tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367164352024-03-07T10:31:59.091-08:00This is a NO KIDDING zone.This one is for those times when I have stuff to say but nobody to say it to. PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-12641972066667774892007-01-29T10:23:00.000-08:002007-01-29T12:47:12.029-08:00That's my mummy.I'm back.<br /><br />I had an interesting conversation with my baby sister yesterday. It seems forces of darkness are making a play at our humble abode. Anyone who has a relative of friend who 'believes' more than the average mwananchi will understand this. According to mummy, and her fellow believers, who include close relatives (usually aunties) these forces come riding on strange objects and images. <br /><br />I remember the artifacts that my pops has brought home from his world travels over the years with a lot of sadness. If only they had stuck around long enough to find a loving home where they were appreciated. They never had a chance in our house. Mother, on seeing them, would light a fire and set them ablaze. If they were not the burning type, she would take a hammer to them and destroy them good. Then she would say a prayer and rid the house of any residual 'darkness'. That's my mummy. <br /><br />My cousin was once given a beautiful reggae coloured ngepa by her good friend. She made it home in time to catch the prayers, but not to save it from the flames. That's her mummy. Together they make up what I sometimes call the Hallelujah Squad.<br /><br />So apparently the house is on high alert right now. Two foreign pieces have found their way into the house and mother is on her toes. She wants them destroyed, or at least gone from her house. That would have been easy, ten years ago. However, something has happened in that time that has made it a little more tricky for her. Her babies have grown into big men and women who are just as stubborn as she is. The difference is this. We want the works or art (or receptacles of evil, depending on who you ask) to not only be preserved, but put up to hang in all their glory. Mother is having a moment. A big one. <br /><br />So far the huge mask (probably West African) has made it to the first wall you see on entering the house. My siblings are good like that. The other piece is still in storage. According to baby sister, this one is unlikely to see the light of day. At least not in that house. I wonder why? Surely a wall hanging depicting the Egyptian sun god and worshipers of said god can be allocated a spot in the home of a founding member of the Hallelujah Squad! <br /><br />My brother knows that is not going to happen so he has suggested that it hang in his keja. Mum will not hear of such. Its his keja, but its outside her house. Plan C has been proposed. Why not give it to other big brother to hang in HIS house. That's all the way across town. Surely that is far enough from mother? Even I thought that was a good option. Mother's reply, "he's my son, so NO!". LOL. I asked sister dearest to see if shipping it to Nyeuthi would even come close to being considered. She laughed. <br /><br />Too bad. I would love to have it. It would make a good addition to my wall of masks. If mother came visiting now we would 'have a talk'. God would probably be invited to that conversation. Reference material, Holy Bible. That's my mummy.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-45023653363757013602007-01-29T09:23:00.000-08:002007-01-29T10:22:35.366-08:00I tried.I have been away from this my box thinking about my social life. Something has to change. Soonest. If I'm not bumming at home growing old I'm dodging the bizarre antics of my <a href="http://nokiddingzone.blogspot.com/2007/01/encounters-with-african-male.html">African brothers</a> or even more unfortunately,the occasional <a href="http://nokiddingzone.blogspot.com/2007/01/encounters-with-african-male-kenya.html">Kenyan kimonster</a>. <br /><br />I realised the other day that I have not documented the just as entertaining shenanigans of my fellow African sisters, but I am allowed. I am a girl. I have chosen to keep those in the dark and take one for the team. Hell, I am the team! <br /><br />So in an attempt to change the course of my social life I decided to spend Friday night at the home of a fellow workmate. Nice girl. Not so nice night. The 'party' turned out to be 3 grown mzungus playing that dance video game, munching on chips and dip and entertaining the cats. I will admit it was a welcome break from the usual nonsense, but 1/2 hour into the 'bash' and I wanted my people. Badly. At least with them there is mental stimulation and mad entertainment. At some point the conversation turned to high school and its challenges. Yah. I suspect those three have changed their minds about how 'difficult' high school can be. Missing the bus, bad macaroni and cheese and not being popular are a walk in the park compared to some stories I know. Madam workmate is bound to share one of those stories in the office so if I get any strange looks I know what they are about.<br /><br />Conclusion, I do need to spread my wings and enjoy new company, but jumping upon a mat at the instruction of 4 arrows and caressing the cats is not my cup of tea. This nyeuthi needs a beat, a square meal and more lively company. The quest continues.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-44469188921845129402007-01-22T08:59:00.000-08:002013-01-11T13:45:17.122-08:00Encounters with the African male (Kenya Edition)It is with great sorrow (and a heavy heart to boot) that I add a Kenyan brother to my list of crazy miro men. It pains me to say that this chap also takes the cake for shocking behaviour. Here goes...<br />
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<b>Exhibit 3.</b><br />
So on Saturday my roommate and I are chilling at a downtown pub enjoying the music and chatting away when we are joined by some friends. These are the same gals whom I was with when I encountered the Burundi duo that are <a href="http://nokiddingzone.blogspot.com/2007/01/encounters-with-african-male.html">Exhibit 2</a>. They are accompanied by two chaps. A youngster from some island (looking dashing and delicious, but also barely legal) and another more 'mature' fellow. This one is ours. I have met him once before so I know for sure, but if you saw him you would know too. Fellow looks like he jumped right out of River road. <br />
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Anyway, my roommate, who has known him longer than I have, ensures her own safety by speedily reintroducing me as her 'sister-in-law'. Damn she's good! He raises an eyebrow, throws his hands in the air as if in defeat and diverts his attention to Nyeuthi. Crap! <br />
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So being the polite one I engage this father of four looking, oversize jacket wearing, 'please stop touching my thighs' fellow in loose conversation. Soon enough it becomes about having another drink, visiting his place and exchanging phone numbers. Naturally, I decline all offers. This is one rough conversation. The chap keeps slapping my back and shoulder like I'm Baba nani his life long buddy. I am thinking I need to save myself from the impending whiplash when the kimonster puts me in a head lock. People! Before I can react to that little assault, he gives me a ngoto! Who the hell gives a mama a ngoto?! People! I was so shocked I froze. Mouth agape, both eyebrows raised, eyes daggerizing the kimonster, froze! What the F***? <br />
