I have a confession. You see, in this town, each one of us has some weird things we do, but we can’t confess to doing them. look, once in a while, whenever am broke and I have no other way to while away time, like fellow idlers, I always resort to perambulating around town (ogling at expensive things that I can’t afford) and in the process I, of course, experience fatigue -courtesy of this city sub-culture of pretending to be in a hurry even when going nowhere. And during such moments, unlike you who always crawl into Jevanjee or at Uhuru park to rest your bones, to avoid getting into a restaurant only to be unceremoniously thrown out minutes later for idling, with the swagger of a 21st century man,I normally stroll into the nearest supermarket and head straight to the dairies section not to buy an ice cold drink but to,ok, well, just ‘hang out’ there to ostensibly cool off and enjoy the cold breeze, you know! But as an experienced, in fact practicing, idler, I do it with, to borrow street parlance, swag! Like a merchandiser doing a market research ,fully equipped with a note book and a pen ,complete with a fake frown of seriousness ,I pretend to be scrutinizing the nutritional content and prices of the dairy products. Just to a void looking suspicious, you know!

So there I was doing my thing and hey presto, a drop dead gorgeous descendant of Eve pops from nowhere, oh, sorry Heaven! Forget your typical Nairobi lady-eye rolling, teeth sucking, wanton display of arrogance, in short order upon being ‘looked at’. This was an Angel! Everything about her was worth reporting home about; from her toes to her hair follicles. Have I mentioned anything about her ‘Amelinaish’ smile? The shape and size of her nose immediately made it clear to me that competing for oxygen with her was out of the question! Well chiseled. Mine is a king size nose!If you would have seen the size of piece of cloth covering her waist downwards-micro-mini skirt, assuming you were the minister for industrialization, you would have reproached her for her disregard for the textile industry! If not, the threat she was posing to the industries development! I swear. But I dint mind it, after all she had good legs, and again which man doesn’t like seeing some yellow yellow flesh? The curves? Ngai fafa! Let’s not even go there.

My friend this was a package and a half. Well put together .The kindness in her eyes and smile made me think of her as a catholic nun who had just taken a day off at the nunnery! God, please have some mercy and give me some strength, I prayed. To cut the long story, Imagine despite all this traits, I was tongue tied and I could not even manage to cowardly cough or even mumble out the word ‘hello’, imagine! All I could do was stutter and struggle to catch my breath like a thirsty slave, as I was salivating and sweating at the same time. May be ,this was not due to the fact that I wash handicapped in the sector of self-expression; it’s just that I have been out of the dating scene for some decades courtesy of the long-term relationship I was in. And my skills needed rejuvenation. I mean, where would I have gotten an opportunity to put my seduction skills to practice when I have been dating the lioness herself? What the heck, after all my very first consultancy job in campus was about training brothers on how to successfully seduce ladies in the shortest time possible, I again consoled myself. At some point, I was tempted to quickly log onto Facebook and solicit for an a ward-winning pickup line to use as an ice breaker .But I perished the thought for it was too little too late. All I could do at that juncture was grunt inaudibly and curse not just the gods but my mojo as she walked off. Phew! This must have been how most young men feel when they squander opportunities to regale (kuingisha box) lasses in this town, I mused.
After this incident I was not a happy man. It, in fact, inspired me to think hard enough about seduction. My mind went back to the good old days when I was a young man(with hot blood)and I could not help but recall em days with haunting nostalgia,oh boy,we had lyrics.
Look, my experience in Bulimbo(that village where my mum got married. Avery interesting place if you ask me. Imagine, in this 21st century people there still do very crazy things like hunting squirrels and other wild delicacies! Another interesting observation I made is that people perennially pretend to be maize farmers on land that you don’t need to be an agricultural extension officer to know that its barren. Moreover, you get complimented upon being spotted with a shiny and sweating nose for, to them, it indicates how good one is doing –health wise! Just imagine!In Bulimbo,smoky and dirty road side eateries masquerading as hotels have the temerity to,in a rather pompous way (if their sign boards is anything to go by),boast of some outlandish services and facilities like saunas,full-body massage ,swimming pools ,conference and multi-purpose halls!Jeez!Talk of pushing the vision 2030 joke a bit too far. In fact ,in all honesty,in the spirit of promoting local tourism ,this is a place you should visit. Amusement galore!) exposed me to a lot about life,especially on how men and women relate. In Bulimbo ,back in the day as we were growing up ,it was common place to see an intimidatingly ugly man (of course with due respect to all who think that they are ugly,after all I have never met an ugly person, everyone is beautiful so what the fuss?) not only successfully seducing but marrying a very beautiful woman and he gets away with it,imagine!Or alternatively,a catastrophically ugly woman getting married to a village hunk!

A rare occurrence today. And when you see it happen,its very probable that the not so gentle on the eye party has thrown money at the problem to make things appear to be hunky dory. It is ,however,never an easy sailing all through for our intimidatingly ugly brother ,just because he has some cash. In some cases,for instance,at the brothel,when other men are paying a standard fee,he, unfortunately gets overcharged!sobs!I remember back in the day,unlike today when a casual sasa?nimekunoki,uko Facebook?would pass for a pick up line.And in three minutes flat,the two would be engrossed in a talk about horizontal acrobatics-sex, for the uninitiated!It amazes me that today a nine years old girl has perfect flirting skills complete with that uncalled for hair-fluffing and romantic chuckling. Talk of wanton display of seductive mischief!

