Archive for the ‘Dating’ Category

SUNDAYS

Posted: April 10, 2016 by ketihapa in Dating, Life
Tags: , , , , , , , ,
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Sundays... Learn to love Sundays!

So, today is Sunday; Sunday evening to be precise if you’re reading this now, or Monday, if you’ll be reading it in the next few hours. Sunday is a great day; it is slow and mostly very boring, but it is one full of blessings. Even people who got paid before you and happened to finish their salaries before you finally remember they are your friends and are willing to pay you a visit for you to buy them lunch or whatever. A drink sometimes even. Your pastor reminds you how wonderful you are and how much God is taking care of you. And even better, you do not have to go to work! So yes, Sunday is a really great day.

But somehow, Sunday is never your best day. In addition to being bored and nursing a hangover, you’re mostly upset and angry that in a few hours, it will be Monday morning and you will be expected to be at work at 8:00 am which means unlike Sunday morning you will have to wake up at 5:00 am to get ready and find a good enough vehicle to drive you to town or to your office. (3:00 am if you’re the female types that have to shower twice, make sure the reading on the weighing machines says the makeup on their faces hasn’t exceeded a ton, blend vegetables and drink the sloth to keep themselves very fit in case the traffic forces them to run to the office to avoid being late and getting fired.)

If you’re a man, Sunday is an even worse day for you. Even worse than the fact that tomorrow morning you will have to be in the office in a suit, ironed pants and shirt, polished shoes and a tie whose colour the vendor assured you is red but you aren’t sure of. Yet- which is a bad reminder that you have no woman with you to tell you that the tie you have chosen is pink and that your boot accepts luggage too, instead of red.

This is also a reminder that for the rest of the week, you will experience nothing but a growing shade of blue on your balls till Friday. Unless you will manage to convince one of the ladies that abruptly remembered were more than friends with you last Sunday that instead of the lunch you both had then cooked by someone a friend just warned you cooks dog meat instead of beef, this time, you will make dinner for her; a dinner she will never forget and one her friends will be salivating over when she posts the photos you will let her take on Instagram, probably more than they are currently over this Brock O’Hurn illuminati fellow causing most of their bodies to heat up more than Judas in Hell’s flames.

You will therefore convince her that you have perfected your cooking skills in a week and that in fact, you are on your way to being awarded a certificate of merit to show how amazing a chef you have become if she will taste the food and give her testimonial to your trainers. That you will be genuinely happy to know she won’t have to spend the coming week heavily sedated on meds and in pampers should she decline the dinner and eats food cooked by someone she doesn’t know and trust again. In short, that she is very important to you today. Woe unto you if she is not convinced after your well rehearsed lines.

After you have successfully convinced her how important she is to you (mostly to your testicles though), you still have the uphill task of finding a car to pick her, because you will be so busy trying to convince the other one from last night that suddenly believes she will be meeting your parents (her parents in law to be) next week, that you were born in Mbabane, hence you are a citizen of Swaziland but you have perfected your Swahili, so your parents will not let you marry her since when you met her she wasn’t a virgin; hell, you are afraid of the curse they would mete out should you marry her.

After successfully organizing for a ride to pick her (you will later on sort out your friend with a good through pass to the girl you can’t marry because you’re from Swaziland and she wasn’t a virgin when you met her), you will then have to work out how to ensure the food she will dare to come see and take photos of is ready. There is only one problem however, even boiling eggs is problematic for you; one it takes too long for them to cook, you don’t even know if they are cooked when the water finally boils and even the ones you buy from street vendors are better than yours. The only eggs you could possibly prepare perfectly are hers… for pregnancy and childbirth.

Which will remind you yet another thing- after you have paid off some mama to cook food in your house that you will later on declare you cooked and offer to teach her how to do it- that you bloody need a dozen condoms in your house. You are in absolutely no mood to prepare any eggs yet. Not now, and not in the foreseeable future. The only responsibility you can see yourself handling properly is making sure your bottle and or glass of beer does not pour out any of its contents when you accidentally slip; that is your version of drinking responsibly.

