Kenyan Madness Abroad

Will this turn out to be the elusive outlet for me to unleash my creative genius on an unsuspecting world? Or is it destined to be nothing more than a hi-tech pen and pad chronicling the ramblings of a delusional mind? You be the judge ... Just so ya know there's a disclaimer: This blog contains strong language and some adult situations. Viewer discretion is advised.

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Location: United States

Cultural, expressive, thoughtful dude. It's not all good though coz I am also an internet addict, and a sometime stalker too. But I am happy to say I am in therapy for the internet thing :)

Wednesday, October 3

Dubai Debacle

Last winter I decided to escape the brutal cold and hop onto a plane to visit my cousin Stevo who was working at a hotel in Dubai as a chef. He had been there for three years and knew his way around this part of the Emirates so I was eagerly anticipating that he would show me the magnificent city and take me to all the exotic looking places that I see in email forwards.

Little did I know his work visa had expired and he and his chile, who also worked in the same hotel at the front desk, were in the country illegally. In Dubai, this is a very serious crime and if caught, they could both be thrown in jail.

Because of this little quagmire, we traveled mostly at night under the cover of darkness. Additionally, to prevent the authorities from stopping us and asking questions about his status in the country, (and I say this with head bowed in shame whilst tracing an imaginary circle with my big toe), Stevo made us wear buibuis covering us from head to toe whenever we stepped outside. Apparently women in buibuis are revered and do not get harassed. As I draped my buibui over my head and shoulders, I grumbled under my breath but couldnt help but marvel at how ingenious and adroit he was to be taking advantage of a loophole in the law like this. Only Kenyans!

So here we were; two jamaas walking around downtown Dubai taking pictures of the Burj Dubai, Dubai Marina, The Palm etc and shopping at the Ibn Battuta mall in 50 degree heat (it was hot at night too) in our buibuis. For added measure, Stevo's girlfriend had taken the liberty to manicure and pedicure our hands and feet with the expectation of being rewarded with spicy lamb shishkebabs from Ali's Halal around the corner.

Unfortunately I wasn't as comfortable as he was draped in this material and every now and then would stop to either scratch my ankle or relieve myself of a wedgie. Something about this did not seem right to a security guard at the mall who blew his whistle and pointed at us yelling in Arabic, "Shagala bagala haaak ptuuu!" ... ahem... or something like that.

That was Stevo's cue and he did not need to hear a second "Shagala Bagala". He grabbed the lower buibui in one hand and in the other he clutched his shopping bag, yelled to me in a soprano-like shriek "Egry besoraa!" (run! run!), and took off into the darkness in the direction of a distant grove of palm trees. I did not know why he was still insisting on speaking in a feminine tone as clearly the gig was up but I did exactly as told and hauled ass after him.

I could hardly make out his fleeing figure in the pitch darkness so I followed the sounds of the dirhams jingling in his pocket and the little dust clouds his feet kicked up as he tore through the Arabian sands. At this point I was beginning to wonder just what the heck was I doing here swathed in a Muslim woman's regalia and running for dear life towards the desert? Stevo had by now dove into a thicket in the palm grove and I dashed into the same thicket sweating mightily, only to be cursed out "Inta fahamt! Moush kedah! Get lost you will make us get caught! Go get your own tree to hide! Walahi!" I obediently hastened off to the next clump of trees.

The security guards were hot on our trail and were now joined by a platoon of police officers. This was bad. I lay down on the ground prostrate and as still as possible as the sounds of our pursuers came closer and closer. Moments later I heard a commotion in the trees where Stevo was in hiding accompanied by very animated yelling from the police and the guards. Oh no! Stevo was caught! No longer was he speaking in broken soprano-ish Arabic. The real ndurus were now emerging; you know the "wuuuuui's" and the "wooooiiiii sio mimi's". This was followed by the crack of a whip and a yelp. I don't know about you but in moments like this, I suddenly and inexplicably remember there is a Maker up above that loves me and wants to see me grow old and bounce my grandchildren on my lap. I commenced to say a prayer in my head. I prayed they would lead Stevo off in one piece and I could find my way back to the apartment where I would tell his girlfriend what had happened and together we would go look for him at the Dubai Central jail and ...

... my supplication was interrupted as they led a handcuffed Stevo right by where I lay in hiding. They were celebrating their capture and thankfully they seemed to have forgotten there had been two buibui clad men. Through my slightly opened eye, I saw that they were no more than a few footsteps away! My pulse was racing at 100mph but hardly a breath of air escaped my oesophagus. Just as they passed by, Stevo stopped, turned towards me and said "Dammit! They got us B.K. men ... you can come out now..."

Tuesday, October 2

Moi Day courtesy of Dolly

I won't say my boy Joram lives in the bunduz but when we went to chill out at his crib on Colombus Day (we chose to celebrate it as Moi Day), we drove past kadhaa signs by the road saying "Goats 4 Sale" and "Merinos 4 ur Merriment". No wonder he was always beating around the bush (literally!) and wouldnt say where he lived when asked. That is, until today. It was one of those places you drove to until you got a backache and small drops of jasho trickled into your ass crack. When we asked him for the directions, they came peppered with landmarks ati "Uki-exit turnpike, u-come, u-come, u-come mpaka uone miti mbili kubwa karibu na Walmart. Ukishapita hiyo miti, anza ku-slow down alafu uchape rait ukiona mawe kwa barabara inakaa kaa nguruwe..." Whatever happened to road signs? Roba who I had ridden with turned to me those ones of ... wtf is going on with our boy? Why is he acting so shao? I shrugged "I dunno".

So finally we get to the place right and we are just chilling having a pint. The Cowboys were playing the Eagles and it was a hyped game. T.O. vs McNabb! This was must-see tv right there. Manze the next thing we hear is the sound of bleating from one of the rooms. "Meehhhh!" The hair on my neck stands up like the magnetic shavings exposed to ermm ... another magnet. Roba spills his beer on himself and jumps up with eyes like he had seen a one-legged ghost. "What the bloody hell was that????"

Joram laughs shyly "Eheeehehe ... that's nothing ... seriously ... chill just watch the game". Watch the game? How can we watch the game when there is something that sounds very much like an animal somewhere in the crib? Again - "Meehhhh!"

"Have anaa round; I'll be back in a minute" Jerome says and semi-jogs to the guest room. (Oh thats another thing - no one really knew whether he was called Joram or Jerome. He answered to both). Roba and I are just in shocked silence for a minute before curiosity gets the better of us. We followed Jerome to the bedroom and you could have bowled me over with a feather; there was a goat in the room with one leg tied to the bedpost chewing some maize stalks and leaves! And there was our buddy Joram adding some more maize stalks for the goat to eat. As we were mentally processing this scene, Jerome is there with an embarrased look on his face ati "My neighbor Mrs. Robinson left me her goat Dolly for babysitting while she is visiting her son in Florida ..."

Now this right here was the funniest thing I had heard damn near all year (remember this is October) and I fell to the floor laughing in tears. Ati babysitting a goat? Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing?! I mean one of my first jobs was at a local Shoprite Supermarket and during my lunchbreak, I would hurry off to what I called my "second job" - feeding the parrot of a local family that was away on vacation. Americans are very serious when it comes to their pets. Entire supermarket aisles are dedicated to dog, cat, fish, and bird food and toys. I had picked up the ad from the bulletin board at the supermarket and knew this was easy beans (no pun intended). After feeding the parrot some birdseed and changing the newspaper in the cage, I returned right back to my "first job". Don't laugh - that "Does Polly want some crackers?" shit paid for my cable bill. Lakini this right here? This was taking the pet thing to another whole other level. As I stumbled to my feet wiping the tears from my eyes, sure enough the goat had a tag on it's neck with the name "Dolly" emblazoned on it.

By now a few other jamaas were pulling into the driveway bebaring 12 packs of beer and a few mzingas (Yohana Mtembezi and the like). Roba ran out to meet them telling them "Manze you gotta check this shit out. Joram has become a mshamba, wawawa" while clenching his fist infront of his mouth like they way you cover up a cough. The jamaas put the beers down and went to see Dolly the goat and Joram the mshamba. Joram was embarrassed as hell but was trying to put up a brave front. "You guy what would you do? The lady invites me to Thanksgiving, I owe her one...".

Now a funny thing about Kenyans is when they gather at a place for beer and sports, there has to be nyam chom ama your joint wasn't popping. I once hosted a Superbowl party and set some crackers and cheese, carrots and dip, chips and salsa on the table and they were looking at me with blank stares like I had two heads popping out of my neck. "Saa hizi mboga ni za? Bana acha mchezo, iko wapi nyama?" Another time, my pal Timo was changing the cd in his Lincoln Towncar that he drove as a limo and hit a deer that dashed across the road. The poor animal was lying there dead as he got out of his car cursing; "What the fwaaack is this bloody nyangau animal doing on the motherfwaaackin' highway???". Then after inspecting the front grill, "Oh phewks, not that much damage at least". He was about to get back into the car and drive off when he noticed it had been a healthy looking animal, and well-fed too. "Hmmm ... it dint die a long time ago". A rope was quickly unleashed from the trunk of his car and the deer was hoisted onto the hood for the mile and a half trip to his refrigerator. KENYANS LOVE THEIR MEAT (domesticated or wild)!

