the first epistle of mzee varaq to his people

Caroline Mutoko, the self confessed queen of radio has been hoarding much of the media limelight for the past fortnight. And it’s not because in her sensational style she picked a quarrel with one cabinet minister or her favorite customer, Alfred Mutua but for,wait,you not going to believe this………copy, pasting!  Her inspiring ‘piece’ a letter to my twenty something old self apparently had done its round on the net before it graced our Nairobi Star columns. The letter has raised furore hitherto unseen with most tweeps calling it a perfect epitome of plagiarism.

            There were others however who remained steadfast in their belief that Kenya’s version of the iron lady is capable of no evil. Others in her defense used the famous line “he who is without a sin cast the first stone”. I however refuse to judge unless you execute the villainy I teach you. Who knows you might even better the instruction. She must have however seriously underestimated Kenyans reading culture.

            She has however inspired me to do something new, write a letter; not to my twenty something old self but about my twenty something old self.

This got me thinking about the tones of letters swiftly gathering dust in a certain metallic box in my father’s house. I remember most of them were from some Angie of Moi Girls’ and others that am having a hard time remembering their names. Unlike these ‘missives’ as we called them then, this epistle is not of a hopeless romantic but rather of a sober man. It’s not of a little boy who will tell the love of his life how food tastes different without her. It’s definitely not of a man who’ll insert babe, sweetie, honey, dear before every full stop just so as to be seen as romantic. I know Macabre might be disappointed after all those preps in form two green that we spent to fine tune that writing.

Dear Pals/ Acquaintances/ Family/sweetheart e.t.c …... (Tick as appropriate)

Am just a young man trying to find his niche in the society, when you see me try up different things like Yoga or Spanish lessons or even aerobics, don’t judge me. Don’t ask me why I quit the Sarakasi dancers just after ten minutes. Just take that as youthful energy without a solid home. 

Am not writing to you so you would understand me totally. No, I could never play such huge responsibilities on your feeble shoulders for even I don’t understand myself at times. I don’t know why I do certain things, I don’t know why I am the way I am some times, am writing to you just so you would fathom where am coming from, my motivations and maybe  what makes me tick.

Somebody once asked me why I like to complicate my life, why a simple life wouldn’t just suffice for me. A life that involves doing the regular things that normal people do. Never mind that normal is relative. He wasn’t the first and am sure he won’t be the last, I ask myself the same question too and just as it beats you, so does it me. So don’t ask me that, when I get the answer that befitteth I assure you you will be the first to know. 

Sometimes you look at me and shake your heads in disgust at the boisterousness and noise that accompany me. You don’t understand why instead of taking advantage of the free texts on my android device to alert somebody 200 metres in front of me to stop, I’d rather shout at the top of my voice to achieve the same effect. You don’t understand that where I come from, that is how we used to call that guy who passed by our village to hawk ‘mang’ich’ (fresh fingerlings from Lake Victoria). It’s not like am trying to be loud and unruly; my past is just catching up with me.

You wonder why I stop to greet virtually everybody I meet on the streets of this institution of higher learning. You don’t understand why instead of saying a simple hello, smiling or doing that quick shuffling of the eye, I have to bend low like Mulo Mutisya during those that days that ‘alikuwa anafuata  matako(sic) ya baba’. Our people say that it’s only a man that you deeply revere that you greet while staring at his manhood. Maybe I respect you a lot or maybe am just laying ground for my quest to be the Sec. Gen of Kenyatta University next year. 

You definitely don’t understand my fascination with the female folk, you think just coz I sometimes stare at what their mamas gave them for a second longer, am definitely a playboy whose favorite banquet is these lasses’ asses. You look at me and see the devil incarnate. I don’t deny that once or twice I fall into temptations, who doesn’t? Just because I fell for Maron doesn’t make me a Moron. When I call you sweet, dia or babe, it’s not that I want you for myself, I just ooze sweetness. If I call or text you regularly don’t read between the lines, just pick what you see from the lines.

I may cut the impression of a confident man, sometimes profoundly overbearing, I may act as if am a brave man unperturbed by the challenges I face. It doesn’t mean that my path is straight or I have all the answers, it’s just a façade I wear to scare away my tormentors. Maybe deep down am just as scared as you are, may be more. So before you think of me as that guy, see me as a normal man who is scared of something and is just putting a brave face for show.

