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Marto on a ho…(yawn)…ot date! July 27, 2007

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.
25 comments

Nobody really knows how Marto met his, as per her, one and only. But all that is known it wasn’t the Mills and Boon kind of meeting. Knowing Marto, it’s nowhere near. I can vouch for that. But one thing is for sure, this girl really had an effect on him. So we thought.

He would be seen shopping for new clothes. Well, technically not new NEW, but as Marto always told us, “mtumba pia ni mpya. At least kwangu”. When cornered as to why he was shopping, he revealed, rather we made an ASS out of U and ME, and assumed it was because of the upcoming date.

In the days that followed, however, by privilege of being his best buddies (his apology application is still being sorted out…but this was juicy and we expedited approval), anyway, yeah, by being his buddies, me and Othis were able to really know why he was buying clothes. Marto had a date! With this new chick.

STOP PRESS! Read, mouths agape.

MARTO ON A DATE!

Now that indeed was news. Othis tried pinching him, just to see if he was for real, to some bloody repercussions. I who knew better just tried to corner him with questions. But, this is Marto we are talking about…he just looked at me and gave me this blank look….
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Yep, like that. Then walked away.

Days leading to the date, he’d ask about the best places to take a chick. The best place to buy cards. Where to find the best roses. How to behave. Now he was scaring us. This negro ain’t for real. I was tempted to pinch him…WAIT! Why was I pinching him? I just needed to pinch myself.

OUCH!

Okay, it was real.

One day before the D-day…a Friday, he was seen walking home with some nice hot clothes. So Marto DID have taste. He had chosen some tasteful clothes. A neat pair of jeans, some clean label kicks, a nice fitting jacket…man, the colours were matching. This dude was truly whipped. Now we were more scared. Gone will be the days of hilarious adventure. Welcome the days of nice quiet Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, afternoons, evening and nights.

NOOOOOOOOOO!

Marto had to be stopped. But we couldn’t. When Marto sets his mind on something, even his favorite drink won’t make him change his mind. I called Muthemba hoping he’d help us. Muthemba almost beat us up. He was on Marto’s side.

Muthemba liked Marto and wished him well. And anyway, Muthemba was thinking long-term. He was counting on Marto, we laughed, to get children, we rolled on the floor laughing. Then since he was a great believer in “like father like son”, he was convinced that Marto’s brats, he got that right, would be like Marto and would be regular customers at his joint. So business would never die. Now that’s ambition.

We resigned ourselves to fate.

On the date day, we passed by Marto’s house to wish him well. What we saw gave us hope. Okay, he wasn’t there, but what was made us happy. Very happy.

On the clothes line were the clothes he had so carefully selected the other day. They were wet. Meaning he didn’t dress to impress the chick. One point to us.

On his door, was pinned a note. “Sorry Joe (his cousin) I waited for you but I had to go on my own date with this girl (he didn’t say beautiful, lovely, gorgeous…or any other adjective that would describe a fly-arse chick…half a point), below are the joints I was told are nice to take a chick. I haven’t gone to any. I have my own special place I’m taken her. Enjoy. Marto.”

Three, four and five points to us. So that’s why Marto was checking out nice joints…for his cousin, not for him. But he had said a special place…minus two points.

So in half-celebration, half-sorrow, we went to our favorite joint…no, not Magegania bar. We walked in and said our hallos then walk straight to our special corner, and who do we see…

MARTO! and his new-find. So that’s the special place? I get it, Marto always called that corner we sat ever weekend “very special to me.”

Damn! She’s fly too. Marto does have taste. But clearly she doesn’t. Othis salivated and I could see ideas forming in his head.

We held him back. It’s Marto’s chick.

“But he’s asleep.” Odhys defended himself.

True!

Marto had blacked out on the chiley’s lap.

Marto was back!

Epilogue.
Marto apparently was nervous, so he had stopped by the bar and quickly gulped down shots and double shots of vodoski…need I say more? Okay, I will…this chiley was really smitten by Marto…they are still together (lucky bastard guy). And the hilarious adventures are back.

My random eight…coz she forced me to… July 20, 2007

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.
38 comments

Who she be? Gishungwa. The sweet orange. I was politely minding my business when BAM! “I have tagged you…check my blog for details” and indeed on her blog were the details and instructions, and here they are….

