Posts Tagged ‘Porn’

Africa's beauty is best illustrated by this beautiful photo

Few of you know I am an avid reader, I love reading anything that doesn’t lead to exams. Anyway, one day I’m reading some journal and I stumble upon a piece on insecurity in the US. It went on to describe how three lads who were out in the city were attacked by a mugger, who demanded they give him all their valuables or he would inject them with AIDS. Two of the lads immediately gave up their money and everything else they had, but the third, man the third made my day. He refused to give up anything on him and told the mugger to fuck off. The mugger injected him and ran. So the first two lads look at him in dismay and ask, “Are you crazy? Now you have AIDS because you wouldn’t part with a few coins!” This third guy smiles confidently and says, “No, no, it’s alright, I’m wearing a condom.” PAUSE. I should leave you to guess whether or not I was banned from the library by the Librarian on grounds of gross disturbance of peace and violation of a million other rules I think he made up on the spot.

Now, my point was not to illustrate that some people only gargled from the fountain of knowledge. No, that story got me thinking, and I came to the conclusion that in Africa, that story wouldn’t have ended as it did. We all know how that script would have read had the same mugger attacked three black people. One of them would claim he already has AIDS and he isn’t scared, which would give the rest an opportunity to jump the mugger. They would proceed to beat him senseless then, to teach him a lesson, they would share among themselves what the mugger made that day. A crowd would have formed by now; someone would already have nicked a tyre from any car parked close by. Another would produce petrol while another from the same crowd would have a matchbox ready. The mugger would be dead before the police arrived at the scene while people would go home like nothing happened; after all, he wouldn’t be the first mob justice victim, right?

Wrong. The above is a white man’s perception of Africa.

Someone once mentioned to me that Africa will never reach any level of development minutely close to that of the first world countries; he was wrong. According to him, we strive hard to get to where the developed countries are, forgetting that by the time we are able to use nuclear energy, they will have discovered and started using another source of energy, perhaps sand? That by the time an African country manages to build a car, the West will have moved on to something more convenient, teleporting may be? He went as far as to say he was convinced the West would develop wings for mankind. Had it not been for non-existence of eye-hand coordination courtesy of my dear friend Alcohol, I would have given this fellow a beating. I opted instead to give him a piece of my mind, that he was wrong.

I know we may be the only place on earth where it is okay to rig elections, organize post-election skirmishes, then resolve the whole issue like it never happened through a power-sharing deal constituting 42 ministers in one ‘grand coalition.’ True, I still think African presidency is the biggest conspiracy since the ‘Americans landed on the moon conspiracy.’ I also acknowledge that my opinions do not matter to the Kenyan government because they would just form another of the 10 million named committees of experts to look into the matter. But hey, life gives you lemons. You make lemonade and if you don’t know how, you eat it. Either way it ends up in the stomach. That is the African spirit. I simply do not care that we will be rebuilding railways every five years after general elections because some idiot in Kibera thought the absence of the railway hurts Kenya more than the citizens of its landlocked neighbors, Uganda and Rongai. My point being, it is what makes us Kenyans and thus, Africans.

I am also fully aware, as you should, that Africa is the only place on the face of the earth where a 14-seater matatu will carry double that number of people and somehow everyone will find a place to sit. The Luhya people can bear me witness that 15 of them, including the driver will fit into a 5-seater Pro-pox (for the record I still don’t buy that they think Pro-pox is some variant of chicken pox or that Mascara is the plural of the Swahili word sigara.) In Africa, we have our own way of doing things. We will even act pornography in local dialects and we won’t be embarrassed when the star of the show decides halfway to tell her fellow actor “Mastyro perekea bibi yako“. In fact, we are so religious that the ratio of churches to available brethren is 20:1. Hell, it is illegal to take alcohol regardless that you are over 18 years of age or not thanks to one Mututho. And if you didn’t already know, everyone here is a businessman- we all know the quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket; plus you can’t make good money if you sell SHAMpoo. In Africa we have REALpoo.

