Finding myself

Have you ever watched TV with the mute button on?? You try to figure out the script by trying to read into their emotions, decipher the possible reasons that catalyze this particular kind of reaction, and try as much as you can to read the lips of the characters. That's how finding yourself takes it's first step, watching your future in a blue screen, watching conversations with strangers and loved ones with no sound. These strangers are the dejavu famed and the loved ones are, loved ones. Since you never hear these conversations, you can never be sure that the conversations with strangers evolve to making new friends or the quarrels with the loved one create unimaginable rifts in your lives. Like dreams, you never see yourself in your dreams nor remember a single conversation and you try to piece a script with what you'd rather they say.

Watching the blue screen that is your future without sound, in a journey to find ourselves. In our minds, we all know what we want to be or what we'd rather be. In our dreams, we jump from one wish to another and we try to compound them to perfect ourselves, or rather perfect our dreams. We are the most valuable player in our favorite team, best selling artist with a lot influence worldwide due to our charitable acts of humanity, top that with immeasurable wealth and a wife that fits the standards of a Caesar's wife and now every man has a dream. Coupled with a firstborn son and two daughters and this man is blessed beyond measure. As mortals, we feel that happiness, comfort, suitability among all that we desire originates from fame and coins. The world has drilled that deep into our souls and sawed self doubt in our spirits; we refuse to distance ourselves with earthly possessions for a better purer and complete happiness in the special arms of nature. The standards of Caesars' wife being love, extreme wealth being a full stomach and shelter for the family and influence being respect from your peers. We substitute these pleasures for things we don't need that we can loose any minute instead of enjoying the simple smile from the family when you come home with a deer on your shoulders or fish in your bucket, to feed the family.

Have you ever felt that you needed to let water run over your hands not because they are dirty but because it feels relaxing? Or just stood over the balcony and as much as your direct opposite neighbor never stops complaining that its her ugly face you are looking at, the wind rocks the world, your world at least. You feel that the world is misunderstood, life misinterpreted, and you come to realize that we are the ones who are living wrong. When we say life is a bitch, who do we blame for making it so cold and heartless if not us. You would like to sit on top of the world, and in the process you don’t care whose toes we step on, but if we did, maybe, just maybe the next person in line would watch his steps on his way up. S(he) might do even one better and lend a hand to the next one in line and life wouldn’t be so miserable for most of us. It may not create equal opportunities for all since some people are much faster runners than others, while some of us can run for longer without stopping but at least those left behind wouldn’t be too disgruntled with life as to make it the bitch that it is today.

I want to be an actor, a great actor in art movies like The Blood of a Poet, Ashes and Diamonds or Fight Club. I love art movies for the simple reason of natural, raw, what makes us all human evidence of feeling. As a man, I can act like I understand a feeling to avoid a fight rather than be naturally open and say I don't know how you feel. For one to get a genuine feeling, he must have experienced it at some point in their lives. Love and hate are more common feelings because we live in a community with grudges since our ancestors; wars are inevitable just like falling in love is. I once fell deeply inside the cracks, my soul pressed to fit in and although feeling squeezed, my heart wouldn't be quenched until I heard a voice. We broke up and made up, broke up again and made up, again and again but without talking to her my peace was rattled. I think at that point when you both realize you ain't right for each other, you've learn't how to feel when you love. Firsts are always lessons, to learn how to walk this way.

Anyway, art movies. They are not made to be blockbusters, but to give color to the picture you draw of the world you want to live in. Honest feeling when you won your first fight against ''big cock'' tapping out after the lock down like a lil bitch. Every time you get into a fight and win and don't get that feeling of beating down a worthy opponent, you won't feel proud of yourself, at least in the perfect world you wouldn’t. Firsts teach you how to relate to your earth mates depending on gender, that's why we have guy jokes girls, that's why.
Art movies it is, when you watch an art movie, you want to watch it again because you get to see honest feeling.

The reason I want to be in art movies is because each movie will expose me to an actual first that will give me a feeling that if ever felt it in the real word, I won't have to think twice to understand it. I want to live in both worlds, virtual as a lesson and real as the examination. I want to live my virtual world in the real world, live in the eighties in the virtual world, and live it in the real world, live in the future too and every Sunday afternoon twice . Sunday afternoons because that is the only hi even the priest is allowed to abuse, natural beauty only ever seen by the supernatural, and the gods. You can live your Sunday afternoons on Monday too, and they rock in the virtual world. I want to be extremely wealth, competing with yachts with names in the lines of Bill, Roman, Richard and Warren, take meetings in Nairobi at 0800 hrs, Dubai at 1100 hrs and London in 2230 hrs all courtesy of my sky taxi. I want to understand what at that point in your life, what is the one thing that makes such a man smile, the smile that says that would just make my day.

I want to be extremely poor, where going less than 2 days without food, God has heard my prayers. I want to pray an honest prayer, talk to God honest because you literally got nothing to lose, correct his sentences and laugh when he trips. I want to know what makes that man smile an honest smile. I want to know what he cares the most about because that what he cares for the most is what makes the world rock. It's probably the same thing the man sitting on top of the world wants.

If you could learn the one thing that makes your life worth living, the one thing at your worst and at your best makes you the happiest, what would stop you from living your life to the fullest? With this knowledge, we would live our lives without doubt; we will be sure about family and career, money and companionship, friends or lack of them. Music, the one single track that make you reflect to a beautiful point in your life, a point that made you believe in the existence of a higher power, the first time you kissed, the first you watched her dance, the first time your saw your daughter take her first step. Music, not the kind that makes you jump of your seat and bend over, get down or gully creep, but the kind that make you sore as the skin hairs rise and force you to part your lips without any effort.

This virtual world will also teach you how to relate with people depending on their situation. You will learn how to be humble at your best and proud at your worst moments, to hold on to what is worth holding on to, to give out your heart to someone or wait a lil bit longer and most importantly to be brave enough to live, laugh and love. These are the firsts in art movies, living in these movies will let you go free that second voice keeping you away from adventure, from sailing away with a beautiful woman to the sunset and raising your children around nature. The feeling you feel when you live in this world is the closest to an honest feeling as your real feelings will ever get in the real world.

