Yenyewe!

MEN OF THE MOUNTAIN: THE LEGEND BEGINS

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Wed, 09 Sep 2015 07:01:00 +0000

We faced death square in the eye. This one moment would be the scariest in my life. And it stretched on for what felt like an eternity. But the story begins somewhere else. Somewhere warmer and less death-y. A few months prior to this we had started up a group on Whatsapp. A group to act as a channel for our many frustrations. I am lucky in the sense that I get to work with some of my closest friends. And the conversations went on in this group.

It was an all-boys club. About 15 guys who would just talk about everything and anything that would be on top of their minds. A platform for sharing memes and venting about work. And then suddenly it became more than that one fateful Saturday afternoon.

The plan was simple. The boys would get together over the weekend and climb a mountain.It was meant to be an escape. A metaphorical obstacle to surmount in place of the real ones that plagued our lives. On Friday night we assembled at one house and prepared for the trip. Food, drinks, video games and laughter were shared. Brilliant by any standards.

The next morning we were up at the crack of dawn. The crack of dawn is not pretty. It was a chilly and wet morning and nature seemed determined to ruin this trip before it even started. As the drizzle covered the earth in misery, we got into four cars and left the city. Nothing was going to get in our way. This was going to happen come hell or high water. Turns out we were going to get both.

The drive was fantastic. Lively conversation and wisecracks from people half drunk on wine and the idea of a weekend of possibility. Mercifully the clouds cleared as we descended into the belly of the Rift Valley and Mt. Longonot came into view. Our destination was set. Breath taking is the only way you can describe Longonot. A play of superlatives. Suffice to say it’s a visual masterpiece.

The climb was largely uneventful save for the melodrama of an individual who shall not be named. “Go on without me. I will only slow you down.” He shouted at us as he writhed on the ground halfway up the mountain. Victim to a hangover after downing endless glasses of wine. (Picture a male version of Courtney Cox in Cougar Town only darker, fatter and nothing like Courtney Cox apart for a penchant for drinking wine out of an over-sized wine glass)

No one was left behind. It’s like the marines; if the marines were a group of out of shape individuals whose every word dripped with sarcasm. The decision to go run along the crater rim was unanimous. Absentmindedly, we made a mental note of the gathering clouds. We were focused on getting to the summit. But soon the clouds wouldn’t be ignored. We seemed locked in a race. The pace picked up and the summit seemed within reach.

By the time we were taking our celebratory photos at the top the clouds were upon us. It wasn’t a question of whether it would rain but when…and how much. The fog rolled in as we descended. Our biggest fear was flash floods. They were notorious for harnessing a few minutes of rain into a raging torrent. The first drops were accompanied by hail. Which was fun…for a few seconds. The laughter turned into a controlled panic as the pain started to set in. The fog had obscured the crater on one side and the edge of the mountain leaving us with a thin trail and near zero visibility.

It became evident that there was no possible way we could outrun the hailstorm. Running down the mountain was also not an option because plunging into the crater was a real and present danger. We put all our electronics in a bag, huddled together in a circle and used the few jackets we had to cover our heads. The landscape turned white as the hail piled up around our feet. And all we could do was wait.

It felt like hours but must have been minutes. But it was the scariest thing we had ever experienced. And as the storm receded we gained a new appreciation for the men who had stood next to us. We had all seen the fear reflected in each other’s eyes and the fact that we had stood through it was something we didn’t take lightly. And right at that moment as the sun peered through the clouds and our battered bodies ached for its warmth, something new was born. The men of the mountain became more than friends. They became brothers.

KBC REBRANDING TO KBX TO APPEAL TO THE XAXA GENERATION

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 10 Nov 2014 14:12:00 +0000

In the race to capture viewers the national broadcaster has been falling behind private entities. The dwindling numbers are based on the fact that their main shows were brand new in 1972, and their breaking news usually involves news that's been in the public domain for months.

In an attempt to make up for the shortfall of viewers, KBC is rebranding with a new face to capture the imagination of potential viewers. Under the tag line "Come on guys. Please watch us", the state broadcaster is aggressively marketing itself as the 4th most popular activity to indulge in when you can't watch other channels coming in close after contracting cholera, watching paint dry and kicking MCA's in the crotch.

The rebranding also features a more youthful tone with KBC being ditched in favour of KBX to attract the Xaxa and Xema generation. It will also comes with a bouncy ball reminiscent of children's music shows so that these viewers can keep up with complex words such as "And" and "The". The logo changes to feature a man shrugging as if to say "We don't care if you watch."

The ads feature 20 minute clips where a sad old man walks on screen and proceeds to cry uncontrollably before hugging himself. He then goes on to remember the good old days when KBC was the only thing on Kenyan TV and every news bulletin started with an itinerary of Former President Moi's bowel movements. (Gripping television it was) The ads end with the man walking off screen after pleading with whoever is still watching to stay tuned for 'new' video of Moi being sworn in for the 4,636th time.

Whether or not this will change viewer perceptions is yet to be seen but so far the responses have been positive. In relation to the ads and revamping, Gideon from Kasarani asked why the old man on TV was out to make them so sad. Meanwhile Susan from Runda asked what KBC was and asked us to back off her door while threatening to release her dogs. Whatever the case, the news can only be good for the state broadcaster.

KENYA AT 50: RETELLING HISTORY

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Wed, 11 Dec 2013 09:02:00 +0000

Happy birthday Kenya. You are now 50. I keep trying to figure out what Kenya would be like if it was a human being turning 50. Would it be the woman with the silver streaks in her hair? Aging gracefully as time ticks slowly away. Crows feet barely visible on her face. Her body nurtured by the land and full of strength and vitality. Or would it be the 50 year old man? Firmly in the clasps of middle age. His Ferrari stuck in traffic as he revs loudly to get the attention of those driving a Toyota that has seen better days. Adorned in clothes much younger than his age but determined to fit in.

The mental imagery shifts from person to person. Those who think we have so much to celebrate versus those who think the country has fallen further and further into an uncontrollable dive. It hardly seems like there is room for middle ground. A look back at 50 years of our nationhood means you are either incredibly proud of strides we have made or embarrassed by where we find ourselves today.

I'll begin with a caveat that I am not a historian. And they say history is written by the victors so it only reflects what those in power want you to think. It's hard to divorce the path our country has taken from the leaders we've had. I happened to be watching this documentary about our country's presidents and the information was disturbing. It wasn't about the presidency as much as it was that every person interviewed repeated the words "took over power" rather than "took office" in relation to the presidency. In effect, it points to our view of the presidency as a tool of rule rather than a tool of service. We decide to become subjects rather than employers.

Americans talk about their founding fathers with almost divine reverence. Like they couldn't do anything wrong. This is despite the fact that George Washington owned slaves and grew weed. That's the position I find ourselves in. Where we need national heroes and can't seem to let ourselves see history for what it truly is. Our founding father, Jomo Kenyatta, is hardly the democratic he is painted out to be. He ruled with an iron fist and may have been the reason why Kenya is so ethnically divided. Moi perfected the divide and rule tactics of the colonial powers and Kibaki was at the helm of a country that was hopeful for a new beginning and ended up brink of an ethnic civil war.

History though can't be painted in broad strokes. Statistics can be given of each presidency that brought some sort of economic or social gains to this country. The idea that I reject is where history is rewritten to form a false narrative. That we are still talking about fighting colonialism 50 years is proof that we would rather retell the story than face our own demons. Getting freedom from the Brits didn't set us out on a rosy path of milk and honey. Far from it. And having someone steal and plunder from you isn't lessened by the fact that the person shares your skin colour.

Kenya has had its fair share of ups and downs. We've made huge strides. And we've had moments of national shame. Blood has been poured for this country. Our sweat goes into building the very foundation of Kenya. So the upshot of it is this. We aren't celebrating the actions of those in office. After all it's hard to find someone who feels represented by those goons in parliament. Instead we celebrate those moments we've pulled together as a country and inspired each other to be better despite all the odds. Remember every moment we've stood up together. it is only through our weak moments that we can celebrate our strengths. It is only through acknowledging the tribal animosity that we can appreciate Kenyans shunning tribe in times of need. We can always be better. After all Kenya isn't Kibaki, Kenyatta or Moi. I am Kenya. And so are you. And we just turned 50.

BLACK, WHITE & VARIOUS SHADES OF GREY

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Fri, 02 Aug 2013 05:04:00 +0000

She stood across from me and the smile slipped from her face just long enough for me to see her wince from the question. She looked up and must have realized I was on to her and so she did what she was good at. She changed the topic. But I wasn't going to let her get away with it. Not this time. I was hanging out with my ex-girlfriend after years of patchy communication. We'd dated just after high school and for a few months she had been the centre of my world. She describes it as a point in time when Cosmo & Wanda were our best friends.(If you don't watch cartoons then google the reference.) Then I had left the country for a year and by the time I came back our relationship was no more.

"He's my hubby." she said evasively.

"So you're married?" I asked.

"Kinda."

"Is that a yes?"

She took a deep breath. Straight forwardness had never been a characteristic of hers. It drove me mad. As far as I can remember it was always her defining feature. She was brilliant, independent, funny and talkative. But underneath the surface she was a mystery shrouded in an enigma cloaked by a puzzle. She spoke in parables which at times I didn't fully understand.

This was the first time we were hanging out in years and the friendship came back rather naturally. Despite that there was an air of resistance on her end. Her words were measured. Her smile a bit too quick. But I prodded. The story finally tumbled out in a few brief sentences. She had gotten married to someone she was madly in love with a year before. So much so that she had dropped her aeronautical engineering degree in the United States to be here with him. My jaw dropped. But the story went on.

Marriage hadn't exactly been a bed of roses for her. While he had been a stellar boyfriend, he was a strong armed husband. He was obsessive and wanted her to himself all the time. He questioned her conversations with her friends (Including a rather odd conversation I had with him on the phone) and even the visits to her mum were reduced to a minimum because he didn't trust her. In at least one incidence he had flung a projectile at her. A plate. I was mortified.

