Posts Tagged ‘China’

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.

Pretty little liars

A man died and went to Heaven, where he met St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. However, as he looked around amazed by the beauty of Heaven, he soon spotted a large wall with millions of clocks on it and curious, he asked, “Excuse me sir, but what are all those clocks?”

St. Peter looked at him and replied, “Those are the Lie Clocks. Everyone on earth has a Lie Clock and every time you lie, the hands on your clock will move.”

“Oh,” he continued, “And whose clock is that?” St. Peter replied, “That belongs to Jesus. The hands have never moved, indicating he never told a lie.”

“And whose is that?” he asked, amazed. “That one belongs to Abraham Lincoln. The hands have only moved twice, indicating he only told two lies his entire life.”

“And where is my clock?” he asked, clearly excited. St. Peter grinned and said, “Oh, yours is in my office. I am currently using it as a fan.”

Sadly, whether that man went to heaven or not, I have no idea. He was Kikuyu unfortunately and from what I hear, they have been banned from hell after they once put out the fire and tried to sell Lucifer a matchbox. Heaven too; there they falsified documents for their loved ones back on earth. More seriously though, I used that man symbolically to represent the women living in our midst. Shocked? Probably not. If you’re a woman and you’re still reading this post, please stop; i am out to expose you.

Oh, well, I guess you can’t follow instructions either. And you ask why I do not trust any woman other than my mother. Moving on. I compiled a list of the worst lies women hide beneath at the expense of unsuspecting men. To my fellow men, I kindly ask you to take a seat, this might get ugly:

Dating

You have been duped, and you’ve fallen flat on your face. Remember that one time she told you, “Hey honey, I am sorry I couldn’t come to see you. I was hanging out with my friends and I thought it would have been awkward for you.” or that time she said she couldn’t tell you she loved you back because she was at a meeting or with her parents? Or worse, how she told you she already had a boyfriend or that time she said she’d just come out of a difficult relationship but she insisted you can be friends? Of course you do. She broke your heart. Not to add to your misery, but she probably thought you are one ugly nigger.

May be she tricked you into carrying her handbag only for you to find out you’d been friend zoned? I am sorry to break your heart further; she probably didn’t want you from the start. She loves you, granted, but just as much as she loves the tents and sufurias in her massive handbag. You’re her accessory. Not to worry, I have the perfect solution for you; walk away. If you’re the one that fell for the ‘I couldn’t tell you I love you’ excuse, I have an even better solution, find a shot gun and find the man that’s been banging her behind your back. Also, if she said you’re her third lover, double that and add 3.

Her Language

All women lie. Period. That includes her body language for your information. Give it up, you can’t read the signs. You told her, “Is it okay if the boys and I go to a strip club? It’s Ken’s birthday,” And she replied, “It’s okay dear. Go have fun.” Never mind the fact that you found her waiting for you at the said strip club- you hadn’t even told her which- with a strange illness that somehow disappeared when you agreed to take her to the hospital. Lying is an art women have perfected. She’ll tell you one thing when she means the exact opposite.

“The sex was great.”

Yeah, she was embarrassed to ask whether it was in. In fact, she wished she’d told you that you are better at turning on phones and other electronics. My advice, do not try to understand her; Always have more songs for their ads- enough to release an album- than the knowledge men have about women.

Her Appearance

This is how far this conspiracy goes. It’s in her makeup, her boobs and her ass and of course, in her hair. It’s in everything she wears. A friend of mine confessed how he dumped his girlfriend without a shred of emotion when the doctor ordered her head shaved so he’d treat her. As you may already have guessed, it was nothing like he’d ever seen or imagined. Numerous corners only matched by one Vincent Kompany, the Martian. If you never see her without tons of makeup, be afraid. How many more horses have to lose their hair to make weaves, I don’t know.

Then there is the fake ass and boobs. Ladies, please, if you do not have as much money as Nicki Minaj, we will always remember how flat your chest was. The only problem with this lie is that most men never see past it. God gave men two heads and unfortunately just enough blood to run one of them at any given time, not both. You decide which head wins each time. My advice, this one you can go along with; enjoy it while it lasts but don’t yank your hand off.

Children

Every man’s dream is to one day have a little kid calling him daddy, hugging him; a child that recognizes he is Superman, even when the world thinks he is two-timing brainless idiot (Read Eden Hazard). It is this card that women build marriages on and effectively, tie down unsuspecting men. There is this couple that had been making love when by accident the woman switched on the lights, only to discover that the man was calmly reading a novel while using a dildo on her. The woman demanded for an explanation to which the man replied,

“Sure, but only if you will explain our three kids.”