The Rules are:-
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
So I had to sit my arse down and think of eight random things about me…things I think I haven’t already mentioned.Now that we have that out of the way…here are my random eight…

4. I never forget birthdays, but I DO forget to carry presents/cards.

I have never understood this. Yaani I will remember your birthday lakini when invited to come for the party ama when coming to see you, I forget to carry a present or even a card. It’s my cuzo who always reminds me. Like I always jitetea…it’s the thought that counts.

7. I own three combs.

Don’t ask why, yet I never use them, even when Ididn’t have dreads. So it’s also no surprise when I tell you I own no mirrors. The one I have belongs to another miscellaneous mama who left it there…she felt woiye for me. But najua vile ninakaa so sio lazima nijione…shauri yako kama niko na alama ya white kwa face.

1. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, fazes me…

I mean this is life we live in. And we know that life throws us anything and everything, so why not be real about it? Every time I wake up I expect anything and everything from anyone and everyone. Hope for the best expect the worst. And when I encounter it I deal with it…sio ati nianze kuworry…sijui ‘why me?, o-oo, why now?’. Ziiii. Those are BOGOF ulcers waiting to happen. You meet thugs, if you can’t hepa them, give them everything and walk away smiling (na ukidedishwa…umededi…what more is there to worry about?). It’s over it’s happened. Move on. And that’s why I’m always a happy child…if I don’t encounter an obstacle in 5 seconds, I’ll smile about it. Like aegeus said on his post…STRESSED spelt backwards is DESSERTS… I approach problems from the back…ambush them. Don’t let them ambush you…And yeah, there’s a gospel song that says (can’t quite remember verbatim) but the general message is kama kuna problem..kuna solution. LAZIMA!

6. I’m a messy guy…

Wait, that may have come out wrong. I am a messy guy…that’s better, but it’s organised mess. Just like organised crime…here is organised mess. Why lie? Initially things will be neat but if something becomes askew, it will stay that way….lakini despite the mess I know where everything is even in that mess. Zima lights I will remove that bra, you lost last night (aside…sio ati na lalanga na wanawake saaaaana…kidogo tu). Dare you mess, in this case, clean up, my mess…My mess is neat leave it that way. I’ll take care of it. I made it, I’ll fix it.

3. I don’t have a price.

So I believe and so I try to keep it that way. You know how you say, ruka ndani ya hii maji nikupe ngiriNEVER! I have my integrity. I will not compromise it by doing silly stunts for money..I would rather you walk around saying about me…there goes dooaz, nifala, kamekata kufua nguo zangu nimpe ten G than ati ndio yule dooaz, he such a low guy, yaani he kubalid to wash my clothes for ten G…si i told you every man has his price. Not dooaz. Or Modo, for that matter. If you want me to wash your clothes, just ask…if I can, I’ll do it, don’t carrot-dangle it. I don’t need money thaaaaaat much. I operate on a ‘I have money what can i do’ basis than a ‘I need to do this so I need money’.

8. Therefore…I have simple dreams.

If Ihave any at all. Classic example, y’all know the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip? There was one where Calvin asks Hobbes what he wishes for. Hobbes simply says “a sandwich”. Calvin goes ballistic. He zushas, ati Hobbes should wish for super powers, world domination…no parents, no school and shit loads of stuff. In the last frame, we see Calvin gloomily eating a sandwich and a very happy Hobbes saying…”my wish came true”. I’m Hobbes, simple dreams…complete happiness! I mean, my dream car is a Landie!

5. I try never to keep anyone waiting…

Most of the time I’m always on time…the guy from Around the World in 80 Days is my hero…ever since kitambo..was’is name…Phileas Fogg. He was always on time for anything. If I’ll be late I’ll let you know early. If I’m late just know there is someone involved. Was waiting for foundashen to be applied. So I hope for the same courtesy (and expect the worst) hence a backup plan…usipokuja I’m so away)

2. I hate short hair…
Interesting enough, sio ati I like/love dreads either. The reason I put them was ‘coz I was tired of my own hair. Have plaited, blow dried, combed, not combed…everything you could ever do with hair except cut it of course and karanga it. So the reason I still have my dreads is ‘coz I’d have to shave, meaning a month or two of terribly short hair…NO THANKS!

bonus…

I LOVE SUDOKU (and eating)!

