Mr. Landlord please !!

Its been a while since we last met sir. I wish we would meet in more pleasant circumstances. I have heard that you have been looking for me. Here I am you have found me. Calm down sir! Calm down! I am sure we can talk this out, like gentlemen let us talk. I am sure you are a reasonable man. Relax! Give me a chance! No need for fury! No need for rage! Please! Mr. landlord Please!

I know you wanted your money! I know, I know. I remember I had made you a promise two months ago. Im sorry I couldn’t keep it. I had wanted to pay you sir, I was planning to come on that Monday morning. That Monday morning as I had promised, but the baby got sick in the night, I had to pay the doctor sir, I had to. Please understand, Mr. Landlord please!

 ...Mr. Landlord please return my television. Dear sir, return my black and white television. It is more expensive than the rent I owe you. Please return my television. Come pick my torch instead, it is more commensurate to my debt...

Why are you looking at me like this? Why don’t you believe me? Didn’t I tell you we had a baby? Yes, we had a baby, me and my wife Julia. Yes! My wife! I got a wife too… ok, I got the wife first and then the baby. My wife is called Joyce… sorry, I meant Julia, yes, Julia. Haven’t you seen my wife sir? You should have seen her when she was here. Lovely I say, lovely! Am afraid she is not here now, she went to ushago(rural home) with the baby… I wanted to bring your money this week you know. Unfortunately my mother in Law was unwell so I sent my wife to assist. She went with the money. Sir, you know this problems za kiukoo. Just give me one more week and I promise I will pay you. There is a contract I have been doing and they are paying me this week, yes, just one week... Please! Mr. Landlord please!

Mr. Landlord please return my television. Dear sir, return my black and white television. It is more expensive than the rent I owe you. Please return my television. Come pick my torch instead, it is more commensurate to my debt. I could add a matchbox if you want. Return the television and pick my torch and matchbox, keep them till I pay you sir. Kindly bring back my television; my wife is coming back soon. She needs to watch Maria Clara, if she doesn’t find it she will leave me. Sir, don’t steal my wife from me. Please! Mr. Landlord please!

Mr. Landlord, I know you wonder where I have gone. You have been looking for me and you haven’t found me. Stop looking, you cannot find me. I have moved from your miserable plot. I have found some descent housing. Those houses of yours were a pain; I was tired of sleeping with Lizards in my mouth. I was tired of the leaking roof and the holes in the floor. Your house was a quarry. You switched off the power during the day and there was only one toilet for the five hundred houses. I was tired! I was tired! I hope you get another tenant for your house; I am not coming back there. Kindly sir, I would like my torch back sir, there is no electricity here sir. You should bring the umbrella as well, there is no roof here. Please! Mr. Landlord please!

Hahahaha! Sir! You have made me laugh! I heard that you called the police for me, you wanted me to go to jail! You told them that I had fled with your money! I hear that you told them I had not paid rent for three months. I am sorry, you were wrong. I had not paid rent for a whole year. I lived in your house for months without you knowing. I would move in during the night and move out during the day. I did this and you never knew it. I was always laughing at how much I was tricking you. I told the police this and they laughed so much and let me go. I am not in jail sir, am a free man. Try something else sir, try something else. Take me to the army, Take me! Who will you call next? I have beaten you at your game and I have moved on to someone else. Don’t be bitter sir, just forget it and let it go. If it makes you feel better, I was not the only one doing that, half the people in the plot lived there for free. You are a very kind man, you have hosted many without cost. Thank you for building your plot, it was a nice aboard for the many of us Jobless youths from the village. I pray that you prosper and build more houses. I need somewhere to host my brother as he arrives from the village.

I dont smile anymore, I miss my teeth :-)

The sun is cold. The brilliant sunshine glows but without the incandescence that usually punctuates it. It’s a cold sunshine, light but no warmth, brilliance but no illumination. It’s a lamentable day. Everything is a lie, the sun shines but it doesn’t light. The birds charter but they won’t sing. The morning is new but it doesn’t inspire. It’s a fraudulent day.

It was a lovely sunset yesterday. The evening was beautiful, the sunset charming as the cloudless sky unveiled the expansive heavens. The stars were magnificent. I was charmed and I was breathless. I never thought such a joyful dusk would be succeeded by such a deceitful morning.

 ..I had a robust chest and the towers were stout and erect. It was a long time ago when my smile had teeth and my lips had flesh. A long time ago I used to walk straight, the pot balancing on my head and the boys ogling behind me..Now things are different, the skin is rough and folded, my eyes are faint and my body is wasted and aged..