That done, only one thing will be left to do now; to buy sufficient airtime to call her and tell her you are ready to pick her up now. You will purchase Ksh. 200 worth of airtime, although Ksh. 100 will be deducted to pay off your Okoa Jahazi, which you had to borrow in order to organize for everything else. You will proceed to call her and you will be very sweet, courteous and polite on the phone, addressing her not as ‘Bae’, the wannabe version of sweets, but as Sweetheart.

She will need to know how much you care for her, after all you told her how important she is to you earlier on. That will be until she tells you “Aki sweetheart, wacha nitakuja next weekend… I am so sorry I should have told you earlier, my cramps just got worse. I can’t travel. I really need to rest sweetheart. I love you. Gosh! I will miss you!”

And there and then you will feel all your energy draining out, what was left of it anyway. The remorse in your heart will be immense; not because you she has bad cramps and cant come to see you, but because you have already used up your money trying to organize for her trip and with your resources including time (considering it is now 7:30 pm) gone, you will not be able to find another suitable one to fill in for the emergency.

You will proceed to your local and convince Mama Shiko to give you a bottle of vodka to drown your sorrows in, that you will pay for tomorrow. She will see the hurt in your eyes and give it to you; except now in addition to owing a through pass to your friend that lent you his car, you also owe Mama Shiko and before long, you will be drunk AF again meaning your Monday morning in the office will be miserable as hell (hopefully your boss will not smell your breath) and even worse, your blue balls will develop as foreseen early in the morning.

Sundays. Sundays are just sad for Mafisi Sacco Members.

Lessons From A Senior Mafisi Sacco Member

Posted: February 2, 2016 by ketihapa in Dating, Humour
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We are Many!

The JKUAT Students’ Union – led by Jomo Erick and Victor Marende Nzoka – today organised the first ever A.G.M in Juja. They bought us free lunch and gave us sodas to wash it down with. Our job was simple, to sit down, listen to the union talk about what they promised to do and why they didn’t do it and, if need arises, ask questions; questions they would dodge, like politicians do. Same old shit.

One lady impressed me though. Goes by Josephine, the JKUAT-Westlands Students’ Union Vice-Chair. Pretty mami, medium height, yellow yellow, smooth skin, authoritative voice, blue skirt, nice ass (Hehe, C’mon, like you didn’t know I was going to do that).
Gets up, jokes “I come from Eritrea by the way…” to screams, cheers and whistles from the crowd. Then switches to a serious tune, goes “We as Westlands Campus are highly disappointed in this leadership. You people came to us, promised us heaven and earth, only to deliver zilch. Come back this time round, and you will be shown the door. We are tired of this nonsense.”

Meeting ends in Chaos – Juja goons feel their President has been insulted, leave barking, with Jomo Erick lifted shoulder high. I approach the lady next to the Dean’s office, feed her some bullshit story about working for a certain media house and wanting her official statement, just to look her in the eye as she explains her point.

After 20 minutes of pretending like I’m really listening – during which time I’m mostly just shaking my head, and staring at her boobs – I tell her, “Look, so, take my number, call me by the end of the week and decide if you want to buy me lunch or Whiskey, you will have been famous by then.”

She smiles, does that “Aaawww” thing ladies do (for no reason at all), takes out her phone and punches in my number. [Gents, First Lesson of Picking Up Women, Don’t ask for her number, it makes you seem desperate. Give her yours, makes her want you more.]

Here’s the thing, I don’t work for any media house. I won’t make her famous, if I had that power, my Grandma would be on the Papers by now (She makes some mean Uji). The hell she think I was, Mzazi Willy Tuva? I’m full of shit, you just have to take one look at me to know that. I fed her that bull ’cause she blew me off my socks.

I like my women strong, made of substance, outspoken, well-dressed, and emitting fragrances that smell like freshly-cooked Chapos. Now I’m at the den with the boys, taking one for the road, thinking, Will she really call me? If she does, what will I tell her happened to her story?

Maybe I should just tell her I got fired, ama? Si it will make her sympathize with me at least?

Signed.

Chuny Min Oaye.

