Today I was singing on my way to work. I had a homesick moment so I started to sing those sunday school songs from my childhood. One of them really puzzled me. If you know it, sing along....
I got a shoe
You got a shoe
All God's children gotta shoooooooe
When I go to heaven gonna put on my shoe
Gonna walk all over God's heaven, heaveeeeen, heaveeeeeeen
(repeat as desired)
Now, why would anybody teach children such a song? We all know that not all of God's children gotta shooooooooe.
I know that it is supposed to be in reference to some sort of heavenly shoes that are waiting for all God's children to wear on arrival, but nobody told me that when they taught me the song. I figured this out with age. I had classmates who had nicer shoes than mine. Some barely had shoes to speak off. All of us have seen, or know children (God's children?) without shoes. I wonder if they were also taught this song.
What is the purpose of this song anyway? Maybe I'm just being sceptical. I'll just sing another song...
Aringa ringa roses.................
Friday, December 15, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
When will it stop!
So I drove the usual 1 1/2 hours to attend the latest Kenyan concert. Mr Lenny. Nice one. It was an easy, laid back affair without mingi maneno. Well, there was the crazy mama who kept shoving peeps around. So rude! Lakini with that hair and that shimmery shimmery outfit, I would be lying if I said I expected better. She promptly became the subject of a discussion about attention seeking behaviour and how to appropriately deal with those who embrace such. Conclusion, ignore them. They will tire and move on to bother the next person that gives them airtime. In this case, she hopped onto the stage and proceeded to win the attention of all present. Even some applause. I guess she won.
Then there was the handsome brother with the big, luscious lips. Dem! This young man will never know just how silly he made a gang of grown women. He was not pretty, not fly, but SEXY!! Kijana handsome namba 1. Bila that pretty boy look that very often comes with a lot of detail and self obsession. Not this one. This one is the kind I like to call a Double D. Yaani, Dashing and Delicious! A tall dark Double D. I don't think this chap knows just how hot he is. He walked around for a bit looking like he was unsure of his surroundings and finally settled down next to his boys, whom we know. Silly chaps didn't bother to introduce their new friend to the ladies. What a waste! We would have been happy to shake his hand and thus enable each of us to say, "We met a chap ......". That's all. Right now we are at, "We saw a chap....." We didn't necessarily want to do anything with (or to) him. He could have sat in the corner and looked hot all night for all we cared. If seeing him was all that had happened that night, we would have been cool. That alone was worth the trip and the entrance charge. There is a God.
Now to the reason for this post. When will it stop? When will the groping and grabbing and grinding stop? When will men seize to assault women on the dance floor? I am at the point where I am willing to engage in dialogue. Please! Please! Please! If you are a man and you are in the habit of sneaking up on unsuspecting women on the dance floor in an attempt to grrrrind, please STOP! I am asking nicely. That ish is the quickest way to angusha a party. I understand that some women are open to playing this yucky game, but most are not. It is slidey, slimy, slippery, and slithery. GROSS! What is the novelty with this action anyway? Where is the thrill? So you rub on someone you do not know, and then?
Such a man threatened to ruin my easy, laid back night out. He swaggered in my direction, looking me up and down like a Form One at a funky. (Looking me. Mrs Mbogo would frown upon that one). Anyway, he had a beer clutched in one hand, leaving the other free to grope my behind as he whispered in my ear "you're my type". Now, I am not the violent type. Have never been, lakini such an occurrence is deserving of some pain inflicting action. I looked around just in time to see my girls disappear into the crowd leaving me by my lonesome and at the mercy of this kimonster. We had a chat about that later. They owe me lunch. Left to fend for myself, I decided to use diplomacy to deal with my predicament, since I was bila back up for my much desired violent reaction. After a brief attempt to engage this fellow in a discussion about the pros and cons of groping strangers, I realised I was not only wasting my time, but also entertaining a bunch of people sitted nearby. I excused myself and walked away. Later I did beat myself up for being so polite with a complete ass hole. I will work on that.
After kadha sorrys from the girls and a good show by Mr. Lenny I was back to my happy self for the rest of the night. Later, as I watched the owner of the establishment throw a hissy fit on realising that a Miro and his beer are not easily parted, my faith in mankind was restored. A friend of my roommate, whom I had met only once before, walked up to me and reintroduced himself. He was polite and funny. I was impressed. There are good ones out there. Hope abounds.
