Masaibu ya ndugu matolo

My last two pieces have been about lessons learned from 2012.I would have gone on and on but my calendar just hard to interfere and remind me that its February already, the month of love, the shortest month in a year (that’s good news I guess for Gucci who opened school yesterday and is already thinking of the next holidays).In this month too my team, the vultures head to the East African games in Dar to remind the world that we are Kenyan champions for a reason. The only dark lining is Matolo’s misfortunes.

matolo poses with a mzungu

Now in case you are not aware, Matolo is the vice captain of the team. Where he comes from, Bungoma or BG as he fondly referred to it is very far from the coast where alien languages like Kiswahili are spoken. Matolo doesn’t date out of his tribe, he says it’s to preserve the quality seeds but everybody knows just how communication, especially seduction in a different language can be difficult especially if u you wish to assure the Shiro of MT Kenya just how many acres of maize you have under your belt. Your guess is as good as mine, who cares? sorry, Naliaka cares.

matolo,center,enjoys his bike

But that’s not the reason why we fear for our brother Matolo. As part of the travel requirements we had to get a pass. Now, the officer there ,out of malice I must add, started asking Matolo ,

“Rijali,waende nchini Tanzania kwa hafla ya kibiashara au kujubugiza katika lindi la anga faridi na maji bahari au kujipoteza katika lindi la anasa na vidosho wakware?”

I don’t really remember what Matolo said but it must have been something like poa before promptly dashing to the conveniences.

The good thing is that Matolo is a fast learner and he can now proudly say that

‘bahari tuko nayo kule mwambao wa pwani pia,kwa hivyo kuleta kikombe ndiyo inipelekayo mimi huko ng’ambo”

 By kikombe he doesn’t mean mug but trophy.

matolo's super shoes

Am sure after his stint in Dar, he’ll know the difference between chuo ,idara and kitovi which am sure most of you are simply blank about. It may even go a long way in helping him date the yellow chicks from pwani he’s been really ranting about.

We are having a hard time assuring Matolo that ugali and sima are one and the same thing. However, as things stand, we are losing that battle. So I guess he will just have to cross the border with his maize flour, coil and the standard Matolo sufuria just to be sure. After all, our stomachs are our only age mates.

Lessons from 2012,part two

So last week I shared with you why 2012 remains my most practical unit of the fifteen units I registered for in the last academic year. You might not understand what a major fete that was beating serious units like Maternal Health that contains intellectual topics like how to breastfeed, when to initiate coitus after delivery, or how lactational amenorrhea affects copulation and by extension family planning. The unit CORDed LIFE 2012, I maintain was more practical than how depo causes long term fertility concerns or the epidemiology of Nyeri’s current population state and the underlying factors for the male battering in the county we learnt in population health in development by Dr. Dr. Dr. Onsongo, the guy from Yunaired States (Ugenya, Siaya, and Alego).

If you don’t fathom any of the above terminologies don’t beat yourself, it took me three months of pilgrimage to The Kenyatta university postmodern library to acquaint myself with some of this basic terms. Biko Zulu once said that the tragedy of bloggers is that they think people get time to just  sit, relax and read page after page of hard prose. With this in mind, I cut short my story last time, to live to write another day-today.

Sometimes when they say it’s the small things in life that matter, relationship experts and some arm chair analysts have always confused us. To them the small things in life that matter are like opening doors, paying compliments, acknowledging new hairstyles among other such chores. What the founder of the phrase meant, in my esteemed opinion, is that petite objects such as SIM cards, USB cables, flash disks, IDS and such tiny stuff that have a high propensity to get lost should be handled with care.2012 taught me just why it’s of crucial importance to remember where you left your keys, all keys including Omsakhulu’s bike with a mounted one band radio which ‘catches’ only Mulembe FM radio and has got huge speakers made of clay. This year I have heavily invested in a trench coat with pockets the size of my sufuria where I will be keeping such stuff to avoid the mental anguish of turning my room (ok Byudeh, I know it’s your room too) upside down in search of small voiceless objects. Just hope it rains heavily so that you get to see my orange trench coat. 

