Theories of the Cracked Lip

So my lips have finally healed. You might be wondering how that affects you. Well it doesn’t. Maybe it does. But you just have to be in my shoes to understand that a swollen lip generates more attention than a terror alert. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little bit. The lips is among the most conspicuous places to have a defect albeit temporarily. Everybody notices and seeks to ask you what happened, how you feel, if it is painful etc. Of course it is painful! Just for the record I have no problem against people showing concern when a tragedy befalls a comrade, but it gets cliché to explain to every acquaintance, friends, random people on the streets what circumstances led to a sagging lip. How long it will take to heal, whether I can still kiss or eat comfortably.

Everybody has some wild theory that they think would suffice. The ex girlfriends would for obvious reasons want to believe that I was bitten by an overzealous inexperienced new lover who thinks kissing is a battle of teeth. With a feigned concern they then will inwardly say, ‘serves him right’.

The religious friends would want to believe that I ingested too much of the COOH group and in my stupor rushed forward to head butt the ground with a little help from gravity. Their theory is of course supported by the fact that my fingers and leg are covered with bruises and sores and my skin cover is as smooth as of a person with scabies. Maybe they will use ‘my story’ as an anecdote before they start their next summons condemning the ways of the youth and just how alcohol and drugs are vanity. You know how it is with preachers, they are divine gossips. For the record, I have no problem when my story is used to motivate and uplift others. It’s just that I have a reputation to protect. 

Johende would of course propel the story that I got in a fist fight while fighting over a lass and somebody finally showed me my place. It’s Johende good people, she is allowed to say anything. Now Johende is a friend of mine who sells, shirts, vests, handa etc. Handa is just a polite word in my language that refers to boxers, pants, G strings and things like that. Johende is thus a person who deals with issues hende. Well apart from her part time jobs of studying public health and selling inner wears, her main job is stirring controversies and arguments. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t have an opinion until she hears yours and immediately realizes it’s fatally flawed. She has a strong gift of garb and strong business acumen. She’s the kind of person who can sweet talk you into buying a necklace labeled Fauzia for future use if/when you get a girl called so. It doesn’t matter that the kind of Kiswahili you know is just sufficient to say I’m thirsty or it’s hot and not sufficient to mount a serious suit. She isn’t the kind of person to just leave a nigga hanging. As part of her after sales services she would give you some pointers and Swahili pickup lines….

Buibui lako la meremeta kama parapanda za Zayuni

That’s Johende for you. I hope she isn’t reading this. I wouldn’t want to get a fresh lip injury just a few days after sneaking food in lest the sores in the lips feel the taste and scream.

Sorry I got off topic, I just wouldn’t want you to continue living without knowing people.

Forget about all those theories that are being peddled by people who want to bring me down politically. The truth is that I was hit by a cork. Okay, stop squirming in your seat. Not that cork, that’s for the Binyavanga’s, I mean a hockey cork. It’s what in football you people call ball. I don’t understand why all this sports equipment and paraphernalia have to have names with a sexual overtones….balls, shoot, D, score, corks, sticks etc. Maybe the ideas for this games were conceived when people were doing you know what. Maybe I’m just a pervert. 

And why you would one still play hockey when it is that obvious it is that a dangerous sport. You see hockey is not dangerous; it can just be harmful at times. I swear that sounded better in my head. You may just lose your entire dental formula, an eye or both, or even your treasured balls. That’s why if you can’t store your seeds in some laboratory it is probably a wise investment to join the Fathers Union of Kenyatta University now lest your lineage die with you. 

There can never be another explanation for continued engagement with the sport apart from consuming passion. It is like those KDF soldiers who put their lives on the line each day in the warfronts of Mogadishu to defend our territorial sovereignty. Once again that’s another inappropriate comparison, but you get it.

I have a strong feeling this could be my sports year. With four rounds of matches to go and sitting at the helm of the Kenya national Hockey league, I can almost see the Vultures lifting the cup and going doing the annals of history .I know anything can happen in the world of sports but even while taking caution not to jinx the moment; that would be the perfect way to crown my university sports career. So for just this two months, I will bear your theories of broken lips and bruised skins, I will give my all for my team and for myself. For just these two months I will marry my hockey and hope it gets pregnant with medals.

Sometimes you forget how it is like to be whole, not to have a single scar on your body, not to have a cut. Sometimes you don’t remember the last time you could comfortably deep your fingers in a bowl of hot soup and not feel the biting sting of salt on a bruise. But yet every weekend, every match day you still line up to defend your pride, your ego, your team, your basic desire for winnings.

