jump to navigation

A European, a China man, an Indian, a Somali and a Kenyan walk into a bar… April 9, 2008

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.

…find music playing and a-dancing they would go. Or so they thought.

European: Just 10 seconds is all I ask. 10 seconds so I can enter into this junguz head (not the one at kachoi or the one at buffet park) to see, or hear, what the HELL he was dancing to. It wasn’t the drum beat, or the bass guitar. It sure as hell wasn’t the lyrics, or at least, the cacophony.

China man: Tell me Mr Shaolin (ex shaolin at that) what were you doing? This guy was dancing slow-motion (to a fast track). His hands were apart and he was swaying aka floating, plus pulling the matrix moves of dodging bullets but he wain’t dodging jack. He was crouching like a tiger, at times holding his hidden dragon.

Indian: Haiya, now this guy was a classic. Vot vas he thinking yeah? He voz dancing like he voz boxing in some rat ready to kill it only. In this case the rat was his ‘chick’. He was moving his ‘kushoto na kulia’ hands ‘mbele na nyuma’ not letting the chick move left or right. Then of course he began sweating. Aaaand what does this MF decide to do? Remove his F shirt. LORD! Even the bouncer had to prod him with a long stick coz of the STINK! Dandora garbage site has nothing on him. He was a weapon of mass stink.

Somali: Dancing in the shower is allowed but please, please, PLEASE no ‘showering’ on the dance floor. The chick should have told him to leave the self-exploration, self-cleaning to when in shower. But he was dancing alone. No points for guessing why.

Kenyan: Now the Kenyan, dear ol’ Kenyan male. Now honestly, I agree with ladies, Kenyan men are the worst dancers especially when drunk. Picture this, there was his chick who had nice, er, ‘goods’ and she was dancing like she’s straight off a Lil John video (YEEEEAAAAH!) Man, she was shaking it like a salt shaker, but our Kenyan guy (like many I know…don’t usually know myself when drunk so I’m not here) kept pulling her behind to his crotch area and simulating a ‘doggy-style’, hence messing with her un-choreographed moves. And spoiling entertainment for use ‘alone’ dudes. “Dude, she can dance, you can’t.” Yo, move get out tha’ way…

What a night! And…

I’m not talking about the ladies. Well they didn’t disappoint. I was feasting my eyes on dress codes out of Paris and Milan catwalks, some from lunar and looney catwalks. Even saw one dressed as a mboch.


I’m not even talking about the dude who looked like he’d call on ‘mwaura‘ any time. And he did. Or the 60-somthing sikh “seeking a companion to rock his ‘archaic’ world.” Or his son (they looked like it) who were tempted to touch, but only started touching when ol’ man sikh was overcome by temptation and ‘touched’ the mboch.

Or the ‘loose’ nut desperate for a ‘driver’ to screw her ‘tight’ who believed we were from America (jeez ever heard a shrabber wenging), who wasn’t “on the dance froo mbicoz I haven’t risten to a song I ryk” and wanted us to “mbuy me a brack ice”. It was hard to keep a straight face pretending not to understand which drink this is that was ‘brack’.

I had a great night. If you’re ever bored and need to jazz up your evening, go to Mad House, F1. Alone or with buddies. Never with your chick!


Glossary (this is for you, yes you Sybella)

mboch – house girl

mwaura – puke/vomit

shrabber – someone who ‘L’ is ‘R’ and ‘R’ is ‘L’. (ara-ero)

wenging – tweng


Their peace will be held down for them… April 3, 2008

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.


“If anyone has any objection as to why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”


A nervous Marto doesn’t even bother to look behind. He’s expecting objections.


An amused pastor cranes his neck over Marto’s shoulder. He’s expecting objections too.


An excited congregation looks around. They too are expecting objections.


Thankfully, sadly, and disappointedly (sic), respectively, there are none.




Marto, the pastor, and the congregation had spotted many of his old flames very much alight, glowing with eagerness to mess things up. What they didn’t know was that Marto had friends he could count on to hold things down when the storm blew in. And I mean ‘hold things down’.


(the rewind sound effect, screech or anything that depicts a ‘say what’ moment.)


Erm, I know, owing to the people who I know are going “HUH! MARTO MARRIED?” I need to clarify something.




The reason, he has too many dames. Not dames he is chatting up, dames he has never really, never REALLY told it’s over. Marto explains….


