Friday, April 26, 2013

Like I said earlier, April is the month of the devil in my calender. If you happen to live in the eastern side of Nairobi, you can wager a good deal that every day there has to be a peculiar drama of sorts. By fate or forces that I cannot understand, I am one among the many Kenyans who live somewhere beyond the famous Donholm round about. Call me a sufferer if you are buying me a drink. If you are not, you are also broke as I am. Where was I?

This post is not motivated by alcohol and that is why it is taking this long to get to my point.

Schools are closed again. What does that mean? Children in the pupae stage are everywhere making noise and running in-front of my jalopy as I drive through the estate. But the dirty offspring of the middle-class is insignificant. It is the female high-school going children that have motivated my fingers to caress this keyboard with my tongue hanging out like a dehydrated bear. These women in their larvae stages of life have so much glory around the abdomens. They swing and sway as they walk in the estate and if you are a testosterone fountain like I am, you will certainly feel some boxer activity just by looking at one or a pack of these kids walking.

So there is this particular one. Let's just call her Jess because I still don't know her name. You can bet I am mulling over a number of tactics that will see me conquer her mind successfully. It has become apparent that women have started to love with their brains and so we have left the hearts to the surgeons and we are also chasing the brain. A good example is leaving the glove compartment open and letting a woman see a bunch of browns like 30 of them. The next day, let her see 15 and the next day you make them 30 again. And when you go to spend, you fetch like 5 from your pocket to pay the bill. Woman is smitten. The orifice in her pelvic area will be crying with erotic pulp and her eyes will be shouting your name singing.....'werocamuuuu wero, werocamuuuuu...........'

So Jess is always having those china wires with speakers at the end. In our days they were called earphones. These days they must be ear shackles or something. Why else would someone have them plugged to their ears all the days of her adolescence? I really curse the day I bought a silver car. A silver car means you can pass anywhere and if anyone is asked if there is a car that has passed, they will shake their head to the negative. Jess is no exception. I even hoot as I pass by her gate. This woman just shakes her head to the beats of FUSEDOGG or some Jamaican nut-head like Konshens or Popcaan(my small brother, 2013).

Now Jess has a habit of wearing shorts whose ambition is to become hot pants but they are restrained by the width of her thighs. Show a man some feminine meat above the knee and he will give you an idea that works best when people are naked. I beg to be tempted Jess. Just go on, tempt me like you never have to any man. At this juncture dear reader, words cannot really give meaning so I wish I could have a photo of her and you could relate to my object of lustrous desire.

Jess must be a halfcast of a Kamba woman and a man from a very prolific tribe like Luhya or kisii. Her lips are somewhere between pouty and very sexy and her mounds of diary point towards mt. Kilimanjaro even on the sunniest days. Who said things sag when heated?? They should try their experiments on Jess. But after I am done with her.

The sad thing and the reason why this father and husband and boyfriend of 3 has not yet passed a gesture is the fact that I think that this lass is not a day over 16 years old. My kinsmen from the core of the country say that capital crimes will make you locked up in the behind. This is not what I want to go through for a night or 30 minutes of juvenile pleasure in hotel Jimlizer. There is another week before school opens and this young woman will strain my boxers every other day as I enter the court with her harmless skin straining to hold the wobbly muscle inside.

I could go on and on but at this point I realize the missus could be wondering how quiet I am and she cannot see a YouTube video of Kenny Rogers on this screen. So I beg to halt as I ponder on the best way of sending a signal to Jess that she could be my kelekele love. Ideas are welcome from well-wishers.

Till then,
I remain,

Thursday, April 25, 2013


Before you come for my throat telling me I have double personality problems, let me explain my names.

I have held many names in my 20+ years of nothing but wading around in this green country of ours.

Some of them are Eng, Mr. Reality Check, Chairman, Big Man, Dad, Kironji (only my mum and aunt Beth), Babe (by the swanky women who come around at my table to confuse me to throw them a round), Sweetie (by the mother of my daughter) and bro (by all my rugby brothers and my brother who spends half of his time knocked out by bluemoon or napoleon.) I always ask him how a bottle the size of his palm can knock him a good sucker punch that keeps him out for 8 good hours. He folds his face like someone looking for an answer in his head and takes a big sip of his bluemoon hoping to get the answer like you find a stone in a multitude of ndengu by running your tongue around.

I was explaining names.....

