in less than 5 minutes. And that’s when the drama began.

That turned out to be a very frustrating night for me coz I kept running up and down organizing drinks, ice cubes, dashing off to the local to get more supplies, mopping muddy footprints from the floor tiles, making sure that people hadn’t wandered off to areas they were not supposed to be in and all that. The initial idea was to have this bash outdoors, but it had rained heavily on Friday so the backyard was quite muddy and cold. The only solution was to allocate a small section of the digz to the bash. The chap who built this digz knew what he was doing coz he designed it in such a way that you can actually shut it down in half, thus keeping the important places away from prying eyes and itchy fingers.

But I got to witness some bullshit that made me really wonder whether some Kenyans are sane. How in heaven’s name do you, as an invited guest, invite more people (like 6 or 7) to a bash without the host’s consent? How the hell kedo 40 peeps found themselves to my digz….aki sijui. I found a car load of some very suspect looking chaps who quickly made themselves cosy, privatized the alcohol, started smoking inside the digz (??????!!!!!!!!) WTF surely? I’m a smoker but even I don’t smoke in the house! Well, I smoke in my bathroom when I’m chairing the early morning/late night UN General Assembly meeting, but not even in my room! So how the hell some idiot thought he could smoke in the digz, without having the courtesy to ask the host, is beyond me!

Then they took over the sound equipment with their “Ay Bay Bay” and “Soulja Boy” and all that Lil Shiznit lean back crunk nonsense. Young’ns, mnanichekesha kweli. Kwanza washana na Soulja Boy, there’s actually a “Soulja Girl” version, believe it or not. Ati “you gotta step like this is you wanna be a sooouuuuulja guuuuurl….YOOOOU!! You gotta move like that if you wanna be a soooouuulja guuuuurl….YOOOOU!!” (I saw it on The Beat last week, coz enyewe what’s there to do when there’s Tyra Banks on both KBC and KTN having a celebrity baby shower?) And you thought soulja boy was crap?

At some point there were no women to be found, they’d all congregated in a bathroom somewhere under the guise of having a smoke, but in reality some sub 5 foot midget had gone psycho and started stalking them all over the place. At that point I wanted to kick out those hoodrats but someone reminded me that I’ve crashed into quite a few bashes myself and it’s be quite unfair not to allow these young’ns the same opportunity. Karma would catch up with them eventually (one day when they’re older and crunk is the new old school)

So is this MY karma? Damn! She’s a bitch!!!!

If I thought the soulja boys were bad, you didn’t see what I saw with the chics!! Woi Njiiisas!

Now, I’d allocated one bathroom to the guys and another to the chics. Some chic actually unleashed some nuclear arse-nal over Baghdad and USED A NEWSPAPER!!!! I couldn’t believe it. Surely, couldn’t she at least ask for toilet paper if the roll in there had run out? She didn’t even tear up the gazeti into “manageable proportions” but used a whole 2 page sheet! She must have a very tough rear end that one, and I also don’t want to imagine the skidmarks on her ngothaz. (I met her on the hanye three days ago, all I could see was skidmarks, which is so sad considering that she’s actually quite hot)

And how the hell was that Daily Nation supposed to flush down the loo? So I cordoned off the disaster area as I went to call the shamba boy to come remove the newspaper manually (don’t look at me like that, someone had to do it) but by the time we came back, another idiot had rained over said disaster area thus making manual retrieval impossible. The poor chap spent half of the next morning trying to flush the loo. I think it’s still blocked as we speak.

Another one mwaurad behind a door and instead of cleaning it up (the mop was just there, si I’d been cleaning away the muddy footprints?) she went to the bathroom to re-apply her make up, gurgled some Listerine mouthwash and she was good to go. A third one decided to change her “bullet” but forgot to dispose of the used one and left it lying somewhere.

Look, I’m a dude, and I don’t have sisters. These are things some of us only learnt in a rushed session of home science in primary school. Don’t shock me like this, I can have nightmares for the rest of my life.

I’ve always believed that a lady should carry herself in a respectable manner. Hygiene wise especially. She should always look after herself, if you get my drift. The thought of an unhygienic mama is something that nothing else in this world compares to. Now, these mamas presented themselves as being very classy and sophisticated, from accents to jewellery, make up and all, kumbe that was just a facade to hide their villager mannerisms. I lost all syke of getting any from any of them, and for the dudes who managed to beba take away and chwado something, I only wish they saw what I saw.