I miss the good old days-vintage era when winking was a fad!One would ,and oh boy we had lyrics, approach a lady ,and by simply clearing your throat or coughing suggestively,was not just sufficient to arrest a ladies attention but automatically make her stop!And when you start waxing poetic with the honey coated lyrics that we had,the lady would shyly tilt her head on one side of her shoulder and no sooner had you started complimenting her artistically chiseled shape of her nose,than she started doodling a map of her county!While at it,she would do one thing that would instantly excite the machismo in you-avoiding eye contact by all means necessary ,even if it meant closing her eyes!Lol! am getting carried away one more time?ha ha!As all this was going on,the lady would be engaged in an activity that would make the late prof.Wangare Maathai turn in her grave-deforesting the surrounding vegetation!Plucking em’ leaves with reckless abandon!And for you information ,during the preliminary banter,you would only mention matters to do with being served the forbidden fruit at your own peril. What?Those girls were submissive and obedient to boot. One would ,under the influence of some rogue hormones,wake up in the dead of the night and tell her that an ‘idea’ has germinated on your mind and therefore you want to try it out. Without much ado,she will give you that inviting ‘no problem, go a head’ chuckle amid a blush!This ones of today,you try that on them,brace yourself for a hard slap!

Today our girls have taken away the shine from the whole process. No matter how much you ooze machismo and speak with bravado,ladies don’t give ash!t ,they look at you straight in the eye(and if she closes her eyes ,prepare adequately for a salvo is about to be fired) and not only,at times,mock you but heckle you!With hands akimbo,she will scoff at you ;I have heard that line before,you think I will fall for that?You call that seduction?uko down,utaniweza mimi?(dash back to the drawing board and polish your lyrics).Gosh!

Gentlemen ,that a side ,I got you covered ,dealing with these people is easy. How?Simple. OK I know at times my advice always sounds like a threat to civilization but listen. Here is the last resort. When things seem to be getting thick and you have no other way compleeeeetly,just do as I always do. Borrow a lot of money from her and don’t pay back as agreed. Spread it out in a period of ,say,five or so years.*whispering*They love money and cant leave you when you have a huge sum of their money. By the time you are paying your last installment,she will have ,over time,become insanely in love with you,probably with five kids!

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Agony of my Nyeri woman

I don’t know about you but for me ,I only need one more day with my ,er, well, Nyeri woman and I will go bonkers !first, she threw me in to panic mode when it downed on me that she had discovered  all my ‘security measures ‘ in place(a karate Gi-(uniform),boxing gloves ,army combat (all bought at gikomba) hanging on one of my bedroom walls ,my tae-kwon-ndoe and other related ‘dangerous’ sports certificate(bought at river road) –spread all over the table, are mere decorations! All these were measures were in place to intimidate her, should need arise, by creating an impression that am a very ‘dangerous’ man ).Upon discovering that I had deemed her ‘a dangerous species ‘ and myself ‘’an endangered one’, a break up was looming ,if the sulking and boycotts were anything to by ,and therefore organizing a ‘hot date’-where I was to re-declare and re-assure her of my love for her-became necessary. After the date and now walking her down Moi Avenue, on our way home, hey presto, the boys in blue pops out of an alley and before I could even scream out loud ‘blue murder’ they arrested me! Reason? Liberally wandering around town with, er, a crude weapon!

* **

What a weekend! But anyway it’s in the bin. And Monday –a very dangerous day to poke fun at my church because the Sunday sermon is still very fresh in the mind-is upon us.

First of all ,bloggers have inundated social media with literature that exploits vulgarity and profanity in a desperate attempt to appeal to a predominately youthful audience .Look, you can appeal to them without necessarily being dirty ,if any one agrees with me ,let me hear you say ‘indeed ,tell them Malesi, and thus I proceed! To those who post dirty pictures, I tell you, bloody kumbaff kabisa!

In that case, I want to take you to church! To begin with, I will throw you in a churchish mood by jogging your memory, with, someone to scream ‘Amen’, a Bible study session of some sort! See, the good book claims that, in the beginning God first created Adam. The unfortunate thing is that the good old book is vague on weather Adam was created as a baby and grew up later on or he was created as an adult. Assuming the former is actually true, I’m tempted to sympathize with how lonely he was! His childhood is a great mystery that I’m very curious about! Just after God split his rib to create Eve-and therefore making procreation a necessity, did He bother to reconstruct Adam’s reproductive system-particularly his gonads, in preparation for that said purpose? That question nags my mind because in the first place it is insinuated that Eve was not in God’s plan (she was just a by-the way after God discovered that Adam was lonely).I have vigorously interacted with the content of `Genesis’ but I just can’t seem to find where it’s explained. Someone please shed some light!

At some point we are also told that Adam and Eve had sons –Cain and Abel who got married but their wives are given a wide berth in the scriptures. Phew! If at all Adam and Eve were the first parents on this planet, then how come this world population is what it is today? Gosh !did I just hear some lunatic cowardly mumble, incest?  Am writing this although tongue-in-cheek, hoping that it does not in any way hinge on blasphemy and that God has sense of humour-in fact chuckling at my thoughts and concerns as I furiously punch away. And while we are at it, has it ever bothered you that the bible has adult content which is not suitable for children? It astounds me that it does not have that warning of parental guidance advised! Just before cursing me, think about that murderous act of Cain killing Abel! The immoral city of Sodom and Gomorrah, the sexual immorality of Lots wife! Not forgetting, it not only baffle but disturbs me that it exposes children to vandalism and violent activities-Moses ‘struck’ (of course violently) a rock causing water, in copious amounts, to pour forth!

Am not so sure but brethren, I suspect one can be forgiven for claiming that the writers of the bible made it a contradiction of itself in many ways, for instance by making Jesus appear to have worked on the Sabbath day when he found hawkers of those days who had turned the church into a Muthurua market of some sort ,people busy haggling and exchanging goods and services before he furiously turned tables .When its clearly said that no one should work on the Sabbath day .Those who wrote it indeed did it in our essence but just forgot to include some of other finer details of God’s work. Methinks.

