GOOD BYE MOMBASA ROAD

If asked whether I would return to Mombasa Road as a place of work, I will be kind of cynical and jittery. But not much owing to Standard Group being found along this road. What with the major motor companies also having pitched tent on this gateway to the coastal city of Mombasa Raha (Ain't implying that which was an afterhours program on K-24 by Gertrude Mungai) among the many second rate and third rate banks that have set shop owing to a large number of residents now that the place is the frontier that probably excites the habitation sentiments of some of the growing Nairobi middle-class that reside along this road and who use it most of the time to and fro work.

Let’s just say the place was not as story minded as the places I have been to having failed to elicit chutzpah as initially thought of. Or in other words, it failed to trigger the scribe in me to take cognizance of the little things that please the mind; nonetheless I will try to jog my memory about the few things that did capture my eyes. They were sundry but I will narrow down to the most outspoken even though they may sound so mundane you would wonder why someone should write about them. As an observer, it does not blind the eyes to look at the parochial picture neither does it break a bone to tell it as it is. Even though my literary skills are now being vamoosed as a result of contentment and agreeably living it to go to the dogs. What with sleep having taken over me, and the ideals of wanting to redefine my writing having been attenuated.

As a Lang’ata road user (Let’s just say my days are numbered on this road, maybe not, who knows?), I usually have to alight at Nyayo. That is the point where you can be stressed if you are not going to surmount the challenge of climbing stairs that have been imposed to us mat users because we are not well endowed financially as a result of working for a body corporate that maybe won’t let us see the inside of an own personal car in the event we don’t pull our socks up and see to it that the business is selling. As a continuing post-grad student, it behooves of me to act rational and add one plus one that at the end of the day, in the event that sales revenue skyrocket, then surely, there will be no doubt as to whether or not I will be having my own nyamburko. There is a reason as to why I need to be steering that wheel. I usually see young pretty nubile behind fuel-guzzling SUVs and even though I may be tempted to say it is a sponsor they are gold digging, the reality is that they are life smarts and are doing just right for now. 

On the other hand I am boxed in a situation whereby contemplating to leave my employer will leave me in quagmire (Don’t many of us think so?). We are a growing company. Owing to that as pioneer employees, we set the agenda and work plan to make things work. So if things are rosy, I might start with a Tsusho as I look for a way to go Bavarian (which I am sure is sooner). If not, I may as well look for greener pastures (which I am not good at) or keep praying and working hard hoping that things will yield after the hard work. If not, the status quo will prevail and mark you, I will remain a mat user which will well give me lackadaisical stories to pencil push about. I need to mingle with guys who roll like yesterday. Those who throw jibes at you when you own a Samsung when they do iOS. And they are not ashamed to ask why people own a Samsung phone (and there tone is both sarcastic and paradoxical).

Hold those thoughts. A brief interlude. What makes a company tick? Is it the way it treats its employees? Does karma comes back to haunt it in the event it has a high attrition rate of employees?

Since I am not well versed with such matters, I will be on a learning mode. Trying to inject in something new and avoiding the old tenet called experience which is good but may as well be disastrous. Juxtaposing the two together can be a rich experience in either way. 

Back to basics. Mombasa road. Let me indulge you about the two stages I was alighting and boarding a mat to work. In the morning, Nyayo was the place I did board a mat. General Motors is the point I did alight. The reverse was true in the evening. GM was busier of the two stages in the morning. However, again, just like Nyayo, the fly-over which is actually supposed to be called a footbridge was even more vexing than the one in Nyayo in the morning. On the contrary, in the evening, the Nyayo fly-over becomes a beehive of activities. With most young men selling pullovers, toys and jeans, and khaki and canvas trousers and the many men and women who sell other products on your way to boarding a mat to jav back home to increase their daily eke.

This brings me to the point of craving. What is it with roasted maize in the evening? They are aromatic from afar. Just the sight of the maize (for the advanced its corn) makes you want to order for one. A cob retails for say sh.40. How times change. What I used to get for Sh.10 has skyrocketed by 400% ten years down the line. And Nyayo also has these snacks like samosas and eggs and smokies that will indulge you to make a stopover for a bite like most ladies do. Apparently, men don’t love these biting. If you see most ladies bulging by the day, it apparently has a semblance to the many cheap foods you can buy on the roadside.

