I'm Back!!!

I my friends think know that I have finally reached the top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Yes I’m at the top of the pyramid, at the self actualization level. I don’t need to prove it you so I won’t vie for a political seat. That is beneath me I have better things to do like write books. You guessed right. I am writing a book.

Where are my manners? I’m back bitches!!! Where have I been?? Well, the blog had been shut down for major renovations…if you can’t see anything then you are not very wise. This blog is like the Emperor’s attire that is colorless though spun from gold.

Anyway, I’ve been busy and the spring from whence cometh posts was on a seasonal break, no rain. But there have been showers and I’m back bitches. I don’t usually use profanities but it just felt good to say it. Why, you ask? Erm, because i can.
I’d almost given up but in the words of the very famous poets the Gym class heroes…if I ever have to go down then I’ll do it in style(they don’t say it exactly like that but you can listen to live a little to understand) even it means boring you to death. So no you have not seen the last of me…MUHAHAAHA…that would have been an opportune time to disappear in a cloud of smoke but I have to finish this post.

So I was saying I am writing a book. It’s a self help book to help you. duuh! I’m posting from a mat on my way home. I think part of the reason these posts are not so frequent is because I do most posts in the mat so they never get completed. But that will change as soon as I quit my job.

The book I’ll write is to help you the habitual time keeper. The habit is annoying and you make some people look bad namely me.

But I’m here to help you kick out this annoying habit. I guess it will also serve as a prototype to kick out other annoying habits. The scenario is for use mostly at the office but can be used for weddings, funerals and generally to places you are not supposed to go to late.

This post is a sneak preview of the book. I value you my one follower and the faithful readers of this blog that is why you get to see it first or the entire book.

Coming late is an art. And for you to become an artist you need to practice unless you are me off course.

1. Always look sharp

The first step to becoming an accomplished timer is ensuring that you look outstanding, ALWAYS. You do not have to be dressed like a star…hapana (no) you just need to make sure that what you wear will remain in the minds of the people who arrived earlier than you did. Na sisemi uvae nguo zimeparara ok, kama zimeparara make sure zimeparara sana such that it will look unforgettable.

So kama you don’t have good clothes please fika mapema na ukae huko nyuma since the front seats are reserved for the people who come late, me.

2. Get up early

Thing about getting late is you have to be up really early. Unlike the habitual time keeper, who only needs ‘a few’ minutes to get ready you need hours. So if you have to be somewhere like at 8, wake up at 4:30, this gives you time to snooze. There is some gratification that comes from snoozing. So wake up at 5 eventually. At this point you do not have to open your eyes. Just walk to the shower and flick the switch on.

This will work if you know your way around the house.

You can take your time, you have all the time.

3. Look for perfect outfit

After the shower, you can get in to bed for five minutes just to feel warm especially if you’ve been showering with cold water. If you fall asleep and wake up after day fall you make my work easy. Just skip the next steps as you will obviously get to work late. Anyway if you decide you will not take your body oil massage it through your skin every crevasse.

For you to get really late, it’s important that you sleep without thinking about what to wear. Having a rough idea is good but don’t decide just yet.

So put on the rough idea outfit. If you feel dissatisfied go with your gut instinct, change.

Rummage through your closet and settle on the third or fourth outfit.

If you finally decide the rough idea is the best after trying on at least three outfits, you are doing well.

4. Treat yourself. Do something you usually don’t do.

By now it’s probably 5:35 so you can have breakfast.

Make some tea and sit down to read the paper. In fact you can eat yesterday’s spaghetti. I’m only saying spaghetti because not so many people will admit to eating ugali(uporo) in the morning. Kwa hivyo ni sawa hata kama unakula ugali asubuhi.

You got so engrossed and forgot. Good you can start panicking but remember the whole point was to get you late now wasn’t it?

Go to the matatu stage or your car. You probably have 45 mins to get to work. Ceteris paribus you’ll arrive at work on time. But if you live in Nairobi, we both know nothing holds. Traffic.