The world that we live in is making it harder for me to find myself. With distractions thrown my way, from homework in primary schools to assignments in college and now deadlines at work, there is little time left to question the direction my life is taking, or look back to see if I took the wrong turn whenever I feel lost. I however promise myself to take time away from this world and see what’s behind those luxurious but empty dreams. I'll watch my blue screen on mute and try finding myself. Or at least find me a role in an art movie.

Channel Ho

''Unaturingia kwa sababu uko na channel ho?'' That was the first scratch, there were more in the next couple of minutes but I kinda missed a few bursting out with laughter. This was too fresh.

Channel Ho, we'll call her that to avoid the name calling and all. I know she doesn't know about the existence of this blog, or blogs for that matter, but in case she accidentally decided to exercise her brain or at least expand her mind a little, I hope she was to high to remember the play by play. She works close to where the beach party was and since everyone kinda knows her, she was unanimously invited. Problem is, she kinda rushes into things, the things that are bad for your lungs, liver, and the brain a little. Some khat, vodka, viceroy, a lot of fresh palm wine (mnazi fresh) and a few joints. Beer was out by the time she checked in so she couldn't play with some of it.

Anyway, fast forward to around 10:00 p.m, back at Matatas' house a few beers and joints and this free movie was pressed play. We are chilling at the rooftop and Channel Ho is jumping up and down on the holy trees pole, bad idea if you're not one of these dudes, even I freak at the rate at which this joint passes round. Kofi, the host of Saturdays party, has decided to finally quit weed starting starting tomorrow. Not in the morning though because he has a morning ritual which involves a joint in the bathroom, around noon will probably be more appropriate for him. So, with Kofi smoking for the last time, it's more like a celebration of time weed spent and the rolls ain't gathering mould. Coconut all smiles at this point kept them rolling. Channel Ho is overly vocal at this particular point.

In came the first scratch, I did try my best not to burst out laughing but she wouldn't let me with the second scratch fast coming through, ''anaturingia sababu ana Channel Ho'', this DJ was on fire and I couldn't stop myself from dancing. And she wasn't even trying stop the music as the next flow came blasting and boy this was one hell of a flow.

Quick note: Am not really bashing this chic, she made the night interesting, very interesting.

She's not a bad chic per se but she got us talking. Kofi, Abdul, Jay Jay and I finally concluded that coast women are better than 'wanawake wa bara'. It wasn't too hard to come to that conclusion if you compared what the coastal ladies were doing and our lovely ladies from bara were doing. In the background, Mariamu and Matatas' lady Josephine were moving to the sound of some smooth benga, politely sipping on what they were holding, hips swaying, men oggling, beautiful sight. The ladies from the other side heavily imbibing, insulting each other, falling off beds and Channel Ho trying her best to impress, doing a terrible job of it too.

Channel Ho blips made for a few laughs, but what had made this day one of the more memorable days in Lamu was the people around me today. Chilling in the crib, sipping some beers, some khat for those who love the plant, a few joints passing around, some Benga in the background and we're just chilling. After swimming and playing beach football all afternoon, even after all the mbuzi, samaki na kuku for lunch, enough alcohol and other intoxicants to go around, we definately deserved to just kick back and relax.
Although Kofi lost his camera at the beach and Nassir got arrested later that evening, we did maximize on the positives

This is how God imagined the world to be, all people should be living like this. It's like one big family. You could judge these people as illiterate, conniving, drug imbibing fools you don't want to get cosy with but they are what we all want to be. Spontaneous, fun loving, chilled out all wrapped into one with a ribbon on it.

And then, he created Channel Ho!!

The five minute thought process

Would you fathom the possibility of a five minute thought process? You better because the big guy is planning on twisting this soap opera into a thriller. Change of management since the coup by the g-crew (dead g's in the hood, there is a hood in heaven) in the entertainment industry. The five minutes thought process means if you start a thought process you'll have to flow for at least five minutes before you can have a second thought. E.g., if you think ''god that ass is glam''...this thought will not change and in the next five minutes you've gone from the ass, to her beautiful plumptous and possibly sumptuous, mmmmhhh, that hardening nipple between the teeth waving at the tongue daring it to taste the poison. It will sting, like lightning through the bones to the nerves to the heart, threatening to harm the body if the brain does not do something soon, brain cowers turning on every sensitive sore of your trembling self from the sting ... The thought process continuous for another 4 minutes and 12 seconds and boy you are in trouble, only in the first phase of production. In the second phase, you loose speech control, "think out loud" phase they call it. The third phase hhhsshhhh, scary shit I've learnt my fellow mortals (animals too, imagine the rats thought process, damn!! What I wouldn't do to have the power the big guy is got, the things I would implement, real mermaids, giants, the one language for every living thing that quacks, even the chicken will say please don't kill me and the ingokho loving omhsakhulu will understand it). Anyway, the third phase is ''doeth as thy thinketh''. If you ever thought, I would love to fuck up that cat, now without the power to control your thoughts, the cat will be wishing that the 3 near death experiences were actual deaths to get him from these 2 near death experiences that just happened.

