EXAMS

Have you ever spared a thought on the plight of teachers during this busy period that is quite moping which entails being clobbered with these dreaded invigilation duties. Ideally, even pros get pococurante and need to ease up because two hours or more is not a joke. It’s our job to act as invigilators for these exams as teachers.  As an invigilator you must keep vigil which you find yourself not capable of continuously instead invigilators must be busy patrolling, on the lookout for any crib-sheets hidden away. 

After ten minutes, you feel that hour will never end, for sure its galling. You’ve counted the number of left-handers in the room (not many though), checked out all the latest Kenyan chics fashions in footwear and in dressing and hairstyle but again, that never lasts. Again, you sometimes find yourself checking on that ka supu student who caught your eye, however, concentration on her fully isnot easy.

What to do? Well, requests for extra paper are one welcome way of alleviating the tedium or breaking away from building castles in the air of some uncouth thoughts in the mind. I’ve seen teachers rush to be the first to hand out more paper when the hands go up, you can imagine they are excited kids. Anything that breaks the monotony. 

But that’s out of the question. What with cheating such a constant concern (I read many posts on the topic, “The most elaborate ways to cheat in your exams” but still never nabbed a student cheating. Say I am not hawkish), invigilators are under fierce instructions to be “on the lookout for illegal practice at all times"

Obviously, you can never stay too long in the exam room without thinking something sinister. Ideally, nabbing a student on the act is a skill that you need to have horned or knew in the event you engaged in the same. However, it may not be easy. It is all has to do with guesswork.

A real bonus and blessing is when a candidate needs the loo. This means someone has to accompany them (in case it’s a ruse to cheat). That, in turn, means you can escape into the fresh air for a precious few minutes.

But the real menace is when a phone rings, those that are cacophonous and break the virgin silence of papers chuckling and the thought process of those ruminating of the best plausible answers which unfortunately may be wrong. This is also a leeway that aids in escaping from the exam doldrums that are quite real as an invigilator.

Worst of all, is when you’re left totally stranded in the exam hall. It’s happened to me once or twice, when invigilating on my own and is an awful feeling. No one cares, no one comes. You’ve been totally forgotten: left until the exam ends. And you are required to stand watching over students as if they are some delinquents under incarceration, you being a warder only that this time, you either have to be on Facebook or whatsapp or  create a spurious call for which you can evade the humdrum of standing in isolation because your can't engage in any form of banter.

Such times, you need to create an activity, and if possible, your phone acts like the notepad to note those students who are laughing at flies, those who are so blank they cannot pen anything because their minds have refused the task of easing their future life by passing exams.

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JALUO OKSECHI

Sometimes I usually try to kill a mosquito and it flies away acrobatically and I am left clapping on imaginary creatures. It's undoubtedly piquing when it has just sucked the hell out of your blood leaving you feeling like scratching the region after it has drunk to its fill. The downside in the case of mosquito bites is that this triggers an inflammatory response causing the bite region to swell into a nice protruding bump on the skin.  

So why does scratching the mosquito bite make it worse?  Because this irritates and inflames the area even more, resulting in your immune system kicking into overdrive to try to get rid of the foreign substance.  So this means more inflammation for you, resulting in an escalating swelling, itchy bump that just won’t go away.

Jaluo oksechi, A luo never pleads. There are those times you usually feel like the world is not heading in the direction that you wanted. You feel so low to a point you want to get out of your skin and let the earth split open and swallow you alive. Frustrations take the better of you and you develop antagonistic and withdrawal symptoms. Albeit, to make it into that place you envisioned takes time. It involves sacrifices, you need to constantly reflect on the progress you are making if valid or you are just getting fagged.

The first time I saw the inscription Jaluo oksechi,  I was not aware of the significance of the term till that point where I had internalized it. The words were engraved on the t-shirt of a certain lady who I met in one of the many social places in Nairobi. She was adorned in tight green pants that aptly signified she was a 'Gor Mahia'  fan. The mix and match of a white t-shirt and green pants never betrayed her.

“Nyako ber gi toke.”