6. You are late. Good. Do not show any emotion. Don’t hurry in to the office/event. Make it look like you couldn’t help but be late. It is not your fault.

So for you to completely perfect this, you need to have ready excuses just in case someone asks you. Give vague answers like I had a small accident, but I’m ok. Make them feel sorry for you. See the seriousness of the matter regardless of how trivial it is.

If you are not good at the sad puppy/kitten face thing then smile; wide and ignore the faces of the co workers that make you look like you just killed somebody by going to work late.

If showing teeth doesn’t work for you, throw daggers and pretend you don’t care. You don’t anyway until you are fired.

I feel the need to put a disclaimer. If you get fired please I have no solution for you. Really this will make you look cool or uncool but the consequences are to be borne by you the user of this manual.

The full book will be out in a couple of months. The steps are more detailed with real life examples and DIYs. I know you are looking forward. You can begin booking your space at the book launch breakfast, lunch and dinner which are all separate events. Also you can send in your money to get the exclusive first edition of the book.

Translation is such hard work. It’s probably selfish of me to those who don’t understand Kiswahili. But it’s all part of being a broken record. Ask if you need help.

A girl explained...

This is an attempt to get you to know me. I know you don’t give, but this is my blog and you are my slave so now kneel and read this post aloud…HA HA HA (evil laugh) and then hahaha (my kawa/usual laugh).

Come, let us delve through my awesome personality!

1.     I love skirts and dresses. The feeling of a draft between my legs, AWESOME!! OK, I lie. It is because I know I have an amazing ass (someone random grabbed it in town, but I digress.) and legs and my hips don’t lie. A girl has to show herself some love!

2.     Marry me, Peter Parker, Spartacus, Hugh Grant, James Bond, Li Shang, Sean Kanyi, Michael Scofield. My teenage years and short adult life have been plagued by indecision. I keep vacillating between so many and I really can’t decide who I should say yes to. But today, I make the decision to go with Seth Cohen. 

3.     I love nerds/geeks…not sure where the difference comes in, but there is this side of me that is fatally drawn to bad boys….Ja rule type, Nelly and our very own Bobby Mapesa when he did Naskia utam. With lines like, vile we msawa chali yako yu wapi? Translation: You are really beautiful. Where is your boy friend? And the true meaning of that statement has been lost in the translation!
      Bad boys are smooth talkers. I loooove smooth talkers. And then you get this feeling that he will do very bad things to you and you'll still like it. And his smooth talking sends shivers down your spine, and raises the hair on the back of your neck, takes your breathe away, I know you know what I mean. Idris Elba is not all that, for me at least, but he is so bad you feel like saying (read purring) useless things like, “Hellooo Tiger.” 

4.     My ideal guy should play a musical instrument (preferably a guitar or anything in the family of saxophones). If he cannot do that he should be singing in a band and definitely not Katitu boys band (aren't they too old to be boys after all these years?) or Nguuni Lovers Lovers.  He should also know how to ride a motorcycle. Finally he needs to make me laugh. Interested candidates please apply! And if he can sing like John Legend, there would be no need to apply.

5.     I will not marry a kao dude, so help me God. These are the kind of things you say and fate conspires against you! Anyway, unless he is in # 2 and meets all the qualifications in #4 above, I am willing to close my eyes to the fact that he is kao. Please put down the stones you are planning to throw at me, I am Kao through and through.