I have never been to Panari. Why lie. The building has a well appointed façade and with it beigesh color (men are color blind though) and even though it stands erect next to the road, the aesthetic values have somehow been robbed because there is no succulent vegetation that is synonymous with opulence. It being juxtaposed to the desertish aura makes its serene not that inviting. However I am not a connoisseur when it comes to location and hotels, but I bet this also qualifies for a motel if my English has not gone to the dogs. Likewise the Ekas and Serenis of this road. I wish they could have been tacked just a little bit inside. Albeit all these inadequacies, they are landmarks that are worth penning home about.

Unaffordable to the plebian like yours truly as these places of luxury may be, one thing is for sure. I really need to pull my socks and voila, things may turn up.

KPA slums is also another facet that made me go fascinated about how people can be really ingenious and sought the appetence of the proletariat who want some chow for less. If you can buy chicken with ugali for 150, what more do you need. The many mabati food joints that serve people near the port terminus in the city just tells of how the civility of the nation is proclaimed. Obviously, there is that person who profits from the structures erected on the land because that is how Nairobi has metamorphosed.

Ooooh! I had even forgotten to intimate about the GM stage on your way back. Frequent users will attest to the fact that there is certain dude (tout) who is usually high on some drugs and he dresses in fitting clothes. The hallucinations and delusions of perpetual drug use have made him mobile so much so that he is always in motion running like a hyena if you have seen one in the orphanage. The guy is also slim. Maybe 5”5 tall and he looks muscled even though his body mass may not be more that 60 Kg. The corner of his mouth usually either has saliva or the drugs that he is using and his eyes are usually bloodshot red. He makes his living by ensuring mats heading to either Nyayo or town are boarded by passengers. His distinctive wear was a pipe jeans trouser, black boots and a t-shirt that made some ladies brand him gay because he ran like one. Misconceived perceptions I may say because I saw his was an expression.

And there was this lady riding a nduthi (motorbike). She is easily identifiable from afar because she parks her bike segregated from other bodaboda riders. And most people like her because of the fact that she is the type that kizuri chajiza kibaya chajitembeza. You never see her call her clients, and most of the time, she will find one which means it’s rare to find her idle waiting for someone to take to point B. My friend and immediate boss Poloji told me she was once interviewed with one of the local stations about the hustle now that she is the only lady plying her trade on this route. Poloji even had the guts to use her motorbike. Ideally, if it were not for being late, I prefer walking as opposed to riding on a bike. It makes me jittery. The presence of tracks on the road and a sharp bend kind of made me ensure I woke up early enough to make it to work.

From the road to the place of work, it was roughly a twenty minutes walk. The only downside of walking was that you ended up having dusty shoes and trousers. That is the reason why most people used motorbikes so as to arrive with neatly polished shoes in the office. The thought of saving that dime also meant I had to trek.

I loved Mombasa road for one thing, there was usually a way of evading jam by the quick-witted drivers who had knowledge on the various routes. There is the southern bypass that offers a better get away from the bulging traffic on your way to Bellevue. Popo Road also offers an avenue of escaping the jam on Mombasa road and skilled drivers will take less minutes and you find yourself in Nyayo. As compared to Lang’ata, Mombasa Road is highly networked and especially en-route South B, which is also bigger that Lang’ata in population size. For that matter, I may be tempted to also say that Indimanje and Embassava Sacco drivers are more capricious with routes and well versed with alternatives in the event one section proves to be stalling in motion.

I loved the 14-seater matatus because they were less prone to marauding conmen and did fill faster than the 33-seater matatus which are not only stuffy and kind of crowded because some conductors even let passengers stand inside but also there are chances you may forget to alight on the right stage because of the idea that you are a passenger.

All in all, Mombasa road was a nice experience. The two months were worth it. I loved CrowDaddy. Again, I will have to plan to make an entry there. The best thing was that the fare on this route was not outrageous. Vehicles did flow smoothly and in less than ten minutes or so you were at the place of alighting if the mat did not make unnecessary stopovers along the road.

The business is now over and the much there is is to wait and find out how Chandarana will welcome me. I am headed to Parklands, the home of the Indian hegemony. A place far much cooler and full of opulence. Maybe, things will transpire well and I might just smile widely sooner. You never know.

HASTA LA VISTA BABY.

 [Picture Source]

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MY DAY IN BARINGO.

Nairobi was out of the picture. At least you get to move out of the snooty, rigorous and fast paced environment that is the city. Lets just say, I wasbreak the monotonynotocity life ting away from theusedent combination of the conscious city that aims at getprimordialmage in the world map as a destination of choice and retain n nn a fair a world class city. Neither of the two are becoming a reality soon because the city is ravaged by the threat of poverty on one hand and the incessant threats of Al-shababs who make it a place so dangerous yet in reality, it is one of the most guarded places in the region. Paradoxical as it may sound, the reality is that sometimes you need that break away to refresh and just get a new perspective.