Wacha nikusho. This was the kind of lady who had a fuller bust heavily supported by a camera bra and a heavily protruding derriere that only Saartjie Baartman could rival. The kind that makes all men turn to take a glimpse at what her mama gave her. It looked like her booty was kissing the pants and her hips tightly hugging it from the sides. Her thick thighs gyrated seductively while strutting you surely had to ogle if a lover of BBW. I was tempted, tempted to touch. To quench my thirst for her fundamendos. She was not exquisitely pretty. Just average with heavy make-up on her face and a River-Road like wig or weave that kind of made her look like a Jezebel. This is what you call a high maintenance chic. Cheap but very expensive. And volatile like a nuclear weapon.

Trust me, Luo joints with buggers in their thirties to fifties are a hell full of boredom. That is for the average bloke. Soft rhumba music accompanied by a live band rents the air to assuage the aged patrons. Probably a musician like Johnny Junior or Emma Jalamo will be on stage. Singing about some lady, as his languid dancers who are rumored to be his clandes shake it nice and slow awaiting for the climax of the song to twerk it real hard. There is no doubt that most are under ART. Kuome kata ondilo. But they have embraced it. You never know they are living positively. Until someone tells you they are. They however live recklessly. If their lifestyle is anything to go by.

Obviously, you will not fail to see some mature ladies imbibing Guinness Kubwa as the men accompanying them take Smirnoff Ice. But the crowd loves Tusker baridi. You will find a burly fella with equally voluptuous damsels who are obviously gold-digging in a corner where ‘mesa otho rateng’. There are times they will kiss and dance to the tune each lady trying to grab the attention of the man bankrolling them out. Probably, a bottle of Jameson or a common whisky is on the table. He also has his ‘star’ keys tightly clutched that he has to use when calling the waiter. A brand loyal who has no house in the rurals. 

Then some hot ladies are scantily dressed whose aim is to ‘pita na’ an inebriated chap. Their miniskirts are way too revealing. Yellow faces, pouty red lips,  darkened fingers and legs,  boobs that struggle for attention with a cleavage that almost bares it all and big tushes that are probably stuffed or hardened with silicon or gikmakamago. Some have shaved like pugilist Mohamed Ali in his heydays. They sip a single Schweppes or Snapp for long obviously looking at their prey eyes set for incentives after engaging in the devil’s dance.

There are plenty of rascals also. Either they have accompanied a person who sponsors them or just wants to ‘yuo thing’ as one musician sang ‘Tho Luro’. A middle aged man dazzles as he cavorts in styles that captures one’s attention. ‘Oketo long ei third floor’.

You notice the way he twirls his belt in slow motion as he convolutes himself to the rhythm. Then there is a way he makes certain faces that make you think he is going to do something queer then retorts into a meek position much to the applause of revelers. He takes the stage where the resident musician is doing his thing.

You see, Luo musicians never fail to hurl invectives once in a while as they sing. Plus, they throw in the names of people present who depart with big sums of money as they listen to their names being sung to all and sundry.

In the gents there is this guy who intimates, ‘Omera wuon bar ni yuto! Ineno kaka chwo ng’eny e choo ka to lare ka dhako momonj.’

Surely, you can never beat a River-lake Nilotic speaker when it comes to getting his act right in matters of having a good time after a week full of pressure and meeting deadlines.

Lakini, Jaluo Oksechga. And I have to also go by that mantra, Okabisecho.

Till next time.

Hasta La Vista, Baby.

[Picture Source: Google Images]

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FUTURE CAR: MASERATI

So my future car is a Maserati. Damn, this car is ill. Its aesthetic values, the curve, its sleek and smooth, has a an old school feel and am just week.

Ever since I played the sharefun stuff on facebook, I have been having this premonition that the prediction may just come out true. I will marry after 30, have two kids and die probably at 80. Ten years past the normal bible age limit is enough for a wild hog like me.

[to be continued]

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LOVES, CRAVINGS AND LIFE

I was scheduled to wake up at 0300hrs but did post-pond the early rising because that would have instinctively meant I slept only for four hours. Kwani I am a professor just on the brink of discovery or placing the final touches on an important theory still hypothetical, or a businessman who is set to secure a tender worth millions of dollars and has to burn the midnight oil or resurrect formulating the presentation or thinking hard in order not to miss the bait. Hell no, I am a mere teacher. So I added two more hours on my sleep and the alarm ensured I was astir after those six hours in bed.