Back at Joram's house, the peeps now started to whisper in low tones and one of them pulled Joram aside to clue him in. Whatever he was told elicited the following response; "No, no, no way man, we can't do that! Dolly is not mine, she's a pet!" A few shots later, and after being egged on by these carnivorous chaps, Joram was singing a different tune. "Bring it on - nyama ni nyama"! Within minutes Dolly was in the bathroom bleating to high heaven with five or six Kenyans around the tub pulling a leg, holding a tail or a horn. No one really knew what they were doing but I think the ancestors of the forests had taken over. One of the guys, Kevo, took a knife and not to be too graphic, put Dolly's maize stalk chewing days to an end. Had the people of PETA seen this sight, we would all be sharing a cell with Michael Vick. Animals (yes, and that includes goats too, Kenyans) need to be treated humanely and be chinjwad at a reputable place by a licensed professional. There was nothing professional about the blood splattered G-Unit jeans and Sean John t-shirt clad beshtes shoving for elbow room around the bath tub.

After congratulatory hi-5s were passed all around, the roasters in the crew now took over. This was one role that had no shortage of skills. If there is one thing these East African transplants know how to do well is barbeque. They will hear there is a barbeque going on in Alabama and people will drive all the way from Atlanta, 6 people to a car, muffler bouncing off the asphalt. By half-time, (yes there still was a football game to be watched) there was an assortment of sausages, matumbo, ribs and thighs to be selected from. Moi Day was officially on! The beer was flowing and I don't think anyone even knew what the score was but we were having a damn good time. Roba was licking his fingers saying "Asalala! kanyama kamepanda kiasi!"

The doorbell rang and this was no surprise as some of our fellow countrymen are known to show up for a kid's birthday party at midnight. You open the door to find them wiping off their shoes on the doormat saying "Are we too late?" The "we" are the three or four smiling, uninvited people standing behind him that you have never seen in your life. No time is too late; just make sure each person shows up with a six pack and you are in. Infact the host will look at the beer and grab it while saying "Come in" without taking his eyes off it. The guests are left wondering if they are also invited ama just the barley is.

Joram was now high as a kite. He had a keroro in one hand and a thigh bone in the other. There was oil on his face from the fatty meat as he ambled over to answer the door while cheerleading "Nyama, nyama, nyama! nyama, nyama, nyama! Ya kuku? Ya nyoka? Ya Dolly?" He opened the door and Mrs. Robinson was standing there. "Oh hello Joram, sorry to bother you so late but my trip to Florida was cut short because of the hurricane. I am here for Dolly, how is she? I see you have some friends over, are you having a party?"

Wednesday, February 14

International Swiping

There is a job hundreds if not thousands of Kenyans fall into when they come to the States. It is a job that you will rarely find Americans themselves doing. It is physical, tedious, back-breaking, and has long hours. And thats just for starters. Its called home health aide or CNA. Basically it consists of taking care of the elderly, sick, or mentally challenged. You feed them, make their beds, take them shopping, and even clean them up. For this reason some call it International Swiping. The 'International' comes from the fact that only foreigners do it and the 'Swiping' comes from the act of cleaning their rear ends; it is similar to the motion made when swiping a credit card.

Unbeknownst to me, my uncle and his wife worked in one of these homes. When I first landed here, he told me not to worry about employment and that he has a job for me. I assumed he worked a regular 9-5 job at an office and I tried to inquire what exactly I would be doing there. His response was curt; "Stop asking me a lot of questions! You just come - when you get here you will know". Hmmm. Anyway, the weekend before I was to start, I went shopping at Men's Warehouse for a suit for the interview. I wanted to look my best and make a good impression at my uncle's place of work. Would I be balancing the books? Or perhaps doing data entry? Boy, was I in for a surprise.

I arrived at the place wearing my brand new suit and carrying a briefcase with my resume and a sandwich inside, and my aunt met me at the door. "BK, kwanini umevaa suti, toa haraka na uvae hizi scrubs!". She ushered me into the linen closet and waited as I took the suit off and put on what appeared to be a two-piece mechanics uniform but without sleeves. The pants were a tad bit too short and looked like the 'don't-touch-my-ankles' traos of tene. My mind was spinning as I tried to imagine what type of job this was. Maybe I would work in physical therapy?

As soon as I stepped out of the closet, a name plate was pinned to my scrubs and it said "BlackKnutz - Orderly" and I was handed a chart of rooms with "patients" that needed taking care of. "But ... but ... auntie I am not a doctor!" I protested as I was led away by my trainer for the day, another Kenyan who's name tag said "Mogaka - Orderly".

"Hurry, we have to take them out for a smoke break!" Mogaka said as we rushed into the main ward. Lo and behold, we got there to find what appeared to be a small riot going on. The room was filled with mentally challenged people fighting over 6 wheelchairs. Some were physically handicapped and missing legs while others were able-bodied. Usually the handicapped smokers were wheeled outside first for their smoke, then the rest went afterwards. The non-handicapped ones had noticed this and were now grabbing the wheelchairs and mwagaring the occupants onto the floor, then sitting in them hoping that no one would notice they had legs and that there were people with no legs squirming all over. In the pandemonium, I saw a familiar figure wrestling with one of the wheelchair snatchers - it was my uncle! In scrubs too! No wonder he did not want to tell me what type of job he did.

Mogaka shrieked "Aiya, Keitata! Inki kegendererete aiga?" and jumped into the fray leaving me standing there dumbfounded. Should I subdue one of the grabbers? Or grab one of the subdued? In my rush to put on my scrubs I had forgotten to tie my laces. I bent down to tie them but before I was done, I felt a blow to the side of my face - Twaaaaaaa! I hit the deck face forward from the impact. A pair of hands spun me around and I was now on my back looking up dazed expecting to see my attacker standing over me. There was no one there! He was on the floor next to me. It was one of the amputees that had been mwagiliwad from his wheelchair! He had seen me bend down closeby and took advantage by swinging as hard as he could and caught me with a lucky shot. Now that I was down to his level, he was attempting to give me a half nelson wrestling move. He looked very angry and was saying "I aint giving up my wheels and am finna go smoke first! That's how I roll, shawty!"

We were still tussling on the floor like this when he haribud kabisa and gave me a headbutt. Right on the nose. Wawawa, meeen it was on! I bit my lower lip (why do Kenyans do that when fighting?) and still on my back, I kicked him in his most defenceless point; the groin. Kwani? I had to defend myself. As far as I was concerned this was a street fight. Besides, I wasn't on the payroll yet. He yelped in pain "Yowwwwwwwwww! My balls! My balls!". My uncle now emerged from the mêlée, lifted the dude with flailing arms and leg stumps and placed him on a chair. "Ahh, BK umefika? Karibu kazi!" and offered me his hand. I got up and straightened out my now-wrinkled scrubs. I was ready to say to hell with this job and leave but only after I had landed a final flying kick to the chest of the handicapped beshte as he sat on the chair massaging his wounded loins. Before I could tell Mogaka to hold my watch so that I could size up my opponent one more time, my uncle said the magic words; "Utafanya double leo, sindiyo?" A quick calculation made me realize that after working the double shift of 16 hours, with the money earned I would be able to pay off the suit. Salala! I did those doubles for four years six months.

Sunday, February 11

What? Women Like Our Sweat?

Recently it was discovered by researchers that women are actually attracted to, and in some cases, turned on by the smell of men's sweat! The report says "Women who sniffed a chemical found in male sweat experienced elevated levels of an important hormone, along with higher sexual arousal, faster heart rate and other effects".

Can you believe this? And why are they telling me this now? Do they know how much time and money I have spent over the years wining and dining the ladies to get them to hopefully experience these same sexual feelings later in the evening? What about the countless bottles of cologne that have lined my bathroom counter top? All the while my natural "aroma" would have done the trick! To borrow a quote from the great Homer Simpson, Doh!

This one time in high school I went on a date with a chile from a neighboring sister school that I had a crush on. I used to make stickers of our names and weka them on my Oxford Mathematical set. I spent more time decorating that set than somaring my Abott. Halafu on the light switch in my bedroom on that plastic part with the screws, I decorated with our initials ati "BK - n - CW". And this was only 2 weeks after meeting her. Those were the days of Pink Cadillac and Just Got Paid. Everything was so fresh and so new and I guess I got caught up in adolescent thrills. Looking back now, I cringe at how I was so soppy and let my emotions get out of control like that, but I digress.