The problem with my church

I have always had a problem with my catholic people and in fact always doubted the degree of their religiosity .First, majority have not vigorously interacted with the content of the bible, so I suspect. Why am I saying this? None of them has ever won an argument, hands down, against, not necessarily an astute but a regular Muslim brother! Just imagine! And I want disgruntled Catholics and keen observers to back me up on this .Catholics, of course with due respect, don’t carry their bibles to church but hymn books! I just don’t get it! Painful but very true. As if that is not enough, they are never proud of some of their rituals like doing the sign of the cross (which is mandatory) after and before praying for anything that requires Gods guidance .When in a multi-religious group or in public-generally, unlike a coward one who will not risk ‘embarrassing ’himself by even hurriedly sketching the sign of the cross in the air, a ‘brave’ one ,due to his fidelity and loyalty to the religion ,will do it but you will need a third eye to notice it for he will do it unscrupulously .You will see him pretentiously whine(as he physically illustrates) about how he ,one day ,woke up in the morning with a pounding headache- as he itch his forehead, delicately poke the middle of his chest amid sobs  before rubbing his shoulder joints and complain of how weak they were on that day. Before you even think hard enough about it, an epiphany hits you. He just did the sign of the cross but clandestinely. In fact with, as far as street lingo goes, ‘swag’!

What I, however just can’t stop chuckling about is how our priest seem to have a penchant for some weird habit which he doesn’t look like he is about to break any time soon. When it’s time for receiving the Holy Communion-my favourite routine by the way, he, with a very strict face, slowww-ly tilts the chalice, keen to allow us not to even sip the wine but to only wet the tips of our tongues! Gosh! And when we are done and it’s his turn to do so, he excitedly rubs his hands in glee before grabbing the chalice-the suppressed smile on his face speaks it all, and swigs a massive gulp again and again until the darn one –litre jar runs dry! Jesus! Did I mention that he, at times shamelessly burps, once he has dispatched all ze wine. Upon seeing such, tell me which typical rascal will not want to be a priest ‘when he grows up’!

Look, another thing is this idea of church proceedings being overly conservative. This should come to an end. This idea of all priests desperately attempting to outdo the Pope, in as far as being holly is concerned, is not exciting, at all. And the only time when they, for instance, talk about violence is when they are talking about Jesus ‘breaking’ bread!  Incorporate some news things. Let’s not just do the same old routines over and over again. It gets boring. For instance, Let the priests marry, bring in Djs to do live mixes during praise and worship, let people learn and speak in tongues and so on and so forth! Like in protestant churches, you know! (See, the last time I went to a protestant church, courtesy of my handicap in that sector of speaking in tongues ,I was caught off-guard when need arose! I felt odd and out of place for I could not engage in that said ritual and had no other option other than lip-synching-throughout the session- to my favourite catholic songs  ‘Tukutendereza Yesu’ and ‘Ave Maria’(hail Mary) ) And that ,in my esteemed view is where , someone say riswa , church reforms should begin-a catholic spring!

Away from that, Folks, am a believer-am not smart enough to be an atheist, so don’t roll your eyes in bewilderment, in fact in that case I want to start a church cum a bar under one roof. Conventional wisdom has it that those are the most lucrative businesses .As we speak I am on recruitment drive scouting for a pastor! For an interested candidate, in your C.V you must have experience in performing land mark miracles. For ushers ,I can only entrust you with my sadaka after you have proved your honesty beyond reasonable doubt and the only way to do that is to provide me with a certificate of good conduct from your sub chief, police or any other authority!


Am just imagining ,what would have been the case had not two but just one of our council askaris (kanjo)been the one perpetrated that ‘mob justice ’ upon that gentleman from Nazareth-Jesus, would he have even made it to the cross in one solid piece –as we see him there-INRI(look at that Jesus piece hanging around your neck-no serious scar, no fractured limb but a few traces of blood and tears here and there).These council bandits would have beaten him senseless, in fact to a pulp-how would we have even collected anything to fix on the cross?

I know someone is reading this and forming at the mouth wishing that I go to hell .See, if God who created you and me with a sense of humour its very likely that he too has it, in fact, in abundance, who knows! And that, brethren, is where I will end this commentary.

Folks, Happy Easter Holidays.

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You notice you are old when your favourite part of the news paper is that ’30 years ago today’ or ‘on this date 19-twenty or thirty-something!’! Old men, relax. I know you are already itching to hurl a barrage of curses in my direction.Hehe, isn’t it interesting to , of course with due respect, poke fun at senior citizens? To start with, when you have just graduated to be a senior citizen you don’t notice that you are one and hence you get startled when addressed as one. And nine out of ten times you always get totally peeved and express that view in a rather robust way-verbally combative! Habari yako mzee? A young person respectfully addresses you. Click! Mzee ni wewe, you instantly fire back, in fact with an award winning sneer on your face. For those people who are old, like I already mentioned, most of them rarely notice it. And in that case, to help you know that indeed old age has caught up with you and that you are merely surviving on borrowed days like Michuki and Karume have been doing, I will give out a few pointers. Folks, you notice you are old when you give up on lying to young people about your age and instead brag about it! Or when you always have a feeling that you know everything and have lots of answers-masquerading as a ‘consultant’, but nobody bothers to ask questions! Or when you turn off lights in your bedroom due to economic reasons rather than romantic ones! When you get tired so easily upon little fun being introduced to your work and you find fun very tiring work, my friend, you are pretty much an old person! Or better yet ,when friends ,relatives and associates call you at times when regular folks are busy ‘building the nation’ say at midday for instance, and the first thing they always say is ‘sorry ,have I just woken you up?’ you are an old timer. You have to marvel at how old people always imagine that the gory details of their dirty secrets are safe with their age mates when in actual sense, they just can’t member a thing! Enough! I believe the point is home and there is no need to belabour it. After all growing old, unlike growing up which is a matter of choice, is mandatory!


Women like older men .And this has nothing to do with their performance in matters horizontal acrobatics. It’s because they are wiser and closer to God. However that is not my inspiration to wanting to grow old, it’s the comfort and fringe benefits like getting away with mistakes that come with that tag Mzee! I will explain.