6.     Underwear isn’t just underwear. Everything you own should do its job with some semblance of grace and dignity. Underwear is the true garment of your secret sexual self. And nasty knickers completely sabotage your sexual self esteem. I’d like to say that I got that from my head but we all know I’m not that profound. I got it from Kathleen Tessaro’s book called Elegance. So I always, always wear good underwear. Well, the reason is as stated above and also because, I believe that one day a really ambitious gangster will stop people in the middle of town and ask them to undress. I CANNOT be caught with holes in my panties. Also because prince charming might wish to devour me in a well lit room. How will I explain nylon knickers that cost me 30 bob...I do not want to imagine. Finally, in that situation with the ambitious gangster prince charming might be in the crowd and I’d have lost the chance to be resurrected with a kiss after the gangster shoots me for having the worst thurualis. Anyway, girls (and weird boys) if you don’t get the Kathleen Tessaro book I’d like to leave you with this…When you dress, think always that later on you will undress and in front of whom. After all, nothing betrays a woman more than her lingerie; it is definitely more revealing than a thousand hours spent on the psychiatrist’s couch…Do not confuse beautiful lingerie, the kind that supports well and remains fresh, with the cheap, vulgar stuff of men's magazines. Fascinating? I'm certain. But elegant it is NOT. A man likes to think that his wife is attractive and discerning even when he is not looking, and surely, that is the image you want him t have at all times and the one that will excite his deepest admiration.

7.     I visit the Crime scene…to soak in the vibe. Different serial killers exhibit different characteristics. There are those who after committing a murder, go back to the crime scene so that they know how far the police have gone with the investigation or simply because they are psychos. I am not a serial killer but every time I perform a task, say laundry, I go and assess the progress the clothes have made in drying…I smell them, turn them and smile, like a psycho.  With dishes, I go back and touch them so that when they make the squeaky noise and I know they are clean and again I smile and feel content. TGINASK, Thank God I’m not a serial killer; I know I’d be perfect.

8.     My three greatest fears.

-         That one day while in a crowded place or in a meeting with very important people, lice will crawl from the back of my head down my neck. I will die of shame.

-         That the ambitious gangster in #6 above will have his way one day. I shudder.

-         And finally that I might not leave an impact in any place I go, like at work. I think being forgotten portrays a mediocrity in whatever I do.

9.     I am always running late. I think it’s the thrill I get when running and beating deadlines just in time. I wake up early, take a shower for long (the fastest I can do is 20 minutes), change my outfit at least three times and run around the house looking for something I ‘might need’ or just in case I’ll see something that I almost forgot.

10. I am a thief. I smile and snatch. Think Sedusa.

So anyway, I think the above counts as a lazy post. But I’m working on my laziness. Besides, mediocrity leaves room for improvement. I also think that this should be part one since there is much more to being a broken record!

Back to the future

To get to work, I have to walk a ka-stretch from where I alight. Where I work, traffic is usually controlled by the army and not the regular traffic cops(I don't know why.)  and today morning it was a chic doing that. It got me thinking about if I'd made it into the army or some place else and not where I currently am. When growing up there's that question we are always asked...Unataka kuwa nini ukiwa mkubwa? For me the answer was always daktari. Being the first born, there was a lot of pressure on me to excel in everything I did...EVERYTHING which explains my perfectionist tendencies that I’m sometimes not so proud of but I digress. Deep down I always knew that I didn't want to be a doctor but to avoid any necessary lectures to return me straight on the path towards saving lives I simply said I wanted to be one. This is a list of the top ten careers that crossed my mind as I plotted revenge against my parents complete with an evil laugh as I announced that my 7 years in campus were spent doing deejaying and animations design.

1. Hair Stylist
I’ll use salonist instead. This is a long story which I think should be explained on its own. The short version is that I hated salons. If you have the kind of hair that grows on my head you would too. Its black, its long and it is hard. Hard here means, if it were cut off and used in the manufacture of something, it would probably be something used to scrub feet. Those salonists manhandled my head; bitches pulled my hair. I even carried my own set of combs (Wooden) after my mother was made to replace an entire set at the salon I use to go to. They used products to soften it that left me smelling like a greenhouse. I wanted to be one so that I'd do my own hair. Why I didn’t become a salonist; I found Mama Sophie who makes house calls and also because I haven't quite mastered the art of telling those stories they tell clients. “Aki Njoro, huyo ni devil worshipper.” Pauses to let the statement have an effect. “Hizo pesa!” Who the f… is Njoro?(or Alice?)

