thats what i have found hia, bt a writer, words and art only get better with time, right?
i wonder what happens to blogs.
anyway, i had to this write up after reporting kwa offe and the first news that hit my screen are the tussle in Zim.
i ama great admirer of Mugabe especially the way he stands for what he believes and doesn’t matter if the whole world is against him.
the only problem is, he seems to stand for the wrong policies, but then, si its the same britain the awarded him with a doctorate?
whatever the case, i think the case in Zim now is so similar in to Kenya’s own messed up elections that i think it will go the kenyan way.
chaos! chaos! chaos!
remember when our dailies carried a story saying how Mr. Mugabe was telling his ‘country men’ not to go the ‘Kenyan way’?
well, i have that this feeling that the opposition guys, akina MDC, SEEING how ODM in Kenya has pushed for the ‘power sharing’ and finally got it, if they are not going to be pulp or rotting in the grave…they will push for it.
ha!only that mugabe is wrong guy to fuck with!
In the hood, anything can happen, anytime.
The remedy is not being on with UAP insurance. Ama having the hotline to the fire brigade, ambulance or police on speed dial.
The roads are impassible, ngachifo anakusaka/ you are in bad books with the local Chief.
My verdict? You need to hustle for survival. By fight or flight.
Well, this Thursday, I woke up in relatively good moods.
No school, no bus to catch, hoped I’d bump into a great bash around.
I was reading from a different script.
The devil had his and apparently, he made past the auditions of fate.
I had purposed to collect some parcel left for me by this lecturer, an appreciation of this talk I gave at her class.
So I pulled my lazy self out of bed, got ready and as the warm Easter sun greeted me, I decided to check on my boy K_ before heading to town.
Ok not until amidst our banter on the rooftop of their Esto, this buddy of ours stormed between us screaming obscenities and some mumbles to the effect: “we tumezoena sasa…”
I thought it was some joke or something and even so, I assumed he had directed it at K_.
Dude! Before I knew it, msee alikuwa juu yangu, mangumi ka fifte ivi kwa kichwa…
Instinct fight back took charge and for what I knew not, I gave him a share of my numbed mind.
Before K_ came in between, to Annan-ify the ‘crisis’ all of us looked like chicken, brutally thrown off from a Kachmega bound bus.
Ruffled. Enraged. Hurt. Paining.
I was still in a pandemonium when he finally tried to explain himself.
“ huyu msee ameshow Mwikali ati mi ni hussla, na huyo malaya akatusi mathangu….”
He breathed heavily, smoke literally coming out of his ears.
“Nani??” I was speechless. Ok, at least that was the weak word I could manage to let out.
A cloudy thought of upheaval, amusement descended on my throbbing head.
The next attempt to raise my voice was stopped on its tracks…I could actually spot my upper LIP!
Whadhafaaaak I touched it and yes…it was a watermelon.
When guys were rounding her undercover and slander spread, it was fun.
Now that someone had earned Jay Z lips, it was going to be damn hilarious, I prophesied.
BUT what had I done?
It came to me in different forms, discordant thoughts hitting my thought chambers…
…pesa siasa pombe na wanawake…zinafanya wanaume wauane..
K_ was not shocked, even as he restrained the wounded tiger.
Boyo, haha, I thought you were honorable, straight forward, son of a preacher?
Mwikali for your NOVICES is this over-24 kao in the hood whom every thirsty dude been quenching with.
“I will never open my legs till an engagement ring is slid down my finger,” she told me.
We happened to meet in this local and even when I laughed at it, I knew some LOSER around who owed his virginity to hers truly.
In a nut shell, Potash Poetry (Ghettolivitiy-Kwani? 04) summarizes her better
“…But Bobo (insert Mwiks) has no time to marvel
Tayari ameona ya Musa, Firauni labda hata ya Yesu
She just scratches her crotch and wait for the next,
The line is seven deep…”
“ mi nitakumada walahi wewe..” he was now speaking in capital letters.
For chrissake, this was all rocket science to me…and even as I took Herculean efforts to explain, deep inside, the DIFFERENCE I have been craving for my life began to eat at me.
Note, I dint say CHANGE. Different problems, different hood, different lifestyle?
I can’t handle the heat of the hood? You dead wrong.
Eventually, when the flair cooled it turned out Mwiks alikuwa anagonaganisha ma-mboy vichwa/ Mwiks was gonganishaing the heads of boys haha/
And I was in the mix.
Crestfallen, this ex-buddy said ‘sorry for the trouble’ and I accepted it, halfheartedly.
Makosa ilikuwa imeshafanyika/ the damage was already done. I was innocent, very.
Despite the bad start, I dragged my rugged ass and different enough, the thingy turned out to be a voucher to this coffee house.
“KAWAIDA!” I’d have wanted to shout, but hey this was Java not my kawa Jenga mwili.
The attitude was different, menu unreadable faces (mostly) white.
I smothered the split lip with my thirsty tongue and with red eyes encased in a long smooth face I knew what I wanted- like always, when I see it.
Only today, Christ resurrected.
Was it 10,000 BC?
But he could have lived way ahead of His time, right?
The passion of Christ overwhelms me and my essence.
Upon him, he took the curse.
The curse bestowed on whoever hangs on the tree
“Cursed was the maaaaaaaan…” the street evangelist charges.