Listening is a skill that can never be taken for granted, it’s a must have for anybody who wants a fulfilling relationship. Women, I realized are just like radios, one doesn’t know what to expect. Some Bonokode and Mbuside may strike a conversation in the middle of a beautiful song. Those Celine Dion songs that you just listen to and slip into another world. You not sure what the next caller to Maina and Kingang’i is going to say. Whether it’s ‘all men are the same’ or ‘aki I don’t know wat’s wrong with him’ or ‘I used all my money in December’. You not sure whether Alejandro wa Githu is going to be busted by one Wamaitha. And though they share that uncanny ability to speak all day just as the radio, they are even better in that they can’t be switched off. I had figured the best way to have my cake and eat it was to feign interest, pretend to be listening, nod your head sometimes and an occasional mmmh to spur her to go on. I was always careful to remember to laugh when she smiled or show the face of Aladeen when required. After all you don’t want to be smiling while she’s telling you how her friend sat on her baby Sue. Sue in this story is a teddy bear. To cut a long story short you’ll get caught, guaranteed. This year I choose to listen, or to skim through. Surely a nigga can multitask, just so how you know how not to reply to texts like;

“Babe uko wapi?”

“Tufanyaje sasa ile story?”

Even for those of us who went to a school with the motto perseverance shall win through and saw the truth of this statement in our high school lives, sometimes it gets so tough that you just wana quit. When we left the Maseno School Bakora Hockey Team we thought we knew all hockey. Alongside Odhys and Byudeh, then called Dunda we used to be the perfect midfield. So getting to Vultures Hockey and finding a pool of over 70 players, we weren’t afraid of the competition for the 16 man match squad. However, that wasn’t meant to be. This team had people who could hit the ball from one province to the other, people like Gilly who could score from any angle. Sometimes we used to appear on match day in suits with our hockey regalia lurking in the background. If you dint get to have a jersey well and good, you could always claim to your super fans that you got an injury. If you did get an appearance, mostly five minutes, you could still use the same line,

 ‘the injury I was telling you is why I dint play much’.

 But we dint give up, we trained, I perfected my curve, he perfected his sembe. The situation may have drastically changed with the retirement of senior players and the rise to captaincy of one Juma Juma but it was surely a reward for our perseverance .Even though today he might not be as popular as Messi, but any sports journalist in East Africa worth his salt surely knows who Byudeh is. They would tell you something like;

‘Ah, you mean that guy who plays to the left of the Varaq?”

match day,

 sorry i coudnt get you a photo of omsa's bike,alikuwa anataka kuku mingi,he still does barter trade pekee

2012 also taught me that contrary to what our primary school teachers said, women are beautiful people. They are our sisters, our mothers, our significant others and our daughters for the early birds who caught the early fertile worms. They are great company, they can sustain an intellectual conversation, one can lay bare their genuine fears and get reprieve. There’s of course the probability that your insecurities will spread across the campus with some new details inserted to make the story juicier. Conversation between Wekemeu, Gythy, Mcwho, Sad News is usually about who the stronger man is, who Manpower and Adam would be most proud of. Sorry guys, am not ratting you out, am still a loyal member of your little sect. 2012 made me realize that there are two types of ladies to be afraid of; the one with more ambition than you do and the damsels in distress. The former because she’ll drop you like an empty bottle of liquor when somebody with more balls passes by. I don’t understand why my basic anatomy classes taught me that all male Homo sapiens sapiensa have the same number of balls. As for the damsel in distress you can figure out why, that aint rocket science.

Lessons from 2012, part 1

For as long as I can remember I have always been Mzee Varaq. Mzee not coz of grey hair or advanced age per se but more coz of busara that comes with age. I think  busara sounds deeper as compared to knowledge or even wisdom for that matter. But if 2012 succeeded in doing something then it was to remind me of how much more I still need to learn. That’s not of course to say that mi si mzee tena, even the elderly sometimes succumb to the plethora of deception that is the world. After ‘launching’ that ‘serious’ word I know I have your attention now.

