A thing called ‘Tired Third Year Syndrome’

December 15, 2009 at 6:10 pm | Posted in blogging, buddies, campuslife, d8ingame, he-motions, life | 3 Comments

Walala, hii ni Sem inengi nimelandiiii, jo…si huyu boy ni mfyam?

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!


A Villager’s Valentine

February 16, 2009 at 5:33 pm | Posted in d8ingame, he-motions, idiots, life, msheflani, poetry | 9 Comments

My DEaR Wa-jee-raw*!

my swit ruv

my swit ruv

I would want to break into your thoughts with what’s written in my heart!
Hey wait, waiiiiiiiiit, let me tone it down as you would when you smear your Kimbo-vasirini* and the layer is too much for your mothiririmos* liking and those soft hands rise over and above your chocolate thighs…
Oh, the sighs that come out unbidden out of my lips when i ritho* you do your rishio*.
Surely, there’ll be no rats to interupt your animated grunts as my rhumbas serenade and refresh your body, soul and mind (in that oda!) like the ka-Novida*drink i brought you from the big city!
Shy girl, shy girl, hear, hear, give me your ears for all these years i’ve wanted to see you draw that map on the red earth with your big toe…for such a market day like this, when your mother and mine rush to sell ndumas* and ikwas*, i’l invite you right into my hut…and what’s more, into my heart!
See, see, Wa-jiro, my rav*…i bought a brand new kanyitera and, tsk tsk, suprise, supriiiiiiiiiiiiiise, a pink lacy one…the kind cool girls in the big city wear!…don’t blush, don’t blush, Wa-jiro, don’t blush, because even as rains have disappointed, i shall stand to appoint you with countless reasons…reminiscent of the days we rolled carefree on the green grass carpet and it’s viridity merged with our childhood innocense….
Hold on, hold on…Wa-jiro…i know you got no humor tumor in your head and i can not be simpler than this…but i can assure you, in Uni-verse-City, they don’t award degrees for virginity!
So, pris, pris, un-insure your thoughts from mindless chastity…
Ok!Ok!OK!My bad!I fixed the bed, i swear i did…that by the time the sun bleeds over Gaichanjiru Village and the mishumaris are loose, i bet the crickets will swallow the creaking with the rhymes of their chymes….
Oh…there comes your nyukwa, i must go!

laughter in that language – i told you!
*Wa-jiro > Wanjiro- the name of a young maiden Kikuyu girl.
Kimbo-Vaserin >Kimbo is a cooking fat brand- folks in the village back in the day applied it as you would Vaseline…vaserin is, yes, Vaseline!
Ritho>eye!..eye-ing you.
Rishio> Ritual, hehe
Ka-Novida > Novida – a refreshing non alcoholic drink from the Schweppes and Cocacola stable…assumed to be ‘up-market, mobile…with-it city folks…
Ndumas & Ikwas > Arrowroots and…Arrowroots…they’re all dug out!
rav >love, lol.
Kanyitera > a smoky lamp made of tin, a wick and paraffin…emits a lot of smoke!
Mshumaris> Nails
Nyukwa> A derogative term to refer to ‘your mother’.


Stacy’s mum

January 15, 2009 at 12:33 pm | Posted in d8ingame, he-motions, life | 6 Comments

i was scaling the stair case when a boootiful booty came into view, swinging this way, that way, this way…and i remain there, staring.
“Kijana, unataka nini?”
Jo dada, hiyo dance-o-mania mami, huna hurumaaa!
” mama kathanga yuko?” i ask miss mboch who had embarrassingly caught me gawking as she mopped the veranda…
ee, yuko…wacha nikuitie..wipes hands on her dress and goes on to swings them, this way, that way…
seconds later, mama Kathanga is on the door and oh, am taken aback. with the new year, new things seems to be more than hot up her deck…
Habari mathe, nimetumwa na mathe…plus nikichekicheki huyo mtoi wako
Aii na wewe Boyo, ingia ndani kwanza!
habari ya masomo? hee…umepotea sana!mbona siku hizi hututembelei? ama tulikufanyia nini…a chatterbox she is.
masomo nilisare mathe, na sa nishavuruga huyu dota-ko hakuna pressure ya kupitia kila sa ka kitambo!