I use Eng on some forum. You can't afford publicity in Kenyan forums. Those villagers have too much energy and if they direct it on you, it doesn't go down so well unless you have Robert Alai tendencies. Come to think of it, I will have to get a twitter handle for this blog. *Note to Self - I should visit a brand rehabilitation center.

I use Reality Check on stage. I used to. I was a poet before poetry in Nairobi went the direction of music. Commercial makes everything suck. Money corrupts the best minds. Look at Prezzo bragging about a $40000 pair of jeans that do not hold to his sorry loins. I imagine that with less money he could be an auditor working with Ngugi and associates. A family man who drives a Toyota Premio and he is raising chicken in a small farm that he drives to once in a while.

Where was I?

Oh Reality check is the name that I used on this email.

But I always remain,


Its 0420hrs Nairobi time. My eyes are half shut but no sleep in my head. I know that is poor grammar. But the Nigerians speak worse and christen it pidgin. I will call mine Engin.

Some guy on the radio is saying that we should not revenge since it is like biting a dog after it has bitten you. I digress.

April is one of those months that suck. The children have closed school and they open their mouths loudest outside my door. Is there a recipe that you can make with 100 ounces of child? I have adequate supply. I pity the employed folk. Yes i'm jobless but I don't have rent arrears. I do some business here and run an errand there and at the end of the month, I have food.

What is the subject of these many words? Nothing. Must a bunch of words lead somewhere? Yes? I guess i'm different. I am just writing to release the pressure in my head. You see what it did when it accumulated in the former premier's head? He had to go all the way to Germany (name I use for all European countries) to have the pressure bowel scalpelled. A mosquito stings me. I scratch and try to recollect my train of thought. It's gone.

What was that guy at the bar saying? Will I manage to wake up before 10am? I have a project survey at Syokimau. Which reminds me; what will Wavinya Ndeti gain from now that cabinet secretaries are being vetted for integrity and she has a Nigerian joined to her at the left fourth finger and a sale of airport land case attached to her behind.

I wonder.

The radio presenter says that the men should call and say a prayer. I need prayers. Ok. She has decided otherwise, she says that youthful ladies should call in. Then she says both. She is having a hard time saying the studio numbers. Its a local dialect radio station. The name dialect sounds like someone who kicked the bucket and the arose at the other side of the tunnel. I am drunk.

I wish you a great Thursday people. Thank heavens for the invention of the internet. You can sit in your boxers or bare-assed and hurl an insult at an innocent villager who is venting to avoid going to bed to sleep in a straight line because the wife spreads her bountiful bottom all over the 5x6. She takes 4.5 and a man who lost a foreskin and bought cigarettes for the entire village youth-hood is supposed to occupy 0.5 of the bed and mattress he bought. And you people say we married? Really? And why do they call our houses, 'kwa mama brenda, stacy or mama the other one?

These women will make the world flip a goodu one. Pray that it doesn't flip when you are as whiskeyed as I am.

I Bail,


Monday, October 4, 2010

My Quotes

What makes people think that it is only the men of back then who could come up with quotes? I got them in plenty.

4th October 2010

An optimist meets an opportunity faster than a pessimist meets the reality.

Watch this space I____I

Monday, July 12, 2010

Johana and Kimani

In a phone conversation.
Johana: These days the electricity bill is higher than rent. At this rate, nobody will live in self contained houses.
Wachira (on phone): Don't worry, that is a problem that can only be solved by the energy minister. Otherwise?
Johana: I don't have much credit, I will call you later.
Johana hangs up. Kimani enters in a hurry.
Kimani: Hello Mzee?
Johana: Mzee is your father. In the city there is no mzee.
Kimani: Sorry, I was just respecting you.
Johana: Respect the fact that you are still alive with these hard economic times. So do you have a client?
Kimani: Yes, a number of people want to see the mutoka(motor car). This time round, no jokes.
Johana: I am used to your stories of roundi hii si mchezo. So how many people want to see it and do they look like they have money? I am burning too much fuel going to town to show my rich man's car to poor men.
Kimani: I have 3 people and one mhindi. One works at treasury, the other one is a doctor and the other one is a lawyer. The Mhindi has a shop on Biashara street.
Johana: What quote did you give them?
Kimani: Five thate. See, u know I have to eat thirty?
Johana: Just sell the damn thing stop your thirty thirty stories here.
Kimani: Sawa lets go and make money. Let me drive so that I get a feel of what I am selling.
Johana: Young man, this car was made for one hand only. Even my first born son does not know the comfort of the driver's seat. FocuS!!!

