Visitor’s Nightmare

Last weekend I was invited over to someone’s house for her kid’s first birthday. So a few of us get together, buy a pack of pampers and baby wipes and head to her place.

We get there and everyone is all stiff and formal as we are welcomed to the home and the hosts fuss over you.

“Kwanini unatoa viatu? Usitoe, ata hatujaosha!”

“Apana, nimezoea hivyo tu.”

A peek into the living room reveals elsewise; a shiny wooden floor which clearly has been recently polished and a thick woollen carpet that adorns the centre of the room. Do not take chances with this, it’s a trap! Take off your dusty shoes, pray that your socks have no gaping holes or worse, a pungent smell. So I take my advice and leave my shoes outside; everyone follows suit.

Inside we sit on these comfy sofas that adjust to your shape and weight, not those hard unyielding excuses for a sofa. Nice touch. As it always is with guests we start out sitting on the edge of our seats and looking around, silently profiling the house.

Family photos collection, close knit unit. Snow globe, we have been to places. Big airy house with creepers covering the walls, money, old money; lots of old money.

“Mutakunywa juice?”

Why do they always ask that? Of course the guests always have some, we did come to party, didn’t we?

The drinks come. Del Monte, several packs. Yippee!

The kids come along, someone finds the remote and we take over, flipping through the channels and playing with the kids.

We enter stage 2; relaxed and well acquainted. Leaning back in the seats and putting our feet up, walking around the living room and draining the Del Monte a little too fast.

Now I have a rule when it comes to visiting, I never use the toilet unless I really have to and if it’s number 2 hell no unless there’s an outside latrine. But this time something was different. My stomach was making several distress calls that I ignored. Not to be stumped, it started threatening with ‘mass movements’. I had to give in.

I don’t know about you but I hate asking for directions to the toilet. It’s almost like telling everyone precisely what you want to do and how you intend to do it. My stomach however was not taking any of this. A low growl coerced me into action.

“State house iko wapi?”

A puzzled look was all I got. Why don’t women get these codes!!!

“Ahem, loo…” my voice trailed off.

“Oooh! Toilet! Enda hivyo alafu left!” she announced to the world.

Great, now everyone knows where I’m going.

I get there. I like it. White wall tiles, blue toilet water and lavender air freshener. The back of the door has one of those inspirational posters. You know the kind that has two cute Caucasian kids in bright hats urging you to never give up on your dreams and always follow your heart – that kind.

Done with the deed I look to the toilet roll, nothing there. Not good. I run through my pockets and come up with a crisp Sh. 500 note. Apart from being too crisp there’s no way I’m using it. My handkerchief is in my jacket in the living room. Drat! I look at the poster again. No man, that’s just wrong, they’re still kids.

I’m starting to get desperate. I’ve been gone for more than fifteen minutes. They’ll start wondering what’s taking me so long and then the jokes will come. I needed a solution, fast.

Socks! I had my socks! No one would notice and they are so soft. I reach down and take them off, slowly as if bidding them goodbye.

After the deed, I dump them in the bowl, zip up and pump the flush handle. A hollow clanking sound replied. Oh! Oh! There’s no water!

