Men... Manly Men!

Lesson. ‘Men’ is really not a generic word. Because men are not the same. Men are different. Yes. Some men may pay the rent, but some just defer. Equally, some men are indifferent.

So every time I hear women (oh, these ones are all the same!) complain that they do not understand men, I chuckle. It is like saying, ‘I don’t understand animals’. You see, all are different.

So Man A is different from Man B and Man D may actually love Man U more than you! Yes, different. Just the way fingerprints are never the same (and if you checked some women’s bodies carefully, boy, will you see a man’s fingerprints all over them)!

Women are the same since they all like to order expensive wine and also like to whine. And they all sing ‘You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman’ when they are buying sanitary pads.

Some men have beards whilst some have faces as smooth as a new born baby’s behind. Some men love women’s behinds whilst others say they think the breasts are the reason they fall in love.

When we speak of love, some men are clueless. Some men are hopeless romantics whilst others are well… hopeless. If you told some men that you love them, we may need a search party and a Commission of Inquiry to establish their whereabouts moments after those words escape from your lips.

Some men use their lips to kiss. Others use them to lie.

Some men know that when you lie with a woman, you need staying power. Some merit a mention in the lyrics of the Alanis Morissete hit ‘Ironic’ as they would be watching soccer and claim they love extra-time when they suffer from pre-mature ejaculation.

Some men acknowledge that the last resurrection was Christ's whilst others are not in denial and pop Viagra once in a blue moon.

If you look closely, you will realize that some man came up with H20 Bling couture water. Yes. Whilst in rural and urban Kenya, some men go down on all fours to taste dirty waters, others do it differently and get the expensive kind. And advertisers know that some men are suckers and won't know the relation between water and nookie hence the sex-themed adverts targeting such men.

Some men dye their hair whilst others who appreciate that dying is the end of a normal process embrace their aging and don’t mind having wrinkles that look like the contours of the Rift Valley as seen from a Fly 540 that is experiencing turbulence.

Some men are knights in shining armour whilst some will give you a ngeta in the night even if you were in distress.

Some men are the biggest joke in the country. In a country that includes Dr. Alfred Mutua that says a lot about such men. Every woman has once encountered such jokes when they are begging to be taken back after reaching ‘Amazing Grace’ levels. By which I mean, when they are saying ‘Was blind but now I see!’ If only women wouldn’t splash hot water in their eyes after they admit that. But you see, women are all the same!

I disagree with the Guinness slogan that there is a drop of greatness in every man. They could have really strung me along with ‘there is a hole of sweetness in every woman!’

Or a whole lot of sweetness.

‘Some men are stupid whilst some are bachelors’, you will hear some men guffaw. These are the same clique of men who have been circulating those stickers that your innocent eyes see in matatus proclaiming ‘I don’t kiss and tell… I fcuk and brag’.

Some men are Prince Charming personified and will even bake a cake with not a single string attached. To them, breakfast in bed really means food on a tray. Taste Bud Men, you could call them. On the other hand, some men are just bad men. Where else did ‘breakfast of champions’ come from? How else could non church-going men really love Morning Glory?

Some men are called Sam whilst others are quite something. Still, others are the sum of all your fears. Some are shepherds and some are cowards.

Some men circumvent the truth. Some are uncircumcised whilst others just decide to buy actual wallets. Some men become Popes whilst others can only dream of wearing the funny hat on a different head. Heck, some men even think the saying 'Two heads are better than one' is about their bodies.

We should just call a spade a spade and not a Soil Redistribution Implement. Next time you see a person start a speech by saying ‘Ladies and Gentlemen’, remind him that not all men are gentle. Next time someone uses the word ‘men-folk’, please frown and say it out loud ‘I beg your pardon?’

Next time you meet a man who insists that you sing the lyrics of ‘Cater To You’, just take it like Every Woman. And don’t forget that some men listen to Abba whilst others are not at all sado-masochists proving once again that men are brewed differently.

There are men and there are manly men. End of lesson.

Pros and Cons

It is the tragedy of this life that once in a while we have to eke a living! For those of us who are extremely lazy and wouldn’t be bothered to lift a muscle each morning, it is oft a rude awakening after college to find that the next stage of life involves some form of servitude.