“How can I tell them it’s over if it never really began? We are just friends.”


But they don’t think so…


“Shauri yao”


So if Marto ever decides to meet that Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Princess with or without the pea, Snow White, the beautiful Nyakeo or whoever else he thinks they can live happily ever after with, the church would have more drama than when (insert hunky Mexican dude’s name) catches (insert name of sexy Mexican babe, who the soap is named) in bed with (insert name of the hunkier but bitter rival of first hunky dude). Ladies, please do the honours.


That will be unless his boys hold down the forte. And I mean ‘hold down’.


You see, we are sure that all and I mean, all his flames, the distinguished and the extinguished, will be there. And where will we be? Right next to them. Marto that day won’t have a line-up.


The Best Man will be seated on aisle 3 next to Shiro. The grooms men will be in Aisle 5, 8, the back bench next to Eileen*, Mariam* and Shiro Nakamura. And Linda* will be in the ladies, er, washroom, locked in. Others will be discovering a little too late that they are in the wrong church at the wrong wedding. Others will still be waiting for the wedding day.


Marto has confused many.


(Back to “…speak now or forever hold your peace/piece.”)


When the pastor looks over Marto’s shaking shoulder, and if he pays close attention, he will notice, three or four ladies in the congregation fidgeting and looking nervously at the guy sitting next to each. The guys on the other hand will be stone-faced and unlike the congregation, will be the only ones not looking around.


This is how it will work…


The guy seating next to the potential wedding wrecker will, at the moment the pastor says “…hold your peace”, with all his might and all means necessarily as coolly, calmly and discreetly hold down the chick. She will think she’s been superglued to the seat (that’s my strategy), then the guy will issue a chilling threat in his most scary voice ever.


“Jaribu uone!”




“I know where your cat lives!”


This takes care of any verbal protests she may decide to employ. I will gag mine, or better yet, plant a nice one on the lips. Hey any means necessary.


And the pastor will insist…




Not a soul. Stir they will but raise they will not.


“Going once, going twice…”


Not a voice. Just squeaks from the benches with the ladies.


“(Disappointed) I now pronounce you, Mr and Mrs Marto.”


And we shall all rise, clap, ululate, throw rice (and nasty glances from the chicks), happily. Suddenly, Marto’s line-up would reappear. Though some of the groomsmen will need some re-grooming.




…if you decide to get married, we’ll hold down the forte. And I mean ‘hold down’.


*names have been changed for security purposes, Marto’s. And sitting arrangements and where who will be, who will be locked in or who will be at the wrong venue may change on the actual day, but Best Man will get Shiro, she’s a handful and he has big hands.

After the break! March 20, 2008

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.

The slow ones like me were in the cafeteria feasting on ‘nuts’, the fast ones were on the track burning each other out and the fit ones were in the gym out-lifting each other when it becomes ‘hot’. Chaos is the middle name that describes the moment. Excitement is the other.


“MEN!” shouted the commander above the excitement. “The moment of truth is here. It’s been a while, many months actually before we saw some action. The last batch that went out before you tried to do this battalion proud, but they didn’t get far. At least not as far as they had hoped. Today men, it’s your turn I’m not promising you much either. You may or may not make it, but if you do___”


The crowd was alive and surged forth.


“HEY! Aaaargh! Crap. Have to cut this speech short. AGAIN! Damn, this always happens. My speeches never last more than a minute.”


The guys at the back are in a hurry. The guys at the front have already gone. In a few excited seconds we are all in the escape shaft swimming for the exit. Whatever is out there won’t know what is coming. Or will it?


The guys in front collide with something. And we all come crashing on top of them. The shaft is closed. But by what? We can see outside but we can’t get there. So here we are, a million-plus of us. Stranded. Trapped. Locked in yet outside.


“Well men,” says the commander. “same as usual. Dead end.”


Everyone is understandably upset. We can’t go forth. And we can’t go back. We can never go back. We knew once you left the duplex apartment, that was it, there was no turning back. Like kamikaze pilots.




Something doesn’t smell right. Smells fishy actually.


Hey. We are moving again. Pouring one after the other into some velvety openness. We are free!


“Men, it’s a miracle. But I warn you, they won’t be happy. Do your thing. First one there is…”


No one is listening to him but we all know the drill. It is first come, first service.