As I was saying it was my first real date and I was quite excited. I needed to make an impression on her coz you only get one shot at these things. Unfortunately as with most chaps in seco, money was tight. To get enough chumes, I sold my treasured Michael Jackson "Thriller" poster for fifty shillings. Those too were the days that Jomo Kenyatta currency notes were scarce and I happened to have saved a KSh5 denomination one. I sold it for 10 bob to my neighbor Toma. These were really precious collectibles to me but I was willing to give them up to take this chile to Wimpy. Sigh, puppy love.

Had they come out with this phenomenal sweat news back in the day, I would have gone jogging a few laps around the track before meeting her. Our lunch joint would have been a mabati kiosk where she and I would place orders of Millenium (which is chapati with chips and mincemeat all rolled in one) with Tangawizi. I would make an attempt to sit real close to her so she could catch a good whiff every now and then. As soon as I notice the sweat glands under-performing, I would excuse myself and find my way into the kitchen at the back and pretend to "check" on the cooking meal just so I can get close to the fire and work up another good flow for the apple of my eye.

A few years later when I had a bit more cash in the pocket, I used to go to Garissa Lodge in Eastleigh to purchase the most banging cologne of the time; One Man Show. The place was also allegedly a drug den where guns and ammo were sold to the most hardcore criminals. Here I was hob-nobbing and rubbing shoulders with them just so I could smell good for the damselles. WTF? Had I known my own musky scent turns them on just the same as the cologne, I wouldnt have risked my life going there in the first place!

Jamaas, its not too late. Valentine's Day is around the corner. Toss out your plans to buy expensive roses and chocolates; cancel your reservations at those pricey restaurants. Fuck it, snatch Cupid's bow and arrow and shoot the little bastard! I am here to tell you that what women really want is not in your wallet; it's in your armpits. C'mon fellas, who wants to run some laps around the track with me? Its a win/win situation; if she doesn't like the idea of a sweaty date, we can always package and sell it and make back the money we have wasted all these years ...

Friday, February 9

The school bully

Ok I have to discuss a trend that occurs in high schools across Kenya. Regardless of whether it is a private, provincial, or national school there are some students that look at the incoming class of rabbles as their personal servants, messengers, and shopkeepers. Nah, make that stockkeepers coz in most cases money isnt involved in the exchange of goods or services.

This trend is far worse in shaggs as I unfortunately came to learn. I was dropped off by my folks at a certain chuo that will remain unnamed for now. I had heard tales of horror from past students of this school that were scarred and had never recovered. This one chap was forced to smoke a joint on his first day and he was never quite the same after that.

My sisters had gone to schools where a certain head of state (rhymes with noi) had been karangaring the headmistresses and as a result, they were fed the most delectable of dishes; chicken, chapoz, sausages, tea with both milk and sugar, and murram bila weevils! At the helm of this school was Mr. Nyadude. His shirt was perpetually unbuttoned almost to the navel (come rain or shine) revealing a chest dotted with tu-hairs that were as sparse as acacia trees in the Kalahari. His generous midriff hinted at where the building fund was being redirected. The nails on his little fingers were long and uncut and he used these for removing the wax out of his ears. He wore football socks that were the only hint of color on his pallete; yellow with blue stripes, red with white stripes, green with ... you get the bright picture. Suffice it to say, there was never any Kenchic delivered here. Say what you will about the head-of-state-whose-name-rhymes-with-noi, frolicking with middle-aged headmasters with haggard appearances and questionable attire was never one of his vices.

My budda started to drive off and I ran after the car and desperately clung onto the exhaust pipe of his Ford Cortina crying "Don't leave me here! Take me to Highway School! Take me to Haii' like my best friend Omondi!". I hung on as long as I could until the fumes were too smothering and I was forced to let go. As they waved bye and hit the corner and disappeared, I got up and dusted myself off with tears in my eyes.

"FORM ONE!" a commanding voice shouted from behind me, bringing to an abrubt halt my passionate and demonstrative expressions of grief. I turned around and Holy smokes! This big, dry-looking jamaa was walking towards me in long strides. My heart skipped one or two beats. As he approached I could see he had this dudu hair that coils into tight little balls as soon as it emerges from his scalp and hits sunlight. His shirt was untucked and his shorts revealed long, skinny legs that had not seen much if any lubricant since he and the placenta went their separate ways. His shoes appeared to be laughing with each step as the front part of the soles were detached from the upper leather. Sijui also why they looked oblong shaped. He must have walked in them from Ndumberi to the school and back over many opening and closing days.

My quick assessment of him was summarized in a hurry when he grabbed me in a headlock and gave me two ngotos. "Herro my fried, werrocom, did you bring some food for your brather?" Now at this moment I was forcibly made to become acquaintances with his underarms. The odor was indescribable but I will try. It had the same effect as inhaling smelling salts combined with Eno with a drop of sulphuric acid for good measure. All shaken up and stirred in a teargas canister. To say it smelled like a corpse would be giving a bad name to corpses. It instantly made my eyes water and my throat clamp up. With my head firmly under one arm, with his other free hand he hauled my suitcase and led me to the dorm.

"Put your theengs there thats your bed with the torn godoro". That "godoro" wasnt even a mattress; it was more like a big sponge that had been peed and nibbled on by goodness knows whom (or what)? "What's your name? Ati ki? Braknut?"As soon as my suitcase was down he called his pals over. Infront of them he made me pick up his shoe, and use it to dial "my wife" and have a normal conversation with her in my mother tongue inquiring how the kids were, if the nyanyas had ripened in the garden, and how many matumbi the hens had laid that morning. Now if I thought his armpit was bad, this was Hiroshima in comparison. These shoes were probably the reason there were no roaches crawling around the dorm. His buddies all had a hearty laugh at my expense and after I hung up the "phone", they dispersed leaving me with this goon who I came to find out was called Muchai.

Over the next months, I washed, ironed, and folded Muchai's shirts, shorts and socks. In all respect to good, decent socks worldwide, I shouldnt call what he wore socks. They were more like grey leg warmers that could be worn from either end. I am guessing the foot part had been eaten away by the acid in his shoes. Did I say his shoes? Me and this nigga were almost the same shoe size so he had assumed ownership of my new shoes and I was walking around in his saucers. I needed to tie a bladder around them to prevent them from coming off as I ran to class and back.

Muchai's bullying antics did not stop there. As if that was not enough, he ransacked my box and quickly ran through my Milo, sugar, biscuits, t.p., and juice. To his credit, he did tutor me in impossible mathematics. You see, after all my supplies were over, he made me go to the nearby kiosk (at the risk of being caught by the school watchmen) with 2 shillings and I had to somehow figure out how to buy milk, bread, blueband, soda and Patco and return with 10 bob change.

Now this was getting to be too much. Everyone has their limit and I had clearly reached mine. I may have been younger and smaller than he was but I was smarter and I decided enough was enough! I was going to exact my revenge on him. Over the next few days I began to hatch my plan ...

My case is still in the legal system so I cannot go into too much detail. And if I am asked I will deny everything. I will say this much though ... it involved laxatives to make sure he needed to use the pit latrine, a rope to tie the door, and bees from the school hive. When I was done the bully that had tortured me for so long had this picture taken at the local police station as evidence ...

Monday, January 15

I want to resait a poem

When Kisum bekem a siti
lek victoria bekem an osen

When Kisum bekem a siti
all the mbuta in the lek bekem whales

When Kisum bekem a siti
all fising boats bekem sips

When Kisum bekem a siti
all omena bekem saks

When Kisum bekem a siti
all fisamen became sip captains

When Kisum bekem a siti
Gidi Gidi Maji Maji bekem Boyz II Men

When Kisum bekem a siti
Mercy Myra bekem Jennifer Lopez

When Kisum bekem a siti
Achieng Abura bekem Queen Latifah

When Kisum bekem a siti
Suzzana Owiyo bekem Whitney Houston

When Kisum bekem a siti
Dennis Oliech bekem Thierry Henry

When Kisum bekem a siti
Louis Otieno bekem Larry King

When Kisum bekem a siti
Obama became a Sineta

But do I Say...

(Author unknown)

Saturday, December 30

Day 1 at Nyahururu School For The Flatulent

My name is Mr. Marima and I am your wood waka? wakachop tisha ...

Friday, December 8

Ride in a ma-3

I am going home for the first time in about 3 years and I am as excited as a little kid in a candy store! I have started reminiscing about things I experienced growing up and how so much of that has changed.

The biggest change of all from what I hear are the ma-3s. They are now orderly and organized but back in the 90s it was survival for the fittest while the weak were often literally left by the wayside. If you couldnt hop onto a ma-3 that barely slowed down at your stop, you might have ended up walking or hitching a ride from a neighbor.

It was on a ma-3 that I saw my first ever crossdresser. This dude had the audacity to go out in public with eye shadow, lipstick, and pink powder on his cheeks! What's worse is he hadn't bothered to shave so he had some beards amidst all that makeup. Plus he reeked to high heaven of cheap perfume. Everyone (including the usually raucous manambas) was in stunned silence most of the way, occasionally stealing glances in his direction.