If/when I don’t communicate, don’t for a second think that you weren’t that important to me or you not worth the time. Maybe am equally dying to hear from you, after all who doesn’t want to feel needed. Maybe I sit by my phone whole day waiting for you to call. If that’s the prize I have to pay for taking my pride as my bride then I’ll bear the consequences like a man.

Above all, if I expect less from mere mortal men, it’s not that I consider them inferior beings. It’s not rocket science that great expectations make frustrated beings. If I think less of you don’t take it personal, I think so of everybody including Mzee Varaq. It’s just my insurance against panache, heartache or disillusionment. I fear am not well equipped to handle disappointment. Am not of course saying you’ll disappoint me but then again, you could.

Am not what I say, am not what I do, I am who I am. Every day I strive for perfection, every day I strive to be a better person, sometimes I fail miserably, other times I fall just short, other times I just make the mark but one thing is for sure, I do try. So before you rank me, just try to understand where am coming from.

Yours faithfully, yours truly, yours affectionately, yours sincerely….

(Once again feel free to tick where appropriate)

Mzee Varaq

just why am not in a hurry to buy anything off Nairobi streets again

The holiday has been long and busy, what with the practicum attachment and the national hockey league. Am not sure what my overall feeling has been. I gave up on the pursuit of the perfect English adjective a while back. But something like ambivalent or bittersweet would suffice.

A lot has transpired since we last met. August has lived up to its image as the dark month. Maybe Jomo sold our souls for a pot of gold, that’s just a sick theory of course. What with the fatal road carnages, the sinking of the ferry, the hacking to death of the 64 in Tana River, the sudden demise of the voice of the voiceless, not one Robert Alai but Martin Shikuku. The other, an activist too, did find the going tough when he challenged the powers that be to a duel. The most tragic was the cremation of little girls in a dormitory inferno in Asumbi Girls .I imagine they dint just sit there and wait for help, I could see them shoving, pushing, jostling for a door that would not just bulge to their desires. A door that refused to hearken to the mighty push by their feeble hands. I can only imagine what they must have thought that moment they realized they were not going to escape the angry clutches of the fire. They must have wondered if this was their reward for the hard work and the time they had put in for good grades. May their souls rest in eternal peace.

There have though been patches of drama amidst this cloud of gloom. Miguna Miguna finally made true his threat to write a book about Baba. A book that has been referred to as sleazy by many a wise men including Mutahi Ngunyi. Talk of hell having no fury like a jilted lover. Destroyer is of course by now a household name, he couldn’t just let Njuguna Njuguna lie about baba like that. I hear that the title, TPOMH was bestowed upon him by his community (The Proud Owner of Miguna’s Hat).There has also been the resurgence of K’Ogalo under Zdradco Logarusic, the Serbian tactician. The name being quite a mouthful, he is simply referred to as Luo Inside by the K’Ogalo faithful. The harvest, however modest, has also given us another reason to smile.

Forgive my manners, How are you good people? I am not sure whether to, deposit a blank leave a space after that for the appropriate reply. We actually didn’t finish that topic in high school. My English teacher was usually away on assignment with the school rugby team.

It always lifts spirits that one would take time off their playing scrabble, solitaire or even putting the bad guys away in the call of duty game busy schedule to read through my 2000 words worth of ranting.

I have always wondered the truth behind some of the grandiose tales about the conmen in Nairobi. I had wondered how grown men with brains intact could be duped to buy a phone case for a phone or a DVD in case of a laptop. Well, they are true and it could happen to anyone .A guy in river road recently shuttered my myth of invincibility when he got the better of me and got away with it! This is my story of shame.

The following story takes place between 1pm and 2pm in River Road

Starring: Mzee Varaq

Genre: Drama

Director: Mzee Fate

A fidgety looking guy tagged my shoulder and asked me if I wanted to see a bidhaa. Being lunch hour and having my next appointment at three I couldn’t see the harm in trying. It’s not like I was going to buy the bidhaa that had now assumed the identity of new Nokia X2. I didn’t even have the cash in the first place. I just wanted to play with fire. He asked me to recede into the back alleys of Gwasi road since he was afraid of the cops. By the way he was profusely sweating, I quickly deduced that this could be true. In hindsight, I should have seen that as a sign of a nervous man who was about to get away with murder.