Original story from Ian Duncan’s Facebook:

https://mobile.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=762922313842873&id=100003753347495&refid=7&_ft_=qid.6244791662956399593%3Amf_story_key.-8447596908158658421&__tn__=%2As

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You will know when you find her

Yesterday, the EPL season came to a close, a dramatic finish to 38 games per team (the clueless, kina Bix, there are 20 teams in the EPL, each fielding 11 players plus an additional 3 substitutes if they so require), which took place over the course of roughly 10 months. Of the 20 teams, like every other league, including the ones that are yet to be completed- ladies this does not include the Europa League or the Champions League- there were the top performers, the beasts, the ones that were actually favourites to win from the start to the finish. The ones that everyone else was scared of. The ones that actually managed an average of at least 1.974 points per game, translating roughly into about 75 points at the end of the season. Again, Bix, please mind your business.
Promptly, the transfer season will officially start. Ladies, I am sorry, but this does not necessarily mean that you will get more attention. From the TV and the pub, his attention will also promptly shift to constant checks on the phone of websites such as goal.com, bbc sport football, transfer sources, etc. However, this will significantly increase your chances of busting him online, when usually he claims he doesn’t have bundles. You will not understand, trust me. That I can promise you. He will undoubtedly spend more time online than you do, yet the number of Whatsapp texts that you get will exponentially decrease, depending on what he finds online.
You will hear all sorts of rumours; some will claim that someone is about to get signed. Some will insinuate that the said person has already been signed and some will claim that someone else that offered better incentives has snatched the said the said person, or in better footballing terms, snatched up the said person. In some rare cases, you will learn that the said person has suffered and injury and as a result, interest has weaned. His agent will appear from time to time to deny or approve the amount of interest shown in the said person. Then someone will appear as if from nowhere and proclaim that the deal is done. You will question it, perhaps even laugh at the sheer absurdness of it all, but in due course, you will learn that the transfer window is about to close.
On the deadline day, you will learn, sadly, that the said person has been signed. On the rare occasion, the said person will suddenly reveal how wrong they were to even consider leaving and will opt to stay on, if anything to win trophies with the current team. If this happens, they will inevitably receive pay hikes and obviously better benefits.
In two months’ time, on average, he will be excited. He will tell not necessarily tell you about it, but you will know. You will hear rumours of friendly games, pre-season matches and whatnots. You will unexpectedly find yourself on the verge of trying to find out what all this pre-season madness is all about. You will not like it, especially when you find out that the new signing is especially awesome and all his rivals are jealous. Then, the new season will start his Twitter handle will change from his name to a strange name you may or may not have heard about in the course of the two months. The said person will inevitably be on his FPL team for the new season and there will be nothing you can do about it. At that moment, you will know it is official.
You will also ask where I am going with this.
I will tell you; because this is exactly what happens on the dating field. One moment she’s yours. The next, the season is coming to a close. Someone else is trying to sign her and there is nothing you can do about it, except hope you can manage to convince her to stay. She will be faced with a big decision; to stay on or to leave. Sometimes, if she really does love you, she will stay. There will be no pre-season matches and no one else will get to experience her love except you.
But sometimes, she will decide she is better off signing on away; there will be nothing you can do about it. You will try to get her back but she will throw you into the bottomless pit that is the friendzone if you do insist on pursuing her. You will understand that you pushed her away, but you will never quite accept it. She will forgive you, with time, but yes, you both know it will never be the same. If you’re lucky, Fabian will offer you a place on his support group, having experienced the process approximately 17 times (that we know of).
But sometimes, she will realize that you two were always at your best when you were together (Katunge take note  ) and she will come back running into your arms and you will never let her go, not for anything. Because by then you will have learnt from your mistakes and you will be willing to do anything for her. Then, you will know that you found the one.

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But Why? Lord!? Why won't they tell me I am awesome!?

