POOL PARTY.

I am enjoying my holiday in county number 17 and it's pure nostalgia remembering our childhood play time activities. One of our favourite activity was swimming in any depression where rain water had collected. This kind of swimming is known as Duf mpararo in Sheng'.

We celebrated the onset of the rainy seasons more than the farmers.During the whole season we were aquatic creatures by day and terrestrial beings by night with much of the nightlife involving us being flogged by angry parents for neglecting our domestic chores.

I remember my debut in Duf mpararo. It was quite eventful. First I had several oral sips of the muddy water owing to the fact that there were several deep ends all over that pool. Coming to think of it , the entire pool was like one big deep end. I was then  taken out of the pool, tummy full of water.After some time I was belching air which smelt of mud. I also had succussion splash everytime I moved.Later that evening I came home looking like a lizard thanks to the brown water I had swam in. I was hit like those Salvation Army drums.

After that beating I grew wiser. I started carrying some petroleum jelly to the swimming sessions. In the evening I would then appear at home shinning suspiciously like a doughnut.  Unfortunately, this trick was Short lived. A few days later I came  from swimming,  shinning as usual. I met my mom and tried to act calm and collected coz you know moms can  smell fear. The way I was shinning I am sure she was wondering whether to call me  son or sun.

 'Why are your eyes red? You either must have been swimming or smoking bhang. Which one is it?' Pleading guilty to any of the accusations was outright suicide.I was caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea.  My small brain started racing trying to find a valid explanation as to why my eyes had the color of ripe tomatoes. It churned out a lame reason of how I had encountered the village bully who had then  rubbed 3 kilograms of ground pepper into my eyes. African moms are automatic bull shit detecting machines so I got an instant beating. This time the beating lasted for so long that I had to pretend  I was dying(I think I started vibrating like a turning fork) for it to stop.

As the rainy seasons  progressed we swam even more and the number of beatings of course increased in equal proportion.Almost every night , no sooner had I finished my supper than my mom would  appear like a ninja, weapon of ass destruction in hand. She would then proceed to visit every quadrant of my gluteus maximus.(God knows how my Sciatic nerves survived.... that's why Iam a believer!). I would then be sent to bed with 'Nisiskie sauti ata kidogo'  as the bedtime story.

The next day I would still go swimming.Thug life!

It was not until the rainy seasons were over that we would stop going swimming.

We later outgrew this madness.

Many years later, I still think that all the mud mad fun we had in Duf mpararo was worth every beating.

RED LABELS.

There is a wide variety of liquor available in the kenyan market to any imbiber who's willing and able to buy. Some of this stuff is of superb quality. The remaining lot (based on statistics from whiskeypedia)remains to be questioned.Let's talk about the latter.

First , I have a bone to pick with the drinks' manufacturers. False advertisement.For instance you can't just brag to the public how your product is as smooth as the tongue of a snake, only for consumers to find out otherwise.

 Secondly,I think these drinks should come with labels hinting their likely side effects. Here are some  few examples how some of the labels should read:

1. 1000% bile. 
This should be put on all those drinks that taste like Quinine.
A good drink is supposed to have a gentle bitterness that one can languish and luxuriate in. What most of these drinks have is another kind of bitterness;one which is poignant, piercing and leaves you teary.

2. Maini/nyama choma. 
This label should be put on the drinks that are known not to interact well with human tissue.
Legend(no pun intended) has it that in Kenya,most of these drinks are taken  while leaning towards the left side so that they don't get to your liver.

3. Don't drink and walk(or even sit).
This label should be included on the drinks that are known to cause acute flaccid paralysis.The ones that make your musculoskeletal system do the Mannequin challenge after just a few sips.

4.Jet fuel. 
Drinks which make the user think that he/she can defy gravity should have the above label.It would then not come out as a surprise when the drinker starts climbing on top of furniture while singing 'I believe I can fly'. 

5. Isaac Ruto challenge accepted.
This label should be on those drinks that lead you to all sort of trouble;insults, assaults. Drinks which make you produce sonorous and ceaseless cries as you perambulate the dark streets. Cries which are music to the ears of cops and robbers alike.

6.Kamnyweso project fame.
This should be put in bold on those drinks which make people think that they are Busta Rhymes while in real sense they sound like Worsta Rhymes.

7. Visions.
This should be on every liquor bottle containing any stuff that can make you see , think and/or  feel(nonexistent)things. Am talking about strange thoughts and behaviour. From you thinking that you are engaged to Ngina Kenyatta(harusinations) to going to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet bowl and then you start looking for  a safety belt.