Time is a dice. It rolls at its own will and listens to no counsel. Man is a witness, a witness to the cruel hand of time. Time is a ruthless master. It’s invisible but inevitable. Time shall age the beautiful, it shall weaken the strong and it shall decay the shiny. Time is silent but irreversible. Man plans but time disposes. Before time we all wither and with time we all decay.

I hadn’t realized how long ago it was. I had thought it was just last evening, but it was many years ago. Back then I was a young girl. I had a robust chest and the towers were stout and erect. It was a long time ago when my smile had teeth and my lips had flesh. A long time ago I used to walk straight, the pot balancing on my head and the boys ogling behind me. Now things are different, the skin is rough and folded, my eyes are faint and my body is wasted and aged. I cover my hair now, its no longer glamorous. I don’t smile anymore, I miss my teeth.

What happened to the song of the river? The song I used to sing to summon my love? What happened to my handsome one? Who shall hold my hand now? Who shall take me to the bushes? Who shall make me moan in the wild now? Those were the days of love. I was Rebecca then, not Cucu. He was Tony then, not Guka. He used to be excited when he saw me; he would stare at me from afar, now he doesn’t even see me. The river cannot remember us anymore. We are too old now, we cant swim anymore, the current is too weak now. I guess its time to rest, Its time to cherish what was is left of us, before time reaps us away.

When shall this morning end? When shall the light depart from our eyes. Its an ungrateful morning, it’s a bitter story this. Make it stop

Who stole their colours?

Let us sit, let us listen, the old man is about to speak. He has cleared his throat and he has rubbed his beard. The old man has something to say, let us wait and listen. The old man has been thinking for a long time, and now, he has finished. He has found something to say to us, so let we with no wisdom listen, let we with warm blood find counsel. The old voice is about to speak, shall we listen?

The old man laments, he laments for his people, his descendants and their future. The old man is weary, a generation is being lost, and children of a great people are stumbling. The old man cries for the decay. The old man has to speak now.

 There was a time when bosoms were big and bottoms were bigger. Then there came diets. What happened to the days when bottoms were flesh and not rubber?

Their blood is too hot, their minds too chaotic. Theirs is a hectic existence; they cannot focus and cannot listen. They are loud but the old man is frail. Their mouths are too big and their ears are too small. Who shall make them listen? Who shall speak for the old man? Let the old man speak, though no one listens.

The old man is engulfed, bitterness and regret. If only he could write, he would have a column in crazy Monday. If he had a cell phone, he would facebook and he would tweet. Unfortunately he is from a different world, a world where the drum spoke and the smoke was a messenger. What happened to the old days? The days when black men were men? The days when age commanded honour? What happened to when the night was dark and the stars were king?

Who stole their colour? Who made African women white? Who stole their complexion? There was a time when black women were beautiful, and then they became chameleons. There was a time when bosoms were big and bottoms were bigger. Then there came diets. What happened to the days when bottoms were flesh and not rubber? Who stole our women?

There was a time when men deserved honour, a time when men had self control and the bed of matrimony was sacred. There was a time when adultery was frowned on and the family was sacred, then there came chips funga? What happened to the days when men would raise their own children instead of fleeing like weevils? What happened to honour?

The old man is extinguished. His old voice fails him. He groans softly. His wisdom has been disgraced. He shall soon join the ancestors and they shall wail and gnash. They shall suffer and lament. Their wives shall leave them and their children shall decay. The shall fight and they shall cry. The old man warned them and they never listened.

LETS WAIT FOR BWANA MATUMBO.

It’s time to wake up. It’s too late to sleep. Time is scarce and my dreams are chasing me fast. Let us usher a new day, lets chase away the night and awake to the morning. Let’s join the bird in sweet melody, let our sleep dissipate like morning dew. Let’s smile to the glorious morning sun as we bid farewell to the pleasures of our beds. Let’s warm ourselves with fresh morning tea to chase out the cold and bring in new thoughts. It’s a new day, Nah!

  The ladies love him in the bar, but not his wife. His wife does not love him anymore. She says he comes to her when he is dead and goes to the bottles when he is alive. His wife claims that she is a widow

Who is the old man? Why is he gloomy? Have the years cost him his joys? Has he no children to cheer him or grand children to arouse his joys? Why is the old man alone? Has he no one left? Did his kin forsake him? Did his friends depart? Where is his wife?

He is not an old man, no he isn’t. He is only old in the morning, when the hangover catches him. They say the hangover has no cure. In the evenings he is alive, he shouts and he laughs, he drinks and he stumbles. In the evening he is the king and the bottle is his crown, he drinks and they cheer. The ladies love him in the bar, but not his wife. His wife does not love him anymore. She says he comes to her when he is dead and goes to the bottles when he is alive. His wife claims that she is a widow. What a morning? As life crawls to some of us, it is departed from others only to return to them when the day is over. That’s Mzee Masumbuko; his life is twisted like his hair.

