the couch

Grand Theft Tree! January 7, 2010

(Not another save the Mau plea. Though it does bug me.)

Mtoto akililia wembe mpe.

So said the wise guys who were chilling by the beach as they watched a stubborn 5-year old almost butcher himself with a razor blade. The mother wasn’t too amused by that wise crack.

Moving on.

We prayed. We sacrificed. Actually we didn’t but if it were the times of Moze we would have. We were desperate. We were not going to be picky. We’d take anything. So evidently the big guy up top, either coz he was fed up of us heathens manically crying for rains, he unleashed some nasty storm upon us.

It was the el-nino that the weatherman had predicted (for once), the very one we had chosen to settle for seeing that the rains, well, let’s just say they wouldn’t shed a drop for us.

Building roofs were blown off. Mabatis everywhere. Cars were washed away. Some humans too. Billboards bore a message of mass destruction. Trees too, just like their cousins in Mau, were going.

Water water everywhere except in that damn dam, which quenches and sheds light on us thirsty in-the-dark Nairobians.

I must say devastation was everywhere. But for some guys, give them a lemon, they gon’ make lemonade.

Marto is one of these guys.

Now Marto was huko cruising in the mtaani dodging trees and flying cars, when this monstrosity of a tree fell where many could hear. And yep he got to hear of it too.

Come the next day, as guys were taking stock of the damage, and kanjo was huko wekaring kando trees that were not chonjo, Marto got his power saw, jumped into his Canter (that’s what we call all ‘pickups’ that are not as small as kawa pickups and not as big as trucks) and zoomed off in the direction of the fallen tree aforementioned.

He’s a chapchap dude. He calculated that before kanjo could mobilize guys from arresting Nairobians for sneezing, he’d be done with that tree. He arrived fast, much to the delight of the neighbourhood. Funny, each resident thought a kind neighbour had okoad jahazi and placed a call to kanjo concerning the fallen tree.

We will never know.

Cutting a short story even shorter, Marto proceeded to cut up the tree, with the highly appreciated assistance from the residents, into manageable pieces. He then loaded them onto his ‘canter’. He thanked them plus for good measure threw in a good word for kanjo.

“Tuko hapa kuwasaidia. Kumbukeni kanjo iko chonjo”

The people cheered.

And with those few words Marto drove off with a stolen tree.

Deck the halls. October 29, 2009

This carol sounds just right.

Interesting ever since I could talk the carols have been with me. My mum, even before I was an idea, was filled with carols. My twin, feeling the joy in the air has a special carol for us. I too feeling touched had one. But I never found the right words for that carol. And now, as thee time approaches carols are everywhere.

At the work place.

At the feeding place.

Even as I enjoy my fruits, not of labour, I can’t help notice the carols.

Was it a sign?

‘coz now as the glorious journey gets to its midway point, I have a carol to sing till the sun sets.

Do you have a carol?

K.I.S.S. B-wise October 26, 2009

Keeping It Simple Stupid – Blogwise

One story in as few words as possible. And not 299.

I’ve always been the quiet type, so why am i saying much.

Jesus Wept. Time for, “modo to sweat”

It’s my new challenge,  just want to see if i can bring back my blogging psych. If i can’t hack it, you’ll see the shortest post ever…

“FAILED”

Wish me luck! Updates as soon as suddenly.

Curtains June 25, 2008

This is a collection of short stories.

SLOW: MOOD SWINGS AHEAD!

So, who’s with me?

Who agrees with me that women should walk around with mood billboards the size of egos, and have a PR guy follow them around, warning the world of their shifty moods? The PR guy is to make sure you don’t get the mood wrong.

JEEZ! Clearly I’m not good at reading ‘signs’.

Mazee, today, I went to ask some chick who’s in charge of some project if I could skive her project presentation so I could for the Safcom marathon at Lewa. BOSSSSSS!

“Good morning?” I asked pleasantly to warm her.

“Hallo” She replied coldly to warn me.

Brrrrr! “So I, er, understand there’s a presentation tomorrow…Friday? Er, am I in it?”

“Yes.”

C-c-c-c-cold. Man what’s with her. At this point. I walk away coz the big sign, which I’m about to ignore, says “DON’T TALK TO ME.”

I pause at her door thinking heck, let me try and break the ice with a joke.

Guys, word of advice, never try breaking ice with a joke. Use an ice pick. Or in this case just leave it be. I tried…

“Aaaa, so unaelewa kuna vile tunaenda kulewa kule Lewa na____”*

“I DON’T CARE!”

What happened next was a blur. All I remember is that it felt as if I had stuck my head out the window of a fast moving car. My face was flushed and my dreads were, you know, winded. 

So no LEWAring for me at LEWA, mnaeLEWA? Juu mi sielewi vile kusoma signs.**

Glossary

*Aaaa, so do you know guys are going drinking in Lewa.

**So no drinking for me at Lewa, understand? Coz I don’t know how to read signs. Best said in swa.

HAWKING IN THE LEAFY SUBURBS!

Fifty bob! Hamsini! Hamsini! Fifty bob!