Real Love

You sometimes feel low, unworthy, unaccomplished, useless, unmotivated, depressed, gloomy, dejected, uninspired and even lost. Okay maybe not sometimes, you probably feel this way a lot.
Then you start questioning your choices and circumstances.
“Am I really doing the right thing?”
“Ha! Of course you’re not! Just look at your friends. Sam is running a successful business na wewe? Bado unaishi na mamako!”
“Enyewe I must have made some stupid choices. Kumbe mum aliwaste school fees na mimi”.
“True. Si unaona Johny alioa last year na ako na mtoto sasa. Imagine Johny amekushinda na vile alikuwa mchafu high school! Na wife wake ni kasawa!”
“Enyewe ni msawa; na mimi ndio nilimfunza kukatiana! Kwani what did I do that was so wrong mpaka Mungu amenitupa hivyo?”
“Si ni ufala yako!”
Then you check your facebook page. Someone is thanking God for a long awaited promotion and her boyfriend has just tuned her into a fiancé (damn him!). She was two years your junior in high school and yet your profile still reads ‘Worked at Self Employed’. Sigh.
You scroll down and try to find something else to distract you from your thickening depression.
‘Moses Mwangi is attending the Russel Peters Concert’. What! The ticket price alone is enough to make you choke on your own saliva. You cough for a minute or two and the cyber café attendant peers curiously at you from behind her screen. She probably thinks you’re watching porn and getting a kick out of it despite the numerous warning signs that say not to. You quickly look away and hope she thinks better of you. Some guy walks in and asks for a K.R.A. PIN. Phewks!
“Si Mwangi used to borrow fare from you? Kwani alitoa pesa wapi?”
You quickly navigate to his profile page and start digging into his life. Apparently he co-founded a garbage collection company with some mzungu, won a bunch of awards and now has a contract with UNEP that is lining his wallet (and belly) very well. How about that! The lucky bastard! He used to throw trash out of matatus and now he’s making millions from garbage! You simply can’t believe it!
Suddenly the attendant is hovering just behind you. You didn’t realise just how close your face was to the screen and you have to admit it, you are acting suspicious. She squints her bespectacled eyes at your screen just to make sure you didn’t minimise any suspicious windows. What is it with chicks and those huge rimmed glasses anyway? They may be hip but they are goddamned ugly!
Satisfied with you albeit your strange behaviour she walks back to her throne and sits perched like a gargoyle – protecting the society from perverted entertainment. She goes back to her typesetting and you resume your screen gawking.
Facebook is bad enough so you read up on the English Premier League, check your mail for any potential interview invite and surf for jobs. Lately you have taken to subscribing to alerts from every site that promises a job; brightermonday, myjobsinkenya, olx, n-soko and anything else out there. You endorse some guys for programming on linkedin even though they couldn’t write a line of code even of their lives depended on it. It’s a quid pro quo, you endorse them and they endorse you for whatever skill you claim to have.
An hour goes by while you clear your junk mail, learn that Eden Hazard has just signed a new contract with Chealsea and bet your last 100 bob on Sportspesa. Maybe it’s your lucky day. You log out, pay the gargoyle and walk out.
Beep! Beep! Text from Swts; she saved her contact, not you.
‘Sasa bae. Unafanya?’
‘Niko tao nahustle’
Some hustler you are.
‘K’
Why do chicks do that? It’s maddening!
‘Nimetoka kwa kina Angie. Nikam unibuiye lunch? (insert relevant emoticon here)’
You’ve seen this before. She plays nice, asks for lunch then brings along two others and they don’t eat chapo madondo. Oh no they don’t. The last time this happened you had to unlock your Mshwari savings. Not this time!
‘Woiye pole hun, naenda works sahii mpaka jioni (again, insert relevant emoticon here)’
Message not sent.
’ Damn it! No airtime. I bet Moses Mwangi doesn’t experience this anymore.’
Your budget is severely limited, if you do purchase airtime to sooth the lady you may not have any dinner. If you don’t reply… you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
You bite the bullet and buy a bamba 20 half of which is swallowed up by your okoa balance. Aaaarg! You had completely forgotten about that. Anyway, lady and train of girlfriends peacefully avoided. You love that girl and wonder why in the world she sticks with you, broke, unaccomplished and all. When you make it will be for her more than anything or anyone else.
This is the real love, not that mushy commercial stuff being pedaled around by greeting card companies and soap operas.
Ladies, have mercy on us this Valentines.