That’s sports for you. That’s passion for you. That’s adrenaline. That’s hunger. That’s desire.

Surviving Valentine's

Its February folks! Let’s face it January is never our favorite month of the year. It is the month that we get reminded that life has to go on after the excesses of December. It’s more like when in your state of inebriation you forget that you are not Bill Gates and decide to sponsor half the bar to whatever they are drinking on a Friday night only to request for a soft loan on Monday so that you get the fare to work. January is laced with fatigue and great fiscal demand that you sometimes wonder if the sun is ever going to rise again.

But not February. The month is synonymous with very many things but none as prominent as Valentines. It’s great to be in love I must add. For those of us who are always single around this time of the year, I get you brothers, life is hard. And to those who made one mistake and are paying for it for  the rest of their lives in the friend zone, I’m sorry for you but that's life for you. For those who are in monogamous, polygamous, polyandrous relationships either by consent or through ignorance, it’s ok. Life is still hard. What matters is that you are in some sort of a relationship and you matter.

What I have never understood though is the fascination with February the 14th. I have never understood why I have to wait for the day to tell the person who matters in my life that they do. I have never understood why March the 4^th or Friday the 13^th for example is not a great day to visit your florist and buy a bouquet of roses for your Juliet. And forgive me if I don’t understand why real love is equated to mere materials like expensive ornament, posh restaurants and Gucci dresses. Please don’t stone me just yet, just make me believe why I should make you happy for one day and set the foundation for disappointment for the other 365 days? But don’t worry, just so that I don’t appear analogue I’ll download megabytes upon megabytes of digital flowers and send to you. After all a flower in whatever form is still romantic, right? Maybe thinking like that is why I’m single and depressed around Valentines.

Just so we are clear, I do believe in love. Love that’s not boastful, that’s pure and all those things listed in Ephesians. Don’t look at me that way, I do read my Bible. There are those couples who met each other in the matriculation ceremony in 2010 when we were joining campus and four years later they are still going strong. They inspire me. They make me believe that maybe there’s that one person with whom the world will stop existing. There are those relationships which didn’t survive the lifecycle of a housefly yet there are those who survived the gestation period of an elephant. There are those girls whose ‘uncles’ disappeared in the thin air after professing their undying love and getting the cookies. But yet life has to move on.

So for my friends who wish to play Alejandro this Valentines here are some pointers and romantic suggestions.

Invite her over for a movie

Being a student you’ll agree with me that the semester is not in a good place. Heck, it’s never a great time in campus. Not if you are just a regular Joe with seven siblings in high school and a parent  relying on the proceeds of Sossion's strikes. However, I'm a man who believes that such little nuisances like financial inability shouldn't stop a guy from doing what he wants to do. What’s more romantic than watching a movie together? It doesn’t have to be at IMAX, she should know that the European commission has issued a security alert and that’s why it is probably a good idea that you remain indoors. It goes without saying that your roommate should be in exile then.

All you’ll need are popcorns worth forty shillings from the shopping center. Make sure your date knows they are from the shopping center. It is such finer details that will earn you respect. A good choice of movie would be the banned Wolf of Wall Street for the obvious reasons. The movie runs for a whole three hours which would mean that there isn’t much time for other activities unless it is indoors. The scenes of tits and ass that are in plenty would also mean that you don’t have to struggle too much to get some Valentines action….if you know what I mean. The movie is available at Sumu Movies in KM. Hope the government is not reading this.

The introduction of the food outlets in campus is a miracle straight from goddess Venus herself. Hundred shillings is enough for three plates of well cooked pilau. Since some of these ladies don’t know the meaning of dates, it is important to have a hundred bob more just in case four of her friends tag along. If she comes with an extra mouth, you can always feign an a phone call and leave them to their devices. She isn’t sensitive to the hard economic tribulations you going through and thus she doesn’t deserve you. If she asks for juice or soda you need to inform her of the high cases of morbidity and mortality from diabetes. Sorry, that’s just diseases and deaths from excessive sugars. Just by appearing knowledgeable, your cash will be saved for more pressing needs like treating yourself to ngwacis from Burundi.

Kenyatta university arboretum is actually a great place too for lovebirds. It’s not just the serenity, or the somberness that makes the place a lover’s paradise but its remoteness too. When I say remoteness I actually mean that it is far from the tempting smiles of fries and chicken hovering around most luring establishments that only thrive by fleecing us. Just so that she doesn’t say you 'left her with a dry mouth', it would be good for your portfolio to carry two liter bottled soda and a sheet and some ginger biscuits. Now that’s a fun picnic! And of course you need to remember to return the bottle to the shopkeeper so that he can return to you your deposit. Bwana this is Nairobi. Ok, we are in Kiambu County, but you get it.

