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’.

😀

Of Samson and the stripper of Gaza

January 23, 2009 at 12:26 pm | Posted in greatmen, he-motions, idiots, life, randommoments, retardedrants | 3 Comments

….. CNN is streaming into the room about stuff we have little control over, and am diligently digging into my Ugali*.

“Wasn’t Samson’s eyes gouged out in Gaza?” Mum chips in and i re-focus. Beaming ominously,on a low resolution camera, images from Gaza…man records brother death,the  running footnotes read.

mum?details? how could she know that and i don’t? my eyes widened, mind flipped open, challenged.

i must admit that…even as i dug the good book for a better preview…it was mainly fueled by skepticism. Sorry ma’…but besides my doubts, i discovered some things.

you know the story…most of you does(?) but hear, hear, hear me out on this.

Samson! Son of Manaoh, from the tribe of Dan…born of a former-barren unnamed woman…obsessed with the kisses and caresses of the enemy daughters’…i consider him a hero, a tragic hero,like say, Oedipus. Oedipus the King.

From Judges 13, this life story rolls on…and before i sink his mother further into oblivion…like her husband and the Angel of the Lord, let me quote for you a little evidence of the apparent chauvinism that overrode in these times.

(KJV) Judges 13: 3 “…And the angel of the LORD appeared unto the woman, and said unto her, Behold now, thou art barren, and bearest not: but thou shalt conceive, and bear a son.”

But Manoah, the soon-to-be dad…thinks his ‘woman‘ is insane and calls upon the Lord for another sign…

9 “And God hearkened to the voice of Manoah…”

J’dges 13: 13 “And the angel of the LORD said unto Manoah, Of all that I said unto the woman let her beware…” The angel of the Lord further sunk her into obscurity of history, she who was to give birth to the strongest man to have lived in Israel…their savior and liberator.

The other thing that amused me about Samson, a ‘liberated free soul’…was his ‘poetic inclination’.

Though we can’t calibrate it on the ‘Shakespearean scale’…he was expressive and captured his emotions precisely, giving ambiguity a wide berth. Mostly, it showed up in times of turmoil.

On his way to a town called Timnah, to betroth his first love, a woman ‘who had pleased him well’ against his parents wishes, he kills a lion (Judges 14:5)…and what better way of keeping this heroic secret (Judges 14:6), than by encrypting it in a riddle at his wedding?

“Put forth your riddle, that we may hear it!” over a bet (Judges 14:13)… the sons of Timnah, eager to hear and win, urged him on.

Here, i prefer my NIV version Bible that reads like:

“Out of the eater, something to eat;
Out of the strong, something sweet
(Judges 14:14)

Three days were to elaspe and with no clear answer, the sons of Timnah pushed the bride to seduce the answer from him ‘or did she bring this man to rob from us?’ You know what transpired, after she ‘vexed him to death…and thus, he burst:

If ye had not plowed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle. Judges 14:18 (KJV)

Brethren, there is something i think you should note here…after this bet went against him.

“…he went down to Ashkelon, and slew thirty men of them, and took their spoil, and gave change of garments unto them which expounded the riddle. ” Judges 14:19

It’s this same Ashkelon that appears in Zephaniah 2:4

Zeph. 2:4 (KJV) “For Gaza shall be forsaken,
And Ashkelon desolate;…”

the stripper of Gaza

Maybe this is where i should chip in what attracted most to this page: the stripper of Gaza. It’s true there was one…only then, they called them ‘harlots’ not ho’z…

Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there an harlot, and went in unto her.  And it was told the Gazites, saying, Samson is come hither. Judges 16:1 (KJV, def!

So there you have it, the harlot, contrary to many miss-conceptions, this teacher tells thee,  was not Delilah..Delilah, was just a girl that Samson saw and loved…

“And it came to pass afterward, that he loved a woman in the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah.” Judges 16:4

i see yawns here and there, so let me wind up..AAAAAAAAAmen, haloooooo?(dont you dislike when preachers do this?)

So, Samson’s eyes were gouged at Gaza, i verified..

But the Philistines took him, and put out his eyes, and brought him down to Gaza, and bound him with fetters of brass; and he did grind in the prison house. Judges 16:21

And the most foolish thing, or failure in this plot..the Philistines actually allowed his hair to grow again eventually killing them off? (Judges 16:22)

End of Sermon.

thrOugh the tin roOf

January 19, 2009 at 12:55 pm | Posted in campuslife, he-motions, life | 3 Comments

bloggers advisory:explicit.

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.
Ahem!
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!
Well…
“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.

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