Archive for the ‘Days I Would Rather Forget’ Category

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Mother Nature, you cat fish

First and foremost, happy new year people. I am hoping you had more fun than I did over Christmas… Mine involved lots of house hunting meaning I only went home after securing a new house on 26th, and lots of beer. A lot of beer drunk by my new landlord whom i had to get drunk first in order for him to agree to keep my house on deposit at least until the new year.

Then from there i still had to dig a compost pit for my mom (I feel very manly right now) and still make sure my kid brothers werent giving other kids bruises and scars. Thank God those brats start school today.

But that was that. I hoped the new year would be better. It isn’t. Not until I get back my Ksh 9,000 owed to me by one Mr. Njonjo from last year. Not forgetting i already missed spending new years with her and now I have absolutely no idea how to make it up to her. Never mind the fact that I am broke already and I know I wont gain access to any good money until next week when my new ID card comes out so I can go to the bank for my salary. Shopping for a new house is depressing. The only positive here is that I know I am not the only broke man in Nairobi. In fact, ladies reading this, someone pointed out that if your man isn’t broke in Njaanuary, that nigger has a sponsor too.

Which brings me to the reason I am particularly pissed off agitated angry mad this morning. Not at any one of you or any other human for that matter; I am mad at Mother Nature. In fact I am starting to suspect Mother Nature isnt even a woman in the first place. She is one of Satan’s toenails. That one toe nail Satan cut off and threw in the fire but refused to burn in the eternal flames of hell. Mother Nature, I am starting to think is even more of a bitch than Karma.

Because sincerely, how can she be so damn inconsiderate of other people and their feelings? Even Kanye West at least is considerate of other people’s feelings he just doesn’t give a shit unless they’re Kanye West. What part of Njaanuary doesnt she understand honestly? What part of ‘everybody is broke and in need of divine intervention to get through January’ doesnt she get?

Before you think I am being unfair on Mother Nature, I will explain my plight. Early today morning I boarded a matatu bound for town for work. It was precisely at 7:30 am; I know this because some guy was ranting on the radio about his wife leaving him and how he’s suffering because he doesn’t know how to cook ugali (like seriously, your wife leaves you and you’re more concerned about ugali than your kids? Or your impending dryspell?) Anyway, it was a glorious morning and I was psyched up and full of energy. I will stop making this sound like a high school composition now.

I took a window seat and proceeded to put on earphones so I could listen to a little of Monsters and Men and Lupe Fiasco while checking whether Arsenal have signed Aubameyang yet on BBC’s transfer gossip column. I replied to pending emails and Whatsapp messages. That’s when I looked up and saw the conductor had already started collecting bus fare. Being the good passenger I am, I went ahead to get out a Ksh 1000 note from my pocket and held it in my palm ready for the conductor.

That’s when Mother Nature happened. It had started drizzling. It was just a light drizzle but it was windy. Very windy. Soon the conductor was standing one seat ahead of mine. I cannot tell you how it happened but the wind suddenly burst forth in a fury. There went my Ksh 1000. Gone with the wind. It was on Thika Super Highway so stopping and running back for the money was not an option. And besides, this was public transport. For a second I was in shock not quite believing what had just happened. So was the lady seated next to me.

Then the conductor, who had witnessed the incident, came to ask for his money. Money that i no longer had. Explaining was a lot harder than I expected. But thankfully my expertise in choosing whom to sit next to paid off- I always advice men to sit next to women. The lady, Annet, offered to pay for my fare provided I paid back when we got to town.

So now I have Annet’s phone number, that I will not use because my finances already have a deficit of Ksh 1000, and a ton of guilt because when she hugged me she made me promise I would call her back. Any of you #TeamMafisi fellows interested in Annet let me know so I can give you that assist Ozil style. 

I hate October

October. I always hate October and to some extent, September. Too many bad things happen around these two months. A quarter of the world dies during these two months; wars, suicides, road accidents, laughter… Ok, wait, I am not sure laughter fits there. Then there are tragedies. Houses collapsing, teachers not getting paid, children opening school to study for four weeks (never mind that parents will still pay for the entire term), Kenya beating a team 5-0 then failing to reproduce that form at Kasarani, Airtel cars- that we’re supposed to win if we use their services stalling on roads and causing traffic jams. My neighbour announcing that we can longer be friends because his girlfriend thinks I am better girlfriend to him than her (SMH), never mind that we cooked beef at his place once and we were all drunk. In short, I hate October. Rocktoberfest can’t do anything to absolve this.