Nice, a Toyota Wish it was. Family members and a driver. Vroooom! The car having been hired, I thought why not? This is gonna be something exciting. To break the monotony of city life. A life we are so used to that we forget other worthy places that still are primordial exist. Places where though not as developed, still retain the edifice.

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THREE YEARS

Amid the pretentious laughter, she still oozes the flair of confidence amidst but you can read resentment in her voice. She has become the single chattiest person you share so much with all in the name of one day subduing your carnal desires and strike it just right although this looks like a Cavoli riscaldati. However she remains insolent. Yet this is the 21^st century. Who does that? Just her for reasons she knows best.

Of recent, I have been a very indolent person ever since the opposite gender charm entered into my system. What with the verve subduing my initial pursuits. The problem is, as a person, I sometimes take too long to accept that I am weak. My ego is just too robust to let go. Chances are, I might end up falling in love or just letting this be a thing that becomes part of life by letting it go. Luckily, the person this piece is directed to may never set eyes on it and this gives me enough reason to deeply introspect whether I derive satisfaction or is it that it is that I am just gullible and can't reign on my emotional cogency.

Let's not call it falling in love but, to soften the stance because falling in love is too big a phrase it requires a lot of dedication and magnanimity since it is not easy to just fall in love just like that as connotatively there is a deeper cognition of what love is. It is usually lust that makes us have this euphoric feeling that makes us to sometimes think in one dimension instead of critically dissecting that which we need to be extra careful about. 

Maybe. Who knows? I might one day get my groove on and fall in love and live happily ever after with the lucky chic. When the lucky me gets a chic who will endure and tolerate the fact that I am human and can fall sometimes but will strive to be as true as possible owing to the fact that the world has become too mysterious and unpredictable as you are in danger if you never take proper care, the two of you may just end up being stirred up by love once again. Such sentiments as being the person who when she will not be around, your world would fall apart, or we are a pair because they say two becomes one, she gives me goose bumps and you name it. My happiness is hers and I would never imagine life without her.

There are those times you feel your heart is heavy and burdened just thinking about her. You feel like you want to be a pugilist to evaporate the down moments away or meet an acupuncture doctor to needle the burden away. She makes your loose your mind when she does crazy stuff just to make you feel bad. But she is far away yet so near. She is the kind of person who you never want to meet but just talk to over the phone because that is what you should be doing. Never mind that talking on the phone occupies a majority of your time you forget about blogging. Blogging is the reason why I am writing this escapade.

However, no two people are the same. There are those people who have like six or eight girls they have to choose from. And apparently, most of them wait hoping that lady luck will smile on them and they will walk down the line with the beau only to be disappointed the last minute because the bugger can only marry one woman and he does just that in the long run. Having sampled to his fulfilment. Methinks ladies love emerging from among the rest as the last man standing. It makes them be the envy of others.

Unlike those other guys, yours truly was not born with the gift of the gab of luring or enticing the opposite sex by sweet-talking them to fall for me and being that smooth operator who knows how to make hay while the sun shines. In fact, I am that guy who will either marry when I don't want or never marry totally because I am not sure of what I want, passe.  Even if I was, I know that I can never reach that point where I am entertaining more than one. Automatically it will backfire. Déjà vu. One man for one woman and that is what I stick to. Three is a crowd. And that means no intimacy. Maybe let’s just say if things go smoothly, this chic that I have been trying to give my all but she doesn’t appreciate because she has to play hard to get will one day find me in the unluckiest of places where she never thought I would be.

The tension that exists between us is something that goes way back, in as much as we seemed to be hiding it, it was obvious to some. It’s simmering waiting to erupt like a volcano. The tectonic plates will give in one day and an earthquake never seen before will be witnessed. While I may tarry this feeling, the severity of it is that it gains more every time like a rolling snowball. It is not like a rolling stone that gathers no moss. 

But there is something about women that we men rarely understand. While it's easy to please a man. The opposite is actually true of a woman. Pleasing her is not that easy. Sometimes you may call relentlessly for long before she picks up. You wonder whether she is no longer interested or just playing hard to get to find out whether you are serious or not. A woman can surely hold a man at ransom. She has the powers to do to you anything knowing very well she can manipulate you with what you have to work hard in order to get. When you are not working, she feels like she is not getting her true worth in you and may inadvertently make spurious choices and decisions that may leave you flabbergasted. It is easy to find a girl these days if chummed but for folks like us who are still emerging, we have to take time hoping that we are not only going to settle for anybody, but that who the heart longs for and has the material of being a wife.