Johana: You know these days, they are selling air in hospitals and urinating space. The other day, I urinated at a place we used to urinate in the 80s' and I was fined by kanjo, Ksh 500. Imagine 500 for useless water.
Kimani: You could have gone to the pay toilets. They charge ksh 5 only.
Johana: Wewe, Ksh 5 is a lot of money. My father used to earn rofia (ksh 2) during the railway times and we were among the richest in the village.
Kimani: I hear your father had a shoe that could not wear out?
Johana: Think of business. Idiot! What if those people give us fake money? I will strangle you and throw you in a ditch.
Kimani: Haiii, a mhindi can never do illegal business. The other three guys look serious, i do not expect such a thing. But we can do the business in the bank.
Johana: Wewe, do you know what your are talking about? Taking ksh 500000 to a bank will raise eyebrows. The bank can even grab the money and send us away.
Kimani: Nooo nooo, banks these days dont ask many questions. Anyway, I also like feeling the warm of the notes in my wallet. It makes me taller when I seat.
Johana: If somebody heard you talking, they could think we bought the car from wathin'gitu (washington) with you.
Kimani: Here we are. This is where they call treasury. The finance minister passes through that gate at 9am sharp.
Johana: This treasury guy could have made all the money we need for the car with 20 minutes. Working in such a place is not a joke. You can walk into the office one day and find they did not switch of the money making machine. Then you become a millionaire with the blink of an eye.
Kimani: That guy in a black suit is the one. I hear he has a masters degree. Don't let the talk flow to academics. He could unleash vocabularies and make us sell the car for half the price. By the way he calls me Andrew so dont kimani me around.

A man walks towards the vintage Benz with his head high. Kimani and Johana look frightful. Kimani does the introduction as they shake hands.
Kimani: Hey Mr. Rono, this is Mzee Johana and this is the car we are selling. (Turning to Mr Johana) And this is Mr. Rono, we were housemates in campus.
Johana: Hello, Mr Rono. I am the gentleman who owns the Merc. It is a 1970, 4 cylinder, 2 kafuraita, 3 pedal, 4 door, navy blue, local, ex-white owner, powerful German machine. The price is equivalent to that of a toy but it is real. It is very good for an office environment like this and for going to the beans on weekends. The body is pure metal and when it roars, village men take their hats off.
Kimani: Yeah yeah yeah. The price is just as we talked.
Rono: I told Andrew that ksh 550,000 was too high. My budget is ksh 450,000 max.
Johana: We can't become enemies because of ksh 70000. Just get in and test drive and I am sure by the time you come back, you will know why we are selling it at ksh 500000.
Rono gets into the car but the ignition is not working.
Rono: Hey, is this the right key for this car? It is rotating 360 degrees in the slot.
Johana: Yeah that is the key. The diesel must be cold. Just step on the clutch as we shove. (The engine roars and Rono zooms off to a distance.)
Kimani: U told him we are selling it for Ksh 500000. U did not include my thate. And dont call me kimani again when he is around. Im andrew!
Johana: Auuuwi, sorry bwana, but you also want to eat too much. Why did you tell him Ksh 550,000?
Kimani: That is how business is done in town. You quote high so that you meet at your desired point. These are new times mzee.
Johana: Okay shut up, he is coming back.
(Rono stops a distance past them.)
Rono: The steering wheel is turning at an angle of 20 degrees and the brakes are loose that's why i stopped there instead of here. The driver's seat does not have adjustment and the panels are making noise.
Kimani: That's a small problem. With Ksh 2,000 all those problems are over. How much do you feel you can offer?
Rono: I think that car deserves Ksh 420,000.
Johana: Is that your best deal?
Rono: Yes
Johana: Kimani, this is not a buyer. Call the other two guys but if you know they are like that one, just give me ksh 200 for my fuel back home.
Kimani(Calling Dr. Murungi): Hello, daktari. I am in town with the Merc we had talked about.
Murungi: Aiii, my friend, we said next week. I still ndon't ave any money. But ndon't worry, next week I can mbuy that rinde. Njust mbe patient. But you should think of reducing to Ksh. 450,000. That will mbe ngoond mbusiness. I ave to ngo, mbyee.
Kimani: That one is bringing stories of next week. Let me call wakili.
(Calling again)Hello, yes my leaned friend. I am outside the treasury with the merc I told you about. I wanted you to see it.
Wakili (On Phone): Come to the Law Courts car park.
Kimani: In two minutes we will be there. See you then.
Johana: Is that one also a tomato buyer? Why do you deal with people who earn peanuts.
Kimani: Let us go to the law courts car park. The people who earn peanuts are the ones who drive this economy. Do you think the president could offer himself security?
Johana: Whatever. Lets sell the car first.
(They drive off.)
Kimani: It is at this gate.
Johana: I wonder if they charge parking fees. Ksh 150 is a lot of money. Tell him we have parked outside, that parking boy is already eyeing the Kshs 200 I have in my pocket.
Kimani: Let us enter, just cut the parking fees from my commission.
Johana: You middlemen talk like the car is already sold.
Kimani: The guy at that far end is the prospect. Remember, I am Andrew.
(They drive up to Wakili and they stop centimeters away from wakili's feet. Kimani does the introduction.)
Kimani : Hello, Wakili, meet Johana, the owner of the Merc.
Johana (shaking hands with Wakili ): I am the gentleman who owns the Merc. The body is pure metal and when it roars, village men take their hats off. Also very good when it comes to campaign time.
Wakili: How can it help me in the campaign for the constitution? You know it is a fundamental document that we are rooting for as the learned men who practice at the bar.
Johana: Yeah it is very good for going to the bar. Even when you collide while drank, it is the other car that feels the pain.
Wakili: How can it help me in campaigning for the constitution?
Johana: Eeeh, you can carry the constitution in the spacious backseat on your way to the courts, the back left seat is very comfortable and you can read the constitution while your driver carries you in front.
Kimani: Eeer, Mr. Wakili, please have a look at the car. The price is just as we agreed, Kshs 550,000.
Wakili takes a look at the car, going to the back and the other side. Kimani and Johana whisper.
Johana: So you brought me to town for your own business?
Kimani: That is the way business is done. This guy will give the cash.
Wakili: Can I test drive?
Johana: Go ahead. Here are the keys.
Wakili: Four different keys for the same vehicle? How is that possible?
Johana: Eeer, the big one is the ignition, the two smaller ones are for the driver and passenger door and the smallest is for the padlock on the boot.
Kimani: Hold on wakili, we need to shove you a little.
Johana: Hold onto the clutch tight.
(The engine roars and Wakili slowly rolls off.)
Kimani: That guy is serious.
Johana: He is only serious with the constitution.
(Wakili slowly winds his way back to where Johana and Kimani are standing. They car bumps slightly into the car in front.)
Kimani: Oh my. Wakili, You still dont know how to drive after all those years?
Wakili: That car has no breaks. Let me reverse we assess the damage on that car. It belongs to my friend Mwasia.