2. Radio show host / co-host
This was greatly inspired by AJ and Yolanda Mulwa who use to do an evening show on Hot 96 pamoja...they were the best hosts evurr....everything was original no script or faked conversations. And on that note, I'd rather go fry my knee caps than voluntarily listen to Kalekye and Shaffie. So yols and A.J had the best countdown...it was amazing- too bad it just ishad! I guess Tina Nzuki and Edward Kwach still on Hot 96 also had a role to play in my wanting to be a radio show host. This career move seriously backfired on me...I’m not talkative or loud or thaaat interesting. I also think if I ever got this job I’d be fired coz of sending shout outs to my friends and family all the time. But in my after life...this is the career, I promise to play only nice jams!

3. Policewoman
Not the ones who wear blue...no..no...hapaana(In Kibaki voice). The ones in the army. This was just to get my mother worried. Call her and tell her that I'm in Mogadishu, make my friend bang some sufurias and say I have to go then hang up. I'm not always mean. If I were to join the army now it would be because that uniform is super sexay!!! Plus they carry guns and they are chics. I am attracted to powerful women...enough said. Why I didn't become a policewoman...The gods conspired against me( I swear it was my mums doing) and I failed the recruitment. The average time of 8 minutes required to run from point A to B...I took 21 minutes. Exact words of the officer "msichana unafikiria hii ni matayarisho ya harusi? I have never looked back.

4. Commercial sex worker
I don't need those dirty looks you are throwing me; or pretending to be shocked. I have an explanation - as usual. A long time ago, in The Daily Nation, they did a story on prostitutes in Majengo; asking them questions like why they'd chosen that line of work and what they did to keep their clios (pronounced clayos, its the short form of clients). Again, there was another talk show that was called In Search of an Answer by one Chris Kubasu on KBC…so he was asking the same questions to the same girls and the answers were similar. Reasons for getting into it were the obvious, I have to fend for my famo (short form for family), oh sijui I came from upcountry to be a house girl and then I was mistreated and decided to run away and that is when I found myself on the streets because I did not have fare to go back to Murang’a; on the streets I met some girls who told me my life would change...you know how it ends. So how they kept the clios coming....they'd said that the clients who came were always complaining that their wives were not clean, they don't use Bint el Sudan and they don't make the matrmonial beds, sijui mara they sleep with their tois and so on. Before I go on, I feel I need to define prostitute. Prostitute: Someone who sleeps with someone else for money. So in my head I thought...how hard can it be to sleep with someone? And get paid. My small bro always came to my bed when he was having nightmares and I’d sleep with him-in case I die like really soon my small bro killed me for disclosing this piece of infor. I was not getting why the media was making such a big fuss about sleeping with someone. I therefore decided this was the job for me...kulala tu? I started taking extra long showers and making my bed neater than kawa and those two habits have stuck like a bad scent. So for my room mates you know where the habits came from. Why I didn't become a Prostitute - Sleeping with someone had acquired a whole new meaning when I got to consider careers ....aki I was stoopid!!!

5. Nun
I know, I know...the contrast from the above is well, SCREAMING AT YOU!!! A chic I went to high school with called Gladys was a devout Catholic. I don't know how to describe the devotion so I guess I'll go with very very devout. One day I asked her if she wanted to become a nun after high school and without a thought-may be she had thought about it earlier- she said yes…just like that. I was sooo jazzed especially because she could have easily said pilot (she was a chop- but we all were in my high school....her, she was a chop of chops – I understand you can still have a profession and be a nun, sijui). After high school before joining campo I started attending mass in preparation of being a nun. I use to live with my aunt whose house was surrounded by monasteries and I actually made friends. This did not go down well with my parents and I had to attend counseling sessions to determine if I was depressed or stressed. They said I was being rebellious. I decided to go back to our kawa P.C.E.A to avoid any further stupid sessions with the counselor. Why I didn't become a nun...a friend at one of the  monasteries I frequented, Kioko,  said the day he'd become pope is the day I’d become a nun so I guess I’m still waiting. Plus my hopes of marrying Adam Brody are not quite extinguished - this cannot be accomplished from the confines of a convent. And the counselor. I get a head ache just thinking about those sessions.

