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

Remembering Longonot

I still remember how I started this blog. It just seems like the other day. My profile reminds me it’s been more than three years. 

Three years. Three years of spewing nonsense.

Had I enrolled for a diploma and studied during the time I wasted on this blog then in  I would have been graduating twice in December.

I remember back then I used to stay in a quad room in Longonot Hostel with Mzee XZBGKL (tough name I know), Mzee Gythy and Mzee Wekemeu. People would drop in from six in the morning that it was difficult to know who lived there and who just passed by. In fact I rarely used my key as there was always somebody in the Idleness HQ either watching the Good wife, or arguing among themselves who between Zizou and Ronaldhino had the most talent.

If they weren’t doing those then they were playing bedminton, draughts, poker and the worst of all FIFA.

I’ve never fully appreciated people’s fascination with these games. Maybe its coz I’ve never known how to play. It was great though cheering Wekemeu the legendary striker. The man who made the AC Milan and the Barcelona defence tremble upon the mention of his name. The world media extolled his profilic left foot and the tantalizing pieces of magic that he unleashed upon many an opponent. Had he not just been a character in a computer program, Kenya would have won the World cup even before it started. 

Had he been real Gor Mahia would have been playing in the club world cup where they belong by birth right.

If only Mzee Wekemeu were able to control Oliech and co the way he controlled Wekemeu…….

If people were not playing ‘football’, they were playing scrabble. Now this was a game I really enjoyed. There’s no game in the world like Scrabble. That’s why whenever I buy a new gadget the first application I install is the Scrabble and then Truecaller. Truecaller is important. Trust me. Especially when your friends are a bunch of low life’s without any iota of basic human decency or a shred of dignity. People who will seduce you on phone with strange numbers and see how poor a flirt you are. I'm not saying it happened to somebody I know.

The scrabble games were so competitive that sometimes we brought our own fans to cheer. They were like a big hostile regional competition. Sometimes we even went without lunch as losers kept on asking for one more game to redeem their image.

Whereas winning didn’t get you any trophy, the bragging rights that it earned you was priceless. You were a true champion of the arena. A god to be worshiped for the day.

That’s why you just couldn’t afford to lose.

Especially if some you brought some yellow kikuyu lady to watch the games. Those ladies that are so beautiful that you feel they are doing you a favor by letting you do their assignments. You know in Maseno our neighbors were schools where girls’ heads were cleanly shaven just as my grandfather used to shave our heads using a Nacet Razor Blade. 

It dint help either that the only outings I went for were sports events  full of able bodied women who could tackle you if you failed to smile appropriately when smiled at. Finding one yellow lady amongst them was like finding sense in Ole Lenku’s statements. It’s what Shakespeare would refer to as looking for a seed in two bushels of chaff. You will spend the whole day searching and when you finally found one they won't be worth the search.

So you could understand why losing was out of discussion.

I don’t need to brag but it’s out there. I was great at the game. I still am.

Mzee Dimitri however was a maverick. Still is.He beat me again over the weekend.

He’s one of those guys that lets you think you are winning and then writes a word like XU or XIS or USQUE and gets hundred marks.

Then there was Mzee DXZBJKHL. 

Back then this guy was absolutely crazy for some very hot chick.They watched movies from morning to evening. All XZBJKL had to do was to buy some yellow mandazis from the tuck-shop and boil his lady love some coffee while the men sweated at the games.

There was this day when with a small number of tiles left, Mzee Dimitri was almost at four hundred points. I wasn’t far behind while Mzee DZXBGKL was barely past one hundred. 

He couldn’t lose this game. Not today. 

He really needed to impress his lady love.

And then the worst thing that can ever happen when the game is ending did happen.

He got J,X,K,Z to his collection of D,B,Z letters.

He had to think hard and fast otherwise he would face a subtraction of this letters and be condemned to utter shame.

A huge vein was increasingly becoming visible on his face and his hands were getting sweaty.

So like a genius he wrote XZBJKHL and pressed play.

Needless to say the computer rejected his word.

In an unanticipated fury he got up and roundly condemned the shallow scrabble dictionary that had refused to accept his legitimate word that the Queen herself would never dare reject.

For Mzee XZBJKHL that was the end of playing scrabble in that room. 

I remember life in Longonot Hostels.

