Hi all,


This blog has now moved to www.archer.co.ke so kindly follow me there and update your bookmarks.

So long, old blog. *sniff*


What’s on my Playlist?

Bamzigi – Bachette (Follow follow follow follow me…)


Allow me to introduce to you the Morris Moses Foundation (MMF), a non-profit organization set up in 2009 by friends and relatives of the late Morris Moses Kiromo and the late Isaac Mwongera. The two were patients at a major referral hospital in Nairobi, but sadly they passed away due to deplorable healthcare conditions at the institution. They were not treated in a timely manner that would have saved their lives. Inspired by this unfortunate experience, MMF was formed as a consumer lobby that advocates for compassionate, quality and affordable healthcare for all Kenyans.

Boresha Afya

The Morris Moses Foundation will be having a fundraiser called Boresha Afya this Friday 5th August at the Hotel Intercontinental Nairobi from 6:30pm.

The aim of the Boresha Afya Fundraiser is to enable MMF to raise money to support its goal to promote the delivery of quality health care and affordable medical insurance for all Kenyans. With your support, we believe that we can all do something to improve the quality and delivery of services in our public hospitals.

Entry is only Ksh 2,000/= per person. Tickets are available at Capital FM (19th Floor Lonrho House) Africa Heritage, The Carnivore and Steers outlets.

Sponsored by Housing Finance, 98.4 Capital FM, King’s Medical College, Hotel Intercontinental Nairobi, Ramco Printing Works Ltd, PKF Accountants and Business Advisors, GIGI Motors, Intermass Printers & Stationers, Jade Sea Journeys, MTN Business, Prime Product & Dairyland Ice Cream.

Hope to see you there.

Facebook – MorrisMoses Foundation

May 10th marked 5 years since I started my first blog.

Evidently the day came and went without much fanfare. Just like the doomsday prediction last Saturday.

What have I been up to?

Well, as many of you already know, I do a weekly show on Capital FM (The Jam) with Cess & Maqbul. Crazy fellows, those. I’m also their “social media guy”. That’s in addition to my other fulltime job and uni. So now you know why I don’t blog as often.

A bunch of bloggers also came together and started an online magazine (if we can call it that) targeted towards Kenyan men. It’s called Wanaume (www.wanau.me) << Pretty smart, eh? Thank one @Mwirigi for that bit of smart thinking. The idea came about during a conversation between our Editor and me, where we realized that Kenyan men tuko down tu sana. Let’s say the truth. We are. So the idea behind Wanau.me is to redefine Kenyan men. To make us strive to be better than what we are today. Group blogs are the way to go, since they consolidate numbers and are easier to manage than individual blogs. Just look at the good stuff that’s been going on over at DiaspoRadical.

The bloggers behind Wanau.me are myself, Bobby, Ray, Sue, The Bartender, Pastor Wa, PseudoLinguist and our Editor. More bloggers will join the team as time goes by.

The site has only been up for a coupla months and there are not as many posts up since we all have fulltime jobs, and don’t always have time to blog. But we’re trying.

We’re currently looking for a fashion blogger to do the men’s fashion column. If you’re interested, or if you know someone who is, kindly ask them to drop me an email on archer@wanau.me. The target audience is 25 to late 30s working class Kenyan men. So none of that skinny jeans/suits sijui shorts with loafers bila socks nonsense. We want to teach men how to dress well, not how to look like a circus clown.

We also welcome posts by contributors, so if you’ve got a post that you want to have published, hit us up on theguys@wanau.me

Follow us on Twitter: @Wanaume

So now that you know where to get me when I’m not here…..Dosvidanya! (That’s Russian for goodbye)

What’s on my Playlist?

Swedish House Mafia – One (Your Name)

By Locococomoco

I have a rule, it’s quite simple, no sex on a Sunday. A lot of people think I’m joking when I say this, but a review the immaculate logic behind this rule may change your mind.
The thought process starts with The Big Man Upstairs. According to my Sunday School teacher He is omnipotent, transient and all sorts of other omnis (Of course omnibus excluded I’d expect)

As things go, I’d imagine there’s usually quite a bit for Him to do on a daily basis, you know, given that humans are quite the fucked up species, so weekdays are probably one big blur of drowning His sorrows at the outcome of His creation.