However, it is ladies who sometimes keep us on our toes, they know that loop-hole in men they can machinate. They pressure us to aim for the stars even if we are not. For example, there was a lady who said she can never date a man who looks like he has no focus in life or shows no signs of making it in life. Obviously, she was having a person like me in mind subtly. It was a statement kind of directed to me even though I had never shown interest in her owing to her being beautiful and having that killer smile but so much vexation lingering. We did argue but concluded that that lady who sticks to you during those times when life knocks you down usually ends up a big beneficiary as her mates continue to look for suitable partners money factor notwithstanding. 

When money is the reason why a woman loves you, then that would not hold water when things go south (However, there is no single woman who can love you without money). What if the castle comes crumbling down and you are under receivership suffering from liquidity formlessness? Will it mean that the relationship will cease existing? However, in our current materialistic world, it is very complex and complicated to demarcate the reality of whether there is true love or it is the money factor that keeps the embers of the amber hue of the flame dancing fiery, twinkling like stars in the hot swirling air before cascading to earth that may be extinguished by unknown forces.

Judging by the way this thing may whirlpool, it may take up to three years before the ground has been firmly set. There is no hurry in letting it rapture, the time when it will dawn, the cinders will have cooled giving an aura of choking clouds of noxious smoke, that fill the eyes, showering out everything making you to want to cry but you can’t. Which means that I should be ending this with a very delirious ode from one Andrea Dietrich titled, “Cinder Girl”. Here are the words.

An ember sparked will softly glow,

and fed by fuel, will grow and grow.

I once was cinder, sparked by you,

first timid. . . till the flames then grew.

And so our start was touch of dawn,

with amber hue, for I was drawn

to eyes so welcoming and warm

I never guessed you’d do me harm.

Like morning glory, love in June

the rapture of mid-afternoon,

romance of which the ancients wrote,

our passion had no antidote.

And with the dusk, though scarlet tinged,

our love began to come unhinged,

for clouds arrived, which filled your eyes,

extinguishing bright twilight skies.

With cold of night came shadows’ pall,

and I could not tear down your wall.

By midnight’s hour, the fire was dead.

Mere ashes smoldered in its stead.

You left, and should you reappear,

I’ve vowed to shun you.  Now I fear

the very thing for which I yearn -

one touch. . . and then again - to burn.

And on that note allow me to sign off with my signature phrase from "La Furia Roja" 

HASTA LA VISTA BABY.

[Photo Source: My Own]

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DILEMMA

I actually have no idea what to scribe about. My mind has been on a vacation for the last couple of days thinking and deliberating. I got my first slightly improved salary this week. And when it came, the shocking thing was that it was a deficit of what I had expected. Haisulu! Adan said and I keep repeating this sentence every other time that, "Hii pesa si ya mamako." 

Yours truly also started school again. Strathmore University it is. One day, I will write about Strathmore. When I have explored the institution and turned it upside down in a way that is parochial and less academic. I had always harboured a dream of schooling in this institution even though I was not fully aware of what reason curtailed my ambition. Now that I am there, Yes its worth it to be in Strathmore.

The church. How can I muster the courage to go to church. Each and every time, I have been postponing the maiden step, this year of going to church. You see, going to church in a way helps in reconnecting with the Almighty. It is a place revered and you also get a chance to be solemn and reflect about life. If possible, you give that ten percent and wait to see if you are going to actually reap from giving it because some of the rich people say they never did mind giving it out and planning for it and that is the reason why they continue minting more money.

I also tried reconnecting with the female folk. There is this chic I have been calling and we have been spending almost an hour on the phone, never mind that I have been taking her for granted while she also does not give a dam about me. She is the sly type. Calculating her moves and never letting the cat out of the bag. I will call her soon, just to hear the voice of a lady because I need to speak to someone.

Work, the bosses being a family and running the company  as a couple collided and now the woman of the house is bedridden (self imposed). She is actually reeling from the after effects of being the punching bag when the company is not making sales. We usually console ourselves that time will come when we shall be making sales that are rivaling Safaricom or Apple (Remember Lu pita's 'Your dreams are valid').  Our dreams are surely valid. Rome was not build in one day.

My reading has also gone to the dogs. The blogs, especially gossip ones like Mpasho, Ghafla, and creative writing blogs have been kind of buried under the wraps in the meantime. Sadly, our office which heavily relies on internet was forced to hibernate and engage in offline activities because the servive provider which happens to be Orange was quite shaky and pathetic. Which reminds me that we are working in an industrial area that is far from civility because Zuku has not penetrated this sides.