Speaking of manambas, this one time there were 4 or 5 of us riding to town and as we got off, one paid for the other, and this one said that one was paying for him, and the last one said the first one was paying etc. It was a slightly confusing situation and the manamba scratched his head while trying to figure out who was paying for whom. Finally he summoned his best English and pointed at my chile at the time and said ... "And worrov her?" lol

This other time there was a jamaa that was leaning on a small pole by the side of the road at Industrial Area smoking a cigarette. He was as cool as you please with his legs crossed at his ankles and his none smoking hand tucked under his armpit. You could tell he probably was a guy that had some small cheo of sorts and was used to calling the shots in his office. He stuck out his hand to stop the ma-3. It came to a dead stop at his feet and the manamba shukad to let him board. This jamaa (arms and legs still crossed) leaned his neck forward and peered over his glasses into the vehicle. Seeing no available seat, he waved his hand to show the ma-3 he wasnt interested. Ati "Keep going". He had no idea what was coming next. The incensed manamba slapped him 4 quick times sending his glasses flying in one direction and his cigarette in the other. "Nyani wewe, usisimamishe gari kama huendi!" the manamba barked at him amid the slaps and boarded the now moving ma-3. The poor guy was left looking absolutely stunned. The funny thing is his arms and legs were still crossed through it all.

Hmmm ... let's see ... what about the time the ma-3 was at a round-about and cut off this big, black budda driving an old, beat up Renault? The budda rolled down his window and stuck out his hand and unfolded the HUGEST middle finger I have ever seen! That thing was like a Cuban cigar! It looked like a rolled up Kasuku book covered in black shoe polish.

Let's not forget about the criminal element preying on unsuspecting passengers. At my first ever job out of high school, I had been sent to a market to buy a picture of Moi to hang on the wall (it was a brand new office). I haggled down the price and made Ksh. 100 profit for myself which I placed in my back pants pocket. That night as I was heading home, in the scramble to board the ma-3 a voice came from the back warning, "Chungeni ma-pickpocket!" Instinctively I felt for my pocket where I had stashed away my loot. Relieved that it was still there, I proceeded to struggle with the rest of the commuters to get onboard. Once inside, as I walked to my favorite seat (back-left), I caught a glimpse via the reflection in the window of something white sticking out of my rear end. It was my back-pocket hanging out like a tongue! And my money was gone! Kumbe the guy warning us about the pickpocket was either the pickpocket himself or his unscrupulous accomplice! As soon as they saw me check my back-pocket they knew where to get their night's ugali and muthokoi, the thieving bastards! I hope they choked on the maize!

Finally, I recall the time I was on a No. 46 headed for town. There is this steep section right after the intersection of Argwings Kodhek and Ole Odume roads where if you gather enough momentum, you will experience the roller coaster effect and your stomach will rise and nudge your lungs. Well, at least that's what it feels like. A cyclist was riding his black mamba down that road and he was really flying at top speed. Even his legs had stopped pedalling and were stretched outwards on either side of him. The cheeky ma-3 driver wanted to stua the poor jamaa for no reason and as he passed him, blew his horn at full blast: PWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! ... next thing there was a cloud of dust on the side of the road and a black mamba tumbling over and over. I always wondered what happened to that poor guy ...

Saturday, March 11

The day I almost lost my life to a heifer

I had travelled to the slopes of Mount Kenya for a few weeks after completing my form four exams. The weather was warm and the air fresh. One beautiful morning with the sky blue and not a cloud in sight, I decided to take a walk and see the cows grazing by the river. For a city boy like me, seeing cows was a thrilling experience. To add to my excitement, Ndungu the farmhand had told me a new calf had been born a week earlier.

After having a filling bowl of porridge, I donned on a straw hat and my favorite Bata Bullets rubber shoes. My stride was sure in those shoes. In our school Sports Day I had volunteered to run the 5000m for Red House. For the race, I wore my Bata Bullets and all I will say is I did not come in last ... ahem.

The herd of cattle was, as expected, grazing by the river. I spotted Ndungu sleeping under the shade of a nearby tree with a blade of grass dangling from his mouth. As I approached, at first I could not see the new calf because the herd was so tightly packed together. I picked up a stick and the plan was to use it to seperate the cows so I could make it to the middle where I was sure the calves were.

Most of the cows moved aside as I walked towards them. The ones that were not quick enough got a swift whack on their hides. I had seen this tactic used in numerous tv documentaries of Masaai herdsmen. A proud smile crept on my face as I felt I was a master over the herd. These huge beasts respected me!

However, there was this one cow that would not budge. "This must be the mother trying to be protective" I thought to myself. I raised my stick to show her who was boss, but her reaction startled me. She backed up a couple of feet and turned to face me. She scraped her hoof against the ground and let out a grunt from her nostrils. She also raised and lowered her head menacingly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ndungu jump to his feet like safari ants had made a feast of his ankles. "Weeeeh!" He yelled. This confirmed to me that there was real trouble. "Toka hapo, hiyo ngobe ni diabo sana morio!" Under any normal situation, I would have found this hilarious. Ndungu always tried to impress me with his knowledge of Nairobi slang that he would pick up at the bus terminal from the matatu touts. However something in his tone made me realize that there was nothing funny in what was about to happen and my stomach fell.

Although the sun had not reached it's peak and there was a cool breeze, my brow began to glisten in steady beads of sweat. There was nothing between the cow and me except five feet of real estate. Real estate that this cow could purchase in a jiffy without a bank account.

Punde si punde the next thing I knew, with flaring nostrils the cow charged, and the bullseye (no pun intended) was my ribcage. I was pummelled right in my torso by her lowered head. I did not have a chance to brace myself for the impact and I let out a whoosh of air from my lungs. My morning meal of porridge went flying out in one direction and I went flying in the other. Was this cow attempting to get restitution at my expense for all the humans that had ordered prime rib at nyama choma joints?

It has been said that when you are about to kick the bucket your life flashes before your eyes. As a searing pain shot through my chest and as I landed on my hiney, I started to see visions of my life. I saw my first diaper which was fitting because I needed one right now. I also saw all the bad things I had done to this point - my 'F' grades in school, stealing soda and bubble gum from Mama Wairimu's kiosk, and throwing stones at Safari Rally cars as they raced by (Yes Joginder Singh ... that was me that broke your windshield at the Molo junction) ... Why, oh, why did I engage in such unbecoming behavior?

There was no time for atonement now. Quicker than lager turns to piss, I sprung to my feet before the heifer could regroup for another attack. Ndungu had frozen in his tracks after he had seen me bowled over in a cloud of dust. His eyes were as big as saucers and the blade of grass was still hanging from his lips. I knew I was on my own.

You know how you read in the papers that some random fellow was trampled to death by an elephant in the bush? Ama massacred by cattle rustlers? Or struck by lightning? What thought immediately crosses your mind? Poor shaggs mundu, right? I thought about my obituary and what it would say - 'The death has occured of B.K. killed by common livestock'. Anyone reading it that din't know me would say "Aww that poor shaggs mundu". Hell to the naw, I wasn't going out like that! In my humble opinion, some deaths are more whack than others. The sheer ignobility of having my lights turned off BY A COW of all things created a deep resolve in me to survive.

Despite my lungs having been emptied of their supply of oxygen from the solid headbutt, I turned and took off like my life depended on it. Coz lets face it; my life depended on it. The vicious ruminant was hot on my heels and I prayed my Bata Bullets would be up to the task and not fail me. I was in full sprint and I could hear the hooves on the ground and the grunts right behind me. This animal was determined to make minced meat of me. I shifted up a gear and even overtook a dragonfly. What had my Biology teacher taught us? Adrenaline results in either flight, fright, or fight. In this case the cow was the only one in the mood to fight, while I handled the fright and the flight elements.

There wasn't a tree in sight to climb or a thicket to dive into and I knew the lactic acid in my legs would soon start to build up and turn them into lead weights. Long gone was my straw hat. My beads of sweat were now full-fledged pools of perspiration. As I ran zigzagging across the farm cutting tight corners until my ear nearly touched the ground in an attempt to shake off my tormentor, I wondered if I could make it to the local butchery? There for sure I would find some able-bodied men that would help me outnumber the bovine animal and settle this score. If I made it there, I personally would turn it's hide into a drum and it's hooves into glue.

Just then one of my beloved Bata Bullets fell off. The cow turned it's attention to my footwear and stomped and chewed it to nothingness. That was all the distraction I needed to make my escape.

Drenched in all manner of bodily fluids, I ran into the house, took a quick bath, packed my bags and wore my second favorite pair of shoes. I was off to the bus terminal and caught a matatu destined for the city where I belonged, leaving Ndungu still wide-eyed with his blade of grass.

Saturday, September 17

Why I only date Kenyan women

I have tried to date women from different cultures and have finally come to the conclusion that our kenyan women are the best. We fit like a hand and glove. We understand each other. We complement one another.

