Author's note: this is not a story to take to the bank; nor is it a narration from my crystal ball.
Researchers both local and international will tell you that the Kenya Police and specifically the traffic department is the most corrupt institution in Kenya. In fact, whenever a report on the subject is released, the position to look out for is the silver medalist because the risible gold medal is rightly so reserved for our men in blue, or is it white? (pun intended). But we ought not be the first to condemn them. We should actually condemn ourselves for sugar-coating and sacrosanct-ing the trade. Now, before you google the meaning of 'sacrosanct', may I remind you that I've been spending lotsa time reading. And what better way to prove this than to inculcate vocables that you've probably never heard of in my pieces. I digress!
A simple chit chat with a matatu crew will confirm this reality; that we have been in support of corruption - albeit unknowingly - all along. Of great concern is the fact that we've been mendacious in combating this vice, ostensibly heralding ourselves as saints. But are we not the same ones who give the bribes to the officers when on the wrong? Are we not the ones who propose to offer the bribes. And have we not made the phrase, 'mkubwa nitoe ngapi?' an accepted tool of trade? A conductor tells me he parts with approximately four hundred shillings on a one way trip from Murang'a to Nairobi. I actually helped him count so the statistics cannot be further from the truth. Supposing the conductor makes six such trips in a day, how many trips are those in a week? And how much money does he have to part with? I'll let you do the maths.
I am told it is worse in Nairobi town. It's not once that I've seen a traffic officer call out one conductor who then goes to collect fifty shillings from each matatu queuing on a specific terminus, say the Kinoo-Kikuyu route for instance. Many attempts have been suggested to curb the vice but they have proved to be futile. Some have been implemented but the vice seems to me like it always evolves to reduce any chance of it ever being extincted. Now, that we are at this point, do we even have a viable solution or should we sit back, accept that corruption is here to stay, and move on? I say NO! No to this pernicious anathema.
We all know and accept that corruption is deeply pervaded within our social system and defended by blind apparatchiks living amongst us. But when we want to solve this two groups of people sprout out. There are those who say it is not possible to rid ourselves off this diabolical plunder against our morals. They detest any attempt to act otherwise, because they have accepted it as the order of the day. To them I say 'step aside and watch as we act.' There is a second group of people who believe that together we can defeat this monster. It is this group that am interested in. the group that will bring change to this country and continent eventually. You can only be in one of the two groups at any time.
It would be utter balderdash if I eschewed at this point without proposing a solution. This I will succinctly give by suggesting that we embrace liberty. Let everyone be free to do whatsoever he/she deems fit as long as his/her actions do not infringe on the rights of other citizens. What I mean is citizens should be give the opportunity of choosing what is right for themselves. Of what business would it concern the government if I choose to travel in an 'unroadworthy' vehicle? Whose right do I infringe on by bringing my vehicle on the road as an option for people -customers - to travel by? Why does the government feel that it should 'regulate' this industry? I'd have suggested that the matatu saccos conduct the regulation but then that would be transferring corruption from the traffic police to the sacco legislators. I believe that we should do away with PSV inspections. We had it the other day and we saw what happened. Corruption was on the rise. If a vehicle is 'unroadworthy', let the people judge for themselves and not travel by it. Why do I say this? I say this because if the industry is not regulated, then there will be no avenues for corruption. Drivers will be free to operate matatus with no fear of harassment from the police officers and therefore no bribes will be given either. the role of the officers should be to protect the individual, his/her liberty and property. The role should not extend to provision of liberty and property. No!
In the same manner, the government should make it mandatory for matatus to have seat-belts but let no passenger be forced or coerced to fasten the safety belt. I see no sense in forcing me to do something that I can well chose whether to or not to. What makes the government think that it is in a better position to think better for the citizens than the citizens themselves? Is the government not made of persons from the same populace with the same brain capacity? I say the role of the government should be to do those things that I cannot do for myself, otherwise there would be no sense of having a government. By eliminating this regulations, then I will not have to bribe the police officers for 'offenses' committed. I say Yes to Liberty and No to Corruption.
Thursday 5 June 2014
Tuesday 3 June 2014
Meetings That Pay; Climate Change Bill
Imagine yourself at a four star hotel where ambiance is the order of the
day. A place where the waitresses are super beautiful and equally
benevolent. A place where you'll meet the entire county government
administration because that's where they profligate the county's
resources - having sumptuous lunch. Where food that you never knew of is
served in plenty. A place where your intestines are for the first time
introduced to their Mr. Right in terms of food. The many cuisines we
have around and they are for some time saved the grappling from ugali
mix or worse still matumbo. What a major breakthrough! Thanks for
imagining. Now stop (and move on like....)! That's how I spent my
weekend, the fact it was just for a day notwithstanding.
On 30th May, I had the pleasure of representing AYICC-K at the Murang'a County consultative forum on the draft Climate Change Policy and Bill details of which can be downloaded here. A bill that is in Parliament currently awaiting its second reading, the first having been on 6th March 2014. Hotel Nokras was a perfect choice of venue by KCCWG (the event organizers) as you can see from my introduction. Anyway my first task was to find the three ladies who had invited me; Susy Wandera, Annette and Wanja. Shouldn't I just act normal and say that they didn't disappoint, both in their beauty and later on their presentations. I am a man (a straight one for that matter) for Christ's sake and there are some things I can't help but write in a blog. The meeting was called to order by Ma'am Cecilia Chege after a round of introductions. I must say at this point that we really struggled to get someone to pray for us until the rapporteur saved the day. Bad- mannered Murang'a people.
Our main guest Governor Mwangi wa Iria's absence however was accentuated by the empty seats at the front. That didn't kill the spirit though as Hon. Albert Mwaniki welcomed us all to Murang'a County and, being a Friday, stressed that we shouldn't be in a hurry to leave. He promised most importantly that his county would be the first to implement the Bill if it became law. He then excused himself as he had other commitments to meet and so he left. These politicians! The chairman of KCCWG was next in line accentuating the dire need for streamlining of climate change in our development plans including the Vision 2030. He however sent shivers down the members with his jokes on jiggers and occasionally forcing grins from us. He at one point joked that he was shocked not to see any of us barefoot. We almost stoned him. He then gave evidences of climate change including unreliable rainfall and the melting of ice at Mt. Kenya. I can second him on that as some time back we used to wake up and go out to sunbathe in the sun but nowadays the rays of the sun wake you up. To further prove this, there is talk that the boom in tourism around Mt. Kenya and Kilimanjaro is because the tourists want to see the snow before it melts completely. <== I cooked that up though.
The speaker then talked of the many opportunities presented by climate change ranging from selling solar lights to carbon trade. Or is it not true that every disaster provides an opportunity. He summed up by saying that Africa being the least contributor to climate change at 3% is the most vulnerable and suffers the most. My take however is that we shouldn't just sit down and watch as our poor children and women suffer just because we're not the cause. We need to respond by adapting to climate change and mitigating where we can. With that, our stomachs demanded a tea break to recuperate from the agony of sweet smelling delicacies. And delicacies we were served! I am still laughing at the thought of those many guys who - given an option between coffee and fruit juice - chose both. Yes, that's who I am, a morbid snitch! I'd let out a diabolical laughter - albeit silently - as women and men in equal measure struggled to use the cutlery not knowing on which hand to hold the knife and on which to hold the fork. I remember my first time using such 'complicated apparatus' I ended up with more than half of my meal in the dustbin. Chops of meat would slide all the way to the floor. But that was then. At least now I know that the fork should be held in the left hand and the knife on the right. I digress!
The next presenter was none other than the wonderful Susy Wandera whose aura of captivation tethered us to the presentation, not to blink away. Susy is one of those people who you'd want to precede your presentation because she'll successful excite the public for you, and talks longer thus saving you much time. She talked about the roles of the 2nd Medium Term Plan (MTP2) - something I never knew of - and the County Integrated Development Plans in aiding climate change mainstreaming. The Bill, tabled in Parliament in 2002 was discussed in detail with the focal point being the establishment, powers and functions of the National Climate Change Council as proposed in the aforementioned bill. The role of the council to both formulate and implement such matters as pertains to climate change was questioned owing to past failures by other similar bodies. The speaker was however precipitous in clarifying the clearly defined powers of the Council. The presentation deserved no further questions due to the clarity and lucidity conferred to it by the speaker.
Mercy Mburu from KENAFF (Kenya National Farmers Federation), a body that prides itself with representing the interests of about 2 million farm families, was the next speaker in line. She exhaustively talked about the impacts of climate change with a special focus on the farmer. The impacts ranged from droughts, water scarcity, conflicts over resources and the sprouting up of climate change refugees. Agriculture was termed as one of the sectors affected by the climate change menace among others such as biodiversity conservation, energy, fisheries, health, forestry, tourism and water supply. A closer look in many treatises revealed that energy, industries, forestry and agriculture are leading in contribution to climate change.
The discussion was then scaled to the plenary session where many issues on both the Bill and the Policy were raised. Of particular importance was the choice of response Africa had chosen with regard to climate change. there were questions as to why Africa, and in particular Kenya, should be involved in mitigation measures when it's total contribution to the same was a meager 3% half of which came from South Africa. The clarification was that African countries had focused on Adaptation while developed countries opted for Mitigation as their respective responses to climate change.
To sum the session up was Paul Murage from Kenya Meteorological Service whose presentation was mainly on the responses put in place combat to climate change. He briefed us on the Early Warning systems at his organization including monitoring and prediction tools, dissemination of information, risk knowledge and response citing a case study of the landslides in Kiriko-ini village in Murang'a. He advocated for the need for long term solutions top replace the short term solutions that are currently in better as a better response to common hazards within Murang'a. These hazards include: droughts; floods; landslides & mudslides; rising temperatures; and fog. The County is faced with the challenge of meteorological stations with only one station that is at KARI, Thika. The role of the media in early warnings and response was also emphasized. With that presentation, the session was brought to a halt. But not without a hand of appreciation, that was way above commensurate with our participation, from the organizers. We all queued in line to get a token that was to cater for our travel expenses. I don't know about the rest but mine was enough to spend for the Madaraka Day celebrations and lasted till this morning to cater for my fare. I am still in awe. I mean who gives you Kshs 2000 to just sit and listen to them? Not unless these guys at KCCWG have political motives.
With the money safely in our pockets and/ wallets depending on where one found safer, we were then invited for a buffet details of which I won't reveal to avert the dangers it would cause to you. To AYICC-K I say thank you for that chance. To the organizers, KCCWG, I say thank you too. I'd have followed you to Vihiga (the next venue) just to pocket the 2000 were it not that JamboJet doesn't fly that route.