We are now in this great vastness. Somehow I can’t help but feel I’m in heaven. Some kind of Valhalla. It is warm. And thanks to my amazement with the current surroundings everyone passes me on their way to the prize.


I awake from my daydream. I swim as fast as I can to to try and catch up with the guys. I manage to catch and pass a few guys. Then it’s over. Just like that. No more swimming.


Of course I wasn’t first, didn’t expect to be, but this whole situation, which I now understand, has me smiling. Has me laughing. I am still laughing when I see many dejected fast and fit guys walk past with their heads held low in shame.


“I should have won”, “It was mine.”, “I actually saw it.”, “I almost touched it.” and so on, is all they can mumble. Someone has beaten them to the prize. Someone was faster. Someone was fitter. I didn’t really care to know who it was. All I know, one of us has done it. Reached his, and everyone else’s, goal.


I am happy.


Happy to explore this new environment.


Happy to know I won’t stay here for long. It smelt of fish.


Happy because we had broken through.


Happy that in 9 months everyone would know, for sure, we broke through.




Soooooo, question, what happens when the condom breaks.

Note: This is not my story.

I’m a 2-year old… March 7, 2008

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.

It’s been a while since I sat on the couch and released…It’s not a rant, let’s call it my moment of randomness, or better yet just curiosity about stuff. So please explain to me like I’m a two year old…


• How does Chelsea lose it’s first match in sijui gazillion matches, then they start asking the coach if he can really make use of the expensive talent he has? Just one match? Inquiries, commissions are being called in left right and centre. Soon they may even investigate that soft helmet Peter Cech wears on his head. So what about kina Liverpool who even the coach only talks big after the match? Archer? Note: Sipendi Chelsea.


• Kenyans are the most courteous fellows I know. Excusing themselves here and there, asking politely, saying thank you, very welcoming, but what happens when they get behind the steering wheel? And these days do cars come with a dictionary of colourful cuss words and rude remarks as standard feature?


• How does the ATM at a bank not work, and it’s banking hours, yet the one hukooooooooo in the forest is fully operational? And why only at the end of the month?


• Why is it that if things go wrong, it’s you; but if they go right, it’s not you?


• When did the creative department in an agency become the least important? Why are shoved huko in the darkest corner (oh maybe coz we are the brightest yet without it they are just a bunch of tea-drinking fellows with no creative way to outdo the competition?


• Why do people go through people’s stuff without their permission? What do they hope to achieve? And what happens when they find something? How will that bhangi you found rolled up in my bag help you yet you won’t smoke it?


• On the same note, why the crap do guys go through people’s phones and chokora stuff that is none of their business? You start chatting and abusing people’s friends? Do you get extra bonga points if you do?


• Why oh why do people take those paos I have so stressfully saved in that make shift piggy bank for future use? Si they just ask and they will be given?


(okay, i was boiling a little there…sip of Vodo and i’m easy)


• Explain to me, why is it easier to believe a lie? I mean the lie sounds so so amazingly ridiculous, but yet we choose to believe it (i’m guilty here) yet the truth is the hardest to drive home. Classic example, the Bible.


• Why do matatu touts ask the darnest (sic) questions? He would be at the door loudly and proudly shouting above the cacophony that is the music within that fare to a certain destination is 30 bob, so you enter, you give him 50 bob and what does he ask, “wawili?” Or you are alighting there, yes there, then he asks “hapa?”


• Explain salvation to me. Not to bash on to the saved ones, but why are the old school ‘savers’ so harsh, yaani mpaka you feel you don’t want salvation? Then, doesn’t “thou shalt not steal” apply to others? Yet, they claim to be saved. What happened to WWJD (what would Jesus do)?




• Why do people feel wajuaji when they come to the office and ask for me using the wrong name, yet iI told them what name to use? Then they get surprised (and upset) when they are told hatujui kitu kama hiyo?


And an anti-rant…


I did a survey (Steadman, ain’t got s**t on me) and I found something not quite disturbing. It is expected. Of the many that were polled, many (read all) said if they were given a chance to beat me, they would. Kidogo tu. Raila can I borrow your clumsy security?

Modo nonsense tagg-eted again! February 21, 2008

Posted by modoathii in Uncategorized.