Adrenaline

I felt fear. Cold blinding fear. It started as a gentle cool breeze; steadily thickening and taking on an increasingly knotty form. Tiny fibres of the wind took on a visible form and bound into unbreakable cords. The cold was seeping into my bones and seizing my nerves, brought on by the black and twisting form out of the air wrapping around my paralysed body and shocking me into submission. A thousand thoughts fly through my head but not one of them suggests any hope. The last bastion of human defence, hope had been conquered within me. Or had it?
The one eyed troll that wallowed at the base of my skull. That grotesque instinct that we push down and trample upon in our civilised world took up his spiked club and rose to my defence. Bludgeoning compassion, pain and tolerance he sat on the throne and took command of my will. Self-preservation wielded his merciless power over me, and I… I welcomed him.
A jolt of adrenaline coursing through my blood sparked my synapses into action. A warm feeling of invincibility poured into me and hounded out the cold; controlling, blinding and all. The wind left. Didn’t run, just left. As if acknowledging the new master as an equal and to be treated as such. The wind died down and the cords broke off disintegrating into little pieces of nothingness and floated away into the night. It was over.
I sank to my knees, short of breath, a clammy feeling coming over me as the troll slowly took back to his residence in the pit a slight smile playing on his lips. We both knew it. I needed him. No matter how much I denied his existence I needed him and he always came to me when I called out.
I stared down at my blood stained hands. They looked strange. It was as if I was staring down at alien hands. The long crooked fingers that were usually slender and fine had yellow stained fingernails and had taken on an eerily pale appearance; as if… as if there was no blood flow within. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and looked again. The paleness seemed to worry me more than the blood, I wonder why. Maybe it’s because I knew it was necessary.
A scurrying rat suddenly caught in a trap shook me back to reality. My Homo sapiens brain newly restituted to the throne was quickly working to restore the senses and work through the situation. My eyes refocused and brought into sight the struggling rat. The hearing came back. A soft incessant tap…tap…tap… from outside said it was drizzling. A command was sent out. My limbs responded with a weak attempt to raise me up. I toppled over and rolled into a table. A throbbing hammer started off in my temple. Good, the pain signalled a return of my senses.
The floor wafted off a strange smell; almost like sweating rice. I laughed to myself at the thought. A sudden draft reached me, a door was open, bringing in the smell of nature.
I tried it again and succeeded this time by bracing myself against the table and mustering all my will.
Back in control, I took inventory of the scene and damage. Sharp pain in my side, probably a broken rib or two. Pounding headache, dehydration. Quivering hands and a coldness inside, the beginnings of an aftershock – the adrenaline was wearing off. Bruises here and there and a slight bump on my neck. The needle had gone through there. Apart from that and the nasty acids boring through my stomach I was fine.
The room was surprisingly bright considering what was going on in there. A dirty window let in shafts of light which illuminated tiny specks of dust and pollen in their never ending quest to reach for the heavens. The street facing window was boarded up with a loose collection of plank wood. The abandoned fireplace nestled a family of rats. Quick little movements and low screeching indicated the mourning of their kin. Save for the table, an elegant chest of drawers piled high with dust and two chairs, one of which held me in it for five days the room was empty.
I turned him over. His jugular was still bleeding from where I had severed it. I watched the blood ooze out for a while. It was a sickening dull red and was beginning to clot. He deserved it, God knows he deserved it.
His pockets had the switchblade he used on me, a phone and a Kit Kat bar. Conspicuously absent was any form of identification. Bad guys are all the same. I wolfed down the bar while going through my options. Leave now and I could make it in time to warn the team or I could lie in wait for the big fellow who brought the newspapers and ‘extract’ information from him, that seemed dangerous and downright stupid.
I waddled out the front door, down the short porch steps while using the rail to help with the descent. The mid afternoon sun hurt my eyes a little. I was shut in for too long. There were kids playing out on the street, women chatting while turning their laundry. A lawnmower coughed from somewhere and there were cars parked on the street.
I turned left up the street, walked down a gentle descent and found myself within view of the city. A bus pulled up, ‘much faster’ I thought. The ride like all bus rides was boring and uneventful but the time helped me untangle my thoughts.
Something happened to him. He was growing more paranoid by the day. Changing routes, firing faithful employees then came the death squads. At first it was the outliers. The guys who spoke up, differing opinions. Three to the chest, execution style. But there’s only so many guys who will speak up when the bullets start flying. Then they came for the footmen and got more gruesome. Chopped limbs and decapitation. They tortured the lieutenants until they begged for mercy. The Nazi’s couldn’t have done a better job.
All this time I thought I was untouchable that is until I was touched. They pulled out my nails, slowly one by one. I had cuts in a dozen different places. My left lung had collapsed three times with the doctor inflating it again and again. That weasel; they took me to the edge of life time and again but he was always there with his epinephrine shot, just in time to pull me back from my last tumble. I could still smell his tobacco laced breath and feel his crusty palms as they compressed my chest. Then my sharp breath as I beat the darkness and came back to find more darkness. They’d let up then but in a couple of hours they were back at it. Each time it was the same.
“Did you tell them where it is?”
“No! I would never do that. Come on James, you know me”
“I thought I did.”
“Aaaarrr!”