Just realized I sleep a lot in mats while javing. Sometimes the mat conductor has to pat me in order to request for fare or the person next to me does the same to alert that I need to take back my change. I have a couple of times woke up forgetting my hard earned change with the conductor and every other time I hurriedly alight the car, I usually blame myself because of sleep.

Reading is a pastime that sometimes makes me forget the task at hand, thank goodness, teaching is kind of flexible, you need not ensure you are inhibited by the time factor which means you are strictly required to be in the job by 0800hrs. Also, you exit at your preference as long as you have done your duties of contributing to building a nation. But most of the time, I ensure I arrive early, just to pay less for fare and also to work on projects.

I wish reading too much stuff whether relevant or irrelevant would not occupy the better part of my time, again I am a coward in trying to get out of the tendency. Somehow, I need to muster some aspects of being a stickler. At present, I have danganyad myself that I will be reading this book on investments one hour every day or covering 30 pages a day within the next one month. Pole Brother, I am still stuck on the page I left reading the book, never mind that it is now almost a week since I committed to reading this book. I have placed a temporary bung on my reading cask. Someone help me out (shouting).

But I love reading, and art and music and what else, women, maybe yes. This reclusive solitude without that someone nago kill me ooooo (weka 9JA accent there). But am waiting for, 'God's time' which I don't know when it will, but either way, it is still the best time.

I still have eleven mutes to go to finish this. In the event I will not have done that which I am to achieve, I will sing that song of

Why worry, when you can pray?
Trust Jesus, He’ll be your stay.
Don’t be a doubting Thomas,
Rest fully on His promise,
Why worry, worry, worry, worry when you can pray? 

Since time is the setback now, like I used to have a lot of time for myself when I finished school and started blogging. But as I am juggling the jigsaw of life, let me not use parenthesis to annul to what I am trying to drive home. 

I wish I will still be able to sit down and write even when I become financially liquid (which is the reason why many cease writing). Or will I be contented to that point where I will find it unnecessary to pen out my luxuries now that I well be living a dear life full of avalanche (read material wealth).

Instinctively, I am now realizing the importance of time, if you never plan it, you will loose more of it. Time is money.

AND ON THAT NOTE I AM GOING TO END THIS DUCTILE VOYEUR.

[Photo Source: I don’t remember]

HASTA LA VISTA BABY

Why worry, when you can pray?
Trust Jesus, He’ll be your stay.
Don’t be a doubting Thomas,
Rest fully on His promise,
Why worry, worry, worry, worry when you can pray? - See more at: http://helpformylife.org/2011/06/29/why-pray-when-you-can-worry/#sthash.7b1yEThY.dpuf

Why worry, when you can pray?
Trust Jesus, He’ll be your stay.
Don’t be a doubting Thomas,
Rest fully on His promise,
Why worry, worry, worry, worry when you can pray? - See more at: http://helpformylife.org/2011/06/29/why-pray-when-you-can-worry/#sthash.7b1yEThY.dpuf

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FATHERS DAY

My dad is that guy. Yes. He is still analogue and is never going to be remorseful about it.

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NAIROBIAN MATATUS; MY PERSPECTIVE

'Mat za Diaspora ni mwenda.' Placing my hand on my mouth as if blowing something between my clenched fists.

When one of my colleagues in Kabete told me that matatus from Rongai are the illest in Nairobi in terms of being aligned to a given Sacco, I thought that was a half-truth and too farfetched. Never mind that I sometimes used the route they plied but never ended up in Diaspora. That was sometimes last year and man, am slowly owning up. This nganyas are the bomb, they ooze a flair of trepidation, have staggered rims, extensions in the front and back, make so much noise to get way, play riddimz and are custom named and designed so that they charge you an extra dime for using them to commute to and fro town. Zi huitwa mat za ma-wire or is it just wire. I am not sure.

That aside, I have devised a plan of ensuring I use very little dough on fare to and from town because mats can be expensive. I ensure I am at the bus stage before 0600 hrs because if I make a mistake of arriving two minutes later, I will pay sh.20 or sometimes thirty extra of the normal amount I pay. The economic times are harsh for me though (Kawaida yetu kuongea vile maisha ni ngumu kama waKenya). Again, I ensure I ask the conductor the amount before boarding because I might just be having a fixed figure in my pocket and if he charges anything extra, he may cause a deficit on my budget and I may be forced to ask for alms which I hate doing sometimes later on.

