HOW TO GET ARRESTED IN NAIROBI

It’s easy to get arrested in Nairobi. You don’t have to kill or maim to get attention from the men in blue. You no longer have to have very soft hair, light skin and be called Ali to get arrested

You can be arrested for imagining you can overthrow the government. Yes, it’s in the Kenyan laws. Somewhere. Just imagining. I wonder how the government will find out. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take though. You never know. That presidential advert may have the power to read minds.

You can be arrested for badly crossing the road. By badly I’m referring to the avoidance of foot bridges or failure to look left, then right and then left again. How they know this is not important.

You can be arrested for many other flimsy reasons; for littering Nairobi streets or looking suspicious and dangerous.

A recent study revealed that the Kenya police arrested some people for having condoms in their pockets. The condoms were confiscated to be used as evidence. The charge? Prostitution.

You can be arrested for wearing a Gor Mahia jersey in town. The police already know your crime. They just need a suspect. You will appear in X newspaper with a running story of how a hooligan was arrested in the CBD for vandalism, public unrest, disorderliness, misuse of state symbols (read Tom Mboya Statue) and a raft of other charges!



 

But you can also be arrested for being a good guy; for example wanting to give government your money. You don’t believe me? Read more.

The guy in front of me looks okay. In fact he looks better off. He is spotting a distinctive scent. That must be Hugo Boss. On his left wrist is an imposing Rolex watch. I notice because he keeps flaunting it. He pretends he’s looking at the time. I can’t get mad at him. He is a man. He is doing what everyman with means does. Flaunting it just in case some lady with loose morals is watching. They always are. He keeps checking his blackberry and his IPhone. He is a family man. I know because I see his wallpaper. A beautiful young girl and a princess for a wife. Perfect family. One day, I must have that.

Today am in my usual. Yes, I’m in a suit. I look at my Samsung, I smile. I think. I chuckle. It’s an interesting message. It’s from the Rungu Whatsapp group. People funny as hell.

Like the guy in front, I’m the perfect image of a gentleman. I sweep the room with my eyes. From time to time I adjust my coat. I catch her looking at me. I smile. Not exaggerated. Just a quick flicker of recognition. I’m feeling important. Just like the guy in front of me.

Behind me is a lady. She is not as yellow as Vera, or as booby as her. Her behind is not exaggerated. But she’s okay. She’s actually lovely. She’s in a nice dress. Purple. How did she know I loved it? I smile. She smiles back. Then for a second we stare at each other in ominous and uncomfortable manner. With no words to say. But just for a second.

Ladies and gentlemen this story does not end at the altar.

Forget the flowery language. This is a queue at the NSSF.

It’s the deadline for the monthly contribution. And as Kenyans you know how we are with deadlines. It’s like an obsession. We just sit somewhere; in offices, in houses, in schools, waiting for deadlines.

The queue is long. In fact it is the longest queue in my young life. That says a lot, especially if you’ve been to KU. The advantage we had at KU is that you could jump the queue. Today, I wish this was just the finance queue at the computer center.

But it’s moving. For now.

Three hours later, I turn to the girl behind me. She’s not smiling anymore. I can’t make my move now. It seems the lines I’ve just ‘Googled’ will have to wait for somebody else.

The guy in front of me clicks. The queue is finally taking its toll on him. He tells me how he is late for a meeting. Aren’t we all?

Of course I don’t tell him that. I pretend to empathize with him. Soon, we are chatting like old buddies. We talk about politics, about insecurity, about the spiraling cost of living. We talk about the referendum.

He asks me what my opinion is on Vera’s boob job. Okay. You know you need to think twice before answering such questions. My opinion as a man or my opinion as a member of the society. You see they are fundamentally different. As a man my choice is clear. As a member of the society I have to wine about how such acts are misleading to the young girls. How people should accept how God created them and all that religiously accepted mumbo jumbo.

This is a hard one. The lady behind me joins the conversation.

She heavily criticizes the move.

“What would she change next? Alianza na matako,akaendelea kwa matiti.”

She’s speaking in such a way that you would think Vee Baby is to blame for this queue. In retrospect, she’s guilty. Not for the queue but for a more heinous crime. Maybe the lady’s boyfriend just downloaded the new Baby V application and installed her as his wallpaper.

Five hours later, I get to the counter. The cashier doesn’t even look at me. She stretches her hands and takes the money through the pigeon hole. She pushes the money back.

“We kijana umesomewa number?”

That kijana tag makes me frown a little. Kijana?

I shake my head.

“Number gani?”

She doesn’t answer. She tells me to go away and come back when am organized. I refuse to move.

A security guy soon comes and asks me to go to the next queue.

“Hatutaki jam hapa”, he says.

