Thursday, December 4, 2008

What the 'L'?

You may have across those vehicles that are on the road with a prominent sign of the letter ‘L’ on them.

This is a Memo to everyone: That does not mean the vehicle is being driven by a Lady or by a person driving like one.

So when Leyonce, a lady friend had recently stopped at a traffic light and the driver of the vehicle behind hooted at her… she switched off her vehicle and went to the window of the (obviously) male driver behind her and told him: My name is Leyonce. But that L on my car does not stand for Leyonce. It means Learner. Can you get that into your thick skull? Am learning. Treat me with kid gloves. Don’t hoot at me and startle me!

I still wonder why she didn’t say: It doesn’t stand for Lifeless, for as you can see I am walking!

Or better still: I am not Lily-livered! Or Laughing stock! Or a Librarian!

Thick skull, huh? That is Leyonce for you. And she was sober.

It got me thinking though. If the L on the vehicle stood for Learner, then who was teaching my friend at the time that she was learning since she was alone in her car?

In fact, I had a glance at the Grey Book and the answer can be found in the Traffic Rules found under the Traffic Act. Rule 12 states that a holder of a provisional driving licence is allowed to drive the vehicle when accompanied by a person who holds a valid driving licence. He or she should also exhibit the L behind and in front of the vehicle as per the Fifth Schedule of the Act.

The Fifth Schedule specifies the measurements of the letter L. The white paper on which it is written should be at least 175 millimetres by 175 millimetres whilst the letter L should be of the width 40 millimetres and in the colour red.

Knowing Leyonce, who is a colourholic (she claims my blue shirts are actually cyan or some colour else like that) like every lady, perhaps hers was in some fancy colour like scarlet.

Incidentally the Traffic Rules have some offences that most people are not aware of. For instance under Rule 66, no passenger is allowed to speak to a driver unless it is necessary to do so in order to ask him to stop the vehicle; or to distribute any printed matter for advertising; or to make excessive noise by singing; or to beg or hawk any item for sale; or to enter the vehicle with a jerrycan of petrol...

I particularly like Regulation 60 which my brother once was caught on: No petrol shall be carried in or on a motor vehicle except in the fuel tank.

So there you have it. The Rules are the Rules. The bottom line is that you can’t be learning if no one is teaching you!

But tell that to Leyonce. She once told an intern she was seriously underpaying: You are a Learner. When you have finished learning, we will take off the L and then you can become an Earner.

If that thick-skulled driver had asked me, a proper retort would have been: Madam, pardon me but for those drivers who aren’t accompanied by an Instructor and have the L sign, the L could stand for: Loony. Or Lawless. Or Liability. Or Lazy. Or Loafer. Or Last. Or Lost. Or Large-ass. Or Leggy. Or Lesbian.

Aah. That lesbian tag would get to Leyonce. She would have kissed him!

Monday, December 1, 2008

The Last Girl

You are…

The last girl
I watched
football with

The last girl
I hugged
on Facebook

The last girl
I texted
on my cellular

The last girl
I dreamt of
last night

The last girl
who moved
my heart so!

The last girl
who ate
chocs fro’ me

The last girl
whose smile
made me melt

The last girl
who made me
write a poem

The last girl
whom I had
coffee with

The last girl
who laughed
at my jokes.

So how come
You are not

The last girl
I ever kissed

The last girl
I danced with

The last girl
whose hair
I brushed?

The very last girl
who said
she loved me?

It just appears
I called off
the search

when I knew
you could be
the last girl
the very last girl

I want
I need
I adore
I crave for…

Will you be
the last girl
for me?

Or are you
still going
to marry him?

Thursday, November 27, 2008


“Who will save Kenyans against a powerful, dictatorial, greedy Parliament? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

I heard that on NTV Tonight on 27th November 2008. Frankly, I think Robert Nagila should stop asking questions and then going ahead to answer them! What is he? Superman? There is no way Nagila is going to save Kenyans against a powerful, dictatorial and greedy Parliament. Not with that accent, which is his trade mark and for a while I thought the use of the initials NTV after his name was some sort of award he was conferred with: Nauseatic Twenging Voice.