... If you shake him he will not wake up. If you yell at him, he will talk in his sleep and if you pour water on him he shall fart and roll over. There is only one way to wake him up, tell him there is an election, I swear he shall awake like thunder!!....

The ritual of dawn is over, the morning is old now. Sweat should be on our brows and thirst should be in our throats. We should be exhausting our bodies, all to earn a daily ration. Why are they sited like that? Are they not strong men? Do they not have wives? Shouldn’t they have children? Why are they on a stone and laughing like old women at the market?

They are not strong men, they are youth. The youths have no jobs, the youths shall not work. The youth shall chew dry roast maize and whistle at girls. It is the city; there are no Jembes here, just stones and no work. Let the youth sit and chew grains, let them laugh till their mouths dry. Let them wait for Bwana Matumbo. He will come after five years. He was here last time and they feasted and sang, they ate and they danced. Bwana Matumbo brings them Joy. Let them wait for Bwana Matumbo.

Who sleeps in his chair? Who fattens in his sleep? Who snores on his job? When shall he wake up? Somebody wake up Bwana Matumbo, someone tell him the youths are jobless. If you shake him he will not wake up. If you yell at him, he will talk in his sleep and if you pour water on him he shall fart and roll over. There is only one way to wake him up, tell him there is an election, I swear he shall awake like thunder!!

The day is old now; the sun is at its peak. By now people should smell sweaty and their lips should be cracked. The huts should be smoking and the pots should be boiling. It’s time to eat, but it’s the city. In the city they don’t eat, they sleep at Uhuru Park. Food is for the rich, the poor watch them eat. The rich can’t eat without an audience. They need someone to warn them their bellies are full, lest they will burst.

Allow me to loose my mind...

Whenever I go to a bank I always wonder, why is it they have a ramp and stairs? I appreciate their effort to accommodate the disabled but why have both? I reckon that able bodied persons could use the ramp, couldn’t they? The only sensible thing is to have the ramp at the entrance and no stairs. That is common sense 101…

 The roof let in quite a lot of weather and the conductor tried some very interesting improvisations like chewing gum and using it to “mend the punctures”, unfortunately he didn’t have enough teeth to chew all the gums necessary to improvise a tent…Eventually the driver realized we could drown in the matatu and he parked for us to take shelter outside a shop…

It’s the rainy season now, that’s nothing much but its very interesting to remember that the metrological department had predicted minimal rainfall, how embarrassing? The rainy season always brings interesting tidings… Recently I boarded a matatu in bondeni nakuru, bondeni is the type of neighbourhood that smells of chang’aa all the time. In Bondeni they brew chang’aa next to the police station, sometimes inside. On this day I was in a Bondeni matatu then it started raining, nothing much still until you consider the matatu was a “convertible” with a “punctured” roof. The roof let in quite a lot of weather and the conductor tried some very interesting improvisations like chewing gum and using it to “mend the punctures”, unfortunately he didn’t have enough teeth to chew all the gums necessary to improvise a tent… A lady actually had to open her umbrella in the matatu to cover her baby. Eventually the driver realized we could drown in the matatu and he parked for us to take shelter outside a shop…

Sadly, the heavy rains drowned the carburetor in the matatu and we had to “float” home somehow. I had heard about police reforms and so I felt it was time for me to seek assistance from the police, so I walked into the bondeni police station to borrow an umbrella. A sergeant commanded for a cell to be opened and I thought,”They keep umbrellas in a cell? Then she barked for keys to the handcuffs to be brought and I thought, “The umbrellas are handcuffed?”

Soon I realized the cell was mine and the handcuffs were for me. I didn’t want to sleep in their “cattle dip” or eat their Spartan Menu….

A New Day In Hell...

The Rusty gates clang as the wind sways them. Dry leaves rustle on the grounds as the lonely wind flows away. Its dull, its gloomy, desolate and isolated. Its unceremonious as the boundary is crossed, the most inauspicious reception ever at any destination. Its an arrival to Hell.

Moses was on Holy ground but I stand on a Cursed Ground, pungent smells and awe all attack me. Before me a great serpent surrounded by frozen flames. The serpent is frozen, its the devil, cold and dying, helpless and defeated. The prophecy of the black angel has failed Hell will never be the same again...