He began extolling the virtues of his new device. I just watched with a grin as he talked about the exciting features of the phone and its new state. He played a few songs from the 4 GB memory card that he promised to give me with the phone as his sign of good will. I must admit though, the first time I got excited about the deal was when he told me to put my SIM card and try making a call. I called one Mchil to go over some officer to officer staff and the device seemed ok. His asking price was five thousand shillings. This astronomic price for a street good further lent it some credibility. Anyway being the skilled negotiator that I am, I feigned a chuckle and retorted.

“Bwana unataka elfu tano kwa hiyo simu nzee,heri sasa niende kwa duka niongeze hiyo elfu moja.Niko na haraka kama hautachukua elfu tatu,mi nimeenda”

And with that the scion of Oyugis begun to move as if late for the stoning of Miguna .I had hoped that the price would put him off and end this business dalliance. However, this man whose mouth smelt like a tobacco factory wouldn’t just let me. Contrary to my expectations, he said yes and asked me to recede deeper to complete the deal. It’s not what you are thinking, I wasn’t manhandled. That would have been a better way to lose my hard earned 2300 shillings. At least I could post my bloody face and broken nose and add the caption:

I just fought four machete wielding mungiki and lived to tell about it # brave

One princess babe would comment, “How potent” and that would have gone a long way in helping me bag wife no three.

If my six-pack couldn’t dissuade him then the human traffic during mid day would have made him think twice about hitting me. At this point I was cornered, no cash save for the sixty bob I had as my fare back home. I was in a bit of dilemma, I could simply tell him that I thought I had money and see him off but by now the basic business acumen I had acquired after staying with Wekemeu and Gythy for two years was beginning to take the better of me. I could make a profit of over 200% if I sold it! Not a bad business idea by any standard. I made one last attempt to kill the deal; I told him that I only had two thousand shillings.

When he still accepted, albeit grudgingly, I should have seen that as a warning shot. However, my complex mind assumed that he was just eager to dispose of a gadget he simply got by having the not-so-admirable ability to insert his hands into a careless guy’s pocket. At this point I took out my old but reliable Nokia 2330C and pretended to be checking if the specific device was under a tracker. I mesmerized the guy by unleashing one tough jargon after the other. He must have thought of me as a whiz kid. No reference to the kid wiz. I only stopped when he acquiesced to my demands after I had told him that I would still have to part with a hefty fee to disable the tracker.

At this point, there was no backing out. I went to the equity bank next to Jack and Jill ,the nearest, and withdrew 2500 .when I got out and found the guy still waiting patiently by the ATM lobby, I should have wondered how determined the guy was to sell me the  gadget. At this point he took my number and promised to call me whenever he had a device to dispose of. In fact we were to meet after one week so that he would sell me a brand new Samsung galaxy pocket .That though I intended to keep for my personal use. Mzee Varaq was in business!

As soon as I got my device, I never looked back lest I be robbed again or run into the men in blue. I could almost see the dailies the next day.

                  Kenyatta university student busted in a phone cartel

Jicho Pevu and Allen Namu also wouldn’t be left behind with yet another expose on the used phone syndicate in our Kenyan universities. Baba would of course deny knowing me despite me being his friend on facebook and him following me on twitter. Caroli Omondi would release a statement like,

The office of the prime minister wishes to denounce the activities of one Mzee Varaq. This office will leave no stone unturned in its quest to ensure that the perpetrators of these heinous robberies in our highways are put behind bars once and for all. The PM would also like to strongly dismiss the rumors in certain sections of the press that he knows this guy. Raila, as the PM, pretty much adds anybody as a friend on social sites.

My family of course would wonder what I lacked that I exposed them to such public ridicule and soiled the family name.

No, I couldn’t let this happen, so I dashed home, forgetting about my four o’clock date. It wasn’t like she was flying abroad soon; besides, I didn’t have any more cash to burn. After I gave him another three hundred on top, voluntarily, as my sign of good will, I ran across the alleys and only looked back when I got home. I don’t know why I dint try out my phone even in the matatu. I guess I was worried that the former owner could be the person next to me.

When I eventually did and it refused to open, I remember thinking then that it was supposed to boot with another button and not just the traditional red key. However after virtually trying all the other keys including the numerical buttons 1-9, it hit me, hard! I had been beaten at my own game. And as if on cue, I pulled the casing aside and inside lay one shilling coin adding up to twenty one. Just ten shy of a tea scone from Tuskys supermarket. Strangely, I dint get worked up, a sly smile played across my lips as I dumped the phone case and kept the twenty one bob as souvenir. Maybe my elementary psychiatric training came in handy. I had bought a phone case (now destroyed and discarded)) and 21 bob inside for 2300!