You may think this isn't genius because you are all evil minded, dirty, filthy in those little cabinets of yours you call heads. If it wasn't for the man-made ventures in the lines of liquor we would so be plastic. But with the innocence of a child, this would be a give, give and give world, flower picking, horse riding, jumping from water falls diving and playing with the fish at the bottom of the ocean, the only place even the scientists know the least about, only the big guy understands the beauty of these corals, or the sweet caress by the surface of the sea, the medicinal value of the bottom of sea even though not physical but spiritual where you let yourself go and the sea washes out every stain in your conscience to heavenly white. Call me crazy but I believe that was the Pandora's' box they talk about, the inability to care about what people think about you, the possibility of writing while sailing on your boat to the sunset with a pen and paper to actually feel the words come out of your hands, fingers grappling begging for a pause coz the thought process won't pause, the moment when a wish comes true because a thought in the lines of ''I wish I could talk to that chic'' will culminate into going to where she is seated and asking for her name and number like an F.B.I. agent or a C.I.D. agent (local version of those guys)and all the pick up lines you once thought were lame and stupid will come down attacking smoothly like a sweet soft jazz from Amy Winehouses' fine harmony. In five minutes, the second thought will be forced to flow with the first thought because the five minute break has thrown it totally off track. This will create scenarios of the most shocking revelations, perversions, a lot of dirty laundry but most of all, the most beautiful, true and beautiful love at first sight moments. It will bring out what every little boy and girl felt when they first saw their first love playing at the other end of the pitch and when she turned the feeling was mutual, kids running across the pitch to find their very first love.

This is what the big guy probably envisioned when he created us but he hid this particular setting behind the curtains till one scratches. But the evolution took a turn for the worse when the enemies of smiley faces and simplicity of hearts perfectionists decided against nature and opting for metals below the roots, deep below the core. Okay I got to pause and explain something to ya'll about this deep below the roots theory. We believe or rather made to believe that heaven is up there above the clouds and hell a deep hole somewhere about at the core, centre of the core to be exact. This is brought even closer home by the fact that the closer you get to the core, the more you will come close to something that will make humans’ sluttier, greedier, and more dangerous with a weapon and a few other dangerous virtues. We have seen Congo, Sierra Leone, CHAD, and for the worst scenarios look at those that even more close to the core, OIL.

Sorry, I totally deflected from the main story, the plan; big guys plan was to let us find time to scratch the curtains ourselves. In the middle of a prayer would be the best time I believe, during meditation, deep thought and most importantly, relaxed mind. The first person to scratch pissed the big guy off coz he hadn't perfected the being a gentleman’s program which was supposed to control the direction from beginning a thought with the beauty of the perfectly curved behind but by her beautiful smile. He wanted men to make women smile, and when this thought came unto Adams head when he saw Eve holding that apple, he went from the dripping sweet apple juice from these beauty to how the juice would taste better off his wee-wee. That may or may not have made Eve happy (we'll never really know), but the big guys' most important part of his creation, Adam, was unable to keep away the thought whenever she came out of the river with water from her hair dripping on her shoulders slowly rolling down to the tip of that nipple. He tried, the big guy, but there had being a irreparable damage to the man's thought process. He however created a herb to at least limit the level at which you will feel caged in this reason, manners, principles, morals and a whole lot of soul prison. That's who we are and as much as we try to deny it, we are caged in secret admiration of your best friend sister’s best friend, inability to run across the street to greet a an old friend, scared to tell someone you love them the first time you feel it, or to play with kids in the rain, to be. To just be.

The main idea was the initial thought of a man to be pure. This would mean his first look towards fellow men will be followed by judging him positively. The first time he sees a beautiful woman; he'd think that she has the most beautiful eyes rather than I wanna tap that. When he sees a man hungry for approval, he'll think of a way to cheer him up. The first thought was supposed to be positive, and in pursuit of happiness and fulfillment of those around you, with the principle of what goes around in play. With that infamous day being a Monday ~that's why everyone hates Mondays~ with great expectations for the big test by the big guy, Eve appeared from nowhere balancing a tray of fruits on her left hand, and devouring that beautiful full of color apple picked right after the end of spring, takes a bite and throws her hair back turning her neck to face the sunrise. The beauty was just inhumanly only angelically spoken of and he just couldn't help himself. With eve's main strength perfectly perfected, the art of seduction was at play but with a few lose nuts and a program being updated, any reaction would be fatal but anything not a pure thought would definitely force a self destruction of the program in the mans operating system. This was the beginning of this widely accepted but devoid of the magical moments only inspired by pure thoughts and although we would love to blame either Eve or the main man, it wouldn't be their fault. The big guy had built a masterpiece when he dreamt, when he wasn't watching the flowers bloom and was only a few minutes away from seeing the beauty take her first step to the top of the world by destroying the first chance she had of Adams immune system to her charm. They may have led us to believe that Beijing hullabaloo but I never bought that, not one bit.

Anyway, the big guy has being testing this program for a while now. With female domination in their arms for them to lose (damn the art of seduction) he feels the earthlings might feel that he is favoring the men a little, he is a man after all and all the guidance during the battle of the sexes has being very helpful. He however understands that although the female species of his creation is the most powerful creation in both strength of mind and spirit, and that the sincerity of their emotions renders the male species helpless, he created them too and it's only fair he gives them a fair warning. He was going to launch the program last May but the guy he sent got the message all wrong screaming on top of his lungs about the world coming to an end on May 22. Due to that little hiccup, it has being unanimously voted in heaven parliament that a second messenger should be sent to inform you that the world is not coming to an end. The launch of the 5 minute thought process phase one will be held on 12 October 2011. I again insist that it's not the end of the world but a lease of life to this boring generation of earthlings.

I never understood this whole line of thought thing, the gymnastics in ones brain not withstanding and fly kicks to the skull not happening, you are supposed to have one. Except for sober writers whose mini pause to think of something right to say that we’ll make everyone dance, their faces with a smile and at the same time make us understand why we shouldn’t be doing this or that. It’s supposed to work as the fast rising group getaways where grown men come into a Lamu bar, some even had to commit this obscenity in front of their wives!!! Shocking, I tell you, SHOCKING I TELL YOU!! When you’re on the heavenly side, you develop a habit of details, every piece of detail is important and when you turn your neck from one conversation to another, you have to take a quick swipe of the room. This was not an every day scenario and another room swipe, and another, and another couldn’t satisfy the curiosity of this friend of the universe. Four grown men ordering sodas at a bar!!! It was almost okay until the wine came; I hoped and prayed that one of the women in this table had ordered the wine. To my surprise, no, no, no, astonishment, very astonishing because this is a scene from a world we are all running from, a man mixing sprite and wine!!!