8. Utachesa ni ka umepigwa radi.
A huge label bearing the above words should be put on every liquor that makes you think that you can dance. You hit the dance floor with moves which drunk you thinks are like Jagger's, only for sober you to later see a clip of your dancing, and realise that you had moves like a jigger.

9.The antifunny liquid. 
This label I think should be on almost every drink. Then it would act as a warning that that any one  who sips them will start churning out lame jokes. Jokes so dry that no amount of KLY jelly in the world can help redeem them

1O. Bad decision juice.
All drinks deserve to have this label.In this case then you will have nobody to blame if you make awful life decisions.Decisions like calling your mom at midnight asking her why she doesn't  have any children.



PS:Excuse my vodkabulary.

HARUSINATIONS.

The other day I was perambulating among the shelves in some supermarket looking for the smallest available quantity of toothpaste.As I attempted to bend down and pick the toothpaste,I heard somebody greet me from behind.I nearly broke my neck while trying to quickly turn and see the owner of such a sultry voice.
 
The owner didn't disappoint; she was phat.

I shook her hand and she felt delicate like a baby dolphin.She also had those smiling eyes,the type that shouldn't be closed even when the owner is sleeping.

The owners' of that supermarket were very lucky that she wasn't in the the frozen stuff section coz she would have already melted everything.

She asked me if I could direct her to the beverages section to which I wholeheartedly agreed.Off we went. She picked up some tins which of course I didn't even notice what they contained coz  I was busy having some ophthalmic nutrition.

She thanked me and wished me nice shopping.Which shopping?I told her how I was on my way from the electronics section and had got captivated by the design of the packaging in the toothpaste section where she had found me.I went on to lament how those TVs in that supermarket were too small for my liking.I then expressed how I wouldn't mind but help her continue shopping considering that I had finished my business in that supermarket.She smiled,a smile that could kick Malaria out of Africa,and agreed.

We got on like a house on fire and in a moment we were talking about random stuff.For instance I remember boasting being the great grandson to the legendary Mbau Nzyuko,a man who was known for his cool hobbies like stitching up broken eggs and milking buffaloes while sitting on a python.

With the only 'gal'  in my life being my gallbladder,I saw no harm in exchanging contacts with the lovely lady.I was on the verge making such a suggestion when my alarm went off.I woke up diaphoretic.

I lay in bed for most of that morning debating with myself whether it was witchcraft or sheer ill-fate that a dream so promising got brutally cut short.

Since then I have been hoping that this dream comes back.Unfortunately, all I have been having are night mares and night terrors;from Alexis Sanchez suffering a season long-injury to Donald Trump winning the U.S.A elections.

I haven't given up yet though .My 'dream' is still valid.

BAD DAY.

If you are a Kenyan,unless you live under a rock or encased in a soundproof bubble wrap,chances are that you have at one time heard about the HELB students' loan reading allowance.

Research has shown that this money is cursed,or how else can you explain the insatiable urge to spend that follows the disbursement of this money into students' accounts?Why can't this money last even for a fortnight?

A few weeks ago,rumours had emerged that something was in our bank accounts.At that period,I was walking in the valley of the shadow of "brokeness" so I treated those rumours with utmost seriousness.

On that day,I went to bed earlier than usual coz earlier to bed,earlier to rise and earlier to arrive at the ATM the next morning.I was planning to wake up before the proverbial early bird.

With such kind of good news,you cannot help but have quality dreams.So most of my dreams that night involved me either driving  Ferraris or sipping some aged wine out of chalices while talking to gorgeous dames.

My dreams had reached ecstatic levels when the alarm decided to cut them short.The only thing that prevented me from crushing the alarm was that it was my phone.I then remembered that I had an important matter to attend to and bounded out of my room with Hector Bellerin-ish kind of pace.

I was joined by a fellow comrade who was also going to check the status of  his reading allowance.We sprinted towards the bank.It would have taken more than a bullet to the heart to stop us.

At the ATM the comrade went in first.When he emerged out after a few seconds with eyes the colour of weak tea ,I knew that his account was empty.I went in next and almost fainted coz my account was also empty.As empty as an account can be.I muttered profanities and then walked  out of the ATM crumbled receipt still in my hand.

The comrade asked me whether I got unlucky too.I tried responding in the affirmative but ended up sounding like a rhinoceros suffering from nasal catarrh.

Back at school I decided to use the little money I had left by staking it  in a mshipi(read multi-bet) in one of the local betting sites.That bet ended up being disastrous.The Devil surely was working hard that day.He probably was clocking double shifts on all of his jobs.