That same Anti-Africa friend of mine also thinks that the 2010 FIFA World Cup tournament held in South Africa was the worst football disaster ever witnessed, far more grave than Arsenal’s recent grass 8-ting competition. It is 2 sad my eyes had to witness it. Anyway, my friend was yet again wrong. I believe South Africa organized the best World Cup tournament ever witnessed, because they managed to creatively blend football with a colourful concert… the Vuvuzela Concert. Sure they have a clown for a president, who happens to think AIDS can be washed away with a cold shower, but I have to give credit where it is due. The event captured the true African spirit. In fact, the only reason an African country did not win the World Cup is because of our good hospitality. We let our guests pick the best food before we can pick some ourselves. Charity begins at home after all. I would say Africa and Liverpoop are solely to blame for the death of our trusted match-fixer, Paul the Octopus. Poor thing laughed so hard when he heard Africa actually hoped to win the tournament he died.

To the West we may be barbaric, backward, uneducated and primitive but truth is, most of them are so narrow minded they can see through a keyhole with both eyes. They came in the name of Christ, looted our land and our wives and all we got to show for it was a damn bible. That we couldn’t even read mind you because it was written in their damn language! As far as I’m concerned we have the best weed on earth and our women don’t need Silicone implants in their breasts to look beautiful. The scenery is simply exhilarating. Besides, money is not really an issue because if we need more we’ll just print it (ask Mugabe); and the people are great. The people man! Africa is best defined by its people, and I love them no homo. Long live Africa.

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22 year old Brenda Wairimu who acts the role of Dala in season 2 of MTV's Shuga

I will never forget the day my father gave me my first sex talk. My mum had sent me to tell him that supper would be ready in two secs… Now, being eight years old, my vocabulary of abbreviations was quite limited, so in my hunger for knowledge, I asked, “Dad, what does secs mean?” Only God knows how my father heard sex- I have recently come to the conclusion he was just horny from the porn he had been watching because when I entered the room he quickly turned off the TV. Anyway, he looks at me dumbfounded and then for some reason, he decides to go all out and tell me what sex is. He got as far as telling me that “when a man and a woman love each other….” story where the man and the woman, and I quote, “Do what you saw the cows doing the other day”. It was at this point that he realized that he realized I had been looking at him with a rather peculiar face. So he asked, “Why do you want to know anyway?” “Mum said to tell you supper will be ready in two secs.” The look on his face was priceless.

That brings me to the reason for this post. SEX. I have your attention now, no? Jokes, this is not the Penthouse Magazine. A few months ago, a pal of mine broke up with his girlfriend. He was okay, until the dry spell started and there were no visible signs of a downpour. Then he realized how people in Turkana feel when some tourist spends an hour in the toilet when they cannot even remember the last time they were there themselves. So we’re drinking at my place and coincidentally, the show on TV is none other than Shuga, or as it has been rebranded by Kenyans on Twitter, Sguga. We have had quite enough to drink already but the sad thing about alcohol is that the more you get drunk, the more you want to take more. So it gets to the point where Nick Mutuma falls in love with Avril and is confused between whether to choose her or to stick with his girlfriend, the lovely miss Brenda (please, like that was a difficult choice!). Brian goes like, “Man, I miss Angie…” PAUSE. I try to get up on my feet but whoever told me alcohol would get me fat clearly lied. All alcohol does is make you lean… on chairs and tables and ugly people. In this case, there was nothing to lean on.

I convince myself that it’s probably better to remain seated (read Nick and Avril are making out on Sguga). So I tell Brian that it was probably an alcohol induced moment of weakness, that he wants to get back with her because he feels guilty. Now, if you’ve been in a relationship that didn’t work and you had to break up with the person you once told you’d walk a mile for them, you know it almost always never works out if you do manage to get back together. Please note I did not say a thousand miles- it is important to be realistic; it’s why we have vehicles nowadays. Also, I used the term vehicle because I was clueless as to where to classify the Vitz. I honestly believe it is a genetically modified version of a wheelbarrow. Anyway, Brian hears none of it. He picks his phone and calls her. Thankfully, she doesn’t pick up and Brian puts the phone down, depressed. Now I am genuinely worried. The last time he got this emotional when drunk he disappeared the entire night and never breathed a word of his whereabouts. I was later told by a friend of a friend that he was spotted somewhere on Koinange Street. I quickly hide the key to the door.