Again I never leave work till I have done overtime. It is practical. If I leave work before 2000 hrs, I might be forced to pay the extra amount which I am obviously usually forced to pay when it rains. And that means the next day I have to either take tea served at the work place while whistling (kunywa chai bila kakitu) or take goods on credit. Oh kuwa na kakitu means you are liquid in other Sheng parlance. My liquidity is not worth talking about. But as long as I can be able to do one two three, I am content.

Noooo, I am just looking for better prospects. That which will give me comfort. However, I am learning. As a writer cum zetetist, I know the essence of just doing things to have a better perspective. It is crucial to broaden one’s scope of ken because instinctively, there will be a point in time when it will come in handy and you may smile all the way to the bank like a dredger having dug to his first plentiful in terms of the goldmine after patience and perseverance in the adit for long.

Now to the main issue at hand, Matatus. Ever since my car broke and it is now lying in a yard rotting because I am not able to repair it after the engine knocked, I am a mathree user and I love it. (About the car, it is one of those which my oldman had before he retired and since he had a couple, he saw it fit to lend me one to use but before I knew it, it was grounded then I realized there is owning a car and then there is maintaining it).

I lost my first smartphone while struggling to enter a matatu after some niceties in westy by my buddies back then when we were in campus (I had a cool phone then). That reminds me of those rogue and heavily built fellows who enter matatus in trio or tetra and position themselves next to gullible men and women whose innocence sometimes leads them to not only lose their smartphones, but also other valuables they own.

If careful, you can notice as phones or bags are exchanging hands and most of the times, these people are usually working in cohorts with the mat conductors because the vehicle will strategically stop to pick them up in designated haulage areas where they are known to like boarding the mat. What is worse is that they sometimes are armed with pistols and can execute their crimes when being watched in broad daylight because just like any other person, they consider themselves as part of hard working Kenyans who are also out to make a living. Only that theirs is an illegal act. And not many speak for lack of enough evidence or fear.

I have never seen a matatu that has ‘scratched’ a police car or gotten into collision with a patrol car. Considering the way the traffic police like to openly pull aside a mat and they enter the vehicle, never mind that the traffic boss declared it illegal for a cop to enter any vehicle. But Kenyan marshals never issue tickets to traffic offenders. Because they also have to eat, and matatus are their medium of conduit, they ensure all passengers alight before they can start their obviously known extortion quest. Mid-month is the worst, when guys are broke. Hope that someday in the future, lady lack will smile on me and I will witness a scene of where a mat has got into slight collision with a prowl car.

There are those times when you are in the mat and a hot mama comes and sits next to you. What is worse is when she has to breastfeed her tot and you are sitting beside her in these mats having two seats. Mental illusions means that she will stir the hornet’s nest but since you are javving, you need to keep up appearances by feigning ignorance, even though you may wish to be the tot. Most times, you look away but once in a while you steal glances at her doing her thing just to confirm that you are a sane chap. Sitting next to a hot lady has its intricacies, you are suspicious most of the time. You either want to start a conversation but aren’t sure where to begin. You need to be composed. Most of these ladies have huge smartphones which they pop out immediately they sit and Facebook or whatsapp is their idea of catching up. Or they play Candy Crush.

However, a person of my ilk rarely knows how to chat strangers, you start a conversation and I will nod my head or just smile because it’s tricky talking to someone in a mat. Rarely do I take advantage when a hot chic seats next to me. That I have seen many who I have not asked for their cell phone numbers is not in denial. Which reminds me of my former campus mate who wanted to chat up a certain lady he was seated next to in a mat, next to the cockpit. Being a witty chap, he dropped his phone on the floor of the car stealthily and asked the lady to call him since he had misplaced his phone. And that is how he started a chat and easily got a number. I presumed the lady was hot. I doubt if I have the guts to pull this scenario. Maybe, I am not a ladies man. However, never mistake my timidity or lack of aggression. For in Swahili they say, “Simba mwenda pole,ndiye mla nyama.” Anyway, chatting with a stranger can be difficult, unless you share the same objective or mission. A passenger is not one of the two.

