I want to walk down an umarked street, kicking a misplaced pepsi can, see the end of a street I have never known – think about home. 1 000 0000 miles away.

As far, as exaggerated, I still want to get up, pack, fly…crawl, walk, what- ev for as long as my body fuel can burn, as far as the edge of the planet stretch.

What’s with the look?

Here!

Feel it – my chest. Or the scraggy ribcage.

It’s thumping, right? – heard of the Tum Tum dreams from West Africa?

In my veins, it’s throbbing, like an uncured erection.

Chill.

Hold these thoughts…for me – as i take a leak.

The cig stick dancing on my lips, as I talk to you, holding my brief nut case.

Try to look away, as I unziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

To tell you.

But every once in a while, i get sucked in-

Sucked in the growing mist of self-interested  sessions.

Do you-

Do you remember that night?

The night i called, asked how you doing?

Stated my desire to see you- and talk?

To tell the truth, or something near it- i wanted to:

To rip apart this chest and spread all, before thy blind sight-

Bloody, cuddly and chilling

were the thoughts that mapped my brain.

Pictures of you, ran a gallery in my inside anatomy-

Through the biting cold night, Keeping every part of I, raw and restless.

Now, that night, i told myself, just one more joint, and my eyes will whiten up,  head straighten up and my crisped Guggi (never mind, misspelt Gucci made by Ngugi & Sons Tailors) shirt would appear more crisper. I know you are a neat girl. I like the primness and proper-ness about you. The simplicity in your gaze, the way your eye-liner, probably the most exaggerated make-up on you, slightly touches down on your eyelids and dances off a heavenly radiance. I like your brimless clear glasses, and clear white eyes that roll around with unpretentious intelligence. the small and humble dashy-board – potent with ticklish prickliness (the hugs, hm.).

That night, i crawled tales of hellish desires,

My paws preying on my warm wooden Eastlandoh pet

on which, i spot few blood droplets.

Tonight, for your sake-

I’ll take a hiatus- give those brainless humanoids a ceasing fire:

Only today, i’ll stop being Darwin’s helper-

And I’ll multiply with you, the Nat Geo way.

But i am not, so here we go.

Every semester, there is a student Hostel that literally wikas. That, is, in simple-complex English- IT HAPPENS. Here, you’re either a ‘mamas’ boy (live in School) hostel, or are ‘daring’ enough to live in the jungle called ‘Off-Campus’. I, in all my wisdom, chose the latter- and everyday, i got a tale. Anyway, when i was a freshman, a hostel called Runda,did call the shots.One Friday,a guy hired a whole DeeJaying unit complete with the lights and set up the craziest bashment i had seen. Complete with free drinks and warembo ivi, t’waz the first time i got lucky- though details still remain scant in my memory

However, for most of my stay here, i avoid hot spots. I prefer to feel the heat from outside.

Along came Vegas

Now, as  last Semester drew to a class, word went round, on a new hostel that would have facilities ranging from a swimming pool to a student center- all in one location. It sent jitters, because, since the days of a certain Bright Night hostel (’90s- i was not there!!) , no one had ever built such. I must give props to the marketing skills of this guy, because, soon as Jan Sem came by, all party hoppers were rushing to fill in the rooms – and trust me, they’re all FULL.

Not even the fact that a swimming pool is not about to be built;  everything else compensates for that.

Like PIMP Houses

First, you can survive a whole week here w/out a coin in your pocket and you’ll drink, shag, change clothes, eat and sleep. It’s not as easy as that, but the currency is your people skills.

Vegans, as i’ve noted are whole lot of different students. Life Begins at 8pm EVERYDAY and ends at 8 a.m. the following day. A joke was going about that the owner knew about this that he switches off the generator at 8 a.m., switches it off at 8 p.m., Vegas style. Be it a Wednesday, or Friday, drinks flow and girls do what they do best.

Some other night, i was at this guys crib who has decorated his hall like a Pimp house. The lights are blue and read and a thao and one bulb circle about the room, bed, bathroom – i even wondered if he reads?

But this is Vegas, and classes are as Alien as abstinence on a Stag night.

I have several hundreds word to fill, but i have to rush and check somebody out now.

It’s Friday.

And his name is NewToad.