Then there was the handsome brother with the big, luscious lips. Dem! This young man will never know just how silly he made a gang of grown women. He was not pretty, not fly, but SEXY!! Kijana handsome namba 1. Bila that pretty boy look that very often comes with a lot of detail and self obsession. Not this one. This one is the kind I like to call a Double D. Yaani, Dashing and Delicious! A tall dark Double D. I don't think this chap knows just how hot he is. He walked around for a bit looking like he was unsure of his surroundings and finally settled down next to his boys, whom we know. Silly chaps didn't bother to introduce their new friend to the ladies. What a waste! We would have been happy to shake his hand and thus enable each of us to say, "We met a chap ......". That's all. Right now we are at, "We saw a chap....." We didn't necessarily want to do anything with (or to) him. He could have sat in the corner and looked hot all night for all we cared. If seeing him was all that had happened that night, we would have been cool. That alone was worth the trip and the entrance charge. There is a God.
Now to the reason for this post. When will it stop? When will the groping and grabbing and grinding stop? When will men seize to assault women on the dance floor? I am at the point where I am willing to engage in dialogue. Please! Please! Please! If you are a man and you are in the habit of sneaking up on unsuspecting women on the dance floor in an attempt to grrrrind, please STOP! I am asking nicely. That ish is the quickest way to angusha a party. I understand that some women are open to playing this yucky game, but most are not. It is slidey, slimy, slippery, and slithery. GROSS! What is the novelty with this action anyway? Where is the thrill? So you rub on someone you do not know, and then?
Such a man threatened to ruin my easy, laid back night out. He swaggered in my direction, looking me up and down like a Form One at a funky. (Looking me. Mrs Mbogo would frown upon that one). Anyway, he had a beer clutched in one hand, leaving the other free to grope my behind as he whispered in my ear "you're my type". Now, I am not the violent type. Have never been, lakini such an occurrence is deserving of some pain inflicting action. I looked around just in time to see my girls disappear into the crowd leaving me by my lonesome and at the mercy of this kimonster. We had a chat about that later. They owe me lunch. Left to fend for myself, I decided to use diplomacy to deal with my predicament, since I was bila back up for my much desired violent reaction. After a brief attempt to engage this fellow in a discussion about the pros and cons of groping strangers, I realised I was not only wasting my time, but also entertaining a bunch of people sitted nearby. I excused myself and walked away. Later I did beat myself up for being so polite with a complete ass hole. I will work on that.
After kadha sorrys from the girls and a good show by Mr. Lenny I was back to my happy self for the rest of the night. Later, as I watched the owner of the establishment throw a hissy fit on realising that a Miro and his beer are not easily parted, my faith in mankind was restored. A friend of my roommate, whom I had met only once before, walked up to me and reintroduced himself. He was polite and funny. I was impressed. There are good ones out there. Hope abounds.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
My boarding school healthcare practitioner............
Every time I watch those medicine adverts on TV, they shangaza me. You see a handsome chap holding his supuu wife and blissfully walking off into the horizon. Then the big voice advises you to "Ask your doctor if _ _ _ is right for you". Soon after the same voice rushes through the side effects that taking _ _ _ can give you, i.e. Dizziness/Vertigo, Nausea, Constipation, Headache, Somnolence, Vomiting, Pruritus, "CNS Stimulation", Asthenia, Sweating, Dyspepsia, Dry Mouth AND Diarrhea.
Riiiiiiight! I'll be sure to dash out and ask my doctor if we should try to cure my dry mouth with something that could give me dry mouth and "CNS stimulation",(itself a composite of nervousness, anxiety, agitation, tremor, spasticity, euphoria, emotional lability and hallucinations). Makes you wonder about all those "mad" people we see everyday. Maybe they had an itchy throat and asked their doctor about _ _ _. Now see!
I am reminded of my high school days when all we had to ensure we stayed healthy was God, the ancestors and a nurse with a Karura forest masquerading as a chip on her shoulder. It is because of the first two that some of us are still living. Thank God and Hail our forefathers!
It did not matter what was ailing you. If you stood before Ms. Karura (lets call her that) for half an hour giving a concise breakdown of your medical and surgical history, all you got at the end of it was 2 Cosmos tablets and a shove towards the door. Headache, Stomachache, Toothache, fever, sprained leg, Heartburn, cramps, Constipation = Cosmos mbili. Cosmos, in case you don't know, is paracetamol in its most basic form. It came packaged in a juala in a big box. Like 25,000 tembes. Anyway, about 2 months after being admitted in the school you realised self medication was the only way to survive and better be on point with your prayers.
One morning while a gang of us stood in line waiting to receive our token dose of Cosmos....... ebu first I clear something up ... You are probably wondering why we even bothered. I'll tell you why. You see, the time allocated to see the nurse was every morning after assembly. This was the same time when we had our "Guard of Honour". Really a fancy name for 'walk past the line of prefects as they inspect you and should they find fault in your ensemble, step aside and wait to be allocated punishment'. Now, if you had, say, an ink smudge on your skirt, you could avoid the trouble by instead going down to the Dis (dispensary) and making up an ailment. Cramps were a favourite. Who could argue with that one? Anyway, after this exercise the dustbin at the exit of the Dis was usually full of Cosmos. I know I never swallowed those things.