Me? Well, I think it is important that one caries out a SWOT analysis before he takes on a job.

Secretaries? Check. Workload? Check. Office near window? Check. Tea girl? Check.

It also helps if your job title is pronounceable. I have met persons calling themselves ‘Ethnomusicologists’ or some tongue twister else…. If all fails, settle for some abbreviations.

Like ‘AUE’. You can then only giggle as people google what that means. Another Useless Employee. After all, don’t we all call our CEO, the Crappy Eternal Optimist?

Whilst some policemen die on the job, there are jobs you can live for.

Take body painting. Or waxing. Or gynaecology. Or farming.

Farming? Oooooh yes. I was fascinated by people who indicated their occupations as PEASANT FARMER and always wanted to be a farmer especially since I was informed that every farmer gets a hoe. And you all know what happens to tea farmers after KTDA pays them their bonus.

Which brings me to Judy. One way to describe someone’s work is by saying what they do not do. Judy has never played rugby but she sure could get a position on that team. Judy is not a flanker or prop. Judy is not a barrister (maybe a solicitor). Judy be pretty woman.

Getting warmer? OK... when I first asked her what she does for a living, a smile smeared itself across her face and she simply whispered: I am a pro.

I asked: A professional what?

Her cell phone rung. ‘Sorry, am with a client’, she answered and hang up.

I frowned. Was she a professional con? She was the potential client, not I. I hoped it was mere phone etiquette. As she held the cell phone, she realized she could answer me quicker. She showed me a text message.

Turns out, she needed legal services and had been referred to me by someone. This Pretty Woman!

I asked: So how is business?

‘The economic crunch has brought us to our knees,’ she said conjuring images of a pun in my head.

‘I need help,’ she continued. ‘Someone made payment to me in kind and not cash’.

‘What kind?’

‘200 acres of land,’ she said triggering whistle from me and a suppressed Holy Molly.

‘You must be good!’ I teased.

‘Told you I am a pro,’ she said and looking directly in my eyes she added. ‘I hope you aren’t good!’

‘Why?’

‘I hear lawyers are either terrific in bed and terrible in court; or terrible in bed and terrific in court’.

‘Just your luck. I don’t play tennis!’

‘Well… I need you to handle the transfer of the property to my name,’ she said.

‘I could refer you to a good property lawyer,’ I offered.

‘You could, but it won’t help me. Am broke…’ her voice faltered. ‘I was hoping you could handle it pro bono. Please.’

Now why didn’t I become a stock broker? I would be gambling away with people’s moneys. Hell... I could be the Government Spokesman and perhaps do a better job whilst at it. I would get the President and First Lady on Oprah. Or I would scribble ‘You’ve been Punk’d’ at the end of each Presidential Press Conference and wave it at journalists.

‘Please!’ she repeated in whisper-mode. ‘I have no money at all! The only thing I could pay you with is this…’ Pause. Dips her hand I her rather expensive handbag and hands me a card.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s a voucher.’ she replies.

I look at the voucher and laugh. It even has the initials MBS after her name. She must be good to be awarded a Moran of the Burning Spear award. She puts me out of my misery by pointing at the initials and saying: Mind Blowing Sex.

‘I have heard of Judy Boucher… but this… is crazy. Judy Voucher!’

That property transaction took place pro bono (as opposed to pro bone-her). Judy insists the offer still stands and the day I wish to utilize it, I should. I wonder what she has done with a 200 acre farm. I wonder if the farm has a bush. I wonder if she has trimmed the bush. I wonder if it’s ever a wet bush. It should be if it’s irrigated constantly. I wonder if she has built a house with a front lawn. Does she mow the lawn? I only wonder.

I should never have left the seminary. The secretaries were virgins, or so we believed; the workload didn't involve dealing with pleasant farmers like Judy, the view from my window was magnificent and the tea girl... was a pretty woman.

I See Dead People

Each day, you open your daily newspaper, you expect to read about the good, the bad and the ugly. And that is exactly what you get when you open the Obituaries pages.

For some reasons, Kenyans have made it habitual to fill daily newspapers with photos of their beloved ones who have sadly, passed on.

