Category Archives: Lighter note
It’s me again, I hope you remember me from last time…That’s not an awkward way to start a letter, is it? The last time I opened a letter like that I was accused of being a stalker and slapped with a restraining order. Ever been threatened with jail, Santa? Or worse, ever been threatened by a woman, wielding hot sauce?
I have really been good this year…okay, maybe I am no longer welcomed at the PTA meetings for speaking my mind but that banker really deserved it. Don’t you just hate it when people talk longer than they should, as if saying “last but not least” ten times will make the speech shorter?
Okay so maybe, I turned down that nice boy who wanted a dance. But you see, dancing with a guy who has two left feet is not pretty, and my toes are really not that strong. The only things allowed to squeeze them are my 6 inch stilettos.
Ever been called an angry black woman, Santa? My on and off boyfriend says that I’ve got issues, that I should see a shrink. This is how I picture myself in the shrink’s office. I’m lying on the couch (it better be leather because I’m not breaking my back for something as cheap as pleather or those cranky fabrics – you know the kind that creak every time you shift), looking at the ceiling and pretending to relax while what I’m really thinking about is how to ‘accidentally’ run into my hot neighbor. That’s not stalking, is it?
Oh Santa, I think we started off on the wrong foot. Have you ever been to Nairobi? No? Nairobi is that city that you don’t just fly over when on an African tour. Kindly pass this communique to President Obama. Communique? Really? I think I’m trying too hard. Is it working Santa?
Nairobi is also that city that has survived SEVERAL Ebola scares, at least by the time of hitting publish. Please pass this message to all Americans suffering from Fearbola. Next time you are in Kentucky (I hear there was a teacher who’s resigned after concerns were raised about her trip to Kenya), tell them that Nairobi is miles away from West Africa. Tell them they are lucky Kenyans on Twitter (KOT) didn’t get wind of this ‘defamation.’ If you don’t know how ruthless and unforgiving KOT are, please Google #someonetellsouthafrica or #someonetellnigeria or #someonetelltanzania or #someonetelluganda.
Nairobi is a thing of beauty but it is flawed. Ever had to watch your Samsung Galaxy glide from your pocket into the hands of another? Ever had to fight off a 186 pounds man in a narrow alley? Ever had to kick a man below the belt and hear him bleat like strangled goat? Animal activists don’t sue me; I’m only making a point here. NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED.
Ever had to squeeze yourself past a mass of well-fed Kenyans along the crowded Tom Mboya Street? Ever had your hair entangled in a lady’s back zipper and have her yank it out? Ever been tear-gassed in Ngara, only to have the hawker run away with your change, the cloth he was supposed to sell you and your own jacket which you gave him to hold. Have you Santa?
Dear Santa, does this dress make me look fat? I’ve always wondered how you would answer this question. Ho, ho, ho, does this costume make me look red? I think courtesy dictates that I should end this with a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
It feels good to win a bet, the way your ego bursts through your chest when you rub it in your opponent’s face. God, I hate such people, especially when they are my friends. They take your money and then make you feel like crap. Or they make you tear up. Then they make it even harder by laughing in your face, or taking a picture to embarrass you further in future.
People bet on everything, love and war, politics, football, money, alcohol and food. Some bets are insecure like who can make the baby laugh or whose name the baby will say first. Some are ambitious like who will have the most money when they turn 25 (I’m still working on this one). Some bets make you gain ten pounds like who can gobble down the most sausages in 20 minutes. Some are risky and promiscuous like who can sleep with the most number of people in a week. Others are predatory like who can convince the girl who’s passed out on the bar counter to go home with him. Others are wasteful, like who can guzzle down the most bottles of beer in a span of 15 minutes. Humans are such competitive creatures, and friends are such a pain sometimes.
My most recent bet was engineered by a friend who has a high affinity for attracting trouble. “I want to challenge you to do something risky this holiday. Something you’ve never done before but have always talked about doing.”
I leaned forward, raised one brow and crooned, “Pfft…I didn’t really mean it when I said I wanted to get married by 2014. That was just the alcohol talking.”
She shook her head. “No. How do you feel about going on a blind date?”
At this moment, I’m perturbed (I’ve always wanted to use this word, it makes me look smart, like I’ve mastered my dictionary to the back page. No?) “What if he’s a serial killer or a rapist?” I watch too many movies that have characters with psychopathic tendencies but you get my point.
She laughed, “I have someone in mind. I think you two are perfect for each other.”
Before I could react, she was already holding four thousand shillings – clean, crisp notes, the kind that rustles in your hand when you hold it. You know, the kind that bribers use to gain more ground. “Are you ready to make easy money? You just have to have the guts to win it.”
I felt insulted like she was ‘pimping’ me out to a total stranger! The nerve! Yes, I was mad – but let’s just go with hyperventilating (where is a wall when you need to punch one). But people bet on stupid things like who has the guts to sit through a one hour dinner with a total stranger who might be a serial killer or a rapist. Or someone who loves to strip women naked like those idle men in the streets of Nairobi. Besides, I have never been one to back out of a challenge, especially one that involves money. I jumped right into the bet. Don’t judge me; money has that effect on people.