The year that was was truly rollercoaster in every way. There were moments of triumph just as there were moments of hard loss, moments of reflection just as there were moments of action, moments of toil just as there were moments of reward, moments of joy just as there were moments of grief .Towards the end of the year I lost my cousin Zakayo Otie, no relationship to that Zacheaus of Samaria or was it Galilee? I ain’t sure. That was a moment of pain. My birthday party was a tragicomic event and if there’s any single event that can claim to have made me a wiser man then it would suffice.

Allow me dear friends to share with you some of the lessons I learnt, the hard way. Consider them wise words of life from an old man ‘who has seen all’ yaani ameona yote…….ok, almost all.

There are certain things that we can do, others however no matter the effort we put aren’t just our things. Top of my list is dancing. Not even if money is involved. I had an opportunity to audition for a Kenya Power advert and it just didn’t end nicely. That moment you remain standing among five hundred bended people is the moment you realize that you don’t belong. Thanks Ragen though for the chance, am sorry I let u down. It’s just that I got two left feet. If you hear of an opportunity in acting or even singing you can let me know. Vera says I have an amazing voice.

vultures fun day at paradise lost,planning a party isn't just venue and finance

Party planning ain’t my thing. I ain’t just crafty and strategic enough to plan and host party. I came to this conclusion after two parties that I actively participated in planning enjoyed a zero success rate. I realized that mobilizing is just the easier part; it’s what you do afterwards that counts. Parties, I tend to think, follows Murphy’s Law of if it can go bad, it will really go bad. I remember, not so long ago, the onus of  planning my primary school reunion fell on Jaduon’g Mano, the de jure and the de facto chair and I. I won’t tell you of how lunch was served at 1800 hours or how we lost the respect of Nyar Ruoth or of how we had to feign seriousness just to create the impression that something was being done. I will tell you though that the incident left me with a bad egg on the face. I don’t plan to plan any party soon, unless of course it’s my victory party. And even that will fall on gifted persons.

Another party principle that 2012 taught me is that light doesn’t mix with darkness. That in issues of religion and God there can never be a middle ground. I learnt that in any gathering it’s important to define the spiritual path, just so that people remain 'gweng’mates'. Just what kind of crowd you are dealing with is important as whereas some people like Lord Rungu believe that there can never be a party without Kibao, others like the alpha male believe that a party must have mud, arega, akina nani and to further separate it from smaller parties, ingoho.

Another lesson that the year forced on me is that River Road and Githurai have one thing in common-They should be avoided like plagues. This is because of the merchants of impunity who operate along these streets waiting to maim the not so born Tao. I also learnt never to buy anything from these places if they can be gotten elsewhere. The former coz they sold me coins in a nice case for a phone and the latter coz they sold me training shoes that didn't last a single training session, not one!

These two places also reminded me how powerless one can really be and just why Paradiso touts will not be among the top hundred to heaven. Not just coz if they say fare ni mbao they mean forty bob or the sheer braggadocio they carry themselves with knowing they are in the safety of their buses but a thousand more reasons. Don’t take such incidences personally, it’s just business. Who knows maybe in Githu City the sheng for coinage changes? After all they forget about you the moment your little altercation is done. Why carry unrequited hate? So this year I make a conscious effort not to let them ruin my days, not to get pissed at people not worth it and of course to always carry coins of every denomination while on official businesses in Githu city.

Contrary to what Hollywood, Nollywood, Hollywood or any other wood may depict people don’t just bump into the streets of Cassandra, collude and live happily thereafter. To a paltry few it may earn you a number but the vast majority will always be that guy who doesn’t look where he’s going. In certain cases it might even earn you severe reprimand or a slap to jolt you to your senses especially if you ruined Shiro’s expensively done nails. Trust me, I know what am saying. Not that I intentionally fell ladies down looking for a happily thereafter but shit happens.

 People are not electricity. I know serious biochemists like Btesh are getting ready to protest . They would like to remind me that the body is connected to a network of nerves that transmit electricity throughout the body. Granted. When I say people aren’t electricity I mean they just don’t get switched on and off whenever your heart desires. If you want them on, you have to cajole, beg, pour compliments from agwata and have the patience of a nun. That she’ll get to heaven and the saints there will finally devirgin her. The reason am saying this is coz I lost many an opportunities because I didn't wait for the lights to open, because I didn't have the patience to follow things to their natural conclusion.