Sunday’s are however, quite special. You see, there is usually an unparalleled peak in name calling activity on Sundays. The name in question being His. Every Tom, Dick and Henrietta who has been involved in various forms of debauchery during the week usually feels the need to cry unto Him for one reason or another (In prayer and whatnot). As thus, I’d imagine that He is forced to peer suspiciously towards earth on Sundays as the clamour must be quite distracting.

So how does this affect matters carnal you ask? Well, in lieu of the facts outlined above, why the hell would you want to have hot, torrid, pay-per-view sex on a Sunday when there is a high probability that God is watching?!

Sure there is nothing wrong with sex but I’m pretty sure accidental voyeurism of your sorry ass will not score you points with Him (yeah, you’re not that good at it!). I mean, if you’re screaming “OMG! OMG!” on a Sunday and He looks your way and finds that it wasn’t said while kneeling at a pew in supplication, He might be a wee bit miffed, which is never a good thing.

Therefore, to avoid being struck by lightning or losing girl-scout points with The Big Man Upstairs, I suggest we all obey the no sex on a Sunday rule. (Yes boys and girls, this includes self service too. It’d be worse if you were seen doing that, He’d chalk you off as a loser and laugh at you which would make for a very embarrassing entrance to the pearly gates someday.)


If you see me around, buy me a couple of drinks and I might just let you in on my theory about the origin of mankind 😉

By Buggz79


Game Over

Game Over

This is a post about the boys.

What happens when your comrades, your men at arms, your amigos go off and, in an act unrelated to domestic hygiene, sweep some damsel off her feet?

Chances are that they will be handing said damsel the broom quite shortly.

But this is not the aspect that I’m looking at.

Lads have always rolled with the “bro code”. You know, bros before…er..(PC Alert) Ladies of negotiable affection aka digging implements. So we’ll embark on various dubious escapades, fuelled by alcohol and other questionable substances and set about conquering femaledom with gusto. In our wake, there will be a few broken hearts, seething emotions from spurned lasses and the occasional sore body part from defending one of the lads honor.

And then it happens.

You are at a random ‘meating’ location dazzling each other with tales of your exploits and rubbishing each others football teams. Then the lad who’s chic you all know drops a random line into the convo.

“What do you guys think about <insert name of current love interest>?”

Depending on the bond between the lads, this will either spark reactions between the  cautious “She’s ok I guess” and the more likely “Dude, if you leave me alone with her in a semi lit room for 5 minutes…wacha nisiseme”

And after a few minutes of this, the dude finally comes out with it and says. “We have this nini…me and her…I’m thinking of quitting the players club man..”

If this is the first lad of the group headed for slaughter aisle bound, then the news elicits a moment of silence as the boys collectively mourn his loss of ‘freedom’

And they instantly focus on the next major aspect of this life changing decision. Yep. The stag night.

Much like the fight club, the first rule about stag parties is that you don’t talk about stag parties. Trust me ladies, the less you know about that, the better.

But the real change to the brotherhood comes after the marriage has been solemnized. The lad is now part of a unit. Back then when the lad was merely dating, the damsel went out of her way to score favour points with the boys. Now she has a license (to drive the dude nuts?) and the first course of action is change the crowd around the man. He needs to hang with like minded dudes. After all, the other lads are still chasing tail, embarking on random road trips and generally not engaging in activities likely to result in marital bliss.

This is a generally rough phase for the newly married lad. Sure you can choose to hang out with wifey and the boys. This hardly ever works out well though. Their interests have no common focus. Heck, odds are that the new wife will either cock block the boys or (possibly worse) hook em up in hopes that they will discover marital bliss..

I have no solutions for the hapless young man…maybe you do?

What’s on my Playlist?

Mos Def – Lifetime

cock block. Get it?

According to this article,  cock blocking is quite accurately defined as the “foul act in which someone interferes with another’s attempt at finding happiness inside someone’s pants.” I’m pretty sure that a lot of guys have at one (or more) point in life been a victim of this very criminal, sadistic act.

However, cock blocking is indeed a very important part of the mating game, a very important tactic that if mastered skillfully can work very well in your advantage. And there are cases where it is necessary to cockblock. Let’s look at some of them.