PS. The Draft Climate Change Bill can be downloaded here
On 30th May, I had the pleasure of representing AYICC-K at the Murang'a County consultative forum on the draft Climate Change Policy and Bill details of which can be downloaded here. A bill that is in Parliament currently awaiting its second reading, the first having been on 6th March 2014. Hotel Nokras was a perfect choice of venue by KCCWG (the event organizers) as you can see from my introduction. Anyway my first task was to find the three ladies who had invited me; Susy Wandera, Annette and Wanja. Shouldn't I just act normal and say that they didn't disappoint, both in their beauty and later on their presentations. I am a man (a straight one for that matter) for Christ's sake and there are some things I can't help but write in a blog. The meeting was called to order by Ma'am Cecilia Chege after a round of introductions. I must say at this point that we really struggled to get someone to pray for us until the rapporteur saved the day. Bad- mannered Murang'a people.
Our main guest Governor Mwangi wa Iria's absence however was accentuated by the empty seats at the front. That didn't kill the spirit though as Hon. Albert Mwaniki welcomed us all to Murang'a County and, being a Friday, stressed that we shouldn't be in a hurry to leave. He promised most importantly that his county would be the first to implement the Bill if it became law. He then excused himself as he had other commitments to meet and so he left. These politicians! The chairman of KCCWG was next in line accentuating the dire need for streamlining of climate change in our development plans including the Vision 2030. He however sent shivers down the members with his jokes on jiggers and occasionally forcing grins from us. He at one point joked that he was shocked not to see any of us barefoot. We almost stoned him. He then gave evidences of climate change including unreliable rainfall and the melting of ice at Mt. Kenya. I can second him on that as some time back we used to wake up and go out to sunbathe in the sun but nowadays the rays of the sun wake you up. To further prove this, there is talk that the boom in tourism around Mt. Kenya and Kilimanjaro is because the tourists want to see the snow before it melts completely. <== I cooked that up though.
The speaker then talked of the many opportunities presented by climate change ranging from selling solar lights to carbon trade. Or is it not true that every disaster provides an opportunity. He summed up by saying that Africa being the least contributor to climate change at 3% is the most vulnerable and suffers the most. My take however is that we shouldn't just sit down and watch as our poor children and women suffer just because we're not the cause. We need to respond by adapting to climate change and mitigating where we can. With that, our stomachs demanded a tea break to recuperate from the agony of sweet smelling delicacies. And delicacies we were served! I am still laughing at the thought of those many guys who - given an option between coffee and fruit juice - chose both. Yes, that's who I am, a morbid snitch! I'd let out a diabolical laughter - albeit silently - as women and men in equal measure struggled to use the cutlery not knowing on which hand to hold the knife and on which to hold the fork. I remember my first time using such 'complicated apparatus' I ended up with more than half of my meal in the dustbin. Chops of meat would slide all the way to the floor. But that was then. At least now I know that the fork should be held in the left hand and the knife on the right. I digress!
The next presenter was none other than the wonderful Susy Wandera whose aura of captivation tethered us to the presentation, not to blink away. Susy is one of those people who you'd want to precede your presentation because she'll successful excite the public for you, and talks longer thus saving you much time. She talked about the roles of the 2nd Medium Term Plan (MTP2) - something I never knew of - and the County Integrated Development Plans in aiding climate change mainstreaming. The Bill, tabled in Parliament in 2002 was discussed in detail with the focal point being the establishment, powers and functions of the National Climate Change Council as proposed in the aforementioned bill. The role of the council to both formulate and implement such matters as pertains to climate change was questioned owing to past failures by other similar bodies. The speaker was however precipitous in clarifying the clearly defined powers of the Council. The presentation deserved no further questions due to the clarity and lucidity conferred to it by the speaker.
Mercy Mburu from KENAFF (Kenya National Farmers Federation), a body that prides itself with representing the interests of about 2 million farm families, was the next speaker in line. She exhaustively talked about the impacts of climate change with a special focus on the farmer. The impacts ranged from droughts, water scarcity, conflicts over resources and the sprouting up of climate change refugees. Agriculture was termed as one of the sectors affected by the climate change menace among others such as biodiversity conservation, energy, fisheries, health, forestry, tourism and water supply. A closer look in many treatises revealed that energy, industries, forestry and agriculture are leading in contribution to climate change.
The discussion was then scaled to the plenary session where many issues on both the Bill and the Policy were raised. Of particular importance was the choice of response Africa had chosen with regard to climate change. there were questions as to why Africa, and in particular Kenya, should be involved in mitigation measures when it's total contribution to the same was a meager 3% half of which came from South Africa. The clarification was that African countries had focused on Adaptation while developed countries opted for Mitigation as their respective responses to climate change.
To sum the session up was Paul Murage from Kenya Meteorological Service whose presentation was mainly on the responses put in place combat to climate change. He briefed us on the Early Warning systems at his organization including monitoring and prediction tools, dissemination of information, risk knowledge and response citing a case study of the landslides in Kiriko-ini village in Murang'a. He advocated for the need for long term solutions top replace the short term solutions that are currently in better as a better response to common hazards within Murang'a. These hazards include: droughts; floods; landslides & mudslides; rising temperatures; and fog. The County is faced with the challenge of meteorological stations with only one station that is at KARI, Thika. The role of the media in early warnings and response was also emphasized. With that presentation, the session was brought to a halt. But not without a hand of appreciation, that was way above commensurate with our participation, from the organizers. We all queued in line to get a token that was to cater for our travel expenses. I don't know about the rest but mine was enough to spend for the Madaraka Day celebrations and lasted till this morning to cater for my fare. I am still in awe. I mean who gives you Kshs 2000 to just sit and listen to them? Not unless these guys at KCCWG have political motives.
With the money safely in our pockets and/ wallets depending on where one found safer, we were then invited for a buffet details of which I won't reveal to avert the dangers it would cause to you. To AYICC-K I say thank you for that chance. To the organizers, KCCWG, I say thank you too. I'd have followed you to Vihiga (the next venue) just to pocket the 2000 were it not that JamboJet doesn't fly that route.
PS. The Draft Climate Change Bill can be downloaded here
Wednesday 7 May 2014
Then I went to school
Picture
this scenario. It's somewhat around 5 am in the morning. A bell rings
in your mind and that confirms the dreaded fact. It is yet another of
those days. A school day. Allow me at this juncture to warn you that
this is a long piece. The 'x' generation had better quit now before it
gets interesting. I digress! Anyway, you finally manage to jump off the
bed after a couple of 'snoozes'. You wake up albeit reluctantly for you dread the many cane strokes that accompany lateness. Children rights is you and your nyanye, as Shoba Harrison
would put it. You rush to the kitchen and pull your not-so-clean
uniform from 'itara' where they'd been left to dry the previous night.
(Well, assuming you didn't decide to sleep in your uniform and that
'rain' in baby Emily Wanjiru's poem irrigated your bed and by extension
your uniform.) Now, 'itara' is that place where firewood is kept to dry
just above the fireplace. You dress up then run to the tap where you
subject your face to running water and apply soap on your legs. Soap
because lotion and/or vaseline are unheard of. Your feet are not to be
thoroughly washed as they'll tarmac and get dirty anyway. By now it is
some minutes to six. You then dash back into the kitchen where mama has
packed your lunch in a kasuku, those that pack cooking fat. Talk of
reusing, recycling and reducing wastage. You gulp your cup of tea with
the ugali that remained yester night as the accompaniment (that's if you
had ugali say na uji ama na maji ya chumvi the previous night). Once in
a while, you'll have chapatis if you're lucky. Lucky to have been
cooked chapatis and also lucky to have not eaten all of them the
previous night. You then say bye to mama, who has now gone to milk, and
start a 3-5 kilometers jog, depending on your proximity to the school.
That unimaginable life is what thousands of children brace themselves up
for, day in day out. I came across them on my way to Nairobi. They were
dressed in pink shirts and green shorts and some have green sweaters.
Children as young as six years (well, assuming the height doesn't
underestimate their age) 'walk the talk', each carrying water in a
5-litre jerrican and a bag that makes them look like astronauts. It
pains me because nothing much has changed, except perhaps the
introduction of shoes into the equation. That life you're trying so hard
to imagine is what I went through for five years. The only reward to
calm you down was the famous maziwa ya nyayo gift hamper. Our mamas were
caring enough to buy us those woven 'kofias' that covered all your face
except the eyes and mouth. We call them 'boshoris.' Despite the 'care',
they only found their way up to a few meters from our home. We'd hide
them in a bushy area and wear them on our way back home so mama wouldn't
know about it. Tragedy would befall us if say you forgot the exact
location where you hid it or say you forgot to pick it on your way back
home. I see them being worn by watchmen nowadays, or is it boda boda
operators. We would carry water for cleaning the classrooms before
lessons started. That meant we had to get to school earlier than normal.
The banana stem was our innovative duster. That curved part known as
'ngoto' was cut and used in the same way as a squizzer, if you've used
one before. This was done as we fought for space with bats. Eventually
we'd win the fight over the bats and use the classrooms.
After getting to the level of second to godliness we'd then go for our lessons. Some would start eating their packed lunch as early as the first lesson and be done by break time. Over lunch hour, they'd be begging food from us who saved ours. My primary school best friend John Çhegeh always reminds me of the day I carried a new packet of cooking fat which I had confused for my lunch box. I was lucky to have a cousin as a best friend who also doubled up as my partner in crime. I remember we were to have chapatis that day and I was super excited. Come lunch time, my friends and I gathered at our usual eating spot where I was to unveil my special lunch. Shock on me! On opening the kasuku, I shed tears. I had unconsciously carried cooking fat for lunch. I couldn't even eat the food my friends had offered me. I had lost appetite. Or maybe my appetite was only for chapatis that day. To cut that story short, I spent the entire afternoon depressed and waiting for the time to go home. I was in a school where pupils from lower classes were allowed to go home for lunch. That extra freedom was at a price however, as they were required to bring 'doro' or matope to school. This, they were to use for moulding different objects. Our mamas would make the matope for us as we were having lunch. I know a boy, Peter who'd call his mum mama peter. We'd here him say to his mum, 'nyina wa peter, twerwo tushoke na doro' (mama peter, we've been told to go back with doro.)
