nothing really

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.

Bob Collymore

CEO – Safaricom Ltd.

Bob Collymore

Bob Collymore

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.

collymore tweet

collymore tweet

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

Roman Abramovich

Chairman, Chelsea Football Club

Roman Abramovich

Roman Abramovich


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.


Guys, how many times has this happened to you? You meet a pretty chic at the club and start conversation. You buy her a drink, which over time becomes several drinks. More often than not, they’re expensive cocktails, but at the back of your mind, you assume that you’re safe since she seems to be responding well to your vibe. But you fail to notice her fiddling on her phone. A long time later, when your wallet has been reduced to denominations that only allow you to buy boiled eggs and kachumbari along Electric Avenue (Westi) a random chap appears from heaven knows where and kisses the girl you’re flirting with.

Oh, this is my boyfriend, Tom. Tom, this is Archer, I just met him.

And just like that, all your hopes of lateral satisfaction have been dashed. Looks like you’ll be holding the sausage hostage tonight. Not just that, but you’ve just become a victim of what I call kuchemsha maji. In literal terms, you’ve just boiled water for someone else to come and take a bath. Kenyan chics are just shameless like that.

Guys buying drinks for ladies at the pub has for years been perceived as the ideal conversation starter. Let’s face it, pick up lines are stale, childish, cheesy and don’t work, period. The most effective way to break the ice with that fine damsel that’s caught your eye is to walk up to her and be frank. I hear that ladies are drawn to bold men. Just walk up to her and introduce yourself.

Hi, my name is Archer and I think you’re very pretty. May I ask your name?

This will most times elicit a smile from said damsel. And if she’s sufficiently drawn to your bold approach, she’ll give you her name. Then, naturally, what follows next? Oftentimes it’s

May I buy you a drink?

At this point, I would like you to completely bench what you’ve seen in the movies, that the chic will graciously accept your kind offer, not because she can’t afford to buy one for herself, but because she is open to the idea of having a conversation with you.

Let’s narrow it down to the Kenyan scenario. Majority of chics will happily accept your drinks offer, regardless of whether or not she is welcome to your advances. And if she was drinking a Tusker Malt or a Smirnoff Ice (aka Panty dropper) when you met her, she immediately upgrades her taste as soon as you offer to buy her a drink. What’s up with that??? And she’ll gulp down the cocktails bought with your hard-earned cash knowing in her mind that as long as she keeps smiling and acting interested in your vibe (unless you’ve chapad ile mbaya with a face that only a mother can love, eg this chap). But there is absolutely no guarantee that she will hang around after that. And if you, like me, are waiting for the day a Kenyan chic will offer to buy you a drink, keep waiting.

Some argue that no man ever buys a girl a drink without strings attached. Which is somewhat true. Unless the guy is your pal and you know for sure that he has no lateral ambitions, all men have an agenda behind buying you a drink. But that’s as far as it goes. Some men use this approach to intoxicate the chic with the intention of chips fungaing her later on (aka chemical warfare). Others attempt to impress the chic with the wad of neatly stacked notes in his wallet. A more decent chapr who is genuinely interested in the chic will use that as an opportunity to flirt with her, with the honest intention of getting her number for a future rendezvous being his only agenda. Sadly, many chics can’t tell the difference.

This post was inspired by a conversation with a coupla pals of mine who are so pissed off at having spent loads of cash on buying girls drinks all night, then going home empty handed, without even getting a phone number. Or getting a fake number. One guy suggested resorting to extreme measures. He reckons that it’s cheaper in the long run to invest in a fleshlight . << NSFW! Think about it, you only need to carry enough money for your own pints and a little extra to throw a rao or two for your boys. You’ll have a good night regardless of what happens. If you meet a nice chic and the vibe checks in, well and good. Buy her a drink. If not, you can always go home and entertain yourself with a fitting substitute for the real thing, which won’t nag or look like an alien in the morning once the make up wears off. While I think this is a drastic move, I have to agree somewhat with his logic.