I tried to go out with a Chinese girl once. Her name, Ping Pei Ting, was from the sound made when a sufuria was dropped down the stairs before she was born. That is how Chinese name their kids. Her brother was called Chang Ding Dong because the sufuria was full of white fried rice. Anyway, Ping Pei Ting's ass was so narrow I found myself squinting just to see it. After two months of this, I took a look in the mirror and shock of shocks I had started to look Chinese! No wonder their men squint! They are trying so hard to look at their women's diabs!

I moved onto an akataa. Shaniqua was her name. She introduced me to the ways of African Americans and soon I was smoking weed, drinking 40 ounce liquors, and walking around cursing and wearing a wife beater (aka white vest). She also braided my hair in cornrows on one side, leaving the other side in an afro. I got fired from my job and now I was truly an akataa - jobless, braided, and high. She somehow convinced me that I could become a rapper. "You don't need no white man all up in your grill telling you what to do! Start rappin' nigga! That's gon' be our ticket outta the hood!" I tried to write rap lyrics in my free time and knew it was time to call it quits when she wasn't diggin my first rhyme: "Microfone cheka, Waafrika wanasumbuka, Kioko ana kwashioko, Oloo ana minyoo, Nduta ana shuta ...". That was the end of that relationship.

Next was Heather. She was a white girl that had grown up in Minnesota in a middle-class suburban neighborhood. She was a dare devil that loved the outdoors like many white people do. She introduced me to white-water rafting, paintball, mountain hiking and skiing. This was all new and exciting to me until she suggested we go bungy-jumping. I am terrified of heights and I said "Hell No!" After some cojoling on her part (plus I remembered she had helped me fix up my credit after Shaniqua had ripped it to shreds), I agreed to try it one time. A week later, I found myself dangling upside down in my underwear from a bridge with my legs bound together by the bungy cord. My pants had been torn off when a nail on the bridge hooked onto them as I made the leap of faith. It was time to pack my bags.

I tried to date a Mexican called Mariangeles. She had sneaked across the border into the US so I knew there was no way she was gonna hook me up with makaratasi but I decided to give it a shot anyway. In less than a month I found myself mowing lawns and speaking some basic Spanish with other Mexicans like "Yo quiero taco bell". She had convinced her uncle that I was a strong worker and could help with his landscaping company. Do you know this girl had me eating burritos and taking tequila shots all day with my earnings from the job? On the way from one garden to another on the back of a "Jose Chievo's Greener Grass Landscaping Co" pick-up, I knew it was time to say Hasta La Vista baby.

I tried other African nationalities too. A South African had me singing songs from Sarafina and doing the gumboot dance, a Senegalese had me smelling of fish 24/7 even when I went clubbing, an Egyptian convinced me to sell my cadillac and buy her father a dromedary camel, and a Rwandese gave me the short man syndrome - and I am 6 feet tall!

After this disastrous tour of cultures, I realized I was better off with my Kenyan women.

Wednesday, March 16

Wait, what are these in my bathroom???

Kweli women are from Venus and men from Mars. Its not a knock on either sex; we are just different. Take for example the way in which we approach relationships. Initially men are the aggressors and this is probably drawn from our inate caveman ancestry. Club the cavewoman over the head; once rendered unconscious, drag her by the hair into the cave, and declare proudly "Me found woman!"

On the other hand, women are usually coy and play hard to get. During this initial courtship phase, more slaps are landed on our adventerous, roaming hands than on newborn baby's bottoms in maternity wards across the country. Picture a young couple sitting alone somewhere on a bench in Uhuru Park (ama is that being too cliché?) and the guy is trying to feel her up. "Wewe Balboa, wacha bad manners, keep off ..." she warns, then giggles leaving poor Balboa thoroughly confused; "Niendelee ama nisiendelee?" he asks himself. Where's a club when you need one?

Fast forward six months into the future and the roles are noticeably reversed. Women now become the aggressors and find subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways to lay claim to their "cavemen".

Balboa gets up from bed in a drunken stupor and makes his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He was out drinking last night with his pals and can't even remember how he got home. He finally staggers towards the big boy's potty and as he fumbles in the dark, something cold, fluffy, wet and smelling of OMO smacks him in his face, covering him like a bedsheet. I mean dude is totally draped in this thing. He is temporarily stunned and doesn't know what hit him. Poor Balboa struggles to free himself and reaches for the light switch. Horror of horrors, a woman's wet undies are sitting on his head having been hung there earlier to dry!

The moral of my cautionary tale is whereas once upon a time men were hitting women over the head with big wooden clubs, women nowadays are doing the same thing with a variation in the weapon of choice; big, wet panyoz in the bathroom. I can just hear women chuckle as they read this and think to themselves "She found man!"

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Tuesday, February 15

Corporate America Woes

You fly off to America after raising enough loot from a village harambee and work your ass off for four or whatever number of years to pay off your college and living expenses (all the while looking over your shoulder in case you need to duck those dreaded INS agents). You graduate and (for the lucky ones) get a good job in a corporate office in AnyCity USA. The proverbial cream is on the cake if they agree to sponsor you for a work visa, aka H-1B.

You clean up your credit, and you are no longer checking the caller ID first to see if it is Transcredit Union Corp asking for their money. You get a motoguzi that, for the first time ever, comes with terms such as "zero down", "interest-free financing", and "bumper-to-bumper warranty". You have qualified for the best offers that Ford and GM have out there. Things are starting to look good, eh?

If you are smart, you are gonna tell your landlord to take a hike coz you are investing in a condo, or a two bedroom ranch, or a townhouse in the outskirts of the city. You are in the big leagues now, aren't you, dawg? Woof! Woof! You are now a homeowner and are following the rich man's mantra of invest, invest, invest!

This is allegedly supposed to be the blue-print to achieving success in America from a foreign student's perspective. Before you pat yourself on the back for a job well done and for a skyrocketing career, hold your horses ... lace on your boots real tight coz shits about to get deep.

Lo and behold, you start to encounter the racism, back-stabbing, job-profiling, and corporate re-structuring that comes with this environment. This will surely leave a bitter taste in your mouth after all the hard work you've put in to get to where you are.

Feelings of isolation begin to creep in because no one around you can relate to the unique situation you find yourself in. You don't hang around your Kenyan homeboys often now as weekends are spent either establishing vital business networks on the golf course, or running over some numbers for the departmental budget to present at the meeting next week. On the other hand you cannot pop into your white friends' places on Thanksgiving with a case of Bud Light as there are strict rules of decorum governing these American occasions. The general rule of thumb is no invite, no show.

You can sense economic storm clouds brewing in the distance. The market watchers are pessimistic and something is said in Fox Business News about some corporate merger involving your company. You feel a knot tighten in your belly and its got nothing to do with the Sausage Jambolaya you ate with your co-workers downtown for lunch. A few months down the road and - oh damn - here come the inevitable layoffs.

Saturday, May 15

Useless Facts U Must Know!!! (Lucky Pigs)

I don't usually pay much mind to forwarded emails but this one was an exception in my opinion:

If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days, you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.
(Hardly seems worth it)

If you fart consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.
(Now that's more like it)

A pig's orgasm lasts for 30 minutes.
(In my next life I want to be a pig).
(How'd they figure this out, and why?)

Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.
(Still can't get over that pig thing)
(Don't try this at home...maybe at work?)

Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure.
(Is that why Flipper was always smiling?)
(And pigs get 30-minute orgasms? Doesn't seem fair)

The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue.

Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people do.
(If you're ambidextrous do you split the difference?)

The ant can lift 50 times its own weight, can pull 30 times its own weight and always falls over on its right side when intoxicated.
(From drinking little bottles of...?)
(Did taxpayers pay for this research??)

Polar bears are left handed.
(Who knew....? Who cares? How'd they find out, ask them?)
(Does that mean that they'll die faster?)

The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds.
(What can be so tasty on the bottom of the pond?)

The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field.
(30 minutes...can you imagine?? And why pigs?)

A cockroach will live nine days without it's head, before it starves to death.

The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.
(Honey, I'm home. What the....)
(Well, at least pigs get a break there...)

Some lions mate over 50 times a day.
(In my next life I still want to be a pig...quality over quantity)

Butterflies taste with their feet.
(Oh, geez)
(That's almost as bad as catfish)

An ostrich's eye is bigger than it's brain.
(I know some people like that.)

Starfish don't have brains.
(I know some people like that too.)

After reading all these, all I can say is ............ Lucky Pigs!

Tuesday, February 17

Mboch Toss

When I had malizad seco and I was lounging at home, we got a mboch with these wide hips. She used to eye me seductively from Day 1.

On many occasions, she would come into my room ati washing the floor, ass first. Her madiabas were high in the air, swinging side to side, as she was backing in, like a lorry off-loading kokoto from a quarry.

One day this enticement got to be too much and I grabbed the mboch and tossed her onto my bed. I had amuad that she would receive the mdinyo of her life that day for all the silent suffering I had been undergoing!

Silprosa the mboch had other ideas in mind; she undressed and quickly hoisted Ali Baba, tossed him into the cave, grabbed my hips and started thrusting me in and out. Apparently she was not satisfied with this style and much to my utter amazement, she tossed me up in the air and flipped me around like a chapo. A full 180 degrees!