Yet again, chako is in the mix. So prettylyf went on and tagged me. Ata mimi nilitoa kaexpose huku, lakini si this one is for the six nonsense, non-significant things/habits/quirks about me (as though this and this wasn’t nonsense enough)…and quite appropriately I’m reading Mr. Nonsense from the Mr Men children’s collection. Remember them?


The Rules:

– Link to the person that tagged you.

– Post the rules on your blog.

– Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

– Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

– Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website


One: It’s hard for me to wear shirts bila a teeshirt inside.


Two: For the longest I had the toy Andy Capp with me everywhere I went. He was resident in my pocket until he turned blue. And I doubt that was because of the many blue biros.


Three: I buy stuff I need but then never use. I have lipbalm…and still dry lips; I have gum…that’s unchewed (sic) for a month; I have pairs upon pairs of shoes of which I only where one; I have a brain….enough said.


Four: I have a habit of not remembering movie characters while watching the movie. So if I ask you who Jason is while watching Bourne whichever usijali.


Five: I don’t pass the same route twice within 30 minutes. With my hair I dare not.


Six: Every morning I boil water for ogaing only during the news sessions. “Classic FM news with Celtel” (boil session one), “Classic FM business news” (boil session two), “Classic FM sport with GTV” (boil session three)…yep I boil three kettles.


And I stretch my e-hand and tag,

Valentia (tell us what nonsense goes on on that street of yours, and you’re new to this anyway)

Phassie (umenyamaza sana, what nonsense from aphaaa?)

3N (but I need 6 this time, 6 nonsenses)

Aegeus (oh yeah, what nonsense?)

FarmGal (shambani kuna nonsense gani?)

Crystal Balls (make your nonsense crystal clear)


…shauri yenu! Anyone want gum?


You were there… February 13, 2008

Posted by modoathii in anniversary, love, missing you, the main shiro.

When I opened my eyes for the very first time

When I wailed in the middle of the night

When I was hungry and in need of love

I’d be a statistic if you weren’t


You were there…

With a cane/belt/slap when I was naughty

With a smile during the cane/belt/slap

With a joke after the cane/belt/slap

I’d be in a bad group if you weren’t


You were there…

To teach me life’s lessons

To hold my hand when I needed it

To show me what’s right and wrong

I’d be in jail or dead if you weren’t


You were there…

To help me with my homework

To correct my mistakes

To point me in the right direction

I’d be a carpenter if you weren’t.


You were not there…

To see me dress not like my brother

To see my hair grow and grow and grow

To see me make almost a mess of my life

I’m glad you weren’t.


You were not there

When I graduated

When I found my first love

When I came home that evening

But I’m here because you were.


You will be proud…

To know I’m not in jail

To know I’m an artist in my own right

To know after much effort I did get my life together

..and I do look great in the long hair.


It was today, 12 years ago, when you answered the Lord’s vacancy ad for an angel.  Today I remember the joy and laughs we had together, and the PAINS i had. And as I continue doing you proud, living life to the fullest I  know you will wear that beautiful smile as you tell your fellow angels…



After the tick… February 8, 2008

Posted by modoathii in coffee break, iendeleee, smile, tick tock.
Thanks people, I must admit, the year started in a really terrible way for me, devastating actually, but to quote myself, “after the tick, comes the tock and the clock continues, so does life…


So back to happier times, technically…


Stir it, don’t shake it.


Brew it, don’t strain it.


Mix with water or just have it pure.


However you like it, just sit back and relax…it’s COFFEE BREAK TIME!












Met the parents…


The woofy has the bootey!







Designated driver…






Treasure hunting stinks…


Tweety unaona, you’ll need a helmet to get on pinky…


Dead-end jobs…






And for those who love upgrading….ehem,…



And my mood right now….



How low can you go? February 5, 2008

Posted by modoathii in hope, in limbo, low.

(I couldn’t hear the music) 

How low can you go?

(the crowd was cheering)

This is quite low. The lowest I’ve ever gone. Now progress is slow. And painful. With every laboured inch I make, I feel the pain. The lower you are the harder it is to progress. And painful.

‘Limbo’ is bearable when your friends are there. Encouraging you. Wishing you well. The best feeling however, is knowing that at the end of the ordeal, they’ll be there to pick you up. A firm hand here. A happy smile there. A gentle pat on the back. Warm hugs. And everyone will be excited that from your lowest you arose.