I’ve never wished to punch a person so bad. In fact I tackled him. I swept him off the floor and got straight to the counter. I look at the cashier’s horrified look.

“What now amigo?”

I command her lazy ass to serve me immediately. I get the service I wanted. I ask them to give me the money they have at the counter. I get away into the waiting car and go and hide somewhere in Kayole with Njoki Chege. She said she wants a ‘monied’ guy right? The police release a mug shot of me. Their website goes down in minutes from too much traffic by females .I become the world’s most handsome crook. Forget about that other guy.

I get a lucrative modeling contract. In fact Am Wes of the Bow Tie Events snatch me up. I do this merely out of loyalty. Otherwise I should have gone to Atlanta or Paris. 

Will I marry my Eva or a lingerie super model? Will I visit Bahamas or the Alpine mountains for my August  holiday? I’ll think about that later.

Good people that’s not my story.

I get arrested, yes! But not for robbery; for disruption of public peace. My mug shot on the police website doesn’t go viral. In fact it doesn’t get there.

The security guard asks me to give him four hundred shillings we solve this matter before iende mbele. I don’t have change. I give him a thousand shillings. He smiles ruefully.  I ask for change.

“Boss,hapa ni Nairobi”

I leave for another queue. The supermarket queue. I buy bread then take another queue.

The matatu queue home. This lady comes to me and says 

“…nimruhusu aende anyonyeshe mtoto”.

I punch her in the face and give her a Bruce Lee kick in her fat behind. I then tell her receding body to go get a boob job.

Okay, I’m not that inhuman. 

The sun goes down; it will rise again tomorrow, just as it did for Kamali Lang’o.


In Other News

The Chief Editor says hi.

Eva my Love

Let’s get it over with, shall we? Was it real?  Was it fictional? That’s what most of you have been asking me since  Fare Thee Well

It was. Nyambura left. 

To be with daddy (not the one in heaven).

You can imagine my mentor’s utter disappointment in my inability to keep my girl of two weeks. He says that all the coaching and tactics he gave me have gone to waste. He has given me an ultimatum. Two weeks to either get back my girl or get somebody else, anybody.

I don’t want her back. It’s Eva that I want now.

You should see Eva; she’s a true African woman. She is well fed. Her behind can carry a child without support. Her front is all the pillow I need in life. ‘They’ are the therapy I need. Imagine after a hard day’s work and burying my head between her two milk shakers.

I will gladly go without watching the world cup for the next four years. If only she’ll let me.

So I asked her to be my happily ever after. She smiled. Actually she laughed.

You know how it is with WhatsApp. You cannot tell whether she’s happy, thinks you are funny or just plain clueless in the art of seduction.

To cut a long story short, she asked me to tell her my agenda. What I really want from her. What I will do to her. Sorry, with her. Sorry, for her.

To Eva my love, here is my manifesto.

my campaign posters are out

When I become the president of your republic, I will ensure national dialogue, at all times.

I will talk to you about anything, even the IEBC, while drinking anything, even tea.

Eva my love, I promise to tour every region of your vast African body. Of course my headquarters will be in the central province of your body but I will go inspect development projects up north and down south.

I will tour your western region and your eastern region, and then I’ll come back to your headquarters. I will camp there, launch several projects there, but I promise, I won’t forget the other regions that did vote for me too.

In my government, insecurity will be a distant memory. A story of the old times.

I will protect you. My large arms will act as your security perimeter. Anybody who touches you will have to go through me. Needless to say, they will be electrified. Petrified. Horrified. And you will be glorified. That I’ll do everything; even if it means taking karate lessons.

In my government, you will have protection from harsh climatic conditions. You won’t even notice the cold July upon us. I will share my warmth with you, freely, really, ideally.

My love, I promise to take you on foreign travels and exotic destinations.

We will tour foreign lands and enjoy the perfect scenes of the world.

We will travel overseas. We will go to all the places you’ve only dreamt of. We will go to Nyanza republic. I will take you to Kisumu city; the land of Divock Origi, Barrack Obama and Tom Mboya.

I will take you to Oyugis Town, the land of Adebe, the land of my grandfather Bernadus Okombo Alwanda.

While in Kisumu, you will feel the evening breeze from Lake Victoria flouting the smell of life.

You will watch the sun set over Wire Hills leaving behind exquisite beauty. A beauty so rare you won’t find it anywhere else in the world.

You will watch baby monkeys jump from tree to tree, effortlessly. As if they’ve been doing it all their life.

You will see naked boys jump over from a high bridge into the deep Awach River below while women bathe freely downstream. You will understand where I get my swimming prowess from.

While there I will take you to the best restaurant in the world- Café de Aruji. Forget about Italian dishes. Forget about Chinese. Forget about sushi. I still don’t understand why people would eat raw fish in the name of sophistication.