I hadn't the foggiest idea what was going on and I wanted to tell her that I had had enuff by this time. Unfortunately, I was now facing the mboches toes and was in no mood to engage in a conversation with her feet.

Picture this ... am lying on top of her, grabbing onto her ankles for dear life because I dint know what crazy stunt she had in store for me next. And she on the other hand is looking right into the crack of ma ass. To encourage me to pump, she smacked my butt a few times. There I was being dinywod by the mboch while facing her toes. To add to the indignity of the situation, she was slapping my ass!

When it was over, she got up and picked up the rag and backed out of my room wiping the floor and left me in the foetal position tightly clutching my blanket in fear. To this day I get shivers when I watch a pizza being made ...

Wednesday, September 17

Kenyan Cribs / Me How Am Living

After watching all these shows about how the rich and famous are flaunting their huge mansions, shiny cars, and immense success and wealth on MTV's Cribs and BET's How I'm Living, I decided to come up with a little twist to this concept.

Let's walk into a regular Kenyan's crib and see how they are living ...

I'm Joseph Muchemi and welcome to my house in Buruburu. Me, this is how am living.

Let's start off at the gate. As you can see we don't have one. It was stolen 5 years ago when we had gone to gichagi (the village) for Christmas.

All the windows are protected with huge unsightly burglar proofing. Nobody can come in from the outside without knocking first and hearing me say, "Ingira!" (You may enter). Come to think of it, in case of a fire we don't have a chance of getting out either.

Moving on, this is my sitting room. Nothing here is coordinated or even matching. The big zebra skin drum in the corner takes up all the space. I got the sofas 15 years ago from a fundi in Zimmerman. One leg is broken, but we support it with a Cowboy tin. The chairs all have little square rags arranged like a diamond.

The money plant gives my son asthma, but I have to keep it running across the ceiling on a kamukanda (string) for no particular reason. I'm hoping one day it will bring me some money. Kana tigwo? (Isn't that so?) It is also very useful for hanging Christmas cards.

I have a pile of Newsweek, Drum, and True Love magazines on the shelf. The newspapers are less coz I sold them to Kariuki the local dealer last month for 18 a kilo.


The tap on the kitchen sink is tied up with a piece of bladder. The constant drip, drip, dripping made me very annoyed. So I took the bladder from the outside tap and tied it here. If you want to drink some water, go to the outside tap.

Walking upstairs you will notice the floor is slippery. That is because we polish the floor every week. Once my wife came from upstairs to downstairs in a hurry and not in the natural way. One leg was leading the way and the other one was over her shoulder. The loud bumping and the screaming made the watchman, Luka, come and ask "Mama, umeumia?" (Mama, are u hurt?). The curtain does not cover the corner of the window so Luka had seen the whole thing from outside.

My bedroom is the biggest of course. What do they call it? Oh yah - the master bedroom. The sheets and pillow cases have never, ever looked like each other. I have 5 briefcases all in the corner that are gathering dust. I am never invited to meetings at work so I have not used them yet. My closet has three tweed jackets with leather patches on the elbows. As you can see the buttons are the size of my big toe. Very classic. That was the fashion from '72-'81. I hope it comes back.

The toilet is broken right now. I placed a karai (basin) on the toilet seat so nobody uses it. They may run away when they see the githeri that refuses to flush. Our toothbrushes are in a cup I won at the Nairobi show in 1976.

Ok - you have seen my crib, now let's go see my ride.

Muchemi walks to the Bustop, pandas a 23 and he is off to tao.

Tuesday, December 24

Christmas Experiences

One of my first jobs in the US was during the Christmas season some years ago. I got a gig at a small time strip mall as one of Santa Clause's little elves. My job was basically to make sure the kids stood in line for pictures, and then give them their gifts as they sat on Santa's lap.

I had applied for a job as Santa but I was turned down for a couple of obvious reasons: One, I was too black and two I was too skinny. Si u jua the way most Kenyans are usually thin kwanza in those Freezer jeans? I was one of those ... infact I was so skinny my back pockets were touching coz my diab had kwishad from criss-crossing tao on foot pursuing a visa, MMR vaccines, bank draft, and various other documents that were needed to enable me to travel.

So here I was during Christmas time dressed as Santa's elf in a tight green costume which embarrassingly showed a little too much at the front causing me to kinda lean forward at the waist to reduce frontal exposure.

One day I reported to work with a running stomach. Maybe I had not yet adjusted to American food. Or maybe that murram I had bebad from home a month earlier had gone bad. Whatever the reason, it was not a good outcome.

The whole morning I was jikazaring and fighting an almighty urge to rush to the bathrooms. My stomach was making those Chirooooooo sounds when its about to be on like a mofo. Mpaka the little white kiddos were asking "Santa, what's that sound?" when they were standing next to me. And that forward-leaning pose was not helping matters any. Infact it was increasing the pressure on my abdomen.

It was about noon time when the most number of paros were there with their children when my stomach could hold it no longer. I had bent to pick up one of the kiddos when I heard a Trooot sound. I dropped the kid fearing the worst and gritting my teeth in an almighty clench (that is rarely seen outside of Hollywood movies where the hero is barely clinging onto a helicopter hovering over the city with nothing but his bare fingertips), dashed off to the toilet holding my rear end with both hands grunting, "Woi! ...nggggg .... Nini sasa? ..... ngggggg ..... Gai fafa!"

I got to the bathroom just in time and really tore up the joint. I finally emerged dripping in sweat and looking like I had wrestled with Hulk Hogan. I don't mean to brag (if there are any bragging rights to be had by such a feat) but judging from the looks I was receiving, the incadescent aroma could be savoured from as far off as the parking lot. There was my boss waiting for me with my cash for the day. He told me he never wants to see me again ... Oh, and I can keep the uniform!

Wednesday, November 20

Mdinyo Stories

Have you ever had a mdinyo storo that you have just wanted to dish out? Well here's mine. This one time I was dinyaring this babe like a nonsenz. I had been having hanjaams for like 2 weeks and I was on top of her diggin like an oil drill in Texas. Si sometimes you can't kuja for a long time? This was one of those days for me. The babe had wikaad in every language she had been tutored in starting with her mboch and ending with Alliance de Francais. "Uuuuweee! Tiga Riu! Wacha Sasa! Stop Now! Arrêter Maintenant! Uuweeee!" Like the energizer bunny, I just kept on going and going and going. Just when she was about to pass out, she stopped me and asked Sniff, sniff .... "Ni nini hiyo inanuka rubber inachomeka?" "Huh"? I knew there was nothing cooking on the stove. I chucked Bwana Johnson and to my surprise, the condom was smoking! This was before the days I had styled up and started using Vaseline or K-Y. I blew on it like those western cowboys after firing their pistols. I looked back down and the babe had hepad. She had limped to the next room, dressed up and took off to the bus stop saying "Woi woi woi!" . Last I heard she had recovered and was telling her friends "Ma' ya Ngai ndira miss muthisho wa BK ...".

Wednesday, October 30


Nothing generates a good chuckle like Mchongoano. Ahh the good ol' days ...

Kwenyu mmesota sana wezi wakiingia wanatoka na experience tu

Mmesota hadi nyi hukula ugali na story za nyama

Buda ako ni mjinga, first time kupanda ndege alisema shukisha junction

We m-ugly, ulipokuwa mtoi masako alikufeed na feya

Sistako mshort aneza temebea chini ya bed

Kwenu mko wengi hata mkienda dining room mnaingia na gate pass

Ati uligongwa na gari ya TRUST instead ya kuumia ukanyonji

First time yako ku-buy ball gum shopkeeper alikugei ya green ukasema 'nataka ile imeiva'

Nyanyako ni kipofu lakini mwachie kwa kuchagua ngotha za valentine

Wewe ni miser mpaka ukiwa kwa KBS back seat ukiitishwa doo unapoint nyuma

Wewe ni fala mpaka uikiingia kwa KBS unapiga hodi na unatoa viatu

Manzi wako ni mtall mpaka Mungu akiboeka anamsuka matuta

Kwenu nyinyi ni wagesi mpaka coackroach zinademonstrate juu ya njaa

Nyinyi kwenu ni wa black mkiingia kwa moti yenyu dirisha zinakuwa tinted

Mathako ni mshamba mpaka the first time alipanda mathree alitandika vitambaa

Ati kwenu nyinyi wachafu mpaka mkimaliza kuoga sabuni inawasengenya

Nyinyi m-mesota mpaka mna-kunywanga chai na kifuniko ya Bic

Budako ni mjinga mpaka alipoingia kwa buu aliambia konda amshikie chuma ndio atoe pesa

TV yenu ndogo na nyinyi ni wengi mpaka mkitaka kuiona nyi wote lazima kila mtu afunge macho moja

Budako mugly mbaka anaishia home kutoka zoo na mandizi mob amegeiwa na matourist

Wewe ni mblack mpaka ukiwa karibu na makaa ya kuuza, customer anasema niwekee ile kubwa
We mfupi mpaka unatoka kwa basi na parachute

Unamdomo bigi we hukula avocado kama njugu

Wewe ni mrefu mpaka ukivaa trao inaisha fashion kabla ifike kwa waist

Wewe ni fala unarewind CD na biro pen

Breathe yako sumu ukiyawn asubuhi jogoo hudedi

Paka yenu noma mpaka ikishika panya inaitisha chumvi

Maskio yako kubwa ukiingia hoteli chai inapoa

Kwenu ni kuchafu mpaka mende zenu huvaa slippers

Balls zako bigi sana mpaka ukipiga shower unaziweka kwa rack zikauke

Kwenu muko wadosi mpaka kuku zenu zinafanya aerobics saa kumi na kunywa juice instead ya maji

Mapua zako bigi, ukingia class charts zinaanza kudunda

Mdomo kubwa kama bakuli ya jela

We ni mblack mpaka ukisimama karibu na ukuta ya white watu wanafikiria eti ni shortcut wapitie thru hiyo shimo

We mrefu mpaka ukianza kuvaa handa by the time ifike kwa magoti ime rust

Paka yenyu imeona mamovie mpaka ikifuata panya inalia tereng! tereng!