That signing off sure sounds hilarious when he has just posed a loaded question. What should we expect next?

‘Who will be the next Kenyan to die due to the rising price of maize meal? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘Who will take Kenya to the first World Cup to be held in Africa in 2010? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘Is there someone who has not been touched by the plight of the refugees in Darfur? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘Who killed Robert Ouko? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘Kenyans are now asking: Just whose name is in the Secret Envelope? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘At the end of the vote recount in Starehe Constituency, who will emerge the winner? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘Someone is supplying prisoners at Kamiti with high tech laptops. Who is this someone? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

‘Who stole President Moi’s state of the art range Rover from the CMC Garage? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

“This begs the question, ‘Why are most suicides in Kenya committed after 9pm?’ Robert Nagila, NTV!”

‘Who is behind the pirates who are wreaking havoc along the Kenya – Somali shores? Robert Nagila, NTV!’

OK... that last one. It is not really Robert Nagila, who actually has a Group dedicated to him at Facebook. From what I hear, the Somali Pirates asked a professor why he was so rich and successful and he said it was because of the scholarship. Now they are hijacking all ships hoping that one of those ships is MV Schola.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Nairobi Marathon

Almost a decade ago, I asked Gynn to write down for me a list of ‘30 Things To Do Before I Turn 30’. It was a rather hilariously serious list and considering she was barely 20, she seemed too precocious for life.

There were things like ‘Be a Best Man At A Wedding’, which I easily accomplished, but the one that still remained undone by the time I hit the Big Three Oh was ‘Run a Full Marathon’. But like a wise man once said, better late than never.

So it was with this in mind and with a little prompting and betting with a secretary at Workland that I decided to stop talking the talk and instead walk the walk or run the run if you prefer. Turning up is the first step to running a marathon and I duly turned up without a shred of preparation. Frankly, I thought I should save all my running for the main race.

With hindsight, I guess those who had fasts hoping they would go fast, may change to having speed hoping for speed.

As I took my bag to the Luggage Centre, I noticed some so called Elite Athletes were not wearing socks. They also had on what they called running shoes. I prefer shoes that I can put on my shoe rack without worrying where I would next find them.

I went over to the starting point and in true Kenyan fashion, the Minister for Sports was giving a speech before the race could begin.

Speaking of fashion, as I warmed up, I caught sight of a girl taking out her make up kit and mirror and applying some lip stick just before the race. That one wants to look good for the paramedics when they pick her up, I thought and smiled to myself.

Soon after the wheelchair race began, the Full Marathon, yes, 42 kilometre race was next up. I tried to think of a million reasons to pull out of the race as I know that a stitch in time saves nine but even I couldn’t simulate a stitch.

The gun went off sending the multitudes sprinting towards the finish line. Only… the finish line was 42 kilometres away.

One kilometre down, we had already approached Heart Break Hill. I had taken fancy to running behind some lady wearing a red thong and whose gyrations as she ran were quite inspirational. Talk about having a pace setter.

Soon I needed a pace maker! The red thong lady, at the two kilometre mark sauntered off the track to take a seat on the new benches placed along the Nairobi Streets. As I passed her, I heard her call out to a passing vendor. ‘Ice Cream!’ she shrieked.

I abandoned that strategy and realized that I was better off really just trying to finish ahead of the secretary. Unless you are in contention for the prize money of Kshs. 1.5 million.

I noticed there were no pubs along the route. That was punishing.

But not as punishing as seeing an old grey haired man zoom past me. That one must have been trying up ‘70 Things To Do Before I Turn 70’. Or was it before he turns … to the grave, old geezer?

I have never run the Full Marathon before. And it showed. I had no rhythm. I sprinted for some periods, then walked until those slow joggers I passed caught up with me during my walk and I had to sprint away again. I had another hobby of picking up water bottles quicker than Brangelina adopting kids.

And when I saw a Red Cross tent with beautiful attendants, I slumped in for a quick massage of my limbs. My happiness was jolted when some guy else limped in and asked if the tent was a pit stop and the beauty massaging me asked: What is a pit stop? Pitiful.

