Isn’t it so?

yeah…

Finishing high school education is probably the best feelings ever. On that very last day of school you get to do almost anything. You get to burn your note books and all the papers, we called it academic bonfire. You’d ink your school uniform with varied graphics displays from signatures to funny cartoon drawings and, the generous part, the part where you get to give handouts to the junior students. Of cause you were saying goodbye to lousy morning calls for dawn studies. Stuff you no longer needed. Bid good reddens to the crappy food. The food was always crappy, the beans with weevils swimming in it, oh and the white porridge. The porridge was quite good, if I do say so myself. After some cocoa and margarine additive…heaven!

But that wasn’t all. See the real excitement was the road ahead. I remember we would sit down a tree on Sundays and imagine how life after would be. We fantasized about being together in one place just being troublesome and looking cool while at it. But that didn’t come to pass. College!. I don’t know about you but back in high school, teachers made it sound like some ultimate utopia. The freedom, the wear-whatever-you-want policy, the no early morning assemblies and the pitch was always the girls. The smart, beautiful girls of college. Once a teacher got fed up and yelled “stop wasting time with this small time girls at the fence, there are beautiful, intelligent girls waiting for you in college.” The ‘waiting for you’ part won us, most of us anyway. I got to university and boy were those teachers exaggerating. But what the fun in telling the plain truth right?

The first semesters are always the best. You are so focus, so determined and you are ready to take on the world and anybody else in your way. It’s the only time you will attend all lectures and even the make up or extra classes. The only time you will have three pens, the blue one, the red for writing headings and black for answers. You’d take notes so keenly and even go to the library for further research. You goal is to get a well-paying job, probably a 6 figure salary, a posh car, maybe a Porsche 911 turbo S, a good big house and the girl. You are so obedient and self-conscience this time, you don’t indulge in any other activity threatening your studies. Hell you even have a personal timetable for personal studies. Like I said, the best moments.

But with time comes change and nobody really likes change. Except for a second year student. The second semester you realize that you are ‘alive’. You want to taste the limits of your freedom. You make new friends. Join new circles, drop your first year pals and such like. You want to go out to every event in town. You want the latest fashion, the new kicks in town. Basically you forget about your ambition and focus on yourself, you forget the books. This is usually the part where you quote the “You Only Live Once” phrase and convince yourself that everyone is doing it. By the end of semester, you know everyone who is anyone. You’ve had like 10 girlfriends and maybe if you’re lucky enough to not get some sickness or pregnancy. You barely pass and move to the third year.

Now third year is the year of claiming ground. There is school politics, you want to join in. Every activity that brings out the authority and dominance in school you will find a third year in. Of cause this comes with pressure. You also have to convince everyone of your academic dominance. So if you can’t cheat well then you have to study. Thus comes the stress. Most people defer the semester at third year out of fear. They realize they have not learnt a thing and time isn’t friendly. You will find yourself very active with matters lecture. When a lecturer is absent you want to fire the whole school. Third years complain about everything. Your famous phrase here would probably be “we pay a lot of money and we are not taught.”

The last semester is a tricky one. You suddenly realize that you are almost done. You are soon graduate and venture into the real world. Most people panic, for a minute then say something like “am not alone anyway” that would calm things for them till they realize that they are actually alone. At fourth, you will probably want to pass highly at whatever cost. You know what I mean. You will pay for your project to be done, the research reports and all. You have no time at fourth. You are either juggling some job and your studies –because mama isn’t gone house a grown-up no more – or job hunting and studying.

It’s tough out here…

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Credit!