I would let you know that I’ve never been on a blind date before; I have no idea on how to behave. Should I wear a nice dress, show some legs and cleavage? After all, it’s #MyDressMyChoice, right? Should I share my opinions on men who strip women naked because of their dressing? Should I pretend to like sushi? Should I pack pepper spray to defend myself in case he tries something like slip his hands into my purse when I’m not looking? Should I pick the tab or do I let him pay for dinner as society dictates? Is it safe to leave my drink with him when I go to the bathroom? You see, I’m in a really tight spot because of a bet that I’m too greedy to lose. Anyway, if the blind date goes well, maybe I’ll invite him to Christmas dinner and introduce him to my mother. I’m not moving too fast, am I?
So someone stops me on my way to work and shouts, “Nice top! Keep up the Valentine’s spirit”. Huh! Followed by a scoff…This ain’t red…well, maybe it is. You see I always make sure that I don’t wear red on Valentines. It is boring and cliché.
But on my defence I didn’t know it was Valentine’s Day. No, that doesn’t sound right at all. I knew but I totally forgot. Don’t blame me; blame the economy that sucks the energy out of me that I forget such ‘important’ things. I was going to say blame the government but seriously…how many curses can the government take.
Enough of my nonsensical rants, now that Valentine’s Day is here I’ve got to face it head on. Well, is it weird that I wore red because people are staring at me and it is freaking me out. Or maybe they are staring at Stacy who cannot stop blowing her nose and sobbing because Jack has not called her.
Stacy pull yourself together, and your boyfriend Jack is a jerk! There, there, do you feel any better. Stacy: He was supposed to call me this morning but he only sent me a message. Who does that? (Sob, sob).
Me: Okay Stacy, what did the message say? (I don’t like playing Dr. Phil but Stacy’s whimpers won’t let me work).
Stacy: That he loves me and he is thinking of me. (Sob, sob). And that he has made dinner reservations for 7.00.
I thank management for Kleenex because how else would I manage her constant nose blowing.
Me: (A little bit confused) He has made reservations, then what’s the problem?
Stacy: 7.00 p.m. But I am hungry now.
Okay, I take back everything I said about Jack being a jerk. (Whispers) I think Stacy is crazy; the best part is that she doesn’t even know she is crazy.
Valentine drama…Cupid must be flinching from wherever he is. Or maybe he’s got anger management issues and he is readying his bow and arrow. People like Stacy deserve Cupid’s wrath.
Enough of Stacy, that girl needs to get a life. I think I am going to spend my Valentine rewatching Breaking Bad. What better treat do I need than Heisenberg, the meth Godfather.
Happy Valentine’s everyone!
Too much chocolate will destroy your teeth.
Plastic flowers are a nuisance to the environment.
If you sneeze while holding your Valentine flowers, it is not the flowers. It’s him for not knowing which flower scents you are allergic to.
It is only a matter of hours before we bid goodbye to 2013 and usher in a new year. The good thing about new years is that we feel so sanguine we tend to make resolutions we know we can never live up to. Well, 2013 was a crazy year, everything was crazy, Kenyans were even crazier. These are my highlights of 2013 because they make it to my list of unforgettable memories.
1. Ndramas and vindeos
This year my classmates and I made drama movies courtesy of one Mr. Nguri Matu (we salute you Sir). Our ndramas – let me just say they were special. We busted our bottoms (for the lack of a better word) making those masterpieces. I think Hollywood should scout for more Kenyan actors and movie makers. Even Ben Affleck had to start somewhere …
2. Nairobi thieves (stop harassing hustlers)
My friend Linda was robbed of her fundamentals (no relation to Ken Wa Maria’s Fundamendos) by thieves brandishing guns. Nairobi thieves, can’t a sister catch a break. Shame on you for stealing from this adorable hustler! Beware, she now carries a really concentrated chilli spray (I am kidding, I wish she was though).
3. KOT, the villains of Twitter
Ruth Matete wore a short dress and #KOT forgot about Huddah Monroe for a second. They shredded Matete’s reputation to pieces. If you are Kenyan and you still don’t know what KOT means, SHAME ON YOU for being so analogue`. We should deport you to Zimbabwe.
4. Fundamendos (Fundamentals)
Ken Wa Maria’s new song (or should I say monster hit like they say at the Grammys) Fundamendos is like that annoying advertisment jingle that you try so hard to forget but you keep humming it anyway.
These last two have nothing to do with Kenya but I just had to sneak them in.
5. Marina Shiffrin
She became everyone’s hero when she made a video of herself quitting her job while doing an interpretive dance to Kanye West’s Gone. It should have come with a disclaimer: Don’t try this in the office.