I only hope that when I arise, one face will be there among the rest.


p.s. thats nt me. Eish. Modo sans flexibility.

Today the music died January 28, 2008

Posted by modoathii in love, mathogothanio, sad, tragedy.

She always had a song in her heart. She walked with a joyous spring in her step.
Her eyes danced sweetly to the unheard tune. When she smiled, it was a work of magic. And when she spoke, you could heart the melody in her voice. If she wished you ‘good morning’ you dang sure you were gonna have a good morning.

But not this morning.

There was no spring in her step. When she tried to smile it was nothing but a crack on the face. She walked without going anywhere. She looked but wasn’t seeing. She heard but didn’t listen. And when she talked she said nothing. We were sunk. The jolliest person in our small town wasn’t happy. After that, neither were our mornings, noons and nights.

Why was jolly Maryella sad?

It would be unhappy months before we knew what had taken away the music in her. Rather whom.

He was 8 years her senior and she had never loved another as she did him. How the met was in the usual way…

“Hallo, er…er…eh…ya…um…” he mumbled.

“Hehe” she giggled shyly in reply.

“Ehem” He would clear his throat an d gather what was left of his courage and live to fight another day.

She just stood there and blushed. The music though loud was faint to her. It was the 70s and this hunk of a man dressed very much like the BeeGees, only many shades darker, had walked up to her wanting to dance. Their eyes had met across the dance floor through the afros. She watched with that smile we had so come to love as he tripped his way nervously to her side.

He looked cool. But was nowhere near cool at that moment. She was flattered. A man was actually sweating over her. And for once, it wasn’t because he had had to fight another interested party. In those days ‘mating’ was brutal. The birds had the mating dances, they had the fights.

He never said much that night. Neither did she. Actually, none of them had to. The unspoken in their eyes said it all. Wherever they slept that night, each to themselves, had the first of many sweetest dreams of each other…


Clearly never attempt to write a post while feeling like trash. It’s Monday, I’m feeling like trash. Look like trash. Food tastes like it came from the trash. And I’m writing stuff that should be condemned to the trash. Okay, not trash TRASH…

Forgive me but I will continue the story of Maryella, the lady who always made our days good, the lady who had a song in her heart, the song that stopped playing one sad day and never returned, when I have the heart.

Shucks it has a sad ending, so who wants to complete it anyway…

Oh great, I’m feeling the same, though my future isn’t written yet, so my song will return…

As for now, as we would fondly say when we were kids…I’M FEELING MATHOGOTHANIO!

I really need the couch!

Short changed January 23, 2008

Posted by modoathii in archive, TZedi.


Vipi kaka teksi?

Zii bro, sisi tuko besht.

Aaah, kaka braza teksi hii hapa. Na mwaonekana hamna gari.

Sawa msee, ngapi?

Elfu kumi!

Bana fanya kitu?

Sawa, elfu nane.


We ‘jomp’ into the teksi and the guy who hooked us up with the taxi comes over to our window.

Mko freshi kaka?

Tuko timam.

Sasa braza vipi?

Where we are from when someone asks ‘niaje?’ you gather he wants a tip for hooking you up with a ride. Like Kamjesh. The guys who ‘ask’ for 10/20/30 bob from every mathree that picks anyone from ‘their’ stage. Or the watchie who ‘asks’ for a ‘pao’ for ‘watching over’ your car as you go ‘dunda’.

I try as much as possible to ignore him. Which is kinda hard considering I was the guy he was communicating with. My D minus swahili/slang was way better than the one my pals couldn’t speak. So by default I became ‘translator’.

“Wee, you guys hook this jamaa up with something” I ask my pals.

My pals just gesture that they don’t got nothing (sic) and they care zilch

“Ras”, the ‘kamjesh’ pleads with me, “vipi braza nipe kitu.”

Frustrated and eager to rid us of my fellow ‘ras’ I dig into my pocket and unleash a hundred bob. I give it to him.


Ni hiyo tu man.


And we drive off leaving the guy pissed.

Now, it’s like this, if we were in Nai, Kenya for that matter, this would have been a major score for the ‘kamjesh’, but we were in Dar, a hundred bob in TZ is waaaaay less than 10 bob Kenya money (sic).

Not enough for a cuppa tea!

Hey, so I have issues with exchange rates.