Observing what group work produces, all the doubts disappear on the possibility of the above. Today, i was listening to a pal who was looking for some information from me. Well, this surprised me as Biggie (the guy), is ever at Pioneer(Campus Makuti Watering Hole). His talk mostly revolves around weed, booze and questions to reality. This day, as he explains, tables had turned, and he was a group leader. Well, i’m not doubting his intelligence but Henry Wanyoike (the blind marathoner) could as well win the Safari Rally. Thinking about the attitude of the rest is another story altogether.

Joy Riders

See, when it comes to group work, campus class experience would teach you to choose your members wisely – in case you are concerned about grades. And most students  are concerned enough to slip in their name and student number (with a biro) when the printed projected paper is to be handed over.

Focused Chaps and the no-nonsense kind

Severally i’ve sneaked in my name under a group i didn’t even belong. Even so, i still hold a certain disapproval for  group work. If you be a lazy bone,it’s easier to get along when you are with some focused chaps, chicks especially, marveling at your ‘carefree’ lifestyle enough to ‘understand’ why you never attend meetings or produce any work. Actually, some go ahead to call you up when the group is meeting – and mostly, the story doesn’t end there. On the other hand, there are no-non sense types that will NOT put up your name if you miss but one group meeting. But some how, guys still navigate through this.

Jokers

As for jokers, when the meeting time is set, all agree and even go ahead to ask about the venue. On the material day, no one turns up and things move on as usual, till the assignment is due. On the eve of that day, some group mates who are pals call each other up and compile something quickly (Via Google) and leave out the cover page (to bear names) for printing, minutes to class time. Incidentally, this is the morning the printer jams, the server is down, or your flash catches a deadly virus and all work is lost.

Lecturers have a list of these excuses, and few hearken to them – but students are students, new excuses prop up by the day.

Other Side of G Work

But there is the other side of group work (not when all are friends- still, nothing gets really done) when you meet new people (read chicks) and things happen. I’ve my best and worst from these and school work and pleasure never mixed better. I’ll tell one of the tales, when the coast is safer.

Oh, and last year, there was a wedding between two lovebirds who met at an Environment Class group. Talk about not changing ‘your environment’.

Group work has some benefits too – besides churning out mediocre stuff (when everyone thinks their idea is the geratest)- especially when small ideas die.

But nothing ever GREAT has ever been born there.

P.S.

Which reminds me, due, was an group assignment which yours truly was to compile and send via email…i’ve just begun thinking about out, procrastination will surely slot it for a good sunny day.
First published here.

The words pierced his ears and wormed their way into his brain, triggering confusing emotions. Thoughts of what lay ahead whipped his sorry-self into jelly, so much that his knee caps clapped.
Without warning, a warm liquid made its way down his short pants, caressed his legs as it streamed down, giving a good-hot feeling that gently lifted his soul- the perfect escape he had..

ATTENTION!

Beret-heads turned, in unison, making a discipline shuffle.

A cold wind whizzed by his bare legs and his eyes, previously lost in the moment, came to life, like stadium flood lights:

A pool had formed below his legs.

Fear, shame inexplicable feelings meshed in his heart, crushed out all his functions, except that to breathe- short, hot puffs that expanded his nose, making it resemble two smoking barrels. Images formed in his shrinking mind, as the sweltering sun scalded his forehead, melting any possible ideas from his buttered mind…

HO—HOOOO!!

A distant command, sounded again and the sound of thumping boots filled the atmosphere before grinding to a sudden halt, raising dust on the clean concrete.

His face, a wedding cake in the rain, fell, as the flag begun to rise.

“Oh, God of all Creatures…” a trembling terrible tenor came alive, joining his heart’s hue and cry-

All faces, taut as the mouth yapped the anthem, were facing upward, in a compelling patriotic union.

On the small puddle beneath, the boy caught a reflection of the flag as it reached the peak of the pole.

I had never watched a musical before and i was liking the unfolding of this ‘Kwa Maji’ village -featuring Eric Wainaina as DJ Luanda, and the brilliant but nagging girlfriend, played by Valerie. Their chemistry (on stage, i insist) was, to say the least, amazing. That of the cast too.

In between hiccups, hollas to the voluminous Kaleo mama besides me, i gathered that in the play, DJ Luanda had hit the limelight and forgot all about his Kwa Maji (Ghetto) roots and routes. His girlfriend  trys to win his love back, as well as remind him about his very roots and the musical flows with humorous interjections in Kenyans drinking and nyam-choming culture.