I remember it for our diet there. I remember it because of the fried omena we ate on Monday, the milk stew omena we ate on Tuesday, the plain omena that we had on Wednesday, the deep fried omena that we had on Thursday and to break the omena monotony ,the omena mayai cocktail that we had on Friday.

I remember Longonot for the disappearing acts that we had when it was time to wash the greasy omena utensils.

I remember Longonot for the smoke from weed flouting across the window into the hostel.

I remember Longonot for The people. Mzee Fisi my friend, Mzee Bha our neighbor.

I remember Longonot for teaching me that tribe is just but a tag.

I remember Longonot for Beryl Mkubwa.

I remember Longonot for this blog. 

I remember Longonot for Wekemeu, the man of great worth who pushed me to start this blog, the man who pushed me to be consistent and continuously reminded me just how much big space there exists between me and real  writers of our time. The Bikos and the Palas.

I know I’m not where I should be but at least people in Sri Lanka read my blog.

So to Wekemeu, raise your glass.

USA President Uncle Barry salutes you on behalf of all great Luo men

 You are a great man!

………….even if Regina Re left you for that sweaty gym guy.

Facebook Etiquette

I have a problem. A major problem with Kenyans. I know it shouldn’t be my problem what a guy does but you cannot accept good old Varaq to look the other side when there’s something he doesn’t like.

No, the problem is not about Jubilee and their apparent lack of direction. It’s not about insecurity or the rebirth of high level graft.

I heard yesterday that the digital government advertised a tender to airlift the president’s speech. Okay. I mean really? Just give me ten percent of the money and I'll fly them using Jumbo jet. That’s if the just have to be airlifted. What happened to good old email? Or better yet Uhunye can just live tweet his speech.

 I also heard that the Uhunye plans to purchase cameras from Safaricom at seven hundred million a piece.

Two things don’t make sense.

I mean why would Uhunye call Safaricom and not let some secretary in Ole Lenku’s office make that order? We thought his clerk duties would end with issuing of title deeds at the coast.

At seven hundred million shillings a piece are the cameras coming fitted with grenade launchers to take away bad people on sight?

But then again that’s not my problem.

That’s Baba’s and now that he’s here and we gave him a comprehensive report (#babawhileyouwereaway) on how Uhunye and the hustler wamekuwa wakitutesa, we hope he’ll address some of this issues.

We expect him not just to dialogue about having a national dialogue but to actually be part of the solution. Like talk to his fellow investors at Keroche to sponsor Gor. This thing of Tusker drinking Kogallo just because we don’t have sponsors is not good for our image. Maybe with Keroche it will be alcohol versus alcohol and we know the cheaper stuff (read Keroche) always win. But hey I’m not here to take about the tribulations of K’ogallo which we will for obvious reasons want Baba to believe are Jubilee government orchestrated.

Again that’s not my problem either.

Sometimes I get on my timeline on Mukuru kwa Zuckerberg and just get surprised, confused, shocked at some of the things you people post. I know I’m no role model when it comes to online presence but c’mon people, vituko zingine zimezidi.

I love God. I may not be the perfect Christian but I know the place of God. Don’t ask me to type Amen to show that I love God. Don’t ask me to share a status and wait for thirty minutes to receive blessings. I'm already blessed. Big time. And I know more blessings are coming and not because I have to type Amen to your status to show I love God.

Don’t post photos of malformed children or share them on my wall and purport to be caring. Those photos of children with three heads or four hands are gruesome and too graphic. We know you want traffic for your site that’s why you’ll ask us if we really care to type 'get well soon'. Of course I love kids. But sharing some of this severely photoshopped pictures and trying to get sympathy doesn’t make you Mother Teresa.

Now that we are still talking about photos. It doesn’t hurt to show a little refrain at scenes of accidents. Fine ,we know the only first aid measure you know is mouth to mouth resuscitation but you can do more than just posting pictures of people in grueling pain and claim you got the scope first. Bloggers can no longer bask in the fact that they are untied by ethical concerns

Still on photos. We know you are beautiful. Very beautiful. But seriously semi nude photos don’t make you a model. If you want to go to Buoart, it’s okay. You are above eighteen. But truth be told people don’t take you seriously when you always skimpily dressed in your photos. It doesn’t help matters if your behind is less than Huddah’s. Team mafisi have her as their SI unit.