For those soulless comrades who at that time started the nasty rumours that HELB money was out,I don't have enough middle fingers to express how I feel about you.

For the betting companies,I swear by Toto's grave that one of these days am gonna make you pay.

PS:Toto was our beloved donkey who died while I was in class five.Still at heart.

KUNG FU(D)..

Long time ago, something quite strange happened in my home area. It was many years ago, a time when Kenyans preferred actual food to teargas, people lived in Mukuru kwa Njenga instead of Mukuru Kwa Zuckerberg (read facebook)and the word sponsor actually meant a good Samaritan who was paying for your school fees instead of some octogenarian who gave you money for your honey (I hear these days they are called `blessers')......by the way  when you hear your girl proclaiming that she's blessed,dude,be very suspicious.

Now, the actual happenings of what I am going to narrate were told to me by a third party who had witnessed them all like findyo like ndrama.I might have added a word or two to the original version but, hey,even Kaligraph  Jones did Ojuelegba refix and we are all cool with it.

It all started with the late Hon. Njega Karume making an impromptu visit to the area. At that time visiting Ukambani while carrying some relief food with you was thought quite fashionable by the politicians. So the late Mheshimiwa not wanting to look like a mtiaji  brought lots of food with him.

Hon.Karume with the Local M.P addressed the people and then took off leaving the local administration in charge of distributing the food. People were divided into their respective sub-locations with their sub chiefs in charge.

One sub chief saw it prudent to first ‘remove’ a speech before he gave food to his people. He stood on a sack of maize so that his people could hear as well see him as he oozed wisdom and words of nation building.

Unfortunately, some guy who was not a huge fan of speeches or sub chiefs for that matter got quite impatient. He pulled the sack which the sub chief stood on. One sad thing about gravity is that it is no respector of titles. It D(oesn’t)GAF  if you lead an entire sublocation,so the administrator came tumbling down like a plane shot from the sky by an enemy drone.

Before the other sub chiefs could scream ‘akiangai!’, it became full chaos. What was initially a normal relief food distribution exercise quickly turned into an exhibition of close combat tactics. Karate chops, weave-pulling, kicks to the groin, Kidero slaps and ’‘Makueni punches were all on full display.

Makueni punches (ngumi sya Makueni) was a term which was used to describe some kind of punches which at that time were popular in the lower Makueni County. The first step in executing these punches in a fight involved dashing into the opposite direction. Your opponent at first would think that you were running away only for him to discover too late that it was just a maneuver to add more velocity and sting to the forthcoming blow. Another thing which your opponent discovered too late was that he should have bought a new set of teeth before that fight.

Back to the relief food chaos.

The intensity of the slaps that were being thrown around made you question the intentions of your assailant:" does this guy want to render me comatose? Why is this lady attempting to perform some  illegal craniotomy on me without my informed consent?" I particularly remember being told the story of one bespectacled fellow who on grabbing a sack of maize dashed for the fence only to be stopped dead on his tracks with smack by a Popeye -like arm . Legend has it that he got hit so hard across the face that his glasses almost shrunk into contact lenses.

Another unfortunate incidence that I can recall of involved an old man.The mzee had picked a few Jerri cans of corn oil and was strolling leisurely when he got swept off his feet and the Jerri cans taken while he was still in flight. By the time he landed and tried to look up to see whose manner less son was that, neither the oil nor his assailant were in sight.

Tragedy struck in broad daylight when some lady decided to use the lower part of her skirt to ferry some ndegus back to her handbag. Poor life decision. Everyone was upon her like white on rice and within seconds her skirt was floating high in the air like a blade of grass. It’s alleged that the perpetrators of this heinous act were some Fisiotherapy graduates who had been earlier heard swearing that ‘Leo tunadandia kama mathree chopper.'

Another person who made a bad life decision on that day was the chief. Seeing that his assistants had failed to control the rowdy crowd, he decided to do it himself. He charged into the crowd, stick in hand. The stick broke after he struck two or three people. Some patriotic citizen present then decided to reward the chief’s heroic efforts by emptying a whole packet of milk powder on his head.

It was not until all food had been looted or mixed with soil that normalcy returned. People then did the walk of shame back to their homes.

 Anyway, this is what happens when you bring relief food to people who really don’t need it.

SHOPPING MANENOS

 Late last year around November, there was an event back at home that required several printed t-shirts. So I set off for the capital city of U.K (Ukambani); Machakos where I was to meet my cousin who would then add some feminine magic to the t-shirt shopping thing.

We began our task immediately after I arrived at Machakos.