…and other brain challenging stuff. No wonder I love problems. It’s my chance to be creative in how I deal with them. As for the eating bit…I’ll eat anything so long as it’s edible (except pumpkin). So I don’t fear trying new stuff. Foodwise or otherwise.

Now that that is painfully out of the way…I need to tag somebarre. Eight sambarres. Hamna bahati…

one, Bantu…and in english please.
two, Bomseh…say something, eight somethings.
three, Jade…you kitten, a-meow-se us
four, k.i.p.u.s.a…e.i.g.h.t p.l.e.a.s.e
five, boyflanitupe vitu nane flani
six, ichiena…itch away at some (at least you’ll update ur blog)
seven, wanja…stop your search for a guy and sema vitu nane
and finally
eight, phassie…don’t go too ati phaaaa….

The shortest lesson in history. July 17, 2007

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.
26 comments

Teacher walked in loaded with books. How he managed to get the class to take their seats still remains one of the unsolved mysteries ever. These kids were rowdy. They just stared at him as he walked in. Some were busy doing their own things. Others were busy doing other people’s things.

He tried to hit it off with the students. But the students didn’t find it necessary to hit it off.

Suddenly all was quiet. All had sat down in their respective places. The teacher was amazed. But he didn’t think too much of it. All he cared about was that the class was finally quiet.

(diversion…TREMOR ALERT!)

He placed his books on the table. Opened up the first one and started off by introducing himself…

“Hi boys and gir___”

There was a moment of mayhem because these weren’t boys and girls. They were way older than boys and girls. And they let the new teacher know. He apologised and the lesson which hadn’t really begun resumed.

For five minutes, it was all a monologue…or as the secondary school teacher had taught us…a soliloquy. A sad one at that. Nothing interesting was leaving the deep vastness of the teacher’s parched throat.

Some students yawned. The teacher saw that. Another almost fell of her seat because of boredom. He saw that too. And yet another, she had the nerve, walked out of class. On enquiry, the teacher was informed that she only came to class for 30 minutes every day. Any longer and her dad would believe she was in relationship with a boy somewhere.

This clearly wasn’t a serious class. It was time for something drastic.

The teacher paused and looked from one student to the next. He even spotted the one who had put on headphones. Headphones not earphones. He clenched his fist. He touched his belt. He looked at his books. In slow motion he closed them.

“Okay guys let’s be real here. My name is dooaz…with a small ‘d’, and I ain’t no teacher. Heck am i student like you…and I there is no freaking way I’m teaching you guys. To hell with the principal. So what music you listening to?”

That was the end of that lesson. That was the end on my teaching career (thank God).

The moment I realized I would never be a teacher, better yet, never teach such a bunch of hard heads, was when I discovered I had taught a full term’s notes in five minutes.

FIVE MINUTES. I mean, I had even put in the pauses and bad jokes that my teacher had put…but it still took five minutes.

Plus, this colle had no timetable, and only six students. Six vichwa ngumu students. As for the principal, I told him to go to hell, in a polite way. He had played me first. I had gone to him looking for attachment when he told me…ati, to teach his students while he organized for me attacho.

Ya right!

From then on I was the best and only lecturer they ever had. I would walk in on many a day with pears from Limuru and sell. I would come with….HOLD UP! my reputation is at stake here…so what I did will remain, here…(gesturing to the heart)

Dumped? July 2, 2007

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.
32 comments

Sharon.

Wangeci.

Eunice.

She sat there waiting to hear her name.

Muthoni.

Maria.

Emily W.

Emily N.

But still her name wasn’t called out. All around her, her friends were all excited.

Anne.

Peter.

Sorry…Petronilla.

She smiled. That was her friend and they always made fun of her name. Sometimes they called her “Shell” or “Caltex”, whichever had top-of-mind recall.

Then came Shanice. Wendy. Pauline. Carol M, W and N. But still not hers. Her smile just like her hopes went. Her friends were there to comfort her. But so too were the letters that made her sad again.

It’s letter day today. And everyone is excited. Everyone except her.

Eunice. You have two letters.

Everyone gets excited on letter day. Each girl wants to know if the guy she impressed during Science Congress, drama festivals or provies has written. Seems like Eunice really impressed more than one guy.

Eunice again.

Whore! She thought.

Though it isn’t boys from other schools who scribbled perfumed missives. There were boyfriends. Real boyfriends.

Oscar.

She isn’t concentrating.

Oscar!

She is busy mopping.