I went back to the road, soaked in the drizzle and dragging my shoes on the hard tarmac, I finished the race in 3 hours and 11 Minutes. Certainly the most torturous 3 hours and 10 minutes of my life yet. You know me, I just had to exempt that red thong minute.

When my sporting history is written, I may not have been a Maradona but I sure was a Marathoner!

Thursday, October 23, 2008

The Good and The Bad

Guest post by my niece, Keli

I'm turning 10 in 29 days. Ha-ha! My first 2 digit birthday! In your face, Grand Pa!!!

However... we have to go back to Addis in 15 days. Shoot! Why does everything have a down side.

Our Kid and I went to see The Mummy 3 yesterday.

The downsides of the movie:

they got a substitution of Evi.

it was in China. I mean, seriously!!! What's up with the Chinese mummies? It should be Egyptian or nothing. Right??

The not so bad things:

it had Jet Li. And how hot is he?

After that we went to Nakumatt. I got some awesome chocolates and had a compeletely uneventful evening. Maybe when I go to sleep I will fight evil people with all the elements!!!

Oh yeah, Our Kid tried to bust a padlock open with a wrenchy thing.

Until we speak again!!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

When Sunday Comes

After one eventful week with Housemates getting acquainted, the highlight of it all was another cold Sunday evening when Housemates were asked to perform an activity that told the viewers something about themselves. Some activities they did. Before that, a recap.

Housemates had been reprimanded by Big Brother following the truthfully daring game that had been engaged in three days into the show, with more saliva exchange than The Young and the Reckless. Spoilsport Biggie seems intent to dish out punishment faster than a policeman giving speeding tickets at Formula 1. Reprimanded for entertaining us? Oh.

But TK was kissed by Lucille and he smiled happily like a dog with two tails; Girl Latoya was aghast when her ‘girls’ were nibbled; Hazel found lip locking with Sheila too revulsive and rather took the dip; Ricco perfected his clothes allergy like a homeless person in Puerto Rico; and Biggie kept showing us the clock more as a reminder that it was past bed time.

Come Sunday, the Housemates showed us their true colours with Tawana kicking it off with some traditional jig which would sure do some culling for that cellulite.

Having discarded Sheila’s dress, Ricco, immediately came up cross-dressed this time as Mimi. He was supposedly imitating Beyonce, but there was no Jay Z to hit on him due to the rumours that his mouth, sort of reeks. Reek Oh!

Thami did not sing or dance or read a book. Instead, he just consumed a lot of pepper and guzzled some palm wine. I know, I know. He must be thinking he is the new Chili Palmer.

Mimi on the other hand decides that she can break the law and plead some diplomatic immunity. Ms Ambazzadah murders a Whitney song and in mitigation simply talks about the children. It is always the children. Her punishment? Coming up next.

La Toya has been behaving like a dual SIM card in a cellphone with the two phones being Morris and Ricco. Morris by day and Ricco by night, she had decided. Technically, one of the guys is getting to be with her at peak hours. So with the inevitable drama that will arise, it was time for her to kiss and make up. So she kissed Morris during the DJ treat and for the make up, well, she applies it on Mimi.

TK uses up his time to ‘rap’ once again, doing just his best to advertise for the ear buds market across the continent. It is a pity that nobody has told him that this wasn’t about what you want to do when you grow up. And down, judging from his Shower Hour slots.

Sheila… oh Sheila. She has ‘Spoiler Alert’ written all over her conversations. If you haven’t been watching movies, mute the remote when she is on for she will give away the plot line. Next she will also be doing the movie stunts too. She sang an R & B song. Raspy and Boring.

Lucille says she is a virgin. Well, when she learnt that Tawana was the Head of House and liked Munya who liked her (Lucille), she said in all virginal innocence: I am so fucked. She however wasn’t and instead she just read a passage from a book. Oh, and just so we are clear, the book wasn’t ‘How To Pop The Cherry!’

