Date Gone Bad

The cold silver cuffs close in with certainty. The grin on Baba Sharon’s face is unmistakable. Talk of a man performing his duty with relish and gusto. Just to make sure I'm aware who the boss is, he tightens the cuffs further. It seems my grimacing face will make his day. It’s now clear that he means business. The women and children playing rounders’ stop for awhile to stare at the spectacle unfolding right in front of their eyes. The sight of a grown ass man being lifted by the trouser will stay in their memories for a long time.  The monkeys at the city park too are enjoying this movie; even more than the women and the children. I understand; theirs is personal. No, it’s not because I didn’t give them bananas, I did. It’s just that that’s not the type of bananas they wanted. The one they wanted was lying comfortably on my chest, tickling herself silly with the dry jokes I was emitting.

                                                  Haki babe,u so funny.

These are the times you feel that you are the man, that you are God’s gift to the female species. It’s that kind of feeling that always gets a ninja into problems. In this case it was just a matter of time.

Baba Sharon is leading me to a waiting van. He reads me my rights. He says that my accomplice and I have acted indecently and disturbed public peace contrary to the public nuisance ACT and park’s management ACT. The evidence against me is overwhelming, he says. He gets his NOKIA 2330C which allegedly caught the whole incident on camera  just to remind me of the hard times ahead. He reminds me that video evidence is admissible in court. I suppress the strong urge to laugh. Not about the admissibility of video evidence but about the capacity of the said phone to capture anything it’s purported to have recorded. Certain things are just too funny regardless of the situation you find yourself in. I succeed in controlling it this time, albeit temporarily.

The two gentlemen with Baba Sharon are so pissed at me and they take turns reminding me of how am gonna pay for disrespecting them.

In a heavy Bukusu accent, one of my arrestors says, ‘sisi tulikucha kwa amani,hadi tukakuonyesha vitambulisho za kazi. wewe ukatujibu kwa madharau, unajiona mwanaume sindiyo. (dramatic pause here) Tutaona mahali uume wako itakufikisha”

His mouth reeks of a concoction of cheap alcohol, tobacco and marijuana. He adjusts his Ng’ombe cap and tucks his shirt in menacingly as if getting ready for war.

In spite of the dawning seriousness, a strong wave of laughter sweeps through me. I calmly try to explain it to him that I didn’t mean to disrespect them. I just felt there was nothing wrong I had done to warrant an apology. After all, somebody lying on another in a park is not a crime. Looking back, perhaps I should have stopped there. Instead, I went on a rant on how the new constitution and several acts of parliament and international instruments give Kenyans protection from arbitrary arrest and mistreatment by law enforcers. I even reminded them that one of them had been smoking in a public park contrary to the Tobacco Act of 2007. I wanted to desperately assure my companion that I was the man. I was not only brave but also well versed in matters of the law.

This last bit seemed to have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Baba Sharon quickly called a guy who I was later informed was their supervisor to hurry and write me a charge sheet.

                            Buda ,leo unalala cell Parklands 

It’s here that the seriousness of the situation hit me. Whereas I might be innocent, the unethical nature of the mainstream media and the unlimited space of the social media almost guaranteed that you are guilty so long as you are accused.

Am imagining my dad buying a copy of his favorite daily, the Daily Nation and finding his son among the stories that start with In Other News and with catchy headings such as Youth Charged with Gross Indecency and an accompanying story of what they felt I did. Media-attention-hungry witnesses to such incidents are never that difficult to find. A woman who had been allegedly praying next to me will shake her head in contempt and narrate how shamefully we were behaving. She would then finish her sentence with a loud sigh of watoto wa ckuhizi! and quickly call people from her village to tune in to news later to watch her.

What of the social media memes? What of the gutter press?

                           City Park, the New Muliro Gardens?

                           Blogger arrested for sex in park.

Uncontrollable sexual appetite buys human rights activist a space in city cell

 All I ever wanted was to be a romantic boyfriend and take her to the park for a date with nature. All I wanted was to do my community proud. All I wanted was to impress. And look where that had got me- A small windowless room with three pissed off men baying for my blood and an impatient girl giving me murderous glances from the corner of her eye.