She had finally walked away from him due to the mistreatment. I have a feeling she only told me a fraction of the story. I stood there staring at her. Wondering where the version of her I remembered had disappeared to. She had been strong, defiant even when I had known her. Now, as she told me she didn't believe in divorce and that she was giving him a chance to change, I was filled with a deep sense of sadness. It was all very black and white to me. Here was a vibrant 26 year old carrying the burdens of someone much older. And I felt helpless.

As I get older this is the one thing that I struggle with the most. The fact that that childhood innocence leaves and we are left to make decisions that inflict such heavy wounds. She had grown up a Christian and she had made a commitment to the guy and to God. Divorce would have been her taking the easy way out. So she was sticking in until the guy changed. She admitted to not expecting him to change much but that she had a bare minimum in mind.

While she saw the whole thing in various shades of grey I saw it in black and white. She didn't deserve to be treated like this. Even more so when you put how young she is. Perspective. That's the word. The idea that absolutes disappear as we grow older. Right and wrong disappear. Good and bad become nothing more than words in a dictionary. We are robbed of a universal approach to life which makes it both a beautiful experience and a tragically lonely journey. As I said goodbye to her that afternoon I ached to turn back the clock. To a simpler time. To a time when Cosmo and Wanda could wave a wand and erase all those shades of grey.

WHY TV SCARES ME ABOUT PARENTHOOD

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Fri, 26 Jul 2013 05:14:00 +0000

I didn't have a bad childhood. It was pretty good when you factor in the usual things like going for doof mparararo (swimming in dirty ponds or rivers especially after the rains), tree climbing and games that left all sorts of scars on various parts of my body. My parents were your run of the mill parents which means they messed me up about the same as anyone else. I was brought up to survive as a Kenyan which means I was given survival skills like the ability to reconnect what Kenya Power had pulled asunder. (Please don't tell them. I am still scared of the sound of motorbikes because of this.)

In addition to my parents, television also served as a very huge influence. And it is for this reason that I am freaked out by the idea of being a father. Why? Well think about it. Think about some of the ways in which parenthood is depicted on the screen.

One of the things that keeps me up at night as a potential father is the choice between a stupid kid and an ugly one. Which one would you go for? I mean a stupid but good looking kid will be nice to look at until they get to the age where they can form words. Then what? Do you just have them stand in the corner and shut up because every word makes you want to throw them out of the window? Do you just nod and smile when they shout out things that cause traffic to stop?

On the flip side is the smart but ugly kid which I assume more people would pick. And they would only go for this option so as not to come off as shallow. I get it. This kid can use its brains to go far. All the best schools. All the best jobs. But then again it boils down to something rather simple. One day this kid will crawl into your bed on a Tuesday night during a thunderstorm. And you will freak the hell out and then end up throwing the kid out of a window. Sure you could strike gold and have a good looking, smart baby but with your luck you might have to make the choice about why you're going to have to resist throwing your kid out of the window.

Another very possible angle is that your kid could be possessed. Quit laughing. It's a very plausible thing going by horror movies. One moment your little cute kid is drooling on the floor and the next he or she (but mostly it's a girl. Little possessed girls are way more scary for some random reason.) is turning their head 360 degrees and can walk on the walls. It seems to happen to the nicest people in these movies which means it could totally happen to you. Then what? Who are you gonna call? Ghost busters? Charmed sisters? Captain planet? Nope. You're gonna have to handle it by yourself. And I don't really have a manual for that stuff. I guess this means I have to be friends with a Catholic priest just in case.

YouTube has also complicated parenthood. In fact just this morning I was watching this video of parents giving their kids lemons and then standing back to record it. Sure it was hilarious but then if you copy and paste that to me then things could go awry. I am competitive and I am sure I might have been dropped on my head as a baby. I am not quite sure if I would understand the proper moments to reach for the first aid kit and the ones to reach for the video camera. I would have to undergo some sort of training for this. The kid is being strangled by the cat. Hmmm. Funny? Yes. Possibly fatal? Yes. Video camera or first aid? Use the video camera as part of the first aid kit.

I get chills when I think of the movie 'Taken'. I am not as cool as Liam Neeson so I wouldn't know what I would do if my kid was kidnapped in Paris. In fact just for that reason my daughter is banned from Paris in advance. Even his lines sounded like someone who knows what to do. " If you let my daughter go now, this will be the end of it. I will not look for you. I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you and I will kill you." At this point I assume i would get that call and ask. "My daughter? Which one? The stupid one or the ugly one? Oh. The ugly one? Ni sawa."

But beyond the jokes and all fatherhood is looming over the horizon. Nope I haven't gotten anyone pregnant...this week...that I know of. I just happened to be thinking about how I want my kids to turn out and figured even if I were perfect then they would still be messed up in one way or another. Think about the perfect tv families. The Camdens on 7th Heaven all had issues of their own despite the fact that their parents were awesome church people. Obviously all the Huxtable kids on the Cosby Show turned out to be drug dealing serial killers because their parents were so level headed.

It's all put in a very simplistic manner but the whole point of this is the idea of fatherhood is kinda scary. But that is even worse when you put it into perspective for me. Lets just begin with the fact that I am curious about naming my kid Luke just so when he pisses me off I can get my voice all deep and raspy and shout "Luke, I am your father." See? I need help.

SHALLOW ROOTS...

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 15 Jul 2013 14:19:00 +0000

Identity. It has never been an issue for me. I know myself. I am secure and safe in my knowledge of who I am. Lately though I found myself questioning it especially from a cultural point of view. What exactly gives us that sense of belonging? Our parents,our language, our surroundings? A few weeks ago I travelled back to my shags (ancestral home) for the first time in about 12 years. Sadly, the reason for my travel was my aunt's funeral. I had never met her. She was my mum's older sister and had only featured in a handful of stories that I could remember. The reason for this was because she had suffered a mental breakdown years before and had thus been confined to a rather secluded life.

We packed the car and left for Kasipul Kabondo with my younger brother and mother. The beauty of the country played out in an endless vista as we drove into the Rift Valley. Past the parched expanse of Narok and into the breath taking coffee covered hills of Litein. I drove as my mother and I talked while my brother alternated between snoring in the back seat and ridiculous stories. During the drive, mum filled us in on what her childhood with her sister had been like. In many respects, she felt the version of her sister she had known had been gone for a while. So while there was a great sense of loss it wasn't exactly like someone she recognised.

5 hours and loads of junk food later we drove into our homestead. The last time I had been here was to bury my father. I was barely 12 then. Now I looked at everything as an adult. The corner of the grounds where a goat had head butted me, (Hilarious now but terrifying then), the well I almost fell into during a thunderstorm, the paths I had taken when taking the cows to the river. It had all changed yet in the change were vestiges of a time gone by. What had once stood proud and grand was now run down and shabby. But it was home. My home.

My uncle walked my brother and I around the place explaining the changes. My brother and I exchanged confused looks. He rattled off names of relatives we hadn't seen in years & could hardly remember. Then he walked us to my dad's grave to pay our respects. In a corner of a desolate field is where my father's remains lay. A clump of weeds grew around his grave and a beehive was somewhere near. The latter ensured that we could only pay our respects from a safe distance.

On the night before the funeral there was a thum. (dance). Loud music was played from large speakers & family, friends & neighbours came from far and wide to dance. Again, my brother and I stood there watching like outsiders as they engaged in some of the funniest dance moves we had ever seen. On the other edge of the homestead a small group of religious mourners sang in low tones while they danced around a drum in a circle. By 4 am when I was finally succumbing to sleep both groups of mourners were still doing their thing with gusto.

The next morning more visitors started streaming in early. And then the barrage started. Do you remember me? Do you know me? Wow. You're all grown up. (This last one tends to annoy me. Like people expect you to be a child all your life.) I was completely ashamed. I didn't know most of extended family. Cousins, uncles and aunts seemed taken aback that I couldn't recall their names. Then there were those convoluted relations. The kind who made it sound like you should know the son of your grandfather's third wife's step sister's cousin's child. Apparently everyone here had held me as a child. (Did mum just like giving me out?) I was floating in a sea of utter confusion. I was that cliche. The kid brought up in the city who heads back to find his roots and can't quite find them. In the city I claim my luo heritage yet here in the country I struggle to string together proper sentences to talk to relatives I hardly recognize.

My grandmother and my mother are my refuge here. The former has nothing but sympathy for my shortcomings here. No one knows how old my grandmother is. I am basically learning dholuo just so I can converse with her. She watches me struggle through my dholuo then admonishes me for not knowing my relatives. Apparently some had snitched on me. She talks to me about the importance of identity. Of family. Then her old, leathery face breaks into a conspiratorial smile as she whispers that my dholuo is getting better.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch. Actually just one. The master of ceremony has to ask the speakers to keep their speeches short. He says it's not a competition to see who loved my aunt most. It draws a few angry remarks from the mourners. Later as people walk away, I stand next to my grandmother as she watches people commit her daughter to the soil. Her eyes are red. I realise I have never seen her cry. All this. All the bits I knew and the bits I didn't understand were all part of me. So was this woman I had never quite gotten to know. She's a strong, proud woman. Even now in her moment of utter despair, there is something regal about her. I take her hand and squeeze it. No words are necessary.

MOMENTS OF TRUTH

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 13:15:00 +0000

The call came in after we'd just come in.

It wasn't late but we'd had a long day. All we wanted was to relax after driving in the rain for most of the day. Bone tired. My phone rang and the number wasn't familiar. The effects of a recent factory resetting. I answered with trepidation. I didn't know who would be on the other end and was avoiding a number of people. A familiar voice came on. Relief. She wasn't on the list of people being avoided.

"Hey Brian...," her voice came on rather shakily.

