Uncircumcised, Unlessoned, Uncut , Unrefined ..............KOGALLOO!

You hate them with a passion. 

“These Jaruos, NKT! Why can’t they just behave like normal people? “

You ask yourself. In fact it’s not the first time you are asking yourself that question. You will arrive at the same answer you did at last time. They are uncircumcised. Their foreskin must have covered their brain. You can smile and post all those politically correct things on social media but reality is that you may not have said it but you thought it. You are not a bad person; it is not difficult to see why anyone would arrive at the same conclusion.

You’re just coming from JCC in Parklands. You probably had a thousand shillings between you and poverty. You planned to give an offering of ten shillings. The summon was titled Cheating God and one way or another you found yourself being ‘blackmailed’ into giving almost all of it. It didn’t help that the usher had a killer smile and you wouldn’t mind donating your kidneys to her should she have just said your name.

You suddenly step out of church and realize that you live somewhere on Jogoo Road and your fare can either serve you from church to town or from town to home. Your choice is made for you. You tell yourself that you’re doing good exercise even when you don’t believe that. 

Today, for some reason, the sun is overhead in the city and you can feel every ray hit your head perpendicularly.

You get to town, tired, hungry and angry. Then the naked chickens happen. They are looking at you. Inviting. Luscious. Sumptuous. Salivating .They are Revolving in such a seductive manner you’d think they’ve been sent by the serpent.

Man must not live on bread alone, you tell yourself so. You try to focus on where you are going. But the aroma just won’t leave you alone. You are a strong fellow and you persevere just as you were told in your high school motto. You get to the matatu. It’s only a matter of time before you get home and do some justice to yesterday’s ugali leftovers. Then they show up. They block your road. You can’t tell whether they have won or lost.

“These Jaruos.NKT.”

You hate them. 

If they would just go back to Nyanza and stay there. Or better yet if they would just go back to South Sudan and all get killed by Salva Kiir’s bombs!

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You are coming from Ngong Hostels in Kenyatta University. No, you are not a student of KU. In fact you are not a student anywhere. You are the manager at company X. You didn’t go to Ngong Hostels to give a motivational speech. You went to see Nicola, sweet sweet Nicola. You pack your car and get inside. The shopping is quite heavy. This should finally get you all the way. You get to Nicola’s. Her roommate is still there. Didn’t she know I was coming? Nicola refused to meet you in town and of course you can’t take her home to your wife. You send the roommate for pizza in town, which should give you enough time.

Nicola is at ‘that time of the month’. You remember last week too she was at that time of the month. You did BCOM in Masinde Muliro three decades ago and you’re not able to tell if she’s lying. Actually Nicola would not lie to you. She goes out to get you drinking water. Her phone rings. Despite attempts not to check, your curiosity wins over. It’s ‘sweet Kev’ asking if she’ll sleep over at his place or if he should come over after ‘uncle’ has left.

Then these Jaruos happen. Stepping on your car and stopping you to ask you where you are from. You just wish to run over all of them. But you can’t. You know that would be more dangerous than jumping into a lion's den. You pretend to smile at the lunatics but inwardly you are bubbling, seething with anger.

                                        “These Jaruos .NKT”.

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Very many guys think that Jaruos, to be more specific, Gor Mahia fans are responsible for shit in their lives. The Muthurwa people whose goods get trampled upon by many fans on adrenaline bear legitimate reasons.

But what is it? What makes an otherwise reasonable man with kids take groundies on Mombasa Road? What makes a man with a hot shower and a Jacuzzi at home dive into Lake Rusinga. Rusinga is that place you people call Tom Mboya statue. What makes that guy who graduated cum laude from Michigan University follow the standard four dropout from Asembo Bay Primary School in chanting profanities?

There is something about the Kogallo jersey that brings the haves and the have nots to the same level. The level of madness and sheer adrenaline as you are consumed by unexplainable negative energy surging through your veins. At that moment you can kiss Ssrenkuma for getting the ball into the net. At that moment you can shoot Jerry for being ‘careless’ and conceding cheap goals. At that time the world seizes to exist, it’s just you and all the spent up energy in you.

But this negative energy is not just in Kogallo fans. It’s in any intensive activity: rugby fans, writers, actors, name it. You ever wonder why people sometimes rape children as little as six months. It’s not their uncontrollable and insatiable appetite. These people are sick. Their negative energies are all bottled up until it becomes a volcano. You wonder why a person who seems to have everything in life takes rat poison.

But not all ‘Jaruos’ are bad. In fact, not all Gor Mahia fans are bad. I know some really good people who genuinely love the club. 

Have you met Polycap Okello? (No relationship to Linda Okello other than being great great grandchildren of Ramogi Ajuang , their uncle being Barry and their father Baba). 

Of course you haven’t. Where would you have met him? He is not on Facebook, Twitter and of course not on Instagram. He doesn’t do Kabeberi or Masaku or Blankets and wine. Don’t waste your data, he is not visible on Google.

I met Polycarp at the Mashemeji derby as I was waiting for my cousin Asher and Mzee Ragen aka Traitor. There are several reasons he owns that name. The guy doesn’t keep time at all. I guess he’ll even be late for his wedding to nyar okuyu. 

Polycarp is really excited to see me that one would think we are old buddies. I must be really famous of late. Then I remember that on radio it’s your voice that’s famous and not your face. Polycarp tells me how he only has two hundred shillings because he thought the game would be the flat rate of two hundred shillings it has always been. He has been watching Kogallo even before Moi came to power. His jersey boldly written Polycarp Okello has definitely seen better days. But you can still read it clearly. 

He tells me how the friends he usually borrows money from are not there today.

                                      “Bwana jogi ketho opira”

That means these people are spoiling the game.

I mistake that he is soliciting for cash. Am in good moods today so I give him a hundred shillings.

He thanks me but declines my offer. He says it will be difficult to track me so as to pay me the one hundred shillings. After a while he gets a text from MPESA. His daughter somewhere in Malindi has sent him one hundred and ten shillings.

You should meet Polycarp. A genuine story teller. He tells me about that Kisumu shooting when the presidential motorcade opened fire from Kisumu to Ahero killing people on the road. He tells it just as Marjorie Oludhe Mcgoye says it in Coming to Birth. You can feel his frustration with the politics of this country. 

He tells me, “… nga’t ma opielo wiye nyalo wil, to ng’at ma onyono chieth to wiye ok nyal wil .” 

You can use the official Luo app in the.COM  to translate that. 

You should, it’s actually a very wise saying.

Life is so funny, isn’t it? All one Luo guy wants is a hundred shillings to get to a derby yet all the other Luo wants is a million signatures to get to a referendum. 

The final whistle will go and Polycarp will walk back to Kawangre with his head held high.

He may not eat tonight but he has done his duty to his God and to his tribe. And then he will start saving for yet another Kogallo game.

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