These are the times you begin sweating profusely despite the chilly weather. Quick thoughts crossed my mind. What if I pulled a Jack Bauer? I could use the element of surprise and pushed these clowns into the pool in front and dash away with the girl evading gunshots while carrying her to safety. 

That would definitely gain me points. And this game is all about points. She was still looking at me in that, am here because of you face cursing what kind of man I am. I had to do something. I had to be seen to be doing something.

I ask to talk to one of the soldiers outside.

He tells me hakuna kuongea, hata ukinipa elfu kumi stachukua. Mkienda mbele unajua itakuwa elfu kumi na mbili.

And just like that, I was in the negotiations of my life.

                 Unajua wewe ni kama mtoto wangu Sharon, ntachukua hii lakini usirudie tena. Nimekusamehe juu tu mko umri moja na ako University ka wewe.

Am still looking for Sharon …………

                                                                ……………..This time not in the park

Open Letter to Vultures Fans

By now you might have heard the rumors that I made a big dollar move across the city rivals. I don’t know why this didn’t make news. I don’t know why Sky sports, the Sun, BBC Sports ,Goal.com and other members of the international press did not splash the news of my mega move. Come on people, I made a move, from KU Vultures to Thika Rovers Hockey Club. You can’t say it wasn’t announced. Thika Rovers announced it on their WhatsApp group. What is wrong with you? Didn’t you report it when Van Persie moved from Arsenal to Mwanitesa United? Haven’t you been serializing some of the most shocking and controversial transfers? Moving from Vultures to Thika Rovers is a big move. It’s like a guy moving from Manchester United to Manchester City or vice versa. You see, am gravely disappointed in you. I understand, from the news on KTN and NTV, that Duale abused somebody’s mother and they had to report that. As for Citizen TV, they felt that the sex for water story was more compelling. And I get that. The other major media station may not like it, because of my name; which betrays me. That again, I would understand. But you?

Ok, the move was a free transfer now that my contract with the vultures was over. But it was still a move bwana. Do you know the number of gold, silver and bronze medals that have been kissed by my mouth before gracing my neck since my JAB sponsored move in the summer of 2010? Didn’t you see me in Tanzania being awarded my silver for being an integral part of the second best hockey team in East Africa? The guys who got the gold were not any better, they were just lighter. Their melanin deflected some of the scorching heat of the sun. Wait, actually the organizers of the event promised to send us the medals later via bus. Tanzania is far, the medals are still coming; a year later. Maybe then you will report  my big move.

It’s not so hard doing a news item and running several commentaries about my move. Half of your commentators can say the move is not the best thing in my career and the rest will say it was time to move. Then, you will share the stories and people in Sri Lanka and Malaysia will comment. Don’t give me that excuse of your writers are busy. Busy doing what? Telling us that Christiano Ronaldo is unhappy? Really? Even here back home Biko Zulu is unhappy, the Migori governor is unhappy, Duale is unhappy;unhappy about Rutto's mother.....

Be that as it may not, I can volunteer to write my story. It’s not so hard describing a guy whose accomplishments are in the public domain. Look at this sample…………….

Versatile Kenyatta university leftback has made the dreaded move across River Chania from the reigning Nairobi champions to the reigning Thika Champions for an undisclosed fee. The robust and experienced player who was long expected to move to the premier league outfit Park Road Hockey Club backed out of the move after failing to agree terms with the Ngara Based Outfit. Mzee Varaq nicknamed Shaolin by the Vultures supporters for his swift and scrumptious tackles and his heroics in the short corner defence is expected to play his first match at the City Park National Stadium on Saturday 20th September at 1600hrs to a packed audience.

In making the cross, the player was motivated by the reunion with Mzee Byudeh his partner in crime for over decade at Maseno School and at the city champions. The player who will now undergo a massive pay cut because of the Thika Champions wage policy is not perturbed by the great expectations facing him after his shirts were sold out in major supermarkets across Thika, Githurai, Kimbo, Kenyatta University and Nairobi. Other towns such as Oyugis, his hometown, have witnessed several schools, Kinyozis ,churches and drinking dens named  in his honour.

Look at that CNN. Was that so hard?

