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!
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).
Hadi ‘day’ yako ifike, udondoke pia!
In the reefs of my recent memory, many Sundays ago, this thought came to remind.
A gathering of storming minds, further read the advert…or, literature news bite.
Location: Daas restaurant, Waste-lands
Event: Sunday Open Mic Salon/ Story Moja (one story)
Date: one Sunday, many Sunday ago
Participating parties were to make readings based on the book by Dayo Forster, a Gambian writer based in Nairobi. Reading the ceiling, the book is titled.
Apparently it’s about a young girl, shy of her 18th birthday, startled in the search, spoilt in choice in making the decision on who, of the 4 men in her life, would she bestow the honor of taking away this thing called…virginity.
Presentations were made and in the media, I sampled some.
But could the Mind of this son find such in the archives of his eaves-dropping collection?
Correction! Not necessarily my experience, but experience necessarily…any!
“That hOt January, the noOn after, triple summer temperatures, far-in-height, reminiscent of centigrade-s in of Belgrade…but passion burning, boiling way above the heat.
In one hit, one liner, if you so like; it was a scarlet scene…of bodies coiling and recoiling, lathered in sweat, embroiled in sin.
It was a first love so eager, she the beggar, I the eagle, keen eye on the kill, devouring with skill.
NOooooh!, she’d scream.
KnOts I’d navigate.
Then, over the gate, her cry came.
ThrOugh the tin roof, it shot…music to the untrained ear but a cOnspiratory theory highly bred to hoodwink his delicate ego and pride…
“My reputation explains my pride,
where I’ve been,
they’ve always enjoyed the ride,
but this one, oh boy,
she just faked an…”
A poet, at the event, must-a-have read the ceiling for me… through the tin roof?
– the story is as told to this writer, no thanks.
to interrupt normal broadcum, let me serve you with some desert as you prepare for the main course meal….
now, campo life is supposed to be fun where n oone else matters except you, you, you did i say you?
now, it starts to suck when it aint you or you or you, just you…according to the gospel of my eccentricity and vanity…and instead you feel that your life is fwakin thwacked up by some meteorite from mazz called ‘drama’.
come on don’t we all love trouble?
especially when its not our trouble, right?
forget about kubambwa juu ya mwakenya…or spotting some chick furtively trying to chuck some mwakenya from the now-so-common pendulous twins…this roundie drama is showing its ugly follicles on your court.
as the sem winked a sleepy eye, i got wind of some breed of chicks that i am not willing to meet soon. its a breed of the female species that dont squarely fall on the category of ‘ladies of questionable’ value but you know how these standards and branding come about. when she is fly, hot, unreachable…she is branded a hot b*itch of some high flying politician….and all that shit.
me i dont like this….i give all equal chances till you discover the hindiot.
the chicks..hmm…they have it all. value & virtues, speaking ‘asset’-wise, ha. oh, and big share of hard nuts most campo lads lack.
to them, femininity is a tool to wield when necessary and get whatever they want- the best thing to have happened in the ’emancipation of mimi and nini’. the many reason i think the empowerment of the girlchild should be done with a pinch of salt!
ok… sure enough they achieve much with the least effort given the mindless guys that run around. i mean, many men are mindless when it comes to some women ama that saying goes how…nani akisha-take over akili kwisha potea!
here is where the twist comes in.
they dont need your money, cash or otherwise.erm cash is money, right?- just your head- your other head- kubaf!
some pal of mine fell for it and nothing is more bitter than getting nailed in your homeground.
they f*ck you- literally!
its the reverse of ‘our’ century-old-game and as they say, the female of the species is the most lethal; use and dump.no holds barred. and while at it, make you feel like a stud.
i mean, its all bliss after she makes to you all the moves of a horny female mate and you brag to the boys as you head to ‘slaughter’.
first night, its bliss…
and jamaa…after several days of walking around as the king pin. you decide to pop in at ‘your new territory’
“yes sir alexander the great,” she’ll answer you knock.
then that crucial hour arrives. the kind nonini raps in ‘si lazima ‘ ‘itakuwaje hii movie ikiisha/how will it be when this movie ends’.
“yaaaaaaawn, nataka kulala,” with those bedu aiz (the boy on you jumps up and down- baaaaaaaas 🙂
“hehehe, kweli.hakuna noma,” you grin broadly, trying to be cuddly…
she suddenly turns indifferent and you think its one of those womanly thing us women care less about but are more often than not subjected to…and out of the blue..
“eh, si ujitoe basi?” pulling out of your cuddle, she says looking at you…
“oh wacha kuwa ivo…si unajua…” like any cornered dude, you croak, but wapi you know it.
any bright jamaa knows….tonight?
……………..its you and your hand……haha
the ‘less priviledged ones’ go ahead and insist only to be met by a matter-of-fuckly :”haiya? you want me to call the watchie?
no one wants a rape-claim tag….and there and then, you know mbio za sakafuni zime-die.
nigga, you just got served.