I sat up. Keenly paying attention. The conversation was short. She wanted to know if I was with a mutual friend. I answered in the affirmative.

"Give her the phone." It wasn't a request.

I passed it on and waited. The upshot of it was that she was in trouble. And we needed to get back to town. FAST.The details were sketchy but the broad strokes were that she was in a matatu travelling into the city from Nakuru and had started bleeding. I found this out while my foot was mashing the accelerator while we tore down the rain swept highway. We were in town within minutes. We found her in a dark lit street, leaning against a wall, tears on her face and blood trickling down her legs. Hugs were exchanged. "It's gonna be ok." was whispered. Then back in the car and off to the hospital. Weeks earlier she had had an abortion. Her chicken were coming home to roost.

We all have that friend. The ones that always seem to get themselves into one situation before they even untangle themselves from the previous one. We love her to death. But she always has us shaking our heads. In anger. In bemusement. And at times, in resignation. The truth can be told in fifty different ways depending on the time, day, her recollection or her needs at that point in time. But then at the end of the day our friendship counts above anything else.

Hours later we drove back home after a procedure at the hospital and dropping her off at home and making sure she was ok. A discussion came up. The usual discussion. Why is she always in so much trouble? Why can't she be normal like the rest of us? An interesting angle to the discussion came up. Maybe she was the most honest of us all after all. Her laundry was always out there for us to see. Her lies were always uncovered ultimately. The rest of us had layers upon layers of dirt that we hid away int his pursuit at normalcy.

The stories she tells read rather sadly. She paints a picture of her family that we dread. Of friends that are never there for her. Of life dealing her a really bad hand of cards. And she has been sold into this narrative. She believes her own lies. The line between the truth and a fib hasn't become blurry. It has disappeared altogether.

This whole growing up thing gets harder. More complicated. The things we have to tell each other and ourselves so we can function. The lies that we have to tell our friends and family so they can retain the mental image they have of us. I happened to tune in to "Moment of Truth" the other day and the questions were absolutely scary. Thinking through it I figured out that the questions weren't necessary difficult because they would expose the truth but rather because for many of us the truth is what we want it when we want it. The truth is contained in that iconic scene from 'A Few Good Men.' YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!

MIDDLE CLASS? WHAT MIDDLE CLASS?

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 10:43:00 +0000

Are you a Kenyan and on the internet? Congratulations. Look around you. You're better than those who don't. According to some imaginary polls, the internet basically makes you a better human being on almost every single level. You're probably looking, smarter, more logical and also probably better in bed.

I've been seeing this argument posted in one form or another on social media. That since we are exposed to different sources we are better placed to make choices. Somehow this argument has mutated further to mean people who have internet access are posh and are thus apathetic to the needas of the 'common man.' We are too busy discussing ideologies that the lower man can barely comprehend in their little tribal minds.

I have made peace with the fact that we love to be different. That we are always trying to be higher on some invisible totem pole. In a rat race that is as frenetic as it would be in the backstreets of any city. My generation was meant to be our saving grace. The generation that would deliver us from the scourge of tribalism that our parents supposedly tried shoving down our throats. We grew up on tv & grew up in cosmopolitan areas and then discovered the internet. And somehow we convinced ourselves that we are better than generations that came before us.

But look in the forums of social media & that story is different. While we are better informed, we still hold on to bigotry. I venture to think that in some ways we might be a ticking bomb because we have learnt the art of political correctness. We say, act and feel what we are supposed to while we hide the real views under the surface.

But they escape very often. The anonymity of social media gives us that very often. Look at the discussion boards after any political article on a news website. The schism is indisputable. It spoils this utopia that we've created as a youth. That we are on the path to a greater understanding of democracy. Yet even we are unable to put it to good use. Don't get me wrong. There are many out there who are able to stow this instinctive response and argue out issues in ways that would put many tribal chieftains to shame. Then there are also those who believe & a precious few who are able to spew them out in social settings.

In my opinion we overestimate 3 things. One, there are many Kenyans online but while that voice may seem loud it doesn't quite translate into of the country. And with the hidden bigotry the voice shrinks further.

Secondly, the exposure to many sources does not make us better at choices. The truth is that people seek out the information that best correlates with their own beliefs. So if a certain paper, news outlet or blogger agrees with your frame of mind you are more likely to consume information from that source.

Lastly we are not a level above the social constraints of our fellow countrymen. The idea of a middle class is till being debated. About what it actually constitutes or the parameters by which we arrive at that definition. Whatever it is though, it is not a homogenous group with 2 & a half kids, 2 cars in the garage & a job that pays for horse riding over the weekend. Even it did, it wouldn't disqualify you from being a part of the issues faced. I saw the argument proposed when people disagreed with Makau Mutua (whose article about a coup after an Uhuru win was preposterous) but who was deemed inadequate due to his address. Would his argument have been less wrong if he lived in Mathare or Kibera? I think not.

Here's where I am at. We already have enough things that divide us. Race, tribe, economic backgrounds, religion etc. We really don't need to open up a new front on a medium that's meant to bring us closer.

MY MANIFESTO!!

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 17:28:00 +0000

The campaign season is now entering the home stretch. The political pundits won't let us forget it. Turn on your television and every channel has 6 analysts and experts. This is done in 3 different studios which simply means they have partitioned their main studio. Then they have the ' common mwananchi' standing by standing by somewhere ready to react to the reaction of the analysts to the stuff going on in politics.

It is during one such trip into this audio-visual assault that I found out that the top two equine creatures in the race had launched their manifestos. I can't believe I missed out on both occasions Then again all I would have to do to catch up would be to watch a sci-fi movie. Then the plans would be crystal clear.

Don't get me wrong...there are some genuinely good ideas in those manifestos. A million jobs, enhanced security, a bath tub for every dirty citizen etc. But for the most part it's all wool over our eyes. It's like trusting an alcoholic who is promising to clean up a bar without touching the liquor. At any rate my hat is still in this race so I might as well join the likes of people offering solar powered laptops to children who don't have desks or teachers. Lets raise the bar. Dream with me.

If I was to get voted in..(IEBC cleared everyone so don't look surprised) ..I promise to fill posts in my cabinet only with people who find it hilarious whenever they see car number plates which begin with KBJ. We need people with a skewed sense of humour at the helm of this country. Also within the first 100 days I promise to put a man on the moon. Which man? Probably Waititu. We'll aim for Rongai and see if we can find extraterrestrial life forms there. If not then we can settle for the moon.

In addition to this, I will order a commission of inquiry into the addictive qualities of the drug known as Tujuane. We've lost many of our young ones as they throw away their lives while under the influence of this audio-visual narcotic. We will get down to the root of why we enjoy sitting and laughing as dates crash and burst into flames because the guy or girl is a secret crazy person.

I will fight for free wi-fi on every kibanda. A policeman in every bedroom. A duvet on every couch. Instagram that is able to take pics of ugali. Foursquare that checks in when you're in Dandora and Kariobangi. I will fight for you Kenya. I will get a running mate through a competitive process where the individual will be the one who comes up with the most appropriate answers to stupid questions that kanges ask like "Una mbao?" or "Hauna pesa ndogo?"

We will take this country back my fellow Kenyans. From corruption and greed and passwords on wi-fi and typos and grammar nazis and people who steal tweets and updates. This is our time. Now vote for me. Or else!!!

KENYAN JUSTICE LEAGUE

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 18:13:00 +0000

I've said over and over that I was brought up by television. Most people think it's a joke but it's actually the truth. As soon as I was born my parents dropped me in front of a television set and gave that dusty Greatwall the work of turning me into a human being. The sarcastic, sociopath here today is the result of that process.

Anyway during that whole process, I was completely enamoured by the idea of the superhero. The world through their eyes was so simple. Good always fighting evil and winning. I wanted to be part of Gotham City and watch Batman beat up The Joker or be a citizen of Metropolis where I would chill for Superman to fight bad guys and bring balance to those chaotic streets. I think the only place where I didn't wanna be was Spiderman's New York because I think webs are kinda gross.

If you think back, there was never an African superhero. Ok I don't know if we can count Kwame from the Captain Planet. For those of you who don't know he was one of the planeteers who came together to call upon Captain Planet. He was from Ghana but he doesn't count because he doesn't even count as a side kick. In fact he was a ring bearer. Anyway spurred by jealousy, I imagined these superheroes in the Kenyan context and tried to figure out how they would fair. It recently just hit me that it would be an absolute disaster. Our society is simply not made for them. With the help of some tv junkies we figured out how they would totally be screwed by our version of reality.

Lets start with the easiest. Spiderman. He depends on his ability to swing around tall buildings to fight crime. Have you ever noticed he never fights crimes in low rise buildings or bungalows? Evil always seems to show up on some crazy skyscraper. So in Nairobi, Spidey would be limited to fighting crime around KICC and Times Tower. And he would probably just circle those buildings and take javs between them and other buildings where crime might rear it's head. The only thing that I can think of as a positive is that maybe Spiderman would be the face behind Mortein Doom as they drop Louie the Pest in an attempt to capture the imagination of the nation.

Moving on to the Man of Steel himself. Superman was one of my favourites while growing up. He just seemed to have it so put together. This was before that whole Smallville nonsense where he drove me nuts for not kicking Lana Lane out of this galaxy. In Kenya he would be loved but then I am pretty sure kanjo would arrest Clark Kent for changing in telephone booths. That would be interesting seeing Superman being thrown into a city council pick up. The charges would be piled on for that outfit. Indecent exposure for showing his underwear to the public. And I think we are generally smart enough to figure out that Clark is Superman based on the fact that we nabbed Waiganjo.