So there was this hot mama who came and sat next to me on my way to work. She had this see through tights that exposed her blemish free yellow yellow things which forced me to stare at nothing but the thighs. He wide hips were also curvy and I felt like they were piercing me so much so I was already experiencing carnal illusions. Her sexy busty cleavage was exposed to reveal two firm, round, taut and voluptuous twins which is usually rare in most Kenyan ladies. Her cologne was not only an aphrodisiac you immediately wanted to engage her in public disgrace in the devil’s dance but also it did complement her flawless skin.

Since it was in the morning and we were listening to Matatu FM, I could tell she was also feeling the vibe of Kenya’s women rep, Maina Kageni, because of his incessant opine when they engage the morning conversation. At some point, she decided to play Asphalt. And she was driving it in such a manner that she had to occasionally place her elbow on my uncharacteristically flat chest. That meant she also adjusted her body in a suggestive manner but the macho in me prevented my instincts from taking advantage or reprimanding her to behave. Thoughts of her dressing was enough to tell me she was either in a relationship that was not satisfactory of either she was single. That she was driving and not playing the mundane Candy Crush most ladies love made me wanna take her number. Haisulu sikuchukua. Pole Musa.

God knows how I survived the rippling effects of both being held hostage and at the same time overpowered by the temptations of the flesh. I would have incoherently spoken to her had she started a conversation at the prime. Luckily, I remained sane even though my heart was throbbing and I almost developed goose bumps because she was too fly I almost became timid or chicken out. Leave alone her seductive thick legs giving me parochial thoughts, he angelic face was dazzling and worth a future rendezvous. Man, I survived the ordeal.

Then there is this socialite whose pictures are usually awash on the internet (she is yet to break the internet and go mainstream with her whory job). Maybe, she should go nude by telling her closest male pal leak the nudes then come out guns blazing or try acting a sex tape like the infamous Kim Kardashian with a prominent chap. That way, she will have many followers on Facebook because the carnal desires of men rage sometimes even though they know that it is a whore they are dealing with. Kind of interesting why a man prefers a call girl at the expense of many virgins who want someone to break them. Never mind that men forget the faux pas when their brains sink down south.

The socialite was tall (above six foot), dark complexioned and very curvy although she was not well endowed on the derriere because her hips that were well defined and overshadowed what is not seen. I usually noticed her coming from exercises because of the way she was draped while javving on my way to work a number of occasions. She was with a small man in tow, maybe a gym instructor preparing her for something big. Say wedding.

Being a very tall chic and residing in this middle class estate, she was easily visible and standing out. She had long and thick legs, a wry smile, small bust and luscious lips. A perfect size 8 that sometimes got me thinking. In fact, she was a walking advert of what she auctions or sells to the next available bidder if her rapid sending of lascivious pictures to market herself on our very own Ghafla! platform is anything to go by.

 
To be continued. [The rest coming is pine]

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FUKES, EWER ROUT JIVE

On average, it should take one fifteen to twenty minutes to read a post in a blog with twenty five hundred words. Is that not the same number of minutes a viewer takes to watch an American comedy, say, there are no those airtime thieves in form of advertisers who sponsor programs as a way of marketing, advertising and engaging in public relations at the same time. Those who bore the hell out of you because they want a wider market share of the products they sell and hence sponsor programs by ensuring they have their ad just when you cannot unseat yourself from the couch or settee or change the channel because the remote is far away and you are eagerly awaiting for the next part of the episode.

Let me not beat about the bush any further, it takes an average of twenty minutes to watch a comedy series like Big Bang, Modern Family, Exes, and you name them if a fan of comedies like me. Damn, am a silent pitcher, never afraid to falter till I get it right. It's life. The Hell. You need to be swayed and rocked like a ship in the ocean by the tidal waves that lam without warning you feel the ship will keel before you find the right bearing you really wanted. And when you do, you say alas!