Then you interview my high school coach Mr. Odayo who will re-emphasize his belief in me and how am among the best defenders he’s ever seen. You can also proceed to interview Mr. Onyango, one of the best coaches I have ever played for or my captain John Omsakhulu. They will tell you that they are sad to see me go but that the great team will move on. If that isn’t enough for you, you can interview the one eyed man and Matolo. The former will tell you of my unquestionable decision making skills from my seat as a Njuri Ncheke judge sitting from Wambogo’s joint. The latter will tell you of my superior mental strength. Even when the Busitema ladies screamed at the sheer sight of his ‘Rungu’, I didn’t, I didn't get depressed considering that mine was a big sick joke.

Unlike you, some of us are professionals. And as a professional I know, just like all those big soccer stars, I have to write a farewell letter to the vulture’s fans.

tan ki shakti..............man ki shakti

Dear Vultures fans,

I know you are sad to know that I will no longer be galloping on that left side or rushing for that short corner. It breaks my heart more than you can ever imagine that I will no longer be able to see ‘short ya Jedi’ or all those 'kamaturu' every game day or get over 22 long hugs from Titans before, during and after games. It makes me cry that I will no longer be able to abuse my team-mates with pure impunity and still see the smile on their faces. I will miss that. I will miss the jeers and taunts directed at our opponents, I will miss signing your autographs.

To my old team-mates, you guys are more than brothers to me. You are people I could rely on to always come through. Yes, we had a few problems mostly ‘kuallano’ each other, but it wasn’t in bad faith. We just loved each other so much, we shared everything; including them. That's why we shared one hotel room for the over 18 of us. (It's a shame that Dabuz still exiled us during such hard times). Such bonds can never be broken. While I’ll be wearing the black and the green, my heart will always be red, my blood will always be red and Santiago de Vultures will always remain my true North. You got this, do what you do best, winning in and out of Nairobi, in and out of the pitch.

From my captains Muchu to Mnyama to Juma to Omsakhulu thank you for making me a part of your match sheets. Mnyama, even though under you I played the least matches, I understand. You couldn't play me just because you are afraid she would have been mesmerized by my skills and leave you. I understand.

To my coach, your team talks were always on point and encouraging. I remember you always had something to say. Whether you would assure us of unlimited supply of chicken to accept meagre  allowance while going to Eldoret or assuring us of unlimited beer while struggling against Strathmore in the Nairobi Cup or for asking us to smell our balls when were trailing at home. It always worked. You inspired, you made us believe more, you made us want more. Your wife, our mother, even though some of the bad players like Pompo had sinister moves, was very warm and nurturing.

How could I forget the team doctors? The crazy and confused Nyangwara who gave us deep heat to spray on fresh open wounds or the curvaceous and humongous Maggie who made us feign injuries just so that her soft hands could caress our bodies. We even looked forward to the cork hitting our cocks just so you would massage us there.

Who haven’t I mentioned?

Yes, To Wambogo the team's official keg guy.............till we meet .........

To my new team-mates, smile; smile broadly . Your problems are over. Mzee Varaq is here!

Just one more thing, Wasike (not you baba twins), I'll be leading a strong delegation to Mombasa soon . Don't get ahead of yourself, we won't be coming to apologize. We will be coming to finish the job. Be very scared, be very very scared.

Long Live Vultures, Long Live Njuri Ncheke!

Yours always,

Signed

Mzee Varaq,

Judge, Njuri Ncheke

You are just but a male

You hate me

You would never date me

Even if I were a golden plate

Your loath is strong

All I do is wrong

As if am poking you with a red hot tong

But you are just a male

As irrelevant as a P.O BOX mail

You’ll never bail my tail; just waiting to hail my fail

You are not key

You are just but thee

Like a desert priding in a quay

I may not be without defect

In fact am imperfect

Very far from the finished project

But She'll love me like a dove

They’ll treasure me like a clove

Even if aside you shove me like a derelict stove

Tomorrow the sun will rise, even if just to spite the ice

Characteristics of Maseno School Boys

So last week my old schoolmate Muga engaged me in a fierce but friendly exchange of ‘conglomerated alphabet letters in a structured way that makes sense’ over the world’s most popular social site about which stream in the Maseno Class of 2008 was superior to the other. If the queen’s tongue ain’t your first language like those of us born and bred by the lake and nurtured in the only original national school out of Nairobi, am simply saying that he engaged me in an argument on Facebook over which class was better than the other.