Then the brooding billionaire turned caped crusader. I never quite liked Batman because I figured he was a spoilt kid with too much time on his hands. What's with the different voice when he has the mask on? Does he just get a cold when he dons it? So yeah Batman would never quite get to any crime scene because the batmobile would be stuck in traffic all the time. That thing is huge. In fact the only place he would probably fight any crime would be on Thika Road but then we all know once he would get to the Githurai overpass, the car would be stolen and scrapped while still occupied. And somehow Batman isn't very scary when he has to travel via mat.

Then we all know there would be questions about his relationship with Robin. As in what grown man runs around in costume with a young kid? That stuff would fly in Gotham but in Nairobi we don't play that. That said I feel like Batman would find his way through the justice system. That dude is loaded. In fact he would probably be a prime candidate for the elections here. He has all it takes. Money, an angry streak and crazy creepy skeletons in his closet.

The rest I can just lump together. The Hulk would make an awesome councillor. In fact I think the Kenyan councillor was the original inspiration for The Hulk. Because all he does is get angry and smash stuff. Green Lantern would get an endorsement with Adopt-A-Light for obvious reasons. The Martian Manhunter (J'onn) would be deported because he looks Ugandan.

And those are just the ones I could think of. Point is that the superheroes would have a crazy hard time on this side of the planet. Things would be thick. So maybe we should just accept that there is a reason they were kept in their simple little worlds. This here is the Big League.

RUSSIAN ROULETTE: THE KENYA ELECTIONS

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Thu, 10 Jan 2013 13:34:00 +0000

Two months left to the elections and I am already completely and utterly tired of the word itself. I feel like the country has been in campaign mode for the last five years. Everyone promising change from the current ways while the whole legislature sits in the cabinet and they sit in the middle of the night to mutilate our words and our aspirations as a nation. Now they want Ksh. 9.3 million, state funerals, diplomatic passports and armed guards.

The bottom line is that they are way better than you. Yes you. Every single item on that list is to make them better than you are. The money? So that they never have to eat or live next to you. The only place they want to see you is at a political rally where you are waving their placards and screaming yourself hoarse. If you manage to breach that holy perimeter then the armed guard is there to put you back in your place. If things do go awry then that's what the diplomatic passport is for. They can always settle somewhere far away from where people were fighting in their name. And finally even in death they are to be remembered as better than us.

It gets rather tiring. Extremely so. Are you at work right now reading this? Well thank heavens for you because you are doing that so your honourable member can get all of that stuff. But I digress. We were talking about the elections. The posters are up already and billboards have politicians smiling at us like they are being interviewed by a singles' column. And it's bound to get worse. Two months left on the clock. The only way I can think in which we could make the election of the next bunch of thieves would be to make the process a bit more fun.

So how do we replace the tried and tested secret ballot? Firstly for councillors or county assembly reps, this would be the most entertaining bit. These are hardy individuals who are used to the vagaries of life. We could have a version of Hunger Games for them. The name would be like the Crazy Games. Then in each county they would be released from a cage into a bush and the last one to survive becomes the rep. Of course they wouldn't kill each other (sure that would take some of the fun out of it. After all these are people who throw chairs at each other.) so maybe incredibly painful paintballing minus all the protective gear.

Was thinking for the rest we should involve something that involves bulls. 'Why bulls?' you may ask. The answer is pretty simple. No animal represents the collective image of our representatives than the bull. Actually weasels, snakes and rats come close. But yeah if we had a running of the bulls in a closed alley then that would be another fun way to pick out leaders.

For the presidential stuff then to save the electorate millions of shillings in an unnecessary expenditure on a second roud. How about something simple? Thumb war. Wanna see the top two contenders being ushered into a ring and the whole country goes deathly quiet as the referee shouts out "One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war." Then we would lean forward as they go at it and try to outmaneuver each other into submission. Our 4th president would thus be sworn in as a veteran of war.

Childhood singing games could also be introduced to make things more fun. Picky picky ponky.....(what the hell were we singing as children), my mother and your mother were washing the clothes (And you wonder why sexism persists? Why couldn't my mother and your mother be signing mergers?) ... and nyama nyama nyama. (personal favourite) Either that or we could have staring contests or throw darts at a board with names.

The digital age can also be applied by seeing which potential crazy person can come up with the most eye catching tweet, update or pics. That way we can reduce it to a simple case of who has the most RTs, followers, friends, likes or comments. We can sit back all day and watch them go at each otherfor our amusement. At the very least we would derive some amusement out of this whole process. While we are at it can someone tell me if we can get that Sorting Hat from Harry Potter so we can know what exactly we are getting ourselves into with every single one of those people.

I have not lost faith in the idea of democracy. I don't think we have as a nation. But at the rate we are going, we are becoming a laughing stock so the very process of elections has become a joke far more laughable than any of the ideas I have put up. The problem isn't picking the right leaders. It is about reminding even the bad one who the boss is. And that's me and you. This helplessness has to stop. Otherwise we are playing Russian Roulette with a bullet in every chamber. Hmm. There's another interesting way to have them elected....

DESPERATE TIMES...

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 05:36:00 +0000

The gloves came off a while ago. It became a two horse race and then donkeys joined and then donkeys became the good guys and vice versa. The very foundation of this presidential race continues to befuddle many Kenyans daily. It's never politics as usual in this great, sovereign nation of ours. Presidential campaigns involve a whole lot of ass kissing. You head to a new place and promise the people a whole lot of things you know you will never ever deliver while they scream their hopeful little lungs out. Then you kiss babies and dance to weird traditional music and sitting on low stools to be installed as an elder or watchman or deity.

A Bouquet Of Miraa For Your Consideration

But the trend is changing and this wind of change is being brought on by the opinion polls. They keep showing a pretty tight race so all 1,965 candidates have shifted their game to accommodate smaller groups and more specific niches. This was all kicked off by the rather disturbing image of the Right Honorable Prime Minister reaching into his jacket to retrieve a wad of miraa and proceed to chew it court the Meru vote. After all when in Rome.....

So to keep up we might see new things on the news for the next couple of months. I can imagine some random politician dressing up in a watchman's attire and walking around with a huge torch and black mamba for a photo opportunity. This would obviously mean he/she understands the plight of the lowly security agents and would thus make pledges about heated cubicles for those cold nights, coffee makers for that adrenaline rush and obviously zero rating of mosquito repellents, torch batteries and bicycles.

Don't be surprised if some politician sneaks into your kitchen like Paul Ryan and washes clean dishes. Breaking and entering laws may be suspended over the next couple of months with politicians trying to outdo each other. You will wake up to scrubbed pots and pans and a king's breakfast while tonnes of media hound s struggle to find the perfect photo of a presidential candidate on his knees scrubbing your bathroom toilet. After all someone has to stick up for the brave househelps who do this on a day to day basis. Thereafter the politician would drive her in his car and have her register then promptly declare himself "endorsed by the people."

The strangest place where this would occur though must definitely be Naivasha. I don't know about you but I can never quite see anything good that comes out of that place in terms of news. Thus a presidential candidate would have to be particularly desperate to do this sort of niche campaigning here. But then again the stakes are really high in this election so i wouldn't put it past anyone. Cue the politician all dressed up in the white coats of a butcher in Naivasha running after a donkey waving a carving knife while wearing fake fangs. Much later he would be involved in a rather public demonstration where local butchers would be saying donkey meet is the same as beef. So they shouldn't be harassed. The banner would read "We Want Some Ass."

There is a cyclical nature to all of this. We don't get to see them for a while and then once every five years we can't seem to get rid of them. With the approach to March 4th I wouldn't be surprised if politicians would be fighting on the streets of Nairobi to find a spot to be seen with hawkers. So check that you may be buying your vegetables from a possible inhabitant of the house on the hill. And to fit in with particular cliques there will be some sipping uji, drinking chang'aa and smoking weed in dorm rooms to be reach out any part of the population that they can reach. You laugh? These are desperate times. And you know what they say about those....

HOW TO GET ARRESTED IN NAIROBI: PART III

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Thu, 22 Nov 2012 20:34:00 +0000

The sniffing had us scared for a while. The swarming was uncomfortable and the smell was getting much worse. I picked out the biggest guy I could find in the cell and made a beeline for him. This was going to be my protector...my guardian angel. Well a guardian angel who had been mugged by a bunch of drunk sailors and nibbled at by a hungry cat.

Pulling up my pants (boy was I missing my belt) I stood next to the guy. Lets call him Killer. Why? Check your dictionary. His mugshot is under the word killer. Killer was just staring at the wall. Barely moving. If he wasn't on his feet I would have assumed he was asleep. I inched closer and his eyes strayed from the wall and landed on my shoes then then travelled up the length of my body to my face.

"Una fegi?"

He asked it like it was the most logical thing to ask. The question caught me so offguard that I actually reached into my pockets to check. Nothing. Then I remembered. I don't smoke. I tried to figure out what to start with in terms of conversation. Hmmm. What would Killer's mind be stimulated by. What would he find palatable in terms of jail small talk.

"Ulifungiwa nini?" My less than perfect translation of every prisoner's pick up line: "What are you in for?" I swear this was the translation of his reply. "I was robbing this woman and she wouldn't give me her bag. So I beat her up. And the cops found me beating her up." The tone of his voice made him out to be the victim. Like somehow the woman didn't understand the etiquette that goes along with the mugging. Like she was just a complete lunatic for not going through with the process. Like she owed him. I took a step back. Killer was crazy.

A few minutes later the cop in charge started calling people up. One by one, they would walk to him, whisper furiously outside the cell and then they would disappear and not return. The hawker was first. Then a steady stream disappeared. He called my name and, completely petrified, I walked to him. He said something incredibly complicated in Kikuyu and I stared back at him. He repeated it and the same blank look stayed on my face. Despite everything my first impulse was to laugh. Why would this man naturally assume I understood him. Exasperated, he threw me back in the cell and finished with everyone who spoke the lingua franca.