It is officially three weeks since my accident, and approximately four weeks since I joined Instagram. Yes, I know, I know. I vehemently swore a couple of months ago that I would never join Instagram, or IG, as I hear cool kids call it nowadays. It wasn’t anything I had against IG, but I have always felt Instagram is for girls whose fathers are really disappointed of them. As for my accident, ladies, hold your horses, no accidental babies were made in any back seats- it was a genuine accident. I will probably have a scar on the right side of my face just above my right eye for the time being, but I can assure you I am still as handsome (no pun intended) as ever… *wink*
Anyway, yesterday evening, after reading the much talked about fuckboy (If you’re the author, I admire your writing prowess, I just don’t respect you because you and Njoki Chege are unmistakably similar), I decided to reply to it. People have consequently argued about it all day. I was probably a little harsh, but yeah, I felt pissed off. But the thing is, early morning today, which was completely unexpected since I am rarely on Facebook, I find a message, again completely coincidental, from Joe, telling me that he belongs to a group of bloggers that have actually been readers of my blog, and who think I would be an excellent addition to their Whatsapp group. Ladies, I think I now understand why sweet words send streams down your panties.
The problem is, as awesome as it was to be considered awesome, it left half a dozen of unanswered questions. The biggest one of them being, why wont women find me awesome as well???? Whyyyy??? Followed closely by, should I actually start taking a career in writing more seriously than I have been doing over the past couple of months? Magunga and Ifehenia think I would go farther than I already have should I ever decide to be a full time writer. My folks, not so much; not after they spent half their income every month to get me to complete my undergraduate studies. That, I was able to logically deduce.
What I couldn’t quite explain was the former. I would love to understand women. Remember the story of the guy that found a magic lamp and on rubbing it a genie appeared that asked him for the proverbial wish and the dude said all he wished for was a road that joined the Earth to the Moon, and the genie laughed and said that was impossible, and that he had to make another wish? When the guy said he wished he could understand women the genie promptly shut up and built the road? Well, yeah, that is exactly what I feel right now as well. I will never understand women.
What do I have to do exactly to be considered awesome by you ladies out there? I am genuinely confused. Some female friends (yeah, sorry guys, I too, are inevitably on friend zones on some girls’ lists) suggested I learn cooking. I did that. Now, practically none of them can cook anything better than I can. Did any woman call me awesome? I would honestly be more shocked if they did, than if I ever found myself having lunch at KFC. ‘Next, they suggested I start writing, one of them actually did the post ‘Date a Guy That Writes.’ Look where that’s got me. Replying to annoying posts like Bye Fuckboy. SMH. Most recently, I was informed I should buy myself a car. We both know that isn’t happening this year… soo…. LOL. I hate my life.
Now, I am at the point where I feel I have to give an ultimatum to these women. If none of you tells me I am an awesome human being in the next week, I am declaring celibacy. Because FFS I really do not see the point of trying so hard and none of them will ever consider me awesome enough to offer nudes. Or perhaps I should just stop listening to my female friends, whose friend zones I really have no hope of leaving any time soon. Oh, crap, wait. I think that was an own goal.
I give up.  😦

When you try to connect with him/her but it just isnt working

My heart is heavy. Still, it could be worse. Today, I almost broke up with my girlfriend of five years (or more, I am not entirely sure how long we have been together.) Well, we have settled things and we are now talking now, I can now connect with her, but it scared the shit out of me. It’s not like I even cheated on her or anything; nothing like that. In fact, I hate hookers. You see, all of them cheat you how you will have the time of your life, till five minutes later they tell you your time is up. So, clearly, wao ni ma-laya.

Anyway, it all started a couple of weeks back. We were in love and we still talked every day, every hour, every minute, every few seconds of our time together. You don’t believe me, do you? I see. But will I die whether you believe me or not? This is a blog anyway. Ivy, that’s my girl’s name btw, started complaining that she couldn’t get through to me a couple of times. She said, her words, “You don’t seem to be in touch with me nowadays. You don’t relate with my relatives.”

Naturally, I had absolutely no idea what on earth she was yapping on about. And the reason I couldn’t understand where this was coming from was, for starters, I had never felt more connected with her. In fact, I felt our connection was growing stronger, fast. And just the other day, I managed to connect with her sister. Whatsapp will bear me witness. I respect and love Ivy too much for me to ignore anything she says. But then, her words seemed to come to life one fateful morning when I had just booted up and I tried to send a ping to her. At first, I was informed that our connection was timing out, just as she had said. Then, as if from nowhere, I was informed that she could not be reached. I started panicking. Almost a full system interrupt.