For those of you who believe so much in the flowers, I told you what you need to do earlier. However, if you want to do things the old way then Mzee Varaq still has your back. The good university has a medicinal plant unit that plants crops for herbal use and research. You can always feign interest in botanical research and I’m sure you’ll get some yellow or red weeds that can actually pass as  flowers. There is no harm in rubbing them with your Solea perfumed petroleum jelly .Apart  from the amazing scent; it will look shiny and fresh. Just make sure that the weeds you use aren’t poisonous, allergic or capable of causing acute dermatological reaction. Just in case anything happens and your date swells like mandazis rush her to the health unit. Don’t worry about the costs so long as she is a student, the generous university will treat her for free. If she isn’t then maybe you need to include her in your NHIF cover before next week.

There is of course the other issue of some exotic drinks   for toasting to a great past and an even grander future. For normal people who are on the payroll of the United Nations and the Deloittes of the world, a bottle of fine champagne will come in handy. In case you wish to downgrade, Jamesons, Gignac or Johnny Walker are the worst that a Nairobi girl can accept for Valentines. Just coz she knows this brands by name doesn’t mean that she can actually differentiate between a Jameson and a Meakins. Some of these ladies are all talk yet behind the scenes they guzzle spirits of death at Mbugus. So buy your cheap drink, house it in an expensive brand bottle and Voilla they will sing your name till the sun comes down. After all Valentines is supposed to be a time of creativity and surprises. Whatever you do, don’t buy Bluemoon and house it. That they’ll know. It is their breakfast over here. And another thing remind her to go slowly after all you won’t want her too wasted for the final act or worse, blind?

You can’t be breaking up with your girl three times in a row around February and making up in March and expect her not to notice that it has something to do with Valentines. Whatever you do just don’t get caught.

Happy valentine’s good people!

It’s gym time!

So today after a long time away I paid a visit to Burundi. No; not that country. If you’ve been in KU for probably one semester you will know why Burundi is a place of interest. It is here where event organizers go to shop for the perfect bouncers. The one’s with chests the size of Tom Mboya’s statue and the legs of Lupita Nyongo.  It is here where men with mutual respect for hard work and toil congregate to share dieting and workout tips. It doesn’t matter for how long you’ve been caressing the weights, a Burundian has to immediately acquire the gait of Rambo and strut around campus like a colossus. You will probably start noticing that the university’s gates are suddenly getting smaller for your convenience and you have to start passing sideways through the metal detectors. 

I once had that ambition to be on top of the world, to feel supreme. To set my own rules and remind the ‘smaller’ men who the real boss is. To have absolutely no qualms to knock out somebody’s expensive drinks just to slight them to their dates. But my main motivation was to send chills to Johnny Bravo. Not just to stand my ground; that I could easily do with my hockey stick as a weapon. If you watched those mafia movies back then when five shillings was enough entertainment allowance for three hours you’ll recall that there was always that starring who never seemed to die. They would be put to purpose by revenge for a dead friend, family or somebody they just met on the train. Whatever their motive whether out of sheer boredom or a sense of divine justice they always marveled me. I remember in class five I changed my name to David Bradley, he of the Delta Force movies. Of course my mother didn’t let the joke go on for long.

Forgive my detour; you just need to understand where I’m coming from. Back to Johnny Bravo. You remember the famous Johnny Bravo, the super ‘douche’ who made our mornings on carton network? Yes, exactly...…that’s him; in flesh this time; just a darker, shorter and a more hairy version making him scarier than the original version. What would have peace loving Varaq done to piss off gigantic Johnny bravo? It wasn’t my fault I must say from the onset.

See in first year there’s this friend of ours called Wiz. Not his names recognized by the HELB records of course. He was a Kariuki from Thika but heavily influenced by Lil Wayne. He had dreadlocks on his head and his trousers were those ones with chains that my neighbor at Kotieno could probably use to tie Saddam, Bush and Osama and stop them from causing havoc in the village. In case I lost you there, those names aren’t for humans but for some fierce canines who have no qualms in devouring an entire limb at the slightest provocation. Now Kariuki my friend, sorry he doesn’t like that name much, always had his trademark trousers hanging below his Liverpool pants. You probably are wondering where I’m going on with this. I’ll get there shortly.