Life was beautiful as we knew it though. We looked forward to sitting our kcpe so that we could be so near to a policeman. The teachers lied to us that kcpe would be watched over by policemen to avoid cheating, something that we obediently believed. Well, poor me I was transferred at class four and didn't get to see the policemen. Back home, the teacher was an administrative post going by the powers endowed upon them. He/she would solve disputes both in school and at home. He was called to beat pupils that had dropped out of school back to their senses. The teacher had powers over what time one was supposed to be at the shopping centre. He would chuck you from the video centre, and punish you for that. Stanley Mbiri, John Chege, Steve Mbiri and one Evans Mbiri will tell you the teachers would beat pupils bare buttocks. Yes! you'd be forced to lower your viraka prone shorts to the knees before the 'medicine' was administered. And it surely hurt, with the same magnitude as that of an injection. Now, you can imagine having to bear the pain inflicted by multiple strokes. Their word was an indisputable law, and we feared them. Actually, if a teacher were to visit your home, you verily knew trouble was bound to unfold. In a nutshell, that was the life we enjoyed then, but one that I detest now.
After getting to the level of second to godliness we'd then go for our lessons. Some would start eating their packed lunch as early as the first lesson and be done by break time. Over lunch hour, they'd be begging food from us who saved ours. My primary school best friend John Çhegeh always reminds me of the day I carried a new packet of cooking fat which I had confused for my lunch box. I was lucky to have a cousin as a best friend who also doubled up as my partner in crime. I remember we were to have chapatis that day and I was super excited. Come lunch time, my friends and I gathered at our usual eating spot where I was to unveil my special lunch. Shock on me! On opening the kasuku, I shed tears. I had unconsciously carried cooking fat for lunch. I couldn't even eat the food my friends had offered me. I had lost appetite. Or maybe my appetite was only for chapatis that day. To cut that story short, I spent the entire afternoon depressed and waiting for the time to go home. I was in a school where pupils from lower classes were allowed to go home for lunch. That extra freedom was at a price however, as they were required to bring 'doro' or matope to school. This, they were to use for moulding different objects. Our mamas would make the matope for us as we were having lunch. I know a boy, Peter who'd call his mum mama peter. We'd here him say to his mum, 'nyina wa peter, twerwo tushoke na doro' (mama peter, we've been told to go back with doro.)
Life was beautiful as we knew it though. We looked forward to sitting our kcpe so that we could be so near to a policeman. The teachers lied to us that kcpe would be watched over by policemen to avoid cheating, something that we obediently believed. Well, poor me I was transferred at class four and didn't get to see the policemen. Back home, the teacher was an administrative post going by the powers endowed upon them. He/she would solve disputes both in school and at home. He was called to beat pupils that had dropped out of school back to their senses. The teacher had powers over what time one was supposed to be at the shopping centre. He would chuck you from the video centre, and punish you for that. Stanley Mbiri, John Chege, Steve Mbiri and one Evans Mbiri will tell you the teachers would beat pupils bare buttocks. Yes! you'd be forced to lower your viraka prone shorts to the knees before the 'medicine' was administered. And it surely hurt, with the same magnitude as that of an injection. Now, you can imagine having to bear the pain inflicted by multiple strokes. Their word was an indisputable law, and we feared them. Actually, if a teacher were to visit your home, you verily knew trouble was bound to unfold. In a nutshell, that was the life we enjoyed then, but one that I detest now.
Friday 4 April 2014
New found love
If I had a daughter, or a son, I'd start a blog exclusively for her or
him, as the case may be. Meanwhile, allow me to bore you with stories of
my nieces and nephews. Though she'll be 1 year old on 18th April, Beaty
is the latest addition. Today I was at their place, after somewhat a
long time. One would think she had forgotten me for being such a bad
uncle. I found her being fed lunch and on sighting me, she decided she
had had enough. I am that guy who makes her lose her appetite. She is
one person I'd not doubt if she pulled that line of 'hata chakula sikuli
nikikuwaza' And my sister Egrah Njoki. Then I made the mistake of
disappearing into the washroom. The little girl can cry. I guess I took
long in there. In the washroom! I always spend my time well there. We
all do afterall, or at least those of us who are not ashamed of
admitting it. I've had friends who find the toilet more peaceful than the bedroom. I digress! Now, after I came out she ran to me and wanting
me to hold her. She actually wanted me to notice her 'smartie'. That's
how she refers to all her tops and dresses. She believes all are
beautiful. Shock on you if you try and say yours is. She will shake her
head in disagreement. I know am quite observative, especially with kids.
I'd have told you of a story of a little girl who came to sit with me
in a mat to talk me up but I already did. She was bold enough to ask me
my name first. Maybe she was bored of her mum. I think kids know that I
love them and they don't shy away from reciprocating the love. I
digress, again!
I am served lunch for two but Beaty is there to help me. You know how kids will not eat their food but wanataka ya mgeni. We manage to finish half the food as the other half ends up on the floor. I've realized that kids prefer food that has spilled over on the floor to one served on a plate. Beaty will bear me witness on this fact. She actually does it herself; transferring food from the plate to the floor before eating it. Just when I thought I'd had enough she surprises me when she leads me to clap for her after she brings me her new toy. An aeroplane! I conclude that she just wants to show off. I clap for her albeit involuntarily. Uncle is too full and wants a rest. She doesn't notice. She holds both my hands and makes me clap as we count. The zeal she does this with would cheat you into believing she understands anything am saying. I taught her how to clap and am happy she hasn't forgotten. There are a couple of other things I've taught her that I won't mention. Like sticking her tongue out and making that 'wawawawa' sound with her mouth.
The girl makes faces when I pick my bag to leave. Faces that seem to shout in caps. 'Can't you see that I missed you, Or am I not doing enough?' She seemed to ask. Am sorry dear but uncle has to go and study so he can have a bright future. Soon enough she'll start believing, like her other cousin Dennis Mbiri, that after university one automatically buys a car. It's like a grant that we're entitled to. I wish it were the case but sorry honey, your uncle is not an MP. At least not when they're still referred to as MPigs.
I am served lunch for two but Beaty is there to help me. You know how kids will not eat their food but wanataka ya mgeni. We manage to finish half the food as the other half ends up on the floor. I've realized that kids prefer food that has spilled over on the floor to one served on a plate. Beaty will bear me witness on this fact. She actually does it herself; transferring food from the plate to the floor before eating it. Just when I thought I'd had enough she surprises me when she leads me to clap for her after she brings me her new toy. An aeroplane! I conclude that she just wants to show off. I clap for her albeit involuntarily. Uncle is too full and wants a rest. She doesn't notice. She holds both my hands and makes me clap as we count. The zeal she does this with would cheat you into believing she understands anything am saying. I taught her how to clap and am happy she hasn't forgotten. There are a couple of other things I've taught her that I won't mention. Like sticking her tongue out and making that 'wawawawa' sound with her mouth.
The girl makes faces when I pick my bag to leave. Faces that seem to shout in caps. 'Can't you see that I missed you, Or am I not doing enough?' She seemed to ask. Am sorry dear but uncle has to go and study so he can have a bright future. Soon enough she'll start believing, like her other cousin Dennis Mbiri, that after university one automatically buys a car. It's like a grant that we're entitled to. I wish it were the case but sorry honey, your uncle is not an MP. At least not when they're still referred to as MPigs.
Tuesday 25 March 2014
My idea of parenthood
Dad.
Yes son.
I want a dog for a pet.
Only that.
Yes please.
Okay. I promise to get you one.
A German shepherd please.
Where did you learn that from?
What? The pet?
No. The German shepherd breed?
Dan has one.
I’ll see to it.
Thanks dad.
I can tell that he is happy. Extra happy! That conversation
goes on in my mind at exactly 1500hrs today. I am on my way home after a
somewhat disappointing exam. Disappointing because I had read so much and only
a portion came. You know, the feeling of being wasted. Like you put too much
effort when you could have used less. Let’s say the effect was too much that I
started talking to myself as manifested in this successive conversation, in my
mind too:
How old is this dog? (As I stop my car)
It’s six weeks old. A German shepherd.
How much is it?
Hii ntakuuzia bei poa boss.
Ngapi?
The guy doesn’t even talk. He shows me four fingers.
Si unifanyie elfu tatu boss.
Haha. Nimesema 40k.
What? Kwani nanunua slave?
Off he goes. He must have thought I was not a serious buyer
when I really was. But not at that extortionist price. I was actually tempted
to ask if the guy was selling the dog to me or to my sleek car. A six week old
dog for forty thousand shillings? Ya Kenya ama Zimbabwe? Not in my conscious
state. In our days, dogs were given for free. FREE! Forgive me son but your dad
is an economist by birth.
These thoughts, coupled with the fact that I have been an
uncle ever since I was in class six make me yearn to be a father. That must
have been at the age of 12, just after the free education program was
introduced. This must have come as good news to my eldest bro. I actually, am
tempted to think that this was part of his motivation to sire children. And so
for the last ten years I’ve been an uncle to an ever increasing number of
nieces and nephews (currently eight of them). Through this experience of
partial parenthood, I feel I can do it now. I want to be the next in line. The
thought of fatherhood excites me. I hope I’ll be an awesome father. Not
necessarily a dad as you’ll come to learn.
I want to be the best father that a kid can ever have. This
I know must start with me being an awesome husband. I don’t want to be the type
that complains all the time of how they can’t take it anymore because their
wives are all over their business. What business? The moment you get married it
ceases being ‘my business’ and becomes ‘our business’. It is the business of
both of you, collectively. Your wife will be all over your business like it’s
normal. No more personal space. You gave that up when you said ‘I do.’ Whether
it was at the altar or in Kariorkor kwa chief.
I want to be a king, and that’s why I must marry a queen.
Someone that can complement me and make me want to achieve more in life. A
woman that can help me in decision making, by providing alternatives and not
just barking down every decision that I make. I promise to never beat up my
wife but on one condition- that she’ll also refrain from beating me. To this
end, I’ll avoid chiqs from you know better. I can’t fathom the idea of someone
beating up my daughter, and so I’ll beat no one’s daughter just because she’s
my wife. Man! She was their daughter long before she became your wife. Respect
her!
My first assignment will be to teach my children the ways of
God, long before they start talking like they are in an sms conversation. It is
our duty as parents, a commandment actually. I’d have quoted the Bible but am
convinced you all know the scripture. I rarely quote the Bible anyway, except
out of convenience. Like a drunk driver would quote John 2:3 to a traffic
officer with the alcoblow as the microphone. Sunday school will be a must and family
Bible study will be compulsory.
I want to play games with my children and be there at all
their stages in life. I want to be the one to teach them how to tie their shoe
laces, how to ride a bicycle and how to apply cutex on their nails and fingers.