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Eventually I snap out of it and take my ringing headache, disbelief and wounded spirit a safe distance away. Now there is an awkward silence in the group. Fellow is unaware that he has made a booboo and thinks we are still cool. He wants to resume chatting me up. Kubaff! I opt to dance off my concussion (a ngoto from a pillar of salt is no joke I tell you). Soon enough the night is over and I escape without additional physical injury, just a burning desire to sing Kumbaya.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-84764580553577257712007-01-17T16:54:00.001-08:002007-01-19T08:43:04.052-08:00VisitorsI know it is not the 'African way", but sometimes I cringe when I look out of the window and see visitors approach. Some of them have developed reputations for unleashing mad nonsense when they visit. <br /><br />I grew up in a house with an open door policy. All are welcome. Come in, have a seat, drink some tea. My mother always reminded us to be the best hosts we could be. Being the first daughter in the house, a lot of those hosting duties ultimately fell upon me. I can think of guests whom I love to have around, then there are the others.....<br /><br />* There is the cousin of Mama nani who came visiting one time and proceeded to establish a secondary residence. She would come and stay up to 3 weeks! She occupied a prime spot in the house, consequently forcing us to move out of our rooms to accommodate subsequent visitors. I hate it when guests overlap!<br /><br />* Then there was Baba nani who would stretch out on the primary sofa (big cushy one) and then get trigger happy with the remote control. We would be subjected to slide shows of all our favourite programmes until he finally found something he recognised and could enjoy. This was usually along the lines of Professional View or Dunia Wiki Hii. <br /><br />* There are the countless visitors who we proposed should call ahead and warn us of their time of arrival and culinary preferences. You all know them. These are the ones who wait until the food is on the table and prayers have been said before they unleash their "ndiriaga/sikulangi/I don't eat" list of condiments. Some of the undesirable ingredients are, Roiko, Tea leaves, milk, spices (in all shapes and forms), Blue Band, jam, curry powder, Kimbo etc etc etc. <br /><br />* I cannot count the ones who chose to arrive in the evening, thus ensuring their overnight stay (pampered and spoiled by dear mother and by extension, her offspring). These ones, if you ask me, are a better breed than the ones who would arrive late morning and proceed to be a nuisance the whole day. Putting their feet up and upsetting the balance (especially during the holidays).<br /><br />* I have little to say about those ones with the habit of visiting with an entourage of like 8 people. Especially if they then proceed to embrace the traits outlined above. No comment. <br /><br />* There was Auntie nani who always wanted to know "why can't you be number 1 in school?", another Auntie nani who wished we would pray more and watch less TV, while yet another one who couldn't hide her disapproval at the liberties granted to us by our parents.<br /><br />Is it just me or does our culture allow ample room for a lot of hospitality abuse? I mean, is it uncultured to expect that guests follow your house rules when they visit? Or that they tell you in advance that they do not eat Kimbo so that you can plan their meals? Was it rude to inquire as to the reasons Mama nani, whom I left at home when I opened school, was still with us when I came home on holiday? And for Mama nani, she didn't think it was weired that her family was visiting her in our house? Surely.<br /><br />These are not ideas gathered after my stay in the US. Oh no. These are questions my siblings and I have asked our parents since we were teenagers. My parents agree. Some of these practices are annoying at best. They just wouldn't dare change the way things are done. <br /><br />I would.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-55980490598333894782007-01-15T16:24:00.000-08:002017-03-07T01:39:51.203-08:00OK, let us together chambua these songs...Now that we cannot seem to agree on <a href="http://nokiddingzone.blogspot.com/2006/12/no-they-dont.html">ARINGA RINGA ROSES</a> , lets look at these other songs we sang as children. What the.....<br />
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<strong>Sabina Sabina nampenda Sabina....<br />Mapera mapera<br />Natumbo nauma<br />Na mtoto alia<br />Nyeeee nyeeee<br />Kadenge na mpira shuti GOAL!<br />Aeeh mama<br />Sitaki Big G nataka biscuit community<br />Uncle uncle, when I go to Nairobi<br />Another woman fat fat fat kibiriti<br />Mzee Kipara tumpeleka nyumbani kwa<br />Akileta fujo tumpige matako tuff!</strong><br />
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Ok, if you think that one makes no sense....<br />
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<strong>By short/shot I love you baby<br />The baby to the sun/son<br />The sun/son to the owner<br />The owner to the men<br />The men to the bush baby<br />Sere 1 2 3 and 4<br />Sere 1 2 3 and 4<br />Tata bona<br />Sere 1 2 3.......... etc</strong><br />
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<br />
(some words that neither I nor my anonymous guest can remember), then....<br />
<strong>Zero point zero is a round<br />around and around<br />i am a </strong>(enter appropriate missing word) <strong>dressed in black </strong><br />
<strong>these are the actions i must to do:<br />-salute for the king<br />-bow for the queen<br />-close my eyes and count fifteen</strong><br />
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If you know the real words to these songs, or what they are all about, feel free to share.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-64834484140769104672007-01-10T08:26:00.000-08:002013-01-11T14:12:49.986-08:00Encounters with the African maleI love to spend time with my fellow Africans. I do. When I am in the presence of my African brothers and sisters I feel at ease. I dont need to explain, justify or interpret things to them. We are basically the same. <br />
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Or are we? Women of Africa, what has been your experience with your own men compared to those from other African countries? Now, I have not lived long enough in the village to claim expertise on the male-female relations there (which I am sure further differ depending on where you are and what community you're looking at), but based on my experience as an urban Kenyan woman, even though things can be improved, I believe I have it breezy compared to some of my counterparts around the continent. <br />
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<b>Exhibit 1. </b><br />
I used to have a friend from Nigeria. The reason I say 'used to' is because we broke off the friendship. He would get so angry every time I disagreed with him about random stuff. I on the other hand would be so tickled I couldn't wait for the next thing to "defy" him about. <br />
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One time he asked me to accompany him to his company christmas party. He was without a date. I was game. On the day of the party I called him to ask for directions to the hotel. He told me to stay put, he would pick me up. I explained that I might need to leave early (plan with the girls) and I did not want him to have to leave too. His words, <i>"Woman, what is the matter with you? Why can't you behave and do as you're told?"</i> I hang up to shangaa. When he called back he was seething with anger. <i>"How dare you hang up on a man! Who do you think you are?"</i> I hang up to shangaa some more. He called back, and I could tell he was trying hard not to insult me. He composed himself long enough to explain that my actions were unacceptable. Apparently I needed to be put straight. <i>"African women follow instructions, they dont ask questions.....".</i> I hang up to look for that all important memo that I had clearly misplaced. That memo about the DOs and DONTs of an African woman's behaviour. <br />