Hazel from Malawi decided to mouth some traditional song forgetting that after the Idols experience, the words ‘song’ and ‘Malawi’ don’t go together. She also does a jig that is so ancient that it went straight to the Big Brother Museum.

Nigeria is known for football… which is played on green pitches with white markings. Flag that one! So anyways, Uti who is Nigerian decides to go Italian by singing a tenor number. The name is Lutiano Pavaruti, eh?

Morris, whose manhood has been christened ‘the Last King of Scotland’ by some feminine viewers, comes on stage wearing some hideous Zangalewa outfit and tries to accentuate the manhood theme with some cucumber upfront and inexplicable plastic surgery on his bum. Surely, only La Toya would love that performance and make up.

Munya is in his element when he is with Lucille. He even opens up her heart like he is peeling a banana. He still has that irritating accent and believes that he is funnier than Jon Stewart wearing a monkey costume. I hate the performance.

That was it for the Sunday show. In the backdrop of Barrack Obama’s speech at the Convention when some people said he had a backdrop that was Zeus-like, Mr. KB brings on stage Zeus as the performance of the night.

He also discloses that some two new moles will be going into the house to clean the pool on Fridays. Yes, that is another episode being baked by Biggie. And when you look at the ingredients, you have to wonder what would come next. There are always the nominations. And as we all know, friends don’t nominate each other… unless they have to. See you again!

Tuesday, September 2, 2008


Oh the joys of walking on a Nairobi Street!

I was just minding my own business, looking at the numerous magazine covers when some girl with red-lacquered nails taps me on the shoulder. I slowly turned in trepidation, hoping it wasn’t one of my long standing debtors, hoping she could somehow get back her taken heart. Or even worse, a thought crossed my mind that Kimathi Street could be the new Koinange Street. (How odd that the spell checker suggests Coinage Street, when they absolutely don’t accept coins!)

To my pleasant surprise though, it was an amazingly and decently dressed looker of a woman tapping my shoulder. I couldn’t resist conjuring a smile which was cut mid-smile when she excitedly spoke the next few words.

“Are you the Zain man?” she asked.

“The what?!?!?”

“The Zain man?” she persisted.

“The Zain man! What the heavens is that?”

I know Zain Verjee who is classy and is an anchor-woman for CNN. But surely I don't speak for her! I also know that the Republicans are about to nominate John McZain (No, that can't be it. He is more like John McSame!)

Turns out, there is a promotion by a rather (tele) phoney network Zain to popularize its newly baptized name. This at the moment when we had gotten used to not calling it TNFKAK (The Network Formerly Known As Kencell) and settled for Celtel, it is now Zain. And teaming up with Classic FM, they are setting people to look for this mystery man who dishes out cash if you ask him whether he is the Classic Zain Man and he says yes. Oh, and he also has Maina Kageni’s Identity Card which he needs to also show you, since as you know, many men will just say ‘Yes’ to a woman when looking at her chest. If you are not in a pick-up mood, you have to go and get a t-shirt written ‘I am not the Classic Zain Man!’

I hope the girl found her Classic Zain man. But these advertising ruses are going a tad too far.

I have seen men carrying placards written ‘My Wife Is A Gold Digger’ because the cooking fat product KIMBO had some gold bars hidden in the fat and they were asking people to dig into their pockets and buy then dig into the fat. I know a lot of women who gossip too much and at this rate, their husbands are going to carry placards written ‘My Wife Is A Parrot’ just to pitch for the rival cooking fat KASUKU.

It is advertising at its best or worst, depending on how you look at it. It is also, inzain!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Big Brother Is Watching

Well, not quite. In the usual turning of tables, we are watching Big Brother. That one time in the year when we are allowed to be peeping Tom’s (and Tomasina’s) and watch twelve housemates from across the continent do everything housemates do.

The measure of fame the housemates get from being in the House is that only a few months ago, if you Googled some of the Housemates, the answer you received was: Who???

The opening credits kick off with a Kabelo look-alike performing the opening act. Wait.. it is actually Kabelo with what he terms as his crew!

Now, when you thought you had seen enough fake fire works in Beijing, good old Big Brother unleashes some even more obvious ones. The bets are also on whether the twelve housemates will get into the house arranged in the order of the medals they won at the Olympics.