So guys, to avoid this situation happening to you, here are a few pointers as to how to approach the situation:

  1. First approach the girl and start conversation without buying her drink. Use your natural charisma. When and only when you’ve established that she is genuinely interested in making conversation with you, then offer to buy her a drink.
  2. Never buy a chic a drink with strings attached. Coz she will read through you in minutes and will mercilessly drive you to the brink of poverty before leaving you high and dry.
  3. If a girl who you fancy asks you to buy her a drink, flip the script on her. Tell her you’ll buy her a drink that you think she will enjoy, on condition that she buys you a drink that she thinks you’ll enjoy. That would actually be fun.
  4. If a random chic asks you to buy her a drink, she’s a broke ass gold digger. Tell her to Foxtrot Oscar. (Yaani to fcuk off)
  5. If you come across a chic sipping on some cheap liquor, don’t bother at all. Trust me.

And ladies, quit this cheap behaviour!

What’s on my Playlist?

Jamiroquai – Talulah (special dedication to Raymond Chepkwony – he knows why!) << If you haven’t read his blog yet, stop wasting your time here and run over there!

PS: Image borrowed from here:

Hi kiddo,

It’s me. I mean, you. From the future. Waaaaay into the future. Haven’t you always wished that you could have a sneak peek into the future and know what lies ahead for you? Well, that’s why I’m here. So sit down and take notes.

You’re going to high school in the next year. Actually, you’ll make it into the top national school in Kenya without breaking a sweat. But just coz you’re a nerd doesn’t mean you don’t have to study. Put in a bit more effort in high school, and you won’t have to do 3 years work in Form 4.

Girls are bad news, kiddo. Bad bad bad news! You will have your heart broken more times than you’ll remember. Kwanza this corrupt politician’s daughter you’ve been buying chocolate for lately will be the first. She’ll eat them up and throw you into the bin along with the wrappers. Don’t take girls too seriously. Being Mr. Nice Guy won’t get you anywhere with the ladies. It pays to be an arrogant bastard sometimes so toughen up! (for some weird reason which I fail to understand even today, girls are more attracted to bad boy types. Then they come crying to me after they’ve been thumped senseless. Girls are daft and confused. Don’t try to understand them!)

Your short temper will get you into lots of problems in future. You better get it in check as soon as you can.

Be good to mum. She’s all you have, and only when you get to my age will you realize the number of sacrifices that she’s made to give you the best life that you can have. When you get older, you’ll do crazy shit like pierce your ears, relax your hair. Actually you’ll do cornrows and grow dreadz as well. You’ll also skive the Benz and crash it into a ditch in the middle of the night. Avoid that incident. Particularly THAT incident. Coz she’ll beat you half to death with a frying pan and a stool. Appreciate her once in a while. Buy her a Celine Dion CD and she’ll love you a little more.

I know you think you’ll graduate at 22 and conquer the world. I’ve got bad news for you. You’ll be in your late 20s doing your 4th degree! Good thing about that is you’ll know a little more about most things than most guys. Coz you’re smart like that. And that’ll open many doors for you later. Kutangulia sio kufika.

Learn to play the guitar. It’ll get you more ladies than that silly piano. You’ll learn that the hard way from kid bro.

Learn not to keep grudges and be so vengeful. People will always fuck you over in life. It’s human nature. But nothing is ever that serious. Fura for a day or two and move on.

Be close to Joel & Tony. They’ll commit suicide at 21 and 20, and you’ll ask yourself for years to come if there was anything that you should have done differently. There is. Be there for them now. You’ll also lose other friends along the way (and your brother his girlfriend) so treasure the ones you have and live life to the fullest.

I guess that’s it. Everything that you do, do it to the best of your ability. Live, love, laugh a little. Hio tu.

AOB – Maneno ya Cess Mutungi

(Disclaimer: I have not been paid to write this!)

I’ve always been a big fan of Cess (personal issues aside) from way back when she used to host the morning show at Hot 96 with Ngatia. The two were a riot! Now she’s back hosting the afternoon show with Maqbul at Capital FM. These two have a sense of humour that’s so unique, how they’re able to think up the weirdest sh*t on their toes is amazing, in addition to more hilarious stuff like Cess doing the traffic report in Kao and throwing a bitchfit for Maqbul in a Naija accent.