I was resting the evening away by the wall. The big wall with broken soda bottles stuck on top like some security measure. Every soda company brand is represented on the wall. Behind the wall, on the other side lays everything called garbage. Plastic bags from every supermarket around, Jameson bottles and –people here clearly don’t care about the environment –just everything constituting a nasty dumpsite smell. But the mademoiselle on a green dress on the other side makes it all go away, the fetor. If I didn’t know myself any better I would say I always get to the wall just when she steps out of the balcony for whatever it is she does there for approximately 45 minutes, sometimes its 43 other times is 50. But today she didn’t come out. So I didn’t stay long.
Just when I turned to take my leave, this young girl came up to me with a math book. She is in primary seven and she needed help solving some problem. I froze for a moment. I wanted to ask her, “girl who sent you? Who put you up to this? Huh? Who are you working with? Where are your headquarters? How much do you know about me?” but I didn’t. I smiled and took the book. See before you think what you’re thinking, math and I were friends, once. You can ask David, he’s the one who made the answer sheet for every math paper back in high school and I helped him most times. But really? I don’t even know how to spell math this days, it’s been like 100 years or something since. So my reaction is justified.
With that said, I have a trifle of history with math. In primary three, I remember one afternoon we had a math class. I wasn’t warmed up to it so I opted to skive. I begged Peter to come along but as always he was a chicken. I went alone. I ran towards the field in stealth mode. I was scared but it didn’t matter anymore. In my head I was a ninja spy. Leaping on the tip to the toe. I managed to reach the field and lay down on the long yellow dry grass. I lay there for a while. Being scared and stupid. I thought I hid well I started counting, to distract myself. The sun was so hot that day I remember sweat passing all the way to my grey sweater and making a huge patch there. Time wasn’t moving at all. Long story short, I was caught and BEATEN, not caned or punished…BEATEN. I still hate that security guard who caught me. And that how my spy career ended.

We sat with the young girl and went through the math ‘together’. It was some quadratic equation. I didn’t remember shit so I pulled one trick! Make her do the math herself, while thinking I was helping out with the math. It’s simple really, I asked her questions after questions concerning the problem and she answered. I was being all teachery*** like what do you do when you are given this and that. It worked. She did the math herself with my voice in the background and that was that, she got it right.
In her eyes am that ‘mtaa genius’. The guy you go to with the crazy math problems. The mum also thanked me for helping her child and even asked me to tutor her. Of cause I declined the offer. I gave her some bullshit excuse and she bought it. What matters is, her view of me has drastically changed to my advantage –that’s if she even had a view on me – and that;s a good thing.
The 48 laws of power: let people do the work for you but always take the credit. Always!

…

window

There is a fly outside the closed glass window. It’s so stubborn, it keeps hitting its head on the window time and again. I think it wants to get in. From its determination I’d say it’s pissed and it wants to serve justice in cold form. Someone in here must have pissed it off bad. I look around and see if I can identify the offender. Could it be the lady seated next to me? The lady with the beautiful face and a lovely hair style but had to ruin all that by piercing the lower lip? She types a lot and doesn’t look anywhere but her phones screen. Maybe she is typing some nuclear launch codes that would wipe all flies from the face of earth. She looks the type to type such (see what I did there). Or maybe it’s the guy on the phone right across us? He’s too loud and he doesn’t look apologetic about it. He has this nasty beard on him. The kind of beard that get a fly worked up. Or maybe am just thinking too much into it. Maybe the fly just want to get in and pass along disease causing bacteria. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been a fly before. I don’t even know if they are capable of being vindictive.

I have been seated here for the last 20 minutes. It’s not pretty, am so tired and late for an exam. An exam that I will probably not do well. It’s like that exam needs a last scorer and I have to deliver. There is a traffic jam. A slow one. There is a commotion up ahead. I think some guy just knocked another guy’s car and now we are being punished for it. People are shouting at themselves others are calming them down. The nduthi guys instantly become mediators and barristers. There is hooting all over. I hear catalyst roaring behind us, she isn’t happy. The tout is outside and the door is opened. There’s a cool breeze coming in. A calming fresh breath of life. Sent to remind me that I’ve been in worse and I would probably meet worse but it’s going to be fine.

Just the other day I had to run like a mad man from a mad man (oh! again) who was determined that I needed to be taught a lesson on something and saw it fit to beat me with some big stick. I had to run so shamelessly like a coward and it was embarrassing. People were looking at me crazy. But then again it’s never bravely being wiped by a mad man, it’s even less bravery fighting someone who lost his mental faculties.  Sharing the the ordeal with Omosh was the worst part of it all, he had a good laugh about it. In fact, I’ve never heard him laugh that hard. I vowed not to tell anyone ever, if I be chased by a mad man with a stick.

Omosh is an acquaintance of mine who most people mistake for my friend. He keeps me updated on what dirty thing is going on in Ronga. Who got caught? Who did this, why this, why that? And such like. He is a tout.