That last part applies to my daughter though, not Mbiri jr or Kamau. Hell, I
ain’t raising no Binyavanga’s in my house. I want to be this father who knows
when their homework is due and how they fared in class every day. It’s really
important that we be there at all developmental stages of our children’s lives.
On a dissenting opinion, I believe that children are not to
be reasoned out with, not at their juvenile state. They needn’t say that am a
reasonable dad. No! God didn’t call us to be friends with our children. He
called us to be parents. Correct them when they are wrong. Parenting is not for
cowards, it is for those brave enough to exert their authority where need be.
In the words of my pastor, ‘evil is growing because good people are not willing
to condemn it.’ We are teaching our children not how to fear God but how to
love Him. The results are children that don’t fear committing sin.
As a parent, you have to command your children to do the
right things, not just requesting them. A request is two way, it can either be
granted or denied. When you command, it’s two way too, it’s either fulfilled or
denied with consequences, and then fulfilled. The difference is that it takes a
longer route in the second instance but it’s still fulfilled. It’s a shame when
your child throws tantrums because he/she wants a laptop that you can’t afford.
Or those expensive toys that requires you to seek both financial and legal
advice before purchasing them. How about when she demands that you buy her
clothes that only a blind parent would approve of. All these situations require
you to command them. Exert your authority and let them know that you run
things.
When is Father’s day again? It’s time I was celebrated.
Hehe!
Saturday 22 March 2014
Yesterday
It's long since I did what I enjoy most-writing. You're probably mad at
me. Why the hell haven't I done my job, the job of making you smile.
Well, I really am sorry. Apologies rarely come out of my mouth. That's a
point on your side. Or let's say it ain't a sincere apology. Why should
I be apologizing in the first place when I have a valid reason for not
been active here. As you all know, we lecturers were on a go slow for
the last one and a half week. I, being your lecturer, downed my tools,
not out of will but by force. Yes, we wanted a salary increment. As if
you pay me (but let's assume you do, in some way). But am back now, in
full force, thanks to your pay increment. But with more disappointments.
No more jokes from me. (I am lying on that). Many people tell me that
am never serious. And it pains me because I know it's not true. Yesterday, I
vibed this chiq and it dawned on me that this could be true. After
somewhat a long day with my friend, Robert, I went back to KU. (I am
lucky to share a name with my bestfriend. No, he is!) I say long, not
because we were that busy (we actually were) but because we walked for
long. If that's what tarmacking is, then sitaki kujenga nchi, ntapaka
rangi. Good thing is that we at least got some positive feedbacks,
otherwise we'd have collapsed just next to Kenyatta National Hospital.
Then I saw my governor, Mwangi wa Iria in Upperhill, and he actually
said hi. Need I brag? I digressed! So, his roommate had this friend of
the skirt-wearing species. Stunning she was. Now, on our way to the
gate, from Nyayo zone, it was all laughter and no talk. If you've been
to KU, then you'll appreciate the distance from Nyayo to the main gate.
It's like a walk to upperhill and back to town. I doubt if I got any
points. I am waiting for the results. Now this got me wondering why
girls say they love funny guys when all they do is complain that we're
never serious. I actually think they love bananas more than funny guys.
That is a hypothesis I have no intention of proving however. Or maybe am
not as funny as I think I am.
Thursday 6 March 2014
Of matatu strikes
Today
I got to experience a new vocabulary -hectic. Yes, today has been, and
continues to be a hectic day for me. I wake up at 6:30 only to be
slapped by news of the matatu strike on my face. I don't usually wake up
that early, it's just that I had a pending assignment that was due at
9:00 and a CAT at 4:00. Somehow, I imagined that was enough time to
complete my assignment and revise for my CAT. How
is a question that you'll have to help me in answering. So yes, news of
the matatu strike are met with celebration as I believe that hurdle is
done with. I jump back to bed amid guilt and second thoughts.
I wake up at 8:00 and call a friend who tells me that matatus had resumed and that he was on his way to school. I take that thing we call passport and off I go. The first challenge is parting away with a note for transport when am used to coins. I call it robbery with violence. Giving out a hundred shillings to school, a distance I pay twenty shillings, is no joke. I actually asked the conductor if it was a return ticket just to be sure. I get to school and rush to KM to type and print my assignment. Luckily, the lecturer doesn't show up so I manage to submit the assignment to the class rep. Now, it seems lecturers too are excited by such things as matatu strikes.
The day unfolds slowly and I sit for the CAT at 5:30, one that was scheduled for 4:00 pm. If you thought only comedians joke, then you haven't met KU lecturers. The exam turns out to be an easy one, or so I think. The results will confirm your guess! I now get home at half past seven to be given the saddest news this year. My neighbour, one who always lends me the latest Dj.Afro movies has shifted. As if I even watch them. I only listen. Afterall this type of movies are better off listened to than watched, otherwise you'll end up lost. I don't even know how this last part was hectic but somehow it made it to my list.
I wake up at 8:00 and call a friend who tells me that matatus had resumed and that he was on his way to school. I take that thing we call passport and off I go. The first challenge is parting away with a note for transport when am used to coins. I call it robbery with violence. Giving out a hundred shillings to school, a distance I pay twenty shillings, is no joke. I actually asked the conductor if it was a return ticket just to be sure. I get to school and rush to KM to type and print my assignment. Luckily, the lecturer doesn't show up so I manage to submit the assignment to the class rep. Now, it seems lecturers too are excited by such things as matatu strikes.
The day unfolds slowly and I sit for the CAT at 5:30, one that was scheduled for 4:00 pm. If you thought only comedians joke, then you haven't met KU lecturers. The exam turns out to be an easy one, or so I think. The results will confirm your guess! I now get home at half past seven to be given the saddest news this year. My neighbour, one who always lends me the latest Dj.Afro movies has shifted. As if I even watch them. I only listen. Afterall this type of movies are better off listened to than watched, otherwise you'll end up lost. I don't even know how this last part was hectic but somehow it made it to my list.
Friday 17 January 2014
An encounter with Nairobi
It's November 2001, a year when Christmas unexpectedly came early to
us. It was not normal for my father to break the family news, that was
a reserve for my mum. But this day, the tables had been turned,
perhaps owing to the magnitude of the news at hand. Yes! We were
moving to Nairobi, permanently. This had to be the news of the
century. Wait, I forgot I hadn't lived for a century. Anyway they
were the news of our lives.
Nairobi was a city I only visited during my school holidays, a beautiful place. My father only took us to
Nairobi if you were among the top three in your class, and he would
keep his word. Now I proved more of a nuisance than a blessing! I
never tired of the numerous trips to Nairobi as I came out tops in my
class in consecutive terms. I remember counting all the oncoming
vehicles and keeping a record of all the overpasses along the way. And
dad never forgot to take us for lunch at Riverside Hotel, then a 'five
star' hotel just next to the Nairobi river bridge as you approach OTC
from Kariorkor. It was a darling to me. No, my stomach. I loved their
ugali, shaped in a bowl to form a unique shape that delighted my
stomach day in day out.
So yes, I couldn't help but imagine a new life
in Nairobi, the promised land! My mother, sister and I usually
gathered at the fire place singing children songs from the golden
bells. And we would sing till late in the night. This day was
different. We just sat and imagined how life would be in Nairobi.
True to dad's word, we moved to Nairobi, Mlango Kubwa to be specific.
I still have photos of our first Christmas in Nairobi, then in class
four. We would spend our evening learning Swahili, and men, weren't we
poor in it. To add salt to the injury, dad imposed rules to the effect
that Swahili was a mandatory language in our house. No more Kikuyu,
not in Nairobi. One night we were fighting over a blanket and then
Steve my brother introduced the term 'mlingoti' as the Swahili word
for blanket perhaps inspired by the Kikuyu word 'muringiti'. The next
year, we all enrolled at Park road Primary School to the surprise of
finding Indians, Arabs and Somali classmates. And we became the
laughing stock owing to our frequent lingual shrubbing or what was
better known as 'kung'oa'. I remember reading a story in a Kiswahili
class and ended up sending the wrong signals. To me, mukurima and
mkulima sounded the same. Rori was similar to lorry. It came with a
blessing though, I got a new nickname in 'mukurima'. Incognizant of
this fact, that I barely knew, I still insisted on reading literature
to the class. My hand always up and feeling disappointed on not being
selected to read out stories in class. I guess I confused the laughing
and mockery for applause.
With time we got used to Nairobi life and became 'wajanja' but not for
long as you'll get to learn shortly. My father run a small retail shop
and we would help during our free time. I remember stealing a slice on
each half bread to balance the equation. At times I would end up
eating the whole bread to cover up. One evening Steve and I were at
the shop as the rest were watching TV when hell broke loose. We were
both hanging onto a lollipop each when my sister spotted us. Excited
to have caught the thieves, she ran away shouting to my dad's
suspecting ears. The shop had to be closed there and then. Man, not
even a dog deserves the beating that we got.
Back in school, my dad made a laughing stock one more time when he decided to buy me new
school shoes. I decided to 'test' them on a monday morning, a day I
got to school late. Now I found a noisy class and as I approached it,
the noise faded away to a deaf silence. Apparently the classmates
confused the 'kong kong' sound from my new shoes for the
Headmistress'. The pupils broke into laughter as I gracefully walked
in. You can't imagine the embarrassment I endured that day. I actually
regrettedasking for a new shoe and reverted to the old one. Well, my
first days in Nairobi were nothing short of dramatic
us. It was not normal for my father to break the family news, that was
a reserve for my mum. But this day, the tables had been turned,
perhaps owing to the magnitude of the news at hand. Yes! We were
moving to Nairobi, permanently. This had to be the news of the
century. Wait, I forgot I hadn't lived for a century. Anyway they
were the news of our lives.
Nairobi was a city I only visited during my school holidays, a beautiful place. My father only took us to
Nairobi if you were among the top three in your class, and he would
keep his word. Now I proved more of a nuisance than a blessing! I
never tired of the numerous trips to Nairobi as I came out tops in my
class in consecutive terms. I remember counting all the oncoming
vehicles and keeping a record of all the overpasses along the way. And
dad never forgot to take us for lunch at Riverside Hotel, then a 'five
star' hotel just next to the Nairobi river bridge as you approach OTC
from Kariorkor. It was a darling to me. No, my stomach. I loved their
ugali, shaped in a bowl to form a unique shape that delighted my
stomach day in day out.
So yes, I couldn't help but imagine a new life
in Nairobi, the promised land! My mother, sister and I usually
gathered at the fire place singing children songs from the golden
bells. And we would sing till late in the night. This day was
different. We just sat and imagined how life would be in Nairobi.