(Pushing the car backwards.)
Wakili: This car misses out on most of the essential specs of an automobile. The reverse gear is faulty and so is the ignition. The brakes are worn out and the panels make me feel like I am driving through a scrap metal yard. With all due respect, the Kenyan law stipulates that such cars be disposed according to Cap 178 of the Automobiles Act.
Johana: Yeah, yeah, you know automobiles act very funny sometimes. How much do you have?
Wakili: The steering is just partially functional. That is insubordination of machine to man. I can only offer. Kshs 200,000 since I will have to refurbish it with the same amount.
Kimani: Are you serious?
Wakili: I'd rather take the other one you brought last week, Andrew. This one is too old.
Johana: Haiya. I thought lawyers have money. If you want a car for that price, go to Grogon and get accident write offs. Kimani let us go.
Wakili: Who is kimani?
Kimani: He calls me that, he confuses me with another guy. See you Wakili, I will give you a call.
Johana: I doubt if that guy is a lawyer. He just talks good English but he has no money. In our days, lawyers were very rich. If you hear someone saying the car panels are making noise, that is a person who does not have money. How dare he call my car old? Doesn't he know that old is gold?
Kimani: He wants a perfect car. Let him stay, he will come looking for us when we have already sold this.
Johana: Let us go to the Mhindi.
Kimani: The Mhindi's fon is not going through. I guess we will have to do this business tomorrow.
Johana: So after consuming my fuel and making me pay parking fees for parking 10 minutes in a lawyer's car park, i go home empty handed?
Kimani: Its not like that. Business needs perseverance.
Johana: Your business needs everything. Get out of my car you hungry brat. See you in a bar somewhere in hell. I will buy u two bloody drinks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~to be continued~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.