To be continued…

A Guide to the Internet

Hate it or love it, use it or loathe it, the internet is here to stay; and for good reason too! This 20th century invention by the US military/ German scientists/ a hodgepodge of underground techs or whoever you choose to believe invented this oh so mysterious thing that your 16 year old perm haired pants sagging son refers to as ‘the net’ is probably the most important invention after fire. So whether you’re a tech savvy web developer, a chatty incessant selfie taking addict, a bewildered user just trying to update your facebook status or a staunch defender of the good old days of post and phone booths; this guide is just for you.
1. The internet is an idea: not something that you purchase in a box or something that comes with a laptop or computer. It’s the global interconnection of computers and servers with the aim of delivering resources. The resources may be services like social media i.e. facebook, twitter or an online course or email e.t.c.
2. The internet IS NOT EVIL: I keep coming up against this argument time and again and I am not afraid to say that if you subscribe to this it is more out of ignorance and fear. The internet is a reflection of society. There are good people out there but there’s also thugs, conmen, busybodies and so on. Just because Rose Muhando says facebook and twitter are evil, doesn’t mean they are (I’m going to have to write about that song soon).
3. Email: if you don’t have an email address, please put down this magazine, dash to the nearest cyber café and sign up! Now! Seriously, do it. Got it? Good, now we can go on. The email will open doors for you on the net, they don’t all have to be good doors, but still it will open them for you. Just about every site worth its salt will have a newsletter, program or chatroom that you will want to sign up for and guess what you use? That’s right the email address that you just dashed out to sign up for! There’s so much to say about this, it’ll take an entire feature article but just get this; if a Nigerian businessman offers to send you 100,000 dollars to spend on yourself and give the rest to charity, go ahead and give them your bank account details and watch them work their afrosinema magic on it!
4. Social media: Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Flickr, Instagram, Google+, the dead and buried Myspace are just some of the more popular social networking sites. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be in all of them, unless of course your job demands it i.e. celebrity, social media manager, UhuRuto, Peter Kenneth e.t.c. or you’re an attention craving limelight seeker and facebook just can’t contain you. There are the basic rules: Quevin ‘Di Maria’ Qirui with a Manchester United Jersey as your profile picture is a big no. Kevin Kirui with a nice photo of you in your Manchester United Jersey is a thumbs up. Do not, under any circumstances upload 5 selfies in a row. And if you took them with your 2mp low end smartphone camera please spare us the horror! It’s nice to know you’re on your way home for the holidays; it is however irritating when you constantly update us on everything about your journey and even worse when you like your own status. I know it’s a lot of don’ts and caveats but that’s just the way it is. There is more but maybe later, in another feature article.
5. E-commerce: e-bay, Alibaba and closer home the ever popular OLX. Use them people, use them. They free, convenient and they expose your goods/ services to millions of potential customers! There is simply no better way! And for the more daring businesses, you can advertise on Google (pay per click), Facebook and such!
6. Online jobs: Yes they do exist and a good number of smart Kenyans are earning good money from them. Not the ‘Work at home mum earning $7,526 per month working just 4 hours a day’ type. The legitimate writing jobs, software development, graphic design and other services.
7. Google: did you know that google is now an officially accepted English word? And it means exactly what you think it does.
Verb: google goo-gul
1. (computing) search the internet (for information) using the Google search engine
“He googled the woman he had met at the party”; “My children are googling all day”
Noun: Google goo-gul
1. A widely used search engine that uses text-matching techniques to find web pages that are important and relevant to a user’s search
Derived forms: googled, googles, Googles, googling

So google away people! You will discover a world of wonder and you will come to realize that google is the smartest friend around!

