Posts Tagged ‘Kikuyu’

Being Kenyan

Posted: November 2, 2015 by ketihapa in Kenya
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Being Kenyan, who can complain?

“Tao ngapi?”

“Salasa!”

“Niko na mbao!”

“Hiyo mbao yako peleka choo ya kanjo labda utaendesha!”

“Ok, mbao ndio pesa loose nilikuwa nayo…”

“Huna pesa ndogo?”

You proceed to fold up the Ksh 1000 note into four…

“Haha! Kijana uko funny! Dere shukisha huyu hapo mbele!”

 

I have come to accept that being Kenyan is no longer about citizenship. And chances are, you would never trade being Kenyan for anything; not for a second. I have come to realize being Kenyan gives you an identity- a sense of being; a sense of purpose. It gives you the chance to be legally screwed up. Being Kenyan allows you to fuck up, get taken to court- perhaps even the ICC and still get away with it- trust me, my president has set an exceptional example. We can even ignore court orders. It allows you to set up a church and go about deflowering women because God told you to. And the said women will appreciate it. Hell, the news will find it funny and you will feature on headlines; especially if the said women paid you Ksh 310 to get deflowered. I foresee being Kenyan being a movement.

Case 1: Police

Being Kenyan affords you the right to walk in Nairobi. But also affords you the right to be stopped by armed policemen (who or may not be actual policemen) and being told you have to produce a receipt for the bag you are carrying- they won’t bother to check whether you’re carrying weapons. But even if you are, all you will need is a receipt. But that has to be accompanied by an ETR receipt intended for KRA. But let us assume you won’t have either of those; you will be forced to produce tea- chai, rather- and imagine being Luhya! We all know Luhya people would rather go to jail than give up chai. You will be faced with a host of atrocities against the country though. Staring at government buildings suspiciously, idling with the intention of bombing a government statue, impersonating a government officer, spitting harmful substances on a public pavement, disturbing the public with smelly sweat, soliciting for sex from unwilling members of the public… The list is endless. And so are the possible charges you will be charged with.

Case 2: Elections

Being Kenyan means you can basically vie for a leadership spot. And it doesn’t matter whether you lose; You will be the man. You will be accorded the title mheshimiwa. Even if ants will not stop for you when you come across them on the road- actually, you will stop and wait for them to pass- especially if you will be high on weed like most of our elected leaders. You will be a millionaire in six months after the said elections. And you will despise Tanzanian elections for being transparent. In the six months, you will instigate a construction worth Ksh 200 Million, even though the said building will have half a wall. You will also convince the people who voted you in that a wheel barrow is worth Ksh 109,000, even though the teacher with whom you trust your child will be paid Ksh peanuts. And you will somehow convince the people that voted you in, who have lost confidence in you already, that the devil told you to lie to them. You will invoke the spirit; even though your liver will have suffered more from the spirits than your citizens.

Case 3: Music

As a Kenyan, you will be entitled to hours of bad music; riddims they call it. You will dance and perhaps do bend overs if you’re lucky- to music you don’t even understand, whose lyrics probably mean you are an idiot. But you will love it. You will laugh at people that don’t listen to riddims. And for those that will find riddims distasteful, they will tune into Matatu FM each morning to report how they cannot get laid to someone who probably doesn’t even like women in the first place. You will ignore good music; people who try to come up with good music like Eric Wainanina and Elani will be ignored- unless they come up with a sex video like Sauti Sol. And every major TV or Radio station will endorse it. Your life will be reduced to music the lines of “Girl With The Biggest Behind’ or ‘Una jump, una ruka… shida zina shuka…”

Case 4: Food

Being Kenyan means you will get to taste the best variety of food. You will get to taste boiled animal intestines that you will later come to call mutura. You will do the math in your head and decide that mutura is worth more than airtime – which at this time is imperative we refer to as kadi za kujikunakuna as the Tanzanians say- to call the butcher and tell him to reserve some steak for you. And woe unto you if you end up marrying a Kikuyu woman; you will have pizza full of soup and potatoes.  And if boiled miraa if you’re Meru. Or worse, nothing if you’re from Kitui.

I just can’t understand why anyone would hate being Kenyan. We rock!!!!!

Who says you have to read to pass an exam?

Another week, more drama. Kenya never ceases to amaze me. The mouthy-leggy woman finally launched her much awaited book. I mean the Miguu na Miguu na Pang’ang’a fellow, who barely a week later, has fled the country in search of God knows what. Reports coming claim though that he left for Canada, the only country whose national symbol is a weed leaf disguised as a red clover, although personally, I’d rather he fled to Poland; at least there I am sure this woman would find Poles because to be very honest, the only career I see left for her is to be a pole dancer. Unfortunately, I am not too sure her badly inflated ego would let her- plus she’d have to lose the horrible wardrobe she adores so much.