Recently, I visited my old man and I was pleasantly surprised that old age is catching up with him, in fact at a very dangerous velocity. The old geezer seemed to be loving and enjoying every bit of it. I could not help but envy his lifestyle!


Meet my old man. Looking at him from a far, his long beard would make you think of him as a man hiding and peeping at you from a thick bush! With his built physique, he actually cuts a very intimidating figure. During my visit, I kept on scrutinizing him and I noted, with much concern, so many changes. He has increasingly become so insistent on constantly doing things in a rather strange way. First, he now punctuates his conversations with proverbs and saying! When giving advice he must sneak in an analogy or two. Another thing that I noted is that he, more often, tosses a question in ones direction and before you even supply an answer, he immediately interjects by throwing in his own answer .And he moves on swiftly! As if that is not enough, the old man just can’t whisper (his could be a throat made in china, I mused).Common courtesy and proper public decorum dictates that when you are seeking someone’s privacy –in public, you whisper to them. Shit, my old man knows none of that, you whisper to him, for instance a question, hoping that he will whisper back, shock on you for he will unwittingly embarrass you big time. He whispers loudly (read shout) back not even the answer but the same question you asked as if to clarify. Gosh! There are certain aspects of his mannerism that kept on tickling my funny bone and whenever he did them, I found myself rolling on the ground in uncontrollable laughter. You will see him grip –as if to pinch, the knee area of his trousers and pull them up before sitting down! When you tell him something and he doesn’t hear you, he never bothers to ask to be pardoned; he instead gives a fake smile! And if it’s for instance a difficult question, which perhaps requires more brain power or deep thinking, to jog his memory, the old man always looks up in the sky with his nose pointing straight up in the air!


For you to realize that smokers have taken away the shine from it, you have to see him do his thing. There is away he twists his lips making the smoke to sneak out in some very intricate and spectacular patterns. You might be tempted to think it’s some art work of some sort.


All this psychoanalysis was taking place while the two of us sat beneath a tree shade as we pontificated about life-in general. Young people lack agenda, he started. Say what? I asked with a rather concerned tone. You heard it ,he shot back and went on to rant about how young people have taken away melody and content from music ,romance from love ,commitment from marriage…what else do you plan to mess up with? He sarcastically asked. Before I could interject in defence of young people, perhaps eliminating us the old people from your youthful world? He mumbled under his breath. One hell of a scoff. He is very annoying but in an interesting way. At that point, I kept quiet and listened keenly. This old man must be the rude customer (yes, every shopkeeper ‘boasts’ of one or two customers of this variety) to all the five shopkeepers at our local market! I mused.


You’ve got to love some of his witty rejoinders, which fly out of his mouth effortlessly. On the question concerning how a hustler can get rich and wealthy-eventually, before I could even finish it he had already answered it: watch what poor people do and avoid it by all means necessary! Folks, I highly suspect old age sort of refines ones sense of humour .I noted tremendous improvement in this old man for he has developed a wicked sense of humour. Back in the day he was pretty much of an authoritarian and in fact his attempt at jokes used to miserably backfire. And in a bid to appease him I used to secretly tickle myself (literally) to laugh. Today he does not need to open his mouth to crack you up, he does practical jokes!


Hanging out with him is amazing .A jolly good fellow, if you ask me. When he wants to say something, which he deems to be of utmost importance, he has a ritual which he religiously performs! He will spite in the distance, for special effects –I suspect, further arrest your attention by shamelessly picking his nose and then closely examine the content, rolls it on the tip of his finger nails before flicking it away! Woe unto you if you appear not to be keenly paying attention for he will toss it in your face.yuk!


Old men get away with a lot of shit, I tell you. After hanging out with him and observing some of the things he was doing ,I learnt that ,as an old man you can for instance walk out of a boring meeting ,especially in the village where people deliberately beat by the bush to ostensibly kill time(those ones where every speaker before saying anything must emphasize, reinforce ,add on ,make much on ,underscore what a previous speaker said!..eeh first of all I want to emphasize on what Githinji and Mathenge said..And shit like that) and upon being asked to explain your technical disappearance you simply say ‘I was tired’. And you get away with it.


As an old man, you are above all sorts of authority. My old man brazenly flaunts all sorts of rules and regulations with impunity. He is never bothered with small time gestures of respect to authority or customs like chucking out his hat, be it in those serious government offices or even in church. And him removing his hat can only be exclusively necessitated by one circumstance and that is when his shinny bald is critically short of two vital supplies: fresh air and vitamins D.Even when getting into those provincial administration offices, the ever intimidating stone faced cops (in their full regalia –playfully tapping their swagger sticks in their palms or firmly tucked under their armpits) scares nothing out of him. As you cowardly chuck your hat and say hi to them or better yet, wet your pants at their sight before requesting to gain entry, he casually says to them habari ya vijana and walks in without bothering to listen how they answer him. Him and his hat are tight. I proved this during a burglary incident in the neck of our hoods. Buglers broke into a neighbour’s house in the dead of the night and upon the alarm being raised, a window of opportunity had presented itself for people to flaunt and show off (of course unwittingly) some of the things that that they hide during the day(torn under wears for sleeping, funny looking gowns that masquerade as night dresses, birthday suits, tired calico patched pyjamas).Am sure keen observers had expected to see his bald but wapi!Much to their surprise ,the old geezer ,in all his glory, hurriedly arrived at the scene with one outstanding feature on his head-his hat!Kwani does he sleep with his hat on ?One naughty loud mouth wondered loudly.