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After kedo 1/2 an hour he called back. Me thinks he was unable to find a plan B date. Anyway, I told him I was not feeling in a Christmassy mood anymore. Silence. Then mumblings that souded like an apology. Some loose negotiations later, I had my directions and had laid down my rules of engagement. <i>Oga! Unleash one more sexist remark and watch me walk.</i> I guess he decided to deal with my insubordination at a later date.<br />
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Later that night I did walk. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and proceeded to leave and go join my girls at the Kenyan bash. <br />
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<b>Exhibit 2.</b><br />
On Sato I went to an African hanye. It has been a while since we have had one of those in my town so I was syked. As soon I walked in I was in The Zone. The DJ was bouncing around every corner of the continent with his music and the dance floor was full of delighted Africans. That always puts me in The Zone. <br />
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So I'm chilling with the girls and this fellow catches my eye. He can dance, he looks good. So far so good. Finally he says wasup, tells me he's from Burundi and proceeds to offer to buy me a drink. <i>"No thank you". </i>He asks why. I give him the whole, <i>"I'm driving back home alone so really I'm good. Thank you." </i>The chap flips. Ati I'm ringaing to take his drink. <i>"Kunywa bia! Kunywa ndio tuongee." </i>I step away from the crazy person. He continues, <i>"Mwanamke mwenye matatizo huyu! Eti hanywi bia? Kwani kuna nini? Wanawake wa Kenya wana kasoro hawa."</i> <br />
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The night finally comes to an end. The psycho is still lamenting at my declining to have his drink. I grab my jacket and begin to make my way out when someone grabs me. When I turn around, there is a rather large black man holding my arm real tight. I kindly ask for my arm back. He lets go and begins to explain that he is the promoter. I wonder what he promotes and why I should care. I guess the blank look on my face was prompting enough so he explains further. He's from Burundi and he organises this party and the ones at the other spot (no idea where it is btw). Ahhhhh! I pat his shoulder and tell him how greatful we all are for his good work, then turn to walk away. <br />
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Someone grabs my arm. Its the same big black man. This time he shoves a cell phone in my face. I tell him it's not mine. "<i>I know. Its mine</i>". I'm very confused. "<i>Put your number!" </i>I raise my eyebrow. He takes my hand, shoves his phone into it and says impatiently, <i>"put your name and your number!" </i>Then he continues to talk to his boys. I'm stunned. After a while, he turns around, takes his phone back and proceeds to look for my number. My girls pull me out of the door before I can apologise for being too busy luxuriating in his self-importance to punch in the numbers. I wonder what names he called me after that. Or what will happen the next time I run into him (looking like this Sato btw). Ah well...PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-51478569400344587312007-01-02T14:20:00.000-08:002007-01-03T16:12:44.393-08:00What I have learned so far.It is a new year so HAPPY NEW YEAR to you all. I hope this one brings you countless goodies and then some (gosh I'm kasumbarized). Anyway, may you all be blessed this year and those to come.<br /><br />I have been away from home exactly 4 years now. It was this week in 2003 that I hopped on a jet plane and made my way to sunny California. Ati for further studies. I have studied further alright, but most of my learning has happened outside the classroom. Everyday away from home has been like a double lesson in the school of life. Some lessons have been easy, fun even, but most have been tough. Some have been cold and painful, and even though I am glad I managed to salvage a moral from those stories, I wish they hadn't been so harsh. Lakini that's life, and it must go on.<br /><br />Allow me to share some of the things I have learned so far.<br /><br /><strong>1.</strong> A man is a man is a man. It does not matter where he comes from, what colour his skin is, what language he speaks. If he is kind and caring and considerate, good for him. If he is a 'not so good' one, he would have been even if he was born in Masawa, Katichini sub-location, Oyugis division, Rachuonyo district, Nyanza Province. Kenya. I am a believer in the power of nurture over nature, but I also know bad parenting abounds worldwide. The same applies to women. <br /><br /><strong>2.</strong> People treat me the way I allow them to treat me. If I am known to take a lot of crap, I will receive a lot of crap. So I feel free to let those around me know that respect for me is a requirement, not a suggestion. <br /><br /><strong>3.</strong> No amount of "good life" can ever replace home. Freeways, super malls, nice cars and High Speed Internet are nice to have around. Family, friends, community and perks like 'mahindi choma', 'nyama choma', 'auntie saloon', 'kuku pono', na kadhalika are kidogo cool too. <br /><br /><strong>4.</strong> Talking badly about home and its problems does not make them go away, does not help those on the ground and is ill advised since I left my family and friends there. <br /><br /><strong>5.</strong> I know a lot of people. Only a handful of those are my true friends. The rest are merely acquaintances that serve the purpose of company and good laughs once in a while. When things are thick, I can only count on myself, my family and those 4 or so people who I can say truly care. This does not make me sad any more. In any case, in the eyes of others, I can only guess where I fall if the same criteria were applied to me.<br /><br /><strong>6.</strong> Fast food is an express lane to an early grave. Eating healthy is not rocket science. A fruit, a mboga here and there and spending some time in the kitchen is not as difficult as many make it seem. It's my body, my health. <br /><br /><strong>7.</strong> I need to do more exercise. I will try.<br /><br /><strong>8.</strong> Sales people, fine print, awards programmes and silly contests all have one thing in common. They want to take my money. I must resist their attempts at all costs.<br /><br /><strong>9.</strong> I have a home. I realise that the natives of my current dwelling place do not believe this and think I am here to stay. They have no idea. I came from somewhere. Should I feel weary and in need of some comfort in the form of familiar faces, places and customs, I have memorised the airport code of my desired destination. <br /><br /><strong>10.</strong> I have a responsibility to myself and my family. The same applies to my community and even my country. Others worked hard to get me where I am today, I must do the same for somebody else. <br /><br /><strong>11.</strong> Maize and corn are two very different crops. I can work with corn for now, but in my ideal world I would have maize. It has more bite. <br /><br /><strong>12.</strong> Miros who say "pass me the salsa" do not deserve the kachumbari served to them to accompany their nyama. Those who think it is progressive to call a Chapati a Tortilla should have their passports confiscated. <br /><br /><strong>13.