At café de Aruji’s, you’ll have the best traditional meals. She’ll cook you sweet potatoes, dengu and njugu.

Here you will drink sweet, sour milk served in a destroyer. Destroyers are those huge plastic mugs that you’ll have to be a glutton to finish. Babe, you can drink three destroyers if you may.

At Café de Aruji’s, you will eat fulu with thick soup and inviting aroma; served with huge brown ugali. Ugali so huge Ndivisi Kerre is not able to finish (even if I were to offer him any of my sisters should he defeat the ugali in the battle of death).

You will have food security. She is a farmer. She doesn’t buy maize, she makes maize. 

In my government your constitutional rights to the highest attainable standards of health including reproductive healthcare will be honored (Article 43 (1). Health here refers to your complete sense of well-being and not merely the absence of disease. Recent studies have shown that sex is good for your health, for reducing stress, depression and thereby risk of heart disease.

I won’t let that happen to you. You will be healthy because you will be exercising. A lot. Everywhere. Good exercises. Not those high jumps Jobu got from Moshi Khalsa and made us do.

In my government exercise will be fun, enjoyable, something to look forward to.

Babe, in my government your constitutional right to information will be honored. And what better way to share with you information faster than via USB?

I will serve you without distraction. I will withdraw all my soldiers from Somalia, and bring them home. To serve you, fully, like the queen you are.

If you insist, only if you insist that you want devolution will I devolve some functions to the county governments. Sometimes the work may be too much for you. And that’s why I will take some duties to the counties; less important work like entertainment. You will however retain most government functions. You will retain most of my national budget.

In my government, you will be treated like royalty. My uncle will organize a guard of honor whenever you visit Kotieno. Being a chief, his youths will stand still while you pass.

My former students (I was a teacher babe) will also line the streets of Murram Road and sing, ‘karibu,karibu sana,Kotieno yetu…..hatuna matata’ as you strut across the road like a model glazing through the runway.

The ones with pikipiki will roll wave huge twigs in the air announcing your imminent arrival.

Then my chief will make the ultimate declaration, the road will be named after you, and children will sing your names in Sunday schools and on market days.

To Eva, for Ever,

Yours helplessly and hopelessly in love

Wuod Aruji

In Other News

The Diary of a Jack of all Trades now has a new editor in chief, the lovely Ms Gety.

Expect less red lines, less Luo and definitely more Luhya.

Fare Thee Well ma Well

I stare at my phone

Hard......

Waiting to be glad

Like a con on to a creamy corn

A text ....finally

Yees, We gonna be a family!

Wait, 

It's just safcom

Another text,

Then next,

Then next

I'm getting vexed

So you won't reply

Is that a bye?

Weren't we to fly?

Now you’ve hanged me dry

like a sly  spy

My heart is heavy

More every second like a used chevy

Your smile haunts me

Your new guy flaunts you

My clan waits for a bride

My plan squashed by pride

Fare thee well

Fair isn’t love

©MzeeVaraq2014

Njuri Ncheke

If you’ve been reading this blog you’ll know that our teachers lied about very many things. They told us that if you want to cross the road, you look right, left and then right again. And then when the road is clear you cross. If you followed that advice on any day, you will either be late for work, classes, and exams or even for the Masaku 7s.

And we won’t want you to miss a guilt free weekend of  crimes of passion, now would we?

Still on crossing the road, they lied to us that at zebra crossing you have the right of way. That you can actually cross the road and motorists will smile and wave at you as you slowly strut across the tarmac like a colossus. You and I know that paradiso drivers will not just let you live to tell the story.

The examples are numerous. They taught us in CRE that if a conductor gives you excess change you should return and you’ll find blessings. In GHC (now I hear it’s called social studies) they said that Nyanza is a province in Kenya. 

Really? 

Nyanza is a republic bwana. Our system is  monarchical. When Baba dies, Fidel will take over and then after that Fidel’s son and then like that like that. Sisi watu wengine wa Nyanza kazi yetu ni kuongozwa tu kama kondoo.That is why on saba saba we will drop all that is important and march across Narobi.

But the biggest lie they told us is that the Njuri Ncheke is the council of elders of the Ameru community. 

How now?

The Njuri Ncheke is the governing council of elders of the Rungu clan. I’ve always maintained that of all my friends, associates and groups that am part of, there’s none that fills me up with so much merry, ire, shock and trouble in equal measure like the Vultures Hockey Team. They are more than a just a team, more like a family.

In this team everybody is famous for something; T Matolo for his rungu, Allan the sex god, Baro yule wa kukula ugali ya fifty na skuma ya 5 bob, Maina Mwangi aka Mwizi Kamili, Juma Juma the slayer of virgins, Shakes the rasta among several others with such dark accolades. (Why food may not sometimes be man's best friend)

In a previous post I once wrote that this is the place where weird is normal and strange is familiar, where vice is honored and virtue scoffed upon, where good morals are spurned and wickedness celebrated.