Where was I.........? Ahh yes, this particular morning the nurse was in a foul mood. So rare. Noooot! BORAT FOR PRIME MINISTER!!!!!
Sorry. The nurse had nunad, so one by one we stood before her and she handed out our rations, shingo upande. Then there was a commotion at the door. About four Form 1 girls rushed in carrying their friend. She was gasping for air and looking very frail indeed. We stepped aside. Ms Karura barely flinched. She took one look at the young lady and decided she was faking it. Whatever IT was. She continued dispensing Cosmos. "You theenk your reg is broken, take these ones!" Finally her conscience gnawed on the ice cube located where her heart should be and she put down the box of Cosmos. As she approached the patient, the other girls began to explain. "She can't breath, she has a condition, her medicine is finished, please help her". It was a sad scene really. The nurse completely ignored them and asked the patient, "weh, ati what is this that is mbothering you today?" The girl, gasping for air, mastered enough strength to give her condition a name. "I have heart murmur......"
Now, I will make an attempt to describe the burst of guffaw type laughter Ms. Karura descended into. You know the noise donkeys make when they are on heat? Yah. I have never seen anything laugh like that. That ish should be documented. So now the scene in the Dis looks like this, girl gasping for air, her pals tearing helplessly, an ass, sorry a nurse heavy laden by the gigantic chip on her shoulder braying like a horny ass (aha!) and the rest of us standing aside jaws on the floor wondering who needs treatment more urgently. When she finally composed herself she neatly folded her face into a sneer and ask the crowd, "so, does enembody haf heart papa?"
Idiot!
Riiiiiiight! I'll be sure to dash out and ask my doctor if we should try to cure my dry mouth with something that could give me dry mouth and "CNS stimulation",(itself a composite of nervousness, anxiety, agitation, tremor, spasticity, euphoria, emotional lability and hallucinations). Makes you wonder about all those "mad" people we see everyday. Maybe they had an itchy throat and asked their doctor about _ _ _. Now see!
I am reminded of my high school days when all we had to ensure we stayed healthy was God, the ancestors and a nurse with a Karura forest masquerading as a chip on her shoulder. It is because of the first two that some of us are still living. Thank God and Hail our forefathers!
It did not matter what was ailing you. If you stood before Ms. Karura (lets call her that) for half an hour giving a concise breakdown of your medical and surgical history, all you got at the end of it was 2 Cosmos tablets and a shove towards the door. Headache, Stomachache, Toothache, fever, sprained leg, Heartburn, cramps, Constipation = Cosmos mbili. Cosmos, in case you don't know, is paracetamol in its most basic form. It came packaged in a juala in a big box. Like 25,000 tembes. Anyway, about 2 months after being admitted in the school you realised self medication was the only way to survive and better be on point with your prayers.
One morning while a gang of us stood in line waiting to receive our token dose of Cosmos....... ebu first I clear something up ... You are probably wondering why we even bothered. I'll tell you why. You see, the time allocated to see the nurse was every morning after assembly. This was the same time when we had our "Guard of Honour". Really a fancy name for 'walk past the line of prefects as they inspect you and should they find fault in your ensemble, step aside and wait to be allocated punishment'. Now, if you had, say, an ink smudge on your skirt, you could avoid the trouble by instead going down to the Dis (dispensary) and making up an ailment. Cramps were a favourite. Who could argue with that one? Anyway, after this exercise the dustbin at the exit of the Dis was usually full of Cosmos. I know I never swallowed those things.
Where was I.........? Ahh yes, this particular morning the nurse was in a foul mood. So rare. Noooot! BORAT FOR PRIME MINISTER!!!!!
Sorry. The nurse had nunad, so one by one we stood before her and she handed out our rations, shingo upande. Then there was a commotion at the door. About four Form 1 girls rushed in carrying their friend. She was gasping for air and looking very frail indeed. We stepped aside. Ms Karura barely flinched. She took one look at the young lady and decided she was faking it. Whatever IT was. She continued dispensing Cosmos. "You theenk your reg is broken, take these ones!" Finally her conscience gnawed on the ice cube located where her heart should be and she put down the box of Cosmos. As she approached the patient, the other girls began to explain. "She can't breath, she has a condition, her medicine is finished, please help her". It was a sad scene really. The nurse completely ignored them and asked the patient, "weh, ati what is this that is mbothering you today?" The girl, gasping for air, mastered enough strength to give her condition a name. "I have heart murmur......"