I don’t know if the women will forgive me when I confess that the five minute thought process has being part of my prayer a lot lately, actually, it’s being my only prayer for a couple of months. The big guy has however promised to fulfill my prayers but you have to consider that the guy drinking wine and sprite totally threw me a little off the rails and this could mean a broken peace of me. As friends who I dearly love, I would hope that you will understand when I say that praying for a five minute thought process was actually genius. I however got to go because I’ve already lost the main story and am not sure where the current story is headed. One more session and am being forced to host……………gotta go great fellas, you are however allowed to judge me as per the heat spectrum (eye colour testing kind)

Saying goodbye

I will be leaving Lamu soon, it’s now official. Am not saying it’s a bad or a good thing because at this particular juncture, I honestly don’t know. There are probably better opportunities out there but nothing beats the good life, at least not in page 72 of this book of mine. I do have a book, more like a guide of how to live my life and although I haven’t put words to paper due to unavoidable circumstances namely frequent changes in principles depending on prevailing conditions and inability to prioritize the said principles. This means a few lines have being added, others deleted and today’s page 72 maybe tomorrows page one, and until a definite flow comes to mind, I’ll let it flex a little longer in my head.  Anyway, my dad thinks it will do me some good although am sure he likes the fact that I will be able to visit him more often now that I can’t use the excuse of distance from Nakuru anymore. Am not supposed to complain since I always wanted a busy station telling myself that am not challenged enough to really feel needed at my job in my current station, which totally brings to life the saying, be careful what you wish for.

Lamu, am going to miss this place. The food, friends, the people, the beach, and the friends some more. The parties too have being over the moon, including the full moon parties I’ve being a part of, the beach parties, and definitely the random house parties on gloomy Mondays. This place does not give you a chance to think about your woes tomorrow in a depressing way like the rest of this country does, the Lamu Tamu slogan says it all. As a student of this philosophy, I understand the concept of beer, drugs, girls, more beer, and lots more drugs....need I say more? Yeah, there is the leaving all your problems, drama, stress and everything that brings you down before you board that boat to this piece of paradise. The random parties at Matatas’ place, or Jay’s crib, or whoever decides that there is too much going on at Club Petleys for us to handle. Club Petleys, my stool at the counter of Club Petleys will definitely miss me; or rather I will definitely miss it. I have a few facebook notes credited to that stool at the far right hand corner of the counter with Carol, Nolan, Hulda, Yvonne or whoever happens to be serving me either a warm Tusker or double shots of Vodka making sure I feel at home.

Before the praising goes ahead, I’ll let you in on a little coast secret that I have come to understand and embrace. Coast is not made up of lazy people, it has a lazy environment. Procrastination is not optional, the environment requires you to. When you walk around the sea front and find grown men sitting on the barazas and sipping some “kahawa tungu” you do not have the right to judge them. You are also not allowed to understand how one can wake up at 0500 hrs for prayers and his business is never open before 0900 hrs, not until you live in this place for a while. You will wake up at 0500 hrs, turn on the T.V and just lay back for a little while waiting for the appropriate time to hit the shower, not realizing the rate at which time moves in this place. It only takes half an hour to move from 0600 hrs to 0830 hrs, and that is on a slow day. Don’t try and do the math because we never got the formulas too, we rarely do math but we do worry about it sometimes. Anyway, we never really procrastinate, time moves too fast and it’s already afternoon before you even start the days’ job, meaning as much as you wanted to beat that dead line, you can’t really work with the time left in the day.

Something else about this place is, it’s a small town and if you let the things that everyone talks about get to you, you won’t last for long without losing enough weight without justifying the finger pointing. You can take it as a negative but not us, we really have a problem with giving a fuck, President Bush kind of not giving a fuck was the only thing we or they learned from his presidency. As they say, the dead guys that people like to quote, if I don’t see you doing it, someone will tell me before I go to bed. That describes our little piece of paradise. What the dead guy forgot to let you know is the level at which Lamu people give a shit, Lamu people didn’t get the “giving a fuck” memo. The law too kind of skipped the area too, at least the ones that limit the fun. Mututho law leads the way with some of my fellow Lamu residents literally not having heard of the guy leave alone the law. Mary Jane has being banned from holding a session in 90% of this God’s masterpiece named earth; Lamu didn’t get the memo either. It’s a free world, it’s utopia in my twisted little world. (That was kinda too repetitive, but I really needed to drive the not giving a fuck point home)

Am going to miss Lamu productions, the beefs between the “rich bitches” (not coined by me), Winnie and Fridah has being, well, very interesting.  These are two women who can handle their own as far as money is concerned, but the difference is their income sources. Winnie married into money, an American marine came rolling with some very deep pockets, she got lucky. Her older sister had been in the game for much longer and got an even bigger fish, some white dude who owns a few clubs along the coast line, Mombasa, Malindi and Lamu, and she administers the Lamu branches. Together, they can literally hold a party hostage if they decide to, except at the one and only Club Petleys, DJ Feddy holding it down. DJ Feddy, the only DJ that fills up a dance floor on this side of the ocean.

Then there is Fridah, a self made “rich bitch”, holding down a well paying job, a few businesses, and a whole lot of ego. She carries the cool tag with all the girls rolling with her and the beach boys under her wing, most of them at least. I like her too coz she’s extremely generous with her liquor and as much as I try to deny it, liquor is my Achilles heel. The funny part is, these two “rich bitches” were best friends a couple of days ago until Winnie’s sister fell out with Mariam, and Fridah had to choose sides. She chose the fun side, like anyone else would, and now she has to prove to the Lamu world she’s the QB, which in this case doesn’t mean a quarterback. The drama has been so intriguing for the last couple of weeks, with Winnie and her click getting Fridah and her click charged in a court of law for public nuisance. Lola has being updating me on the goings on of this Lamu produced soap opera (better than cuandos sies mias). Jaguar should claim his dues since kigeugeu; his breakthrough hit has being the designated soundtrack for this gripping production.