They say fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I have tinkered with a lot of ways of getting back at this guy who made a mockery of my two digit A’s in UNIPLUS so far. The population of Nairobi is not going to make it easier though. Nevertheless, I still have a plan, River Road guys, am declaring war on all the merchants of impunity doing there. Varaq Dollazzo! If I lost you there, that’s just Serbian for am coming. I can’t really tell you about classified information lest you Miguna me. All I can say for now is all just be giving them a dose of their own medicine.

It’s a good thing I have a lot of activities to get engrossed in. The soccer fiesta that is the EPL just kicked off and then there is the opening of the semester. Naysayers have written off Arsenal this season because their best player Alex Song and some other player, can’t really remember his name, left but that is just a mere set back. I look forward to the new semester. First though I need to find my “till semester do us part”.

Hasta la proxima! (That’s just Spanish for till next time). We can’t just get comfortable in our Bukusu and elementary English, now can we?

s

Take me back

You use to look at me with pride

I used to look at you as my bride

U used to look at me and smile

I used to look at you and think of the aisle

You look at me now and see a user

Who looked at you and saw a looser

I look at you and see a wasted chance

Am not even sure you spare me a glance

I played with your heart

 Just as I did with your skirt

I broke your trust

For a moment of lust

I have been proud and loud

Shoveling blame on your name

Yet all you did was love me

Yet all you wanted was to have me

It pains me that I discarded you

It ails me that I added her

I was just a boy having fun

Thinking I was just making a pun

I took a second to make the decision

As I was in a hurry to bake the bread

I thought she would make me happy

She just makes me snappy

I spat on you and hurt you

I know I don’t deserve to have you

To spell your name and smell you

To play and lay with you

I can’t feign the pain anymore

I will persist even if you resist

Make you cake

Sing you hymn just so you won’t look at him

I know I made my bed

I know I don’t deserve to guard your herd

All I ask is a task

To show you how to glow

Mzee Varaq

My poems

Mzee-varaq@blogspot.com

My solemn prayer

If the world were stop today,

I would only have one wish

That I have you in my arms when it does

If I were to cry today,

How I pray it be near you

Just so that I could have someone to absorb my tears

If I were to smile

How I wish that it could be coz u smiled at me-

Just so that I would have a reason to smile always

If I were to get a kiss from somebody today,

How I implore it be from thy own lips,

Lips so tender and yummy

If I were to have a purpose in life today,

How I adjure it be to be your cheerleader

That I would be contented too

If I were to be a better person

How I petition it be for you

Just so I would make you proud

If I were to whisper a name in my sleep

How I beg that it be thine

A name only equaled in beauty by the owner

If I were to love somebody today

How I petition it be you

Somebody who would love me back just the way I am

Mzee Varaq

My poems

Mzee-varaq@blogspot.com

The Coastal Job

Mombasa town is known as the capital of raha not just in Kenya and her landlocked neighbors but even by the rest of the world. Its shores receive scores of visitors, a huge chunk of them purely there for recreation. Early explorers like Ibn Batuta gave it glowing tribute as early as the 18^th century, long even before major cities such as Kisumu and Juba. It therefore goes without saying that the picture a guy has when visiting the coastal town is one of profound rosiness and happiness. It’s one of a person in a short with his bare feet caressing the sands of the Indian Ocean.

It’s definitely not of one aloof a motorcycle bearing the brunt of the falling skies in a highway chase for the school bus after overstaying in the conveniences courtesy of a severe bout of loose bowel movement. It’s definitely not of one clutching at his genitals and legs after a loss of a second’s concentration on a hockey pitch turned tragic. The less said about that the better. It’s not of one bearing the brunt of ‘I told you so’ after calling for financial reinforcement or singing antiestablishment slogans due to unpaid allowances.

The furor though about some secessionist group chanting the slogan,”pwani si Kenya” I think though has been blown out of proportion. Whereas their concerns such as unemployment and misappropriation of resources are genuine, they need to realize that these problems are not just limited to the coastal region. That the sultan of Zanzibar was duped by Jomo notwithstanding, this MRC should know people. What will they do for example if Kisumuians begin shouting that Kisumu si Africa? Where would they get their fresh ngege from? Maybe they will respond by the now almost hackneyed cliché that pwani si dunia if the geomorphologists recent stunning claims that the island is sinking are to be taken seriously.