Am doing good, ni venye shughuli zimekuwa mob…
Aiii, shughuli gani na wewe boyo, kwani umeoa?
wololo…nilioa dota-ko sometime na nikatupa, bure kabisa!
hahaha…hapana mathe…
my fears are confirmed when Stacy struts in from the kitchen holding a flask and some cookies, smiling like the sun shines from her mouth.
Sasa! Karibu chai!…smiles again, sweetly, sweet like sony sugar…
Manze na umeiva siku hizi,nimehata hizo $%$#% !
Thanks, asante, i say, smiling back as pleasantly.
I’m sipping the hot beverage slowly, crumbling several cookies thinking, as we make small talk with her mum as..and after i give her the ka-parcel, she leaves the room..apparently to do sijui wot…
Severally, miss mboch waddles by and i lift the cup to my face, making sure Stacy hanioni and swivel my eyes that way, taking a healthy glance at the blessing she carries behind, gulp it down with hot milky tea and sugary cookies, aha!
Satisfaction..Marcus Somebody pull it back to the top!
But i realize am more worried about the hole in my socks – i keep my feet screwed to the floor-  as she yaps, eager to know what wherewhohow i have been upto…
aaaa..si kawaida tu, ku –hussle….
na kusumbuana na wasichana wajinga ka wewe…ni weeengi!
bado we huchora ma-story? with an all-knowing smile, she prods…
Haiya? did i ever give you my mushy juvenalia crap?…maaan, past mistakes!
aaa, hiyo ilikuwa tu ku pass time,ulijauaje?… damn can’t that rot in peace?
Si i still have one of those pieces you gave me..she says swinging her head this way, that way, the way she did when she…uhm, Wanted?Warn-Ted!
I lenga the vibe and muse : Huh?Kweli?…We iweke, siku ile nitakuwa famous, uta-lay claim, ama? …Sokwe wewe
You write real nice…
OH, thanks!…for the lie, sucker….so wewe?
Am still trying to model and do some design on the side for keeping me going, yeah…like she had been waiting all years to say this, she answers.
Nice, you know iyo figure yako bado yu ni mada…
*Giggles*..ai wacha wewe…*giggle* nikujaribu tu.

Then, out the blue:
Hey! i gotta get going, i say , kuna msee ana ni chill…checking my non-existent wrist watch.
Haraka aje na wewe? (after sometime) Lakini..si we can hook up sometime…a pleading look on her face.
Uhm, hakuna noma…na ujue tu sina stori na wewe, ni kus$#@$  tu!

Am already on the door
Ah, Boyo…number ni ile ile? she enquires whipping out some gisty phone.
Ehe, naona bado vitu zako ni za bei kali?…zi, nilichange, 07…
Later, that night, sleep is about to embrace me when ka- phone buzzes.

A new text message. New number?
Stacy’s Mum, tis signed.

*tsk tsk..this is fiction based on that Rock song, Stacy’s mum…hope you followed!**

have you ever waited for someone

November 4, 2008 at 9:27 am | Posted in d8ingame, he-motions, msheflani, poetry | 4 Comments

…hoping they will never show up? But sure enough, you are dying to see them?

in fact, the whole of the past weekend, minutes were punctuated by their very thoughts, thoughts of how they have suddenly started upsetting you in such a sweet way.



how they are making you suffer.

how you are aching to tell, express,rain, pour- explode! Yell to them about the bounding spell they have pronounced on you…

sleep has been a rare commodity. it’s a cliche, yes you know. they write about it, right from nursery pick up lines that ‘silali juu yako‘…but its so fucking real to you, you ashamed of it. so real like sex and taxes and yes, its already taxing your nerves.

yaani, like the thrones of capitalism the reign of your sanity is at stake.

but you know you are not going mad about anyone.

even though every time you lie to rest, then begins a journey in your mind, like shakespeare wrote.

you’d like to leave it at that, but the dreams, oh! from the fourth dimension and animated like an award winning hollywood flick, they puncture into your over-stretched consciousness.


psychological torture!

where is she? where is he?

then, you remember. uhm, you never forget it. you just chose to ignore it.

…that many have tried.

no longer are you the cynic.

” ati hakuna kitu kama love ” is now a forgotten mantra, one you chose to avoid ka ngotha ya kitambo

Like Luther, you’ll are sworn to never say never again…

maybe it’s even more than that.

” Hebu imagine”- you consort your sane brain cells.

this person has such a history. they have upset so many, you have gathered.

but like the temperess of talmud, they still appeal.

all you need is audience…you console your pride.

and this morning, you hoped it’d end.

that they’d saunter into your life and dispell all doubts, unload the burden on your thoughts, quench your sexcessive obsession.

…maybe she is a workmate, your best friend’s sister, that forbiden distant cousin, or if you are in my vantage point, a class mate.

sadly, and sure enough, they don’t appear.

a desperate sigh parts from your lips, on this realisation. your eyes stare blankly, probably beyong the ceiling, unto heavens- take this cup away from me, you’d like to scream…but complete inability to think, act, sweeps over you.


phew! another entry is made in a dreamers diary – maybe one day, the torturing illusion will crytallize into this unbelievable wonder woman.


dreamed up this in class, as i looked accross the lecture hall…hopr u gitch the flow.

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