</strong> I should spend less time in front of the TV, more time outside the house and no time stroking the egos of people who do not deserve my airtime. <br /><br /><strong>14.</strong> Contrary to what many think, engaging in intellectual debate about world affairs is NOT a waste of time. It is good and should be encouraged in all circles.<br /><br /><strong>15.</strong> Times have changed. The recent hanging of one Saddam Hussein should be eye opener for all mankind.<br /><br /><strong>16.</strong> An accent is only as good as the location its owner. Should the silly mama who keeps commenting about mine visit my home town, SHE would have an accent. When I attend a Genge party, there are no accents. Well, there are those disturbing miros who insist on twenging when they talk to the rest of us. Wisdom is a gift. Not all are bestowed such.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-57144645041480434612006-12-15T15:41:00.000-08:002006-12-19T21:05:48.502-08:00No they don't!!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....<br /><br /> <em><span style="font-family:arial;">I got a shoe</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;"> You got a shoe</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;"> All God's children gotta shoooooooe</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;"> When I go to heaven gonna put on my shoe</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;"> Gonna walk all over God's heaven, heaveeeeen, heaveeeeeeen</span></em><br /><br />(repeat as desired)<br /><br />Now, why would anybody teach children such a song? We all know that not all of God's children <em><span style="font-family:arial;">gotta shooooooooe</span>.</em><br /><br />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.<br /><br />What is the purpose of this song anyway? Maybe I'm just being sceptical. I'll just sing another song...<br /><br /> <em><span style="font-family:arial;"> Aringa ringa roses</span></em>.................PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-76643659349133256502006-12-13T08:30:00.000-08:002007-01-04T12:00:04.223-08:00When 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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? <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <strong>man</strong>kind 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.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1165528275946815342006-12-07T13:48:00.000-08:002013-01-11T14:12:14.532-08:00My 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. <i>Dizziness/Vertigo, Nausea, Constipation, Headache, Somnolence, Vomiting, Pruritus, "CNS Stimulation", Asthenia, Sweating, Dyspepsia, Dry Mouth AND Diarrhea</i>.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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! <br />
<br />
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 <b>=</b> 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Where was I.........? Ahh yes, this particular morning the nurse was in a foul mood. So rare. Noooot! BORAT FOR PRIME MINISTER!!!!! <br />
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......"<br />
<br />
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?" <br />
<br />
Idiot!PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1165279745694406822006-12-04T16:48:00.000-08:002006-12-05T09:45:46.160-08:00Kuwa serious padreReading 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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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!!PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1165261082450504132006-12-04T10:51:00.000-08:002006-12-04T11:38:03.023-08:00Sweet 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1164913892313742052006-11-30T10:21:00.000-08:002006-12-04T14:25:18.990-08:00You know it's going to be long journey when...1. Your flight is at 5.30am and you only finally dose off at 2.00am. <br />2. The pal who's supposed to pick you up calls to tell you that she's asked another pal to pick you up "just in case". <br />3. You've just checked in your big bag when the stone faced security man, on seeing the large toilet bag in your hand luggage, points at the picture of a Ziploc with what looks like 3 lip balms in it. Damn those liguid bombers!<br />4. Mr. Stone face informs you that the airline has singled you out for further screening. At this point you wonder if your roommate's chemical engineer boyfi touched your bag the day he helped you move after work. <br />5. As you wait at the departure gate an acquaintance who's also on tua sits next to you with a big grin on his face. He proceeds to grill you on the activities of all the miros (Africans) in Southern California. <br />6. You get snappy and then realize that the elderly woman sitting next to him is his mother visiting from Zamunda.<br />7. She tells you she went to school with your mum. You believe her. Your mum went to school with everybody's mother. <br />8. You have settled in your seat and become comfy when the madam sitting next to you shows up. She smells like she has incense burning in her pocket. <br />9. You realize that the couple behind you are well on their way to creating a monster. The unabated kicking and screaming of their descendant is enough proof. <br />10. You remember that you forgot your motion sickness pills just as the turbulence hits. Miss smelly lady next to you offers you the tissue she just took out of her pocket. <br />11. You finally drift off to sleep, waking only in time to realize you missed the snack trolley. Miss smelly lady offers you her homemade sandwich. <br />12. After landing, you switch your cell phone back on and stare blankly as it dies.<br />13. You have no quarters. <br />14. Your bag is not at the baggage claim.<br />15. After 20 minutes you realize you are operating under "just in case". Your pal is MIA and you have no idea what your pal's pal looks like or what car they drive.<br />16. You can't find that miro chap and his mother.<br />17. Tears start welling in your eyes.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1164910793714452632006-11-30T10:15:00.000-08:002006-11-30T10:19:53.720-08:00Blog title changeToday I renamed my blog.I have been thinking of doing so for a while now. Well, I just did. Moving swiftly along........PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1164227236789302762006-11-22T12:26:00.000-08:002006-11-28T10:48:35.126-08:00What does Atiriri mean?Ok, so my bestest friend in this America is a Bongo sister. She thinks she's the queen's daughter and I love her so I humour her. Don't ask which queen, it's all in her head. Recently my bongo sister hooked up with a Bongo brother. Good for both of them. They make a good pair. This fellow is a little scared of me. I have no idea why. Well, maybe I looked at him with suspicion when he walked into our pretty picture, but what did he expect? Girls have to look out for one another. There are some loose fellows out there. One has to be sure of whom they welcome into their space. <br /><br />So anyway, after a few encounters I gave him the stamp of approval and now I would drive her across the state to see him. Ok, maybe halfway. The point is, I support the union. He's still petrified. Maybe he should man up. <br />So even though I'm ndani, he is trying to win my good graces. One of the things he does is say, gleefully and quite loudly, "Aterere!" everytime he sees me. Bongo princess thinks its funny. I'm indifferent. Maybe that's why he thinks I don't like him. So the other day when we were in the same space I broke the news to him. I told him! I told him how "Atiriri" (true spelling btw, with accents on every 'i') is not a greeting, nor is it a term of affection or endearment. He was crushed. Ati, "when I was in Kenya I used to hear a lot of people saying that. Kwani what does it mean?" Blackout. I just stood there looking at him with a blank look on my face. So finally I told him it means 'ehhhhh'. He was not convinced. <br /><br />I am a Kiyuyu speaking Kikuyu and I cannot find a sound translation for 'Atiriri'. If you know please help me out. Is it not a spacer in a sentence? Like that "ehhhhh" I was telling him about? Or maybe the pause we use in English? Ama something close to the "nini" we use in swa when we are buying time to construct the sentence or remember what we want to say? When I use it in a sentence it seems to be like a "tell me of this.... The <em>'this'</em> being the 'aterere'. <br /><br />These are some of the words I'm talking about when I tell mzungus that some words and phrases cannot be translated.