When he wad done with the others he beckoned me back. He was seething when he remembered my earlier question about the directions to the police station. My ignorance irked him more than my alleged criminal behaviour. He asked me if I was willing to pay the bail. Translation? Was I willing to pay a bribe to get me out of paying bail and showing up for a court date. I refused. I told him my friends were on their way to bail me out and I would answer to the charges. Bail was set at ksh. 3,000 and I was sent back to the cell.

Minutes later I was called back again. I remember looking back to take a last look at Killer. He was still looking for cigarettes. I put on my manly face but it's so hard to look manly when you have to hold up your pants so they don't fall. Hugs went all round. I had borne it bravely. I was now a man. Now to finish with the bail and then see if we could still catch the train.

We went to the clerk and he brusquely asks what we want. We tell him about the bail and he barks "Elfu tano!" All this time my girlfriend at the time had borne this with incredible grace and patience. She had been worried and been the strong silent type but this was the last straw. She basically LOST IT. Her voice rang out as her Tz swahili terrorised the clerk. It was a moment of absolute beauty. She was having none of it. Why would they stipulate ksh. 3000 then bump it to ksh. 5000? Did we look like idiots? I stood back and watched with pride as the clerk hastily wrote us out a receipt and a charge sheet which I was to use for my court date. And then we ran out to try catch the train. Obviously after I had gotten my belt and other personal effects.

We made it to the train with moments to spare. No one needed a holiday like I did. After being mercilessly teased by my friends, we took a look at the charge sheet. I had been charged with TOUTING. Really? TOUTING. And my court date was for the day BEFORE I was arrested. I was to travel back in time and go to court on the day before the alleged crime was committed. I still have no idea whether it counted. I will probably find out when I am my presidential swearing in when the cops will storm in with huge guns to execute the outstanding warrant of arrest. Till then...I wait.

THE KENYAN TERRORIST: A GUIDE

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 05:19:00 +0000

Since the terrorist activity started in the country we have become accustomed to the constant checks by the security apparatus. It's become a way of life. A manner in which we all give up a bit of our privacy so we can get felt up for the greater good. Kenyans are actually happy to go through this inconvenience if it means making their country a bit safer.

That said though the security guards over the last couple of months have painted a rather interesting image of what terrorism is like.If you have no idea what I am talking about then I will ask you to recall your last pat down or car check as you were entering a public building. Remembered? Ok. If you have watched any of those detective or crime shows you will know that they come up with a psychological and physical profile of the unsub (suspect to you lesser mortals). From the actions of the Kenyan security guard we are able to draw a fairly conclusive image of what the Kenyan terrorist looks and acts like. Join me as we descend into this murky world.

1) The Kenyan terrorist only drives crappy cars. He is never seen in flashy cars because that will obviously draw way too much attention to himself. That's why when the Range Rover drives up to the security guards they salute and wave him through while the guy in the old Peugeot has his jalopy checked from hood to exhaust. You can never be too careful with these people.

2) He hides all his bombs in two places in the car. Either under or in the trunk of his car. He is a creature of habit and would NEVER and I repeat never put his explosive device anywhere else. Of course he would simply put it on his lap or in the back seat of his car but then again this guy stays true to his trade. You don't just wake up one day and decide the bomb has had enough of the trunk or the car's underside.

3) He clearly labels his explosive devices. So that briefcase in the trunk of the car isn't really a bomb unless it is labelled with clear, bold, red letters. There is a rule about even the font to be used for such stuff and the brotherhood is totally specific about the message. THIS IS A BOMB. MAMBO MBAYA. That's why the security guys often finish that undercarriage check so quickly. It's just one of those messages that jumps out at you with a single look.

4) The terrorist is a man. Sorry women. Another way in which you have to fight for your rights. Maybe you will get special seats for this one too entrenched into the constitution. But yeah the Kenyan terrorist is a man. That explains why women are waved through the security checks despite those huge bags. Some of those bags are known to carry everything from boots to a bedside lamp but the one thing you will never find in there is an explosive device.

What? It Could Happen

5) The terrorist is also incredibly honest. He might do despicable things like killing and maiming people but the one thing he will never do is to tell a lie, What is he? An animal? He tells the truth all the time and this Achilles' heel has been tapped into by the security apparatus. Walk into an establishment and they will ask you what the contents of your backpack are. Nini hapo ndani? Oh ni laptop? Ahhh. Kama ni laptop ingia tu nayo. Exactly. The terrorist would definitely have to say the truth about the arsenal contained in his backpack and the jig would definitely be up.

So look out for these people. It might even be you. So next time you enter that public building and you have to sign in let the guards know that they should probably take you in. When you leave that name and phone number in the visitors' manifest then be sure to know that your honesty will just get you nabbed. And pretty soon you will be signing in at Kamiti. Even with terrorism we strive to be different. Or so the security apparatus will have us believe.

HOW TO GET ARRESTED IN NAIROBI: PART II

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 18:11:00 +0000

There we were. A bunch of misfits all squeezed up into the back of the pick up. There was an eerie silence. Like the first day at school and everyone was trying to find their place on the pecking order. Everyone seemed terrified. Well except the hawker who just looked like this was his original weekend plan. He sat in the corner and quietly counted his money. Then after a few minutes he took a wad of cash and stuffed it down his pants. Yeah that was the look on my face too. I thought he was bulking up his junk to look more impressive in jail. Misplaced priorities. But I was wrong.

I was by far the youngest law breaker...well if you don't count the crying toddler. But I am pretty sure he hadn't been nabbed on his own. That said I wouldn't put it past the City Council to arrest a 2 year old for jay crawling.The silence persisted while we drove around town picking up more people. They had the same confused look every time they would get forced into the back of the truck. Why am I here? I have a date/child/wedding/class to attend to.

My friends kept calling to figure out where we were. We were everywhere. The City Council were basically being Noah and this filthy little truck was their ark. They were determined to get at least one of everything. When we left town the conversation suddenly picked up. It's like somehow some volume knob had been replaced and everyone found their voice. Topic of conversation? How innocent we all were. The charges ranged from the ludicrous to the laughable. They all involved potted plants, alleged littering or breathing on the wrong side of the road. Or as kanjo would refer to it: CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY. In fact the only person who looked completely guilty was the hawker.

Minutes later we got to a police station and pulled out of the truck. Again I thought about making a wild dash for it but the big hairy chested dude was lurking nearby. He seemed to have taken a particular liking to me. He just needed an excuse to chase me down. Not like that you pervs. We got handed over to the cops like little kids. Eeeeh. Ndio hawa wengine. Wachukue waweke ndani. Then there was a round of high fives and hugs like these guys had just come back from the war front. And then we were led inside.

The cops smelled a bit better than kanjo. But that's probably because I was too scared to breathe at this point. I was going TO JAIL. My friends called again asking for my whereabouts. I had no idea so I asked one of the cops. Kamukunji Police Station. I relayed the information. Apparently none of us knew where that was. I turned to the cop to ask for directions for my rescuers and his first reaction was an incredulous reply. Unaishi Nairobi na hujui mahali Kamukunji iko? Straight look on his face. Like somehow that's the yard stick by which you judge a real Nairobian; spot the police station on the map. Begrudgingly he gave me directions that I passed on.

Then they started taking our information. Name? I thought about the most random fake name I could find. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. For some random reason I could only think of names from Vioja Mahakamani and God knows I wouldn't have gotten away with saying my name was Ondiek Nyuka Quarter. Then they took my belt (which I really needed), phone, watch and money and led us down a narrow, dark, dank corridor. The women disappeared to one side and we were taken to another. The rats went to both sides. No discrimination.

And thus began my time in the slammer. By this time the train to Mombasa seemed like a distant memory. And that train would be leaving within the hour without me if I didn't make it out of this place...

HOW TO GET ARRESTED IN NAIROBI: Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 22:28:00 +0000

I would like to start this story with an important caveat. This actually happened. It did. How do I know? I was there. As you will see from the story.

Two of my biggest fears: Motorcycle & Kanjo.

My friends will have you know that I have a very very unhealthy fear of four groups of people. One is midgets but that's only because they play sinister characters in movies and can punch me in the groin in a fight. The second group is Kenya Power technicians. Why you may ask? Well when I was young I had a great understanding of electrical engineering. So when Kenya Power would disconnect the power I would promptly reconnect it. And from then I would freak out about hearing that motor cycle because the evil men would be coming to sentence me to a life of darkness. To this day the sound of motorcycles sends me to the bathroom where I curl up into the foetal position and sob like a little girl. Just in case anyone from Kenya Power is reading this, I stopped doing my electrical moonlighting when I was about 13 after a particularly nasty shock. It's not exactly painful. It hurts you in ways words can't quite describe. At any rate you couldn't make me touch a postpaid electric meter with Eugene Wamalwa's nose.

Third and fourth are held by the cops and kanjo. And that is the point of this whole story. It all started one bright Tuesday morning. *Fade into flashback* My friends and I were going to Coast and we'd decided to take the train. (Second class is pretty awesome when you have friends to travel with.) So the meeting point was the Hilton jobless corner. With about an hour and a half to the train departing, we were waiting for the rest to arrive. Some of you will know that some of the concrete seats there are broken. The one I was on had the bottom part broken so I was seated on the top bit. My first mistake.

Minutes later some woman walks towards our group. My first assumption? She was lost. Then she walks past my group of friends straight towards me. My assumption now? She is incredibly lost and I am the only person who can save her. So she walks up to me and takes my hand & asks "Hivyo ndio wewe hukaa kwa nyumba yenyu?" Taken aback I shot back in the only way I know. Sarcasm. "Ndio!" But she got the last quip. "Basi hii si nyumba yenyu!" Then she started dragging me. For a second I thought of struggling but there was a huge guy behind her. One of those burly dudes with a hairy chest and top three buttons undone with a gold chain hanging there.The idea of struggling evaporated.

