Yes Mr. Mheshimiwa… Here’s a dustbin for all the rubbish you gave us over the past 5 years….
First and foremost, happy new year to all my avid readers and fans. I guess we should all be thankful to the grossly poor forecasting abilities of the Mayans and consequently, I think it is about time we all put the movie ‘2012’ in the comedy section. Unfortunately for me, my predictions did come to pass and this is why I am here posting blogs about my sad, miserable life.
My predictions were simple, that by age 22, which I turned last week, I would be wifeless and without a car or a house and definitely, not a job either. Also, we still wouldn’t have invented toilets that warn you when you’re full of crap and need emptying- which is a good thing because it means that KetiHapa is still here and full of the useless bullshit that you all love reading.
On the plus side, I do have two newborn twin brothers, Andrew and Adrian, to whom I’ll dedicate a blog one of these days, and a brand new skill set that includes changing diapers, cooking exquisite porridge, rocking babies to sleep, getting peed on and sacrificing my sleep for someone else. And no I am not trying to market myself to the ladies owing to my single status; rather, I am kindly asking ladies to please take note. Or of all of those 9 months will have been for nothing if I can’t get laid out of it.
Seriously though, I love them already. Ok, except when they conspire to cry at the same time like they’re auditioning for some choir from Western. Or when they’ll eventually start laughing, because trust me, I know in a few more weeks their eyes will have grown enough to focus on my face and then the only thing that will stop them from laughing at me will be plastic surgery.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I attended an interview at Safaricom. Yeah, it was horrible. They had us sit in an exam room and do a written exam that was timed. Can you believe that!? Me, sit in exam room during my holidays and do an exam? As if that wasn’t enough, they had cameras all over the room, meaning that copying, mwakenyas and any of my usual exam room antics and paraphernalia that includes but is not limited to temporary tattoos on my arms with answers were effectively rendered null and void. Rumour has it though that I passed, but when Safaricom did a background check on me and discovered that I follow a certain Mr. Brian Mbunde on Twitter, it was unanimously decided there was a certain black mark on my otherwise perfect resume.
I’d say the only good thing that came out of that interview was that I learnt never to buy fast food in Westlands unless you own a car, which if you recall, I do not, because there are no dustbins in Westlands. That is unless you’re prepared to hear a watchman- whose tribe I will not disclose for fear of being accused of promoting hate speech and having myself prosecuted- tell you “Poss tustpin sichaona mimi. Lakini lapda kachai kitogo itaamsha akili yangu nikumbuke mahali niliona mocha…”
Eventually I ended up buying a dust bin and placing it at a strategic position on one of the streets, where I proceeded to dump my unrecyclable garbage and to dare the city council to arrest me if there’s a rule against philanthropically donating much needed dustbins in Nairobi. I still however wish I had donated it to parliament instead for all the rubbish our lawmakers give us; I am however not sure whether one Arthur Guinness may have had a say in that decision or not…
Regardless, that heart breaking ordeal did not deter me from attending the next interview I was invited to: the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission my prospective employers this time round. I figured I might as well copy our MPigs in a bid to get paid off mwananchi’s hard earned tax money, who coincidentally were trying to award themselves massive send-off packages that same week.
Perhaps I was trying to validate my decision not to vote in the forthcoming general elections, because the fact of the matter is, I am fed up with electing good people only for scum to be sworn into parliament. Someone said that there’s no place in the world for people who do not work. He was wrong, in my opinion. There is one such place for such people; the Kenyan Parliament building. If I were a bird, I am not sure whom I’d shit on first, but I think I have a pretty good idea where I would start. Yeah, again, you guessed right. I’d start right outside parliament buildings.
Anyhow, I found myself in a mad rush headed for the Wang’uru County Hall at 2 p.m., because I got my invitation sms at 1 p.m. never mind that the sms said my interview was supposed to start at 9 am. A few important calls to a few people in high places ensured that somehow my case would be heard. I refuse to call it corruption because absolutely no money was exchanged. Plus they did owe me a few favours after all. I got there at 3.30 p.m., a full six and a half hours late and the whole thing was done twenty minutes later.
So as the rest of you prepare to vote on March 4th, yours truly will be sitting this one out. I will be there alright, but as an observer to ensure that the best man does not lose. And getting paid in the process. Not a bad deal if you ask me; But the honest truth is, I choose to be called a bad citizen for refusing to vote rather than participate in anything that results in violence and consequently, destruction of human life and everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve over the past five years. But that’s just me- I do not know whom you intend to vote for nor will I tell you not to vote or try to influence your choice in any way. No, nothing of the sort.
All I pray is that there won’t be chaos as has been witnessed in various parts of the country at the just concluded candidate nominations.
And with that I refuse to continue with this blog post because I have absolutely no idea why or how in the first place I am writing political shit. Anyway, please do have a good week people 🙂