OSCAR! Daughter of Njuguna! (name changed to protect father)

Wait. That’s her. Guys in school have this habit of calling her ‘Oscar’. From ‘Ostrich’, another of her nicknames. She is tall.

She jumps up in excitement and walks taller to the front to get the precious letter. She knows who it’s from. Only her boyfriend calls her “daughter of Wamae” (name changed again to now protect the father called Njuguna)

Tall she can walk. Because in the hands of the teacher in charge of letter day is a ‘juicy’ envelope. No one in the history of the school has ever received such a ‘well-fed’ letter. Everyone including Oscar is salivating.

EAT THAT! She thinks as she sashays like an out of control airplane on a runway. To the left she throws her pretty arse. She throws it again to the righ, almost knocking Eunice, Caltex and Felicity. When she reaches the front, she shakes hands with the teacher. One would think this is prize-giving day. To her it is. What better prize can a girl ask for.

She turns. Pauses for effect. There is a slight stink. She shrugs her shoulders as she discovers it’s emanating from all those mouths agape in awe.

On her return leg she doesn’t ‘catwalk’. She doesn’t have to. She’s already everyone’s envy. But she’s a chick. She must rub it in. So she does do the ‘catwalk’. Her friends are excited for her. Eunice and others are jealous. Though she has confused three guys (so she thinks) a juicy letter is way much better than three thin letters.

Oscar, meanwhile is being pestered by her friends to open it. She’s enjoying the limelight. Moments like these don’t come very often. She buys her time. She sniffs the envelope hoping for a scent.

SNIFF!

Nothing. Her boyfriend doesn’t pull those cheap stunts. But she can’t show her friends. She smiles a huge fake smile. Her friends can now only imagine what sweet smell is held tight in that envelope.

Excitement all around her has risen like the Safaricom profits. No one is listening to Miss Okech, the ‘mail-teacher’. Miss Okech, herself, has stopped to read and is also watching, albeit nonchalantly.

Oscar is the toast of the afternoon. She turns over her letter.

To; Oscar, Daughter of Mburu (yep, more witness protection)
The school hukooooo Ruiru.
With the allocated box 7
In our lovely country Kenya.

She appreciates her boyfriend’s humour, He says he can never write a serious letter.

Someone tries to grab the letter. Tempers are rising now and if she doesn’t open in the next 10 seconds, she’ll be lynched.

Quickly she opens the envelope. Her hands are trembling. Both from the lynching threat and from the anticipation.

The deafening sound of silence.

A pin is heard dropping.

RRRRIP! goes the envelope

Silent goes the crowd.

Then…

LAUGHTER!

ROARS OF LAUGHTER!

Everyone is Rolling On The Floor Laughing Their Silly, Some Pretty, Others Not, Arses Off. (ROTFLTSSPONAO)

Oscar is shocked. In her hands is the reason for the ‘juice’ in the envelop. The reason for the laughter.

Unfurling in her hands is the longest piece of toilet paper she has ever seen. Longer than their weekly rations. On it is the most humorous letter ever written. Not as humorous as the situation right now. Not to Oscar atleast. She’s not a mix of emotions. She’s just one brand. Pissed, She is a very angry-is-an-understatement Oscar. She is smiling a fake smile. She must show the rest it is a joke. It had better be a joke.

And it is. She only finds out much later in the loo. That’s where she goes to read the ‘letter’. Away from the laughing crowd, an elated Eunice and, though sympathetic, laughly friends.

THAT, is the danger of having a boyfriend like Marto.

Epilogue

The letter Marto wrote wasn’t a dumping letter. Quite the contrary. You see they had been sending each other g-mail (game-mail…ya mchezo) for the longest time. One day, Oscar wrote him a letter in different coloured ink pens. For the reply Marto went one better, he sent in differently coloured paper. She topped that by sending a letter, not only in differently coloured paper but different sized paper. He retaliated by sending different pieces of paper cellotaped together to make an A4. She tried to top that by writing on the envelope itself. Marto laughed. So when he sent the letter on TP he thought she too would be amused.

She wasn’t.

Marto DID get dumped. I would have done the same thing too. Marto felt nothing though. In fact he was happy. Relieved more like it. Ironically, he used the very TP he had sent to her to wipe his arse. Yes, she did return it to sender. He had run out of TP and the RTS came just in time. He was ‘driving’ that evening.