boyfulani and the ‘stomach pangas’

September 29, 2008 at 6:02 pm | Posted in he-motions, life, re-treated.. | 11 Comments
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cretus ndung’u kiratu.

that’s my cousin for you.

i happen to masquarade under the same name- though with some alterations-interchangeably, actually. maybe this is why we were tight back in the day. me and him, him and me?cretus and kiratus? meeeeeeeeeen, like the legendary two cheeks of the butt, we faced life side to side- only shit came in between.i know that phrase is as tired as some backsides, but…it did work then.

ok, i mean, our history runs deep- picture the abovecracks. sometimes, it got through messy and gross phases like the former statement. but the memory has since remained…

see, it was like this. every holiday, we met at our granniez place. it was the ultimate meltdown for any holiday- we never kosad plans. it was only recently that i went rural and discovered little else had changed. grannies kitchen still has the same 19 fote fae trass…with soot hanging above like icicles in an iceland igloo.black soot, mark you, threatening to spice up your indigenous meal.(i wonder what all those sons in US of Ass do for mum)

anyway, it is here that cretus and i whetted our vast appetite. cretus had a tad too big of an appetite than mine, considering his physique. he had( or still has) this dark complexion, a footballish head that always reminded me of a character in those west african treadsetter storybooks i liked (Foli Fights the Forgers, Eyes and Ears)…his teeth were neatly arranged like a freshly harvested maize cob (or do u se ‘unorwad?-‘peeled’ that is) and his mouth amused me most when he had to do some stunt that cracked me up kabisa- he imitated his dads Toyota Hilux,  KYX 345, which has definately seen better days…

” vreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeem” he would ‘vroom’, his mouth forming a funny protrusion, little drops of saliva spilling forcefully out of his pursed lips. i ‘poured myself in laughter’ (kuing’aurira mitheko yaani’.at times, he used this to crack me up when i was mad at him.

nooooooooooow, this particular holiday, before a shosho spinned for us ugali no. 19 (the one that turns green in the morning) and some patches of sukumawiki, cretus thought of a very bright idea. it was a hot aftey, lunch was late, and we were  quite bored. we unanimously agreed that we ‘could check on some juicy sugar cane over the hedge owned by one key-raw(a neighbouring no non sense man whose name, ‘myth and legend’ had it was from ‘ kill…then killo…pronounced, kee-raw.people used to ask him to ‘kill’ for them one sugarcane from his fairly large plantation…

so, here we were, Cretus taking the honour of making headway into the plantation…bundles of neatly tied sugarcane were a stone throw away from the fence…and man, dint they look juicy? Cretus went ahead to ‘kagua gwaride ya kwanza/inspect the 1st parade…and i was hunched at another trying to look for the root of this particularly dark one(the darker the cane, the sweeter the juice). kwak!Cretus was chap chap, down went his first harvest, kWak! again, the ‘githethwa’(non sweet part) was away and before he could start eating at his, i literally swang with mine…and came down with it..

“tiga waana man!” wacha utoi man, we will be heard…

no sooner…ok now this sounds like a compo….had i started to peel my piece of cane than some rufflings from inside the plantation came through….

“gai, key-raw!” i could see the terror in eyes as he chorad a K, cane still in hand.

i,the other kiratu, dropped my cane and as i picked up with his pace, i heard some breeze pass by leg…grease in my knees kwishad-it was a fcking panga!!!!

rugamai hau ihii ishi kana demohore fanga cia da!” stop, you lads or i slash your stomachs..

the coward i was couldn’t move another step and i just stood still…Cretus on the other hand, was on  his way up the fence.

i had sold him, but haidhuru, key-raw was going to kill me, so it mattered less…or so i thought.

a rude hand grabbed me, dragged me along as he shouted at Cuzo, who was now looking back..cane still in hand: you go and you get your brother delivered in pieces…tonite.

the finality in his voice, the murder he wrote with his eyes…Cretus had to bow down.

at least- i lived to tell the tale!

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this is kenya:art of naming matatus

September 26, 2008 at 5:48 pm | Posted in randommoments | 14 Comments
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a 1940 mat.these are the pioneers of the matatu age;face me-cum-you look familiar!

remember these days?haha...the reacking bodies and..yuck..it was bad!