Okay in this case the stock is cheaper, 25 or 30 bob depending on the markets.

But this isn’t the stock market people…this is the snack market.

Yep. Due to some…actually I don’t know how I got myself into this fix.

Here is a brief history.

While with Ann Yolanda I had a healthy appetite and a wallet to match. As others were consuming snacks worth a measly 7 sok, at most a G, per month, I checked in with a whooping 3.5K bill.

I moved up to celebrity status. The snack’s lady had found a gold mine. She could now dream of moving her kids from Free-8-then-fo-fo-fo system to ile ya wazungu (GCE). She was making it big time. Profit margins were in a percentage only Safcom understand (note I said percentage) Rumor had it because business was sooooo good she had also planned an IPO. And being a JJ she had pictured a hummer. But she don’t say.

But Jane Waithera called and, well, it was a sad history. Business went down, she had to fire someone, 8-4-4 ya wazungu was out and IPO, haipo. As for hummer….eish, unless nihame tena.

Since she was good to me, like 20kg good, I said I’d scout for her business wherever I was going.

Now here I am. Selling snacks. In the office huku Racecourse Karen. Competing successfully against ana’a lady who was there before but customers complained that her product was baaaaad! Now for her business is slow. She still doesn’t know I’m the one who’s doing her in.

The day I disappear for long and you find me in a ditch with a samosa up my throat (I’m praying she won’t put it in my arse) just know she knows.

Gats to go, customers are calling. Samosas anyone?

WHAT’S YOUR HANGOVER MADE OF?

This is the (short) story of the chick who found us generously downing vodoski at Marto’s place.

After watching us teremshaing with glee she asked for some too. Now Marto wasn’t feeling this chick. He never has. And he wasn’t about to lose precious vodo to this chick.

But he had no choice. Maboys told him to wekea her some dose.

Reluctantly he grabbed a glass and wekad a healthy amount. The chick said she’ll chapa (drink) it with coke. Marto smiled.

The chick took a sip and winced. “It’s strong, but sawa tu.”

Marto’s smile got ‘louder’.

The aftee wore on and the wench after a few many tots started saying she’s feeling tipsy.

Marto SOLed. (What? Oh, he Smiled out Loud)

Night checked in with all the passwords, and our heroine had had too much too drink, she claimed she was now high.

Marto ROFS (Come on, you guys are bloggers, you know this one)

She stood up swaying and staggered out of Marto’s crib. The next day she called us and she complained of a massive hangover.

Marto could take it no more. He ROFSHAO.

All this time we were looking at Marto wondering why the loud smiles. Kumbe, Marto instead of mixing for her vodo and coke…

…was putting WATER AND COKE!

We ROFLOAO!

STALKERS!

Why doesn’t it happen to me? Why? Why? Why?

You know those stalkers who usually call and they just breathe into the phone? The ones who even though you put them near a booming tenje they just ‘listen’? Well my pal has one. And I don’t.

Okay, listen, I know it’s some scary shit and all. Especially, if it’s a dude. But it’s a chick and I’m thinking, week one I’ll want to know who be you, then when I know your game, I’m gon’ play with you…and you don’t want to play with us creative types. I mean think about it, everyday will be a challenge for me to be more creative to piss them off.

How cool is that? And imagine the endless blog stories.

And at this point I’m dragged back to my padded cell.

CURTAINS!

I have some sad news.

I am taking a hiatus…a longer one, this time. And…unfortunately I may not return.

The couch has served its purpose, it’s now time to step aside and you know, wachia wengine. I started it as a challenge and I have achieved what I set out to achieve.

I’ve met a few bloggers, become friends, loved some, had tiffs with others…actually I haven’t, but the whole journey has been great. I now have to take my bow, and take my leave. I leave you in the able hands of other worthy bloggers. Y’all know them.

I have a serious dent in mojo, helped massively, actually, helped exclusively by time constraints. I have no time to even read your posts. But I’ll be around reading and enjoying them great blogs out there. So mkiona modo something or other, msalimie…

Be easy.

Keep blogging (from someone who isn’t..heheheh)

Modo taking leave!

Exit stage left!

I’m still thinking of the other girl! May 21, 2008

Six years ago I got into a relationship with…let’s call her Jane, Jane Waithera Thairu. My relationship with Jane was great. And really fulfilling. But after five years, I decided to end it.

I needed out. I needed to, be with other people and see how it was.

Of course, she wasn’t pleased. She tried everything. She cried. She cajoled. She even tried to throw money at me.

She had more money than me. Okay I confess I was living off her. Who wouldn’t.

But, this new chick, Ann Yolanda, Now Anne Yolanda ‘Naitore’ Riungu, had more cash. More cash to throw around. Plus she gave me opportunity to grow. With her I was my own boss. Well, a little. But I could do what i wanted.

I never told Jane my reason for leaving. She suspected I was after the money.

She wasn’t totally wrong.