I was unceremoniously dragged to a waiting pick up. My friends were so freaked out. They tried pleading my case but the two enforcers would hear none of it. I asked them to chill out. I was cool. Almost heroic. Inside I was pissing myself. I just didn't want a scene. And also I hate wedgies. In my head I was the good guy being vilified for something I wasn't responsible. He was a cop and good at his job!! I was doing that slow motion hero walk to the pick up with a soulful look in my eyes letting my friends know that everything would be ok. Actually I was just trying to blink back the tears.

I got into the filthy pick up truck and was promptly pushed against other law breakers. Turns out everyone who had been breaking the laws had also forgotten to take a shower. The smell made my eyes water. A lady next to me sobbed uncontrollably. This was her first time in Nairobi. What a welcome. Her crime? She'd leaned against a potted plant. The miscreant.She was probably a serial killer in waiting. There was a man who only spoke in Luhya. He was on the phone trying to get some relative understand what was going on. I was huddled up to myself. I was trying to figure out if it was possible to get mugged or have your pocket picked while 'under arrest'. A shudder told me I didn't want an affirmative answer to that question. Then there were the usual suspects. Touts, parking boys and a hawkers who seemed quite at home. I looked at the back of the pick up and for a second entertained the thought of making a run of it. The burly man must have read my mind because the look on his face seemed to dare me. He could take me. Easily. Took a few seconds and then with one last look at my friends we drove on to uncertainity....

TWILIGHT: THE KENYAN SAGA

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 16:40:00 +0000

There is romance in the air. A story that would put any penned by ol' Will Shakespeare to shame. Romeo and Juliet? It would make that read like those rambling compositions we wrote as kids where the sole purpose was to throw in a mention of tom tom drums. It's a story spun and told by Kenyans and the only thing I can compare it to is that opium of the prepubescent girl, Twilight. Don't ask me how I know what prepubescent girls read because that's irrelevant to the topic. That story is the tale of one William Ruto. And the tale is called Kenyan Politics.

So for the lucky among us you may have no knowledge of either Kenyan politics or Twilight. You are blessed. Stop reading. For the rest of us I will try to draw similarities. First Twilight is about a disturbed girl (Heavens I hate Kristen Stewart) who can't decide between an old crusty guy who happens to be a sequined vampire and a younger one who just happens to be a werewolf. So yeah, just normal teenage filled angst. Same thing happened to me when I was 13. I was the werewolf.

Then there is the second scenario. A politician being pursued by two suitors. And we are loving it. We are eating it up like ugali saucer from Mama Benta's. The media has us glued to out screens every single time they follow one Bill Ruto from random hotels and in people's homes trying to figure out what his next political move is. This dude could just be having an affair with multiple women and we would be none the wiser because all we want to know is whether he was meeting Raila or Uhuru.

Hope the similarities are coming out clearly. The only problem is I can't figure out who Edward or Jacob are in this case because people go crazy over that whole Team Edward and Team Jacob stuff. Which is the same thing we do with our political leaders. Even our Jacob and Edward have had beef from back in the day. Way way back. Their daddies had issues and they just carried it forward. Ultimately Bella (Who I hate more since she showed up on my blog) makes a choice and kinda has to live with people on both ends trying to make a meal of her.

That's where the similarities end. No one here is an innocent victim waiting for salvation. That said the Kenyan political scene is way more savage than a pack of werewolves or vampires could ever imagine. And thus the die is cast. It looks like the next president is going to be chosen by Bella Swan while she tries to figure out who will tend to her needs better.

I love watching the political discussions on social media. There is a sense of patriotism that wells up inside me when I see ordinary Kenyans (and some not so ordinary ) demanding better. Asking questions. Starting trends. Being the revolution and the evolution. As at the last opinion polls 8% of adults didn't know who they were going to vote for. In open discussion I think many would want to have us believe they are not sure. But deep inside we know. We always know. And that knowledge scares us.

Who will take the princess home?

Just like Twilight, Kenyan politicians have rabid fans. (See what I did? Do you). The only problem is that most Kenyans can't give you reasons for supporting the people they do. A 12 year old can give you more reasons for their 1st choice high school than a voter can for their candidate of choice. We are unable to have a clear political discussion because we are scared of losing. Because either Jacob or Edward has to win.

I happened to be watching Newsroom just before I wrote this. We keep asking for that kind of discourse. To talk about the facts. What are these promises being made by the guys who want to rule the country? The truth is we don't care. (Cue to the outrage) You honestly don't. All you care about is the least casualty to your interests whoever wins. That's why Kenyans will wax poetic on social media about democracy and the facts then retreat to ushago to vote. Where it's ok to be among your own people. To go with the flow.

And thus it's not just Bella who has a choice to make. We do too. To rise above our very base fears and allow an honest political discussion or settle for the tried and tested ways. If you think that we aren't ruled by our fears then tell me this. During the debates if Ole Kiyapi wipes the floor with all the candidates, do you think Kenya will vote him in as our 4th president? Honestly.

SHIFTING GENDER POSTS

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 12:06:00 +0000

Kudos to women empowerment programs! They are reaping big time. Today, more and more women are getting empowered through jobs and self employment too. Those who thought it was an impossible task can now take a back seat and let certified drivers take the agenda home.

On many occasions when I board a matatu to and from work, I found myself an endangered species. I am with at most two other men. The rest are ladies. If my boy was to call me and he starts jokes especially on women stuff, I would not continue the conversation for sure, lest I do not value my life. I certainly do.

I had some conversation with a lady friend of mine who said when she asked her pals, they, men, told her that men are now becoming more self employed. I told her without blinking, that bullshit. It’s a whimsical explanation and holds no water. Men today are becoming hollower by the day including doing traditional functions for themselves or the family.

I walked into an organization for an appointment. I noticed there were more ladies than men. In fact, over the hour I was there, I met no man. After our official conversation, they told me there are two positions up for grabs. They had been vacant for a while. Now it’s about four months down the line. The positions are yet to be filled. All the men who have attended interviews there have not made the cut. They are insisting on having men take them because the gender disparities are just too much.

I take it that something is certainly not right. These two illustrations may not be good. I have many in my head but these two stood out. Many at times the women are referred to as the fairer gender, they probably get more ‘favors’ from time to time. Some may actually sleep their way to jobs or tenders or opportunities in general. It is their choice. Today, it more about putting food on the table than moral imperatives... But there are those who would put morals first and actually have a rough time going up the social and professional ladder.

Many at times today in life it is about being smart than just working hard. Some decide to seek higher education to give them leverage. Others decide to change careers and get something they have a passion for. Others decide to employ themselves. It is about what makes you happy and this is good.

Somewhere along the years the boy could have been neglected. Perhaps he became too big to be handled and was left alone. Somewhere, the girl was given more attention than the boy. And the boy could have decided to rebel. Somewhere, something did not or was not done right.

Positive discrimination does help in giving a certain marginalized component an upper hand to bring it to par. It is what seems to be giving ladies better choices and decisions in life. There should be some checks and balances though to ensure t he one who had an upper hand also does not go to the drain. But choice is what matter most. Where do you place your bet on!!

The onus is on you to decide whether the shift should lead to the opposite imbalance or should be at par when the goals are met. You decide!!

Guest post by Ole- Shitemi. Follow him on twitter at @shitemikhamadi and read his blog at http://oleshitemi.wordpress.com/.

PRESIDENTIALLY DEBATABLE

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 20:46:00 +0000

To Make Things |Interesting!!

It's been confirmed. The presidential debates are a go. After years of watching the American version of this verbal jousting, Kenyans have finally decided that they can partake of this hallowed tradition. But while we strive to ascend the very highest peaks of Mt. Democracy, we still plan on keeping it Kenyan. I am honestly excited about the prospect of being able to ask the candidates questions about what they intend to do for this great country. All 3,635 of the ones who are in the running to become America's next...oh sorry. I meant running to be president.

First of all I am hoping no one drops out of the race between now and then. The circus is made funnier when there are more clowns running around. All this talk of alliances has me a bit disheartened because it means the field will be whittled down to just a few polished guys. Think about it. A stage with Kingwa Kamencu crying her eyes out at every question, Wakoli Bifwoli muttering under his breath & Kalonzo shuttling between everyone to see if he can lead some alliance. It would be comedy gold.

The format has already been agreed upon and I am pretty sure they are planning on making it incredibly mainstream. But I have a few ideas about how they could make it way more interesting. Top on that list involves getting rid of the elections and using that stage to pick the country's fourth president. It would save us money & the entertainment value would be amazing in comparison to stuffing a piece of paper into a box.

We could have a friendly game of Russian Roulette where the person who ends up with the bullet gets to run the country for five years. Either that or thumb wars. The strength of one's thumb should be able to decide your electability. It makes more sense than running around the country making promises you can't keep. We could take it a step further and just turn it into a mud wrestling competition. Despite the fact that they are used to the mud, I doubt many Kenyans will want to watch that. The idea of RAO covered in mud...ewww.

Who's Smarter Now????

They could also give them all buzzers and ask them questions from lower primary in the hope that they will somehow reveal who can be chief of the armed forces.

"What is a secondary colour/ what is a prime number/Kamilisha methali: Mwenda tezi na omo____/Which is the seventh planet from the sun/When was KAU formed?"

That kind of stuff just to see if their minds can function at the 10 year old level before entrusting them with a country. I wanna see simple math questions just so people get migraines when they run out of toes and fingers to count. It would be awesome to see someone just completely lose it (probably Jirongo) and run off stage sobbing. Better still we could just withdraw the buzzers & have those chants of "Me teacher. Me Teacher!" ring the air while we try to figure out whose hand went up first. At the end of the night most right answers wins.

At any rate what I don't want to see are the softball questions we've been seeing.How do you ask a guy if he has integrity to run for office and expect him to say no? We want a complete scouring of the issues that matter to you and I. For example: Why we are referred to as common mwananchi. Or why Raila is infatuated with vitendawili. Was he kidnapped and probed by Swahili speaking aliens? Did Ole Kiyapi lose his teeth in a fight with a little girl? Why oh why did Tuju think we'd like to call him Rapho? Why is Peter Kenneth so yellow yellow? What was Martha doing in the car with Father Wamugunda that one time they were car jacked? These are the questions Kenyans want answered. None of that corruption, education, health, constitution implementation crap the media is touting.