True to dad's word, we moved to Nairobi, Mlango Kubwa to be specific.
I still have photos of our first Christmas in Nairobi, then in class
four. We would spend our evening learning Swahili, and men, weren't we
poor in it. To add salt to the injury, dad imposed rules to the effect
that Swahili was a mandatory language in our house. No more Kikuyu,
not in Nairobi. One night we were fighting over a blanket and then
Steve my brother introduced the term 'mlingoti' as the Swahili word
for blanket perhaps inspired by the Kikuyu word 'muringiti'. The next
year, we all enrolled at Park road Primary School to the surprise of
finding Indians, Arabs and Somali classmates. And we became the
laughing stock owing to our frequent lingual shrubbing or what was
better known as 'kung'oa'. I remember reading a story in a Kiswahili
class and ended up sending the wrong signals. To me, mukurima and
mkulima sounded the same. Rori was similar to lorry. It came with a
blessing though, I got a new nickname in 'mukurima'. Incognizant of
this fact, that I barely knew, I still insisted on reading literature
to the class. My hand always up and feeling disappointed on not being
selected to read out stories in class. I guess I confused the laughing
and mockery for applause.
With time we got used to Nairobi life and became 'wajanja' but not for
long as you'll get to learn shortly. My father run a small retail shop
and we would help during our free time. I remember stealing a slice on
each half bread to balance the equation. At times I would end up
eating the whole bread to cover up. One evening Steve and I were at
the shop as the rest were watching TV when hell broke loose. We were
both hanging onto a lollipop each when my sister spotted us. Excited
to have caught the thieves, she ran away shouting to my dad's
suspecting ears. The shop had to be closed there and then. Man, not
even a dog deserves the beating that we got.
Back in school, my dad made a laughing stock one more time when he decided to buy me new
school shoes. I decided to 'test' them on a monday morning, a day I
got to school late. Now I found a noisy class and as I approached it,
the noise faded away to a deaf silence. Apparently the classmates
confused the 'kong kong' sound from my new shoes for the
Headmistress'. The pupils broke into laughter as I gracefully walked
in. You can't imagine the embarrassment I endured that day. I actually
regrettedasking for a new shoe and reverted to the old one. Well, my
first days in Nairobi were nothing short of dramatic
Living life
Countless times I take it upon myself
And condemn that which I know nothing of
Out of rage I curse my offenders
And rebuke those that go against my wish
Well, am only learning how to live my life.
It's not once that I've broken girls' hearts
Not even twice that I've hurled insults at others
More than thrice I've fought fights that I knew nothing of
Many times I've been an enemy of mankind
Well, I'm only learning how to live my life
But soon I'll play a better niche as a human
And forgive those that have wronged me
I'll learn to give others a chance to talk
And learn to listen to what others have to say
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life
Insults will be a thing of the past in me
And fights a difficult vocabulary to me
I won't have to worry about my daughter's heart
Nor scoldings from my neighbours
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life
And condemn that which I know nothing of
Out of rage I curse my offenders
And rebuke those that go against my wish
Well, am only learning how to live my life.
It's not once that I've broken girls' hearts
Not even twice that I've hurled insults at others
More than thrice I've fought fights that I knew nothing of
Many times I've been an enemy of mankind
Well, I'm only learning how to live my life
But soon I'll play a better niche as a human
And forgive those that have wronged me
I'll learn to give others a chance to talk
And learn to listen to what others have to say
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life
Insults will be a thing of the past in me
And fights a difficult vocabulary to me
I won't have to worry about my daughter's heart
Nor scoldings from my neighbours
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life
Thursday 16 January 2014
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
I hate that my writing makes me lie
That my life is all smooth and happy
And that my heart is always in love and fulfilled
Truth is that I cry so much in secret
And I live in a world of fantasy faraway from reality
But no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
I can see yu that you're not shaken
That's how they all act when they find 'greener pastures'
But sooner than later, you'll realize that they weren't into you
And you'll start saying all men are the same,
Then you'll cry coz i had warned yu about it
No matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
Soon I'll give in to my ego and my attitude
And stop texting you first just like you did
Then I'll keep off all those phonecalls at night
It's time I did away with the feelings
And cut the only bond we have
And no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
That my life is all smooth and happy
And that my heart is always in love and fulfilled
Truth is that I cry so much in secret
And I live in a world of fantasy faraway from reality
But no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
I can see yu that you're not shaken
That's how they all act when they find 'greener pastures'
But sooner than later, you'll realize that they weren't into you
And you'll start saying all men are the same,
Then you'll cry coz i had warned yu about it
No matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
Soon I'll give in to my ego and my attitude
And stop texting you first just like you did
Then I'll keep off all those phonecalls at night
It's time I did away with the feelings
And cut the only bond we have
And no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!
A date with grandma
I have a crazy grandma. Pardon my manners! Let's not call her that,
awesome fits the bill. She has a way of making me laugh no matter the
situation. Today I got a chance to spend time with her and although
she wasn't at her best, I still enjoyed it. She's been sick for the
last couple of days. Actually I had gone to see her on my mama's
prescription. Upon my diagnosis, I found out that she was twice sick,
Medically and sick as in crazy. Sick because she prescribed her own
medication and ended up taking an overdose. I still haven't come to
terms with the fact that she had two sets of the same drug that she
took concurrently. I can imagine her at the pharmacy section of
Muriranjas Hospital pleading to be given more drugs. That's the only
probable reason that comes to mind, at least for now. My grandma can
be stubborn at times, and cheeky too. And did I say she's generous,
perhaps a reason as to why she expects the same of others. In this
case more drugs, the casualty being the hospital pharmacist. FYI my
grandma is civilised, with an 's' because it's British, Not f***ing
American. She's not the type that eats raw grass and believes they'll
get healed, by God. Divine grass? Not in Kenya! Maybe in South
Africa.hehe. So yes, she ended up with two sets of the same drug,
Blood Pressure drugs with their high potassium ions. She looked dull,
not dull as in she was about to die. No, she doesn't just give in
without a fight, not just like that. I believe some of that ended up
in her brain judging from the account I got of her behavior the
previous night. I remember greeting her and then she re-closed her
eyes, sleep taking the best of her. I was told that grandpa was in
trouble trying to contain her. She was not herself and felt like she
wasn't at her normal home, like she was granny-napped, as in kidnapped
but now for grannies. She was fighting everyone that she didn't
recognize including grandpa. So here I was seated with someone, No, my
grandma, half asleep. Then suddenly she got all excited and started
praying for me. Powerful prayers I tell you. Don't I just love my
mother's mother.
awesome fits the bill. She has a way of making me laugh no matter the
situation. Today I got a chance to spend time with her and although
she wasn't at her best, I still enjoyed it. She's been sick for the
last couple of days. Actually I had gone to see her on my mama's
prescription. Upon my diagnosis, I found out that she was twice sick,
Medically and sick as in crazy. Sick because she prescribed her own
medication and ended up taking an overdose. I still haven't come to
terms with the fact that she had two sets of the same drug that she
took concurrently. I can imagine her at the pharmacy section of
Muriranjas Hospital pleading to be given more drugs. That's the only
probable reason that comes to mind, at least for now. My grandma can
be stubborn at times, and cheeky too. And did I say she's generous,
perhaps a reason as to why she expects the same of others. In this
case more drugs, the casualty being the hospital pharmacist. FYI my
grandma is civilised, with an 's' because it's British, Not f***ing
American. She's not the type that eats raw grass and believes they'll
get healed, by God. Divine grass? Not in Kenya! Maybe in South
Africa.hehe. So yes, she ended up with two sets of the same drug,
Blood Pressure drugs with their high potassium ions. She looked dull,
not dull as in she was about to die. No, she doesn't just give in
without a fight, not just like that. I believe some of that ended up
in her brain judging from the account I got of her behavior the
previous night. I remember greeting her and then she re-closed her
eyes, sleep taking the best of her. I was told that grandpa was in
trouble trying to contain her. She was not herself and felt like she
wasn't at her normal home, like she was granny-napped, as in kidnapped
but now for grannies. She was fighting everyone that she didn't
recognize including grandpa. So here I was seated with someone, No, my
grandma, half asleep. Then suddenly she got all excited and started
praying for me. Powerful prayers I tell you. Don't I just love my
mother's mother.
Thursday 9 January 2014
My Mirror!
You'll all (and especially ladies)
agree with me that looking at the mirror can be quite fulfilling.
Especially when you're deeply contented with yourself. It's the best
feeling that you can ever instill in your inner self. The great
feeling you get from seeing yourself from another perspective, your
own eyes. The conviction that you're wonderfully made or that you're
the most beautiful/ handsome being. Uhm! at least by your own
standards. However, it can equally be an awful experience. I mean,
how many times have you stared at a mirror and ended up feeling worse
than you initially felt. Like you're not good enough. Well, this
story is not about all these. It's about the mirror, my mirror!
Why
do I call her my mirror, the mirror and not just a mirror? I don't
see any other adjective as befitting as 'mirror' to describe my mama.
She is reflection of my persona. No, Its the other way round. Make me
the subject. Everything good I do is as a result of her hard-work and
desire to make me a better me. I actually dedicate every success that
I achieve in life to her. Well, assuming I am as successful in
reality as I brag to be. I always try and aspire to be like her, in
my spiritual life and the way I relate with others. You should by now
be wondering why am such a friendly guy and why I laugh so much. It's
all down to mama's efforts.
My sister with mama
Many of you would find it awfully absurd
to spend 3 minutes on a phone call laughing all the way to that
annoying beep from Safaricom. The one that says your airtime is below
2 shillings and literally dictates such concluding statements as,
'aki naskia kulala, ntakucall kesho.' Well, that's what happens when
am talking to mama over the phone and Ive never considered it insane.
Many times guys will be on my case asking me, 'unacheka nini?' and it
kills me so bad. I mean, is my laughter so irritating or do you
mistake it for exasperation.
Another reason for the mirror tag is
that she acts as a moderator in keeping me in check. I look up to her
to legitimize me when I go wrong. She is literally the Richter scale
in my life, dealing with all checks and balances. She is always the
first person to whisper to me that, 'hey son, you got it all wrong
here. How about you do it this way?' And she is not afraid to say
that to me twice, or thrice. I can write about her over and over
again but for now, I hope you find yourself someone to call the
mirror.
Monday 6 January 2014
My soft spot
This story is a manifestation that men can fall in love with one woman, not once but over time. It's a story informed by deep love and spurred by regret. It's a narration of the only one person that would qualify to be my soul mate.
