Life in the Armpits

This is to the numerous who have committed felonies or alleged to have committed Felonies. It is a tribute and sort of an indictment to those who are incarcerated for various crimes or allegations. I am hoping to give you an enlightening preview of the Kenyan penitentiary institutions. May this be a solemn warning to those who are criminals and those who would be criminals.

"in Kenyan prisons food is eaten raw and it is served in paint tins. Kenyan prisons are the place where colours don’t exist; it is where even the clothes are in black and white. The only colours in prison are the occasional buckets of fresh diarrhoea. It is strange how a diet of white uncooked maize flour and green uncooked kales can turn into such rich colours, what should I say?"

Few things are worse than being in a Kenyan Prison; Kenyan prisons are possibly the blueprint for hell. It is the place where people rehearse for hell. I suspect that Kenyan prisons are the reason Jesus was born 2000 years ago, he preferred to be used like timber than risk being held hostage in a Kenyan Jail. Kenyan jails are the place you don’t want to be. Kenyan Prisons are the place you don’t go if you value your anal Virginity. Kenyan Prisons are the places where peoples posteriors are ruined by sex starved inmates and bothersome and inquisitive wardens. Kenyan Prison warders will examine your posterior cavities like they lost something in there. It has been alleged that Prison warders have found even cell phones concealed in there, I guess there is good connectivity even in there. Let me stop the shitty talk here… It is rather unpalatable.

The Kenyan penitentiary institution is a place of misery. It is the place where human rights end. Kenyan prisons are possibly the worst of any prisons on the planet. I reckon even Nazi concentration camps were better, save for the occasional inconvenience of being cooked by the third Reich. In Kenya a prisoner dies everyday, in Kenyan prison food is eaten raw and it is served in paint tins. Kenyan prisons are the place where colours don’t exist; it is where even the clothes are in black and white. The only colours in prison are the occasional buckets of fresh diarrhea. It is strange how a diet of white uncooked maize flour and green uncooked kales can turn into such rich colours, what should I say? It’s the miracle of defecation. Possibly relieving yourself is the only luxury in Kenyan Prison.

Kenyan prisons are a parody of togetherness. Kenyan prisons are the ultimate in space economics, In a Kenyan prison 40 people can fit in a ten by ten cell. In Kenyan prisons people sleep leaning on each other, of course they are always kept comfortable by Lice. Apparently the prisons department breeds lice. I have compared Kenyan prisons to living In a matchbox but a matchbox is much more cleaner than a Kenyan Prison. I think the only fair comparison for Kenyan prisons are Armpits, the armpits of an obese woman who works as a cook in Majengo, the woman could possibly be called Conje. Kenyan prisoners would be the hairs in Conje’s armpits. Compared to Kenyan prisons, I reckon that Sinai would be much more comfortable, save for the inconvenience of burning up.

One Yokozuna, Two Yokozuna...Dead.

Nothing is more attractive to most men than a bottle of fermented sugars packed in a bottle. It is what most men live for, for most men liquor is their first spouse, in fact some men even go to the point of having children with their bottles. Unfortunately liquor makes a very obsessive lover, the kind of lover men fantasize about, the lover who is never tired, the one who is always ready and always willing. Liquor is the lover who never gossips, she never has mood swings and she never nags, always obedient and always satisfying. It all sounds so romantic, so blissful, doesn’t it? Unfortunately the world was never made for men to enjoy, the world was made for men to be consumed, to be eaten, men are eaten by their women, by their children and by their bottles.

Let me tell you a story then, once upon a time, there was a place called Nyahururu, Nyahururu was a backward place, a place of rolling hills, red soils, people with funny accents and mud huts.Nyahuru was the place where everyone was a villager, everybody had patched clothes, everybody called each other wanyumba . In Nyahururu the girls had red eyes, cracked toes and brown teeth. It was the place where boredom was born and backwardness was invented. In Nyahururu time never moved, everyday was a Tuesday and everybody ate boiled gravel. Welcome to Nyahururu.

It was a period of blissful courting, all over the trenches men slept in submission to the Charms of Yokozuna, in dingy dens men sat on lonely benches gently curdling their Yokozunas. Love had never been like this before, there were no flowers left in the village because every day was valentines and Yokozuna needed to be bought flowers, some bought rings for Yokozuna, some paid dowry for Yokozuna and others moved into the den to live with Yokozuna.