The old man has a way with words .Malesi, are you still my son or you changed your mind? He always asks when he wants to request for a favour. One of his age mates had once confided in me that he is cunning and crafty to the core. I doubted, but this was to come to pass one evening when my attempts to get him fulfil an old promise he had made –to buy me beer, hit a dead end. He had been promising to buy me beer ‘next time’ we will be together at the local watering hole in vain. He claims that there is a price you pay for being his son! I indeed paid that price the last time I attempted to get him buy me that said drink. He ,just after the second beer, pretended to be so inebriated and kept on pretentiously craning and sticking out his neck (albeit avoiding the eye of the barmaid)all over as if not to in a position to see the barmaid within earshot. Never mind at that point in time he was secretly stealing glances at me –from the corner of his eye ,whilst shouting softly at the barmaid as if to get her attention .I gave up.

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As aman you notice you have bad breath when a lady reaches for her
purse and gets you mint!women unlike men ,tend to be extremely sensive to
smell.And they hate aibu ndogondogo(small time embarassment) ocasioned
by ,say for instance, poor oral hygiene.This perhaps explains whay at
times when you sneak on a ladies privacy you might ,among some other weird stuff ,see her
breath in her palm to examine how fresh her breath is!And upon
sniffing it you might hear her worriedly complain(to herself) …oh my
God!kwani what did i eat ,I have to freshen up!… They rarely stand
this bad breath in men.


A lady can easily tell a man about his bad breath or get
creative about it by simply passin him mint!Or even cut you short in
the middle of avery serious explanation of ,for instance, why the
shilling is performing poorly at the stock market ,to give you
unsolicited advice about the best tooth paste brand in the
market!Trust me as aman you cant do the same to alady(that she has bad
breath)-there is no creative or diplomatic way to do it,and if there
is a man reading this and he thinks that there is a way you can tell
that to a lady(and still go ahead to perhaps succesfully serenade her)
let him step forward!

Look,some ladies in this town wil have to be serious in as far as oral
hygien is concerned.This morning I had an opportunity to enjoy the
displeasure of sitting next to a very cute lady(who, and i will be
honest,had initially gotten me struck by the cupid’s arrow and
thoroughly smitten) but with -heck,i dont have a nice way to call it-bad breath.Yuk!So bad that she dint have to open her mouth(trust me,it was firmly shut) for the fetid to hit me ,it was
sneaking out through,i suspect, her nostrils!Hehe!To
a point of me not knowin what to do exactly-to inhale or just die!Just
imagine!As if that was enough,there was also these pungent smell
wafting from beneath her seat, which i discovered afterwards were her
smelly feet.Gosh!Trust me she dint have to chuck her sandak(she had
those tu grey shoes ladies like) for the smell to spread
around and have a nose on collision with it,all she needed was to
tilt her feet and twinle her toes!And that was it.


This got me imagining that if at all
she doesnt give adamn about her general body hygiene,more so oral,then
it follows that she is very filthy inwards-sorry to say this,she most
probably had a dirty underwear(surely even if you are a busy lady,as
many allege to be nowadays,how long does it take one to wash
a G-string(a garment of less than 2cm surface are).And your guess is
right-she most probably doesnt take care of her private bush ,down
there!She even made my mind get more ‘dirtier’ but lets be honest with
each other here,this are the kind of ladies who ,when you are busy
plaughing her you cant concentrate because you are always earger to
see some of the wild animals(ofcourse adorned in gloves and gumboots
because no self respecting wild animal might risk its health by venturin in
such afilthy ‘ecosystem’ without the said safety parephanelia or tools!)
that will pop out helter skelter for you hav tinkered with their

Hell broke lose wen i requested to know her ‘noun’.Infact I regret
because at that point is when she opened her mouth and the non stop yapping begun!I saw it come but for some strange reasons I overlooked the prospect of her not just talking too fast but a lot.That is ,if her pointed mandibula and lips were anything to by by because upon seeing them ,I was immediately
reminded of the noisy and irritant weaver bird!As she was busy
‘parroting’ about anything and everything-particularly those that i
had not asked about,she ‘sparayed’ copious amounts of saliva in my
face!Yuk!As if that was not sufficient torture to turn off
a brother,She ,like most other people with bad breath,even after my desperate attempts to use affirmative cues like constantly using an approving head
nod(albeit facing away),she did not only find it neccessary to first of
all arrest my attention by beckoning me, before talking straight in my
face but insisted on whispering things not in my ear but in my
nose,Jeez!Never mind she was not even about to show sign of running short
of saliva-if the quantity of saliva sprayed in my face was anything to
go by!


At some point,after turning my nose up in disgust numerous
times, I thought of whining loud …naomba makanga aingilie kati anisaidie…
now that its nolonger invogue to say naomba serikali blah blah! Bt i
just gave up all together.When she stretched her hands ,if what i saw
underthere was not something that resembled a birds nest but a bushy
armpit,i quickly apologise.One would be forgiven for imagining that
she had a portable septic tank(you guys call it a sewage?) in her armpits.Or better yet ,that the resilient
good people of Dandora community and the now eco-friendly management of
the city coucil of nairobi ,under the stewardship of the ever hard
working mayor George Aladwa together with the industrious Town clerk Philip kisia
had eventually (after a long tussle) successfully reached an agreement
and relocated the famous Dandora dumping site to her mouth!phew!

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Any serious sociologist will tell you that men and women are fundamentally different when it comes to how they socialize. Have you ever noticed how we (men) typically interact? In a proper mantalk we banter, insult, tease and use playful putdowns but we just don’t mean it. Women on the other hand, compliment, pat and rub each others lower backs as you share those sob akiwoiye moments and empathize with each other but unfortunately they also just don’t mean it. Women’s problems lie in their weaknesses i.e. they don’t allow any one to say anything negative to them even if it’s aimed at `building’ them. Women are so used to being pampered, sweet-talked and flattered; sisters if it is flattery you expected from me, am sorry imagine you are not getting it this morning. If you are reading me for the first time and therefore unaccustomed to my style, you will definitely find me very confronting and upsetting but at the end of the day am empowering you. Here I go.

