THE TRIBE HAS SPOKEN.....

Yeah it’s that time of the year again. Actually yeah I doubt we have ever seen this kind of situation before. Yeah cross makers are burning the midnight oil while they try to fulfill the demand for ministers who want to carry them. Yes it’s the festive season when Kenyans go crazy as they march to either call for the sacking of ministers or in support of others who are ‘obviously’ being sought due to their ethnic background. It is the era where witch hunts are not just limited to the land of the Abagussi.

Parliament’s turned into a veritable reality show where you watch and laugh at the land of alliances and back-stabbing.  Cabinet has an uncanny resemblance to the Survivor’s ‘Tribal Council.’ I can’t count the number of times in which I have imagined that host walk up to a minister. Cue the crazy shifty eyes as each minister looks around trying to figure out their fate. And those immortal words as he smothers the flame the minister bears. The tribe has spoken. I’m thinking Jimmy Gathu can reprise his ‘epukana na ukimwi’ role with a more scary political one where he stares at the political class and in the same scary tone goes ‘Waziri epukana na story za wazimu’.

WHAT IF? KENYAN HELL!

People keep talking about their own personal hells. Little things in their lives that drive them batty. Those noisy neighbours, annoying little brothers(oh if you only knew) and jams make the list. But then I started thinking. What if hell was also based on country? What if we went to hell as per nationality? What then would the Kenyan version of hell look like? Here's my take.(of course you wanna know)

So I know you're expecting fire and brimstone but of course that's not the case. Kenyans aren't exactly known for conforming. In keeping with our current crises someone will have messed with all the sulphur and so the fierce heat that hell is known for will be reduced to a toasty warmth. In keeping with tradition, some big cats in hell will have taken up all the prime sulphur fields and settled their people thus holding everyone else hostage.

LUDICROUS LINGUISTICS

We are a melting pot of cultures and languages. Within our borders lies a conflagration that has melted all these cultures into a single unintelligible mess. The very expression of this is the desecration of the English language. While this may sound haughty and pretentious, it is nonetheless a reaction to the complete loss of linguistic rules that has become known as Kenyan English. Even with the accents and travel time clocked by much of the population it is still very disheartening to know how butchered the language is and how it makes communication almost impossible.
We are a nation of runners and yet most of those runners can’t say athlete. When did we agree to say earth-let-iii. I can’t imagine the conversations at the embassies when these guys get their visas.
“Why do you need the visa sir?”


“I am an earth-let-iii.”


“Excuse me sir.”


“I learn (run).”


“So you are a student?”


“No. I am a learner. An earth-let-iii.”


I think it usually boils down to them having to mime movements to get the blasted documents. OK so you might cite the influence of their mother tongue and maybe you are right. But our generation can hardly speak their native tongue yet they are joining in the bandwagon. Theirs is worse since it is an educated foolishness. Every sentence is preceded by a ‘Si’ which would make a foreigner think we came up with our own version of Spanglish. Then there are those who speak of other “stuffs’ or better still the ones who can’t get enough of themselves when they say ‘Me, I……..’

Then there are the ones who have decided to ‘literally’ kill the word literally. Walk into a party and hear the Kenyan Paris Hilton speak of how she ‘literally’ died when her boyfriend got her another ugly mut. It is explicitly Kenyan to have heroes and ‘sheroes’ and where fatal accidents don’t kill you. It is only in Kenya where sachet rhymes with carpet and where reserve is any place out of the capital. News stations can’t decide whether ‘cache’ sounds like catch, touché or cash. It’s all so troubling. The cream of the crop for me is the group which can’t decide whether they are talking about a guy or girl. ‘He’ and ‘she’ are exchanged so regularly that you’d think there were forty characters rather than one.

TIGER WOODS' APOLOGY: IF YOU MISSED IT!!!