To actually understand this conflict between classes, it is important that I give you the scorecard in which to judge Maseno boys.

Apart from the umbrella differentiating people as ‘cops’ or ‘commoners’, there were these groups of ‘commoners’.

The Swatchists

These are the guys who always passed by Lambwe Valley before reporting to school. They loved their sleep so much that ten seconds after stepping into class they would be deep in slumber land. They didn't even pretend to struggle to remain awake when it was obvious they would succumb eventually.  Most actually perfected the art of swatching that with a steady head and fixed gaze it was impossible even for the most strict teachers to know whether one was attentive or not. 

Greasers

That water was a scarce resource was a given fact. With the ever busy Jacob’s well serving over a thousand students, the only other source of water was shadoofing. Shadoofing referred to extracting water from tanks using ties as ropes. This was however a very risky exercise that could get you sentenced to slavery. Some students however, maintained minimum interactions with water as if they were allergic to it. Greasers were those guys who never showered for the whole term. Ok, am exaggerating a little bit, they would go for a month without showering. Once in a while when the Holy Spirit intervened they would take ‘passports’. ‘Passports’ were quite popular because they saved resources used (water, time, space etc). Am not mentioning the class where most greasers came from.

Chomists

These were closely related to the greasers only that whereas the greasers exhibited gross insanitation in their bodies, the chomists had very dirty clothes especially the collars. The level of dirt on the collar was actually exothermic. These shirts were virtually uninheritable when the owner finished their fourth year of study. One even wondered why the owners marked the collars like vehicle number plates 05-4373 as if somebody would be mad enough to steal such grease.

Blockists, sychos and Slopes

You’ve probably heard that prefects in Maseno School were as powerful as Hitler, disliked like the Akidas and the Jumbes and loathed like bedbugs. They would punish you for any imaginary offence including smiling or letting your desk mate sleep in class. Never mind that would you be found waking a sleeping person you would be punished for not letting a sleeping dog lay. The people who suffered most were the slopes. These were the weak and vulnerable. They are the guys prefects went to harass as a sport. They who would accept any punishment bestowed upon them even by the frail and dwarf cops. The physically weaker prefects were actually the most creative as far as punishments were considered. The blockists were those guys, mostly able bodied and in form four or in school teams who refused to bow down to these modern day Mussolinis. The consequences were dire including the infamous trip to the dreaded deputy principal’s office. The long term advantage of going through this office is that it earned you street credit. As word spread around that you’ve gone through the fire and emerged stronger, cops begun taking you seriously. They would ignore some of your transgressions and negotiate with you. The sychos (short for sycophants) were the guys who licked boots in order to get into the prefects good books. They would buy mandazi and donate their shopping to the men in blue. The poor ones even forwent their allocated quarter of life to get a little peace. Once again Muga am not mentioning which classes had the blockists, the slopes and the sychos.

The snitch

They lived by making sure others died. There were those secrets that you hadn’t told anybody but still found their way through the administration’s intelligence service. How would you deny for example having a phone, an illegal contraband in school, when the deputy even knew the color of the case and the greeting message installed. In circumstances like this, you just had to ask for a few minutes and start collecting the different parts stored with different people and take the exhibit to the deputy’s office. It’s a shame these guys are not working for the government’s Intelligence Service. We could have been spared the shameful scenes from Migori. 

Poaches

As you are well aware of apart from the academic dominance, Maseno School was known for its stellar excellence in sports. To maintain this tradition, reinforcements had to be called in from time to time. These were the poachees. Most showed little or no enthusiasm for books. After all, they were brought in primarily to reinforce the sports department. Most came from schools where this military discipline was alien. Poachees were thus to be treated with maximum respect and excluded from certain school norms. You don’t expect a three time East Africa Basketball Most Valuable Player to be mopping now, would you?