There is a reason why I like sitting next to the window. Aside from the view, it gives me control. For as long as my fare can take me, the window is mine. Mine to do as I please. I could open it and close it whenever I see fit and no one can do anything about it. I could open it for the fly but I won’t because am selfish that way. Am powerless about the traffic situation but this window I can make move. I love the idea, when a door shuts, God opens a window. So in my little wisdom I see a window as an opportunity…see, window of opportunities.

But it’s a window on vehicle? What opportunity comes of it? I thought you’d ask. Everyone need that little glimpse of hope sometimes, a voice to follow or I don’t know. What I know is that when am seated next to a window, I feel powerful. Not just because I get fresh air and that keeps the motion sickness at bay, but I also get to see what goes on out there. How people are busy doing their stuff. I’ve been told that I have a wide imagination, so let’s not get into what I could do with a window when difficulty shows its ugly face.

Am still in the traffic jam and as if it’s not painful enough, the driver turns up the volume on the radio. Some duo are talking about some very uninteresting topics. How women with money do need men and stuff, because which man is going to tell his millionaire wife to cook him some porridge or to massage his back?? Who? Am not a fun of the duo. But there is really nothing much I can do but listen and persevere. I look around and judge people. What better thing to do than judge random people in a public service vehicle right? Besides, what’s to say one of them isn’t judging me back?

Forty five minutes later I arrive at the school with much haste. I reach the class and the lecturer, with all his arrogance decides its ok to cancel the exam. The nerve that guy. With his pointed nose I bet he doesn’t know how consoling oneself on eminent fail on an exam is such a task. He most probably doesn’t know what I had been through. And then they ask me why I hate easily, I mean c’mon!

My mind runs back to the window on the vehicle and the fly…

constantine

“I expect the worst, so I prepare for the worst and when the worst happens, am ready.” that was John Constantine to Zatana. I’ve watched justice league dark well over a dozen times now and I am compelled to key this words in my diary of awesome collective movie quotes. Problem is, how practical is it? For one john is not one to be taken seriously anyway, the guy is a big time cheat. I mean who gets away with cheating death??

I know what you are saying, this guy derives arguments from mere comic stories, right? Well comics are more than just the fictions and imaginations you see. For some of us anyway.

Back to john and his strategy, see there is not much positivity in his analogy. Expect the worst??? You can’t live like that [I thought]. It goes against whatever is written in the book ‘the secret’ which talks of positive thoughts attracting positive outcomes, which goes against physics which implies opposite sides attract [too many ‘which’ there, bear with me]. But then again that must be only on magnetic field and the likes [what do I know??? I hated physics].

Does it help to plan ahead? For all outcome? I bet it does. Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking of Constantine. Besides, even Bruce Wayne confirmed it [I’d like to call him batman, but I have a feeling you won’t take me seriously]. Bruce once told Blue Beatle “to be a member of the league, you can’t act on impulse, you have to plan ahead.” Bat of Gotham is always right.

Few days back I went to town for an errand. I left early, having anticipated the traffic. All was good until i had to go back home. It started raining and this ‘ma3’s’ have a rotten habit of raising the fare such times. I had fixed amount of money. It was an uneasy moment. A moment of confusion.

I thought, well I have a lot of contacts on my phonebook, maybe I put them to use. I called the first two and the response wasn’t so comforting. I called the third one, they didn’t pick up. The fourth and the fifth too. I figured, maybe my contacts have a whatsapp group and maybe somebody posted ‘bill is in trouble, no one pick his calls’ or something worse. I don’t know. Friends have a funny way of not being there when you need them.

Long story short, I got my fare back home. Mums are angels!

Water socked, I sat by the window of some ng’anya. The council in my head started yelling, ‘why the bloody hell didn’t you listen to Constantine??? Now see your life!

What if I had anticipated the rain [the worst thing to happen to you in town] I would have averted everything.

Being prepared is being ready for everything, and that implies being on top of every situation. Being in control is good. Most of our decisions are undertaken without prior thought process and thus the haste nature of execution. The disappointment is always a shock!

Now I get john. I mean he fights mythical creatures and all but his method is effective all around. If implemented well then the result won’t be unexpected. And that a good thing I reckon.

 

 

Rock Bottom

Every once in a year, there is that one single moment when  I just sit down and marvel at the idea of hitting rock bottom. In my wisdom (doesn’t usually last) I somehow convince myself that hitting ground zero is the best thing to happen to a mortal. I spend long few seconds just being positive about it, something I picked up from reading the secret. Does it help? I don’t know, maybe. I never stick around to find out.