Women, they say you can’t live without them and you can’t live with them (could they be that necessary evil?).Other than being reputed as multitasking geeks, women are also known to be creatures that can subsist on two basic needs-compliments and attention and that is it. Don’t be surprised that under such circumstances, they might still struggle to lose weight in pursuit of some anorexic standards of beauty when everyone else is starving. Very interesting species, I tell you.

The reality of the 21st century is that men and women don’t need each other thaaat much like it used to be back in the day. Probably because women are in the process of getting liberated economically but they are not yet there. And men on the other hand took the game a notch higher and got liberated courtesy of technology-washing machine, microwave, vacuum cleaner need I say more.

Clearly, a wife’s job opportunities in a man’s house are getting slimmer. Some women are in these marriages purely on humanitarian grounds-a ticket for a free meal, comfort, financial security, you know-it’s a lose-lose situation for men. Their (women) utility in a man’s household is slowly but surely decreasing, in fact to almost zero. And it all started when women started downsizing on femininity in their endeavors to acquire masculine attributes.

As a safety precaution, men have become too preoccupied with guarding their egos against being bruised by these masculine women. To qualify my argument I will tell you this, I have, for instance in the recent past, noticed that my ego (an aspect of masculinity that I hold in very high esteem) has become endangered. Of late, I have never managed to win an argument with a lady not because am not that astute but its due to the fact that as a man I automatically become handicapped by virtue of there being a need to be objective and to make sense during arguments. Women easily get away with being subjective. How do you win over someone who is constantly running her mouth and not only want to win all the arguments but to bruise your ego whenever her strategies seem to be running out of steam?

Look, everyone is entitled to speaking crap and bullshitting but many female species are now abusing that privilege. And there’s the rub-they verbalize the fact that they are not, pardon the pun, taking things lying down (maybe they now want to take it standing up, who knows).They want to be on top, they don’t want to be down, they don’t want any games with men and whatnot. The only game I suspect they are still interested in or can entertain from men, and I say it tongue-in-cheek, is foreplay.

The changing times and the so called women liberation have come up with a conspiracy to siphon the male power. This partly explains why men are very confrontational towards women and gentlemen are no more (you remember those days when men of this variety were in high supply?)Have you never wondered why even cute ladies today no longer get away with bad behaviors nor do they get the benefit of the doubt like it used to be? Women stirred the hornets’ nest and this social disorganization is a fruit of their labor.

Where did the rain start beating women?

When you look at women’s problems retrospectively, you will agree with me that their problems worsened with the invention of relationships magazines. When you look at relationships magazines, most of them are by women about men and for women-gosh! What a folly. To be brutally honest, women have been exchanging lies and other hypothesis that have never stood test of scrutiny from time immemorial and in the process proliferating ignorance about men.

Women get conned so easily .Am not writing this proclaiming that men don’t get conned .See, when you want to cone a man through a magazine all you need to do is to put a very cute lady on the cover but you don’t put a cover on the lady. Fortunately men always get to know whether or not that they have been conned upon interacting vigorously with the content of the magazine. Women on the other hand, they have never notice that they are being conned by investing in those magazines. I will explain.

It’s common to see a magazine run a title like `A thousand and one ways to please a man’ or ‘what men want from women’. The tragic irony of it is that the author of such is always a woman-What does she know about what men want or like? She has never been a man. It is an open secret that women are their own worst enemies’ .Let be honest with each other here, who wants to see their enemy prosper? You catch my drift?

There was one ‘romance expert’ who while I was going through her hundreds of ways to make a man love you more she talked of ‘taking a bath with him’ It tickled my funny bone and I found myself rolling on the ground with laughter. After thinking hard enough about it, I got disturbed because I wondered whether she was sure of what she was talking about .Men after a shower we always blow our nose and pee in the water. Never mind in such hard economic times ,in a bid to a void wasting tissue paper we walk straight to the bathtub from the loo.If swimming in such concoction of filth is romantic, then that said ‘expert’ should have her head examined rather urgently

Clever ones saw light long ago and when they have problems with their men they always consult men. Methinks it’s ironic for a lady who has a marital issue to visit a consortium of divorcees for consultancy.

Women are not real

Women are pretentious and you can’t really tell what they want. They still beat by the bush. A lady meets a potentially good man but she pretends not to be interested in him by examining her general disposition. Look, the new millennium man has no time to give you a second chance to be nice for him to break ice one more time. Why would he do that when there is someone else desperately waiting for her first chance?

Be yourself and accept things the way they are pegging competition on every aspect of you life wont cut it-who has the most fake eye lashes,nails,hair and whatnot is much ado about nothing. When you time is up, please age gracefully. I mean at age 40 you just cant have an apple bottom, onion booty nah, forget.

A man to fix

Another problem is that women are always looking for a man to fix , you have never wondered why they are always fascinated with bad boys? They want that bad-boy not because he meets the mythical standard that they have been looking for from time immemorial (tall dark and handsome).It’s because they want to fix him, they want to correct him( maybe into husband material unfortunately for someone else).Maybe perhaps the thrill of correcting and fixing is such an awesome experience ,who knows. One thing I used to know about the bad boys is that they had the ability to fake everything except ‘tall dark and handsome’. The funny thing is that even when they accidentally land a Mr. Right or nice guy, they still want to fix him and change him not into a bad boy but a superman of some sort. Now, that’s always the breaking point of most relationships-when a woman wants to change a man.


One of the other big problems is women’s inability to effectively communicate. Women are in the habit of communicating using cues and hinting, which unfortunately men are very poor at. Men are handicapped when it comes to interpreting or reading body language and cues. It’s perfectly in order to use that when communicating with fellow women but not with men. xowi ,xaxa, xoxo and k does not exist in the vocabulary of any man, when you use them ,clearly there is a lingual breakdown. I for instance dated some woman for three solid years and she has never told me to do anything, she instead always asked questions and from which I was to figure out what she wanted me to do. Hun why are you not closing the door behind you? Why don’t you ever do this or that to me? Never mind at that point we are not using sign or body language but verbal language-the most effective and the highest human level of communication that God intended.