Darkness descends into my soul as I crawl down the narrow stairwell, I rub my hands against the darkened sooty wall, it smells awful. "A lot of fires must have prevailed in this place",  I think to myself as I am engulfed by the consuming darkness. I want to stop but the stairwell sucks me deeper. The darkness gets deeper and almost palpable. Terror and fear erupt in my spirit as tumultuous thoughts explode in my mind. Hell engulfs me as I realize that my fate is sealed, my hope is lost and my torments are permanent.

Suddenly I see the mouth of a chasm, I know its the infamous lake of fire, I shiver, I shake, I gnash and I wail. I am terrified as I face the eternal price for my blasphemies and iniquities. The wrath of The almighty is ruthless as I face the great pit. Mercy exists not here, hope is not known here, there Dante's words haunt me, "ABANDON ALL HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE", I am Damned.

My mind slowly recollects and the intense pandemonium eases as sobriety grips me again. Slowly I begin to stumble towards the ominous pit, a narrow path directs my way as curiosity lures me into the pit. It is cold, chilly I should say. Quietly I walk into the unknown depths, lonely depth, intense solitude. I could the feel the quite haunt me. Hell was deserted, hell was quite, Hell was cold.

Slowly they emerge, the choir of fallen angels, all of them frozen as they sang their awful tune of insurrection against the almighty. Then it all gets clearer as I see millions of frozen people, its a horrible sculpture of frozen souls, great leaders frozen in their robes, great soldiers frozen in their regalia, beautiful women frozen in erotic pose. Its a somber landscape of quite, pause and chill. I see creatures of the deep with unsymmetrical bodies all frozen in frightening poses. I am getting cold, my skin whitens and my lips are sticky, but I keep exploring..

Then I see a faint red glow, It looks a fire but largely extinguished. I stop dead in my tracks, I remember Moses and his burning bush. Moses was on Holy ground but I stand on a Cursed Ground, pungent smells and awe all attack me. Before me a great serpent surrounded by frozen flames. The serpent is frozen, its the devil, cold and dying, helpless and defeated. The prophecy of the black angel has failed Hell will never be the same again, the flames are off and the smoke no longer billows, its a new day in Hell...

Romans 6:23-For the wages of sin is death....

I would Rather Have a Donkey

It’s hard to contemplate anything great the French have ever made. Before the French revolution, the French invented the Guillotine, a fast and efficient way to amputate heads. The French gave the world Napoleon Bonaparte, you know his story and he is the reason you cannot name a Pig Napoleon in France. The French have always had a laissez-faire attitude towards craftsmanship. In the First World War the French made a gun or let us say improvised the Chauchat. The Chauchat was at best a roll of intestines that farted bullets occasionally. The chauchat was the weapon that was meant to amuse the enemy rather than cause casualties. I was not writing to give you a synopsis of French History, I want to ridicule their cars.

There was a time when Kenyan roads were only reserved for Peugeots. The Old faithful ran the show like a circus, it was claimed that Peugeots were “Made for Africa” but the truth is that it was just a polite way of saying IT COULD NOT BE ACCEPTED ANYWHERE ELSE. I remember we owned a Peugeot pick up once, sadly its monoqocue construction meant it could not really carry a lot. It was a pick up for the Cat walk. I have to say that the French were the first to widely apply monoqocue body construction in cars but sadly most “French firsts” aren’t glamorous. The French were the first to do a face transplant and the person ended up with a bottom of a baboon for a face. Facials aside French cars and especially Peugeot were famously unreliable. I missed many days of school as a kid when the family Peugeot had its irregular periods of leaking oils and engine tantrums. There are few things which offend me more than a Peugeot, Honestly as a means of Transport I would rather Have a donkey.

...I missed many days of school as a kid when the family Peugeot had its irregular periods of leaking oils and engine tantrums. There are few things which offend me more than a Peugeot, Honestly as a means of Transport I would rather Have a donkey...

In their magnificent quirky era Peugeots made a reputation for their Jamming doors, windows and sloppy electrics. The CID used Peugeots back then and laughter was made when they arrived at a crime scene and had to get out through the windows. The truth is this; the only car that ever brought more misery than a Peugeot was a Volkswagen beetle, which to say the truth was the personal afterbirths of a mass murderer. I reckon Peugeot has never made a great car like the Ford Mustang, The VW Golf GTI, The Land rover Defender or anything else for that matter.

Maybe the Peugeots of modern day are better, yes they are but still they scratch the bottom of the totem pole of automotive pedigree. A Peugeot 407 is a far cry from its God forsaken ancestors but the problem is its as expensive as a Mercedes or BMW at least here in Kenya. I would rather Get a German equivalent over a Peugeot.