GOING DOWN HAPPENING

The crew, my Lamu found family, Kama, Andy, Ticha, DJ Feddy, DJ Ibra, Were, James and my weed guys Lola, Mwenye and Nuhu have made this place an awesome experience. Matata currently in Amsterdam and his small bro Jay in Sydney with their everyday is a holiday policy knew just how to wash down the down side. Kama, should be an administrator of this blog, since he lets me browse for free in his cyber (he however has this ‘polite notice’, something about no free internet). DJ Feddy, all the entertainment, from the music on my iPod to the movies in my house, through the flawless sound at Club Petleys in conjunction with DJ Ibra, the dull moments have been minimal. My boy Were, you wouldn’t know he’s a doctor on first sight considering that doctors are expected to be some old boring men, and a few hot women, our go-to guy for medical advice and a few rounds of liquor. Andy, the manager of Petleys Landing, with all the free drinks, and free passes, I mean a beer is at Ksh. 180 and a double tot of vodka at Ksh. 200, he lets me sneak in with a little liquor every once in a while i.e. weekends. There are the nights we’ve  drowned the 1 liter Smirnoff vodka, throw in a KC after which we can’t account for the number of beer bottles that follow, get  ****ed...but definitely having a good time. I remember there was this one time I was seeing like 5 girls walk out of the bathroom (whether they were real or imaginary, we are yet to figure out) and I was just dumbfounded for like 5 minutes, wondering why the hell so many girls were in the bathroom. I vaguely remember telling some girl how beautiful she was over and over again. I was told I screamed out loud with my arms up "I W**T S*** P****!" That has yet to be proven and the witnesses were either coached or rather impaired at the time of this particular incident among other great memories created with this Lamu family.

TICHA PEEPING AT EM' GALS

Ticha and James are the oldest friends I have in Lamu. James was the first guy I met, he literally disapproves the theory of what you see is what you get. He’s older and not exactly the hip kind, looks portray him as a boring dude, but kid you not, he’s the funniest dude you’ve ever met, I mean I’ve ever met. He hasn’t been dealt the best cards in life, but it’s how he deals them back that totally make you understand, or wish you would understand how to make the simple pleasures of life count. You will lie to him, skip appointments, forget to call him, but he will forgive and forget over a drink, a meal, a spliff, or just a meaningless conversation. You will end up laughing about it.

Ticha knows every cave in this town. He has worked here for the last eight years; walking with him you’d think he’s the councilor or any other political figure. He knows pretty much every one and he’s not someone you want to walk with when you are in a rush. He is a fixer. Anything you want done, he’s your man. Being the coxswain of the office boat, it means he has access to that beauty anytime of the day, which is an added advantage if you need to criss cross the islands whether for work or pleasure.

WERE GOING DOWN

Lola and Mwenye, funny story how I met these dudes. These dudes always got some spliffs on them any day. There was this chic we used to smoke with every once in a while, Lucy, but on this particular day, none of us had some on us. Lucy knew Lola rarely rolls without a roll on him, probably coz they smoked together too when I wasn’t around. That’s how I met Lola. With Mwenye, it started with small favors, like get me some smokes, food, airtime, until one day we were drinking with this South African dude at the counter who wanted to know where he could get some of that. We ended up smoking three joints in a span of half an hour with him and Peter, the South African dude. Lola and Mwenye are a few of the people who ensure that my mind is stimulated whenever needed, and the best part, they do it for free. Nuhu too, a friend, workmate and an upstairs neighbor never disappoints either especially on Sunday afternoons when am not in the mood to go scouting.

Lamu, I will definitely miss this place. Hapa hapa restaurant, the best grilled chicken I have ever tasted in my entire life. When you are sitting on that table sipping on mango juice as they grill those breasts, wings, and the leg, all you can think off is how you will devour that piece of chicken laced with a lil cream and some things I have no idea what they call them but the taste, DAMN!!!!!! I am going to miss that big piece of chicken as I will that fish at lambada, grilled or deep fried. I could break it down to every restaurant I have ever feasted at but the point is, there is no food like Lamu food, home cooked (I do have friends who can cook) or otherwise.

The beauty of this place is compounded by the ocean. In Lamu, I saw the first sunset ever in my life. If ever I did before, it either never clicked or the site of this sunset did reboot my head disk. At the floating bar on a Sunday afternoon sipping on my warm Tusker and my feet dipped in the water, AMAZING is the only word that fits. The stars at midnight, literally shining down on you while you lie back on the beach, as the soft waves lightly brush your feet. AMAZING!!!

At some point, every one has to move on, and every one includes me too. Nobody says you have to like it, but as the dead guys keep telling us (wish they would just shut up); the only thing that’s guaranteed is change, or something along those lines. I might as well accept that the good times and our little affair with this place had to come to an end at some point. We had fun when we were, and I know for sure we will have a fling or a quickie in the future. Until then, goodbye my love.

THE BOYS BY THE SEA

Busy day that was

I had an extremely busy day today, depending on your definition of busy and your proximity to the beach, it’s highly unlikely that the definitions will come anywhere too close. I woke up at around 0630 hours and as a normal human being in the 21^st century I have to check my facebook page. You got to understand this generation is not like our folks’, we don’t watch the news, but we have to know what is going on around the world. Facebook comes in handy as the most reliable source of day to day happenings in the world, considering twitter is limited when it comes to the maximum words one can use. I can’t really say am addicted to facebook but am sure my definition of addiction is again a little different too. I prefer to consider myself very tolerant of a lot of things and people too, I hate to break hearts and promises made either by me or people in the M.O.D.’s (They call them the Merchant’s of Death but I don’t really like to view them in that kind of light).