...........................................Part Two Coming UP

The forgotten blog

Ts bin years I know since I last posted, av bin enjoying every bit of ma holz, ok, not necessarily enjoying but living every bit of it.
I finally become a man, a fellow of respect now that I finally did smth.
no, I dint bring wanjiku or any girl to Mama for that reason.
I dint face the knife, just some rams n chicken had a date with the guillotine.
Hey, nimechoka na kutype kwa simu, al tell u about ma holz soon, maybe next week, maybe moro, just keep checking.
Twas really funfilled, wat with ma primary reunion bash, Maryjoy,rendezvous at Istanbul, no, not the racist city
Adios or is it au revoire,ull have to ask Njives that one

posted from Bloggeroid

Mwalimu Andrew

http://www.nation.co.ke/Features/lifestyle/Fiolinas-day-out-in-Nairobi/-/1214/1653492/-/item/1/-/m40xnlz/-/index.html

posted from Bloggeroid

Till semester do us apart

I wasn’t planning to write anything soon but trust Caroline Mutoko to always inspire me. She hit a raw nerve when she said generation Y are idle and of average mind. Well, here’s me writing and tweeting and fbooking to kill the idleness. I hope they count as something meaningful. I just don’t understand though how someone would one call her listeners idle. You won’t be in the market had it not been for these idlers who have nothing to do other than listen to you day in day out. Besides I don’t think just yapping on the radio for two hours could be that hard. For her lovers don’t lynch me #just saying.

After a hard academic semester I believe I deserved ample time with my screen watching all the broken series I had acquired courtesy of the post modern internet in KU’s post modern library .I just had to mention that ,just so my family would know my favourite hangout spots in school.

If there is something that I would rather skip is the semesterly moving with luggage to and from KU. The only silver lining is that the sacks of maize I came with are now history having been converted into arega. Am already thinking of not carrying cham next sem. You’ll have to ask Jaduon’g Omosh what that means. It’s during packing that you realize just how many paraphernalia that you have that you are not using. With the season over, my hockey equipment are just nuisances. Just as is the cooking coil, the books, the bedding, the clothes amongst others. The only thing preventing me from discarding them is that there is the East Africa games coming in Dar (just had to mention that too, don’t worry swry all be back).And of course all still have to eat to be fit, look good and have bedding for good use- to rest in case you were starting to have some ideas.

just y i have to carry cham

The semester has been short what with the lectures strike and senior lectures like Dr Onsongo going to the Yunaired States of America every fortnight to parry(read party).

There is a concept in epidemiology called epidemiological transition. Relax, it’s no biggie .It simply means that the patterns of disease or a condition are changing based demographic factors such as age, sex, employment status etc. Well, if there is a phenomenon that can be observed is the changing patterns, not of disease, but of relationships throughout the sem. At different times, there are those guys who are most sought after.

 At the beginning of the semester the regular Joe has a chance just as everybody else. This is especially true if HELB has ‘done something’ or he can create the impression that he is loaded. Just long enough to get, get in some more and get out. The trend however changes during the middle of the sem when the global economic turndown starts to be felt. The ladies just like the nomads are forced to look for greener pastures. It’s at this time of the semester that Naliaka of Bungoma suddenly has an uncle she visits every weekend. However, just like the heavy Joe at the beginning of the semester this marriage of convenience ends before it even starts. Though not coz the pot of cash ran dry but because it’s the exam time and people forgot that at the end of it all, there is always an exam.

operation tembelea uncle

At such times, the academically gifted of us get to hold the drivers seat. Assignments get done for them, sweet SMSes start coming their way.

Babe u r God’s gift to me, I don’t know what I could have done that without u

It is usually followed by a request
Babe siskii poa,c unifanyie hiyo assigno ya PPH 301,pleez,……….mwaaah!