Before the grand entry, there are some flashbacks to the Housemates in Season 2. Justice is still debating with himself on what his future should be (looking at him, you see that it is a pity debating isn’t an Olympic sport); Maxwell is a car-hawker; Lerato is having a heck of a ride (presumably the ride is one she bought from The Maxwell Garage); Ofunneka is an envoy and has started a Non-Governmental Organization for refurbishing kitchens in Africa; Meryl has acted in a movie (no doubt rated R for Raunchy); Jeff, just like he turned the whole time in the House into an ad placement for his book Religion is Fiction still takes this slot to market his book; Bertha has been travelling and one thing she has learnt is how to simply kiss her hand and wave at the camera; Kwaku is rapping about nothing and is also delusional, mistaking some garbage artifacts for jewellery; Tatiana has a show ‘created special for me’; Maureen’s phone is engaged (you heard that right. I said Maureen, NOT, Maureen’s phone); Code is eradicating malaria; and Richard is still loving his wife (and to show how he keeps loving her, the camera on cue cuts to him with some honeys…)

Some more music but we have caught the limos bringing in the new actors and actresses.

First in is clean shaven Tawana who causes a stir in her video clip when she says she hates her neighbours. Presumably, her Bible is not the King James Version that says we have to love them neighbours. Or, presumably too, she was talking about her ‘Neighbours’ soap opera DVD. She is wearing a rock bigger than the one featured in Titanic and also adds the clincher: I hate women.

Who will be the first to drop the F word? Last time, it was Tatiana, and the winner this time… (I am not talking about the word Fanta) is Sheila from Kenya. Once in the house, she wastes no time taking bets on who will be the first ‘to go to shags’

Forget the Emancipation of Mimi. She is back into jail. She has the moves but within hours, she is the first to give us the coloured cough. Another bet gone.

Lucille is the one who comes in from Namibia. She looks very reserved and she is a Virgin. It is the first time the word ‘Virgin’ has been used in relation to a housemate without the word ‘Atlantic’ succeeding it. Imagine the headlines if she was called Mary!

Having won it last time, Tanzania was expected to send Richard’s wife as its representative but they bring in loud Latoya this time. And the girl can shriek! Her entrance is all one long ejaculation of sounds that scream: I am there! I am there!

The Ugandan Morris loves to be behind the camera and now, he is going to be in front of one for ninety days, if he can last that long.

Ricco from Angola says: I love women. For effect, he would have gone the Tawana way and said he hates men. (Editors note: Actually, he said he loves girls, he didn’t say women, and girls also means ‘boobs’ in some slang)

Thank you Editor.

Malawi’s presenter still went on about that country being the ‘Warm Heart of Africa’ just like they did during Idols… but they decide to send Hazel, ever cold, except when she does that jig that makes our ribs crack. Hazel proceeds to keep quiet during her time that Big Brother has to employ the use of a radar to trace her.

Zambia has a man called Taekwondo which as you all know means “I can pulverize you with the use of my hands”. (Editors note: Ahem, actually his name is Takondwa).

Hey, go write your own blog, you silly Editor!

So Matakondwa had this bling bling, just like his Idols counter part TK. The new TK is asked to spit a rhyme and he does so with relish: Am going to the house, like a lil’ poor church mouse; but when I come out, I’ll have the loot; I said I love to gamble; but that was just a rumble, with 100Ks, I will reproduce 100 TKs!

Naija throws itself in the ring with Uti. Finally women viewers will have a valid excuse to diss their own men at their own game. When a man says ‘I love you,’ the woman can reply ‘I love you-ti.’ Sorry. Uti hates dishonest people. Who does?

The representative of from South Africa is Thami. He called himself the ‘Homeboy’ which is potential infringement of the Trade Mark, the Homeboyz!

Zimbabwe has its usual charm with the new hero being put forth from the land of Uncle Bob being called Munya. Which as you might not guess, is not the Meru member of Parilemnt, but a short form of Munyaradzi. He smiles like brownie points and immunity are dished for flashing smiles and closes the entries to this Seasons House Party.
Let the games begin!