Wiz had this gorgeous girlfriend called something something. It’s actually strange I don’t remember her name considering she is the reason why I had my ego punctured by another man. It’s the classic story of ladies preferring muscle over swag. In my foolish bravado and false sense of loyalty I may have uttered some unprintable words to provoke a trigger happy muscled man. You don’t wanna know what happened. Just know that it is the reason I hit the grounds of Burundi like a guy possessed. A week later and no major change in physique I gave up and accepted my fate as a small man. Maybe God had his reasons.

I remembered this story and laughed at the folly of youth. That place seems doesn’t change much. Uji is still fifteen bob despite the passing of the VAT bill. Once again not relevant to the story I just like to talk about VAT to piss some people. The rickety benches that I left at the muscle factory the last time I was there are still the foams from which fats are burned. Never mind that during that time the good university has completed constructions on the Postmodern Library and a couple of buildings fully furnished with electric chairs that respond to sensory motion. Ok, you can close your mouth now, that’s a slight exaggeration. But as they say Burundi isn’t the infrastructure, it is the person. That quote sounds familiar, right? Even the faces who were there when I was still an innocent fresher are still the same. The only thing probably different was the number of staff and the introduction of omena as lunch delicacy.

So why am I back to Burundi? See, there is this girl that I met the other day in KM. That’s not rocket science, it’s always about a girl. If there’s anything closest to perfection then Doreen it is. With the smile of an angel and her amazing walk. The one wahengas (still don’t know who they are) would call ‘mwendo wa njiwa’. Of course that’s nothing if her milk dispensers and her Kogallo Defence Forces  isn’t strong enough to carry a child without holding him. She is the kind of girl with that innocent charm that you feel like holding and never letting go.

But that alone isn’t enough motivation to spend my entire doing harming my body to gain some abs. See, Doreen and Johnny bravo have something going. And whereas my lips moved to purpose by crammed Shakespearean lines has never let me down, the same level of confidence cannot be said about my martial ability to defend myself lest the wounded lion come for me. I want to b the hero of the story, not a martyr. It won’t be bad for my posthumous CV though if I were St Varaq. A guy can dream right?

 In the meantime I’ll take my time, not three days this time…maybe three weeks, maybe three months.

I hope what revenge couldn’t accomplish, real love can.

Wish me luck

Open Letter to Mr President

Greetings Mr. President,

Hope this finds you well. I know you are a busy man from your East African Community responsibilities, defending your appointments to your insatiable kusema na kutenda partners, thinking about Raila and balancing your commitments with the Hague commitments but I still hope you get time to read my letter. I particularly have no worries using this method to reach you considering you are one of the most digital presidents in the world with a verified twitter account and a Facebook page with the highest likes for a president. That you picked your director of communications from the blogging world is a pointer that unlike them, you are digital. Unlike them you are trendy; unlike them you are a cool Prezzo. I’ll be brief though, I know you got enough on your plate.

It is 2014 and that means it is almost a year into your disputed election win. I know it is so early to judge your general performance; to say that you have failed or not. The one year though is enough to show the general trajectory of your leadership. I’m not a doomsayer but even you fair sir know we not heading the Canaan way. At one year, my two year old niece Tehzeen Nyar Alego had already started crawling, known how to mutter certain words such as ‘tabaya’ for ‘tabia mbaya’ among others. She was able to recognize people; important people like anko Bobat (Uncle Robert), ask for food when hungry and for the ‘potty’ when she wanted to ‘pupu’. Hope you don’t feel offended but at one year you still pissing on your clothes instead of asking for the potty.

The jubilee manifesto was a well crafted document. I am a man who gives credit where it is due. Despite borrowing heavily from the Nyongo-written ODM manifesto of 2007, the document actually had great ideas that could propel us to where we rightfully belong at the summit of African political and economic existence. One year later the cost of living has tripled, essential commodities are attracting hefty VAT taxes, the unemployment rate has tremendously increased, and crime has become kitsch and fad. The stadiums that you promised to build remain dreams while the current ones are in dilapidated states and given funny names that decry and deny our national heritage 50 years after independence. I know you inherited some of these problems but surely Mr. President there’s something your good government could have done to stabilize things from the previous regime if they couldn’t get better.

That you have been setting the ground running in readiness for 2017 is not bad. It’s actually genius. After all who would want to go down the history books as a onetime president? That is why we understand when every fortnight you make a trip to the vote rich Rift Valley to explain to the Keters that they are wrong and that they need to shut up. But politicking at the expense of national development is not just morally wrong but also quite distractive. Let Raila Odinga and company talk. They have nothing that they are mandated to do. They thus won’t share your looming failure to address our developmental needs. 