Three weeks ago at Shamba ya Sandip (my former workplace) everyone’s so serious, trying to get some work done. I had my noise blocking earphones on listening to some DunguDungu (and ignoring the GM’s kelele mingi) Cess called up a guy who won 10k in some competition.

Cess: So, what do you do with yourself?

Caller: I am a tisha!

Cess: Really, mwarimo! So what do you teach, Mwalimu?

Caller: Akshuare I teash Chemistry, Mathematics, Woodwaka and sometimes Music.

Cess: So you’re the full metamorphic rocks dem a morph?

Caller: Ati?

Cess: Never mind.

After I picked myself up from the floor, (yes I fell over backwards laughing) I had a really hard time trying to explain the metamorphic rocks dem a morph joke to my workmates. They just didn’t get it. And I won’t try to explain it here coz you probably won’t get it either. (It’s a Fanta ad) Just bloody tune in to the Jam every weekday and you’ll get a massive dose of random madness and crazy humour. In my opinion, this is the best show on radio, with the wittiest, craziest pair on radio, and the only way to keep a smile on your face when stuck in traffic.

Now if only Cess would get onto Twitter! Wewe! Style up madam, this is the 21st Century!

What’s on my Playlist?

Chris Cornell – Scream

Back in South Africa, my housemates and I had what we called the Honour Board, which was a foolscap stuck onto the fridge, and we’d write down shrubs, oxymorons, dumb ass quotes and any other nonsense that came out of anyone’s mouth while in the confines of our flat. We had some very interesting conversations. A few months ago, I started another Honour Board on my kitchen wall, complete with a G.P.A-like grading system otherwise known as the U.P.A. (Ujinga Point Average) where individuals who attain a U.P.A. of 5.0 receive a lifetime pass.

Seeing as I’ve got nothing to post today I’ve decided to share the contents of this Honour Board. I shall not incriminate myself though, but I do feature somewhere in here. Some of these shrubs are too classic!

  1. I blindfolded my eyes! (as opposed to what, your ears?)
  2. **Angry at a man pissing on the side of the road** Look! He’s littering with himself!
  3. M3P Player   (MP3 player)
  4. Samba Mboy   (Shamba boy)
  5. Appi hending   (happy ending)
  6. How much is the spinach for 20 bob?
  7. Is 21 hours 9 o’clock?
  8. Why did the chicken cross the road? It wasn’t EGG-zactly sure!
  9. You’ll be videocameraring
  10. I’ve gone to buy some kaundey (kunde)
  11. If Karoocy was my wife, haki I’d chain her to a tree!
  12. Flying Skulod (Flying Squad)
  13. Pris bling the drinks!
  14. You’re just rarring there (???)
  15. Do you know who’s in my class with me? (as opposed to?)
  16. KRA ya UG (Uganda Revenue Authority?)
  17. Ketchup makes gold sssssssine! (shine)
  18. You don’t have a foice! (voice)
  19. Dairy Flesh (Dairy Fresh)
  20. The same jicks (chics)
  21. I expreksed it! (Expressed)
  22. Come I show you my secret prace! (secret place)
  23. Perverted perverts (OK I admit, I said this)
  24. Haerashes (eye lashes)
  25. Even kraibing (climbing)
  26. Massachuchets (Massachussetts)
  27. Parrarrero (Parallel)
  28. Falamingos (Flamingos)
  29. Stop taking my context out of concept!
  30. I pikad safely (fikad)
  31. You are a stoler who is thiefing things! (thief who is stealing things?)
  32. What is that, cererac? (Cerelac)
  33. I don’t like reaving him arone in my house
  34. Why were you not piliking my calls jana?
  35. Cockroshes (cockroaches)

And some dumb ass conversations…

J: When you chew handas, you don’t feel like a goat?

M: kwani when you drink, you feel like a fish?

J: I don’t drink

M: Ok, when you smoke, do you feel like a train?


Q: Tell me a chic who has chapad like that?

A: a CHAPA-nese!