<br /><br />What does Atiriri mean?<br /><br />P.S<br />So I'm off to the ATL to see what this is Kenyans do there over Thanksgiving weekend. I shall be quiet for a while. My tua ends on Tuesday. Someone at work suggested I come back Saturday night so as to be ready and fresh for work on Monday. Kicheko!PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1164131206844546972006-11-21T09:46:00.000-08:002006-11-21T16:35:56.413-08:00I wonder......I have brothers. Big ones. Literally. So growing up was, for lack of a better word, challenging. By the time my sisters and I were dating we understood that it was not going to be a smooth ride. We could like boys, but the moment our brothers sniffed them out, balaa! Initially it annoyed us, but with time we realized that they meant no harm. They just wanted to protect us. So we developed a system.<br /><br />Step 1: Acknowledge your crush on <em>so and so </em><br />Step 2: Invite <em>so and so</em> over to the house<br />Step 3: Leave <em>so and so </em> with brothers for a bit<br />Step 4: Return to discover the fate of <em>so and so</em>.<br /><br />I cannot count how many times we came back and found that the young man in question had fled the scene. Over time this routine became something of a sport. A pass time for my dear brothers and eventually their friends. I remember mentioning to my brother that I was coming back with a <em>so and so </em>to watch a movie and finding all his boys gathered around patiently. Ati, "we were waiting for you and your friend so we can start the movie". Enough said. I excused myself and left. After what I thought was enough time for the slaughter to be over, I returned. <em>So and so</em> was nestled in the midst of the boys cracking up like a hyaena with the rest of them. There was no room for my behind so I retreated into the kitchen barely catching the "si you make chips" from my brother. <br /><br />My favourite incident with a <em>so and so </em>still cracks us all up to date. The young man was out to impress and ready to do whatever was necessary. He was a go getter (love that term). Anyway, he insisted that instead of me leaving the house to go and meet him, he would find his way to my house. <br /><br />So I gave <em>so and so </em> directions to our house. The directions went something like this: "Take a number 33, 36 or 41 bus. Do not enter a matatu. Our route is not for taking matatus. Enter a KBS. I mean it. Otherwise you're by yourself. Those things can give you tetanus. And they go where they want. Enter a KBS. Ok, go all the way to the estate. When you get to the market, start counting the estate entrances on the right. Ours in the 5th one. There is a stage at the kiosks. Shuka there. Walk in through the gate, turn left. At the dead end, go right, ours is the last house on the right on that lane. House number XXX." I thought I had done a good job, for a zone with no street signs. In any case, once inside the estate he could look for the house number.<br /><br />Our date was for 1 pm. I knew the earliest my brothers would be home was 4pm and since I liked this guy I wanted to spare him the agony until after we had at least hang out. Let him enjoy peace and tranquility kidogo before being confronted with the obstacles. I borrowed a movie, cooked lunch and sat down to pass time watching Channel O. By 2.30 I had retreated to my bedroom to fold the clothes mother had been hustling me about. I assumed I had been stood up and proceeded to be busy. At 3.00 my eldest brother walked into my bedroom shaking his head and bearing a sad look on his face. I will forever remember the words he spoke. "Weh, Nyeuthi, there's a chap at the door in a black velvet mbwenya. He says he's your friend. Begin by rehydrating that chap with a glass of cold water. Please." (btw, mbwenya = jacket)<br /><br />When I found <em>so and so</em>, he was inside the house, standing at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wall for support. His face was shining like the sun and when he finally removed his mbwenya the sweat soaked dress shirt underneath was revealed. Brother dearest was right, the first thing this my friend needed was a glass of water. He didn’t say much for the first 15 minutes. I decided to give him time. After a while, brother joined us. I knew it was not because he wanted to chat, or even to give the young man a hard time. After a long silence he asked <em>so and so</em>, "A chap, what are you doing? Do you know how hot it is outside? Well, clearly you do? Then why would you wear a black velvet mbwenya? And how far have you walked?" <br /><br />Ok, this storo brings a lot of laughter to the family now, but that day it was not funny. That fellow could not have picked a hotter, dustier day to walk like he did. Apparently my emphasis on "NO MATATU" was not clearly understood. So as I predicted, his bearings got all messed up when he was deposited in the general locality of his destination, but on the wrong side of the market. Disaster. The great trek thus began. According to him, he didn’t remember which entrance to take, so he decided to enter every single one, walk around looking for house # XXX and/or ask around for kina Nyeuthi's place. Two hours later and kadha estates under his belt, he found our watchie who mercifuly pointed at our gate. My brother was just walking in when he got there. You know the rest. <br /><br />Nothing really came of that crush. My brother told me later that he had mad respect for 'that chap'. Apparently he went above and beyond the call of duty. He says if it had been him in the same shoes he would have gone back home, or found a call box. I also think that would have been the prudent thing to do. Call me and ask for help. Even if he had done everything the same, he really should have removed the mbwenya. I wonder why he didn’t do that one thing.