A section of the crowd shuffles. With zest unmatchable, he dashes from edge to edge.
Edge, is the delicate line formed by his listeners presumably maintaining a ‘safe distance’.
What are they afraid of? The preacher or the message?
Or they could they drop dead.
Argh! They stink.
They resembled an amorphous body with distinct heads against the milieu of scanty shop lights at a distance.
A section of them are visible.
“He took all your sins on the crosssssssss…” from the a-bit-too-loud Ahuja speakers, the determined voice, pours out.
Maybe I should get convicted.
Or someone else in the crowd.
“Lemmie ask you something, Christ was God in the human body sindio?”
C this witty chick whose attempts at ‘intellectuality’ amuses me asks.
I sit next to her every other Tuesday. I call them ‘dark Tuesdays’. Ha-ha.
She is a dark child, with very white teeth and the shine of my gaze bounce off her teeth to the time I wrote such an article.
‘How human was Christ?’
It was almost not published. My campus paper thought it was too anti-Christ
“But wait, he lived up to 33… I mean it doesn’t make sense…”
I guess what’s coming and I stare right on.
“Did he have a girlfriend?”
Mary Magdalene giving birth to the babies of Jesus…
Immortal Technique’s somber Latino vocals sip through my mind.
I block them.
Kwani there will be a Heltel Challenge quiz on the pearl gates with Judge Peter?
“Which marketing concept did JC use on Maggy?”
Judas is making faces at you on the OTHER side.
C, see, I am about twenty something and me, am talking about TERMS.
Ah, you mean sex?
Like Pilato, not of the Jesus trial, it’s about presidential terms.
And you know, manze, some presidents, life Gaddaffi are for life. Even for dead.
If Christ lived today, could he have a blog?
Tags: death, sadness, storyofajamaainthehood
yesterday was a sad day for me.
one of my bestfriend’s dad was laid to rest.
although i did not attend the funeral, i visited him during the mourning period to offer him my condolences.
manze some things come out hard. what would i tell him, after many months of not meeting him? where would i start? would i say i understand how he feels about the demise?
i realised that my presence was honor enough because, i could not lie that i really understood what he was going through. he put on a brave face and didn’t look like one who was mourning his dad. but, i dont have the power to see beyond the surface.
‘councillor’ as we playfully call him in our friendship circles, in one different fellow.
whats more, the passing on of daddy seems to have strangely strengthened the passion of what he does, considering his father was the closest person in his life.
as he narrated the ‘last moments’ with dad, i couldn’t fail to notice someone with the confidence that even though things happened this way, there is still the everlasting hope of re-uniting.
his impact in C’s life is imminent and me knowing his story, he has a resolve, a story to tell…a life to live and souls to save.
well, to make the story even longer, i have known C since we were in primary school.
a puffed up dude who always has mature looks, even in Std 1! with brown teeth, a bossy upward stare, si mudhii utadharau…
soon as praima was over, we bumped again in high school…now, C was a fully fledged buda!
but in as much as we hailed from the same neighborhood, we were never really up that close.
we may have ahd the same course, but we blew kyushu** from different quarters.
he hasd this click of die hard nuts that will forever remained etched in my memory of high school strikes.
everyone knew their ‘core business’ as princi would always hail on the parade grounds//
pot, pot, pot…and nothing more than mary jane…add to it a share of ‘butterfiles- where your box was kanyagwad katikati inainuka kaa inataka ku-fly….theivery high class kabisa, kuhanda ma-mono…all those vices, C was a chief player here.
but like all things, it had to come to an end.
C was nubbed one evening with his pals, incarcerated and eventually expelled!
this lead to the most deadly and witty strike i had ever seen. see, akina C were nubbed at kedo 8 30pm, having skived preps to puff some..we came to know of it at around 9pm and from 10pm after preps, studez had converged kwa offe ya depa where they were held.
” manze akina mfure wamepatikana,” whispers went round.
mfure for your novice was actually the reverse of mrefu..which again was the name given to the shortest dude in chuo…who hailed from eastlando..and had a record to match that.
now 11pm, people had started leaving for the dorms…and we got a rude shock at kedo 12 15.
” ofisi ya depa imewaka!” crys of agony lent the night..
yeah, in truth…something bad was happening. we found the depas office with large flames of a feiry fire lapping it with such determination that there was nio hope of recovering anything.
am sure, if i had a camera, the photo would make it to the backpage of a local daily.
well, C’s friends had done it….but akina C had been taken to a police station by then and these guys thought that the 21 rolls found on mfure were in that office, thus the logic’ of burning it up. the span of time it took for this to happen still remains a mystery. todate, the office has never regained the glory it had…and what with a whole library reduced to ashes..
FFWD: it is really touching to see how C’s life has changed. whereas he said goodbye to kaya, ma tap, beer, illicit sex and that whole package…he is now pursuing a college diploma in theology. a full time minister..wakati sisi tuna-do tu ma course zitaingisha dough..but its a calling, you know.
” the purpose of this life is to live right for God. all other things are commentary, be it a job, wife, inheritance ***he posed to point at the land his dad left behind*** everything..its all commentary.”
commentary, he told us was this book they have in theology college which has many historical facts about the biblcal years that are not found in the Bible. though it is important, it just compliments the Bible.