I know you’ll get some few hundred likes. Mzee Varaq’s eye will of course like a vulture feast upon your buffet and maybe humour you that you look good.

Don’t send me those messages of 

‘Hi, am angel. I saw your profile from UK. Kindly get in touch with me on these email.

Then you go ahead to say how you are a rich widow.

such stunts may have worked in 1906 when the late chief Ogolla Ayieko officially handed over huge tracts of land to Reverend JJ Willis to start Maseno School but it doesn’t work now. It's not because we don’t love a rich widows.The thing is your grammar is a major turn off in the first place. 

Finish your time, get off Kamiti and maybe learn some good English. Maybe then we would start believing you are from the UK.

I know Facebook asks you what’s on your mind. But this is not an exam. Mark Zuckerberg will not be mad if you fail to answer that question from time to time. Don’t give us a commentary on your life.

Now I’m up

Now I’m eating

Just four days to Friday

Now I’m drinking…..so?

Niko kwa jam…….so?

If you feel your life is that interesting go see a producer and start shooting keeping up with Lllly. Maybe I’ll buy your CDs as my act of charity to the local entertainment scene.

Yes, you broke up with your one true love but you don’t have to go on a tirade the way men are all the same. Yes you think your ex is a loser but you don’t have to assassinate his character on Facebook every time you get especially if we know him. 

Once in a while open your heart to the world. Tell us how you are scared, surprised, angry, happy. Let us share your feelings of betrayal and triumph. But as Asklasen says, do it in moderation. When you flaunt your happiness we start getting jealous and bitter, when you call your ex unprintable names we think lowly of you and thank God he left the bitter drag behind. 

On second thought, don’t stop on my account. I think Facebook would die naturally if not for your fire.

Still on status updates. It’s okay to lie once in a while. I mean everybody nowadays is at JKIA or TRM or Mombasa and you can’t update that you in Forward travelers and the clever driver decided to use some panya routes only to get stuck in the middle of nowhere covered with the sickening stench of meat and piss. 

We understand if you post that your flight got delayed and go on an online crusade to remind good old Kenya Airways to put its house in order or you’ll change to Flight540. Just make sure you are wearing a mask, you are incognito or we won’t meet. 

Ask Morio how it feels to post you are having nyama choma with OCPD Kajiado in Nakuru only for you to be found eating chapatti ndegu in Blessed. Not that there’s anything wrong with chapatti.

You have a right to call yourself whatever pleaseth thee. It’s not my business. It’s not that I’m the name cop. Whether you are Gangster L, or Cupid Johns it doesn’t really matter. I know certain names like Nebucadnezer Makaburi Wanyonyi doesn’t make it easy for you to get a social life. However, it becomes my problem when you inbox me with such a name and your profile picture is probably of Mr. Bean shooting his leg in the air or Octavio and Simona hugging. I watch soaps these days. I’ll tell you why I watch them. Don’t judge me till then.

You cant be starting conversations and waiting for people to be resourceful and keep it when you just ROTMFLAOing and LOLling.

You are not a political analyst. You are not a football pundit. You are not an international relations expert. You are definitely not the great Harry Houdini. So stop behaving like one. Oh Raila will do this. Oh Ruto will do this. Oh Fabregas has joined Chelsea after passing his medicals at the North London Colney where he was received by a jubilant Lois Van Gaal. Mutahi Ngunyi himself is actually shit and he went to school to learn how to know what Baba will do next. 

Another thing not all Luos are uncircumcised. Baba is, I am and over sixty percent of others. So if you want to abuse a community based on a rite of passage at least get your facts right. And yes, not all kikuyus are thieves. The one who stole my laptop yesterday of course is but there are some good ones. Great ones actually. The Wekemeus and the Wanjikus of this world.

Ignorance is never bliss. Those who said it was lied big time. If you see people typing RIP Maya Angoleu you don’t have to if you dint know her. 

It’s really embarrassing when you describe her as a great man whom the world will miss.

Take your time, Google first before you post. You can’t be behaving like Huddah who thinks Paul Walker is Paul Wall.

So to sweetness, Arsenal, Chelsea and Real Madrid will not be in the World Cup.

Now that I’m talking about football, the only part of Cristiano Ronaldo my girl is allowed to comment on are his boots.

Otherwise let’s keep calm and continue stalking our exes.