6. A twerker called Miley
Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the craziest of them all. MILEY CYRUS! She twerked, she wrecked and she stripped until she killed any remaining memory of Hannah Montana. I hear she now raps with the likes of French Montana. Yeah, once you go black, you never go back.
Arsenal had a good year, scratch that. Arsenal had a gunnerstic year (I made that word up, sue me). Even the panting Giroud delivered at the last minute when no one had faith in him. By no one I am specifically referring to one Reakey Babji Seda and Piers Morgan. They are the only two gunners whom I know personally. They also make the loudest noise. #COYG all the way.
All in all, 2013 had its ups and downs. Some experienced the worst tragedies in their life – the demons of WestGate terror attack still haunt Kenyans until now.
It was 12 months of Passion, Pain and Pleasure. But the past is gone, we must therefore look to the future and hope with all optimism that the world doesn’t come crushing down on us. Well, Invictus said it, I only echo it “our heads are bloody but unbowed.”
Dear readers, I cannot promise you heaven in 2014 (I wish I could). But I have one wish for all of you. May we rise again from the depths of disappointment and from the bosom of pain to recapture mirth and success.
As the countdown approaches, let go of your malevolence and revengy feelings. Smile at your annoying neighbour (even if her cat crawls into your house to gulp all your milk) and heartily shout “ HAPPY NEW YEAR!” I promise it will hurt less if you throw in a smile, with more soul and less teeth of course. Don’t smile like this guy…SHELDON COOPER.
Don’t you worry, 2014 will be better. We’ll be driving Cadillacs…in our dreams. Lorde, Lorde, Lorde, you have crazy grown up aficionados.
I love y’all. And I said that with a ratchet twang. May God guide you to a blessed 2014. Au Revoir mes amies.
College life was fun; I believe this is a unanimous opinion. We sang along to Asher Roth’s I Love College and danced to Party Rock Anthem till the split of dawn. We skipped classes we didn’t like, attended some we couldn’t skip. We made friends, both fake and real, we made arch rivals. We tasted a little booze (little is relative here); some came out staggering but still standing. Yeah, we had it good.
And so when we put the pen down, we crossed our fingers and waited for the big commemoration – The Graduation. Finally, 17th December was the day that Moi University would acknowledge our academic pursuits by giving us the power to read and write amid a roaring applause and cheers.
I have witnessed many graduation ceremonies but none ever lowered my expectations like the 2nd 29th Graduation at Moi University. It was shambolic, crowded and utterly confused. In short, it didn’t give me any feeling of honour or fulfillment.
No offense but some of the graduation gowns and caps were ill fitting, non-matching and out of colour. With a graduation fee hike of 4500 from 3500, you’d expect that the university would grant us something a little worth our money.
After a whole day hustle in an extremely long line, many graduands missed the ceremonial gowns with no promise of refund for their money. Trust Moi University to always kick you in the face when you need something from them that you have paid for – exam cards, rooms, clearance. Nothing is a smooth sail in Moi Uni.
Rumour has it that Moi University is one of the wealthiest universities in Kenya. With an extensive land big enough to host a country I couldn’t agree more. I stand to be corrected but Moi is the only university in Kenya with a chopper and a textile company (Rivatex) which two years ago invented a rare dye courtesy of our Vice Chancellor Mibey. Don’t judge me, for all my troubles and pains, I believe I have earned the right to brag, although this university never makes it easy.
I gotta ask though, why couldn’t the university make graduation gowns at Rivatex instead of shamelessly hiring gowns from all over Kenyan universities. It wasn’t a pleasant site looking like mismatched walking rainbows.
The graduation arena was packed with graduates waiting to receive their hard earned honours. According to the graduation booklet, there were at least 5200 graduands. This is not even the whole number because some graduands whose names had been missing from the original graduation list were fixed in the last minute.
The inconsequential boring speeches lowered our spirits further, but the worst part came when Moi University resorted to ‘mass production’ of graduates. Only departments were mentioned and we were expected to stand up in mass and with dignity to pay homage to our degrees. The numerous empty seats must have been feeling the pinch. A lot of graduands had boycotted the event before it even commenced.
Yes, Moi University, the university with a difference. God, I love this immortal mantra.
After all my rant, maybe the topic of this article should have been ‘the fake graduates of Moi University’ but I earned my degree and I’m not going to degrade it.
Kudos to Moi University graduating class of 2013 – thus far the Lord has brought us. We survived Peter Mashoka, Stella Makisu, the jaguar, the peer pressure. We even survived the semester inflation and Sister Nabushawo’s bull’s eye. Yeah, we made it! Now in future we can break bread and reminisce about the good ol’ times (bublishing, patichular, Dr. Ong’ondo’s true-lies stories)…if you know what I mean.
P.S. Moi University should let go of those ‘nyayo rags’ because they are no longer ceremonial. The whole university was decorated with them.
1ST AND LAST PHOTOS COURTESY OF JONTE CEO OF M2A PHOTOGRAPHY