The obsession is baffling. Frankly, why isn’t it just enough to place an announcement without having to attach the mugs of persons, at times pictured smiling or laughing or in graduation regalia?

For most Kenyans, the very first time that they see their photos in the daily press is when they are dead! Ahem…

The obituaries also seem to have a standard opening line: It is with humble acceptance of God’s will that we…

Humble acceptance. As opposed to 'arrogant acceptance'? Perhaps non-acceptance.

But surely, once you use the word ‘we’ it is necessary for people to know who ‘we’ refers to. Is it the newspaper? Is it the relatives? Is it Workland? If you expect those who have placed the announcement to indicate who they are, think again.

Instead, what follows is a long list of all the relatives of the deceased. And not just a list of relatives, the announcement won’t be complete if you do not indicate where all these relatives work.

Is the reason places of work are indicated so that those in denial can identify themselves? Is it so that those persons can use the obituary cutting as evidence to get off work?

Sometimes it is embarrassing when someone passes away and you realize from the obituary that he or she had employed most of their relations in the Department they were working in if they were in Government.

Of course, if someone is not in the motherland, it is absolutely necessary to inform everybody where they are. So brackets are placed after the names with clear indications which country that person is residing. Come on.

And then sometimes you read that 'the body will leave the mortuary'. Leave? You can think a Lazarus will happen. No. The cadaver will be removed, surely, without being willing.

If you are thinking that is the last time your mug appears in the press, please just don’t die because there is more. An appreciation message comes a few days after your burial.

So you may be thinking, ‘Why don’t these folks buy ‘Thank You’ cards and write to those that assisted them during the mourning period. Or send text messages to them at a cheaper cost. No way! We have to show that the funeral was graced by some big shot or political heavyweight. And advertise that!

Now, I know that the leading newspaper circulation could be 250,000 people per day. Living people. So how come, one freaking year later, we are putting up anniversary messages and addressing the dead person.

‘You are dearly missed!’

Not even, ‘We, being his wife and children and his creditors, dearly miss him!’

As the First Lady said whilst lambasting Prof. Saitoti for holding séances, dead people cannot be taught a lesson. Similarly, dead people do not read newspapers. Or go online to read the transitions messages.

We might not realize this, but it may be cost effective to simply put an announcement in the classified pages and use the rest of the funds we have been wasting on other things that we have also been wasting our moneys on.

Or if we must really do it, let us have fun whilst at it. After all, an anagram of 'funeral' is 'real fun'. Like saying:

Dad isn't John Darwin. He has not faked his own death. He really really passed away. Gave up his ghost. Reached his sell by date. Thankfully, not by the death penalty. Or that global warming that Al Gore keeps yapping about.

He leaves behind an unmade bed, unwashed utensils, a Giorgio Armani suit and of course, a will.

Following this termination, we intend to bury him. Not to make sure... come on. The interment shall be at room temperature because Dad was so hot. Or at least mum thinks so. There will be a last dance (which he won't participate in, LOL!). We are dead serious, pardon the pun, but he will take up residence at Lang'ata Cemetery without having to worry about rent.

The family of Whispers have fun doing it and even use a caricature of this true Kenyan legend. Now such are obituary messages that I can read.

* with deepest apologies to actual persons depicted above simply for illustration purposes. This blog is in loving memory of a loved one.

Bertil Live

Thanks Sydney. I am not used to holding a microphone in this manner or indeed speaking to a microphone that doesn’t have some three initials such as NTV, KTN, WTF.

WTF is of course the initials of the new TV station that only has shows on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday hence the WTF initials. Or since we have had a wedding, it could be in reference to what weddings are all about: Welcome To Family.

For those of you watching at home, this show is rated 18. Wait, Sydney, this is not LIVE? Damn... I thought I was in the league of Churchill. Oh that isn’t LIVE either.

So Martin and Liz got married today. At about 1.17pm they were declared man and wife. No need for DNA tests. I wish this had been like the inauguration of our cousin Obama Jr. when we could say the marriage took effect from noon.

I liked the fact that they chose not to use the bridal march Here Comes The Bride and went for From This Moment instead. I have never understood why people would sing that during the day, when we all know it should only be sang at night. In their wedding night suite. After all, only the two of them should be able to tell when the bride comes.