Now, I will make an attempt to describe the burst of guffaw type laughter Ms. Karura descended into. You know the noise donkeys make when they are on heat? Yah. I have never seen anything laugh like that. That ish should be documented. So now the scene in the Dis looks like this, girl gasping for air, her pals tearing helplessly, an ass, sorry a nurse heavy laden by the gigantic chip on her shoulder braying like a horny ass (aha!) and the rest of us standing aside jaws on the floor wondering who needs treatment more urgently. When she finally composed herself she neatly folded her face into a sneer and ask the crowd, "so, does enembody haf heart papa?"
Idiot!
Monday, December 04, 2006
Kuwa serious padre
Reading about the church calling for the banning of condom adverts in Kenya was the saddest thing I did last week. I cannot for the life of me figure out why anyone would think that is a good idea. The position of the church on sex is very clear. Abstain until marriage. Good advice. I distinctly remember my parents telling us not to eat sugar, or climb trees or go to kina Nani's house. That didn't stop us from doing all those things. I think it is irresponsible for the church to make such a request.
People are dying everyday from a disease that can be prevented with simple measures. Denying the youth of Kenya the knowledge about the options they have is unfair and quite frankly unjustifiable, even with regards to faith. If the church is so opposed to the use of condoms and wants to promote only abstinence, then they should invest in their product, just like everybody else. They should produce mass media adverts with colourful pictures and pay up to sell that product. A celeb or two, a funny man here and there. Walete compe.
The argument that those ads encourage sex is growing old, but let me use it for a bit. Even if some kids now think it is cool to have sex, how about those who have been having sex, but now think its cool to use condoms? How about those kids who now feel more confident about walking into a shop and buying a pack of condoms? My beef with the ads is that they still imply that condom acquisition is the responsibility of the males. The women of Kenya need to be encouraged to take charge. It's high time we saw an advert with a group of girls chatting about being stocked up on condoms. Let's see what the church says about that!!
People are dying everyday from a disease that can be prevented with simple measures. Denying the youth of Kenya the knowledge about the options they have is unfair and quite frankly unjustifiable, even with regards to faith. If the church is so opposed to the use of condoms and wants to promote only abstinence, then they should invest in their product, just like everybody else. They should produce mass media adverts with colourful pictures and pay up to sell that product. A celeb or two, a funny man here and there. Walete compe.
The argument that those ads encourage sex is growing old, but let me use it for a bit. Even if some kids now think it is cool to have sex, how about those who have been having sex, but now think its cool to use condoms? How about those kids who now feel more confident about walking into a shop and buying a pack of condoms? My beef with the ads is that they still imply that condom acquisition is the responsibility of the males. The women of Kenya need to be encouraged to take charge. It's high time we saw an advert with a group of girls chatting about being stocked up on condoms. Let's see what the church says about that!!
Sweet smelling ceremonies.
One of my good friends is a Mkamba. Down to the marrow. She is super intelligent and destined for great things, but colours have defeated her. I have seen her wear a pink top with a yellow bandana and go off to the mall. Poor sweet. We enjoy taunting each other about our tribal tendencies and the strange behaviours of our respective tribesmen. It's a lot of fun, cures homesickness and helps to ground us while we are away from home. Occasionally these sessions result in "Ala!" moments. Someone will say something about a customary practice that the rest of us knew nothing about and we all go home tickled, but a little wiser.
Recently my Mkamba sister presented us with a storo that won 1st place in the "what the *$#@!!!" category of our dealings. I will share. She attended a wedding in her home village and found herself in the middle of a strange practice. Apparently in this village it is not enough to throw rice at each other at the end of the wedding ceremony. Oh no! There were two people posted at the doors of the church, armed with cans of Tahiti and Matador deo spray. These two proud workers were responsible for spraying everybody who walked past with a dose of the sweet frangrances.
My question to her then, and to all who have witnessed or participated in this practice is this, "For why?" Surely! She is bila answers for me, hence I am reluctant to attend her looming nuptials. I mean, its bad enough to be pelted with rice by cheeky children, to be sprayed with Tahiti...!! Ahhhhhhhh, no thanks!
Recently my Mkamba sister presented us with a storo that won 1st place in the "what the *$#@!!!" category of our dealings. I will share. She attended a wedding in her home village and found herself in the middle of a strange practice. Apparently in this village it is not enough to throw rice at each other at the end of the wedding ceremony. Oh no! There were two people posted at the doors of the church, armed with cans of Tahiti and Matador deo spray. These two proud workers were responsible for spraying everybody who walked past with a dose of the sweet frangrances.
My question to her then, and to all who have witnessed or participated in this practice is this, "For why?" Surely! She is bila answers for me, hence I am reluctant to attend her looming nuptials. I mean, its bad enough to be pelted with rice by cheeky children, to be sprayed with Tahiti...!! Ahhhhhhhh, no thanks!
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