Freeloading cockblockers (madharau ya bure)

This is a very common occurrence. You meet a chic at the club. You throw her a few raoz. You flirt suggestively and get her into your frame of lateral thinking. At the end of the night, you decide to push the lateral agenda further by suggesting that you go back to your place. Then she says

“Sorry, I can’t. Aunty Flo is in town”

(Either that or she pulls a  bitch-ass “my boyfriend is here” move)

Some unfortunate guys have had the misfortune of taking her home, then after successfully getting 90% of the clothes off and reaching into the bedside drawer to get some rubber, she tells you that she can’t coz she’s on her period.



Seriously! When you got into his car and ended up at his house, in his bed, just what on earth did you think was going to happen? You’re both gonna hold hands and sing the anthem? Unity is a good thing, but I’m pretty sure that the dude was looking for unity of another nature. The “Two become one” type! As the TV ads said, “Wacha ushenzi!”

If this happens to you, you are well within your rights to evict her from your residence as swiftly as humanly possible.

Girls in groups

Whenever you come across girls in a group of more than 3, and you have your eye on one of them, that right there is a close to impossible situation. These girls will sit there and scrutinize everything about a guy and chomoa you marks. Or they’ll be too engrossed in their vibe. If you’re lucky enough to isolate said damsel, yaani divide and conquer, then you’re in luck. Coz as long as she’s with her pals, you don’t stand a chance.

So let’s say that you finally manage to get some alone time with her and you unleash your two bob vibes, drinks and all that you possibly can to get her interested in engaging in coitus with you, rest assured there’s no way you’re going home with her coz right at that moment, her pals will swiftly close ranks and cockblock that agenda.

Come on ladies, just coz you ain’t getting none tonight doesn’t mean that you should prevent your friend from having some pretty good sex! It’s all about free will. If she’s feeling his vibe, she’s got a perfectly good head on her shoulders (hopefully) so let her decide for herself. Get yourself a man too, or bugger off!

Compe ni compe roho safi

…Kila mtu ajitetee roho safi.

This right here refers to straight up game chafu competitive cockblocking. Nothing is fair in [sex] love and war. Imagine a scenario where two guy pals both fancy one chic, and neither of them wants to step aside and let the other conquer. So they both decide to press on and see whoever’s game is better. In such situations, there is no need to compete coz what happens if your pal is a well versed cunning linguist? And I do mean that in the most transparent of terms. He can talk his way into a girl’s pants in ten minutes flat *cough* Milo *cough* and you know for sure that you can’t compete with him on that level, then it’s only natural to fyeka him kabisa.

Two guys vibing one chic is quite an interesting scenario and provides an opportunity to employ several different cock-blocking tactics.

Guy 1: …so this time we had a bash at my pal’s house and it was crazy!

Guy 2: Dude, si that’s the time you got so boozed that you blacked out and crapped on yourself? You always do that when you’re high!!

Consider yourself cock-blocked.

Guy 1: “Wsup Mato! I see you’ve met Trish.”

Guy 2: “Yeah, we’ve met.”

Guy 1: “So Mato tell me, how’s the herpes? Ulipona?”

Trish: Wuuuuuiiiiiii! *scatters*

There’s no recovery from this one. Quietly exit stage left.

Guy 1: Dude, is your phone off? Your chic is calling me on my phone looking for you.

Guy 2: *embarrassed* “Gimme a sec.

Chic: You mean he has a chic?

Guy 1: He didn’t tell you?

Chic: Imagine nooooo!

Guy 1: Yeah, they’ve been together almost 3 years now. Kwanza he’s taking her to coasto this weekend to propose. We just picked out the ring last week!

By the time you realize that that wasn’t your chic on the phone, it’s too late. Consider yourself cock-blocked.

In such cases, don’t hate the playa, hate the game. You’ve been sliced clean. No need throwing a bitch-fit when it finally dawns on you that your boy has cock blocked you. Keep your chin up and keep walking.