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1164058679634942872006-11-20T12:11:00.000-08:002006-11-21T16:40:04.420-08:00Why is this strange?This past weekend somebody asked me why I am still single. We were chilling at the most recent Genge party, bobbing our heads to Jua Kali's "Kiasiiiiii" and having a jolly good time. This young man whom I have known for a while now was asking many personal questions and wanting to know intimate details about me. Now, I have no issues talking to this my friend about myself, but I wanted to know where the conversation was going. I figured, if I knew the destination, then I could decide whether or not I wanted to take the journey. He finally told me that he was curious to know why a nice mama with her head screwed on tight had remained single for so long. <br /><br />This is a tough question to answer. For many reasons. Some of my answers would definately result in me being accused of being a male basher, which contrary to what a lot of people think, I am not. Most of the reasons, however, are simple and straight forward. Reasons like the fact that I am yet to find that person who makes it all come together, so to speak. Or my preference for men who call Zamunda home. That one presents a real challenge. The options, outside of Zamunda, are limited and and quite frankly, the ones I know of are damaged goods. That's another storo altogether. <br /><br />My soundest reason, however, has to do with a question I constantly ask myself when presented with a potential mate. "Would I leave this chap alone with my father?" All of my options right now fall under the NO category, with regards to this question, not that other issue I was on about earlier. As a result I have decided I will not bother. There is no need to waste anybody's time. Least of all my own. My dear friend was particularly interested in this reason. First he wanted to know if I would leave him alone with my father. Response, "No switi, not with that hair and especially not with your pants falling off your ass". He thought that was funny. Good, but I was being serious. So then he wanted to know why my father would come up in my choice of potencial mates. Ati, "kwani you're looking for a husband?" At this point the DJ shocked us with Bad Boy by Amani and I run off to join my pals on the dance floor. That discussion died. Until we meet again.<br /><br />Here is my question. Is it strange that I think the way I do? I cannot begin to tell you just how much I value the opinion of my people when it comes to choice of mates. I have seen my mother call out a girlfriend that my dear brother thought was 'the one' with such precision. I suspect he shall forever be indebted to dear mama for that one. Ms Thing turned out to be quite the specimen. A cousin of mine ignored the pleas of the men in the family to put off marrying her chap for a little longer. They claimed something was up with him, they just couldn't put their finger on it. She showed up on her father's doorstep not long after the wedding looking like she had been used for target practice. <br /><br />This is why I ask myself that question. See, if the answer is no, it means I can already think of reasons why I should not be with the young man in question. So then again I ask, why bother? If the answer is yes, then I know that according to my own vetting process, this young man is a good one. He can now meet my father who will tell me if he agrees. Surely this is reasonable.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1163621087298721202006-11-15T11:27:00.000-08:002006-11-15T12:07:19.440-08:00I made it.This morning on my way to work I almost died. Well, not really but that's how it felt. It was a super foggy morning and I could barely see past my nose, but the music of TID and Mad Ice was keeping me tickled and enthused. Then it happened. The loaf that I was happily munching on was unable to navigate my oesophagus and stopped for a breather. <br /><br />It's my fault really. Dry loaf, regardless of how healthy it is, can be treacherous. It should be accompanied by a beverage, prefarably a hot one, or lubricated with some sort of spread. Surely after my stint in boarding school I know that. Anyway, I swallowed a few times, and switched TID off for a while. At a time like that heartfelt crooning about "Mpenzi wangu" is of little help. When I recovered I switched the music back on. He hadn't missed a beat, but Mpenzi was still ringaing. I got to work just fine and right on time. <br /><br />Note to self: In the future, Siagi na Jam.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1163534078871101522006-11-14T08:46:00.000-08:002006-11-16T09:04:19.516-08:00Another peeveI wish someone out there would invent a 'Forward Quota Enforcer'. I will explain the concept behind this great idea. See I have a Forward Quota. Definition: The limit put on the amount of forwards that can be deposited in my inbox by any one person. Ever! <br /><br />So far, so good. The problem I now face is ensuring that this quota is observed.<br /><br />I have given everybody on my contact list a maximum of 5. That's it! That is as many forwards as I can bear. How long it takes to use them up is completely in their hands. For some it takes 1 month, others 4 years. I'm not a total rasa. I'm flexible with time frame. A good friend of mine, whom I love dearly and would give up organs for if she needed them, reached and exceed her quota in one sitting! I opened my mail and there they were. 7 forwards sent in quick succession. 11.04am, 11.07am, 11.13am....... I felt the stamina for life drain right out of my body. Only a cappuccino and an avocado could bring it back. Yeah, yeah asubuhi asubuhi. That's how I sustain myself. I still cherish and appreciate her, but she needs to change her ways. Soon. Tafadhali switi. <br /><br />There are people out there who have never come across a forward that they felt I needed to receive. I have thought of sending them a message of appreciation, but then I realized it might become a forward so I let it go. <br /><br />I cannot figure out what the novelty is with forwards. Most of them are cheesy, unoriginal and long. They are usually buried under masses of email addresses and the names of other innocent souls that have gone before me, subjected to the same affliction. I often stop scrolling down in search of the object of my misery and pause to look at their names (ok, to rest my fingers for a bit). I wonder if Mike Omondi or Josphat Kiptoo dislike forwards as much as I do. Did they open this one? Did they forward it? What is their relationship with the forwarding culprit? Such things.<br /><br />When this starts to get boring I continue to the bottom of the page. Yap, I skip the forward itself and go further down in search of the deal breaker (at least for me it is). You know, the "If you do not send this to 375 people in 6 minutes your knees will grow hair...." crap that has become the standard with forwards. Should the forward before me possess such a clause, I scroll a little further and click Delete. At that point it does not matter what the forward was about. The moment it threatens to destroy my life, should I not transmit it to everybody I know, it has to go. How can one justify cursing me with an unhappy, loveless, bad luck infested life (with hairy knees), simply because I choose not to send those cushy puppies and dainty butterflies along to my people? I can only imagine the replies I would get from my siblings. I have been harshly reprimanded for lesser evils. <br /><br />Back to my Quota Enforcer. This would be a program that keeps a tally of the number of forwards I have received from every contact in my address book. The foward would appear in my inbox as <strong><em>2 of 5</em></strong> or <strong><em>3 of 5</em></strong>. Every time it would send a message to the sender saying something like, "You have used 3 of the 5 forwards permitted by this recipient". Once the quota is exceeded a message proclaiming so would be sent to the culprit. Maybe <em><strong>"Cease and Desist with immediate effect, all further forwarding</strong></em>", or something to that effect. Here is the kicker, and the reason I know I am on the verge of a breakthrough. Should a person choose to continue to send forwards, not only would they be blocked, but the same forward will be sent back to the sender as many times as the people to whom it was originally sent. If they had forwarded it to 10 people, then "You are my friend forever" will appear in their inbox 10 times. Let’s see how much forwarding happens after that!<br /><br />In the meantime, since I'm bila knowledge as to how to design such a program, I am sending out a plea. If you feel it is absolutely necessary that you forward a forward (and trust me it is not), here are a few things you should do.