I sent parity bits. Nothing. Nada. I tried to sleep it off by uninstalling and re-installing my hardware. Still nothing. I switched to my secondary Ethernet device. NOTHING! I decided may be I should reset my configurations and remove all IPs except hers. Nothing was working. I set my Ethernet card to DHCP. I have never liked Static configurations. Full panic mode now. Still, I could connect with my neighbor via wi-fi. (She’s a beauty. She is slim, quite shapely and has all the right features. Granted, she is Android, but she clearly beats any iPhone or iPad. Meh. Nexus!) I decided to check the last 24 hour’s ping stats. I had been online and so had she. In fact, we had been in touch and she had not known it, right till the moment I shut down the previous evening and booted up in the morning. I even checked to see whether my firewall or hers was refusing the connection ffs.

With clearly little else to do, I decided to connect to the internet. I knew how much she loved the internet so I banked on the fact that she would be online. I sent a trace-route. Nothing. I got as far as her ISP but from there she was just nowhere to be found. The real problem was, when I contacted our mutual friends, they had all been in touch with her. In fact, they complained they were not marriage counselors. Apparently, she too had tried to reach me and when she couldn’t, she reached out to them and asked if any of them had been in touch. We hadn’t. I was offline then, remember? My bundles were due to be renewed in the morning when I booted up. Safaricom, man, Gaddem. I have no idea why I haven’t embraced Unliminet yet. It was a relief tho.

Now that for a fact I knew my hardware was in the right shape and was working fine, I decided it had to be my software. I checked to see if any of them had enabled any proxies accidentally. No proxies were active. I checked if my immune system was blocking any connections; in fact, all it reported was that it was out of date and that it needed to be updated. Naturally, I decided to do a complete system restore. I selected the date before we last shared anything, which was the day before yesterday. I didn’t care if any programs I had installed or drivers I had hired the day before would be affected. I just didn’t. Now all I really cared about was reconnecting with my dear Ivy.

The restoration was done. NOTHING!!!!!! I almost crashed and broke down in a binary stream of tears. I was crushed, completely. 101 years had been lost just like that. 11111011111 clearly wasn’t our year.

Then, just as I was about to give up, drop all my security protocols and allow any interested viruses and malware to infiltrate and destroy my system, I received word from Microsoft that they had just discovered a bug. (WTF! I had updated my system just the other day!) Apparently this bug caused false IP addresses being assigned to the Wireless and Ethernet cards and it didn’t matter what you did. You could flush your entire system including the DNSs and it still wouldn’t reach some specific IPs, especially those that you are in communication with constantly. WTF!!!!!!

I didn’t bother applying the fucking security fix.

I have since formatted my system and installed Linux. I had no idea the software was this good. I don’t even need an antivirus anymore because no virus can infect me. Literally. My user interface may look like shit, but hey, I have The Terminal! That Beast! In fact, just seconds after applying Linux, I connected with Ivy seamlessly. Of course I had to explain to her what had happened and why we couldn’t connect for most of today, but she believed me. A couple of her pals had warned her of the same a few days ago but she hadn’t taken it seriously. So, as of now, we are back together. I love you Ivy. (She has since warned me of connecting with the Nexus.) She is also due to install Linux on her system tomorrow.

So, we have come up with a very simple resolution; fuck these daily Safaricom bundles. Fuck Microsoft for its shit of a product called Windows and fuck everyone that believed we were done. Also, fuck you if you still haven’t figured out that we are computers; I am HP and Ivy is Dell.

 

Ps. If you somehow got this post, mate, you are a computer nerd, geek, whatever you call yourself. LMAO.

Question yourself, is it worth it to yourself and to her?

Let’s call him Joseph. Joseph is a middle aged man with a wife and three kids, two sons and his eldest is a daughter whom he loves to bits. Further from home, Joseph has achieved more than most of his peers already; he has a business to run, where he’s his own boss. He sells computers and their accessories and sometimes, when he’s lucky, he gets tenders from the government through one or two corrupt deals.

Joseph also has a well paying job at a leading Internet Service Provider, where he’s the technical team manager and commands more than 20 employees in his department. His wonderful job means he can afford to buy and maintain any car he’d wish for. At the moment, Joseph drives a sleek black BMW X6. He can also afford to get pretty much any woman he wants; and the car pretty much seals the deal for him. After all, follow the wheels and find the money.