If there’s this one girl whose pants you’ve been trying to get into for quite some time. However, she always has this pal who always shows up and becomes a third wheel in your vibe. Most times said pal has chapad kabisa so taking her home with you is not a plan. Besides, threesomes are cumbersome. Such perpetual and seasoned blockers of cock are hereby referred to as Van der Sar coz there’s no way in hell that she’s letting you score!

Edwin Van der Sar

Case in point, there’s a chic who I’ve been trying to slay. But whenever I think up a plan of let’s go hang out somewhere & have drinks then see where the day/night takes us, we agree to meet up somewhere, then when I arrive and suggest

“Si we go?”

The response is always

“Actually I’m just waiting for *insert pal’s name* to come. I hope you don’t mind.”

Aaaaargh! What the bloody fuck? Third wheel syndrome. And twice I’ve had to call up two of my boys who were hoovering somewhere in the vicinity to come and neutralize the equation. But whenever they show up, said third wheel is always more interested in catching up with said target, or butting into our conversations. There’s just no escaping the long arms of Van der Sar!

Where cock blocking is absolutely necessary.

Guys, how many times has your boy come close to chipsing a chic who is well known to have more mileage than a Bayusuf & Sons 18 wheeler? Or a chic who you know that you absolutely wouldn’t touch with a five foot pole, and gloves to boot? IT IS YOUR DUTY to cock block him on humanitarian grounds by any means necessary. Yes it is! It may be ugly, but you’ll soon be forgiven.

One fine Friday night a few years ago in South Africa, it was the end of exam week, so all students hit the pub for an evening of serious #beershara. And we all know what goes down when you have hundreds of university students in a pub on Friday. If you don’t get laid, then game yako iko down kama basement!

I was seated at a table with a bunch of Kenyans, checking out the local scenery before zeroing in on possible targets. Enter my pal with a coloured chic, fine as fuck. When I say fine, best believe this woman was FWYNE!! Dangerously fine. Pretty yellow yellow, clad in a tiny top revealing her sumptuous cleavage and black leather hipsters outlining her thunder thighs that can easily give even Archbishop Ndingi mwana a’ Nzeki something devilish to think about.

That’s where the problem came in. See, said pal was one of the senior and most respected Kenyans in the university. And this chic had quite a chequered history, which included rumours of an STD after a guy that we know came and confessed his rather painful dilemma after his encounter with her. Yes, he got gonorrhea.

My pal was so all over her vibe. Drinks flowing, dirty dancing all over the place and basically performing fingerskating aka yellow pages. We all knew what was about to go down, but how on earth were we supposed to tell him that she was bad news? Two guys tried to hola at him kando but to no avail.

At the end of the night, just as we noticed that he was about to leave with said chic, desperate measures had to be taken. At that exact moment, this song was playing on the club speakers. We all got atop our seats and crossed our arms to form an X, and improvised the lyrics. Sing along now, won’t you?

Gonooooooorhea! She has! She has! Go go go Gonooooooooorhea!

Let’s just say he wasn’t the least bit amused, (neither was she) but it was absolutely necessary lest he came crying to us later with more than just an itch in his sehemu nyetis. We don’t know what went down after they left the club. He didn’t tell us.

Another situation. What if your boy, who has a girlfriend/wife is acting a fool, and is about to chips a chic, in a crowded place where there are enough eyewitnesses to guarantee that he will be sold out to his significant other even before he gets home? It is imperative upon you to make sure that he doesn’t get caught cheating. Real friends don’t let their friends walk into a trap.

If you see a female friend or your boy’s little sister about to be chipsed by a dude you know is bad news, then it’s also your duty to cock block that agenda on humanitarian grounds.

Anyway, there are rules to cock blocking.

1.       Never cockblock a dude unless you had intentions on said target. That’s just malicious and is punishable by death.

2.       If you’re the victim of a cock block, take it like a man. Accept it, it’s part of the game. You live to fight another day.

3.       Whatever you do, be careful not to cockblock yourself. That’s sexual suicide.

What’s on my playlist?

I Just Had Sex – Lonely Island feat. Akon

Follow me on Twitter: @ArcherMishale

Find me on Facebook: Archer Mishale

By Ndimi Tamu

I do not remember one day getting up gleefully and proudly naming myself a woman’s man. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of joy dealing with genderius tenderit. I’ve also had my fair share of drama. And the training that I received from it. When I was a little boy my father taught me that amusing people would almost always get you what you wanted. And I saw him do it with my mother.