At about 3am, people decided, much to my relief, to make themselves scarce. I was glad to see the soulja boys leave. But they didn’t leave empty handed!! They stole TWO BLOODY REMOTES!!! One for the TV and the other for the DVD player.

SERIOUSLY, REMOTES?? HOW NOW??!!

Since then, I’ve called everyone who was at the bash to ask for the soulja boys contacts, but apparently no one has them! No one knows them! How the hell they even found themselves at the bash is another mystery coz my digz is located in a very hidden cul de sac after a maze of roads so it’s virtually inpossible that anyone could have accidentally been in the vicinity, stumbled onto the bash and made himself welcome.

Then (this one takes the cake) I met one of the villagers chics, who was on my list of prime suspects behind the Baghdad bombing (that chic must be related to Chemical Ali), attempting to privatize, from my bedroom wall, an poster-size drawing of a samurai that my supremely talented ex girlfriend (ask Xs, Aegeus or Bants, they’ve seen her work) drew for me a few months ago. She’d rolled it up and was getting into a car when I saw her and I asked her where the hell she was going with my poster.

 

“But it’s mine!”

 

Um… so how comes it has my name on it?

 

“OK it’s yours but I really like it, can I keep it?”

 

Are you nucking futs? Give it back! Kondoo wewe!

What a terrible night. Never again am I hosting another bash. The only highlight was when my pal showed up in a brand new Toyota Duet and he got dissed the whole night mpaka he had to go park it outside the compound. He’s never driven it again.

*update*

Later in the week it turns out that the villager chic who I caught privatizing my poster had “accidentally” carried the DVD remote. She only fessed up under threats of violence.

Then, this past weekend I ran into them soulja boys on the hanye and of course I wasn’t smiling with them.

 

Nyinyi usiresi k*mathez fogothari braddy PNU youth wingers! where’s my TV remote?!

 

“It’s in the car. Aki we found it in the boot the next morning, we don’t even know how it got there! I swear!!”

Surely, that was more than 10 days ago, why couldn’t you idiots have called me or even brought it back to my digz? Highlanders.

What’s on my Playlist?

Raphael Saadiq – Tick Tock

I’ve had a problem falling asleep for some years. Take for example right now. It’s 5:10am Friday morning and I haven’t slept since early on Thursday. I’ve tried everything, I’ve watched a couple of series on my PC and some bootleg DVDs, I’ve tried inducing sleep with Cold Cap…nothing. I’m slowly downing a bottle of Viceroy and Coke while typing out some random stuff on the PC but I’ve trashed around 7 drafts coz they all came out as crap. Even Barry White, neo soul and trying to beat my high score at snake on my ka 1110i isn’t helping.

It all began in high school where we were systematically deprived of sleep in form 4. We’d wake up at 4:45am and “officially” go to bed shortly before midnight, but coz I knew I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and there was no way I was going to leave Kenya’s premier national school with a Cabbage (Grade C) I’d be cramming my mwakenya notes under the sheets using a torch. It paid off eventually coz sikupata cabbage.

I thought that eventually I’d make up for the massive sleep debt that I’d accumulated lakini wapi? Having the penguin “helped” quite a lot coz I’d be online 24 7 and there was always a pal awake in a time zone somewhere in the world so we’d chat for hours, I’d catch up on blogs and read about random weirdos and strange phenomena on Wikipedia. But when the sleep eventually does kick in, I can sleep for hours! In fact on most Sundays I only wake up to feed Sunki then after that I’m back to bed. When bed becomes too hot and boring, I go turn on the TV, put it on mute and sleep some more.

Does anyone know where I can purchase some agricultural tranquilizers, the ones they use to immobilize bulls and horses? No? Might you know someone in KWS who can swing me a bit of that stuff they shoot rhinos with before they transport them from one national park to another?

I think I’ll have to seek professional help. In the meantime, these are some of the posts that survived the chop.

*Update* it started raining at about 6:05am so best believe I was deep in Slumberland Motel within 10 minutes. I think I’ll make a 10 minute MP3  of the pitter patter going on outside, then I’ll plug in the earphones once I’m in bed. Solution, sivyo?

What’s on my Playlist?

Ignorant Sh*t – Jay Z

(yaani mpaka I’m listening to sh*t hop? These are miracles!!)