**staring at a chic walking by just outside our flat**

Y: Now that’s what I call a nice ass. It’s very 3D

R: It’s 3D in a 2D kind of way. (how now?)


…and my personal favourite

J: Weeeeeh! Unanifanya nijipanue!

A: Kwani what do you have that I’ve never seen before?

M: Panty mpya!

Some people are special. Really.

What’s on my Playlist?

Playing Possum – Maxwell

Seeing as writer’s block has hit hard over the past several months, I’ve had to dig deep to find something blogworthy. I blame this on living a rather quiet life these days, lack of inspiration from other blogs, Twitter too. Yes, Twitter is a major culprit! See, ideas for posts somehow end up as discussion topics on Twitter and therefore become exhausted by the time I think of typing them out. I still love Twitter regardless, me thinks it’s the coolest thing since 3G internet. If you’re not on Twitter, I have no words to describe just how much of a shagz-mundu you are.

For some reason, I tend to get hit on by gay guys. I’m not joking! I have absolutely no idea why this happens, coz I don’t understand what makes me a target! I have absolutely no gay inclinations whatsoever. I’m a perfectly average shave-when-I-remember-to, iron-shirt-when-time-allows, beer guzzling, football-loving, female-posterior-appreciating-run of the mill type of guy.

The first time this happened was 5 years ago in South Africa. I left Kenya as a naïve young chap, with eyes wide open, eager to travel the world, experience new cultures and all that. During that time, there weren’t many openly gay men around Nairobi so I don’t recall ever meeting any, or knowing any that were in the closet. So it’s safe to say that I had never experienced encountered any gay men.

There was this Namibian girl I was hitting on at the time. She wasn’t very pretty to be honest, but she had a body of a goddess! And I’m not talking about Hermaphrodites, the goddess of sprinters. Perfectly sculptured, tall, silky smooth “yellow yellow” skin, medium breasts, little waist, bewitching ass like Michelle Miller’s in Fashion House (if you’ve seen that ass swing from side to side, then you’ll understand why I watch the show sometimes…on mute) and legs as long as… Pity she was blowing hot and cold. Mara she was interested, mara she wasn’t. And I was getting really bored with that vibe. I don’t like mind games.

One Friday night, some friends and I headed out to our regular joint, a pool bar in an upmarket area a short distance from our university. I’d just sat down to my first beer at the counter as my pals waited to make a challenge on the pool tables. Then the girl, let’s call her Zoe, approached from the other side of the bar.

“I knew you’ be here tonight”

“Hmm…look what the cat dragged in.”

“Oh c’mon Arch, that’s no way to talk to a lady. I thought you’d be happy to see me?”

“Should I be?”

“Perhaps. Who knows what the night has in store for us”, she added, as she smiled coyly, a glint of mischief in her eye.

That was my cue to get her a bar stool and order a coupla panty droppers from the barman, a good pal of mine who could tell that I was definitely on the prowl that night. Zoe and I sat and chatted for a while, flirted and stuff. In reality, I was trying to pick her mind to see what her game was, coz I knew for sure that if we were to meet a couple of days later, she’d be completely disinterested in my vibe, so what makes her so jumpy tonight?

About an hour later, Zoe excused herself as she went to the little girls’ room. I ordered a third panty dropper for her as the barman winked at me knowingly. Chemical warfare ni lazima boss.

As I sat there fidgeting with my phone, some random guy walked over and leaned against Zoe’s stool.

“Is this seat taken?”

Without looking up at him, I simply pointed to the drinks on the counter and told him to fill in the blanks.

“Fine then, do you mind if I sit down for a few minutes?”

“Yeah whatever, as long as you leave when the girl gets back.”

I continued fidgeting on my phone, perhaps texting other pals to find out what they were up to. Then the kubaff tapped me on the shoulder.

“So what’s your name?”

That’s when I looked up at him for the first time, wondering what his problem was. He had a smile on his face so I figured that perhaps he was simply being friendly and trying to strike up some 5 bob conversation.


He reached out his hand to shake mine.

“Nice to meet you Julius. My name’s Jake. I’m new in town…and I want to meet some new people. Would you like to be my friend, Julius?”