Okay, Okay. I admit, I’m a gold-digga. I dare you to say you ain’t. Finish the story and you’ll see why I say this. (By the way, this story has already gotten me in trouble thus far…but I beg, finish and you’ll understand)

So anyway, my relationship with Ann Yolanda was great. Of course, initially it wasn’t all smooth, but after an year it was all right. Then…

Jane called.

Memories flooded back.

My heart warmed.

She was crying. (okay, she was forceful)

She threw money at me.

You guessed it, I warmed more.

You see, for me, getting monetary satisfaction from these kind of people is my motivation. They have dosh to throw around…so why not screw with it. And hey, if it helps me grow to be a better person, why not?

Back to the story.

The only problem was, Jane wanted me back ASAP. Apparently, she had found a replacement who wasn’t satisfying her, you know, properly. She was desperate. Just as I like ’em.

She needed me. WOW!

Now how to tell Ann Yolanda.

SHE CAUSED!

and caused.

Sad, it had to be. I was going back to my previous love. Jane was kinda good to me. Ann Yolanda wasn’t.

Now I’m back with Jane Waithera Thairu. BUT….

I can’t stop thinking about Ann Yolanda ‘Naitore’ Riungu. Let it be a lesson to y’all, Never get into a relationship immediately you leave one.

With that lesson, can someone please explain this to my new boss at JWT. He totally refused to give me a ‘dumping’ period. Even a week. He wanted me to start work for him immediately, at a better pay of course, but I needed a period to get over the place I used to be.

Now, I keep thinking about AY ‘n’ R.

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehheheehehehe

10,000 BC… May 7, 2008

Hairy man, dressed in one-month old mammoth skin, sitting on most comfortable rock spots equally hairy woman dressed in the latest sabre-tooth skin dress walking by. He get nice feeling and beneath the hairy mammoth skin, hairy snake rises.

“Ooooga moooga?” He asks his fellow hairy man.

“Mooga oo oo ooooo!!” His pal replies and smacks his lips.

Hairy man, lifts his crude weapon. (The Swahili and every Kenyan in general calls it a rungu) They still had not discovered smooth…well…ehee…

He approaches the so-to-speak sexy woman from an angle.

Woman blushes red.

He whacks her on the head.

Woman gushes red.

Mr. Man (they didn’t know how to speak so clearly they couldn’t give names) grabs ‘sexy’ mama by the hair. Luckily for our Mr. Man, the women were yet to discover salons ama kuna vile huyo msee would never have been able to grab any normal blooded woman’s hair like that. Anyway, he grabs her, by the hair, and drags the love-struck and club-struck woman to his cave and declares…

OOOGA!

1800 AD

My great great great great great great great great (etc) grandfather (one ‘great’ is coz he was indeed a great fellow) is chilling with his boys, on a comfortable rock, dressed in fresh goat-skin taking care of the herd. (Sample the dogs that always follow him around). He’s a ka-young fellow and clearly they are the village handies (runs in the family).

Shortly they hear sweet angelic voices as the village damsels waltz their way to the river giggling and laughing.

“Great-to-the-power-of-ten” grand zakes and his boys look through the bushes and spy the most beautiful chicks ever. They get inspired and aroused (I would too if I espied a topless girl), but “great-power-ten” grand zakes reacts quickest. While the others are deciding on who to grab for who, my rela has huko rukad mapema mapema and gone and grabbed the most beautiful one of them all.

He carries her on his shoulders and quickly runs home. He bursts into his fathe’s house and declares…

WIFE!

2008 – the year of the Lord and the year of smarter, more tactful fellows, except…

…except this buffoon who is sitting on his comfortable stool, not rock, at a bar sipping on his tanye (ehem, Tusker) and talking to his boys. In walks this fly arse mama (in our company). Him and his boys are er…excited. So instead of this jamaa swinging and sambaza-ing his lyrics like every modern man, he opts for the “traditional” approach.

This is his plan…

There’s a road trip out of town which we (including fly-arse) have pangad. Then apparently buffoon, who is a friend of our friend, decides he’s also coming. Over a few pints our idiot pal and fly-arse get conversing…but jamaa bado hasn’t angushad lines.

Anyway, come weekend and safari goes without a hitch and we reach destination town where we link up with…our pal and buffoon. It gets dark and buffoon, okay, I’ll call him Jack…but I hope you will appreciate the tact of not calling him JERK!….so Jack runs off and starts booking rooms for us. He doesn’t know our sleeping arrangement (since anyway we did comewith fly-arse in the same ride)….but he’s decided he’s smarter.

Since he can’t katia (lyric assault) this mama, he decides to force her to sleep in his room. How? He books one room less hoping since the mama will have nowhere to sleep she will ‘join’ him.

I know it’s 2008. I was surprised too.

What Jack forgot was that, this chick was in her home area. Anajuana na kila mtu mpaka bar-maid, hawezi kosa place ya kulala. (argh, she knows everyone in that town including the barmaid, so she can’t miss a place to sleep) So Jack as we all know slept solo and his pals all declared in unison…

KABANG!

But really, I thought this style of getting a chiley to sleep with you went out of fashion.

Aw well, barbarians never die.

*kabang – means in a nutshell, he never got any.