Another bad advice women like sharing with each other is that all men are bad except Jesus. I hate it when I hear women refer to men as dogs, beasts and shit like that one thing I know about men is that they are all TEACHERS.

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Slum Kibera in Nairobi, Kenya.

Image via Wikipedia

Being a hustler is better than being underemployed in the sense that a hustler,say a pickpocket for example is his own boss.No body yells instructions at him and the money he makes has no limit.An underemployed guy on the other hand other than being yelled at he is paid peanuts an the very peanuts are not paid on time.When you think hard enough about it ,you will envy ,for instance ,his flexible working hours and many others.Your problems can never be the same ,When you are busy worrying about your fake made-in–china Nokia phone lacking the ability to dispatch audios and images via blue tooth,him is concerned with why his inferior `original’ contraption of a phone(likely assembled by kamau ,mathenge et al along river road) Nokla made in Chania –to be precise,only loads a maximum of bamba 20 and when bamba 100 is loaded ,80 bob is automatically send to his Mpesa account.Ha!

Getting a job nowadays is not the easiest thing. Even if you do, we all know employees are mean like hell out here. Different people are engaging in different activities just to enable them make an extra coin. Those employed too claim that they are hustling ,you know –moonlighting for an extra coin.At times you have to work so hard like an immigrant.Many people have ended up with split personalities. We have heard of cases of some crooks who masquerade as blind beggars who when they are not winking at cute lady passers- by, they complain when you give them fake currency. Such characters are normally very strategic –they know the very ‘lucrative’ street corners and that’s where they pitch tent as they ply their trade. If you are well dressed and you deny them a hand out,trust me they sulk big time.And when they get wind of the fact that council askaris are around the corner they always bolt at a velocity that is kin to Usain’s speed without the aid of their walking stick.

No single city dweller lacks aside hustle, if they are not trying their hand on farming they are in a business of some sort. Many are in fact diversifying and spreading the risks-just in case.

On Monday the fellow is a part time carpenter, on Tuesday he loiters around the estate with a smoky tin with some burning charcoal ,some strips of plastic ‘spare parts’ propped in his hind pocket repairing plastic wares for a small fee, on Wednesday he is at the local market adorned in tattered clads selling weed but guised as a miraa dealer. In every market place there is always a guy selling weed but purporting to be selling something else legal .The remaining days of the week the hustler is a hawker –a very daunting task, I tell you. And to most hustlers hawking is their forte. Some have a way of forming an intimidatingly scary face that makes you buy an overpriced product that you absolutely don’t need not because of ignorance but just because they look potentially violent and look like they can unleash terror or punch you in short order if you turn them down. I mean why would a grown man who considers himself sufficiently sophisticated buy a pencil and a rubber from a rude hawker on a bus while on his way to eat Christmas in his village?

Let’s delve into the psychology of a hawker and examine the wisdom behind his split personalities. A hawker in Nairobi has the spirit of a hustler and the determination of a bee. One would be forgiven for imagining that all city hawkers went to the same post graduate school and graduated with a master’s degree in multi-tasking. A seasoned hawker does five jobs in one. He must be a sprinter, to enable him put together all his wares and disappear in the thin air in split seconds just in case one of those mavi ya kuku city moments that call for helter-skelter scattering arise.

First of all other than the obvious sales he does, he is doing marketing, advertising, providing his own security and while at it, there is always that illegal product-weed(of course), in his underwear pocket which he only sells to specific clientele .He can’t sell it to a stranger you must be recommended by one of his regulars.

When he is precariously dangling a made-in-china underwear in a potential customer’s face while smiling, he is ready to immediately frown and hurl a tirade at the very customer just in case he proves to be uncooperative and condescending .The very hawker as he does that he is also craning his neck and peering in the distance to see whether a council askari is approaching. And once in awhile these askaris ambush them and without mumbling a word launch an attack-kamikaze style. In such situations a good hawkers is always equipped with multi-fighting skills –I mean how do you describe a man who starts a fight with a group of armed and brutish council askari when he clearly knows that he has no insurance? Before they arrest you, you put up a spirited fight because if you don’t by the time they get you to their cells, they will have clobbered you about your head with countless number of knobkerries and your relatives will have a problem of differentiating your face with that of Tsvangirai.Talk of jerks of all trades and masters of none.

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backyard swimming pool

Image via Wikipedia

If you consider yourself sufficiently immoral and therefore places like Koinange Street, brothels and facebook are pretty much your day and night physical addresses, trust me a venture at a massage parlor, a disco or a swimming pool will inevitably earn you a culture shock. Brothels have a long way to go if at all they intend to outdo massage parlors in as far as being the most immoral place is concerned. I will explain.

First of all I will begin by making a confession. Even in this day and age when every Kenyan is pretending to be sophisticated, I am not sufficiently acquainted with some aspects of sophistication and a perfect example is massage .I just don’t get it how a normal human being will allow another person, and mind you, of the opposite gender to caress them repeatedly without either of the parties getting aroused. Not me, that mumbo jumbo was not invented for me. Am as sensitive as the genitals and massage is not my gorogoro of busaa, oh, I mean cup of tea. With the urge and desire ‘to belong’ nagging my mind, the other day I decided to stroll into a massage palor, you know, like any other urbanite. Why I say this is one of the most immoral places is because those procuring the service always have other ulterior motives which `genital-men’ like yours truly can’t resist.

It was in this massage parlor that I had an epiphany which made me experience a eureka moment of some sort-my head (get your mind off the gutter am taking about the one on top of my shoulders) is an erogenous zone. Whenever she massaged my head there was some tingling sensation that ran down my spine causing my hands to want to actualize the Yellow pages slogan `let your fingers do the walking’. I almost got possessed with an ‘evil’ spirit which in as far as street lingo goes is referred to as roho mtaka vitu. This was one of those moments when the flesh is willing but the spirit and soul are weak. A very cute lady, I must say. One of those very cute perfect female strangers you would catch a grenade for.