6. Nurse
Why I wanted to be a nurse...I read the story of Florence Nightingale when I was really young and that was it...I only new I wanted to be kind to people in no position to return the favor. A smile, a touch on the bed, not hand in case they had measles...haha. Truth be told, I think the main reason is because that white uniform is super super seeexay!!! And because I dream of marrying a doctor and I can be his night nurse- yes, its exactly what you are thinking. If you are humming either Night nurse by Gregory Isaacs or Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye hi five!!!! Why I didn’t become a nurse. My mum said that being a nurse is a calling and so far she hadn't heard anyone calling me into it she further added that I'd contract Ebola in the line of duty and I believed her coz if your mum says something like that, it is bound to happen even when you are not sick...trust me you'll even get imaginary symptoms.

  This would have been me...sigh.
 

I know I said top ten but I wasn't that confused growing up. Besides it sounds waaay better to say top ten than top six you can try it..top ten, top ten  top  ten…top six...see?? Top ten it is.

By the Rivers of Babylon

My mum was a teacher and as a result my holidays sucked big time. Why? you ask, because we closed school on the same day, opened on the same day and therefore we spent the entire holiday together...Every. Single .Day!

This means I spent the entire holiday in the house. I woke up and made my bed like it was a normal school going day and did homework. In fact, I think this is the opportune time and forum to apologise to my former classmates who I wronged for ALWAYS being the ideal student. I finished my holiday homework and got everything right (my mum proofread my work and pinched any place closest to where she was seated if I'd gotten something wrong...it was mostly my mouth because I had to bend and read with her so she just stretched her hand backwards and pulled my lips -  my lips are ahead of my face; and so every beginning of the term I served as an example in statements like - 'unaona  amemariza homework.kazi yako ni kura mutungo na kurara horinday muzima' - that just means ' you lying bastard' for those who don't know Swahili (Btw, that was my Kiswahili teacher speaking)- when they were on lying on the teachers table being reminded that holidays were not supposed to be fun and are meant for taking time to do homework and read ahead of the teacher- for crying out loud its only primary school- but I use to read ahead; coz my mum was a teacher. So please if you are still holding a grudge, its now clear that it was through no fault of my own that I was too hardworking.
Back to the reason my holidays sucked. You see it  also meant that I never went out to play with the estate kids because my mum said they'd infect us with ring worms and teach us bad manners. Therefore, the rest of my day was spent sleeping(mandatory after eating lunch),  and hanging on the rails of our sitting room window watching the estate kids riding their shiny new bikes. The bikes always seemed shiny and new because I saw them from the eyes of an envious child. When people are in love they see things in slow motion(its true), for me, it was shiny new bikes.  

Well, for those with friends whose mums are teachers(I don't know if dads who were teachers did the same) you now know why,

1. we never go out...we were programmed to stay in the house and be boring, 

2. we cannot ride bikes...we saw them through window rails and 

3. we are bright like that...the only solace was books.

I probably come off as a complainer but it was nice hanging out with my mum while it lasted and aki mum, for making sure that I never learnt to do what a million Chinese can do-ride a bike, hauku do poa. Well,  the title has absolutely nothing to do with with the post  but i think Babylon  is the window I use to hang onto watching the estate kids playing.

Karibu

I love to explain stuff...I believe everything has an explanation.So this blog is an explanation of stuff I do( I feel the urge to sing I'm an innocent man by Mark Morrison and DMX) and stuff that happens to me. Trying to fix the broken record and see if it sounds the same or why it got broke, who broke it, why they broke it (no idea what I meant by that). Its really shallow, an account of growing up and staying grown and some weird poems...those that don't rhyme and try hard to sound deep and philosophical. I'll sound crazy once in a while but maybe that's because I am. So let me start this journey and see where it leads me and probably you...xoxo(i have no explanation for that i just felt like doing it :-)