I first met her at the halls of residence in Kenyatta University. Nyayo 5 to be specific. Those chiqs you meet through a friend's friend's friend. Mixing, right? I had gone to take a friend of mine to see a friend of his, one Esther Musili. It thus happened that she had a Halle Berry for a roommate. 'Muthaka ta ngoma'. Boy, wasn't she winsome, the type that you'd draw the map of the world with your leg for. I remember smiling sheepishly at her. Mind you I didn't even know theirs name, leave alone that of Esther, our host that day. I had found a refuge. The first thing I noticed was her rich shade of ebony-black hair. Yes, I said hair you perverts! It tumbled over her shoulders to adorn her dazzling porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, twinkled and seemed to brighten the world. Her straight nose, full lips completed the seemingly picture of perfection. Actually, had she smiled, the world would sigh with contentment. That's not what impressed me most, it's actually not what made me fall for her. No! am lying. It was a concoction of both her beauty and character. We struck a bond easily and in a couple of days we hit the ground running. Most notable were
those viazi karai moments at KM. Yes, we have our own Kenyatta Market at KU. We found all manner of excuses to spend time together. We got used to each other and I soon started taking her shopping at Ngara. Good thing she was the one paying for her shopping otherwise the story would have been different. We had ice cream in town and went out at night. It was a blissful experience. She was my first love.
But it doesn't get all beautiful till it gets ugly. I spoilt the fun before it had even started and didn't treat her as I should have. I started acting immature and wouldn't pick up her calls anymore. I am a strange person, you don't have to mention it. Out of the blues, I started avoiding her for no apparent reason. All this time she wept in silence, not to betray her suffering. But now she had shed the last tear. She gave up on me and I lost a love just like that. Now the tears are all mine for the offing. I always cry when I remember this story. I just can't believe I could act as dumb as I did. No way, that wasn't me. It couldn't have been me. Not when I was so much in love with her. But again, it happens when it's your first time, when you're inexperienced in the ways of love. Albeit all that she endured from me her strong character proved she's not just a queen but the queen. She did give me a listening ear even when I didn't have no excuse to defend my actions. I would dance naked at the top of KICC if it were the only way to make her smile. Take a trip to the sun and the moon and back just to be with her. Yes! I would do anything for her! Except, obviously, making her cry again. Not even the tears of happiness!
Now, this narrative is not to make her feel remorseful nor to make her shed a tear again. No! It's a lesson to anyone who has found true love never to let it go. Not even to take a break. Hold on to the one you love! You never know, You might just never have the chance to genuinely love again.
I first met her at the halls of residence in Kenyatta University. Nyayo 5 to be specific. Those chiqs you meet through a friend's friend's friend. Mixing, right? I had gone to take a friend of mine to see a friend of his, one Esther Musili. It thus happened that she had a Halle Berry for a roommate. 'Muthaka ta ngoma'. Boy, wasn't she winsome, the type that you'd draw the map of the world with your leg for. I remember smiling sheepishly at her. Mind you I didn't even know theirs name, leave alone that of Esther, our host that day. I had found a refuge. The first thing I noticed was her rich shade of ebony-black hair. Yes, I said hair you perverts! It tumbled over her shoulders to adorn her dazzling porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, twinkled and seemed to brighten the world. Her straight nose, full lips completed the seemingly picture of perfection. Actually, had she smiled, the world would sigh with contentment. That's not what impressed me most, it's actually not what made me fall for her. No! am lying. It was a concoction of both her beauty and character. We struck a bond easily and in a couple of days we hit the ground running. Most notable were
those viazi karai moments at KM. Yes, we have our own Kenyatta Market at KU. We found all manner of excuses to spend time together. We got used to each other and I soon started taking her shopping at Ngara. Good thing she was the one paying for her shopping otherwise the story would have been different. We had ice cream in town and went out at night. It was a blissful experience. She was my first love.
But it doesn't get all beautiful till it gets ugly. I spoilt the fun before it had even started and didn't treat her as I should have. I started acting immature and wouldn't pick up her calls anymore. I am a strange person, you don't have to mention it. Out of the blues, I started avoiding her for no apparent reason. All this time she wept in silence, not to betray her suffering. But now she had shed the last tear. She gave up on me and I lost a love just like that. Now the tears are all mine for the offing. I always cry when I remember this story. I just can't believe I could act as dumb as I did. No way, that wasn't me. It couldn't have been me. Not when I was so much in love with her. But again, it happens when it's your first time, when you're inexperienced in the ways of love. Albeit all that she endured from me her strong character proved she's not just a queen but the queen. She did give me a listening ear even when I didn't have no excuse to defend my actions. I would dance naked at the top of KICC if it were the only way to make her smile. Take a trip to the sun and the moon and back just to be with her. Yes! I would do anything for her! Except, obviously, making her cry again. Not even the tears of happiness!
Now, this narrative is not to make her feel remorseful nor to make her shed a tear again. No! It's a lesson to anyone who has found true love never to let it go. Not even to take a break. Hold on to the one you love! You never know, You might just never have the chance to genuinely love again.
Friday 3 January 2014
Happy New Year
Today is 30th, two days shy of 2014, but am already wishing 2013 away.
Not in bad faith though, as you would with a cat that helped itself
right in the sitting room, with you hosting your friends. It has to be
the aspirations I harbour for the forthcoming year. The desire to change
positively and perform better. However much the disappointments though,
this year could have been worse were it not for God.
Lord am grateful for 2013 and all you accorded me, all the success and the ups and down, I thank you Abba Father. In fact my prayer for the coming year is that God will not punish me by giving me everything I ask for. Amen! You'll all agree with me that some of the things we pray for are a manifestation of utter stupidity. And I know it breaks God's heart, to know that the men he created can display this level of stupidity. Like praying for the death of our enemies et al. There's however one wise prayer I made at the beginning of 2013 and am happy that it was granted. I wanted to get to know me. If there is one single person am proud to have shared 2013 with it has to be 'me'. Yes, getting to know myself made my year a beautiful journey. Infact I think the beauty of life is at it's climax when we get to know and accept ourselves. The sooner we experience ourselves, the easier and straightforward our lives will unfold.
I am not the kind of guy who makes new year resolutions, not when am sure to break them by the 2nd of January. The quit social media type of resolutions. That reminds me, today I was in church and there is a 40-day fast and pray program in January. The idea is to give up something and anything that we're really attached to, like watching TV or playing games. Am cautious enough not to give up something am not ready to. I mean, show me one Kikuyu guy who'll give up on alcohol even for 2 weeks and I'll be sure to confirm to you he's not from Muranga. I am from Muranga for the record, a county ironically under the governorship of Mwangi wa Iria (milk). I don't even know how he was voted in, perhaps because there was not a Wa-njohi (alcohol) to run against him. NKT. Where was I now? Forget the story, Happy New Year friends!
Lord am grateful for 2013 and all you accorded me, all the success and the ups and down, I thank you Abba Father. In fact my prayer for the coming year is that God will not punish me by giving me everything I ask for. Amen! You'll all agree with me that some of the things we pray for are a manifestation of utter stupidity. And I know it breaks God's heart, to know that the men he created can display this level of stupidity. Like praying for the death of our enemies et al. There's however one wise prayer I made at the beginning of 2013 and am happy that it was granted. I wanted to get to know me. If there is one single person am proud to have shared 2013 with it has to be 'me'. Yes, getting to know myself made my year a beautiful journey. Infact I think the beauty of life is at it's climax when we get to know and accept ourselves. The sooner we experience ourselves, the easier and straightforward our lives will unfold.
I am not the kind of guy who makes new year resolutions, not when am sure to break them by the 2nd of January. The quit social media type of resolutions. That reminds me, today I was in church and there is a 40-day fast and pray program in January. The idea is to give up something and anything that we're really attached to, like watching TV or playing games. Am cautious enough not to give up something am not ready to. I mean, show me one Kikuyu guy who'll give up on alcohol even for 2 weeks and I'll be sure to confirm to you he's not from Muranga. I am from Muranga for the record, a county ironically under the governorship of Mwangi wa Iria (milk). I don't even know how he was voted in, perhaps because there was not a Wa-njohi (alcohol) to run against him. NKT. Where was I now? Forget the story, Happy New Year friends!
And now that I can write...
I always wonder how I reacted to the birth of my younger sister. At
barely two years at the time of her birth, I must have cursed her.
Someone who was going to spend the next five years suckling, something i
was not ready to give up, had to be labeled my enemy. An enemy of the
status quo. I am actually told that the reason I sweat on my nose is due
to over-suckling. That must have been a solid foundation and one of the
reasons for my big body. My mum had to rub pepper on her breasts for me
to quit suckling. How clever of her. In no way was a 6-year old going
to drain all her strength. Not when he was attending school. I have a
way of talking about me when the subject was not I. I'll stop here.
This piece is about one Egrah Njoki, my younger sister. This might sound familiar though, my number one (fan), as I refer to her in my pieces. Forget the childishness of a two-year old, my childhood with her was one of the best moments of my life. Cut me the siamese twins crap, we were inseperable. And our househelp took advantage of this to squeeze an overflow of tears from any of us, at will. I remember she once hid her on the roof and told those stories of my sister being stolen. I cried my heart out! I loved crying. No! I enjoyed it. I would cry till my mum came back if my brothers dared 'touch' me. The kind of cry that increases with her arrival. They'd beg me to stop in futility. And they'd have a rough evening. My sister loved me too, I was a hero and a soulmate in her eyes. She wouldn't let me go to school. Not without her. And I used to reward her. I'd take 3 packs of the maziwa ya nyayo milk, one for her, one for my mum and the other one for I. And I wouldn't drink them till I got home. I once googled the meaning of her name, Egrah, and it was like a revelation of what I already knew. It's like someone else knew her and shared her with me. And it made me mad! As a brother though. Google says she is responsible, expressive, inspirational and friendly. I am hard to impress so I search on, 'self confidence has made it easy for you to meet people and you're well liked for your spontaneous happy ways.' The 'you' here is her. I stumble upon another line describing her, 'you sincerely like people and do not often experience lonileness, your work and home life are filled with association.' I pity the guy who'll marry her for one reason, insecurity! Men, you'll have to be on your level best self confidence!
If there's one person who'll automatically have a longer life out of happiness, it has to be Egrah. My sister is the only other person I know who spends a majority of her time laughing (of course the other one is I, and mum). You should have the privelege of hearing us on phone. Actually, if you need a good laugh, just call her and you'll be sure to laugh throughout the conversation. But not without a sweat, you have to be funny (like me). Sorry to burst your bubble guys but that's just it, you have to put in a little effort. No free things! Did I just say things! Okay, No free stuff!