We were only the two of us in the room with some smooth RnB playing in the back ground-Christina Millan’s `dip it low’ to be precise. For special effect like setting the mood, I suspect.  Her way of doing customer care is what got me mouth agape. She was using what I call `the supermarket approach’ where by everything is put on display. Talk of taking customer care to another level. In the first place, I could not concentrate and I kept on loosing focus. Her dress code was a clear evidence of the fact that she has absolutely no regard for the textile industry. Her mammary glands on the other hand were near popping out and upon seeing them I instantly became thirsty, need I say the seductive mischief she was engaging in other than just doing the massage?

I could not concentrate not because I was enjoying the service but because I subjected to multitasking of some sort. Folks, the only multitasking am familiar with is walking and whistling or humming at the same time, period. There I was sheepishly staring at her bulgy bust, responding to the therapy and communicating back to her-you know, whispering instruction, attempting but unsuccessfully keeping eye contact. Not an easy fit to achieve, I tell you. At some point it became even worse when I was in the upside down position because I was desperately trying to communicate with my ‘magic stick ‘pleading with it not to swell and shame me. The lady made things worse and I guess it was deliberate because she kept on rubbing the neighboring areas relentlessly in a manner likely to suggest something else. A very clever lady, I tell you, working on all my erogenous zones and the look on her face suggested that she was enjoying it even more than me who was going to pay for the service. Of course this made me totally peeved, mid the session I almost kicked a storm and protested over the same and demands the bill to be split 50-50.You don’t want to know how I got out of this place……

Discos/night clubs

Owing to the fact that I have these young handsome baby face devoid of any beard ,I always run in trouble with bouncers whenever I attempt to gain entry into night clubs, they assume am under 18.Whenever I go to any club ,there is always that bouncer who always acts like a bull in a china shop. He never misses a chance to lose an opportunity to be nice. The idiot is always reckless to the core. This time around my entry strategy got him napping on the job. You are wondering how I did it? I dressed up in black from head to toe, taking the advantage of my deep dark complexion, all I needed was, take a good hunch of this , to shut my mouth and close my eyes and viola! I found myself in the club without much ado, hehe. If you always get freezed at clubs, try my strategy but at your own risk.

Have you ever wondered why they discriminate on who gets in the club and who doesn’t? What goes on in there is grossly immoral and management always encourage it by deliberately making the lighting very dim and the Dj makes matters worse by making it cacophonous with blaring sirens ,breaking glasses and whatnot. Some of the going-ons in the club made me a very worried sinner. Trust me you, If we (average and regular sinners) are not careful and work hard, we will miss out on space in hell. Some of the things that happen in this night clubs are grave. Let me dwell on the dancing style that caught my attention-Bend Over. If you have patronized our discos of late you might have noticed this new dancing style called bend over .I keenly paid attention to this immorality and I concluded that it doesn’t qualify to be a dancing style.

A style so dirty that it was banned it its country of origin how it remain legal here, I don’t know. The inventors of the style illegally gained access to this country and what they did to our sisters only God knows .Our girls must know that there are better and descent ways to get themselves to YouTube other than just dirty dancing. Just like it takes two to tango, it also takes two, and of the opposite gender, to do a `bend over’. The two purports to be dancing but if you keenly observe you will notice that much as the lady does the bending, writhing and vigorously shoving her posterior in the groin area of the lad behind her, it pains me to report here that ,the young man is always his own fantasy world. He is not dancing per say, he appears to be unsuccessfully trying to `penetrate’ somewhere and his dirty imaginations are guised by the fact that he does it with the rhythm of the song.

Swimming pool

This is another very immoral place. Look, if you are interested in watching nudity or people casually and liberally walking around in skimpy under wears without any moralist opening their mouth to curse, then at a swimming pool is where you need to be. I think this place is so immoral that any biologically normal `genital-man’ can’t resist blood rushing south.

Whenever am at a swimming pool I rarely get an opportunity to swim and enjoy the water .This happens not because I don’t know how to swim but because am self conscious about my manhood and more than often, I spend most of my time `manually regulating’ its size. We all know women and their fascination for politics of size. Women at a swimming pool are never there to swim. Yes, this is a serious scandal and I have the full dossier. When they are not tempting men through indecent exposure ,they are busy scrutinizing whose `magic stick’ is `big’ and who’s is `small’. Woe unto you if you are a man who likes swimming but you are not blessed down there-you are the laughing stock. They are always in two groups, those in water are there to tempt men and those who sit at the pool side discuss and judge `size’. When I discovered this, I gave up on swimming.

Brethren I am still agonizing my last experience at the swimming pool… From the changing room I strolled towards the pool and before I could get in water my third leg had already swelled beyond limit. Shit. I had no other option other than immediately diving in water to hide it because I had noticed some lady who was sitting by the poolside, and I suspect my predicament had tickled her fancy, all I remember is seeing her uncontrollably rolling on the ground with laughter. Poor me. So when it was time to leave again another predicament befell me and I could not come out of the water 30 minutes after the gentleman in charge of the swimming pool had announced that time was up. The cold water had made my `Abdala’ to shrink beyond limit. Those are the times he looks like a weary and emaciated thirsty slave. My fidelity and loyalty to `Abdala’ could not allow me to expose him to women in that form-He was in bad shape and size.You know the way swimming costumes never hide or lie about your size. Am sure many men can relate to this because there is that `respectable’ size you always want women to associate you with. I had to spend another 30 minutes in water doing nothing but just `activating’ `Abdala’ (by all means necessary playing with him, caressing, name them) to that `respectable room-temperature’ size. Ladies please next time you see a brother spend so much time in water long after he is done with swimming please understand, will you? I don’t think I will ever go to such an immoral place.

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