<br />- Delete the <strong><em>Fwd:</em></strong> from the subject line. It is the least you can do. Sending a Fwd:FWd:Fwd: is forward overkill.<br />- Delete the clusters of names and emails before the message. Those things just increase the size of the email and I know that's where those strangers who send forwards get email addresses from. <br />- Delete the strange symbols and signs before every sentence in the forward. They are annoying and make reading how "my love radiates like the rays of the sun on a cloudy day" more difficult.<br />- While you at it, delete the forward.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1163180081935598532006-11-10T09:34:00.000-08:002006-11-14T08:39:17.983-08:00Yes. No. Maybe.I enjoyed a cozy chat with my girls the other day, over mandazi and some good spiced coffee (Ethios and Somalis are onto to a good thing). One particular discussion I want to share. It was about first impressions and this was the conclusion.<br /><br />There are three categories a man can fall under. Everytime we meet a man and exchange that initial "Hi, my name is ______", we place him in one of three boxes. YES, NO or MAYBE. This swift demarcation is mostly carried out subconsciously. I figure it is one of our basic animal instincts that has to do with the selection of the best possible mate. I could be wrong.<br /><br />Anyway, the point I am trying to make is this. Women know, from the word go, whether or not they could ever be intimately involved with the man standing before them. Everything that happens after that either guarantees your stay in that initial box or books you a ticket into another. As new information comes in, it is processed as either important or irrelevant and changes to placement are made.<br /><br />Now, passage from box NO to box YES is possible. Rare, but possible none the less. Factors that facilitate this type of transfer include primarily those of an economic nature, but also realisation of gross misjudgement or sometimes amnesia. Should a chap suspect their placement in box NO, and would describe themselves as broke or cannot name one person who likes them, moving on is recommended. This is not fair, but then again what is? <br /><br />A chap's best bet, should he miss placement in box YES is box MAYBE. This one allows some room to maneuver. Gather up the troops. Formulate a game plan. Psych up. One has the time and opportunity to repair (should they choose to do so) and make a come back. One will remain in this box until they say, or do that thing that bumbs them up or down.<br /><br />Box YES is a good box to be in. A woman who places a chap in this box has opened the door to vast possibilities. He is, as we like to say, NDANI! <br /><br />N.B <br />Do not for a moment believe that being in box YES guarantees that anything will ever happen. Oh no! External forces are hard at work that may ensure otherwise. The wisdom, reasoning, prudence and plain old common sense of a woman may impose an embargo on such events. The honours is upon you, the box-ee, to impress upon her, the box-er, the pros of engaging you in further dialogue.<br /><br />N.B.B<br />Be warned. As stated above, things you say, or do, could see your quick relegation (sometimes permanently) from this prime spot to a lesser box. Such things as spitting habits, public crotch scratching or pocession of miscellaneous oddities like drugs and firearms will require quick action. Enter box NEVER.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1163016499001634852006-11-08T09:22:00.000-08:002006-11-09T08:48:56.786-08:00Bad manners.Few things vex me more than people pretending to know you. Just because we have exchanged pleasantries every time we have met for the past three years does not make anyone an authority on my life. "You are the kind of mama who....", "You must have grown up....". Crap like that drives me nuts. How would they know? Were they there? Just when you think they have pushed all your buttons and you have finally become numb to the nonesense, they break out the, "Your father must have....". What the *$#@!! When did it become okay to take liberties when talking about other people's parents in their presence? That is bad manners. Plain and simple. Say what you will about me, leave my folks out of it. <br /><br />You know what else is bad manners, leaving your guests in the house to go get yourself a meal, then proceeding to consume it in their presence. That one kills me everytime. <br /><br />Disappearing for an hour with a chap at "home time" when I have offered to take you along for the 150 mile away Genge party is bad manners. Not answering your phone is very bad manners. Leaving you the next time you pull that stunt is something I think I can live with. Would that be bad manners? I wonder...<br /><br />Not bringing anything to your pal's bash when the invitation expressly says you should. Bad manners. Eating and drinking more than everybody else there, so wrong.<br />Bringing the half empty gallon of OJ from your fridge is foul. Better the bad manners.<br /><br />My boss refusing to acknowledge my pressence. All I was trying to do is to informing him that the tele-conference he had been waiting for with Japan had been on hold for 20 minutes. Bad manners. Me calling him unlovely names in vernacular (in my head), bad manners too. I guess we're even.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1162933146358935212006-11-07T11:16:00.000-08:002006-11-07T16:17:37.996-08:00Atlanta mwisho!I bought a ticket to Atlanta for Thanksgiving. I've been here four years now and I'm just now getting around to it. Better late than never. I want to see what all the hullaballoo is about. I am excited about this trip, much more than I have been about others to more facsinating places like Las Vegas or Washington DC. This trip has little to do with the location and more to do with the people. See, I have a date with old friends. A big date. A few dozen primary school and high school buddies is a big date. We have been exchanging frantic emails and phonecalls about deals on tickets and hotels, car rentals and ETAs. It has been crazy. Did you know that sometimes it is cheaper to buy 2 one way tickets as opposed to one return? I saved $100 with that little trick. Good for me.<br /><br />The arrangements are now finalized so now I can sit back and ponder a few things. Like how much all of us have changed. I bumped into a lad from those innocent days earlier this year and was amazed to see how good those big eyes we used to tease him about look on him now. The handsome bugger! Of course he was just as tickled by the "humps" under my clothes. Silly boy....(giggling). Ehh...Where was I? Changes. Yes.