This piece is about one Egrah Njoki, my younger sister. This might sound familiar though, my number one (fan), as I refer to her in my pieces. Forget the childishness of a two-year old, my childhood with her was one of the best moments of my life. Cut me the siamese twins crap, we were inseperable. And our househelp took advantage of this to squeeze an overflow of tears from any of us, at will. I remember she once hid her on the roof and told those stories of my sister being stolen. I cried my heart out! I loved crying. No! I enjoyed it. I would cry till my mum came back if my brothers dared 'touch' me. The kind of cry that increases with her arrival. They'd beg me to stop in futility. And they'd have a rough evening. My sister loved me too, I was a hero and a soulmate in her eyes. She wouldn't let me go to school. Not without her. And I used to reward her. I'd take 3 packs of the maziwa ya nyayo milk, one for her, one for my mum and the other one for I. And I wouldn't drink them till I got home. I once googled the meaning of her name, Egrah, and it was like a revelation of what I already knew. It's like someone else knew her and shared her with me. And it made me mad! As a brother though. Google says she is responsible, expressive, inspirational and friendly. I am hard to impress so I search on, 'self confidence has made it easy for you to meet people and you're well liked for your spontaneous happy ways.' The 'you' here is her. I stumble upon another line describing her, 'you sincerely like people and do not often experience lonileness, your work and home life are filled with association.' I pity the guy who'll marry her for one reason, insecurity! Men, you'll have to be on your level best self confidence!
If there's one person who'll automatically have a longer life out of happiness, it has to be Egrah. My sister is the only other person I know who spends a majority of her time laughing (of course the other one is I, and mum). You should have the privelege of hearing us on phone. Actually, if you need a good laugh, just call her and you'll be sure to laugh throughout the conversation. But not without a sweat, you have to be funny (like me). Sorry to burst your bubble guys but that's just it, you have to put in a little effort. No free things! Did I just say things! Okay, No free stuff!
NO TITLE
I've been facing quite a number of temptations lately, not the Nyeri
type of temptations. C'mon, I can't afford that kind of cruelty towards
animals. Let's say I hate dog style, and cow style and chicken style,
and...who were the other casualties? I mean the animals. Donkeys? Holy
shit!
So yes, key among my temptations has been my mum, to write about her. I call it key because I always fall for the temptation, voluntarily. Not even a single struggle, like the way you'd fall for a cute babe, with big boobs and a round ass. Forgive my manners, I wasn't raised this way. It's actually intentional that am writing this on the internet and not in the Drum magazine. At least she doesn't browse on the internet, so chances of stumbling upon it are -100 percent (if there's anything like that). Not even with a google of her own name, I was clever enough not to put it up here, her name!
It's amazing how she controls me, like a kid playing NFS, all the smacks on the side wall. And I love it! The control part, who would be that stupid to love the smacking part. I actually have a soft spot for her, it's normal for me to wet my eyes when am thinking about her. You see, I consider her a PRIVILEGE, one of the key pillars in our family. I hold the thought that if she conducted herself any different, then our family would have hit rock bottom, it wouldn't qualify to be a family, just a pack of relatives living together. Everytime I imagine what it would be like if my mum had given up on dad and they broke up, I get this crazy idea that the world would be different. I mean it would be deprived of the awesome me (I am the second last born among seven kids).
I wonder what book she read to make her parenting so perfect. I'd actually use it as the engagement tool during my engagement. Who said it must be a ring. Or present it to my wife on her first delivery. I don't think there's any other family that has been raised up as well as ours, even with the many hurdles she faced. Mama is this woman who believes in prayers more than she believes in herself, and I love that and take pride in that. It's not on one occasion that we didn't have food on the table and she led us in prayer only for God to miraculously provide the much needed food. What more gift can a parent give to her sons and daughters than of prayer, the channel of success, the comfort of knowing how to call on God when you need Him...(To be Continued)
So yes, key among my temptations has been my mum, to write about her. I call it key because I always fall for the temptation, voluntarily. Not even a single struggle, like the way you'd fall for a cute babe, with big boobs and a round ass. Forgive my manners, I wasn't raised this way. It's actually intentional that am writing this on the internet and not in the Drum magazine. At least she doesn't browse on the internet, so chances of stumbling upon it are -100 percent (if there's anything like that). Not even with a google of her own name, I was clever enough not to put it up here, her name!
It's amazing how she controls me, like a kid playing NFS, all the smacks on the side wall. And I love it! The control part, who would be that stupid to love the smacking part. I actually have a soft spot for her, it's normal for me to wet my eyes when am thinking about her. You see, I consider her a PRIVILEGE, one of the key pillars in our family. I hold the thought that if she conducted herself any different, then our family would have hit rock bottom, it wouldn't qualify to be a family, just a pack of relatives living together. Everytime I imagine what it would be like if my mum had given up on dad and they broke up, I get this crazy idea that the world would be different. I mean it would be deprived of the awesome me (I am the second last born among seven kids).
I wonder what book she read to make her parenting so perfect. I'd actually use it as the engagement tool during my engagement. Who said it must be a ring. Or present it to my wife on her first delivery. I don't think there's any other family that has been raised up as well as ours, even with the many hurdles she faced. Mama is this woman who believes in prayers more than she believes in herself, and I love that and take pride in that. It's not on one occasion that we didn't have food on the table and she led us in prayer only for God to miraculously provide the much needed food. What more gift can a parent give to her sons and daughters than of prayer, the channel of success, the comfort of knowing how to call on God when you need Him...(To be Continued)
A LETTER TO MY UNBORN SON
Dear son, greetings from your dad, only now on a different platform,
PUBLIC! First things first, am really proud of you, you see, when I was
your age I knew not how to read, at least not in English. I was in those
schools that taught early childhood education in Kikuyu, mother tongue.
I am writing this letter on Christmas day, the day we celebrate the
birth of Christ, our Saviour. I intend to give you this letter in the
year 2030 as your birthday present. As Kenyans will be celebrating the
immense developments, I'll probably be celebrating 10yrs of your
existence. At that age you'll at least be able to comprehend all that am
trying to instil in you.
Son, this letter was informed by some thoughts conceived last Saturday as I was at the garage. Those thoughts you have after hours of sleep as you wait for your car to be through and all you can afford to do is think! And thinking I did, at least now the doubting thomases know that I do think, or should I say can. So, I came across a past article that called for appreciation of gay rights. My blood was boiling in my veins, I actually was about to crash my Galaxy S4, in my mind though. I can't afford that kind of a phone and I hate it. The S4! And that fact! or both! I can't stand a phone that does the unnatural, say closing it's 'eyes'. No! that's like competing with me! Back to the topic! So yes! I read that article and the seat I was sitted on turned to be hot, not momentarily! No! twas henceforth. Surprisingly, twasnt hot before. I know you are probably baying for that article. Like you want to learn something.No men! I won't expose you to the evil, at least not as the agent, or when this article is about the vice! By now you must have learnt of gayism or rather homosexuality. I hope the sound of that word disgusts you like it does to me. I don't want you to ever learn of Prof. Makau Mutua and his likes, at least not with his homosexuality campaigns. I wish to see you lead a straight life and have a good family, not one with two men. This letter is more of authoritative than a request. You must be the man and not just a man! I wish to see you date a girl as beautiful as your mum. Your father never dated ugly girls so never should you (pun intended here). Neither did he hold fellow men's in a suggestive way. I'd die if I ever saw you spank another guy's ass, like those English football coaches patting their players. You're African and there're some of those things that you mustn't do, they're only meant for the whites. Like hugging your fellow friends, not when they're of your gender. (To be Continued
Son, this letter was informed by some thoughts conceived last Saturday as I was at the garage. Those thoughts you have after hours of sleep as you wait for your car to be through and all you can afford to do is think! And thinking I did, at least now the doubting thomases know that I do think, or should I say can. So, I came across a past article that called for appreciation of gay rights. My blood was boiling in my veins, I actually was about to crash my Galaxy S4, in my mind though. I can't afford that kind of a phone and I hate it. The S4! And that fact! or both! I can't stand a phone that does the unnatural, say closing it's 'eyes'. No! that's like competing with me! Back to the topic! So yes! I read that article and the seat I was sitted on turned to be hot, not momentarily! No! twas henceforth. Surprisingly, twasnt hot before. I know you are probably baying for that article. Like you want to learn something.No men! I won't expose you to the evil, at least not as the agent, or when this article is about the vice! By now you must have learnt of gayism or rather homosexuality. I hope the sound of that word disgusts you like it does to me. I don't want you to ever learn of Prof. Makau Mutua and his likes, at least not with his homosexuality campaigns. I wish to see you lead a straight life and have a good family, not one with two men. This letter is more of authoritative than a request. You must be the man and not just a man! I wish to see you date a girl as beautiful as your mum. Your father never dated ugly girls so never should you (pun intended here). Neither did he hold fellow men's in a suggestive way. I'd die if I ever saw you spank another guy's ass, like those English football coaches patting their players. You're African and there're some of those things that you mustn't do, they're only meant for the whites. Like hugging your fellow friends, not when they're of your gender. (To be Continued
That's Steve for you!
If there's anything that sparks deep emotions in me, it has to be one
Stephen Mbiri, my 'twin' brother. In quotes because it's wishful
thinking. I'd have loved to have him for a twin, identical, so we could
play with girl's mind. I would give up anything in this world just to
see him happy. The brother you'd give up your helb loan just to be of
little help. This piece is about my experiences with him from childhood
to maturity. Readers be warned, this is quite a long one!
Stubbornness best describes him in many aspects. He was not the type to say sorry at the stroke of a cane. Mama would beat him up and end up exhausted, never to get an answer. Steve was the child you'd conspire to commit a crime with and be sure it remained a secret. We love him like that. I remember we used to sleep in a room next to our kitchen, some meters from the main house. Now, at night the wind would blow the iron sheets hard thus producing some dreadful noise. This scared the hell out of us! The dogs would join in on the fun and rub the iron sheets to double our fear. I guess that's the reason we wet our beds daily! We were organized in our response however. At the count of three, we would all, but him, scream out for help. He remained as quite as if nothing was happening. Stubbornness made in Muranga. No! In his heart!