What the?? Is this dude hitting on me? Wassup with that cheeky smile on his face? And why the hell wasn’t he letting go of my hand? Dude had squeezed it a bit tightly and I couldn’t get mine out of his grip without involving some violent motion.


My mind was confused. Especially as he started stroking my forearm with his other hand. What the bloody fcuk?? I think I was rooted in confusion, not knowing what to do or how to react. Logic should have told me to yank my hand out, fold it into a fist and acquaint his face with it. But noo, I just sat there like an idiot wondering if this was really happening, hoping and praying not to get a hard on coz either way, touch is touch, regardless of the gender of the toucher, and if applied in the correct way, embarrassing things can happen!

Of all the seats available in the pub, he chose this one? Wsup with a black man named Jake? Many questions ran through my mind.

“Let me buy you a drink, Julius. Would you like that?”

Suddenly, my mental faculties resumed normal operations, just in time for me to firmly pull my hand away from his.

“Er…tell you what Jake, you’re the guest in town. Why don’t I buy you a drink instead?”

“That’d be lovely!”

Lovely?? That confirmed my suspicions, I WAS being hit on by a dude!

“Right then, lemme dash to the ATM, I’ll be back shortly. Please watch over these drinks, and if my girl comes back before I do, please tell her I’ll be right back.”

I walked briskly out of the pub…then fled like a bat out of hell! I never turned back. I didn’t even care about Zoe at that moment. I didn’t have her number, but so what, kesho pia ni siku! My boys later found me in another pub downstairs, still looking shocked.

Incident 2

Within two years of the first incident, I’d come across a large number of gay guys, lesbians and those confused about which side of the fence they should be on. After all, it’s South Africa, it’s not called the rainbow nation for nothing!

Foreigners like myself used to hang out at joints that had a large number of other foreign students, especially East Africans since it always provided that sense of security, familiarity and comfort. We did hang out with black South Africans too, but that was only if they were with us, as opposed to us being with them.

See, black South Africans are not very friendly, welcoming people. They’re extremely suspicious of foreigners, and even those that are not openly xenophobic tend to make one feel rather uncomfortable by switching to their native languages when you’re in their company, thus leaving you wondering what you were doing there in the first place. (And I don’t need to mention the Afrikaners, you know how I feel about that lot) So you wouldn’t find many Kenyans hanging out in Central, which means the clubs in the city downtown.

One Saturday night, a friend of mine suggested that we head over to Central to check out the competition at the pool bars. I wasn’t up for the idea initially, but the change of scenery and the lure of cheap liquor and cheaper women was a welcome suggestion. So we both dressed down, which meant swapping baggy t-shirts/jeans/fancy sneakers/timberland boots/studs/watches/fancy phones/bracelets etc for checked sweaters, fitting jeans, preferably those of the don’t-you-dare-touch-my-ankles variety (I borrowed my housemate’s jeans, he’s a couple of sizes smaller than I am) Nokia 3310s and Converse sneakers. We completed the look with tweed caps, kinda like the ones our semantically proficient brothers from the lakeside adore. Seeing as our new dress code made us less conspicuous as foreigners, we headed out to Central.

My pal, let’s call him Albert, hang out around these parts quite often, so he was well known in the pool bar that we first set foot in. The pub was in the seedier parts of town, comparable to Luthuli or Accra Roads in Nairobi. Kwaito music pumping, smoke filling the air and some tough looking fellas seated all round.

“See that guy over there? He’s a drug dealer. Those are his peeps, so be careful not to fcuk around. But he’s my pal, so you’ll be ok”

Alfred had also told me that said drug dealer was a good pool player, and I could see that there was some pretty good competition at his table, which is where Alfred decided to place his challenge. I preferred to sit at the counter with my beer while I acclimatized myself with the surroundings. Big assed girls shaking booty all over the place…if you’ve ever seen a Kwaito music video on TV then you’ll know what I’m talking about. It’s said that dancing is the vertical expression of horizontal intentions. With kwaito dances though, there’s really nothing much left to the imagination. The girls don’t merely suggest it, they’ve already arrived at the point!