Busy day as I was saying, at work at around 0832 hours. My boss had a meeting with some partners which was supposed to last the whole day and with his assistant out of town for a couple days and the procurement officer out of the office too, I was the only one in the office who got a lil power. That reminds me, we do have an Inspector, huh, people do forget fast considering he’s being gone for less than a weak. Gone as in visiting his family and not the big guy. 0900 hours, I decide to check if there is being any movement on my blog, and it’s finally hit 3,000 views. Okay I got to admit, am addicted to my blog, not that it’s not common in a lot of bloggers but since I added the feedjit gadget that shows where my visitors are blogging from and the number of hits in real time, it’s become like a drug. I can’t last an hour without checking if the numbers have gone up. It is sometimes depressing since it sometimes stagnates for hours; I hit the refresh button a couple of times, no change. I exit, give it a couple of minutes and then creep in like a mini ninja (like those remaining turtles, proven mini ninjas), and take another sneak preview before I go back to my work.

As I was saying, extremely busy day, 0952 hours  but before you get down to work, you have to see the paper but since am in Lamu where the paper hits town in the afternoon, the online version works just fine, except for the lack of the classifieds and the obituaries sections, it works pretty fine. I know you’re wondering why I check out the obituaries page whenever I get the paper, but if you must know, it’s because I believe at some point people will start writing honest obituaries. Case in point, Jim Adams, who didn't die the way he wanted: which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date and this was duly noted in his obituary. The classifieds are more for price comparison considering I have this habit of always paying less than the asking price, mostly; my bargaining power should be enhanced through research and the classifieds have plenty of information. Unluckily, I can’t really get that information when am reading my paper online. I do however love to be updated especially on Mondays since not much news are read over the weekend. You find out things like the Al-Qaeda mastermind responsible for the 1998 Nairobi bombing finally kicked the bucket, or rather somebody did him (do me I do you has finally being used to mean something that concerns National Security!! Finally!!) 

1042 hours, I decide I deserve a smoke, or rather I can’t go another minute without one, too dry a mouth at this moment. I don’t know why it always happens to me but when the craving hits home hard, my mouth feels like there hasn’t being much liquidity of fluids happening. Anyway, I light up my cancer stick at the Rangers lounge as I listen to a news update from Radio Jambo. Apparently the illegal liquor served with love to our fellow soldiers of boredom after work has claimed a total of 13 men!! The platoon is loosing too many men and the war being waged against us is reaching to a point where if we don’t do something now, we will end up riding the same boat. (BREAKING NEWS: The death toll has hit 17). It all started with that archaic  Mututho Law limiting the number of hours one can imbibe the magic liquid. 1700 hours to 2300 hours is not sufficient considering some of us have a larger tank than us, which means filling up may take a little longer than expected. If he ever attended an Economics class, he would have learnt government controls of any kind regardless of how well willing he is tend to kill the market, in this case people. What happens when you can’t drink in public for fear of the ever hungry Kenyan policeman? Drink in a den, where the no one is 100% conversant with the contents of the drink they are clearly enjoying. With the need to make ends meet, considering that the cost of living has almost doubled, and increasing the prices of these home made brews almost out of the question, a little catalyst maybe added to maybe speed up the process or increase the strength of this drink. Throw in the tax increases year in year out, you end up with a thirsty country whose people can neither afford the refreshment of the working class, nor even drink it in peace whenever they catch a catch a lucky break. The high unemployment level hasn’t helped much either, with these young men and women in search of either employment dealing this lethal liquid, or idleness drives them to these dens. But with the big shots preparing themselves for more important things like transport for their Hague buddies and 2012 approaching at a speed they least expected, the rest of us are just pones in their game of human chess. That’s just how being a Kenyan means, now time for a new story so we can forget about this little distraction  (did they solve that small matter of Wanjiru’s death?, or the grenades in Uhuru park a while back which claimed six unimportant lives?)

Sorry I drifted too far from my story, busy day I was talking about, 1117 hours, back in the office and there is a small issue of tax returns, mine and a few colleagues who need some direction. It doesn’t take long to show them the way and am back to my work, work, the reason I left the house this morning. I open my office cabinet and arrange my books in order of priority. My table has too much clutter I realize, a little space creation project before getting down to the important stuff. 1234 hours, lunch time. I had a heavy breakfast plus I need to make a few calls, I decide against leaving the office, too much to do. The office phone is pretty loaded which means one phone call will probably be long.

0157 hours, with my table pretty neat, I can finally get down to clearing a two week back log. Abba, a colleague of mine needs some help with internet on his phone and being a people person, I can’t really deny him one tiny little favor. Safaricom are not as friendly as they should be as they are taking a tad too long to send the settings to his phone. Luckily, I got a friend who works with Safaricom, I call up Frank and give him the details of the phone and he promises to send me the Internet settings. The phone has different line of thought and decides the configuration message isn’t compatible with its sexy self. This took us a pretty while before we eventually gave up and decided it would be much easier if he took it to a Safaricom dealer either in Malindi or Mombasa on his way to see the folks. 

0243 hours, I just remembered Biko had promised to reply to those who send him the best pieces. I had sent him a link to my blog sometimes back and I was really eager to here from him, but due to the events of the weekend just gone, I hadn’t checked my mails. I open my email but you all understand how the urban legend goes, the internet one on how you can’t just open one tab. I decide to check if my blog has a few extra views. Okay, I take it back, am not addicted to my blog; I do however love to see the numbers going up or high (the clean version). It’s also important to check your facebook page in case there is some news you haven’t heard yet or a tip that is neither constructive nor helpful in life, like how do you turn a sweet, honest girl to the cruelest, raging, most heartless bitch you'll ever meet? You break her heart. Anyway, tabs, you need a facebook tab, twitter, yahoo, gmail, your blog (or mine if you don’t have one) Arsenal.com, and in case you are one of those lonely or horny kinds, an extra one for the urges is allowed every once in a while.