Simplicity

Up the hill hand in hand,

Joyous laughter in the air,

Silhouetted against the evening sun,

Stirrings from deep within,

Sweet whispers

 

Lush green fields,

Clear rushing waters,

Dreamy blue skies,

Lazy afternoon wind,

Swaying branches whistling

 

Soft grass on bare feet,

A chameleon in disguise,

The flutter of wings,

Buzz of a honey bee,

A hopper on the move

 

Flowers, delicate and dainty,

A hummingbird sips,

A butterfly dances in the air,

A Columbus calls,

A toad responds

 

 

The rustle of leaves,

A snap of twigs,

Tall majestic trees,

Chirrup of crickets,

A lonesome clearing,

A quiet silence

 

The painter begins his evening’s masterpiece,

Stroke by stroke the sun recedes,

A brilliant orange in the horizon,

A solitary leopard lurks in the canopies,

The antelope slinks away,

Creatures of the night are here

Freedom

I want to be free,

Out in the open to be myself,

I want to soar with the eagles and run with the deer,

To feel the wind in my face,

Breathe the air of nature,

Feel my racing heart,

The blood coursing through my veins,

I want to be free,

Free to hold her hand,

To touch her face,

Free to share my life,

Share my joys and pains,

Free without fear,

Free to live my life and dream dreams,

Dreams of freedom,

Dreams of greatness,

The dreams of kings before a battle,

Dreams to set them free,

Dreams to be remembered by all of humanity,

I want to be free,

Free from fear,

Fear of the unknown,

Fear of uncertainty,

Cold blinding fear,

Fear that paralyses,

Fear from the devil himself,

I want to be free,

Free to think and free to act,

Free to roam and free to wonder,

Freedom to be myself

Freedom is precious and holy,

Freedom is anything but free,

Blood is the price of freedom,

Freedom is earned for the many by the brave,

Freedom is the father hugging his son,

The general marching with his men,

The doctor holding his patients hand,

The daughter kissing her mother,

Freedom is priceless

To be free is to die for your beliefs,

To be free is to live for your cause,

Freedom is a choice,

Freedom is a journey,

A journey of the courageous,

A journey of treachery,

A journey of fulfillment,

A journey of a lifetime,

It is a short life, live it free

Dawn

Still darkness,
A loud silence,
Quiet heavenly peace,
A sliver of light in the horizon,
Slowly a fiery red appears in the distance,
Shafts of glorious gold,
The worm catchers joyfully welcome her,
Melodious tunes fill the new born,
She smiles down at the sight,
A pure life giving smile,
Warm and tender,
The creatures stir,
Leaves unfold,
The dew gives way,
A new day is born