It could only mean one of two things; either my pal genuinely missed his ex and wanted her back, or he was in desperate need of getting laid without having to pay for it. I knew it wasn’t the former because he already had a new girlfriend, but the problem was he still wasn’t getting any… You see, sex is like air. You realize it’s important when you stop getting it. I was right. He even forgot her number when his new girlfriend finally got him laid. What I’m really trying to say, take it or leave it, is that sex has become an important aspect of modern relationships. Hell, the only reason most people nowadays get into relationships is because they are assured of sex at least once a week. I highly doubt Bruno Mars would have been so willing to catch that grenade if he wasn’t getting any… Why get blown to bits of meat and bone for someone that wasn’t even willing to blow you herself in the first place? I would though, but not for the reason you think; but that is a story for another day.

Personally, I value virginity but I happen to think that once you’ve started having sex, it is advisable to have sex regularly. It makes no sense to blame your wife or girlfriend of infidelity when she bears a kid with brown hair just because your hair is black and so is hers. Nigger, if you have sex with her only five times in a year then clearly you’re the one that’s getting rusty- you need to think out of the box. It’s why your penis has a hole in it so you can think with an open mind. I know, I know. It sounds absurd; that’s because it is. Actually, I don’t buy it either. Picture this; Arap Sang’s wife bears a child taller than Sang. My point being, the last miracle to happen on Earth is clearly documented in the Bible. If you suspect foul play, it probably is…  It’s like a psychic asking for your name- they should know people, literally.

And when I say regularly I don’t mean you go fuck eight women who all happen to be friends for that matter and brag about it. Have a faithful sex partner who you trust wont sleep around and who won’t bring you the brown-haired baby… We all know AIDS and pregnancy are a reality so you got to protect yourself. Use a condom and make sure you’re using contraceptives. Don’t endeavor to be an uncle at an early age like me courtesy of Ken and Anita; it isn’t funny shopping for maternity dresses and pampers. In Sguga, everyone eventually catches AIDS; you don’t have to make that script a reality.

Abortion is an expression of free will, but it is murder.

Today I feel special; special enough actually to not whine about how women make life difficult for men. I actually feel like I am one in a million. Of course I know how invalid this argument would be if I were in China, where one in a million translates into roughly three thousand other ‘one in a million people’ exactly like you, but what the hell. This is Africa; Kenya to be specific, where everything is either made in China or made in Kenya- by the Chinese. I feel special not because i finally got laid by Julie Gichuru, but because for the first time in my life, I feel I made a difference in someone’s life. In fact, if anyone cares, I feel I deserve a Nobel Prize.

As you all very well know, I now realize my days to fill the Earth are numbered courtesy of the woman that scared me half to death at Kenya Cinema the yesterday. Quite frankly, I understand what the Calendar in my living room feels to have her days numbered- yes it is a she. Don’t ask why, just know it has something to do with the photo on her that I realized is the ultimate icebreaker when I bring a chic home and has consequently gotten me laid a number of times. So anyway, since my near death experience, I decided to make my remaining days on Earth count. I just didn’t know how yet. However, the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that I first had to accept the fact that everyone is entitled to their opinion and that I had to figure out how to accept people’s opinions without compromising my own. You see, opinion, like an asshole, is one of those things that everyone has. No matter how big or small or how stinky or fresh they are, at the end of the day, everyone has an opinion. It means that you are accommodative enough, but it is up to you to convince people why they should go with your opinion. It was this decision that got me to the events of today and consequently, this post.