According to study, nature has it that there is always an instance in life when all hope is lost, pride evaporates. Where shame is just an arrangement of letters. This particular moment is a continuous circle, so no one immune to it. It eventually comes and as it comes it goes. Different people have different pictures of failure. But everyone hits rock bottom at some point. Eventually.

Where am I going with this?

Am I saying hit ground zero? No! Hell no, by all means avoid it, like a plague. Don’t think about it and you won’t be about it. Fear it if possible. Fear is the best weapon ever fashioned in the mind. So what if you hit it anyway? Be happy, smile about it. Be jolly as it’s the optimum level of freedom man will ever have. Why? Well as they say, the best thing about falling down is that you can’t fall any further, the only way you can go is up!

Most people hear this and automatically assume the best scenario. Hitting your lowest is like being in a deep hole with no rope to climb up. The hole is usually dark so there is that too. You have to cling and pull yourself up step by step. Navigating through the wall erections. Trying not to fall down. Which you will. And many times you will.

But with every try, you will reach a step further to ground. You might fall hard, fall when you are very close but eventually you will reach ground. And when you do, you won’t be the same again. You will be more careful not to go back again. If you are kind enough, you will help people not go there. If you were lazy before, you will still be lazy, only wise while at it. You might even find laziness being such a hard thing.

No one really knows for certain, what a single choice would do to tomorrow. You could analyze it all you want but forces within the universe aren’t so predictable. You might fall but that’s not the ‘it’. The ‘it’ comes in with how you deal with the fall. Some people are lucky, they have anchors. Other forces which help them get back up. But not everyone is some people.

Just be ready!

 

 

 

 

Ummoiner Cuts

{the cover photo is just right}

The other day I was at umoja. To visit and especially for the mutura. You ever want your mutura spiced up with some crazy homemade hot pepper then that’s your place. I know Baba Njoroge is doing a pretty good job in Ronga but this guy is like Walter White making methamphetamine.

Initially that was the plan, but then one thing led to another and between the confusion, all thanks to the girls from umo, it’s like someone just took every species of feminism and put it there. The good, the bad, blessed, excessively blessed, the evil, and the ones with heavy accents. It’s like a bad cocktail. But then again, bad is the new good.

I found myself inside Ummoiner cuts.

Now, I know route 125 is major league in matters road machines (pure art), number of bars around (There are more bars than schools) and even the dusty roads. But one thing is for sure. Umo has Ummoiner cuts and that’s something else.

You must be wondering, what the hell is that?? Well it’s a barber shop. And not just any. It’s one with white leather seats at the waiting area. Clean white seats with bits of elegance all around it. It also has a glass table with a jar of juice sitting on it. Just waiting to be drunk hurriedly. Waiting for any thirsty brother. There is also a variety of newspapers on the table and a jar of water.

Crazy huh?! The best part is, it’s all free. A lady friend of mine once told me, free is always good. It doesn’t matter how rich you are, or how fancy you dress. Free stuff are the best Oh and they also offer coffee, you put the sugar yourself. It doesn’t get any better. Did I mention there is free Wi-Fi?

So I enter the place and as a normal male mortal being, the first thing that catches my attention is the lady presences. There were at least five ladies all dressed in white shirts with badges. Those ladies look good. I bet they all went under some rigorous interview just to work there. Those who were blessed and those who were pretty got the job. Democracy!

Like any other organized barber shop (this being my first), there is always a guy who is a foreigner, another a young lad with hip hop swag all over him. There is always one with a big tummy and one with a wedding ring.

The cut was professional. Ever received services from someone who loves what he does? Someone who isn’t pissed at his life? Someone who isn’t working for the money? It’s like lots of peanut butter on a bread. So smooth. I sat there and I was getting worth my money. The guy surgically did he’s magic and somehow I looked good on the mirror. I mean it might be just tricks but I did look good.

So good it got Jeff and Frank worked up. And they decided to have their own cuts.

Oh, and the best part. This lady comes close to my ear and says “come this way sir”, I heard the voices in my head respond ‘I’d follow you anywhere if you asked’ ok the sir part is exaggerated but sounds right, right? She rubbed that oil, then massaged my head. She did this thing with my neck that felt so good. I left there knowing that all this while I was being deceived in Ronga!