Seriously though, I would say it wasn’t a bad move, considering people in his hometown already tried to burn down his house and bury his empty coffin. The only problem, however, is that the people he implicated in his book can barely read- the MPs. It is worldwide knowledge that about 4 in every 11 of our MPs never went to school. I fully sympathize with them; and with the pressure mounting on them to go back to school, I think it is high time someone taught them the basics about how to pass exams in Kenya. I have therefore come up with a simple, yet precise guide on how to go about it hassle free.

I wouldn’t want to imagine the scenario where an MP, the candidate (read Mike Sonko) goes to an exam and when asked how to improve Black and White TVs the idiot responds with something like, “We should hire Peter Marangi to paint TV aerials with Dura Coat so as to make the TVs view in full colour.” Ok, that was a fail, but what if he really knew the answer to a question is 22 but didn’t know which 2 to start with? Sad, right? Yeah, it is. So first of all, you are going to need the following items: Kiwi and Shoe Brush, Mwakenya, Bell, Hair, any version of TeraCopy software (doesn’t have to be genuine), Alcohol and Money.

Ready? Here we go. I mentioned Kiwi and Shoe brush for one reason, David Rudisha once said, “Unafyong’arisha fyatu fyako sio fyatu pekee finafyong’ara.” What he meant was that you also get bright as you polish your shoes. And we all know what knowing you’re bright does to your confidence- it soars. In fact, look how well it worked out for the world athletic champion. So, you can go into that exam with full confidence that you are bright. However, please note that this is only applicable to Kiwi; not Lude and definitely not the black sweat of a Sudanese fellow.

Next up, you need the Mwakenya. If you’ve been through the Kenyan education system, you will bear me witness that as the rules get tougher, better ways of breaking them undetected emerge. That’s right; paper mwakenyas, or mwaks from now hence forth, are too mainstream. Anything else can be used as a mwaks; slippers, walls, the ceiling, the floor, your arms, the back of the head of person seated in front of you a.k.a. kisogo, anything really. Plus you MPs have money. Use it; get specially designed biros, socks and handkerchiefs with notes inscribed on them. Only two things though, mwaks does not apply if you’re going for a HIV test. Also, do not get caught.

Next you will need the bell. My friend, have you ever tried to remember something so hard but all you come up with is no more than the word ‘something’? No? Kenyan exams will do that to you. And this is where the bell comes in really handy. Simply follow these simple steps: one, pick up bell; two, bang the hell out of it against your head. I bet now your head should ring a bell, literary, right? For great results, a receding hairline is recommended, but nothing too extreme like Kibaki’s.

As afore mentioned, you need hair. The Swahili really had it right when they said “Akili ni nywele.” All sorts of hair are particularly useful in an exam and have their own different functions. Weaves for instance have the potential to be good mwaks if not hide other mwaks while braids are leakage and your beards should be quite adequate past papers. A wig on the other hand is a NO-NO (Esther Murugi take note). If it, God forbid, fall offs, you’re screwed and what’s more, you’ll look like a scare crow and end up scaring away any potential would-be marks in your exam.

Having done all that, now all you need is your counterfeit copy of TeraCopy software. Ok, maybe I over estimated you. I shouldn’t have expected you to know how to use computers when you don’t even know what parties you’re in. But in the event that you do somehow do know, TeraCopy is the ideal solution for you. TeraCopy is great software for all your copy-paste needs. You can use it to achieve quicker and more accurate results. Only a quick glance to your left or right is required and TeraCopy will do the rest; but a polite disclaimer, your eye-hand coordination should be excellent. Also, if the person to your left or right is Eugene Wamalwa, avoid that direction as there will be hardly any air there to breathe.

Now, when all else has failed, now you can use the Alcohol. Take out your bottle of Vodka and drink up; nobody said you cannot have alcohol in an exam room. You should drink in rapid, moderate mouthfuls and voila, now you are justified to blame your failure on the Alcohol and not your dumb brain. Many have done it, so you can follow suit, but if you’re the type that will chicken out, I have an alternative solution. Alcohol is brewed as a result of the action of yeast on starch. You can therefore consume about a kilo of starch and about two table spoonfuls- no more- of yeast, about an hour before the exam. The alcohol formed in your stomach should be adequate.

Finally, the money. As a proud member of the Kikuyu community, I believe I have earned the right to demand payment for successfully helping you dimwits pass your exams and graduate from whatever the hell you’re graduating from. Oh, and by the way, for an extra token of appreciation (read money), I suggest you also have a bulb with you. You never know when you’re going to need a light-bulb moment. So, my cheque please? When can I come to wait outside your office for 6 hours to collect it Mr. Mheshimiwa?