Have you ever worn a chintzy pair of pants, those that make you look like an Abunuwasi? That which is just slightly below the ankle when standing and exposes your socks when you sit, the knee raises it so that its length is just something below the calf. Bad, I had to pull that because my wardrobe is becoming too disdainful because I have been kind of allergic to go to G-mall and do some exquisite shopping. Then there is this kitsch t-shirt that leaves me irritated wanting to scratch my belly, shoulders, chest and armpits because it reacts with the body when you sweat (it’s normal to sweat). I will check the material used to tailor the cloth because it also smells funny when you have removed it from the body and has those electric shocks as a result of the static energy it harbours. Pardon me, only designer clothes are tailored (achana na nguo za kushowa juu mafundi huwa zi designers) while the kind I wear are you know this things.

'So jive, rout and ewer are words found in the scrabble dictionary.' a scrabble challenger asked was shocked to find out. Fukes. Imagine I had been given a range of over 80 marks or points, whatever. I had underestimated my rival and he had pulled a 'triple word' using a Q and my goose was almost cooked. Luckily, a man never says die. I love playing scrabble because it lets me showcase my lingo and lets me ruminate using the seven words I have. I am not that smart though? In fact, there was a lady who told me that I should play scrabble with her continuously to enable her improve on her lingo. Bingo! Hats off even though I have to do it for myself.

You see, I gave her the kind of thrashing which caused all the male colleagues to look at us in suspense (we were playing scrabble during a break). She had taken over from the guy colleague whom I was trailing because the guy had gone to attend to pressing or urgent matters. She screamed like a rabbit being slaughtered much to the chagrin of many, especially those who have a thing for her when I reduced the gap like Kibaki did and Raila's sychophants started crying foul. I had pulled the stunt. Trust me to gamble with words when playing even if I know they only exist in my head.

I had to blow my own horn. It's practical. I was trailing her but at the end, Even though she and other colleague used combined power in bringing their folly to a guru like me, I was able to outmaneuver them in diction and voila, I emerged the winner. Lest I find a pro who will show me how it is done.

Like a story I read of a certain old man from the countryside who went to a city where they were not allowed to be riding on draught animals while going for business. As a sagacious fellow, he went to the home of a young man who deemed himself as the self-confessed ‘World’s greatest Chess player’ and had engraved the sign on his gate. 

Since the old man was intending on having a place where he could have his donkey given residence while he was doing his business, he decided to challenge the world’s greatest chess player to a game. The chess player berated him and only agreed to the challenge after being persuaded that there was a wager of 15 gold coins. 

They played the game and the old man was checkmated in less than five minutes. As a bargain because he did not have the 15 gold coins, he left his donkey with the chess player as substitute for the coins since it was worth 50 gold coins and went about his business in the town for a week. 

The young man changed the saddle and purchased new reigns for the donkey and also cleaned the ass.

When the old man finished in his dealings after about a week, he returned to the young man’s house to play for another game (return leg but still on the young man’s court) and this time, he had the 15 coins.

However, his wager was different. That in the event he won, he would get back his donkey but if he lost, he would surrender the 15 coins.

The two of them began the chess match. However, this old man who was once terrible showed completely different skills in just one week. The young man did breakdown in sweat and started squirming on his chair and in no time he heard the old man say, “Young owner, checkmate.”

Since he was anxious to know why the old man wanted his donkey back, he asked him why he had lost and won. So he asked, “One week ago, sir, you were really bad at chess. But in such a short period of time, how did you increase your skills? I’m very curious.”

The old man explained that when he reached the city, he found a sign reading, ‘Donkeys or horses are not allowed.’

Since he needed a place he could house the donkey, he purposely played with the young man and lost to be able to run his errands in the city. When he was through, he went for his donkey which was happy to see him after he had won. Clean and with new reigns and saddle he took his beast of burden and headed to back to the countryside.

When he finished his business, he went back and won after losing.

Dejected and embarrassed, the young man removed the sign from his home and did muse the reason as to why the old man had deliberately lost and won yet he had all along considered himself the legend of chess. 

Reminds me of the African proverb, 'An old man sitting on a stool can see farther than a young man who has climbed a tree'. 

I might one day be forced to humble myself in scrabble but not any soon. Until I find someone who can give me a range of 100 marks, I am Hercules of the game in the staffroom. Or which superstar is a Dexter in playing mind games because if you cannot play that you cannot win. I don’t know the superstar figure but when I do, I will be good to go.