The chichis

These were homosexuals, never mind that no one had been caught in the act. For one to qualify as a chichi, you had to have certain characteristics. You had to be extra clean. Whereas greasers and chomists were frowned upon, there was a level of cleanliness that was considered strange and gay. A real man was not supposed to shower everyday unless one was actively involved in games. A guy was not supposed to blue his shirt. A Maseno boy wasn’t supposed to talk in a certain way or move his hands in a certain way. It didn’t matter if you are from US; you had to speak your English like a guy picking rice one by one. Certain closeness with monos was also looked at with askance. Those who become uniform models for a long time were also to be investigated thoroughly and only cleared after conclusive investigation. Those who never ‘pandad’ (ate kitchen foods) and relied on biscuits and juice to survive were also adversely mentioned.

Scavengers

These were the guys whose parents abandoned them in the school without shopping or any pocket money. During visiting days whereas other students were hovering around the bus park expecting their parents and relatives, they would be walking around the compound marking those who carried heavy paper bags .Even before the  ‘goodies’ were properly stored they would walk with big bowls requesting for chicken pieces and slices of chapatti. Those whose fathers visited only waving their Nation newspapers would also join the scavengers at this time. In most cases, the scavengers ate even more than those who were visited.

Sanyist/Tibist

No relations to my friend Sanya…..to the best of my knowledge. Sanyists or tibists are what you people refer to as thieves. In Maseno School, there was a level of theft that was tolerated, in fact it was considered cool. Good stealing involved ‘harvesting’ shirts from the line, wearing them and then returning them back to the line in the evening for the owner to wash. ‘Personalizing’ stolen items was however frowned upon. Stealing was only justified if it was warranted. For example, if you requested somebody to help you with fried omena they carried to school or sablenya, a food additive, and they refused, you had the permission to break the side of the metallic box and take what you needed for that meal. This was referred to as butterflying a box. It was actually a way of teaching the greedy students that ‘hey, look here, we are a family’. Stealing other things like cash and books was however frowned upon. Interesting society, right?

The rumor mongers

These were the high school version of Niajes and Ghaflas. They were so talented in their art that they knew everything going around the school. They would know if the principal and the wife are having problems in their bedroom. They would know which female  TP (Teacher on Practice) was seen leaving Mr. Ojero’s house in the morning. They are those likely to know first when the principal will treat us to the awaited chicken. Most of the time they got it wrong but they provided much entertainment in an otherwise adverse situation.

"Assembly is Over!"

Breezers

These were those guys who had never been seen talking to girls. They were considered less men and so others just said hi to girls and provided directions just to be seen talking to a girl. It would be perfect if you were spotted by rumor mongers. Such incidences earned you street respect and in this jungle there was nothing as invaluable as that. However, those whose names were called in the evening assembly to go collect their letters from the prefect on duty were the school kings. The thirst for letters was real. In fact, during the evening assembly, form fours only hushed to listen to their names being called. There were actual rumors that guys wrote romantic letters to themselves just so that others could hear their names being called. Okoth Franklin Manyala, I swear I didn’t say your name.

Slicists

These were those guys. They waited for you to struggle throwing your lines and then effortlessly swooped in to close the deal. Most of the time they were guys from Nairobi who impressed many local chicks with their mastery of the sheng language and their unending drama aboard Easy Coach to school. I hated these people. How did they expect us to compete favorably when our journey to school was less than two hours of sitting in a sambaza and doing shopping at Shivling supermarket in Oyugis?

The scribes

Have you ever read a well written letter complete with dedications, catchy poetic phrases and written in well laid calligraphy? Looking back I think that’s when I really fell in love with poetry. From our corner in 2G, we could jot down letters, reread and exchange with Mzee Macabre before spraying and sending. The results were instant. We were soon consultants, writing letters for material gain. By the way Les, does Nadia still draw breath?

I would have gone on and described the Supersports people who even watched fourth tier league games while being rained on in the staffroom window and argued the whole week who was the better player between Puskas and Alfredo di Stefano. Most of them were actually from 4W. Did I talk about the Samburu? These were the guys who slept in Jaramogi Hostels, kept their tooth brushes in Willis House, kept their games equipment in Olang house and had their plates in Owen 111 House. 

4Y, now take your characteristics and leave the good ones for 4G.