<br /><br />I am hoping that some in particular have changed intelectually. Please dear God! I have heard of spiritual changes. Madam C.U chairlady will have a drink on me, for the record. Then I will proceed to remind her of that little incident when she proclaimed that my shoes bore the mark of the devil. I foresee denial. We'll laugh about it and move on. Unless she still believes that crap, then I shall have to engage her in a debate and attempt to demonstrate that with time, and energy, any writings can become the mark of the devil when you "change the letter to its number in the alphabet, add 4, minus 12, divide by 8, times 1" and so on and so forth. Try it. Make FUBU become 666. She did. <br /><br />There are those who were good friends and made school a blast. I cannot wait to catch up with them, without the restrictions of school rules, curfew and uniforms. We have already agreed that the events of the weekend are to remain were they happen and mum's the word. Deep down we all know that is a rumour. Others who cannot make it have already placed their bids for the low-down. <br /><br />I am most eager to encouter those who made life in high school more difficult than it needed to be. Some were just random bullies, others were over zealous prefects with huge chips on their shoulders. (Before anyone accuses me of hating on prefects, I was one, but I was not an ass). I remember one in particular who cried for days after she was appointed prefect of the dining hall. When the well finally run dry she proceeded to unleash a wrath of bibilical magnitude on everything within the school boundaries. I want to bump into her so badly. I have prayed for such an encounter for a few years now. This is what I want to ask her, "Are you still a prefect?". Is that a bad question?PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1162923462713171192006-11-07T10:10:00.000-08:002006-11-07T10:17:42.736-08:00Dem!Today this thing let me down. I typed out a whole entry that took me a while to get right. I thought it was a good one. Then I hit the spell check button. How could I have know that that little action would destroy my work. After correcting my little errors I decided to read through one last time. Its just as well. I have no idea what kind of spell check that was, all I know is that at the end of it I was less about half my writings. What a waste. I am discouraged. I'll have to blog about something else now. Maybe its a sign to leave the guys alone. Ok. For now.........PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1162413624270002902006-11-01T12:38:00.000-08:002006-11-10T12:56:49.180-08:00I don't want you! Eishhhh!I am a nice person. Given the choice between brutal honesty and a half truth that would spare another hurt and shame, I would pick the latter. I cannot stand malicious people and I believe kindness is key. <br /><br />Having said that, I realise that it may be time for a change. People have a tendency to misuse the kindness of others, but more urgently, fending off unwanted fellows has become a Herculean task. Some amongst us are unable to distinguish between a polite "no thank you" and playing hard to get. This is what I would like to say to all those undesirable chaps out there. Those who insist and persist in an attempt to convince women who do not want them to change their minds. This is to you.<br /><br />1. I dont want you. I feel no attraction. It's my right. <br />2. So we had a long chat at the bash last week. It was about ODM, Genge music and Obama. It's called small talk. How does that mean I want you? <br />3. The next time you join me on the dance floor, resist the urge to grab me or grind. Don't even touch me. Maintain the 2 foot radious. Music, lights and the hearty laughter of merrymakers not withstanding, I still don't want you. <br />4. I don't want you to buy me a drink. You'll think I owe you and come to collect. In any case, water is good for the skin. Cheers!<br />5. Stop trying to bond with my brother. He hates your gutts. <br />6. Dont call me after 10pm. Ungodly hours are reserved for lovers and close relatives. Call at noon.<br />7. Dont ask me why I dont want you. It is none of your business and trust me, you dont want me to tell you.<br />8. Your boy is also hitting on me. Hard. I know you know. You probably talk about it. Just like you, I don't want him. Talk about that.<br />9. I know you're also hitting on my pals. We talk about it. By the way none of them wants you. <br />10. I refuse to use another man as the reason I do not want to be with you. So no, <br />(a) I do not have a boyfriend, <br />(b) I'm not getting over an ex-boyfriend.<br />I just don't want you.PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36716435.post-1162342520201589652006-10-31T15:42:00.000-08:002006-11-10T12:50:57.226-08:00Wedding? First answer these questions.......1. Must the bride wear a big white dress?<br />2. Ok, so she did. Why not wear comfortable shoes underneath? We cant see them.<br />3. Must the hungry children be kept waiting for food like everyone else? Why not feed them quick and put them out of their misery?<br />4. What is wrong with entertaining said children with a jumping castle or a chubby magician? Maybe a clown? My brother thinks a camel ride would be kinda cool. I think he's onto something.<br />5. Must all the couples' uncles and aunties be given the mic to give advice? Its the same story over and over again. "Cherish your husband, fend for your wife, carry this kiondo".<br />6. About that kiondo, auntie Nani cannot see that it is ruining the back of the wedding dress? Auntie Nani!!!!!!!<br />7. Must the flowergirls have itchy clothes? Anyone who has ever been one knows what that stiff netty mesh giving the pretty material its voluminous look feels like. Ok, should the sun shine, can someone please release the little angels from the bondage of knit stockings and silly gloves?<br />8. Gloves. Why?<br />9. Must there be flower girls, and maids, and groomsmen in the first place?<br />10. Ok, so we have them, why cant the cost of clothes and shoes to dress them be added to the budget? I am yet to find a "maid" giddy to the marrow about the expensive, but unsalvagable outfit they had to pay dearly for.<br />11. Must the bride and groom hold hands and be attached at the hip throughout the ceremony? I mean, how many times do you get to see all your friends and relatives in one place? Why not take the time to enjoy them?<br />12. Why can't the wedding dress have pockets?<br />13. When was the last time you saw a bride in a sweater? Kwani they don't feel cold?<br />14. Does anyone know the genious who came up with the grand idea that members of the wedding committee must contribute an arm and a leg to sit in the committee? God help that member who also happens to be a "maid". Pole dada. The universe feels your pain.<br />15. Can you refuse? For real, is it very rude to say "no thanks" when called upon to be in the committee or bridal party? What if you are broke? Or have better things to do with your money? What if its against your religion to spend 9,000 shillings on a hedious purple dress with shiny buttons and zero salvageability potential, can you say so? Can you tell I have a few of these in my closet?<br />16. What's the deal with the high table getting different (read better) food than the rest of the guests?<br />17. Is it ok to smack the bride to be for insisting you loose weight to simamia HER wedding?<br />18. Can we shika her ngeta for demanding that any "maid" with natural hair must perm/relax it for the event?<br />19. Is it too drastic to spit in her eye, cut her off and throw away her number for suggesting that the "maids" sleep <span style="font-size:120%;color:#ff0000;">sitted up in arm chairs on the eve of the wedding so as not to mess up their freshly done hair?!?!?! </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><span style="font-size:120%;">1 2</span> </span><span style="font-size:110%;color:#cc0000;"><span style="font-size:120%;color:#cc0000;">3</span> <span style="color:#ff0000;">4 5</span></span><span style="color:#ff0000;"> 6</span><span style="color:#ff0000;"> </span><span style="color:#ff6666;">7 8 </span><span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff6666;"><span style="color:#ff6666;">9 </span>10</span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#6633ff;"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="color:#339999;">whoo</span></span><span style="color:#00cccc;">sahh</span></span><span style="color:#33ffff;">hhh...........</span></span>PROUD NYEUTHIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05771445872739911773noreply@blogger.com9