Uko mweusi mpaka kwa night class unashow meno ndio usimakiwe absent

Mathako mnono akikalia kobole Moi hutoa makamasi

Fathako mchafu mbaka ana mtaro kwa kifua

Budako mblack akilala kwa road madere wanafikiri ni speed bump

We ni mrefu mpaka ukichoka kaa unatembea mtaani unajisupport na wire za simu

Mlango za gari yenyu huwa zinafungwa na vifungo za shati

Budako uhepa gumbaru, anaenda kuangalia tractor ikikata manyasi

Wewe ni mshort mpaka ukikalia kwa pavement miguu ina hang kwa hewa

Nywele za watoto wenyu ni ngumu mpaka mnazitumianga kama steel wool

Wewe ni mrefu mpaka ni wewe huongezea jua makaa

Chali yako ni mkonda alibloiwa na wind mpaka S.Africa na hana passport

We mchafu mpaka nzi ikikulandia inavaa slippers

We ni mweusi hadi mbu ikitaka kukuuma yo huitisha torch

Ulimeza cassette ya koffi ukanyamba ndombolo

Kwenu muko wengi mpaka mathe hupika chapo mbili zingine anafanya photocopy ndio yeye na fathe wakule original

Nyanyako hana meno lakini ni mdedli kwa kufungua chupa ya coke

Unamatako kubwa mpaka watu hupata marao na kuidandia kama mathree

Nyanyako ni mdedli karate mpaka wasee wa F2 wakamchora ka baunsa

Kichwa kama basi ya bed ford ya zamani

We ni mrefu mpaka usiku miguu zinalala kwa jirani

Una matiti so mpaka we uzitupa kwa mgongo times za kuosha manguo

We m-ugly mpaka kipofu anavaa paperbag kukubinja

We mrefu mpaka KQ wanakuitia job ya kupanguza dirisha za ndege

Budako huhepa job ku-slide na socks

Mathako ana matiti makubwa akimaliza kuoga ye huzifunga na shower curtain badala ya bra

Kwenu nyi ni ma-miser mpaka price ya colgate ikipanda mnateta na hamna meno

We ni mwizi mpaka padlock ikikuona inajifunga

Wewe ni mgreedy mpaka mother-ko akiwa na ball yako akipika chapo siku moja, ulichomoa mkono ukasema "nigeee!"

Budako ana mikono ngumu, akishika kobole, inampatia change ya mafeeu

Kwenyu muko wengi, ukifungua mlango watu watatu wanadunda inje

Kwenyu kuchafu mpaka mende zenu ni oboho, ati wanaambia wale new wakae ridho kwa kitchen

Vile nyinyi wagesi, budako akishika ten shillings, ati Moi ana baki na vest

Budako uhepa job kwenda kucheza katii na mboch

We mzee na danda mbaka ulikuwa naso na onyato ati na ujamada form four bado

We mchafu mpaka mahindi zimegrow kwa armpits na ukijikuna zinageuka unga

Budako amevaa ngotha moja folong mbaka siku aliitoa ikaanguka halafu ikapasuka kaa nyungu

Budako amechizi, underwear yake imechorwa Saitoti akiosha viombo

We mblack mpaka ukikutana na mzungu afternoon anakushow "Good evening?"

Mbuyu wako ni mrefu mpaka anauzia wasee wa ndege mahindi ya kuchoma

Kwenyu nyinyi wachoyo mpaka mkipika kuku mnakula kama hamjawasha stima

Tv yenyu nzee mpaka mkishuta kwa hao wasee wa kbc wanafunga mapua

Ngozi ya nyanyako ni tight mpaka aki wink, mguu yake inainuka

Dogi yenyu mzee mpaka kauzi aki'come,yumtemea mate

Una kichwa so mpaka ukiwa nasaa venye watu walikuwa wakiimba hedi,shoulder....wewe ulikuwa ukiimba.. hedi,hedi hedi,hedi

Ati ulikuwa na bro wako kejani ukiskiza redio halafu mtangazaji akasema ati tunawapeleka moja kwa moja hadi uwanja wa uhuru park. Ati kuskia hivyo mkadandia redio.

Asubuhi Asubuhi avocado na arufu ya vitungu

Asubuhi Asubuhi kokoto na kumi kumi

Asubuhi Asubuhi Patco na mapera

Asubuhi asubuhi toast mayai na jasho ya makende

Asubuhi asubuhi goodygoody na makojo ya ngamia

Asubuhi asubuhi harufu ya gumboot na BIG G

Asubuhi asubuhi mapera na maziwa ya nguruwe

Asubuhi asubuhi koo na omena

Asubuhi asubuhi makaa na maji ya sukuma

Asubuhi asubuhi mabuyu na cools

Wednesday, October 23

Mchongoano Pt 2

1. Umeunga mpaka unatoanga ngozi ya miwa ka ndizi

2. ati nyinyi wadosi mpaka mkienda ocha mnabeba nguo kwa flash disk

3. naskia nyi mmesota mpaka munapika chapo side moja

4. wewe ni mweusi mpaka wameandika “scratch to reveal” kwa I.D yako

5. Weh ni mnono mpaka bed yako ikona zgwembe.

6. Wewe ni mweusi tu sana mpaka ukitupiwa mawe zinarudi zikisema hazijakucheki.

7. una masikio big ukiwa mtoi ulikuwa unabebwa kaa trophy

8. Kwenu muko wengi mpaka buda wenu ametengeza roundabout kwa hao.

9. We ni mweusi hadi ukipita karibu na plants zinadhani ni Dark Stage photosynthesis

10. unakichwa bigi hadi ukidream unadream 7 in 1

11. nilisikia ati kwenyu mkowengi hadi mbuyu wako akimcome badala ya kusema habari yenu anasema my fellow Kenyans!

12. Dame yako amekonda hadi yeye huchungulia kwa key hole na macho zote mbili.

13. Nyumba yenu imejengwa na ugali, wezi wakikuja wanasema “fungueni ama tutarudi na sukuma”

14. nyumba yenu imetengenezwa na matope.. mpaka wezi wakija wanasema.. “FUNGUA AMA TUIKOJOLEE!”..

15. wewe ni mjinga… mpaka ulirepeat kunyonya.

16. ASUBUHI ASUBUHI githeri na colgate.

17. Radio yenu imezoea kisapere mpaka instead ya kusema kiss 100 inasemanga “mumunya igana”

18. Naskianga ati damu yako ni tamu jo, hadi mosquito zinakamingi na mandazi..!!

19. Ati uko na mdomo biggy hadi ungekuwa muimbaji ungetoa collabo pekee yako.

20. we ni mchoyo hadi unaflash.999.makarao

21. uko na ngozi tight mpaka ukikunja ngumi macho infunguka.

22. Doggy yenu imebeat hadi iki bark lazima ijishikilie kwa ukuta.

23. kwenu ni ocha sana hadi sms ikifika unaipanguza vumbi

24. Ati wewe ni mweusi hadi huwezi kuwa na a BRIGHT idea.

25. Manzi yako ni mkonda hadi mukienda kupanda mat unaambiwa”pole buda lakini hatubebi miwa”

26. Una kichwa kubwa mpaka dream zako zushow in dolby surround.

27. Ati wewe ni kichwa ngumu hadi ulikataa kuzaliwa uchi!

28. We ni mnono hadi ukikunywa novida huwezi get lifted!

29. kwenu nyinyi ni wezi hadi Ali baba and the 40 thieves walikam attacho kwenu.

30. Ati phone yako ni ya zamoh,ukitumiwa sms unaishia kucollect kwa post office.

31. msee ni mweusi hadi difference yake na midnight ni 11:59.