I know you guys were pretty busy last week with the whole Esther Arunga and Hellon saga which means you missed out on more important news; Tiger Woods' apology. It was given to a room of 15 journalists and if you missed it, here is what he said verbatim. Nothing has been altered in this;

Hey guys. Lisa, Andrea, Mandy and Sandy. Hey Cynthia,Mary, Nancy, Terry, Denise. Danielle (mouthing 'call me'). I'm sure you all know why we are here. No Danielle. Put I back on. Not here. (Mouthing 'I said Call me'). Anyway it is with deep sadness that I stand before you. I am deeply ashamed and embarrassed by what has happened and so I want to put the details out there. So much has been said and asked about the events that led up to the fateful night of November 27th so I will come clean.

I would first like to indicate my sincere apologies to my wife.....my wife.....sorry the name is on the tip of my tongue. Starts with an E. Yes Esther. Sorry Elin. Come on guys. Give me a break. Enough with the surprise. I would like to clarify that despite most media reports, Elin did not hit me with a golf club. The black eye I got was as a result of my carelessness when I slipped, fell and fell in Elin's path while she was perfecting her golf swing. And from the contact I can confirm that she requires very little practice.

MORE KENYAN GOLD: HAKI YETU

The Commonwealth Games are  over. I don’t really understand the games to begin with. The British are so awesome at what they do. I can so imagine the reigning British monarch sitting around a table and going Hey Charles you know how we colonized these people? You know what? We should see if we can make them run, jump and swim every four years. That should teach them who’s boss. And we do. Every four years without fail. Let’s see Obama try that with his hope and ‘yes we can’.

But yeah while I might seem to criticize the games in themselves, I’ve found myself watching them. Then I got angry when I noticed that the games were rigged in favour of the same country. Looked at the medal standings recently? Yeah the Britons are somewhere near the top. Though Australia must be enjoying kicking their rear ends. I can imagine them going like Serves you right for calling us crooks. But yeah some of the games are totally pointless. As Kenyans, we simply sit back and watch some of them and shake our heads in disbelief. And they call us weird?

DON'T STAND TOO CLOSE TO A NAKED MAN!

Yeah I know most of you checked out this note just because of the title. Tim Allen wrote a book by the same exact title and it had nothing to do with naked men as does this note. The fact that you're still reading shows the pervs are still hoping the story relates. 

Lately it seems like there's just trash littering the screens. NTV decided to punish me for something with the foreign selection of 'passion, love and revenge.' Citizen and Classic are driving me down the path of 'juju,million naira and you-can't-marry-him-o'. Don't get me started on KTN who have resorted to bribing people with pimped out rides and money to watch what they look like after Hellon raided them.

So I'm finding myself just watching adverts. They're short, simple and I can get the theme which seems pretty obvious; buy me, use me, give your money to my owners. I can dig it. But then even these gems are getting tainted and I'm finding myself at a loss for words. What you ask? Well I'm just perplexed by some of this stuff so I'll give you just a sample of what I mean.

FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FAME?

In Kenya, as far as music goes, there is some good, some bad and then there is Prezzo’s music. I have been a religious viewer of these music videos and come up with a simple formula that has catapulted many into the spotlight as they seek their fifteen minutes of fame. It is a fool proof way of getting your piece of the Kenyan pie that either involves being the president or ruling the airwaves.

The first step is to get a quirky name. It should be something catchy or stupid that people will remember forever. You can’t survive this industry without a name unless you are Nameless who seems to be doing pretty well. Or if you can’t come up with one, just copy someone else’s. I heard we have a Kenyan Beyonce, Avril and those two idiots who are fighting over the name Czars. Or just go with something with Big or Lil’ to precede your name. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have the size to back up that name.

ONLY IN KENYA: SECURELY INSECURE

I come from the side of town where muggers get mugged. It is also the side of town where if you were caught in an alley between the cops and robbers, you’d rather side with the robbers because at least with them you know what to expect. While I could go into a lengthy diatribe about the strained if not openly hostile relationship between the population and the police force, I will suffice to say it is complicated. Sauti Sol’s ‘Blue Uniform’ was an apt representation of what we have to go through sans the happy ending and with a lot more heart ache.