At any rate, it will be time to make these guys sweat. It's an opportunity to watch what is sure to be one of the freshest reality situations in this country. Where the electorate is given the opportunity to scrutinize the choices it's being offered. Oh and just in case Professor Ongeri is reading this...hehe. Wewe. *Walks away whistling*

SKYFALL 007: EAST AFRICA PREMIERE

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Sat, 22 Sep 2012 07:45:00 +0000

Bond. James Bond.

Probably the world's most iconic and most popular introduction. Ian Fleming unleashed a cult classic to the world which has spawned countless hit movies. 50 years. That's how long the super sleuth from MI6 has taken us on a trip around the world cracking codes, foiling terrorist plots, rescuing a bevy of stunning beauties and all this done while being the absolute definition of dapper.

And he is back. 5 years after the release of Quantum of Solace, Heineken brings you the new installment of the franchise. Skyfall 007. The upshot of it is after a botched mission, Bond (Daniel Craig) is MIA and presumed dead. MI6 head ,M, is also placed under scrutiny after identities of active spies are leaked onto the internet. Bond's reappearance makes for a fast paced movie as he seeks out Raoul Silva who has both him and M in his cross hairs. The trailer promises a fast paced and revealing look at the man beneath the spy as well as his mysterious, and thus aptly named, boss M.

With distribution in over 170 countries, Heineken is easily the world's favourite international beer lager and with a partnership with the Bond franchise that spans 15 years, they are at it again. Here is where premium meets a global presence; qualities shared by both brands. On the 31st of October, the beer giant will sponsor the simultaneous premiere of Skyfall 007 in the East African market i.e Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda. In Nairobi, this will be at the IMAX theatre.

And Heineken, known for their fun and exciting events, promises that this will be a premiere like no other in a manner that only they can pull off. The build up to this Skyfall 007 promises to match the excitement, glitz and glamour of a premiere in London, Paris or LA. Heineken's core consumers, who have grown up on this franchise, know James Bond and want to him. Thus they are given the chance to be walk in 007's shoes by unleashing the super spy within us all. The premiere in East Africa not only promises to be the premier of the year but the event of the year.

On the list of events are action stunts from the movie and a spy experience from Heineken dubbed Crack the Case. This is an online experience that begins with a clip of an average guy who is mistaken for James Bond and is thus recruited by the new Bond girl, Severine, to crack the case. He does all this while being chased down by the bad guys. Seeing as he drinks Heineken he's not quite so average which he shows with his fantastic feats. Still stuck on how he makes a replica of the Kremlin using a deck of cards. And here is where you come in to help crack the case. It puts you right in the movie with your pictures thrust into the action.

Don your spy hat and crack the case here via the Facebook page.

Give this great experience a try and join the world in the countdown that leads to what Heineken promises to be East Africa's greatest movie moment yet.

The return of Bond. James Bond.

WHY MPs DESERVE THAT PAY HIKE

noreply@blogger.com (Yenyewe!) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 15:33:00 +0000

Before you whip out the pitch forks and other farming impliments associated with angry crowds just hear me out. This is obviously a very unpopular stance to take on this quite heated topic but unlike most Kenyans who view this with tunnel vision, I will offer you a different approach. If at the end of this you don't agree with me then you can stick that pitch fork anywhere you want. Wipe that grin off your face. I didn't mean there.

The pay hike is deserved firstly because it reinforces the 'Robbinghood' mentality that our 210 honourable members swore an oath to perpetrate. This requires them to steal from the poor to feed the greedy. They stood in front of a national audience and read from an oath that we hardly pay attention to. If you remember keenly there were bits where they were whispering. And lastly was the whole 'So help me God'. It's not help us or help them or help that weird guy at the corner who I have to have my bodyguards push away. It's simple. So help ME. If they broke that promise then they would face the wrath of the Big Guy upstairs and no one wants to be struck down by lightning. It's not a good look.

In fact if Robinhood had been in Kenya today, he'd be deemed an enemy to the state. A terrorist. He'd be found dead in his house with a gun planted in his kitten's paw. Either that or he'd be strung upside down and tortured with replays from the president's speeches. The 210 swore to plunder the resources of this nation and little things like complaining Kenyans shouldn't be a problem.We currently hear from the media (which is biased & should be ashamed) that they are amongst the highest paid. And if the Olympics taught us anything, it's that Kenyans just want the gold.

Secondly you must have noticed that CDF funds are finally being put to good use. It shouldn't be a big deal that 90% of the funds are used for erecting toilets. Well you can't really question the validity of building toilets. At the rate they are being built though, you'd think we were training for a new olympic event.

You've seen them littered everywhere with that huge sign board proclaiming that we are a toilet-going nation and pretty soon athletics will be a distant thought in our collective memory as an Olympic pursuit. So since CDF is being put to 'good' use the 210 will need alternative resources which they deserve for the loos.

In the current socioeconomic situation, it is important to remember the silent victims revealed by eager Republican politicians and prowling Tigers. The mistress. She is a much maligned figure yet if you look beyond the dirty whispers, you'll see she needs looking after. Gone are the days when she was to be hidden in dingy Riverroad B&B's.

Pages on Facebook like Campus Divas For Rich Men shows just how exclusive these group needs to be. Our MPs can't be competing for these beauties with just Ksh. 850,000. I mean that's what the average campus guy makes from his sugar mummies. So then there needs to be a distinct difference between the people's representative and a post-pubescent jar of hormones. Now the mistress has to live in relative comfort while some people like our Head of State deny their existence at gunpoint. You didn't see Lucy poking him in the back? Great editing.

Takes a whole lot of money to look this good.

In addition to all that, we just have that much money to spend and who else to spend it on other than our legislators? I know the liberal among you will shout out that we need to pay hard working Kenyans like doctors and teachers and lecturers but lets face facts here. Who needs them? It's not like your kids need an education or like you ever get ill? And campus? Really? We all know the Kenyan university experience is about grooming young ladies for the MP's themselves, getting stabbed & kidnapped. So why pay other people when you can squeeze more money into the pockets of the Chosen.

Lastly though, they simply work harder and no one can doubt this. It's an indisputable fact. They spend all that time in parliament working for you. It's not like they are sitting there in the new chambers liking pages on Facebook under aliases like Mheshimiwa Wa Nguvu. And when Parliament doesn't have them shackled to those horrendous seats, they are working for you wheeling and dealing so that you can get the president you deserve. You have no idea how much effort it takes to give those speeches and dance to an assortment of traditional tunes while trying to come up with laws in their heads to move this country forward.

Let me just summarize this thing. The 210 are a special lot. They are simply better and more superior human beings. It takes a special kind of person to steal from you then have you vote them in after every five years. So they deserve this simply because they are higher up on the evolutionary chain. So when the rest of the population thinks of trying to catch up then maybe we can stand up and speak. Obviously we are heavily outnumbered. 210 against 40,000,000? It's a landslide. So now? To pitch fork or not to pitch fork?

GOOD VS EVIL: EVIL WINS!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 17:15:00 +0000

I don’t know about you but I love the bad guy in movies. We share a whole lot. He is misunderstood and clearly has delusions of grandeur. But other than that we have just one purpose in life. Taking over the planet. *Insert nefarious laugh here* I mean how simple is that. Taking over the planet. It’s so clear and focused. People go their whole lives trying to figure out their purpose in life. Their path. Their destination on this whole life ride. But the bad guy figures it out pretty early. And their reasons vary but always point to some hidden pain in their past. Maybe the overbearing big brother who makes you feel like a tool (Scar in Lion King), the misunderstood faceless wizard who just wants to breathe (Voldemort), the asthmatic dude who just wants to let his hair down (Darth Vader) or just being Russian. (Like most bad guys in Bond films)

So while the good guy is trying to figure out his humanity or how to raise his kid to become king or how to fight the Matrix, the bad guy is already on his path. He has already figured out which pet to get for that moment when he will turn around in his swivel chair and announce “I’ve been expecting you!” I mean how cool is that? I tried that a couple of times but without a bunny and on the floor. It was nowhere near as awesome and I got a bum rash I couldn’t explain for a while. The bad guy is a bad ass. He gets awesome lines. Consider this from the 007 spy films:

James Bond: Do you expect me to talk Goldfinger?

Auric Goldfinger: No Mr. Bond….I expect you to die!

That said, I am constantly frustrated by the constant failure of the plans of the bad guy. Even Dennis Hopper’s brilliance in Speed was completely outshone by Keanu Reeves’ driving skills. Lex Luthor still can't win despite the fact that he is brilliant and rich against a guy who grew up on a corn field and changes in phone booths. So being bald is beaten by the ability to fly. Bollocks.The bad guy hardly ever wins because we just love seeing a happy ending. So overrated. In fact I can’t remember many movies where the bad guy wins. Maybe Megamind . But that doesn’t count for two reasons. One he was blue and had a gigantic head. And two, he sold out to the other side. Shame on him. But he had amazing lines. All men must choose between two paths. Good is the path of honour, heroism and nobility. Evil,….well it’s just cooler.

They totally deserve to get their butts kicked. It’s like they learn nothing from watching movies. I feel like they would easily win if they followed some of the following stuff. First stop setting timers for like 20 minutes into the future. It always gives the good guy time to sneak in and save the day. It’s like Bad Guy 101. Then what’s up with the whole speech thing where the bad guy opens up and tells the good guy his whole plan? Gloating is just sad. You tell him the whole plan and expect him NOT to save the day? If you are going to gloat at least feed him useless info. Tell him the baby is on the roof instead of the basement. Just stop selling yourself out you retarded goat.