But it gets him in trouble at times. Many times! I remember one day we had gone to fetch fodder at a nearby farm that dad had rented. Now, we decided to be clever. After loading our wheelbarrows, we thought out a plan, on how to steal sugarcane from a distant farm. Kim, our 3rd born had done a shoddy research on the perceived owner of the farm. It turned out that the farm didn't belong to the Mr. Kimuhi we actually thought. After our sugarcane raid, we heard shouts from the neighbourhood calling us thieves.Rightly! Chege, my brother, and I were headed for a take off. No looking back! You should have seen us navigate up the hills, perfect mountain climbers. My two other brothers (Kim and Steve) were confident enough to back down. After all they thought it was Mr. Kimuhu's farm and they'd lie he was our uncle. Shock on them! The beating they got still haunts me to date. The lashes were loud enough to be heard by us from our safe landing zone. They were eventually released and were lucky not to be torched by the angry mob. But the luck was short-lived as we would find out. We got home but without a panga, it was left at the farm we had 'invaded'. Somehow, our parents got to know about the incident. We were lined up to receive each one's share of a dog's beating. The type of beatings that you line up and get in turns. A cycle that stops not.
The story doesn't stop there either! Not without the good side of him. I am more lucky to have him than he is to have me. Yes! I actually consider myself privileged to have two dad's. He is a father figure in my life, the type that leaves you feeling loved and pampered. I remember him giving me all his daily earnings to count for him. I think he trusted me alot. He didn't even know how much he earned. And the next day he'd leave me with enough to spend and save. He'd always ask if I had fare whenever I said I wanted to go somewhere. And he'd provide it. You know the type that makes you feel like a tick, over-dependent and parasitic. I always thank God for him. Last christmas, he called me so we can go shopping for our clothes, at his own peril and cost. Now, what can one do to repay such acts of kindness? I honestly don't know, but somehow I know I'll be of great help to him some time in future. I'll never watch and see you fall bro, this you can be sure. And now to the part that I love most, Beaty, his daughter. 2013 was a successful year for him and his family. What can best describe success than to sire a child that looks just like you. Uhm, No! She looks likes me, just like me. How I love to lie that she's mine, because I wish she truly was! Cheers to the best brother one could ever ask for!
Stubbornness best describes him in many aspects. He was not the type to say sorry at the stroke of a cane. Mama would beat him up and end up exhausted, never to get an answer. Steve was the child you'd conspire to commit a crime with and be sure it remained a secret. We love him like that. I remember we used to sleep in a room next to our kitchen, some meters from the main house. Now, at night the wind would blow the iron sheets hard thus producing some dreadful noise. This scared the hell out of us! The dogs would join in on the fun and rub the iron sheets to double our fear. I guess that's the reason we wet our beds daily! We were organized in our response however. At the count of three, we would all, but him, scream out for help. He remained as quite as if nothing was happening. Stubbornness made in Muranga. No! In his heart!
But it gets him in trouble at times. Many times! I remember one day we had gone to fetch fodder at a nearby farm that dad had rented. Now, we decided to be clever. After loading our wheelbarrows, we thought out a plan, on how to steal sugarcane from a distant farm. Kim, our 3rd born had done a shoddy research on the perceived owner of the farm. It turned out that the farm didn't belong to the Mr. Kimuhi we actually thought. After our sugarcane raid, we heard shouts from the neighbourhood calling us thieves.Rightly! Chege, my brother, and I were headed for a take off. No looking back! You should have seen us navigate up the hills, perfect mountain climbers. My two other brothers (Kim and Steve) were confident enough to back down. After all they thought it was Mr. Kimuhu's farm and they'd lie he was our uncle. Shock on them! The beating they got still haunts me to date. The lashes were loud enough to be heard by us from our safe landing zone. They were eventually released and were lucky not to be torched by the angry mob. But the luck was short-lived as we would find out. We got home but without a panga, it was left at the farm we had 'invaded'. Somehow, our parents got to know about the incident. We were lined up to receive each one's share of a dog's beating. The type of beatings that you line up and get in turns. A cycle that stops not.
The story doesn't stop there either! Not without the good side of him. I am more lucky to have him than he is to have me. Yes! I actually consider myself privileged to have two dad's. He is a father figure in my life, the type that leaves you feeling loved and pampered. I remember him giving me all his daily earnings to count for him. I think he trusted me alot. He didn't even know how much he earned. And the next day he'd leave me with enough to spend and save. He'd always ask if I had fare whenever I said I wanted to go somewhere. And he'd provide it. You know the type that makes you feel like a tick, over-dependent and parasitic. I always thank God for him. Last christmas, he called me so we can go shopping for our clothes, at his own peril and cost. Now, what can one do to repay such acts of kindness? I honestly don't know, but somehow I know I'll be of great help to him some time in future. I'll never watch and see you fall bro, this you can be sure. And now to the part that I love most, Beaty, his daughter. 2013 was a successful year for him and his family. What can best describe success than to sire a child that looks just like you. Uhm, No! She looks likes me, just like me. How I love to lie that she's mine, because I wish she truly was! Cheers to the best brother one could ever ask for!
Thursday 2 January 2014
Lamentations, 2014
It's the first day of 2014 but am already being judgemental. I don't
harbour any reservations for it. I have mixed feelings about 2014 having
experienced as much negatives today. It's a cunt! No, an asshole!
Huddah's tits! What better adjectives could describe a year that starts
with you twice as broke as you were the last year. My net worth is 600/-
only, 100 hundred in cash and 500/- as savings in a chama account. Mind
you I can only access 80% of the savings equating to 400/- so that
makes my opening balance 500/-. I am surely a rich guy, only now in a
different aspect- at heart. That's the only richness I can afford now.
The brokeness actually helped me find a new route today, I walked from
town to my place. And it was awesome, it helped me keep fit and I got to
eat healthy- boiled maize! To add onto the negatives, I spent last
night alone, like someone whose freedom of association has been
infringed on. My phone was actually offline. There is a number we key in
such that people find you mteja. We call it the code- *21*0722122#. It
was not time for pals or girlfriends. Not when I was that broke! Having
manoeuvred my girls I sure started the year in a complicated status. Not
single, I wasn't in a relationship in the first place. To cap the
negatives I didn't collect my passport because someone at Nyayo House
decided I hadn't waited long enough. Talk of your patience being tested
on the 1st day of the year. It seems that one month is not quite long
enough for the Jubilee government, the digital administration, to
process my passport. Anyway it wasn't urgent so I'll keep waiting. Which
flight would cost 500/- shillings anyway, my networth as at 1st
January, 2014. It can't even process a South Sudan visa.
Albeit all the negatives I had a positive. No it was a negative. A fail! I couldn't manage to pass the only test I had today and it turned out I was HIV negative. That's not debatable! As if I would have told you if it was positive! All these experiences made my New Year a beautiful episode and helped me do what I enjoy most, writing! And that makes me happy! Hope you find that which makes you happy in 2014. Cheers!
Albeit all the negatives I had a positive. No it was a negative. A fail! I couldn't manage to pass the only test I had today and it turned out I was HIV negative. That's not debatable! As if I would have told you if it was positive! All these experiences made my New Year a beautiful episode and helped me do what I enjoy most, writing! And that makes me happy! Hope you find that which makes you happy in 2014. Cheers!
The Challenge!
I was having a chat with Edith today and she gave me a challenge. After
exchanging the usual nitty gritties I told her that I was bored, at an
'idle state of mind.' Her response was both a challenge and a
motivation. To 'write something' was her prescription for my boredom. It
confirmed what I knew all along, that I can write well, at least
someone thinks so! Taking on the challenge, allow me to write about me,
who doesn't love selfies anyway. How about my obsession with writing.
My love for literature hasn't developed over the last fortnight. It has been there for as long as I can remember. Back in primary school my English teacher, Mrs. Nderitu (also my Headteacher) was critical in my development. A tough lady, she made us write compositions daily and the same would be marked early the next morning. By the students themselves! And the best would be read to the class as an example. Mine made it to the list almost daily. And she liked it. No, she liked me! Sure enough, my coast trip was fully sponsored by her. Or rather by the school, through her. Those August trips you make when in class 8 as a retreat prior to the KCPE. I didn't pay a penny! Not when I was a constant number one. Talking of numbers, there's a time I was toppled from my usual spot. Despite being position three, I was awarded the best price. A binoculars, best by my own standards. This is because others (positions 1&2) got exercise books and pens. She said a binoculars would help me to look at how far behind I had been left by the others and to thus worker harder. I did work hard yes! I read more.
I used to read all manner of books. Ben Carson's bestseller, Think Big, was my inspiration, a darling to me. It made me someone's darling, my dad's darling! This was however shortlived until I started reading books that seemed wierd to him, at least at my age. I remember being obsessed with John Kiriamiti's 'My life in crime'. One day I came home reading Sinister Trophy, his other publication, to the dismay of my dad. 'Whose book is that?' He retorted. I knew what that meant. My dad was angry and one of those lightning slaps could follow any time. I could only manage to fumble words to the sound of, 'Nelson.' Nelson was my bestfriend, the owner of the book. My dad wasn't impressed as evidenced by his next question. 'Kaî endaga gûtuîka mûici?' That's French for, 'does he intend to be a thief?' Well, I can't remember finishing that book. True story by the way!
My love for literature hasn't developed over the last fortnight. It has been there for as long as I can remember. Back in primary school my English teacher, Mrs. Nderitu (also my Headteacher) was critical in my development. A tough lady, she made us write compositions daily and the same would be marked early the next morning. By the students themselves! And the best would be read to the class as an example. Mine made it to the list almost daily. And she liked it. No, she liked me! Sure enough, my coast trip was fully sponsored by her. Or rather by the school, through her. Those August trips you make when in class 8 as a retreat prior to the KCPE. I didn't pay a penny! Not when I was a constant number one. Talking of numbers, there's a time I was toppled from my usual spot. Despite being position three, I was awarded the best price. A binoculars, best by my own standards. This is because others (positions 1&2) got exercise books and pens. She said a binoculars would help me to look at how far behind I had been left by the others and to thus worker harder. I did work hard yes! I read more.
I used to read all manner of books. Ben Carson's bestseller, Think Big, was my inspiration, a darling to me. It made me someone's darling, my dad's darling! This was however shortlived until I started reading books that seemed wierd to him, at least at my age. I remember being obsessed with John Kiriamiti's 'My life in crime'. One day I came home reading Sinister Trophy, his other publication, to the dismay of my dad. 'Whose book is that?' He retorted. I knew what that meant. My dad was angry and one of those lightning slaps could follow any time. I could only manage to fumble words to the sound of, 'Nelson.' Nelson was my bestfriend, the owner of the book. My dad wasn't impressed as evidenced by his next question. 'Kaî endaga gûtuîka mûici?' That's French for, 'does he intend to be a thief?' Well, I can't remember finishing that book. True story by the way!
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