Retribution

“Saidia! Uuuuuuii! Saidia!,” yelled a scraggy looking man his facial features contorted in bewilderment. Wanja, the nurse in charge was rudely shaken from her reverie. She was dreaming about Freddy once again. The man stopped in the centre of the emergency room and screamed once more for someone to help. That’s when she noticed the boy. He was limp in the man’s arms, bloodied all over frothing at the mouth and his neck was bent in a most unnatural angle. She quickly collected her wits and the caregiver in her, cool, calm and collected took over.
“Mary, fetch a stretcher and neck brace. Cherono get Dr. Mambo,” she quickly fired orders then turning to the now somewhat composed young man, “what happened here?” she asked.
The young man quickly blurted out something about a hit and run truck driver and then looked at down at his bloodied hands, paused for a moment in shock then dashed out as quickly as he had come in while flailing his arms about as if battling an unseen foe.
Stretcher and brace arrived and the little boy was quickly attended to then wheeled into the examination room. He was so young. He couldn’t have been more than five or six. Cherono rushed in panting and out of breath, “He…he…sa… he said he’s busy. He’ll come later” she delivered the message.
“He’ll what!” exclaimed Wanja in utter disbelief. She strode out of the room and made for the doctor’s office. She didn’t bother to knock. He was spread in his leather seat, his short stump like legs propped on his huge mahogany desk. His hands were clutched around his pot belly which had grown so big he barely saw his feet anymore. His head was tilted back exposing a fleshy double chin and he was snoring like a polar bear in deep slumber. Wanja angrily banged on his desk and startled him from his shuteye.
“What is the meaning of this rude invasion into my…” his voice trailed off as he saw the furious look on her face.
“There is a terribly injured boy in the ER and all you can do is nap and rant about my rude behavior???!!,” she bellowed, “ he needs morphine, bandages, an x-ray and probably an operation and you are the only one who can authorize that. So will you please come and have a look at him”.
“Now listen here young lady, just who do you think you are to budge into my office and order me around. He needs this, he needs that. Who put you in charge? Do you see this tile before my name,” he said while pointing to the initials M.D. on his name tag,” do you know what it stands for? Makes Decisions! Do you get that?! So do me a favor and get the hell out of my office before this turns very ugly!” he roared as an angry red vein popped on his forehead.
Wanja scuttled out off the office and burst into tears as she made for the nurse’s retreat. She went straight to the kitchenette and sobbed in silence while staring out into the parking lot and wondering what she’d done to deserve such treatment. A few minutes later she heard the door to Dr. Mambo’s office swing shut and heard his heavy footsteps as he walked towards the retreat. She shrunk back in fear of another confrontation with this monster of a man. He didn’t come in, good; finally he was going to check on the little boy.
A few minutes later, she watched in horror as he sauntered across the doctor’s parking lot and got into his latest toy; some German contraption whose name she couldn’t even pronounce. The brute! He was going off to lunch while he hadn’t examined the boy! She dashed out hoping to catch the cold hearted beast and somehow force some sense into him, no, it, before it left. She got to the parking lot just as he was driving out of the gate and into the street.
“Dear Lord, please have mercy” was all she managed to mutter to herself before turning around and slowly walking back to the ER. She went to check on the boy who was now slipping in and out of consciousness. She did what she could for him all the while quietly weeping and praying that he wouldn’t give up. As she was adjusting his neck brace, he momentarily opened his little eyes, they were brown and innocent she noticed and suddenly she couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability and something dark crept over her with an air of finality. This was not good; not good at all. The last time she felt this way she was nursing a lady with lung cancer and the cancer had won. No. This will not happen again. She rushed out and caught Milly, the receptionist, just as she was leaving for lunch.
“Milly, is there a doctor in the hospital?”
“Let me check”. Milly looked at the electronic display that logged doctor’s coming and going.
“No luck Wanja” she said with a shake of her head, “no one’s in right now and you don’t look too good dear. Is Freddy still on your mind?”
Wanja grunted something incoherent in reply, looked up as if in silent prayer and collapsed on the doughy couch in the waiting hall and tightly shut her eyes as if to block out the impeding reality. Milly was coming around to her when her phone screamed for attention and would not shut up until its owner attended to it and subsequently rushed out in a huff.
Tired after pulling a double shift last night, Wanja fell into a troubled slumber where hyenas in white coats chased her in an open field littered with little bones that came to life as children and the greedy ones would then stop and feast on them. At some point one of the bones tripped her and before she could get up one of the spotted creatures was on her, bearing his yellowing teeth at her and suddenly, just like in most dreams, she got up before it actually happened.
She looked at the wall clock with a syringe as its minute hand; 4 o’clock. It was unusually hot and she had this ominous feeling… the boy! Just then, in walked Dr. Mambo.
“Wewe” he called out to her, “where is that patient?”
Wanja quickly showed him to the examination room and let him walk in fist. Something was wrong. The boy was not breathing and he seemed… odd. He was dead. Dr. Mambo took one look at the boy and seemed to freeze on the spot. His eyes registered first disbelief, then as realization slowly dawned on them, violent shock. He slowly mouthed something that looked to Wanja like ‘Brian’.
That’s it! Thought Wanja. The boy did seem familiar because he looked exactly like Dr.Mambo. In fact the resemblance was uncanny. The boy, Brian, was his son! This boy he had walked out on to feed his ever growing belly was his own flesh and blood!
‘DOC JUMPS TO HIS DEATH AFTER TREACHEROUS RETRIBUTION’, read the Daily Citizen the next day.

Lady of My Dreams

Crown soft as a cherub’s feathers
Radiant eyes opening to a gentle soul
Like the whisper of saints, her voice calls
Out of its lair my heart is drawn
To her stirring beauty
Exquisite beauty of a thousand angels
Eternal is her mark
Never to be forgot

Grace

What abundant grace
When we seek his face
In the stead of flesh
In place of pain
His word we aim
His promise we’ll claim
Our mountains to plains
Our giants he’ll maim
If great is our faith
Death to me
In Christ I live