I spoke to the couple. They went for counseling. Don’t you just love the way the catechist assumes that all of us are virgins? Come on. It’s just as worse as calling the Kenyan Rugby team ‘The Virgin Boys’. So our dear couple played along. You both deserve the Oscar – a week too soon.

I frankly have no idea about Marto, but studies have shown that most boys in Kenya lose their virginity to mboches. I think when this study was made public, a host of girls didn’t mind turning Beyonce’s song to ‘If I Were A Mboch!’ Dee Jay please…

If I Were a Mboch… even just for a day…

I would roll into bed in the morning..

And throw in whom I wanted …

and go doing it with the guys.

And chase after boys… 

Speaking of whats-her-name.. yes.. Beyonce… any Single Ladies in the house? No, no Liz, you can’t raise your hand anymore. This marriage thing sure takes some time to get used to.

Single Ladies, this is where you are getting it wrong. Beyonce doesn’t point at her hands and say: If You Liked Me You Should Have Put Handcuffs On Me. Listen to the words…

Hopefully soon Beyonce will release another song called Pregnant Ladies. 

If you liked it then you should have put a thing on it…

Don't be mad when you say you have to baby sit… 

So I was asked to give words of advice to the couple. No, don’t laugh. That’s not a joke. I am so hurt.

Those of you who don’t know, I am a divorce lawyer. No one is paying me for being up here, so I may as well slot in that commercial break. Three things I can mention about marriages in Kenya. According to the law, the doors to a wedding ceremony have to be open. The wedding has to be before 6pm. And no.. weddings are not regulated by the Betting Control and Licensing Board.

So irrespective of the result for Martin today, this wasn’t a Ponyoka Na Liz contest.

I used to have a teacher who would start a word and ask us to finish. It is a Kenyan thing. You ask for directions and someone tells you ‘Enda hivi, ukifika hapo kwa nyumba nyekundu, piga ko___?’ And you have to say ‘Kona’. I know someone who said ‘Kofi’ when presented with that ‘Ko___?’ question. Most teachers preferred someone not repeating the fist bit of the hint word so you just complete the word.

Just like Liz completes Martin.

So, knowing my qualifications, I want us to offer this advise to the couple jointly.

For the men here, now that Martin is married, he will be going home to find ugali na su____?

KUMA? Guys… behave. You are such perverts. I ask you to tell Martin what he will find and that is all you think about? You can’t shout that. Langi Langi is a respectable premise. If cops here you shouting KUMA what will they think we are doing here. Jeez.

Ladies only now. By now you know that a marriage is not valid until it is consummated. So to Liz and Martin we say that you must consu_____?

MATE? You ladies are just as perverted as the guys. Your advise is ‘mate?’

I give up. Let me do this advice thing on my own. After all, the preacher said in church that opinions are like (beep)holes. Every one has one. I know, I know.. he didn’t use the exact words. But that was the message.

During the Counseling Classes I bet you Liz asked “How many time a week?” My opinion is twice is nice. But if you are feeling philanthropic and sufficiently charitable to our boy, then you can make it five times a week.

I have read that nowadays, men are the ones who are telling their wives that they are not in the mood. Martin pliz. I beg you. Headache or whatever… you have to when you are required. Frankly, I miss those days when women were women and men were … animals.

You did well today. I see you even crammed the vows. Those of you who don’t know, the couple overruled me when I suggested we call the marriage vows ‘The Audacity of Hope’.

Truth is, we hoped for a good day. We had a great day! It was always going to be great day from the day he proposed to her. Sorry.. but I have to say this. I am actually the one who proposed to her. Martin asked me since I am the wordy wordy one to ask her to marry him. And I went on bended knee and asked her: WILL … YOU …. MARRY… HIM?

Yes, so romantic. And this marriage will succeed. Yes, Liz.. you will succeed. Oh, and that is two words actually. ‘Suck’ and ‘seed’.

Marriage oh marriage. So blissful. A friend of the couple said he had no idea he will feel so trapped. His life was completely taken over. He couldn’t use the kitchen because the mboch was ever there. He couldn’t walk to get the daily newspaper in the morning coz he found it already on the table. What to do? He got man best friend. A dog, just so he could spend time with it and feed it. He fed it only once. The next day, he found the dog was being fed.