Ideally, scrabble is a time-waster, Aa aa (shaking my head sideways), no it helps reduce boredom and improves on your IQ, though Qi and not IQ is in the scrabble dictionary and other words like OE, OI, OO, XU, XI, JO, KO, KA, WOX, KO, KY, ZA, ZO which I have never had of are also there. 

I am a tad bit too weary thinking of how those words became part of the English dictionary. They sound Chinese or Asian. But English is also a remnant of another language. It heavily borrows words to this age from other languages au fait and turns them into its own words. But as at now, it lends more than it borrows.

(to be continued)


That day I will be able to use the word quinzhee on a double letter and triple word on scrabble, with either z or q on a double word, I will have killed scrabble. No lies. That will instinctively be more than 100 marks at once.

And now to the main issue, my brother took me to an upper middle class coffee eatery and guess whom I met? Our director and his son. Bet they were on there way out since they never had anything on their tables.

Where we sat, there was also a lady with her daughter discussing business. I don't know what happens to my ears but I just found myself intermittently listening to the sagacious banter the mom and daughter were engaged in. The daughter had this dude who she was saying she had and had a predilection for because she was looking at the future with him.  They also talked about how she could be able to secure government tenders now that she was a woman and a youth. 

I remember he mom advising her to take her professional papers seriously also because they would really matter in the near future.

Which brings me to one of my colleagues called Bonjour, when Bonjour confessed that sometimes he really strains to make ends meet in Nairobi, I could feel his struggle. Especially  when he was narrating the story with Oty our sentry. Both from the house of Mulembe. They did remind me of those two luhyas who act on 'Hapa Kule' who have this ideophone, 'hulangauri' said as if someone has a lump of ugali on his throat preventing some vocal codes from clearly producing sounds.

Bonjour has this cousin who once took him to Safari Club and he wax with the Taxman. Damn, working with the office affords one a certain flair because it is a cash-cow for getting for getting free cash. Especially those that want to fault on payment of taxes or those who want to evade payment of tax.

In Safari Club, Bonjour's cousin was meeting his associates and he was introduced as working in the tourism sector. In fact, bonjour could not believe that he had been ordered to take a taxi to go meet his cousin who was still tipsy and needed someone to help him while checking on a firm in Industrial area. Bonjour was then tasked with driving the cousin-brother to Safari Club where things were beyond his reach.

He could not understand how they were able to consume what is his gross pay in a single meal. He tried to mull over it but could not come to terms with that fact. Upon finishing, his cousin gave him 3 K and told him to occassionally visit him in his office. Oh! And since the cousin could be able to swim in money, he even had a mpango who he had rented a hose in Kile while he lived in Runda which Bonjour thought was next to Karen.

Oty also told us of the story of his uncle who even though his pay was more than 300 K, he was still not satisfied because the uncles friend was a member of the golf club. Muthaiga golf club where you pay sh.20 million to be a registered member and play with the former president. Oty's cousin was also wanted to join the big boys and that was the reason he was finding his 300 K salary so little.

And that brought us to discussing about ladies, we can only be able to buy a lady a decent meal on the lower sides of Tom Mboya Street because as you know, if you pay rent, think about food and fare, you can only have nothing left because by the middle of the month, you are broke and need to take goods from mama mboga on credit.

I am still pondering on the next move to take if I will continue being a teacher because I never liked the way a colleague was almost having his eye gored out fail for the fact that robbers only dealt with his face. They escaped with a laptop and man, its sometimes demoralizing seeing this. It broke my heart as much as I pitied him. The sympathy was not enough. 

Later on we concluded that the assailants were not Sap because Saps know that they need to let their victims safe to be able to rob them again. Luhyas and Luos are the more crude muggers because they want their victim never to repeat the mistake again and can sometimes go the extra mile to kill. But saps, am told kill only when they have instructions to silence their victims. 

This is a hypothesis we came up with that am not sure can hold water and be theorized especially regarding crime in the sprawling slums. 

Even if I am complaining about being a teacher, I could never have come into contact with this intelligent men and women who are building Kenya into a better place. I can only wait till that time when I will be able to transition fully into writer so that I can be balancing it by part-time being a teacher.

HASTA LA VISTA BABY

[Photo Source: Pixabay]

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