Well, there are many things that sets us apart as Kenyans and among them,  matatus. in fact, from a point of absolute laziness to do research (how do i do it anyway) i tend to think we have the most colourful lot of public transport over several seas and lands.check this link on flickr

as  Kenyans, i know mats or ma-threes mean a lot. the good, the bad and the downright ugly, we have a share of each to share. may be it was this kondi (bus conductor) who refused with your change, or you were forced to alight before you reached your destination, .

generally they are known to flaunt every rule there is on the road as well as ettiquette.

gone are the days one Hon. Michuki clicked all the right buttons and everything worked like clockwork. it was the first time in the history of Kenya that we saw real CHANGE on our doorsteps. grown up menwere sent to the tailors for uniform like schoolboys, the number of passengers in a nissan matatu was reduced from a minimum of 25 to a maximum of 14.

sanity was finally with us…but it was not for long.

now, anything can happen to you in public transport but thanks to the entrance of a few sane proprieter, things are not as bad.

on the same, there is this craze that has been going on for sometime, akin to Xzibit’s pimp my ride ish. Maboiz mtaa wao huiita ‘kusuka machine’/boyz in the hood call it watamacallit?-just pimp my ride. by the day, new innovations are coming by with the craziest being

  • a basketball hoop at the back of the mat, complete with a ball na sportie imachapa! the weathe beaten sporty discredits the baller-ness they want to show.
  • a hammer, spade and some crazy appendage attached at the back.a waste of metal, but then a symbol to either show ‘kazi ni kazi’ or Hammer-cum-hummer izzit- on this, dont u think GM both in the US of Ass pay Raila for the massive marketing and mind poisoning he did on Kenyas? i mean, not even Zain and its billions, adverts on moon or not, can have such an frenzied effect on the population- albeit few can afford hummers!or are they hammers?Kenyans and grammarm hmmph.
  • the naming contest- uuuuuui, by the day, the names that mats have are just amazing. as a believer in bumper philosophy, i keep my eye wide peeled for any killer lines, phrases, labels and graffiti on mats. they never dissappoint. if only i had a p.c.- personal camera….i know u spot them too and utanisaidia in the ‘brainstorm’ here: Gravity aint just a force, it’s the reality, southern fixations(it took a while to register)…throw in you string of crazy observations, for as for me and my eyes, this is the boldest mat i have seen on the scene(or is it sin?)

    the paps who took this photo discredited it, i take the 'honours.

oh and some little history of the matatus for those ‘outside’ the know:

matatu is Swahili word meaning ‘three’ ma, is plural, and tatu is 3, thus the sheng’speare(urban slang for the young hip and sophistication wonna-bees)- ma-three. they say that when public transport came to being in Kenya, they used to charge ‘mang’otore matatu- u can bet it is Kyuks who came up with it. three shillings- i am not well informed whether it was to all destinations, but yes, it was three bob…and todate, we still call them matatus though the fares have NEVER been constant- even a little change in weather can result in hiiked fares.matatu fares are more emotional than the stock market.

the making of a ‘modo-rome’*

September 25, 2008 at 6:50 pm | Posted in greatmen, he-motions, life | 3 Comments

above the roar the river Chania, Gitahi* rants, rattles and his tobacco-cured voice hits monolithic rocks in the banks, resonating into a scary echo.

it is who circumcised the tortoise!

it is i who removed the flea from the elephant’s crotch…

it is a freezing september night and am standing erect like a statue, numb, scared, tentatively dead from the ice cold river water am immersed in…when the fading echo of his rant is re-awakened by a dull pain. my fixed gaze is shaken and i catch a glimpse of the man ruthlessly nibbling at my foreskin.

despite ‘natural anesthesia cold, the pain was unbearable…but i had to stand still, unmovable. i was being ‘made a man’

man or mouse?

sometimes when i look back, i think i was almost a made a murder statistic rather than a ‘man’. it is a night that is indelibly etched in my memory. a test of endurance that should never be done in one day!

….but manhood, manhood…what really separates men from boys?

local news have been awash with news on circumcision, with ‘Raila’s word’ on it making hundreds in the larger Western Kenya  to flock clinics for that ‘cut’ – in the name of  medical reasons.

“has Raila himself been cut? ” someone loudly wondered. i have no idea too, but i would care less about that.

see, if you are a newshound, this campaign started like 2006 when ‘Wild Bank’ was to pump several billion dollars into Africa for this cause.

” ah, hiyo dough yote itapelekwa Kisumu” /the money will all be channelled to Nyanza/ i participated in the conversations too.

factually, it’s true,  but what is really the connection between the ‘cut’ and manhood that many people have been stereotypical about? especially self-declared ‘real men? those who have gone through the gory rites,  would bitterly say there MUST be a difference. partly, i can agree because the rite is no joke or child play – but does that make one lesser-of-a-man if lenga it altogether?

culture. it come naturally in here. for the sake of my INS classes, i would say that no culture is superior than the other and thus, we should respect what others hold on to as beliefs- because, the same that has had us made us men is what has made others what they are.

but that is not my battle. my query is: who is really a man?
A Zain advert tells of an African proverb,  i have never heard of, that it takes a whole village to raise a man. another quote says that as girls grow, society molds boys to men…so many philosphies, that i cant say deviate from the truth- but mostly, ends up as mere talk (picture the boy child, at the verge of extinction-?)

a man is made, i believe. the making, to the point where is ‘is a man in full’ is mostly a journey.

am a sojourner. circumcision was just a rite- wrong passage to others, but meaningful nevertheless. it cannot be the only scale a ‘man’ is be weighed with.

come to think of it. the many men we see around- unfaithful to their wives,  break down their homes deserve,  grown up men who rape their daughters, those who disrespect ladies, pludge a whole country into ethnic chaos and bloodletting….that whole BAD list, i know you have your own, CAN  we call such a man?

manners maketh man. a man is his character, i’d conclude on that.