When I joined high school, I, being a poor and confused rabble, was forced to walk over and talk to a girl. Goes the conversation –

Me: Hi, I’m Ndimi.

She: I’m Happy.

Me: So am I.

Apparently her name really was Happy. She never spoke to me again. Yet, I was relentless. I had to learn from my mistakes. And learn I did. So, when I was in fourth form I met this finest of lasses and locked my missiles on her. She famously came to be known as my high school sweetheart. Not until I tried to engage her post-school and took her to City Park for a date. She dumped me like a bad habit. For some bloke less broke than I was. Between you and I, late last year I met her at a wedding of a friend of me. She recognized me. She was with her fiancé. I asked her to accompany me to some place to get some stuff. And while at the place, I got my stuff sweet sweet revenge. She can now get married in peace.

Back to historical facts. I’ve just started working. At a mere age of 20. My boy throws a party and my love for free fun couldn’t hold my horse pipe. So I meet this lass. Fine as mahogany. Got me high on adrenalin. She looked (was) 28. Cougar alert. She was boss at one of the suburban shopping malls in Nairobi. My shy self did not have the cojones to steal glances, let alone approach her. But a couple days later I had her number, thanks to my boy, and called. From that moment on, she role played. My work was just to act Mr Yes Man and she would rain on me like a naughty hawk. Until one day she unleashed news that she wanted offspring from my divine well of life. I ran like a rain deer. She did find a live donor, as I later came to know. And 5 years later, I meet her and her son, and she goes, My son could really do with a daddy. What you doing with yourself again?

I’m not one for relationships at the work place. Out of experience. Miriam was a colleague. A true definite of a modern high flier. She was so graceful we would all get distracted as she passed by, 20 metres away. Even my married boss would stammer. So one day as I was attending to her professionally, I decided to get cosy. She got rosy. Needless to say, a four month fling ensued. We were all getting our fair share of the deal until the day she introduced me to her dad on Valentines day as a potential hooks. She wanted to get married. I ran. She was outraged. Then threatened to kill me. In the workplace. A few months later my friend, genuinely interested, proposed to her. She refused. She did not want to get married. Ever.

I was starting to get tired of flings and mipangos. I decided that it was in everyone’s best interest that I date seriously. Found me the best possible girl. Gorgeous. Charming. Clever. Focused. Religious. I had started getting close to Jesus and I needed this kind of woman next to me. She was only going to lose her virginity to her husband, she’d warned me. Fast forward 3 months, when I had gotten accustomed to the idea of abstinence (it works!) and even starting to like it. We went on a picnic. Then she grabs me. It was time, and she did not want to wait no more. A cherry had to vanish from top of the cake. Believe it or not, we separated because of that. I wanted to keep my word at least on one thing. This time to Jesus. (Well, a year later we met. And well, you know…humanity is weak…)

I met this fierce broad called Karimi. Vicious. I like vicious. I asked her whether she minded some real KARI-ing on MI-lap. She took one swipe at me and retorted,

‘I know your type, the kind that thinks you can get any woman you want. I won’t let you. Sod off.’

She said this viciously. My ego was a little bruised. I was not sure I wanted to confront her ever again. A few months later on a busy afternoon she finds me somewhere in a server room, busy building the nation. She asked for my lap of honour. I gave her a standing ovation. Viciously (did I mention I like vicious?) But the change of mind I did not understand one bit.

I took another attempt at serious dating. This time around I decided to get me a rebound ball, having not liked the idea of finding myself in the lights *mataa* when shit got with the last attempt as seriousness. The rebound was happy with her role. Then she was not. She wanted all or none. Heck, I was having a great time with my mikai (essentially) and was not about to lose her over my bounce ball. She offered to leave and I let her. After all, I was happy. Today she found me online, 2 years later. She tells me she has some serious 2011 resolutions. She’s gonna fight. For me. And she has to, must make me her own. Forget the Missus. She’s no match for her, she alleged.

Women, what really do you want?

What’s on my Playlist?

Jamiroquai – She’s a fast persuader