Sunday, August 24, 2008

The Bolt and the Beautiful!

Every other four years, Planet Earth focuses its collective multi-billion eyes on Olympians slugging it out to bring some additional hardware to their countries. So this August, the show was in Beijing, which had raised concerns over its misty appearance that made it quite the Grey-jing.

During my time in Campus, we had a terrible nickname for the first few minutes of meal time at the CCU mess which was rumoured to stand for Chama Cha Ugali (well actually it was the Central Catering Unit). It was called the ‘Opening Ceremony’ when people would shove and push to ensure that they got the top layered grub. The Olympics Opening Ceremony was quite the opposite! Organized to the point of perfection, it also featured some fireworks that led people to exclaim: What the fake!

The real fireworks however, really came when Usain Bolt decided to sprint away with the 100m gold medal with such style and bravado that it gave a new meaning to the word ‘fast’ whilst it sealed his mantle as the Fastest Man on Planet Earth. He broke his own record. He celebrated during the race… and then won, a sequence that is often reversed by other athletes.

Bolt ran the first 70m and then looked at the TV screen, saw that he was in front of the pack and started celebrating thumping his chest as he watched himself win!

The TV commentator was as ecstatic – What a win! What a win! Bolt first, Daylight Second and Third - as people scrambled with finishing their top stories only to realize that they had no idea who was second and third. Those who had ten second timers on their cameras only managed to get a shot of Bolt celebrating. The proverbial horse had bolted.

Whilst some commentators bored us to death sometimes with sentences such as: ‘We win gold!’ (we can see that, eejits, it was not some aluminium that our athlete won) when in actual sense the gold was solely won by the person competing, there was something orgasmic about Usain’s mode of triumph.

Before he set off for his next race at exactly Bolt O’clock, I got a text from a friend asking whether he would kiss the ground at the 170m mark and still win the 200m Final. Or make one of those Per Second Billing phone calls from a Safaricom number to his Prime Minister and update him on the race. He did none of that! But at the end of the race, the initials WR were still flashing. And he kissed the ground AFTER the race.

Questions were raised as which rapper would be the first to use his name in a rhyme. Kanye West won hands down with the lyric: I said I had to bolt, girl was like "Are U Sane?"

It was beautiful seeing this athlete at the games and lighting them up as he did. Beautiful. Quite as beautiful as Leryn Franco the Paraguay javelin thrower who financed her participation at the games with proceeds from the modeling career.

London 2012 next up.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Not Even Half The Story

I told you!

There are so many things that happen in this life that make you wonder if there can ever be fairness even if we tried. I was stuck in the road traffic jam along Jogoo Road on a Friday night at what television aficionados ordinarily called prime time.

I made a quick mental note to find out the e-mail address of the sinister minister of the miracle babies fame so that he could place a curse on anyone remotely responsible for this vehicular pile-up.

Some girls were getting laid whilst I was only getting delayed!

I may have been lost in this thought since I did not see the frame of the man who sneaked up to me in a flash and ripped off the mirror on the right side of the car. He then smoothly snaked his way through the space between bumpers. Now it wasn’t only my cool and time that I was losing.

The rain, like coffee, was instant. Ordinarily, this would have only made the traffic jam worse but to my shock, the vehicles in front of me were jump started and we were moving in a huff in a minute. I also noticed the windscreen wipers were not working.

It was not long before the snarl up fitted itself back on the wet road like a jigsaw puzzle. The cell phone rang and I practically dove to answer the same. Caller ID withheld. Nevertheless, anything was a welcome relief so I quickly cleared my throat.


“Hi, Rita!” the seemingly excited but still unrecognizable male voice on the other end came through. “Tell me what the next best invention after the first telephone was.”

“The second telephone,” I said. “Hi. Who is calling?”

“Gosh!” he goshed. “Good answer to my question. I know I haven’t talked to you for a while…but the answer to your question is Mr….”