Martin wont make the same mistake. After all, Liz, not a dog, is his best friend.

Is my time up? Sydney. OK.. I would like to finally thank all those who made this day succeed (and that is one word). The Wedding Committee, you guys were great. I for one am happy we no longer have to go back to Regional for our meetings. I never saw the fire exits. Actually all I saw was that sign that states ‘IN CASE OF FIRE, SHOUT FIRE!’

Works as efficiently as the sign that says: IN CASE OF FIRE, SING.. THE ROOF! THE ROOF! THE ROOF IS ON FIRE!

To Liz and Martin. Whose only mistake was to invite me to do this skit. May you live and love each other as you have always done.

Such Is Life

I woke up this morning and as I look out of the window, I see some guy on my roof trying to reach for something. I was startled!



'What do you want?!' I screamed. Wishing that very moment that I had a gun.

Nothing. He doesn't respond. Just silence! And he is grinning quite like the cheshire cat.

It took all of three minutes for me to realize that this was actually only a billboard next to my digz.



Advertising the Orange phone network!

Aah. So I forget about the incident but on my way to town... what do I see?



Blow me don! Yes... another billboard!



Come on... now that is what should have been next to my window!



With that tag line of Orange: Together we can do more!



Yes... such is life!

You don't always get the billboard you want next to your house!

Private Parts

Toni Braxton sang a lyric that was on the minds of hot blooded youngsters when in the song You’re Making Me High she started off by stating:

I’ll always think of you
Inside of my private thoughts
I can imagine you
Touching my private parts…

Now… shockingly, that ‘touching my private parts’ sentence looks like it was straight forward but as you can appreciate, if there is something, or anything, trust the Kenyan Courts to end up making a comment about it.

So first, do you remember how this country was before the Michuki Rules took over? Passengers were packed like sardines in the Kenya Buses and as it would sometimes happen, some men were standing behind some women and getting excited when buses hit the potholes and the sleeping policemen aka bumps.

Away from buses, the discotheques were packed with revelers who would swarm the dance floor to get their groove on. With dance-styles that spoke volumes and gyrations that would make some men inevitably rub themselves against women in the pretext that it was Ndombolo…and thinking the ladies were still in the Toni Braxton mood:

The very thought of you
Makes me want to get undressed…
All I want is: moonlights,
With you there inside me…

Inevitably, the question came up. If such misguided men made contact with a woman’s breasts or buttocks, would the woman have a right to go to court and state that the man was guilty of indecent assault?

No less an authority than the Court of Appeal was called upon to adjudicate on this issue in the case of Omambia v Republic.

The accused according to evidence adduced in court, put his hand under a woman’s blouse, also touched her buttocks and even pressed his exposed penis between them. He was charged with indecent assault for touching the woman’s private parts.

The Court of Appeal spend time trying to figure out what the words ‘touching my private parts’ meant!

The Judges sought to know what the word ‘touching’ means. They said that the word ‘touch’ without any particularization, can only be by hand so technically the fact that the accused used his external genital organs to press against the woman was different from touching which can only be by ‘hand.’

Talk about handing out leniency!

Then according to them, breasts and buttocks are not private parts. They even went ahead to quote the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary and limited private parts to mean ‘external genital organs’! In fact, in one telling straight extract from the case, the Judges actually stated: She talked about her buttocks and not her private parts.

Talk about the law being an ass!

You can picture the discussion as the judgment was written.

Judge A: Hey…why stop at ‘pudenda’. Why not ‘labia’ or ‘mons pubis’

Judge B: Am not into the scientific mumbo jumbo. I prefer: ‘Centre spread’ or ‘Honey pot’ or ‘Kandahar’

Judge C: What about the touching bit?

Judge A: Hmmmm. He touched her with his… er… should I say ‘dick’

Judge B: You can also say: ‘Magic Stick’ or ‘Browser’

Judge C: No way. Touch can only be by hand.

I know, I know. The Court of Appeal judges should all get a listing on the entries on Dickipedia.