If you’re a man and you suspect your kid looks more like your neighbor than you, you’re probably not his father. They say Chuck Norris doesn’t flush the toilet, he scares the shit out of it; that’s how scared shitless you’ll be when she plays the “I’m pregnant” card on you. Sadly, there are no mandatory paternity tests. My advice, women bank on the fact that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, so unless the real father was Jack Bauer and the kid suddenly starts beating you up, if the cat isn’t out of the bag yet, don’t let it out. If it is, walk out on her, not the kids. It wasn’t their fault their mother slept with China.

Lighters up, ladies and gentlemen. You are about to be de-lighted

Last week was quite uneventful; except for the slight tremor in Nairobi on Monday morning and the blackout on Wednesday night, there was really nothing much. The tremor never made it to be a news item although Kenyans on Twitter did manage to blow it out of proportion, as usual, and it ended up being a trending topic for most part of the morning exclusively in Nairobi, with people in Rongai having been warned against trying to fit in. The blackout on the other hand did make it to be a news item. Reason, the blackout was in fact a national event, which somehow managed to extend beyond the borders of our beloved country and into the little landlocked country of Rongai, whose citizens as I later learnt, finally got to understand what life in Kenya is as they were plunged into darkness for four days.

But that was beside my point. Wednesday to say the least was one of the most chaotic nights of my life. I had been looking forward to getting home early from work because as it turned out, a team of midgets from Spain with unique diving talents was due to play 11 old people from London that are funded by divorce settlements and a wealthy Russian mafia boss. I’m talking about the Barcelona vs Chelsea game for those of you who haven’t realized who I’m talking about yet. I therefore needed to get drunk as soon as possible so I would have the strength to sit and hurl insults throughout the entire match without necessarily having to watch the game. Needless to say, I was home by seven pm and in the pub by twenty minutes later with my good neighbour Gitonga, who as his name suggests, is a wealthy man with everything except money.

Having secured seats at our favourite corner, beer-shara was soon underway; it didn’t take long for the alcohol to kick in and Gitonga was soon dazzling everybody with his pre-match analysis, that he had researched using my phone mind you. Not that I really cared, he is fun to watch football with and it was in fact the reason I brought him along in the first place. By eight the place was almost full to capacity; nothing brings men together than alcohol coupled with a night of Champions League football and reports of free oil from a fallen oil tanker, confirmed or otherwise. We even placed bets. Then the lights flickered. Once… twice… thrice…. Then it was dark and the place turned chaotic. Somebody told Baba Boi (read the bartender) to keep away bottles of STONEy from anyone who happened to be from Komarock.

Ten minutes later the lights were not yet back so Baba Boi asked for volunteers to go buy diesel for the generator from the nearby petrol station. Gitonga and I volunteered and we left just as Baba Boi went to fetch the generator. Gitonga has this incredible torch that is made is China that has incredible capabilities as a phone too and we used it to find our way to the petrol station and back to the pub in five minutes. We were determined to watch this match but fate had other ideas. As it turns out the generator had not been used in a long time and wouldn’t even start. We embarked on a hunt for another pub that had a working generator. We ended up travelling all the way to Donholm where we endured watching 90 minutes on our feet and I finally learnt how to iron my clothes without electricity. The trick is to get the iron box hot, so you simply place the iron box on a controlled flame and hope it doesn’t burn.

Anyway I have never cursed KPLC more. I cursed them even more the next day when I found out that their excuse for this gross violation of human rights that prevented millions of football lovers countrywide from watching Chelsea’s historic win over Barcelona and even resulted in the death of an innocent woman in a hospital at the coast was “A fault in one of our substations in Juja”. Condescending bastards even went on say that the power failure was a Current event. Okay, that was funny and I hope you get it, but still. Shouldn’t somebody tell them already to plant bulbs if they want proper power plants not the fake ones they currently have? I have a valid point here; just as it is valid to say that KPLC get their electricity from electrons and morality from morons.

Once a pun a time, KPLC used to be up to date because they were to be current specialists… I even used to joke that the lights usually go out because they like each other. Now, honestly they are just a bunch of, literally, dark sadists who are delighted when Kenyans get de-lighted. I understand the rise in cost of production of HEP power because it is true we faced some rather dry spells, but how do you explain paying more for more power outages? And that is why I have made a stand. I am no longer paying for electricity; I am going solar. Hell, Samsung even have a solar powered laptop, which for the record I find really discriminatory considering the device is only sold in Africa like they still think we’re a dark continent. Okay, again, KPLC are proving them right.

To the rest of you, if you do continue paying for power blackouts, know that you’re only making it easier for the fat cats in that damned company to buy more Volts-Wagons, sorry Volkswagens, with your hard earned money. So I will tell you this, if your lights go out, pray. If they are not back in five minutes, read my advice again and if they are not back by the time you finish re-reading, stop whining and pay the damn bill; it was your choice anyway. Anyway there is this wedding I want to attend badly so I am off till next week. Apparently Mr. Ohm is marrying Mrs. Ohm because he could not resistor… Bye till then.