The voice had clicked. “I know who you are!” I interrupted him. “Well, this is a surprise! You calling me all the way from across the miles”

“I finally gave in to the temptation to call you from across the milli-miles. I bet you are now stuck in a road traffic jam and you are getting impatient, almost turning as red as the red top you are wearing…”

I was wearing a red top!

“Milli-miles?” I said and started turning my head.” Where the creeps are you?”

“Right behind you!” he replied.

As I turned my head, I saw through the falling rain that it was him. He was opening his car door and waving with an umbrella promptly springing into his use.

“Are you stalking me?”

He simply broke into the infectious smile that I had always wished I could wipe away with some sort of permanence. “It is in my knowledge that you didn’t go and get a restraining order” he stated into the phone as he approached me though the rain.

“It was in my knowledge that I did not need one as you were out of the country for good. I thought…” I closed the flap of my phone and spoke to him through the car window that I had suddenly lowered, “I thought you were in the New Continent’.

“I was.”

How times change. This was the man who used to call me Dr. Soothe. Now he called me…, no, now he didn’t call me at all! Until that evening when he was a few metres away from me.

I didn’t get out of the car but hugged him ‘through the window baby’ as Mongolo sometimes succinctly put it.

“Karis,” I found myself saying.

“Rita,” his sound, but my name, came back.

“So what the hell happened to your emigration?”

“Like I said. It is over. But that is not even half the story, Dr. Sss… Rita”

I looked back at the vehicles through my one remaining mirror. If he had a full story, then in this road traffic jam, he could at the very least offer even a quarter of it.

“Come on in,” I said.

“On the account of the rain I would say …”

He never got a chance to finish that particular sentence. A flash of lightning lit up the usual dark Nairobi night. In a fraction of a minute, a tree that was in the middle of the kerb was uprooted and out of all the possible three hundred and sixty degrees that it would have landed, it landed, with a thud, on the car that Karis had just come from. The car was reduced to a seemingly unsalvageable wreck.

“…Oh shit”, he finished.

“On the account of the rain, I would second that,” I added with my heart racing from the noise the scene from the heavens had just sent. “You know you are one very lucky goat!”

Every motorist got out from their vehicles and stared blankly at the picture that would certainly interest an insurance company. There were other trees along the Road and it appeared that the motorists were ignorant of the saying lightning does not strike twice.

I got out of the car and moved with Karis to his former car.

“It seems I have a flat tyre,” Karis humoured as we heard the siren of the Utumishi Kwa Wote car in the distant responding to someone’s distress call with unprecedented alacrity. It turned out they were on an entirely mission but a quarter dozen of the boys in blue from the police station Shauri Moyo descended on arrival at the spot to sort out the mess.

Karis already had some unpleasant memories with the officers from Shauri Moyo. Four years ago, his house had been burgled and he lost almost all his worldly possessions. He had rushed to the police station to report the heinous crime and when he had narrated the incident to the officers, one of them looked at his blank piece of paper titled SUSPECTS and blurted, “You got a girlfriend?” So there went Karis like, “Yes. No, no, no. Rita wouldn’t steal a thing!” The officer rallied, “She stole your heart, remember?”

This time, Karis simply gave them a brief 4-1-1 then turned to me and said “With my luck, I guess I will need a ride from you to the filling station.”

It seemed to be a good idea though I wasn’t sure if he was considering himself lucky or unlucky for what had happened.

He stepped into the passenger seat and looked at me. I felt uneasy.

“So…” I said just as he started saying, “So…”

“So what were you going to say?” he was the fastest to rally from the synchronized words we had just uttered.

“I was going to ask you to tell me what happened.”

He pointed at the mirror on his side. “If my memory serves me right, a tree just fell on my car. That is what happened.”

I could only smile. I had noticed he was not wearing his wedding ring.

We had dated for two years and it seemed like the relationship was destined to blossom to a marriage when out of the blues, he met a gorgeous American lady who blew him away. She actually blew me, away. A changed Karis had then eagerly proposed to her following which they had agreed to live in the States.

“When I got to the US of A with Kellen, we were formally married in a Maasai wedding,” he began.