A while later, Alfred placed a challenge on my behalf, and when it was my turn to play, it would be against one of drug dealer’s pals. He wasn’t that good a player, so I thrashed him quickly and called upon the next challenger, who I dispatched to his seat in similar fashion. (I used to be good back in the day) Then drug dealer came up to the table. Alfred pulled me aside and whispered in my ear,

wacha kuwa mjuaji wewe! This guy walks around with a piece, so it would be a good idea to let him win a few games. Coz now that he’s got booze in his system…hatutaki shida, sawa?”

So that’s how I got beaten, and ended up back at my bar stool. The good thing is that during the games, Alfred and I had managed to strike a friendly rapport with the guys, drinks were bought to and fro, and we played some good pool. I even gained the courage to beat drug dealer a few times. But I let him win more games.

Several beers later, I had to relieve myself so I headed down the long, dimly lit corridor to the gents. The urinals were congested so I waited to use one of the closed toilets. Guys don’t normally shut the door when taking a leak, so I simply unzipped and did the needful.

Suddenly I felt some warm breath at the back of my neck, followed by someone gently rubbing his unmentionables against my hindquarters. WTF?! At that moment I experienced what I call A.S.S. (Automatic Sphincter Shutdown) coz my diabz clenched so tightly that even my pee stopped flowing. I elbowed the culprit hard, then turned around and kicked him as hard as I could, in the family jewels. He fell back clutching said jewels and writhing in agony. That’s when I noticed that it was one of the drug dealer’s men who I’d played against earlier.

FUCK!!!!!!! Ni kama kurusha mawe kwa police station!

I zipped up as I ran down the corridor back into the pool arcade, grabbed Alfred by the arm and sped out of the bar. Luckily there was a cab just outside, so we hopped in and I ordered the driver to step on it, all the while looking back to see if anyone was in hot pursuit.

“What the fcuk is going on?” asked Alfred. I summarized the events that went down in the gents.

“What?! Haahahahahaha! Are you serious? Ok, it’s my fault, I should have told you that he’s gay. I thought you’d noticed!”

How now? I was busy shooting pool and checking out girls asses!

The Aftermath

That wasn’t the last time I’ve been hit on (ok, at least by force!) by gay dudes. It has happened a few times since I returned to Nairobi. I was once at this club in Westi that’s frequented by gay guys, and one mzungu felt it appropriate to flatter me by flashing his artillery in the gents. Aiiiii ssssssually?? I’ve got my own!

Don’t get me wrong here, I have nothing against gay men. Really. The few that I’ve hang out with in Nairobi (I didn’t know that beforehand) were quite lively, they have very interesting perspectives on life. They tend to be very creative too for some reason. While I was homeless in SA during my last couple of weeks there, I used to hang out with my host and her lesbian friends who were very interesting characters. Right now I have several gay and lesbian friends, and one or two confused ones.

The gay fellows I can’t tolerate are the really flamboyant ones, those who wear their sexuality on their sleeves and let it dictate every facet of their lives. One’s sexuality is only one part of one’s personality, just as heterosexuals don’t wear their sexuality on their sleeves. I get very irritated by those types. There’s one in my uni who pisses me off so much! Sometimes he wears make up, paints his toes and walks around in high heels and miniskirts (I know this coz he was my brother’s housemate for a very brief period). Another reason why I avoid this type is because Kenyans are still very homophobic and interestingly, one is always bound to be found guilty by association.

But please guys, quit hitting on me. I’m straight dammit! Women rock! (Dramatics and all)

What’s on my Playlist?

Space Cowboy – Jamiroquai

I got a link to a website that allows you to create a fake Kenyan birth certificate from Mark Kaigwa and decided to give it a go. (All details are fake)

Archer's birth certificate

Seeing how simple it is to create a Kenyan birth certificate, what stops someone from assuming a false identity, getting a fake ID card via the chaps who were busted on NTV investigative report last week and committing all sorts of crime? No wonder Suffer-i-com are having a tough time tracing recipients of ransom money during the recent spate of kidnappings.

What’s on my Playlist?