Time moves really fast in the afternoons, so I’ve noticed, 0359 hours and I have another personnel issue I have to handle. Whenever I tell people to avoid bank loans like a plague unless someone is literally dying and you are out of options, they think I am being stupid. If you must, at least read the fine print and do a little shopping around for better offers, not the first bank that sends a smiley face. Anyway, am not sure if it’s Barclays Bank or Asili Sacco but one of these two is mincing this guy to the last cent.  None of the two institutions will give us a straight answer; at least we’ve established Barclays won’t which is better from none from Asili who won’t even pick up their phone. After realizing these institutions won’t give us s***, it’s back to our beloved HR guys who promised to check the information in their system and get back to us.

1631 hours, I still can’t believe this day is over that fast. I need to lock up so I can catch the 1700 hours boat. Make a quick note of things to do, buy and collect to make my work much easier tomorrow. I really hope that my boss gets another commitment tomorrow. 

It’s being a while since I had such a short busy day. I hope to compensate by doing lesser distracting things like just blogging.

Tuesday, 07 June 2011

Tuesday, 07 June 2011, I almost had a bike accident for the first time. Saidi was on the driving seat, updating me on the current affairs of the small Mokowe town. I like Saidi, very nice fella with his bakora which he insists it’s a weapon against a lot of things but if you ask me, it’s more of a fashion accessory than a weapon, unless in the hands of a ninja (these guys give me the creeps since Jnr told me they were coming to get me. I was lucky though because they were paid in vodka and spliffs, and the payment was made before the work was done. We ended up discussing the ills of our respective girlfriends rather than why they came to see me). Anyway, the reason I like Saidi is because, being a long time customer of his boda boda since the office car broke down, he sometimes gives me free rides, and when am a little short on money, he ferries me on credit. He has this witty saying, “tutanyongana baadaye” which means he will inflate my bill a little and I will most probably pay for the sake of tomorrow’s lack of options.

On this Tuesday morning, Saidi picks me up at the jetty and as usual, I learn that there has being a few robberies in a place called Hindi, roughly 15 kilometers from Mokowe town. These thugs are brutal, they ask you to take them somewhere and in transit, a call of nature comes through, he has to go now. He goes in some bushes and comes out with a machete. The good thing is they at least give you a choice, “unataka kubaki na kichwa, ama na motorbike?” I didn’t say it was a fair choice but at least it’s a choice, not like those Nairobi thugs who will rob you, rape your wife and daughter, and might even kill you.

In the midst of this news update, we find our necks simultaneously turning right without effort, and before we know it the bike is heading towards the bushes!! Something I should have mentioned, it was happening on a bend which we had already taken and the head probably didn’t get the memo. Saidi is pretty good with his bike and his reflexes are not too bad, he was therefore able to navigate the bike back on the road but we had to stop to stare at this beauty that almost threw us off balance and hurt somewhere on my left side again, yes most of the injuries I’ve had throughout my few years on these lands have affected my left side. My dad used to say I was accident prone, I still am, but he never really specified that my left side needs a bodyguard. Now, this broad, the cause of our near accident experience, was about 5’6, chocolate, white blinding teeth (she smiled, or rather laughed at us) and yes beautiful hair. She was new around here and for once, Saidi didn’t have a story about her, and if Saidi don’t know, nobody does.

Am not in the business of picking women on the streets, not that it’s never crossed my mind, but the phobia of rejection is up there with my living alone phobia. How I handled the latter is actually very effective, the former is still a work in progress. Living alone phobia wasn’t too hard to fight. When I moved to Lamu, it was the first time in my life that I had ever lived alone. I used to crash with my cousin Marto when I left home to venture the world without the family wings. It was scary at first, especially because when my cousin and I moved out, we looked for a very strategic place. Since we both worked in the CBD, we ensured that the place was a walking distance to work. Secondly, we knew our habits ensured our pockets were overly depleted after the 20th of any month and we had to be fed, we therefore had to be close to at least one family member, and Uncle Matindi was a safe choice. We settled at a place where we could live a stress free life after the rent, and we were close to most of our friends. Moving to Lamu stole that from me and although the experience has being beautiful, I can’t afford to be comfortable especially now that the boat fare has increased by a cool 50%, the fuel crisis has finally hit us.

It has being two and a half years now since I first moved here, and my formula has worked extremely well. It is simple really, make sure you are not fully sober, and for the sake of conversation, leave the T.V. on when you go to sleep. The noises in the background makes you feel like you are in a full house, although sometimes it can really scare the shit out of you during the night. It happens when you leave a series in the lines of Supernatural to play at night, and at around three in the morning, you wake up to the fight between the Angels and demons.

The phobia of rejection is a little different. The time of day is very important and mornings are an extremely terrible timing, it will totally mess up your day. Between noon and evening, not much can go wrong since most of the day has being pre-arranged but evenings are the best since there are very few hours left before the days end. It’s like almost end months where everyone knows only a couple of days to payday, and you can comfortably ask for a loan knowing that you can afford to pay back in a couple of days but if someone says no, you won’t be too mad. With evenings, especially Friday evenings, the probability of being rejected is extremely minimal, especially with the help of a little liquor; choose your poison, vodka works for me.
Tuesday morning, beautiful woman, flashing smile, 0800 hrs. Think Sergent, Think…………………….
Not working right, the math is all wrong and you’re almost late for work. Run nigga run (or rather Saidi ride)!!

Saidi promised to get the lowdown on the new girl next door by the end of the week. For now, I am patiently waiting for Friday evening, or night, preferably after midnight after a couple of shots.

Dreams and Myas' Ass

I just realized that the worst mistake I ever made in my life was not to follow my dream, or any of my dreams between 5 and 16 years of my life. At 5 years old, I wanted to draw, be an accomplished, fiiiiiine ass artist. I would leave me a Picasso legacy, a name bigger than the Bush family name. A Gandhi, Princess Diana, Mother Teresa, Mohammed, Jesus Christ, and yes a PICASSO kind of a name. Karegi is a memorable name but Peter would definitely have to go. Ezekiel, my grandpas’ name, is a strong name, or I could stick with my new found name Sergent. You should know that the above aforementioned name does not represent a rank in the armed forces who carry scary guns and shoot fellow men, It is however associated with a different army, whose armory is well stocked with alcohol, cigarettes, blunts and women. He is addressed as Sergent Karegi of an unknown but sizable platoon of reefer lovers.