But a society with so much individual brilliance requires a watchdog. A regulator. A world of super heroes whereas effective, brings about issues of ego and anarchy. A governing council of elders would settle arising disputes and inflict punishment upon those deserving and give medals to those who merited.

The Njuri Ncheke’s word is law. Ask the sex god. I can’t say what he did for legal considerations but a hastily convened Njuri Ncheke took five minutes to ban him from the team for life. Okay, it was just a weekend. But you get the picture.

The Njuri Ncheke is the most fair court I know. At the cost of one jug the court can find you irredeemably clean, never mind your crimes are as red as scarlet. It doesn’t matter if you were accused of the most notorious crime that would be ‘Kuallano bro”. This mostly involved taking a girl who a brother was deeply in love with. The crime is named after a regular sex offender in the Rungu Village. I need to add though that consensual sharing between brothers was not frowned upon, so long as consent verbally or in writing was given. 

                            "ubro ni kukula na wenzako".

From its headquarters in Dimples, a three man bench deliberated and passed judgment based on their mood that day, the level of inebriation and personal vendetta they had against the accused. Punishment ranged from fines of keg jugs, banishment from the tribe for crimes such as stealing from a brother. That was actually a crime against humanity and no amount of keg can make the judges change their minds. Not that the judges would refuse your keg offer in principle. They had to take it first to find the wisdom to admonish you.

The Njuri Ncheke meetings was clouded with a certain superfluousness and bombasticity that would make PLO Lumumba bow his head. The son of Keiyo, the head judge charged the dazed courtroom with his mastery of the queen’s language and his analogies that would move you into admiration. 

Not that admiration. Admiration for the spoken word.

The other admiration is punishable by death. 

Judge Pokot brought his experience in handling disputes from his years of experience meditating serious conflicts in Kapenguria. Conflicts involving guns and spears. Not that conflict involving women that the Njuri Ncheke decided on were not that important.

 As the third judge, I don’t know what I brought to the Njuri Ncheke, I think they just had me in case there was a tie among the judges.

The Njuri Ncheke however was not just business and no play. The council has an entertainment department that was ably run by Boka Jairus Makaburi and T Tolo Matolo. These two had impeccable skills and skits that they performed before the important not gulty or guilty verdicts. Makaburi Jairus is a great story teller. his legend precedes him. He is the kind of guy you call when you are bored and he will come from Umoja to come and ‘beat for you stories’. Provided of course you will refund his fare and cook him good tea and a big ugali. He knows everything. Everything. Just start any story, any, perhaps how you visited Pluto. He’ll interrupt you and start telling the story.

“Wacha….mimi nakushow nilifika Pluto buda.....waaa,tulikuwa  na mbuyu…..”

T Tolo Matolo is a known man around the Varaq blogosphere, so he needs no introduction and why he is important to the jury’s entertainment. The reigning secretary general of the Fathers Association of Kenyatta University is a crazy man. And since his first born son is soon old enough to know how to read, I won’t say why his daddy is known as the daddy around here.

But the person you need to be afraid of most is prosecutor Sumu. He is not called Sumu for no reason. Sumu adheres to the natural laws of you are guilty unless you can afford keg or unless your girlfriend is hot or both. Arguing against him is a futile excess and might actually increase you sentence for questioning the court’s superior intelligence.

The Njuri Ncheke being a serious organization also has flower girls. These are the people who decorate the sittings. They are to be seen and not heard unless it is to say ‘ongeza ingine’.

The ex officio members of the Njuri Ncheke include Wambugu and msee wetu. Wambugu's day time job is a bar waiter but at night he sits in the council of elders. He has no vote but he represents the bar owners association and thus must be treated well. He must be kept drunk and happy for a rainy day when he will have to pay for all the largesse of the Rungu Village.

 He actually owes the Njuri Ncheke big time.Theres a day the Njuri Ncheke finished deliberations at four AM and Wambugu couldn’t make it to work in time. A visibly agitated Msee Wetu wanted to fire Wambugu. Of course we couldn’t let that happen.

The head of the Rungu village is however the one eyed man. According to the judge from Keiyo, in the land of the blind, one eyed man is king. It’s not difficult to see why he is the utmost respected man in Rungu village. Just yesterday he married his tenth wife. He got her from Masaku over the weekend. That’s not relevant to this story. I just want you to understand why the one eyed man is an inspiration to his village. He’s the kind of man who you greet while bending with your head in front of his bigness.

I will finish this article with the closing statements of all Njuri Ncheke Meetings……..

Long Live the One Eyed Man……..Long Live Njuri Ncheke