U Remind Me of Something – R. Kelly

Sunday night was the grand finale of KTN’s reality show “The Presenter”, a 16 week job interview where one contestant would get the opportunity to work at KTN as a presenter. I’ve been following the show for many weeks now (missing a few episodes in the process) but last night’s takes the cake for poor production.

KTN ran countless adverts all day to hype up the finale and to urge viewers to cast their votes before the 8:15 pm deadline. Come 7:35pm, it all started to fall apart. The finalists arrived at Laico Regency in a Mercedes Benz limo, then out steps Lilian Muli in some tacky blue evening dress that casts the spotlight squarely on her instead of the contestants. It’s not all about you, Lilian. Besides, that ka outfit was not fitting for the occasion.

The production, after a whole day’s worth of advertising and hyping up, was shoddy. Very shoddy. The background music was so loud that one couldn’t hear the hosts (Fareed Khimani and Janet Mbugua – who kept giggling uncontrollably) sometimes the mike went off. Me thinks KTN should have outsourced it to a River Road producer or an ambitioius 14 year old with a disposable camera.

The Standard Group Deputy Chairman Paul Melly nearly ruined the show by blabbering endlessly on the achievements of KTN and taking the focus away from the event. It was really difficult to make out mid shrubbz, what exactly his point was.

There should have been some involvement of the other contestants who did not make it to the final. Just as in other elimination reality TV shows (The Apprentice, Survivor) I think their opinions on the strengths and weaknesses of the finalists should have been sought.

I have my reservations about the elimination process. How on earth someone like James Karani made it all the way to the top 3 is beyond me. There are several other contestants who were more qualified than he was e.g Raymond and Cindy. Karani should have been dropped very early in the series, especially after the stinging criticism he received from the other contestants about his arrogance and inability to work in a team. Something was definiely amiss somewhere.

The Yu CEO (whatever his name is) messed things up even further. After being handed the envelope bearing the name of the 2nd runner up and the winner, ata kama ni ku-create suspense, you don’t start to blabber on and on about your bloody network! Ati

this is a very difficult decision…

what is there to decide?? There’s only one name on the bloody card!

It’s almost as difficult as the decisions we made when we came up with our tariff plan…

Oh shut up already!

For a mobile phone network that sponsored this reality show, I expected more prizes of maana. A handsome cash reward should have been offered. Edith, the overall winner got some tu shady 5,000 bob phone and a trophy. The Yu CEO added:

You can now make calls for 50 cents a minute. If you load 20 shilling credit, you can talk for 12 minutes!

Cheapskate. With the kind of salary that Edith will receive at KTN, does this kubaff honestly expect her to top up her phone with 20 bob? And that calculation doesn’t add up!

But the worst came after Edith had been declared the winner, Paul Melly directed that since he has the power, the 2nd runner up (Karani) “should be given a role within the KTN family.”  Huwaat??! Then due to a bit of pressure, he was forced to offer the same to Koome. Earlier on, Koome was criticized for his dreadlocks. Very little was said about his other ability. So one is left to wonder if the only reason he lost out was coz of his hairstyle? Why then was he allowed into the show if he could be allowed to go this far, only to be criticized about his hair?? Seriously, Njoroge “Kyudos” Mwaura should get focused sometimes.

And if all three contestants eventually got employed by KTN, it beats the purpose of having an elimination process. Isn’t the point of this to be a winner gets all? What is there to separate Edith from Koome and Karani save for that cheap phone and the trophy?

The final decision was to be made by the votes cast by the viewers. There was no graph to show the total number of votes cast and how many each contestant garnered. This leaves a lot of doubt and one can’t help thinking the whole thing was cooked.

Anyway, I congratulate Edith for winning coz in my honest opinion, she performed way better than any of the other contestants throughout the show. She fully deserved to win.

Let’s just hope that there won’t be a sequel to this reality show.


While on the topic of KTN, whoever came up with that silly android mascot, the theme song and the slogan needs to be shot dead. There’s even a group on Facebook called “I hate that silly KTN robot!”, check it out.

And perhaps Yu should recruit Soulja Boy to be their official mascot. “YUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!”

What’s on my Playlist?

Jumper – Third Eye Blind

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