32. ati ndoto zako ni noma mpaka zi huanza… previously on..

33. We ni mnatty hadi ukiswitch on nokia yako,badala ya hizo mikono kusalimiana,ziugota.

34. wewe ni mrefu hadi una magoti tatu kama ngamia

35. Nyinyi ni wadosi hadi dogi zenu zina dogi za kuzichunga.

36. wewe ni mfupi hadi unabebanga fifty bob kama mabati.

37. wee ni mnono hadi ukikalia novel zinakuwa short stories!

38. chuo yenu ni farthest by the time unafika ni 2nd term!

39. Manzi yako ame beat hadi badala ya kupelekwa extreem make ova, alipelekwa panel beating!

Sunday, February 17

Them Days

How many of ya'll grew up in the 80s? Those were the days I tell you; I dont think there ever will be another generation coming up that will experience the same potent mixture of innocence and reckless abandon that we did. Yet despite those risks, you rarely heard of anyone getting seriously hurt ama God-forbid, killed. We all did the same things. Wore the same clothes. Played the same games. Spoke the same way. You could have been transferred from one shule to another and by lunchtime you would have fitted in like a glove. Let me give my nostalgia a test drive ...

Remember going for birthday parties? This one time I blew out my cousin's candles and made him cry. Later on he grew up into a tough guy and went on to play rudge for the school team so he would kill me if he found out I wrote that about him. Do kiddos still have those birthday parties where soda, crisps, and popcorn was all that there was but it was heaven on earth? Lakini show up early and you are made to help blow up balloons and ole wako if it was those little ones that almost needed a bicycle pump to get them filled up.

Halafu the birthday kids received nice presents that you would never have dreamed of getting in a million years. This neighbor of mine called Wachira got a battery powered race track with remote control cars that would speed around a winding course. Imagine? That was the greatest thing my young eyes had ever seen. Once I shikad one of those remotes no one else could play. When I went home I cried that I wanted the same toy. Guess what I got instead? Those little matchbox cars that you push bana. Why lie, was everyone's paroz broke back in dem days ama they just dint wanna spoil us?

Remember TV shows? Turning on the telly and seeing those vertical lines and listening to seriously boring music before they showed Kufungua Kituo. Back when KBC used to be VoK, TV dint start until something like saa kumi na moja jioni. What boredom if you were sick and had to stay home. No television all day, just the radio and the mboch had it on some dry station that had some show that started off with "I'm Harry the laughing hyena, I'm laughing all day long" and the song ended with the hyena laughing hysterically for a full minute. Damn. So when TV finally came on at 5:05pm you even stood at attention singing the anthem with tears of joy in you eyes. No matter what they brought you sat and watched - from He Man to Sheera to Pingu to Button Moon to Scooby Doo to Danger Mouse. Everything. You felt katsiwad when they brought Dunia Wiki Hii, then Press Conference, then news with Moi featuring for the first 15 minutes.

Usiku used to be my time. Being the only son, I would be allowed to stay up and watch the late shows like Dallas, Bionic Woman, Gemini Man, Inspector Derrick, Midweek movie etc while my sisters had to go to bed haha. My best of all time was Six Million Dollar Man acted by Lee Majors. “Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to make the world’s first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better…stronger…faster.” Woi ngai I don't think I used to blink for the whole hour. Kumbuka when he fought with Big Foot? For those two episodes our whole family sat and watched. Afterwards when it was time to go to bed and I was pandaring the stairs I looked back down and my mom was coming up with her afro combed out. I almost shit in my pajamas coz I thought it was that sasquatch monster that had just fought with Sixi!

Remember Remington Steele? Moonlighting? The Rolf Harris Show? Ring Us Up (at Christmas time)? "Ring Us Up, Ring Us Up, Ring Us on the telephone, We want your money, count your pennies, dont tell us that you haven't got any...". Wtf? Show some decency please when begging for our money, why dont you? What about ABC Wide World of Sports? "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat" and then they show a guy wiping out on his skis. Did anyone else used to sing "a cheetah, a cheetah, a cheetah ..." along with the opening song ama it was just me? What about Telematch? Two German towns used to compete in different obstacle courses with the players wearing costumes and I guess the payoff for the winning team was nothing more than bragging rights until the next week.

Who seriously used to watch Mke Nyumbani? Thanks to her I hate setting foot in a kitchen to this day. "Na sasa tutaweka vitungu na nyanya, halafu tutakoroga .... tunakoroga bado ..." argh! Joy Bringers planted the seeds for us okokaring in High School. I used to chora a picture at least once a month but they never displayed them in the show. What about Junior Quiz? And Children's Debate? "I urge you to cross the floor over to my side and agree with me that school children should go to school in uniform" ama in swa "Vuka sakafu, kwa mwendo wa aste aste ..."

This is the era that also brought us classic black sitcoms like Sanford and Son (Dummy!, you old fish-eyed fool, esther - this is the big one, am coming to join you honey!), Diff'rent Strokes (whatchu talking 'bout Willis?), Good Times (Kid Dy-no-mite!) The Jeffersons (Weeeeeeeeeezay!) and Webster (the other midget kid).

One difference from these days is kids really used to play outside alot. Foota, kati, bladder, shake, tip, British bulldog, hide and seek, rounders, bano, and that game of "Paa!" where you blow the tu-white things in soda bottle tops. I would just watch in wonder as some of my classmates would blow 20 of those things over. I maxed out at kindu 10. If you had a bike back in the day you were a ka-celeb. It dint matter if it was a BMX, Chopper, or a nameless one ... just as long as it wasn't a BlackMamba coz those were for askaris and the jamaas sharpening knives and nunuaring old newspapers in the esto. We also used to make our own toys; footballs out of juala, cars out of wire and bladder, running with a tire with two sticks for steering, flattening a nyota and making a hole in the center for a string to make a weird rotating toy. We even used to be entertained for hours by seeds that had fallen from some trees that we would spin with a click of the thumb and middle finger.

Don't let me forget about wakorinos running on roads on Sunday beating drums. All of them had turbans; men, women and children - no one was spared. If someone called you a mkorino that was an insult kabisa and was cause for bouting. Lakini come to think of it, after they had finished running on the road where did they go? Did they remove their turbans and become kawa Kenyans? I never saw one in shule ama shopping in Uchumi ama hanging in Carni ama anywhere else except jogging on Sundays. Strange.

Then breakdance came out and took Nai by storm. Everyone was into it and even people that couldnt dance for shit were there forcing ati burn out. I have to admit that I wasnt the greatest breakdancer myself lakini I had this one floor move (was it called the turtle?) where you balance on your elbows and walk on your palms. I used to pop and lock as quickly as I could so I could get on the floor before anybody keenly watching noticed I wasnt that good. A funny joke them days was Shamba ya Doo na Mboga ya Shrimp. Only tru old cats jua it referred to the main characters in the Breakin' movies - Shaba Doo and Boogaloo Shrimp. There was a rumor that one of them died when he jumped from a chair and broke his neck trying to land on his head. That was as tragic to me as when the price of a loaf of bread rukad overnight from Ksh 7 to 20 bob (however this wasnt until the early 90s and requires an entire blog of its own).

Talking about movies, who saw E.T.? I saw it two or three times in the theatre but I cant remember it much. I kumbuka he was hiding in a closet and had a big flat head and a crooked long finger. Oh and he sat in the basket of a bicycle as they rode by the moon. There was a movie called 'The Champ' that gave me a waru in my throat. It was that kiddo from the sitcom Silver Spoons. In the movie, his budda was a boxer. The closing scene where the budda is lying on a table after a fight and that toi is wailing is enough to get the toughest guy to borrow a hanky. And don't be the only one at school who dint watch the latest James Bond movie on the first weekend it comes out! It will be the topic of Monday and Tuesday and you will float like a dead fish with wide open eyes and mouth agape for those two days while your classmates are talking about "Octopussy" and that time you have nothing to contribute except "Wawawa that's cool meeen", "Ehe?", "And then what?".

Teachers were weird. After exams they would display everyones marks on the blackboard from number 1 to number last. Seriously they did not think about what psychological effects this would have on the number last person? And why would they send us to get our own sticks to be chapwad with? Either you go to the class next door to borrow ama to the bushes to find one. And you had better be back before the bell rings! Imagine now the neighboring class juas you were tandikwad and at breaktime they come to uliza you "What did you do? Let me see" ati now they want to see the whip marks on your shorts. Oh the shame.

If you had beef with anyone when was it sorted out? Closing Day of course! Do school kids still go in home clothes? Some chiles used to come dressed as fairy princesses ama like they were going for a prom. I don't kumbuka jamaas looking funny except maybe in their color coordination. Those were the days of Ngomas and Sandaks. Powers. Windbreakers. Paros were fashion culprits too. They wore Platforms. Tweed. Polyester. Viscose. Thin ties. Flairs. Cordoroys. Cordoroys are back but if you see someone wearing any of the other clothes, tell them the 70s and 80s called and want their fashions back.

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