About the art dream, at around 5 years of age, and a Picasso size name. I loved those hard covered story books, especially because of the art behind or next to those words. I know they say a picture speaks a thousand words but I violently dispute those findings with every bit of life in my body, heart and soul, yes I do have a soul and this soul is part of this sit down outside the Steadman group, (can't blame us really, we are stoned, really, really stoned and we do not know any other group that does the statistics thingie) demanding for a recount. A picture tells the whole story and most stories have more than 1,000 words, some with 500 pages worth of words, my research shows. I recently witnessed a woman who showed his boyfriend a picture, (I didn't see what was on it though) and asked him to explain. The scenario went something like this:

This chic, beautiful legs my dear friends and when I say beautiful I mean beautiful heavenly pearls of the gates beautiful, curved by the artistic God on Tuesday morning, yes Tuesday because even God hates Mondays. “I need to wake up to these legs God, I don't ask for much God and even the few favors I ask for are brushed off as something I could do myself, but these legs I want”. Those legs require a prayer,

The scenario, this beautiful woman walks in and heads straight towards this guy seeping a beer at the counter and slams a photo in front of him literally knocking down his beer, ''would you mind to explain this to me?'' she screamed.
The guy now literally shaking, trembling to be exact and starts ''Baibe...................''

By the time I left the bar three to four hours later, the words were still coming out of the guys mouth. He had to take a break a few times to breathe a little or jump under the table, find a human shield every time the words sister and bed were put in the same sentence. Considering that pictures like these can fetch quite a sizable number of words, we should therefore add the words ‘an average of’ i.e. a picture speaks an average of 1,000 words. This is because of the 2 words kind of picture, case in point, that guy who was shown a picture of his stepmother naked and screamed, ''fuck me'' right before he became disoriented, and staggered off a balcony and to his untimely death. Poor guy. Long story short, I wanted to be an artist, fine fiiiiiiiine artist. Great dream it was, one of the best dreams of my unimportant little life.

At the age of 11, I wanted to play a musical instrument. I guess it was a result of the country music guitar I had come to love from those Kenny Rodgers tapes my father loved to listen to. A few Lucky Dube tapes got me admiring that drum boom too, music was beautiful true, but the instruments were heavenly. He (my dad) even attended Lucky Dubes’ gig of 96’, that’s how religious he was about the guy. I tried my hands on drums, (read as empty water cans turned upside down), the piano at the church but unluckily no luck with the guitar, maybe once or twice but that doesn't really count because I never learned anything. I gotta say the piano was more fun, probably because I could play different pitches, but I can't say I loved it as much as I would have the strings of that melodious wooden stringed piece if I laid my hands on it. My dream started to evolve when my ears tasted some Dre from the best hip-hop of the 90's chef, Dan Oloo every day from 1200 hrs to 0400 hrs straight from that well stocked kitchen named Metro FM. He was the only man who understood the needs of true Hip Hop lovers and served them with a smile. Being a believer of the new found hero of the music kitchen with delicacies raging from 2pacs California love to X's creep walk through NWA's, Snoop among too many, Aftermath turned my dreams of beats from single melodies to a complete rhythm spiced with a whole lot of rhymes from yours truly. I wanted to be a rapper, and Channel O then airing on KTN didn't mind pushing the dream further by throwing in the visuals. High school helped further with the likes of Foxie, Mashaa, Erico being like-minded persons did us who didn't own a VCR a favor of recording it for us and Saturday nights became more Hip. I wrote me some rhymes and practiced when I was alone in my room. Don't get it twisted, the reason I never let people see me spitting them lines is not that I was shy or didn't believe I was good enough but after listening to the big doggs, I couldn't make the mistake of being weak, I had to practice. I do apologize for not giving you a piece of my Hip Hop dream; it took a turn to an even better dream before the beats could materialize.


Sixteen years of my life had flown past and this is what I needed to do with the rest of my life. Extreme sports. I had watched enough games on T.V. to know wrestling is good, football is beautiful but bikes is where my heart truly lied. I wanted to ride on air and every one of my fans would be screaming ''King of the ring'' as I flipped the bike in mid air, stunts only I the ''King of the ring'' had the guts to even dare to dream. I would be the best, and the best means that even the world’s best would come to watch my shows. This was a fraction of the main dream, which involved midnight, fast cars and empty streets and the best drivers kissing the ring of the best, ''Show some respect to the Don'' kind of way. A fleet of race cars in my garage. Rule the streets, light the ring, engines ruled my dreams.

These dreams appealed to me more for the fame rather than money. Few of us, very few indeed, follow our dreams, and some of us make hobbies out of them as we follow the footsteps of our parents. We read books we don't need, graduated to courses we hate, went to work for bosses we hate, and although in the process we made enough money to feed those that we love, we grew up to be miserable. Our grandparents grew up to be miserable, they raised their kids to be miserable and they raised us to be miserable. We may be making enough money to feed us and spare some to send home but we are not happy and we are afraid to try and follow our dreams because society has taught us that if you let your dream go you may never catch up. Luckily, we can always dream a new dream. I may not draw a masterpiece, drop a platinum record or rule the wheels and rings, but I'll dream and yes, I will follow this dream to wherever it decides to take me.

Just saw you know, I was watching WWE wrestling and Mya was singing happy B-day to Dwayne ''The Rock'' Johnson. That is when it dawned on me, if I had followed at least one of my dreams, maybe, just maybe one of the most beautiful divas of our generation wouldn't mind singing happy birthday to me. Mya's ass in my face is definitely a dream worth missing the boat to work in the morning.