STILL, as man and a man in the making, i learn like any other human being. from observing, exposure(media and information) and experience(hapo juu zaid zaid).

but some of these avenues have been torn down.

A story in kwani?04 titled the ‘Kikuyu Dialogues’ chronicled the lost relation between the Kikuyu father and his son. Tribal thoughts and bias aside, it is sadly true, even across other cultures.

girls learn to cook, use pads, hold a baby from their mother-who is there to nurture the boychild?

as a sojourners, i have learnt to observe ‘men in action’. man talk is rare with dad but i have learnt a mantra from watching him make all ends ‘meat’ for us:-a man must try. on the other hand, from his hallowed status, i’ve learnt three core things; never apologize, never contradict, never explain! otherwise, besides many accomplishments, ‘they’ may forget who roars and wears the pants in thes house.

sometimes, i picture life with a ‘modern-thingy’ (which i will hopefully marry)  and i speculate that with some attitudes, she would start calling those ‘professionals’ with names that have a silent ‘p’…but hey, this aint a hollywood flick, it is what the society made me.

well, it is a path that am treading on, sometimes careful, at times with blissful ignorance-i am one hell of a man in the making. woe unto thou that maketh me their object of affection….hey hey, suitors, i take that back, we can always meet at the center, right?

*modo rome means man.

me-loo-drama:issue haikuwa tissue

September 18, 2008 at 11:31 am | Posted in life, randommoments, retardedrants | 6 Comments
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wazeiya! nimekawia jo since niangushe post moja na ki-sheng’speare, jo…lakini haidhuru. kwa wale hawaradi any,  manze, one-liner ni ile jamo:ka zile stika ziuwaga kwa mat-‘if the music is too loud, then you too old!’.si kwa ubaya lakini, ni kuwadunga to re-al.

anyway, juu ya meza kuna karisto fulani ningetaka tuirarue pajamo. nilienda ku-visit boiz mwingine hapo kwa hostel za chuo nikapata saga not-so-funny. sasa, iko ivi;kuna mudhii fulani hatutataja, ambaye aliangusha kitu ingine hapo kwa loo ili-ca

a loo bisected

a loo bisected

tegoriziwa ka ‘international.

auuuuuuuuuuuui!.

yaani, kulingana na ma-thesis na ma-analysis ziliangushwa na mafans, lazima huyu jamaa alikuwa na ma-helper wawili hivi walikuwa wanamshikilia design ya Moses na Aaron kwa Bible juu ile kitu jo!!! ya mtu saba kando.

hehe, Jona, rude boy fulani alikuwa anadai ati to make matters worse, ilikuwa ‘ONE LOVE’- haina joints na ilikuwa size ya mkono wake three-kwenje…hahahahahaha.

eee, niliwaacha wakitry kuflush lakini wapi, haikubanduka ata!

enyewe, ka Olympics kungekuwa na kategori ya kushonde, huyu boy angetuongezea medali ingine. Mwanamishale anafaa aongezee hii ‘nascent sport’ kwa ile post yake ya ‘olympics kenyan style’ as the sole competitor?

anyway, hii stori ilinikumbusha madhambi mob zishawahi ni-happen-ia kwa ‘executives’. mi enyewe kuongea ukweli, nilikuwa m-cheeky since  Stadi one.Maybe ni hii love ya art, rebellion against fate. imeniingisha kwa mezesh mob sana. sasa hii time, kulisemekana mi ndo nilichora magraffiti fulani kwa loo, na yule mo-de hakutaka kuskia any….wa wa wa, si niliriadwa?

“wewe dio unashola mitugo miaganu kwa kioro?” /you are the one drawing bad manners in the loo?

by the time alimada kusema ivo, urwaro ilikuwa nje ya daro, rasa tupu juu ya meza na ile kijiti haikujua utamu.**manze nili-soma ocha kiasi na huku tulikuwa tunachapwa ka shiet.hakukuwa children’s rights ama nini…the teachers word was law, their stick the governor…

back to the storo….schwwzzzap!schwwzzzap! ile pipe (with a bamboo reed inside) ilishikana na manyu ya mine, huku watoi daro wamenyamaza kama shonde chooni- machozi machungu kama kupokonywa ubikra yalitiririka, yakanidondoka….lakini WAPI?

“mimi?wallahi mwalimu sikushora kwa shoo!”

sikujua hii love ya art ya kujiexpress vifree inge-end up kuwa life line- am ni breadline.

maybe pia yule jamaa alikuwa na issue moja tafash kuliko kukosa t.p- tell us yua drama!

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