The majority swallows the bait whole and do two assignments, write two notes and even in cats think for two. Others however, know the drill, bide their time and make sure that their academic contributions are well rewarded in goods commensurate to the effort put in. However, there is need to move in fast lest she moves to uncle on her way home.

I remember when I was in primary school, the bullies used to bellow that, “abiro loro kodi”
That translated simple means that I will close with you.
People would gather and watch as the two fought their way down to death, not death death. A self appointed referee would ask a person who feels strong enough to cross a marked line or put the grass on the other. Even though sometimes you were scared to the stomach there would be no turning better. During those days we used to say that dhiang tho gi lum e thoga.

Today am in good moods so ill translate that too. It means a bull dies with grass in its mouth. The overlying logic here was that one could lose honorably in the ‘arena’ or punk out and be the laughing stock of the school until somebody did something more stupid. It is during such battle that you would wish for the referee to end the match and just declare the winner especially when you were the man on the receiving end. The referee had at this time however forgotten his responsibilities and was enjoying the action. At such times one could only be saved by the closing bell or by turning carnivorous. You know like biting a huge chunk of meat from the bingwa. However such actions were considered girlish thus one had to it discreetly.

I remembered this incidence because it does happen in universities too. No, not of sweaty men strangling each other or fighting to the ground. In universities, one just chooses something and marks it in his head that I will close with it. In most cases it is that girl you have always wanted during the semester or getting drunk silly, momentarily forgetting who you are, what’s going on around you and overindulging .The latter is very risky as you might be forced to walk to Westy (I don’t mean Westlands Nairobi but western Kenya) or go to the campus shylocks to ask for fare. Unlike the shylock of Venice who asked for a pound of flesh, these ask something of greater value like that camera you bought with your first HELB or that phone your aunty gave you as a birthday present. Who said we can’t do aunties?

There is that surge of courage that comes when you realize that she’ll be leaving next week. After all what’s the worst that could happen. If she says yes it’s till semester do us apart, if she says no, well I was just kidding. There is however need to be careful of some ladies who fatten the ram before slaughter. These are the ones that invite you over for uji in the last fortnight of the semester. At the end of it all know that you are being readied to carry luggage to the gate. This category of men however don’t score because asking would be very very awkward. So the next time u notice extra friendly activity at the end of the semester, and it’s usually consistent, don’t be that hen who thinks their owner gives her maize because he loves her.

Then of course there is the all weather group. These are the guys who are likely to charm at the beginning as they are likely to charm at the end. In most cases they play for the Vultures, are cash laden and spot Mohawks on their head. They most cases have a pink shirt, purple pants and orange shoes. They usually have sun glasses never mind its 2000 hours. My friend Masibo calls it ‘swagger’
Where do the rest of us fall? There is this category who subscribes to the broes over whores philosophy. I used to be a staunch member of this group till I heard that the thinking out there is this broes don’t have hoes .I guess am temporarily groupless.

The moment I realize what group I belong to, will inform you good people.

AshyVy Lauvly

You are the reason behind my many a sleepless nights

Neither coz u shout nor coz you play loud music

Not coz you burnt my house or stole my bed

Not coz you bother me but coz you don’t

The crack of dawn finds me wide awake

Thinking not how am going to make bread

Charting not a path to prosperity

But forging a way to win you

My days have never been this longer

My nights never more intolerable

Everything I touch crystallizes into you

My mind is devoid of anything but you

Life has never been the same since I set my eyes on you

Your stunning curves an object of my fantasy

Your big blue eyes a target of my lust

Ur smile my rallying call to action

Adoration rage in my heart

Thoughts of you suffocate my mind

Strategies and work plans form in my mind

Each though has a slight defect and joins the ever growing pile on the dust bin

For how long is this going to continue?

For how long is cupid going to hold me at ransom?

For how long I may going to be under this spell?

How long am I going to play hostage?

Am not asking you to love me

That though would be the best thing fate would ever throw my way

Am not even asking you to try

All I am asking is that you let me love you

To let me replay the scenes in my mind

To have you in flesh

To fulfill what I was brought forth to do

To love you; to dream on

Mzee Varaq