For a long time the men of Nyahururu were bored sick, the girls were calicos with brown teeth and cracked soles. Then the men of Nyahururu found a savior, a new day had come, Yokozuna had been invented. It was love at first sight; it was then that many men found the loves of their lives. The joy was untold, It was a period of blissful courting, all over the trenches men slept in submission to the Charms of Yokozuna, in dingy dens men sat on lonely benches gently curdling their Yokozunas. Love had never been like this before, there were no flowers left in the village because every day was valentines and Yokozuna needed to be bought flowers, some bought rings for Yokozuna, some paid dowry for Yokozuna and others moved into the den to live with Yokozuna. Yokozuna had conquered all.

Romance had never been this blissful, love had never been this sweet, Yokozuna had conquered hearts, men could be seen sleeping on trees holding on to Yokozuna, but love is a poison, all the great affections of history ended tragically, Romeo and Juliet ended in mortality, Hitler and Eva brown committed suicide, It was now Nyahururu’s turn, Nyahururu had long been obscure, it had never been recognized, It had been the place everybody had forgotten, but Yokozuna remembered them and Yokozuna would take them…

Women I admire the most.

This is a testimony of remarkable women. Women who have heard a very profound impact on my perceptions and the way I view the world. This is my acknowledgment and acclaim to women who stand out. This is for the women who have won my respect if not that of the world, women who have made a difference to my life if not to the world. It is about the less sung heroes of our spectrum.

I would not write about my personal heroes without her being the first. She made a difference nobody else could. She invested so much in me even when she didn’t have to. She did much more than teach... No woman ever did so much for me and I reckon that no other would ever do. She was much more than my teacher. Without her I am sure I would never have gone to alliance high school. Without her I’m sure my entire life would have gone in an entirely different path

I have had great teachers. In fact I owe a lot to my teachers. I reckon that my teachers have had the biggest impact on my life, My teachers have been my heroes and not a day goes by without me thinking of the difference they have made in my life, but there is one whom I have to mention. I would not write about my personal heroes without her being the first. She made a difference nobody else could. She invested so much in me even when she didn’t have to. She did much more than teach, she nurtured me and inspired me to step further, to try harder and to do better. Her nurturing went much further than the classroom; she did more for me than I would ever tell and she did the same for many others. She is the purest of hearts, the most sincere of persons and the noblest of people. She was as selfless as she was honourable. She encouraged me more than any other has ever done, she afforded me comfort when I needed it and discipline when she had to. No woman ever did so much for me and I reckon that no other would ever do. She was much more than my teacher. Without her I am sure I would never have gone to alliance high school. Without her I’m sure my entire life would have gone in an entirely different path. Her name is Mrs. Maritim, you might not know her, but those who do would agree that she deserves much more praise than this. To me she is a hero who has made more difference than many would ever know.

I am very proud to be a Kenyan. I am also very proud of her, but am sad. When I planned to write about her she was alive but as I write this she has passed on. I am proud to be Kenyan because she was Kenyan. I am a patriot because she was Kenyan. She was the most remarkable than any other Kenyan. She was humble and yet so resolved. She stood for those who never even had legs. She was never the kind who fought in press conferences and international events, she was the one who got on her knees and made her hands dirty. She was the one who got bled out on the streets. She was the one who fought without tiring. Kenya never had a civil society, Kenya had Wangari Maathai. There is no other Kenyan who ever had more conviction, no Kenyan ever had more resilience and no Kenyan was ever so noble. She was a pillar of endurance, she spoke when many chose to keep quite. She had indefatigable strength even in the face of intimidating might. If Kenya had a hero, it was Wangari, If Kenya ever had honour, she brought it to us, If Kenya ever had hope, she defended it. She was Kenya at its best. Our environment is our heritage our sustainer and our national beauty, without her it would have been lost. I reckon we might not see another Kenyan Nobel laureate in our lifetimes. It is sad that she never got the honour she deserved in this country, possibly because of our Paternalistic chauvinism as a nation. Let this be my modest contribution to her praise, though I owe her much more.

Melted brains of Kenyans

Kenya is prevalently plagued by a somber pandemic of intractable stupidity. It is very shameful to watch the depth of the ignorance and narrow mindedness that some Kenyans exhibit. They say that every society deserves its leaders and by my estimation of a sample of Kenyans then it is understandable why we are perennially stuck at the bottom of the totem pole as a nation. As an introduction let me begin by lamenting the most dire of stupidity that prevails upon the people of Kenya, nothing is more critical and nothing is more visible than the sordid vice of Tribal thinking, It is painfully primal and maliciously prejudiced that people would judge everything at the sorry alter of prejudice and hatred.