Last month, he purchased a Galaxy Tablet, but had to give it to his daughter as a present because he forgot her birthday was fast approaching, and he had to settle for the new iPad his friends told him about. When he got bored of it, he gave that to his side lady, Brenda, who is a 22 year old college student at KEMU and doubles as a model. She’s gorgeous. What’s more, she loves giving it to him. Or as his friends call it, kugawa. He loves her for it. The two met at one of the popular uptown clubs in Nairobi, where he and his friends frequent to ‘cool off some steam’ though this is just another excuse to drink and screw everything that is female and walks.

Today, Joseph was thinking of trying out this new laptop model that doubles as a tablet- a HP Touchblahblahblah something. I’m not a techie person, I wouldn’t know the specifics.

His world is seemingly perfect and for any reasonable man, that is the life. He should be happy. But today, Joseph is not. His mood has been sulky and he’s had thoughts of murder thrice in two hours now. Even his secretary knows not to disturb the man when he’s like this. Question being, why is Joseph so mad? Let’s rewind back five hours today.

As I mentioned, Joseph is supposed to get his new touch screen laptop today. He’s on his way to town when he comes across a young lady of about 18 years old. She looks stranded and he decides to help her, since she claims she was on her way to town to see her sick mother, but due to the current matatu operators strike, she’s in a fix and she says she’d walk, but she isn’t feeling well. He doesn’t ask what is wrong. She’ll sort herself out when they get to town.

She hops in and he drives. They’re almost at Museum Hill when she claims she’s feeling dizzy and without warning, she faints, and collapses in her seat. Joseph screeches to a halt and tries to wake her up, but his first aid skills do not help. He decides to turn back and rush to her to the MP Shah Hospital, since he doesn’t know what is wrong.

She is rushed to see a doctor once they’re at the hospital. The brilliant doctor manages to revive her back to consciousness but says he has to run some more tests. They wait for the results in silence, Joseph not sure what to tell her and the lady, her name is Linda, she said, looks anxious. About an hour passes and the doctor returns. He has the results with him. She’s pregnant, he says, and he tells Linda she has to take more care of herself. He asks where the father is.

The Linda drops the bombshell. She starts claiming Joseph is the father. Joseph, in shock, says he doesn’t even know her, which puts the drama in motion. He offers to pay for a test to confirm paternity. He calls the office in town and says he might be late. The nurses, most of them in their thirties, have started casting looks at him that suggest he should be ashamed of himself. One particular one says,

“Mwangalie. *shaking her head* Baba ya mtu anatia mtoto mimba halafu hana haya kujaribu kumruka.”

The tests don’t take long. Thank God for technology. They reveal he isn’t the father and he lets out a sigh of relief, but there is more they reveal, the doctor tells them. Joseph is impotent. His jaw drops.

He remembers he has three kids back at home. His mind is spinning. His hands are trembling. His wife of 15 years has possibly been lying to him about ‘their’ children. He makes the logical conclusion. She’s been cheating on him.

Fast forward to the present.

Joseph is still not sure how to confront his wife. He still doesn’t know what to do with the information he received earlier today. His friends feel sorry for him and he can tell they are as pissed off as he is; some of them encourage him to kick out his wife. His thoughts rush back to ‘his’ kids. Perhaps he shouldn’t really be pissed off, considering in the same span of 15 years, he’s cheated on his wife with at least 20 women… the current one is the lovely Brenda. Karma is a bitch.

So, my question, why do we men, refuse to understand how our women can cheat on us when we do it to them on a daily basis? How do we expect them not to cheat if we do it ourselves? Do we always use protection when we do it? Probably not always. Do they? Perhaps they don’t either. When we find ourselves with sexually transmitted diseases, whom do we point our fingers? Them or ourselves?

Think about it.

Teachers took it to the streets this week demanding for better pay.