Whereas antics such as issuing of title deeds to squatters at the coast and other acts of camaraderie may earn you first page photos in the newspaper and glowing tributes in fashion magazines, they don’t go a long way in addressing the discord from the spiraling cost of living. Whereas putting on matching shirts and ties with your number two may generate massive likes on Facebook and social media, they don’t take away our discomfort with the Jubilee government.

Time for posing is gone

Everybody needs a bulldog; One that bites for you whenever unwanted strangers stray. You have that in Aden Duale. The guy is indefatigable in defending your blameless government and I truly believe he is an invaluable asset to your administration. He is to you what Luca Brasi was to the Godfather. Sorry, I like quoting Mario Puzo a lot. But any dog owner would be quick to remind you that every dog needs to be tamed lest they embarrass the master. There’s nothing as pleasing as watching a person self destroy themselves. Tame Duale, his remarks are of a man drunk with power. He is the kind of guy to say that Ole Lenku was being used by Raila to embarrass the jubilee government.

To an unobserving eye hoodwinked by a national media with no scrupulous, George Thuo may have died in a club after taking one too many, George Saitoti may have died from a sad but inevitable mechanical challenges of his aircraft, Mutula Kilonzo sexual appetite may have caused his untimely death and Senator Wetangula’s car hit a banner and came out with bullet wounds perhaps to seek public sympathy. Over what beats my average intelligence. But you and I know that the untimely death of members of the PNU subcommittee on ICC raises questions. I’m not saying that you have connections to the underworld; I’m not saying you have connections to Jack Bauer. All am saying is that when coincidences are too much, tongues begin wagging. If Wetangula drowns in River Nzoia, or is bitten by a cobra people will point at you. And they’ll have valid reasons to.

Your latest appointment of Muthaura but just puts an icing on a trend that has largely characterized your presidency. He joins the likes of Karangi, Kamau, and Macharia in the powerful dockets. That you got overwhelming support from KAMATUSA and GEMA is not in doubt. But you are not presidents of the two regions alone. You are on record as saying that let the losers wait for their turn. Nothing wrong with that I must add. But don’t you think you embedding tribalism and entrenching it deeper into our collective conscious?

You have resorted to playing politics with parastatal jobs; awarding cronies and political orphans far cast to the cold by the unforgiving Kenyan electorate. People who perhaps there major asset is the invaluable experience garnered in the Kenyan political shouting loudest in political rallies and increasing their pay at the slightest opportunity. What business does Waititu for example have heading a water services board? Yes, he is experienced. We get that. But experience in the wrong sectors. It is thus betrayal for a government that  rose to power on the mantra of generational change to resort to geriatric discrimination .But we will live with that, after all choices have consequences.

Sometimes I wonder who advices you. Granted, am yet to fully earn my first degree but some things require just a tinge of common sensed to detect. There are certain school boy pranks that you have attempted to wriggle your way against the ICC that have not endeared you to the international community. You have successfully been able to rally the union of dictators and members of the impunity club (African union) against what you’ve rightfully called western domination and imperialism. But even you would know that you don’t bite hands that feed you. Nearly 90% of poverty alleviation projects in Nyanza and western are funded by the so called imperialists and whilst it is ok and rather brave to demand respect I wonder if the braggadocio and the chest thumping that your henchmen have been displaying of late will ensure that HIV/AIDS patients have access to ARVs or that sexually active youth have access to long term and sustainable contraceptives including condoms? The media bill though is not bad. We don’t mind their muzzling. They should just accept and move on. We don’t mind our TVs being off too, we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother Your Mother and laugh at Ted Mosby and Barney Stinson.

On to a positive note I can see you are a student of Machiavelli and you have learnt the art of political survival. I must commend you for the kinds of duties that you have bestowed upon your deputy. The kinds of chores that you have continuously assigned to him are the less populous statements. He has been to you what Raila was to Kibaki. While you’ve been playing the good cop, he is the bad cop that gets his hands dirty for your government. For that I must applaud you. You just have to find a way of rewarding Keter with a parastatal job or an ambassadorial position. I personally prefer the later because it will keep him in Pakistan or Cuba and thus away from him.

Your work is cut out for you in 2014 Mr. President, I for one wish that in this year you achieve just a fraction of the jubilee manifesto, that you limit posturing and actually do something to contain the spiraling cost of living, create some jobs so that we have somewhere to go when we finish campus and most of all guard our sovereignty jealously while remembering that big brothers are sometimes allowed to be bossy.

If you do that, you won’t be my favorite person but you’ll earn my respect. …Not that it matters anyway.

Happy New Year Baba Ngina!