The top brass doesn’t inspire confidence when the head of the police can also be tasked with delivering our mail. That’s Kenyan multitasking for you. After years in the army and police, of course the post office was the next step in Hussein’s natural progression. About the new guy, Matt, well I have no idea what he is usually talking about. He decided to adopt some sort of foreign dialect that I haven’t cracked yet.

THE BOYFRIEND FILES: PROLOGUE

Hi. My name is BF and I am a boyfriend. Ok. If you just laughed while pointing at me then you are probably single and haven’t gotten laid in a while. If you winced and shivered at the ‘B-word’ then you are probably a veteran of the game. You have probably seen the tears and tantrums and experienced the confusion that surrounds the very essence of the term. But if, on the other hand, you sighed with relief then you are the person this column is written for. You have probably just landed that new girl and she held your hand which in your head means you’re going steady. The relief was because you just found out you’re not the only boyfriend around.

Well young man, the loneliness ends now. There are many of us out there. Living in the shadows. Unable to confess to our friends and families that we belong to this dreaded society that are referred to as ‘couples’. It’s a mine field fraught with danger, intrigue and ………….well mines. Heed my words. I do not claim to be an expert. Far from it. I have just been on this road longer but now I invite you to walk with me. I will teach you the ways of the boyfriend. How to survive. How to live. But first thing’s first, how do you know you are her boyfriend.

THE BOYFRIEND FILES: THE TALK!!

I guess you want to understand women. Well the truth is you never will. They are like Supaongea, you never understand how it works, you just go along with it and enjoy the parts that work for you. My lady of the house is an enigma wrapped up in a deluge of confusion. Point in case. After pursuing her for months and getting shot down time and time again, I finally got her attention by calling her ‘the ugliest woman I’ve ever met’. For my troubles I got a slap and more attention. See? Totally senseless.

Ok so I guess by now you have figured that you are with this girl but until the talk is done, you will never be sure. You are sure to get the whole ‘I don’t see a ring on this finger’ speech when her facebook update still shows her being single months after you started dating. The talk is the ugliest and most awkward thing ever invented. Actually it comes in second. Most awkward has to be waking up to find yourself cuddling with a man after drinking all night. But that’s a long and uncomfortable story that I’m still getting therapy for.

So. The Talk. Contrary to common thought, the talk doesn’t have to be verbal. It is a contract which goes beyond words. So yeah you can be an adult about it and sit down and go through with it the old fashioned way or you could indulge in the more cutting edge approach. Curious? Here are the options you have at your disposal and the pros and cons;

BOYFRIEND FILES: WHERE NOT TO MEET GIRLS

The census burst the collective bubble of the Kenyan male. Yeah. I know. The women aren’t as many as we all thought. But keep the faith. Maybe the recount in Turkana will give us more women so prepare to warm up to nomadic in-laws. But yeah it’s getting harder and harder to find the right woman and I find myself kicking myself for having taught you how to tie your laces before showing you what shoes are. So where are these elusive women hiding? Over the years, guys have come up a list of where to find the perfect woman but even these are turning out to be tough sells. So we’ll examine the ‘traditional spots and the issues with them.

PHILLIP ONYANCHA: CELEBRITY BILLIONAIRE!!!

On the news lately have been the exploits of a certain Phillip Onyancha. Name doesn’t ring a bell? Well I guess that means you’ve been living under a rock or in State house. Hate him or love him (if you do love him then you need some therapy). He’s managed to capture the country’s attention and even managed to draw the country’s attention from the World Cup. Esther Arunga and her fingers wouldn’t be able to pay for this kind of publicity. Unlike Es and Quincy, Phill seems to know what he is doing.

Our celeb culture is still in its infancy and very skewed in some sense which is why we feel the need to ask Ng’ang’alito and the Tattuu trio mundane questions about their lives to get a rush. Enter this charming quiet guy who looks nothing like a serial killer. (Damn hollywood for making us believe that serial killers walk around in hooded robes, breathing like Phillipino/Mexican actors and hunting down rich, amorous teens on a deserted Island.)