Later on, the news emerge, or the grapevine had it (Kenya’s official Gossip Rag, Pulse) that indeed, Valerie is pregnant. The thought that their chemistry would overflow to offstage were not far off to me, though i gave it little thought- now that i could still picture Valerie in those small shorts even after the play. Speculations continued to trickle and even google holds the key to explanations as to who is solely responsible for the pregnancy. And then what?

It concerns me in several ways.

First, i’m a man, destined for greatness (Boyhood Dreams, huh) and once in a while, i do try to put myself in people like Tiger’s shoes. I imagine more holes that the 19th one, visualize how puting would do justice to my ego, ra-huh! See, holes are holes…yaani, karima ne karima, koru ni ka gui… a hole’s is a hole, the one you should avoid visiting is the one positioned on a dog- it might bite . See, whereas there are social boundaries set on by stuff like marriage, integrity and such things as restraints- i believe a man tries.

Zuma: African Viagra

Even Tiger tried. Zuma, zooming from this bosom to another, regardless of his age somehow embodies of the zest of an African man. And the mannerless-ness, abandon that comes with it. The reason why we find this quite odd is because of the devil we call ‘Civilization’. Level headedness and and all that decency shit. I believe we should live it out like in National Geography once in a while. And while at it, be ready for consequencies. Why oh, why, in the name of legacy, composure must we pay this price so dearly?

And the self-righteous bastards- well, somebody said that Civilization thinks it has done away with the devil, yet, it is the very explanation of it‘. Tiger Woods was nabbed through the phone (text messages) by his Swedish Blonde. It was probably an iPhone, for all i would care, but honestly, with the world eye’s on him, his spotless image rather, he ought to have been more discreet.

Actually, in last fall’s issue of the ‘Intelligent Life’ magazine, he was listed as one of the most impeccable niggaz to have graced the golf scene (now sin) spotless, clean…but things have changed, for listening to his other head too much. Big Deal? Yeah, there be Big Deal’s in stake, but if your mama told ya tis all gon be smooth sailing lied to you. That is if you have something called ‘untamable spirit’ moving about restlessly within you.

Wainaina , with his politically satirical songs that thrust him to fame and respect, was a near-perfect example of a successful man living off his amazing talent as opposed to some a-maize-ing politicians.

Another thing common among these men, besides their brilliance and achievements, is their…yes you guessed it: African connection. They are a highlight of a dying breed, lost in metrosexualness and crap like Valentines.

Whereas i don’t openly advocate for infidelity (if it happens, discreetness please) i think the moral telescope is not the only way to look at things. And these guys in the limelight should be left to eat what they want in peace – which they can’t as they are in the limelight. On the same note, they should pay for their sins – which does not interest me much…rather the fact, they among the many African supermen spilling their seed all over…a good and bad trait.

Meanwhile, I almost like every minute of this late-night adventures. Last night, I settled on my bed at exactly 02 34h, happy that my neighbors are asleep. They have been giving me horny nightmares, thanks to their ‘moan-star’ approaches to horizontal chakacha.
All the while, I am busy chopping stories, adding this or the other, rephrasing this and that…and being stubborn with deadlines as I can…re-sending the haughty reporters to the field…adept, some are, majority hopelessly inept-
But promising, altogether.
They either adopt, or hit the highway.
I prefer the high way myself, after such sessions.
Bottle romancing, my hand, gentling moving over the brim of the plastic tumbler, observing the dark brown liquid suck up to my lips as VisaRoy dwink sends me further a field to dig up holes, to fill other holes.

Oh, the self impotence of once shining stars-
They’ll soon shit in black holes!

Now, I grind, through innate battles, scream over cream and bitches – and fire volleys of stored up hate, like a billion dollar hater.

I hope to push my head up in the air as they holla:
For he’s a happy shifty, but sharp fella/ snappy too, with a knack for details (and
De Tails /hidden shyness and little self-assurance/

Yes, that chorus I can’t edit.

This story was first published on Butterfly Blogs under a different title.

Yaani, there is this ka-feeling that is mostly common in those cars that have seen better (and bitter) days. Though tis not as omnipresent in me as Sir G is, i feel it creeping in like ze rock band Radio Head. Enyewe, nikichekicheki left right ivi, pia blogosphere nimeishi pia. Toka zile siku za akina Spideyfun (my blog-comi hero, lol) days akina DK (De Kwin) walikuwa wanawika hii mtaa mbaiya, hizo ma-time Mwanamishale alikuwa tu anawinda tu mos mos (ma-hits kibao nacheki kwa maskan yake..) akina Aco…KBW beefs, Augesus *did i get that right….and Modo, twololo!