It all started yesterday in the morning when Ken, a pal of mine and a colleague at work, told me he needed to find an excuse to skip work; somehow for the next hour, it led to a serious brain-storming session as we tried to figure out the perfect excuse that was guaranteed to work. To cut the story short, we decided to tell ‘his highness’ that my colleague’s girlfriend was pregnant and that she had just called from the hospital saying that her water broke. You see, the beauty of it was that we had been making jokes in the office about who was going to be a father before the other and my boss is one of those people who just cannot avoid listening into conversations- his secretary too, although I tend to overlook this fact because she is totally bangable. And we knew he is the sort of person that takes things a little too seriously, hence it was undoubtedly going to work. True, it worked like a charm. He fell flat for the lie and at that point, we were convinced the pair of us would have made the best defense lawyers in the land. I really have nothing against lawyers, except I always warn people, be wary when dealing with one. Many lawyers are genuinely good people… it is the other 99% of them that give the rest a bad name.

By this point, I know you must wonder how Ken skipping work turned from being a solo project to project “WE skip work” I am sure. The simple reason is that I take my friendships quite seriously. I am the sort of friend that will be beside you in jail when you get caught committing murder because I was caught as I tried to help you conceal the evidence. So in this particular instance, I wasn’t going to let Ken enjoy his freedom alone. The sad thing about karma is that it always has a way of getting back at you… it is like misfortune, which never misses either. And it did strike us when we least needed it. Murphy’s Law dictates that bad things always happen when they are least needed or expected.

The instant we got out of that office, we knew we had a whole day to ourselves to party and simply spoil ourselves. We had made a list of people to call in advance- people that were jobless enough to turn up no matter what. We were happy; happier than my friend Elvis when he discovered he could actually delete Windows to create more space for porn in his computer hard drive, and then use a Linux Ubuntu Live CD to boot the computer and access the stash. No more creating folders and subfolders like ‘Office/Documents/Important/Backup/New folder/etc…/’. (It works by the way, this is not made up.) He is way past that age now, or so he tells us. Anyway, we had just left town and we were on our way to Ken’s place when his girlfriend, Anita, called.

That single phone call changed our day. Karma. Turns out she had missed her period and she actually thought she was pregnant. It gets worse. She was just from the clinic and they confirmed it. And she wanted to keep the baby. Her father is a senior man in one of the current government’s offices. And she’s still in school. Ken wanted an abortion done as soon as possible and he had somehow convinced her it was the best way forward. I would have been okay, except, I did not agree with them. In my honest opinion as I told him, Anita’s initial decision was the right one. It was finally time for him to take responsibility for his actions and I demanded they keep the baby. This baby was the product of a sperm that had fought so hard to beat the rest of the pack to the jackpot and only God knows whether it might have been the one with the DNA of the next president of this country… Okay, on second thought, maybe even the Antichrist, but hey, just like you and me, it deserved its right to life and to see the light of day. Human life is precious, it doesn’t matter how tiny. Besides, if WE did go through with the abortion, how the hell were we supposed to drink away OUR sorrows with no money?

To cut the story short, after I had successfully sold my opinion to Ken, we spent most of the day trying to convince Anita to keep the baby and then, she spent the remaining hours trying to convince us that the best step to take was to inform Ken’s parents as well as hers. In the end, neither party’s parents have been informed yet… We are in fact nursing hangovers and I don’t see either of us making it to work or school tomorrow in Anita’s case. What does matter though is that I feel proud of myself because today I saved a life. The moral of my story or rather, what I learnt from my experience is that not all babies are made as a result of alcohol and two, that alcohol does save lives at times. I believe God finally found a use for my alcoholic tendencies. I may have been selfishly trying to save money for alcohol by preventing Ken from going through with the abortion but it has to count for something that because of me, Kenya’s population expects to increase by one, or God forbid more, in the next nine months. Now, sadly, I have to say bye. My boss is calling I know to ask why I am not in for work and I am off to apply for my Nobel Prize.