Recently I heard a crowd of Kikuyu women talking in Kikuyu and they were blaming Raila Odinga for the Illegal brews that Kill many men in Central Kenya. Apparently to them Raila is the devil and he is the one who brews the Chang’a in his office and sends it to Kikuyu youths. These women are a shameful example of the hate mongering that thrives in Kenya like a disease. It is evident that these women don’t recognize the role of personal choice in the tragedies of illicit brews, everybody who drinks does it by their own volition and it therefore lacks substance to blame Raila for illicit brews. I am not necessarily supporting Raila; I am just trying to disseminate sense.

It is very sad that many Kenyans exist purely in the flawed paradigm of ethnic bigotry and tribal chauvinism. It is very discouraging to hear somebody like one Susan Chege who refers to Luos as “Dogs from Ugenya” on “Bunge la Wananchi”. It is in very bad taste to read so much malicious insolence from somebody who is obviously educated and should know better than to peddle such levels of intolerance. I hate to be mentioning names but I had to do it to reinforce my level of disgust with such prejudice.

I have heard some people assert that the recent accidents and tragedies in Kenya have been conspired by our Political class in order to “pay” for the 2012 elections in blood to Evil spirits. Unfortunate as it sounds, this superstitious garbage was published in a local paper. It’s a sobering testimony of how far some Kenyans would go to avoid confronting the responsibility for the circumstances in their Lives. The truth is that all the recent tragedies were a result of deliberate carelessness and unrestrained recklessness.

It is time Kenyans take responsibility for the state of this nation, its time Kenyans recognized their role in the state of our affairs. It is time Kenyans delineated their interests from the interests of their tribal demagogues. It is time that Kenyans realize that the interests of their politicians are not necessarily their interests of their tribes. All Kenyans endure the same problems of Poverty, unemployment, disease and poor social services. What divides us is apparent and what unites us is real. Let us cease to subscribe to the pitiable school of prejudice, ignorance and malice. It is time to stand, stand for values, stand for integrity and stand for logic. Let us stop following political propaganda and follow our own intellects and convictions.

One day I will be Rich…

I have a very frustrating misfortune that many would find intriguing. I am the kind of person who has very well to do friends; all my friends are sons of prominent people but am not. I am surrounded by people born with silver spoons and I know firsthand what it is like to be a black sheep. You feel it when your friends invite you to their homes and you don’t go because you know you can’t take them where you come from. It’s very sad when your friends invite you out for lunch and you refuse to go because you know you will never take them for lunch. I have seen affluence and I have felt the allure to riches, I spend all my time thinking about the one day I will be rich. Maybe that is why am such a crack head.

I want to be able to make phone calls without keeping my hand on the disconnect button because I know airtime is almost running out. I want to be able to walk into a swanky restaurant to order some Murdered Chickens and eat the evidence off my plate without worrying about the bill

The say money is not everything, I know that is true but to me nothing else matters. Money is freedom, without freedom nothing else matters. I want the freedom to enjoy myself without worries, I want to be able to make phone calls without keeping my hand on the disconnect button because I know airtime is almost running out. I want to be able to walk into a swanky restaurant to order some Murdered Chickens and eat the evidence off my plate without worrying about the bill. I live in an economy of scarcity, every time I decide to walk into a restaurant or supermarket it’s a life and death decision, I am tired of being a perennial window shopper, I want to walk into a swanky outlet and buy all the fashionable stuff I fantasize about. Sometimes I am tempted to leave school and go scratch out a few things.

I know one day I will be rich, one day I will be able to move into my reality, I am looking forward to the day when I shall escape the solitude of my fantasies and enter the abundance of my reality. One day I will have the dignity of being a recognizable man, I want to feel important, like I matter. I want to have my own cool laptop rather than saving coins to go to a cyber to upgrade my miserable blog, one day I trust my aspirations shall materialize. I know I have desired it so deeply, the almighty wouldn’t say no. I have perfected the skill of driving my Landrover Discovery 4 in my fantasies. I have driven a Mercedes CLS in my mind as well, I have become quite good at imagining things, that’s why you delight reading my writing. I always say to God that if I won’t be rich, then he should end my life now.