Did I mention the welcome lady? She is the lady by the door, who effortlessly is beautiful. Shy yes, but beautiful is a checked box. She comes up to you and takes your court. Huh! She has few words but can stare when she puts her mind to it. Am pretty sure if staring could kill, she could be probably the most feared ‘killer’.

Imagine that. Death by a stare. I can’t even count the number of people who’d be dead by my ‘eyes’. I’d start with cats. I’d kill any cat I meet around and then I’d kill its relatives. And then their pets and their plants. Before they realize it, they’d be extinct. No, extinct is too kind. They’d be erased from history. At least dinosaurs leave fossils behind.

And the mean lady at the cashier, yeap! They have a cashier alright. I bet they even have an IT guy too. The lady looks so scary, chucky would make you smile. She strikes me as those high school prefect who people hated so much. The ones who you’d pour water on their mattresses and not feel bad about it. She had a space between her teeth, like Rubadiri only Victoria has pretty going all over her.

Bottom line, I left there satisfied. Very willing to go back a second time. If you are ever in umoja, and you need free juice, go there! They don’t chase people out. Ha-ha

Remember, free is always good.

p/s: any misspells should be highly overlooked!

 

 

oops!

I know how uneasy looks like. I’ve had seat-down. It’s like being pressed so hard but you are nowhere near a toilet. It’s like having this two girls you are juggle-dating in one room. It’s like placing a bet on Arsenal and then Watford does her thing. To top it all off, it’s not a pleasing moment.

Now I always thought my most uneasy moment would be me walking to the podium to receive a Nobel price. I would walk so calmly with all the humility I can master. While inside I would be screaming ‘boy I made it!’ now that’s uneasy. But as of few minutes ago, I’ve had my expectations thwarted big time.

Thanks to the lecturers strike which is unyielding so far, am left to ponder on what to do with my time. So in my wisdom I decided to go to town. Live a little, have fun, maybe stop for a while and listen to those three drummers along Moi Avenue make music. And if am moved enough, perhaps drop a coin.

Perhaps I walk through and find this guy with a sound amplifier making the little sense of his political understanding of everything [it’s always a he]. If am lucky enough, I may find some street vendor and practice my bargaining skills.

So I set out. I walked briskly, trying very hard to make notice of my new pants and shoes. I realized it’s a hard task all together. Now I know what ladies go through. As I climbed to board my transport, this lady dropped a bottle of water. It rolled down out. Now me being as gentle as possible, I stepped out to pick it for her. Maybe I would get a smile from her or a thank you to kick start my day.

Immediately I bent down, it happened. The unexpected. The damned! My enemies at work. People who don’t want good for me, unexplained forces at work here. If Doc McStuffins was my doctor, the book of boo boos would have a case of ‘tornpantsatities’. I got up so fast I didn’t notice.

I got a thank you alright, but I didn’t even hear it. I rushed back home as fast as I could yet as slow as possible not to show my nudity. I looked down, not knowing to be embarrassed or frightened. See they can arrest you for public nudity this days. I don’t want to go to jail.

A distance which normally takes me 10 minutes now took forever. Paranoia started to kick in. everyone I passed who so much as had a tooth out, I immediately thought they were laughing at me. The same distance I walked minutes ago, head tall, shoulders high with all the gust I could harness. Now I was doing it opposite.

To feel everyone’s eyes poking you. Its torture. Oh, don’t get me wrong it was horrible, but you wouldn’t tell by looking at my face. The battle that was going through my head was fierce. One Frodo and Sam wouldn’t survive. This moment I wished I was invincible or as fast as flash. But you know what they say about wishes…until aliens decide so, we are stuck!

I even wished I didn’t help that lady out. If I decided to be me, and just get in not minding her, everything would be alright now. I would be in town already. But then it occurred to me. Maybe doctor fate’s helmet saw it and as we all know, future can’t be changed. Unless of cause you are an alien from krypton and your name is Carl El.

Now that am calm. Am actually grateful that it did happen. What if it happened in town, what would I have done then.

See all things work together for me!

I’ve given myself one hour so that, that scene erases itself from peoples mind. Thing is am not even sure if am paranoid or tripping, or both.

Free advice: make sure when you buy from gikosh, you take it to the fundi to do a touch up! You don’t want aibu ndogo ndogo