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.

Ngamia 1 well in Turkana, Kenya, where British company Tullow struck oil

Kids, this is the crazy story of how I met your mother. The year is 2014. The place is in a night club known as Pavements in Westlands, Nairobi.*cue for audience to laugh* I am really drunk- and I think high- and there is this chic giving me weird looks, like a chicken that wants to grow horns; oh wait, I think she’s horny. I know a woman is horny when I start seeing cute little horns growing on her head. Anyway, she is and really drunk and that is my cue to take advantage of her. End of story. Okay, well no. I actually have a condom on. *audience laughs again* Later on I will get to the part where I was paid by the government to have kids about eight seasons or so from now. Hah! Jokes.

This is the sad story of how an archaeologist in the year 2030 decides to excavate an unnamed location in Kenya and he is digging away unmercilessly when he strikes gold. He has come across a cute pile of bones that he will later on discover in shock belonged to Mike Sonko. You see, there is no space for a brain in the skull he has found. Almost as shocking as the skull he found a little while earlier on belonging to Eugene Wamalwa that had three nostrils instead of two. He will care less about the shocking find because as a bonus, he will have found the greatest oil reserve the world ever has seen. He will later on be declared a national hero by the then ruling Army General, who toppled the government a few years back and has since established himself as the new Furor.

Okay, where exactly I am going with this I have no idea either, but that was how I always hoped oil would be discovered in Kenya. Shock on me. Kenya finally struck black gold. I have been dying to make a joke on our oil but no, it would be too crude. You see, I’m neither a pessimist nor am I an optimist. I am like the guy who found the glass half full and instead of whining about how half full or half empty it was, he simply emptied it into a smaller glass and it was full. Two sides of the same coin. I am actually thrilled we have oil, but when I think critically about it, all it means is that enough people finally died and decomposed enough to form oil. Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you had no idea oil is nature’s way of recycling the carbon in our bodies. Think about it, it’s why Arab countries – where so many people died in various wars throughout the centuries – have so much oil.

Now, I know it seems like I am already biased towards our oil reserve but being realistic is also important. I am skeptical that this find will actually be of any use to the people of Turkana. Well, I could spend hours trying to convince people that it is Karma’s way of getting back at Turkana for standing by as the rest of Kenya was colonized but again, no. I’ll, lay down the facts. When Richard Leakey came to Kenya, he said, “It is virtually impossible to control Northern Kenya, which is populated chiefly by migrant nomads.” I maintain that he couldn’t have been more wrong. Fast forward to the year 2012; Kenya discovers there is oil in Northern Kenya. Suddenly there is a mad rush for this arid, sparsely populated area. Coincidence?

I am not saying they won’t get to benefit from the oil directly; what I’m saying is that the game is rigged. It’s called an oil rig for some reason. Who do you think gets to reap the fruits of our new found oil; the fat cats of this country or the people of Turkana? In a way, it’s like the colonization they never really got to enjoy because gradually, they will be pushed out of their land by the fat cats only this time instead of bibles, they might receive some money- quite unlike how white people tricked the rest of us. When they came they had bibles, we had the land. Then they taught us how to pray with our eyes closed and when we did open our eyes, they had the land and we had the bibles. What these poor people will get in truth will be hard menial jobs on these oil fields. Not the worst of jobs, but I’d rather be a cow. Cows have moo-oo-oovies and all miners have is a boring job. Got it, no? Moving on…

So now I have a decision to make; quit school and become a fat cat or go on with school and end up working for one of those fat cats. I once said I wanted to be somebody and only now have I become specific – the decision is clear in my mind. First thing I’ll do is to visit Njoroge and Sons Co. in River Road and obtain a degree that is complete with a university seal and genuine signatures. They can do it, trust me. Then, I will take a loan and become a politician to steal some more money from public coffers and when I have stolen enough, I will look for a willing accomplice, preferably a Kikuyu like me. Together, we will start a company known as Mwangi and ‘somebody’ Company. And no, we will not use vegetables to make vegetable oil or use babies to make baby oil or worse, become miners; we will head over to Turkana and invest in some poor nomad’s land that we will have stolen.

You see like the kid that was asked by a pastor what eats grass, goes moo and gives us milk and he answered, “I suppose the answer is Jesus but it sounds like a cow to me” I know oil is supposed to be the answer, but you got to think outside the box. The oil is only there to facilitate development of Turkana and that is where the money is going to be. I am going to be one rich bastard, all thanks to women who did not use their heads, literally, which caused the population explosion in our country that finally brought us oil. To those same women, DIAPERS is REPAID backwards without ‘s’… Think about it… Also, oil money doesn’t buy everything. Manchester City please take note.