We were warmly received at the first shop where we quickly stated our problem.  The t-shirts were there alright but they cost water and firewood. At that cost the sales from those t-shirts could significantly fund the construction of the new Machakos.

We got the hell outta that shop as fast we could and decided to try the open air market.

We soldiered on to the New Jerusalem .I think the previous sentence sounds weird. In my defense I’ll quote what Pilate said when the Chief priests asked him to change the writing on Christ’s cross: “What I have written, I have written. “Most of you will protest that there’s no such statement in the bible.Tsk! Watoto wa Ibilisi.It’s John 19:21-22.

Back to the t-shirts. We made a stop at the first stall in the market and informed the vendor that we needed more than 20 t-shirts. Emphasis on 20.He went berserk.He started ransacking his own stall and then took off like a bee-stung farmer. We took some seats still in shock and eagerly waited for his return.

I couldn’t help but eavesdrop to a hilarious conversation which was going on a few stalls away. Classical gossip. A lady was talking about some guy called Muendo.From what I was hearing Muendo didn’t like it his children being served food before him. The story teller went on to quote Muendo-“Watoto watakulaje mbele yangu na mimi ndio hufanya kazi ngumu?Eh?Na ata huyo mtoto ashibe na apate gunia ya mahindi kando ya barabara haezi beba.Wallahi siku yenye nitaamka nipate hakuna chakula kwa hio nyumba nitanyonya mama yao kwanza ndio nipate nguvu ya kwenda kuwatafutia chakula."

”

Well I knew some grown up Kenyan men nyonyad for fun, but for nutritional purpose?!Man that was new.

I was still smiling when our vendor appeared carrying a mountain of t-shirts. All kind of t-shirts. Some were so huge that they could be used as curtains while others were something between a vest and a bra. We shook our heads in obvious disapproval.

Other vendors come to the aid of their colleague.”Si mnataka t-shirt plain, moja ndio hii”, said the woman who had been gossipping about Muendo .Plain must have several meanings because the t-shirt she was holding had a huge label of Hugo Boss written across it.

                                                                     

There was no way we were buying t-shirts from that market, even if they called the local chief to convince us using his rungu. Mind you, being struck with a chief’s rungu is one of the most painful things one earth. This is no chance statement said in the by going; it’s something I say having witnessed several people get hit with the rungu. I will give you two incidences.

The first incidence happened back in the village many years ago. Some lad who had smoked something very potent disrupted a women Chama meeting. The irate women then threatened to call the chief on him but he seemed unfazed. Assuming a cool-as-a-cucumber facade of togetherness, he boldly told them to their faces that he was only afraid of two things under the sun; uji moto (hot porridge) and mbwa ya jirani (his neighbor’s dog).After the chief was done with him with his rungu, I am sure he had a third thing to be really afraid of.

The other occurrence where I witnessed the magic of the chief’s rungu was when the former Vice-President Uncle Moody Awori visited a neighbouring primary school. It was also many years ago; I think I was in class five. Uncle Moody ensured that before his chopper took off there was something left behind for the people to feast on; tones of loaves of bread and a sea of soda. The pecks of having a Luhya Vice president. In case Kenya gets a Luhya Deputy President and he visits our place again he daren’t bring soda and bread this time round. You see, we are no longer in primary school; we grew up and went to campus and in campus we interact with cool kids. According to them 'taking soda and bread is kinda gross. Who does that?' He he.

Back to the chief’s rungu. Some guy decided that he wouldn’t queue and wait for his turn like everybody else. The chief descended on him with his rungu and abracadabra! The guy’s impatience and unwillingness to queue instantly vanished.

But not even the legendary chief’s rungu would make us buy those t-shirts. We left the market empty handed despite the vendors putting up quite a show.

Later in the evening we encountered some herbalist who was selling “ndawa ya pimples”.He looked at my face suspiciously and I felt my serial killer instincts start to kick in. All of a sudden I wanted to punch him in the heart.(Alright,  I know I have a few pimples here and there but they are non pathological, It’s just my underutilised awesomeness trying to escape from my body.) Seeing that nobody was interested in his concoctions the herbalist took off but not after threateningly informing us how we would have to cough 3 k  if we were to visit him in his “headquarters” in Kangundo. He also told us that he would be on Citizen TV the following day teaching the nation about his herbs .We acted shocked by such kind of  revelation.

Honestly you can’t just buy stuff from strangers and apply it to your face. God knows what might happen to you. You might wake up with a face that looks like a matomoko fruit or a chapatti.

Hawkers, open market vendors, roadside sellers etc. are significant to our economy. They also sometimes make shopping way much more convenient.