Truth be told, I had looked forward to the Mombasa trip for the whole week and couldn’t wait for Friday to reach. To reach it did, eventually, and the vultures prepared to head to Mombasa to play against Mombasa Sports Club. Call it one of the perks that come with playing in the national league. I wouldn’t of course lament about how the instead of leaving at eight am the bus left about three hours later. The   bone to chew would be about not being able to take my breakfast fully. Food is sacred if you know what I mean. In case you wondering though why we had to travel by road instead of taking advantage of the cheap Kenya airways flight transversing our skies, then I hope bad weather would be an adequate answer. And just in case the reason doesn’t suffice, then the threat of Al Qaida (not Al Shabaab which is just but a terrorist kiosk) shooting down our plane could still suffice.

The task at hand aside, such trips gives people an opportunity to socialize and by that you know am not talking about mingling for the sake of phatic communication, am talking about fusing for the sake of starting nurseries.

In as much as everybody was keen to pluck three points from our opponents, the normal somber match atmosphere was replaced by a boisterous mood as ‘people got no each other better’. This would go on up to the wee hours of the morning in Club Lamabada. In case you were wondering whether I was going to blame fatigue for our loss, you aren’t entirely wrong.

It’s funny though that I only realized that I hadn’t actually used my swimming costume while unpacking. The closest I ever got to the beach was well by a hugging a bitch from there. Instead of the solar that is characteristic of the coast, we had to endure unending drizzles. Amidst this splashes of sprinkles, there were still an overbearing heat in the atmosphere.

Picking from where I left, I realized that out of town trips not only make it easier for people to know each other better amidst games such as poker and bedminton. Alliances shift, relationships begin, others succumb to the pressure while some get the fresh impetus required to survive-they were the least though. Provision of free nyama choma and bed space can earn you a fling for the short stint probably at the expense of some wordsmith. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to see discordant soul mates at such hours, blame it all on uchumi .How people like one Juma Juma crafted and sustained three parallel relationships methinks requires some inquiry.

Now that am talking about nyama choma, I should probably tell you why am not in a hurry to eat meat on the road any time soon if my recent altercations are anything to go by. Am not of course claiming that my resolve is unshakeable, but it would require a lot of persuasion and I don’t think it’s going to be anytime soon. Let’s just say that seventy minutes can be a lifetime while at the mercy of looseness of bowels, especially if you have to pay attention not to fart lest you fart yourself wet. This is the time when every second counts. At this point the person who said that the greatest reliefs on earth are those that involve excreting from the body could probably be the wisest man. Even the smell of naked chicken revolving around a stand doesn’t turn me on-my appetite that is in case you were starting to get some ideas.

If I say am not looking forward to another game like that, it would be the understatement of the year. Playing on grass after my recent upgrade into artificial playing surface looked like a step down especially with the soft and slippery grass not sitting pretty with the tired grip of my shoes.

In all fairness though, the trip down south wasn’t as gloomy as might have been portrayed above. If I was seriously considering deleting travelling on the hobbies section of my CV then these factors might spare it the hangman’s noose albeit for the time being.

I got to finally ‘beat’ a photograph next to the famous elephant tasks-turns out they are just metal. I also got to know of delicacies such as kima, maamri, madafu among others the former because it was apparently the cheapest item on the menu. Most importantly I also got to learn the difference between sima and ugali-the latter is way bigger in size and is the preserve of the western region. While there can be ugali sosa, there is definitely no sima sosa. If I were ever to move there permanently, my call would be to revolutionize this very vital sector. It would be a shame if I dint mention Holla and Butterfly parks. Also invaluable, was the numerous contacts I made along the way. Next time for example if I were to stop in Email town I would know that Kwa Mama Boy serves ugali and not sima. The same however cannot be said of Mama Abdul of Mtito Andei. The dungeons of Mtwapa and its stirring night life is though a story for another day.

The world though goes on as usual. It’s nice though to be in the confines of my bed after having to share it with fix of my friends on the road. I’ll miss though room thirty one of Kenda’s village. The manager though might not be enthusiastic about opening her doors for us again, or any other student for that matter especially with the tissue and paste overuse.

If I wasn’t able to score on the hockey pitch, my form was inspired on the social front. I will let you know on the development when the next episode of the bachelor continues. Somebody ones told me though that what happens in Vegas (read Mtwapa) stays there.

As the reality of the economic and physical toll of the Coast job sinks in, one can only hope that Mondays could be shorter.