Posts Tagged ‘Juja’

Lessons From A Senior Mafisi Sacco Member

Posted: February 2, 2016 by ketihapa in Dating, Humour
Tags: , , , ,
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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

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.