It would also help if the bad guy hid his accent. If you have a British, Eastern European, Evil African or Middle Eastern accent then get voice lessons. It helps if your accent doesn’t tip the authorities off about taking over the world. Example? In Alladin all the bad guys (Think Jafar and Abysmal)have Middle Eastern accents but Alladin sounds like he's from California. See? No one would ever suspect him. In addition to that, it helps if the bad guy would just run away when heroic music starts playing during the movie. That generally means that the bad guy is about to get his butt kicked. So when ‘Eye of the Tiger’ starts playing TAKE OFF. The same thing applies to slow motion of any kind. It always favours the good guy.

Of course the world would be a much darker place if Darth Vader or Voldemort won their fights but then again it’s already a pretty dark place despite the fact that Rambo, the Terminator, James Bond and Harry Potter won all their fights. So maybe it’s about time we gave a chance to the other side of the coin. At least we know we will have no end of minions and memorable lines. As its stands though we are stuck with that disappointing…”And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”

OLYMPICS RIGGED...GO TEAM KENYA!!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 02 Aug 2012 17:13:00 +0000

The Olympics are rigged.

Proud of these chaps.

That simple. I am going to prove it. Pretty simple really. It's like day 5 of the competitions and USA and China are running away with the medals while some countries haven't even seen the medal table. They aspire to have their names written in the general vicinity of the table. In fact if there was a medal stool or couch they would settle for that. Here is how bad thing are. In the couple of days that London 2012 has been going on, China has bagged more medals than Nigeria has gotten in their whole Olympics history. *Jaw drops* Not that Nigeria sucks that much (we are way better than them na haturingi....) but WTF would account for such stats.

I think I have it all figured out. It's all well choreographed so that we think it's a level playing field but if you pay keen attention then it's all a farce. (Farce is such a cool word. It's like farts without the t. Hehe..oh farce) But back to the serious business. The conspiracy starts at the very beginning. The Opening Ceremony. (Cue the crazy woman screaming in the background.) Where do we start? For those of us who stayed up to watch ceremony (Past 3 am...to see like 2 seconds worth of footage on Kenya...bastards!!) you totally know what I mean.

There were 205 nations involved in the parade. Two hundred and freaking five. We got somewhere in the T's and the announcer mentioned that there were sixty something countries left and I started wondering when Mars sending delegations to the games. Do you know how many countries are really in the world? 12. That's Kenya, the rest of East Africa, West Africa, USA, China, India, the rest of Asia, Australia, South Africa, South America, Europe and obviously Kazakhstan. (Ahhhh Borat. Good times) So where did the other...*counting fingers*...many countries come from? The answer is simple. IMAGINATION.

They didn't even put a whole lot of though into the made up names. Sample this. Federated States of Micronesia. Nauru.(Nyahururu?) Saint Kitts and Nevis.(Sounds like a children's book) Saint Vincent and the Grenadines. (Punk rock group). Narnia and the Middle Kingdom will show up in 2016. The point? Divide and conquer.

This is why we don't do synchronised diving.Hizo faces!!!

Then check the numbers. Russia and USA sent hundreds of athletes. China is basically empty. They are all in London. (I would go with the hypothesis that there is only one Chinese athlete in London who is just awesome at everything but that sounds kinda racist since we are assuming they all look alike.Tihihi) Anyway there is no one left in China which is why you won't see news from China while the Olympics are on.

Don't even get me started about the games there. How do you expect David 'fyatu fyangu' Rudisha to compete in synchronized swimming? Most Kenyans can't even spell equestrian let alone know what it would be about. And unless fencing is turned into a sport about jumping over fences then you can count us out. The games that involve guns would get us jailed if we ever dreamt about participating.

So that shows just how rigged things are. But you know what? I don't really care. I will stand up proud whenever a Kenyan shows up on screen. (For those idiots who think Jason Dunford's skin colour disqualifies him, you can shove a cactus somewhere the sun doesn't shine). Go team Kenya. Let the flag fly and the words of our national anthem ring out with every win.

TOP 10 REASONS WHY WE CAN'T FIND PHILLIP MOI

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 08:07:00 +0000

If you've joined in the national search for the ever elusive Phillip moi then you must be wondering what the deal is. After a whole lot of research our moles figured out the top ten reasons for why this dude simply can't be found and why Pluda will spend the rest of her life looking for him. In reverse order of likelihood, they are:

Blurry but the resemblance is uncanny.

10. He is Big Foot and thus comes out only once a year to feed and mate. This is also the time when random white guys go into the woods to try get blurry images of the dude. If that's the case we have 11 months more of waiting. Coincidentally the scientific name for Big Foot is Phillipus Disappearancicus. Coincidence? I think not.

9. Philip Moi is a spy and thus his true identity and whereabouts can't be revealed. His last mission was to infiltrate a super secret organisation known as M.A.R.R.I.A.G.E which stands for the Multiple Arrangament....(It's too complicated.Take my word for it.) He is thus in deep, DEEP, cover and won't be coming out soon.

8. He is chilling out at a Kenyan police station. That's the last place they would ever think of looking for him at. He just sits there all day seeking some form of service and they keep telling him to wait because they are out looking for Philip Moi.

7. Philip is a member of the congregation at the Fire Ministry. He said something particularly evil about Apostle Njoroge so now his mouth is trying to run away from his face and no one can recognise him.This is a god send since he doesn't have much money to spend on disguises.

6. Have you seen the amount of work going around in town? They are digging up trenches to " move around cables". That's the official government line. The truth? Tunnel system for Phil to get around. That's why Kenyatta Avenue is going to take forever to get repaired. Think about it.

5. Phil works at either Yu, K24 or the City Council which means he is either unknown, unappreciated or a ghost worker respectively.

4. He found an easy way out of the country. He is wheeling it out to South Africa with Zach and you are paying for it. Literally.

3. He is a fictional character made up by the propaganda section of the government in a plot to distract us while they find ways of delaying the elections till 2035.

Could This Man Be Batman?

2. He is Batman. Notice how you never see Philip Moi and Batman at the same time? They have so much in common also. Like they are both human...and they both have rich dads...and...

1. Phil is practising for the Olympics as part of a contingent in the Kenyan delegation that wants Hide and Seek added to the roster of the games. After all if curling can make it then a case can be made for this too.

THE FIRST DATE:SORRY GIRLS

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 04 Jul 2012 07:10:00 +0000

“Can’t someone invent something for us men to marry other than women?”

Those were words from Fred Flintstone after a particularly frustrating episode with his wife.

They say women are from Venus and men from Mars. This is in apparent reference to the fact that we can never quite understand what is going on in the minds of our female companions. The advantage though of having female friends though is that they talk. A whole lot. The things women share are scary. Absolutely terrifying. But that’s a story for another blogpost. Suffice to say that while a guy will shorten a sexual experience to “I hit that!” the woman has broken it down to her friends in terms of size, shape, length, girth, direction of lean etc etc. The caveat though is that this is very general or I have very slutty female friends. Hehe.

So I decided to look at the opposite side of the penny. A woman’s perspective on the idea of the first date. And the stories I got were hilarious. So I figured maybe I would try to help out both sides of the divide by sharing the mistakes guys make during those first dates. The question I posed was simple enough. What do guys wrong during the first date? These are some of the responses.

The overtly sexual guy.This the guy who shows up on the first date and already has a nickname for the chic’s boobs. Hey the twins are looking good today. He is the dude who will linger too long on rubbing the shoulders or slip his tongue in her ear when he’s kissing her good night. Sure there might be some good sexual tension but that doesn’t mean you should slip into the chic’s car at the end of the date and growl about how you must simply touch her. That’s rape territory buddy.

The dude suffering from amnesia.This is the dude who simply isn’t paying enough attention. You ask the chic out then you simply forget about it and then she has to do the follow up. Then when you show up for the date you’ve forgotten her name and christened her Baby, Swiree, Honey Pie, Lamb Chop. Hate to break it to you. They are on to you.

The I-Am-Better-Than-You Dude- This is a hard one. As guys we show up for the date trying our best to impress the lady. Once in a while though is crosses over to crazy overconfidence. Where you prattle on and on about how you are a catch and end up putting the lady down for who she is. Oh you watch cartoons?Kwani how old are you? Those are for kids. If you are such a catch then maybe you should just date yourself. As Pink said, it’s just you and your hand.

The Cheapskate – Things are hard with the economy. I mean even Greece recently became a developing country. Some traditional schools of thought say that the dude is meant to pay for everything. Me? I am a bit more practical. Live within your means or go Dutch. Don’t ask the chic out and tell her to buy lunch because you got the movie tickets and then later reveal that you actually won the tickets.

The Mind reader- We love being in charge. We love to mark our territory and beat our chests. This tends to cross over into that first date. This is the guy who tells you what you want to eat or drink or which movie you probably want watch. Then after that he whispers something along the lines of You want me. How much have you wanted me this much? Confidence is one thing, being the chic whisperer….

The Mixed Signal – This is the guy who has no idea what exactly he wants. He starts out running after the chic then seems to think better of it then decides to go back to the friend zone. Then he gets another shot of confidence and makes a move only to back down once again. So conversations go something like this: You’re the sexiest woman I have ever met. Five minutes later: You remind me of my little sister. Ten minutes later: I would rock your world. Twenty minutes later: Have I told you much you really look like my little sister? This dude is definitely getting laid…to rest.

The technophile – This is the dude who hasn’t been out on a date since Facebook was invented. He has all his conversations online and thus his ego has been inflated by the girls who find his profile picture adorable. He is the dude who will be caressing his phone the whole time and speaks only in online parlance…So I was LOLing the other day about some RT an OOMF sent. And this is what the chic is thinking O_0.

This goes out to a very close friend of mine. Wish I could name you personally but going by the stories above you have gone through enough. On behalf of those few, I offer an unreserved apology.