Si kitambo vile, lakini miaka kadhaa ka kadhalika za Nonini zimawahi, ama?

sh*tting where u eat

Sa huu niko Lib juu ya ka-Mac Air (ka Chuo, ushisho a living soul, ata Saul, hehe) ivi na-feel tu aire aire (lol, what happened to that slang’?). Hapa tu nyuma ni m-she fulani (African Brunette) nimewahi kuwahi mwezi umepita…na kila kitu inaendelea kulingana na mpango. I was thinking about that phrase shitting where you eat (picture Samuel L. Jackon and Ashley Judd in Twisted) and i am thinking, what happened to that thing called conscience? Clearly, it is con-science!

Ok, almost.

See, i have been lying (and lying) low for the past two years and saa hii nika ndo yule simba amemenyeshewa amerausha manyoya. Tis not that i have really achieved/done that much, but it is funny how campus life has a way of breaking you out of the shell…and out the reel you rolls like a stoned rolling stone gathering not much, but mass recognition…till you, wait for it: crash and burn.  Yeah, shit happens, funny when it hits some elses’ fan, dang hilarious when you be the one courting it…

And here are some cliche: When we joined campo ivi, word on every fresh chick-ens mouth was ‘siwezi date boy wa campo mimi…nini nini…lakini two weeks later, unasikia venye alichezewa ma through pass off-campus.

But really, that doesn’t surprise me anymore not that, not anything beyond that thinking line…It doesn’t suprise me that i did all these stuff last week and still woke up this morning for two exam papers….yaani, ni kama kawaida kutupa ndwano kwa group mate, Fetch (chick) wa Christian Union..mara una-import…but then again, you realise, there is more to life than just doing girls in. See, i do not necessarily speak from a personal point of view, but, you know, you get dragged in once in a while in this giant atom sucker.

Now is when you start gathering your C.V. start chasing Club Chairmanship…call BoywaCampo for ma-certs (ficate) za mraa or ask him to edit that C.V.

“Jo, boyZ kesho na-kam na K.K. ivi tubonge juu ya ile C.V. ya mine…ama?”

And here, i reap fruits of my first two years on Campus. When i was so fucking focused on climbing those editorial ranks and raking up enough dough from subtle hussling…just enough or more than enough so i never have to start from zero.

Gallant freshmen…and the mates who dropped by the wayside

On the peak of it, when nothing really bothers you much…this is when a futuristic thought hits you that Campus aint really forever. Like today, i was signing for my exam and i realized that my name was actually the first one..followed by gallant freshas, wa! Yeah, this is when you start recalling with nostalgia the days when akina Kazi Bure, Mje, Jemo, V Road were all around…before a suspension here, an expulsion there or simply a disappearing act came along. Your route is now pretty predictable and you are not as jumpy…and in short…

We unakulia tu life kwa mfuko ka njoti (njugu/groundnuts).

Mos mos.

Hadi ‘day’ yako ifike, udondoke pia!

By a man, i mean, a man…MAN, not the collective biblical term that includes that species that is the root of all our woes.

Many are ways of a man, countless are his thoughts and over-the-edge, his testerone may reign, and shit, happens. Personally, i hail the guy. With all the dollars he may rake in, and the number he rates worldwide in the business of thwarking golf balls…well, he is my shortlived hero.

Here’s the little stupid reason why. (diss-claimer:  May it not be said that i advocate for…(hate this word, but) adultery…

All the same, he goes down the annal of history like all great men do: getting entangled in the lure tendrils of sassy mistresses. You find that when a guy achieves so much, and you are at the peak, your self esteem may not soar as much. Sometimes you need the ‘re-assurance’. Everything comes when you snap…and after a while, you start questioning whether things happen your way because of what you have or who you are. Women, at your beck and call, mostly because of the affluence’s allure…

So, once in a while, you go down murky path and seek  out that mistresses who tickles something your glamorous wife doesn’t…if you’ve read Lady Boss by Jackie Collins you may have a point to allude to…yeah, that movie boss who was hitting it with some black cop.

From my obscurity, and the rejections i’ve had in my life (mpaka i am immune) i think i lift my KK glass to this guy, for just being. And doing them all in, kwani iko nini?