My mother recently dropped a bombshell on me that she’s expectant with her fourth child and she hoped that this time, she’d bear a daughter. I understand why my mother hopes it will be a daughter this time round. Well, my brothers and I weren’t always the best behaved kids in the neighborhood, especially since I was the default leader of the pack by virtue of me being a first born. I remember how one day I wanted peanuts, but I had absolutely no money on me. So, I decided to do a little extortion on mama mboga, whose stall was just outside the balcony of our third floor flat. I know my charm wasn’t fully developed back then, but I still don’t remember how or why she denied me peanuts. All I remember is that instead of sulking, I simply climbed back to our balcony and incited my brother that we needed to teach her a valuable lesson in sharing. We peed all over her stall. Did I mention the beating that followed by the way?

But I didn’t intend this piece to be about motherhood. That memory made me realize that my actions were genuinely normal and natural. Think about it, isn’t that what teachers and doctors are doing, albeit more formal? An industrial strike, generally, is a protest when you don’t get what you want or think you deserve, right? The only difference this time round is that I actually support them. And so do MPs, who are keen to appear righteous after investing tax payers’ money on a grand renovation of parliament, complete with Citroen seats that you only get to see in the VIP stands of the Etihad Stadium. They all accept that the government needs to fulfill the pay increase promised to the teachers back in 1999. Yeah, you heard right. 13 years ago.

Though I do not support the public display of hooliganism that was when teachers decided to take it upon themselves to strip head teachers on National TV, in all fairness to the teachers, living in Kenya is getting really hard; the cost of living is going up. But as I have said before somewhere on this blog, life still remains very popular. Ask the bartender who made the mistake of asking a lady why she looked depressed and regretted it three hours later. Hell, even the government couldn’t afford to give our athletes at the Paralympics armed escorts for their safety. No pun intended by the way.

And it isn’t just the teachers or the doctors. Hookers too are having it rough and have now resorted to Facebook and other social networking sites to solicit for sex. I fully expect thieves to follow suit with this trend. Back to the hookers, their goals, as evidenced in the Facebook page ‘Campus Divas for Rich Men’, are clear; if you have no money, beat it. Ok, don’t pretend you’re surprised we’re paying universities to get our kids’ virginities broken. Cum-pus. Get it? That aside; dating is proving to be a very expensive affair. In fact, to get hot dates nowadays you need to follow these steps: one, buy or pluck dates from a tree. Two, fry dates or put dates into a microwave for two minutes. Ta-da!!

Anyhow, childbearing is worse. Kenya isn’t like China where they have factories for everything including children. Here everything is different. You have to first and foremost get fooled by a woman into getting her pregnant. Then she has to surprise you that she’s pregnant and that you’re bound by law to take care of her and her baby. That includes medication. But as things are, who is going to afford a doctor when it’s one doctor’s photo per patient? Mauvimivu yakizidi utamwona daktari yupi? Where are you even going to get the money to pay the newly-introduced tax on rent, leave alone the rent itself?

Ever wondered why bakers, including those who make donuts never decide they are tired of the HOLE thing and quit their jobs? I’ll tell you why. Frankly speaking, bakers are the only people not affected during these tough times. Bakers never go broke; they just keep making lots of dough. Plus they earn the majority of their income by noon – they make most of their dough at yeast by a leaven o’clock. Take my advice, if you want to survive, become a chef or a baker, although I should warn you in advance that you will have to be grilled before you get the job. And wipe that shocked look on your face, I didn’t mean literally you dumbass.

The saddest part about it is that I now have to give up my dream. It is common knowledge that since the discovery of oil in Turkana I have a dream of investing in the area. I thought I’d hit jackpot when a friend and I came up with the genius idea of investing in toilets in Turkana. Sadly, now, as things are, it is cheaper to watch a movie about food and reminisce about its taste and smell than to actually buy food. Movies are Ksh. 50 after all. I know I won’t be the only one that’s had a cup of strungi with a vivid imagination of mandazi; but hey, maybe you’re the type that lives solely on the Fruits of the Holy Spirit. Anyway, even people in Turkana did have food, who’s going to afford toilet paper?

I have come to the conclusion that we will be okay- at least I know I’ll be okay; even if it means resorting to leaves for toilet paper, twigs for toothbrushes and smoke signals for communication. And I’ll date alright. Thank God my History teacher taught me all about the various methods of dating. Contrary to popular belief, Fission Track Dating, and not Carbon Dating, is the best dating method as observed by scientists.

Have a great weekend people and may the teachers get paid.