“Kellen really liked the whole setting of the Maasai community. She felt it was the most representative of the Kenyan people.”

What love can make men daily and daringly do! From my recollection, Karis could only utter one Maasai word, “Ero!” and he couldn’t even tell you what it meant.

“So I went along with it. Even braided my hair in ochre and wore the unmistaken able red shuka. She had on this beads that weighed some real kilos. It was a picture!”

Of horror, I imagined. And I was not just talking attire here. Thank heavens for small mercies and for the new national dress. To that add some thanks for the moving traffic. I saw some rocks on the road ahead, no doubt left behind by the boys who tactfully repaired the road, and I avoided them all. The rocks, not the boys.

“Soon, our relationship and marriage were on the rocks,” Karis continued. “But more and more, I realized that Kellen was not the woman I would have ever wanted to be the mother to my children. We were so different, and for once, it appeared there was a proviso to the saying that opposites attract.”

“I’m so sorry”, I said.

“I was sorry.” he went on. “Some couples are not made for each other and thus their relationship is not meant to be.”

The there was some uneasy silence as I turned the vehicle into a filling station.

“So how is the man in your life?”

Karis was prying. But there was a man in my life and I had been partially cursing this long trip home because I was rushing home to him.

“He is great.” I confessed.

“Lucky guy!” Karis complimented me.

“Lucky me.”

We got out of the vehicle and knew that it was time to part.

“Save my digits,” Karis said in reference to his cellular phone numbers. I assured him that I would only if he gave me the number since the caller ID had been withheld. He obliged and assured me that he would call again.

I drove on home. There was an unexplainable excitement building up all over my body. I opened the door quick and passed the living room to find that the house girl had already gone to sleep though she had been kind enough to leave some grub on the dinner table.

I rushed upstairs to meet the man in my life. He was snoring softly. I planted a kiss on his cheek. “I was on my way home early, dear,” I whispered to his ear, “Then duty came calling and I had to make a quick delivery”.

But that was not even half the story. I had just left his daddy at the filling station.

Should I tell his father like I just told you?

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Cynthia Kuto's Journey on Idols

There was a first, there was a second and now, as surely as counting has not changed, there must be a third. I am talking about a picture post! Well, Idols has come and gone, and as a final wrap of the Show, I decided to give you a journey through Idols by the lovely Cynthia Kuto.

She arrived at the Kampala auditions

Sang Hero by Mariah Carey

Got the applause from the Three Judges

Gave the Thumbs Up sign...

Joined the Kenyan entourage

Promised she was in this to win

Clapped for worthy opponents

Bravely took on Mandisa Yam

Laughed as Christine and Queen bemoaned the disappearance of Yam

Led out her group

Sang amidst the drama

Wasn't happy with group's performance

Cried about it actually

Oh no! Tears...

Wiped them away...

But you know why I love her... even as she wipes them away, she forms a love-heart image

Moment of Reckoning

Yes! She's through to the Top 24

Welcome segment to Top 24

Her opposition

She sings again...


Even the opposition was clapping

Beyonce look alike!

Lebo wants a duet...

No way... the first voting number

She playfully tells us: 4 is the number

She is safe to the Top 10

The Top 10 list is complete

She is back in the Top 10

And here they line up

Let's Dance!


And more intro...

She belts out another tune

The Judges are not impressed

Reminder: Number 1

Gives us a preview of her life

In shagzzz

Always been angelic...

With the proudest persons...

With proudest friends...

Or friend...

Look out

Centre of Attraction

Takes voice lessons

With vocal coach Duncan Wambugu

Hits the notes well...

Gives 'the wave'

Yes... Video....

Now Scar, what can Cynthia do to impress you?

Well Lebo...

Thank you Scar!

That brought out the smiles...

As Scar looked on sad at being the butt of the joke...

Watch out Cynthia, who is that behind you!

Ooops, sorry. Me and technology...

One Day I'll Fly Away...

Voted out... she won't go fading away

She's back at the Finale

Singing with Christine

With the smile still back

We hope she keeps in touch...

And gets more pin-up opportunities.

Thank you for the memories....