And this October still wants to be miserable. For starters, the promised El Nino that was to keep me indoors instead of having to wake up at 5 in the morning to go to work hasn’t happened yet. Only Mombasa citizens have had a taste for it so far. And it didn’t even last three days. Then there are rumours Airtel will move from Kenya soon. I don’t even use their services, but imagine how much Safaricom will charge us once their biggest rival here is gone? I foresee a day when Kanjo will partner with Safaricom and we will be required to pay for public toilets using airtime. And don’t even get me started on the fact that our leadres are fighting. And from the look of things, this will not be okay. Then there are wheelbarrows that civil servants can only afford to buy if they save up for a year. And MCAs that award themselves six million on a whim. And half built markets that cost millions.

I hate October.
And I haven’t even talked about the elephant in the room; that Njoki Chege wants fat women held responsible for their cheating spouses simply because they are fat. I know I shouldn’t wish it on anyone, but the day that insensitive, Subaru hating, insecure, bile loving… (I have ran out of adjectives, sorry)… poor lady gets a husband, humanity will have failed me. Fat people don’t choose to be fat (most of them anyway), it just happens. Some people just have better metabolisms. And some people are just idiots.

I hope you’re starting to see why October isn’t my favourite month, ever.

Never mind policemen who are more interested in money than actually saving your life or offering you any help at all. It’s worse in October because it is a dry month and the farmers don’t really have any food to transport to the market; most of them are preparing their farms for the short rains. Which means that there are fewer people hiring cars to transport their produce, which leaves the cops strolling around town for anyone with anything that looks like luggage; and if you don’t have a receipt for it, you are either forced to pay at least Ksh 300 or go to jail for ‘theft’. Like most of them even see the irony. You don’t believe me? Try carrying a bag full of stones on Luthuli Avenue this month and watch yourself branded a terrorist who stole stones from a government building. And we all know how many government buildings are on Luthuli Avenue.

Then as if I don’t already have enough on my plate, there’s my brother. I love him to death. He is tall, funny and an awesome brother. He is the kind of person that would jump off a cliff if there was any chance his jumping would let you live if you only had one piece of rope between you and that rope wouldn’t support the both of you. He is the kind of person that will find you lying on the ground, in pain, from where a snake bit you and he would literally suck it out without minding what the poison would do to him. But.

There is always a but.

You see, he is what women call a player nowadays. He has too many exes. Most of them are beautiful, young things. And very naïve. As the good brother I am, I always try to be friends with them, because I know being friends with his girl can only get me closer to him. But they are naïve. Too naïve- I don’t try to hit on them, ever- but they are too naïve. Take for instance yesterday. I had been feeling a little down following disappointments in my company and when something great finally happened, I thought I would do something for myself. So I bought myself congratulatory meat. Nyama Choma. Then this lass walks over to me and says hi, she actually says hi. I remember her vaguely but she looks familiar. She tells me she is Ann and she is an ex of my brother’s. I smile. I remember her now. I invite her to my expensive nyama choma and order the waiter to get her two Redds Vodka bottles. Two turns to four. Then six. Then she blackouts.

So, here I am, a small, very young girl by my side and a half drank bottle of Redds Vodka. I gulp the remainder and try to wake her up. She doesn’t budge. I do what any self-respecting man would do. I try to get her home. I know she lives in Kasarani, so I decide to get her in a cab. But a cab will be too expensive, especially for an ex that isn’t even mine. I decide to get public transport. Kasarani isn’t so far away. So I pay my bill and drag her off the table. By now, she is basically a zombie. I take her arm and try dragging her towards the stage. Then the worst happens. The cops show up. I won’t bore you with the details, but this is how the conversation went down:

“Do you know this man?”

“Yes”

Do you know where he is taking you?”

“NO.”

Let’s just say nobody likes a man with a drunk woman who doesn’t know where he’s taking her. My Ksh 1000 will attest that we learnt this the hard way. And that is how I was unable to go to Sarakasi Dome to watch a play I had been waiting to watch for two weeks. I hate October.