Talking of Zuku, I understand the love hate relationship we have had. Zuku has really helped me in various facets. The fast internet has relieved me from the exorbitant prices charged by Safaricom which I must appreciate also because if it were not for it, I would not have been having those amounts that have kept me calling the said chic. I hate playing chics though. (Pssst. Nilidhani nikipata pesa ntachezea madem, wapi. Kama haiko kwa damu haiko.)

If it were not for the message that pops on my phone reminding me to use the credit I am availed, chances are I would not have been calling this chic. The problem is that I usually think I am wasting my time or she is not just what we we say in swahili "mgumu." My loose vibes are not going anywhere and the way I hate looking for ladies. It sickens me so bad that I just relent altogether. Lets just say that I love a quick fix. When my heart says no, I never pester it further. I just let it pass hoping that I will find another chic in the event the current one acts a like a rock.

Schooling is something I have never liked much these days. Guess I am aging. As a person, I want things that will let me dig deeper and be on a quest and get it on my own. Dr. Google will aid together with YouTube. Being in class and not being able to answer fundamental and basic questions made me feel like a student who is clueless. I did put myself in my students shoes and felt the pinch.

Moving forward, things may not be looking up. But where there is  a will there is a way.  

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MAMA MSWAHILI: MOMBASA ROAD

"Macho nne, sipendi vile unavyoelezea kile umekila, Itabidi nimekufuka hapa."

"Wale m

lio maliza kula, tafadhalini naomba muwapishe wale hawajala tuna wateja wanatungoja kwa mlango."

The first statement was directed to yours truly and the second to customers who were turning the restaurant into a lounge because the number of customers Mama Mswahili attends to can sometimes be overwhelming. 

You get a call from an campus pal one night and even though it sounds bizarre, you receive it. You are in the loo making another call. A long one that nature has bequeathed all and sundry as a way of relieving the body off toxic wastes that are indigestible and undigestible.

It happens to be one of the buddies you were duped in campus with calling you at an odd time. Yes you are busy pelting stools and you receive it hoping those moments when the missiles force the body to squirm and the mouth to utter incoherent words will not be a case in point. You know there are those projectiles that usually refuse to be released because the body has not had enough water and that means you ‘chur’ (This is a Luo word) loudly when doing your thing. Worse is when the stools destroy the soft and delicate anal canal when the muscles cannot contract forcing you to behead the poop as the remaining portion awaits send off, while still being withheld in the rectum.

Apparently, your buddy just wanted to tell you that he saw you partaking some chow at Mama Mswahili. Of course he has been a regular customer there for close to one year. Hitherto, you had no idea that she was called Mama Mswahili. A phone call that comes like six months gets you on the know. Dudes can be animals, instead of even asking about how you have been, he goes straight to the point asking if you were the person and you consent.

A few days later you meet him in person. As usual, he remains the same. Employment has not changed him much. You know as a starter, you get paid what is measly. The kind of attire he adorns and his not so smooth face evidence the fact that somehow, he is still struggling. You too are. However, you are not better placed to judge if you actually are ravaged by the same effects because it is barely your first month in an office setting.

You wish you had taken up a job that never restricts to the office. Why? It is too monotonous and tedious. Things never happen. You are constricted behind the computer looking for ways to bring business and sales but sometimes it gets boring but since they say patience pays, you actually do that. Remain patient till the eight hours of duty come to a close.

The bugger promises to buy you lunch when he is paid. How we love free lunch. He however never honours the pledge because it looks like things are going south. He is moving out to leave on his own and in a place where he won’t incur a lot of transport expenses because he has grown and needs to exercise some independence (read girlfriends). You remember his caption phrase, ‘Ni tricky.’ Looking back, you recall those nostalgic days in the bed-bug ridden hostel when you used to ask yourself whether you would ever be employed with the consistent unemployment that has peaked and is still high no matter the measure that are both macro and micro economic put in place to curb the devastating effects.

Mama Mswahili’s dishes are what the average Joe cannot afford (Most go to places where ugali and mboga goes for a Kenyan pound). My immediate supervisor told me the reason he goes for lunch is because he cannot afford to torture his temple all in the name of saving a figure you will find you recklessly spent on some stuff you cannot be able to account for. Even though in your former workplace you never went for lunch and got used to it, now things have changed. You buy into his argument because you received some petty cash due to a project that you had undertaken of coming up with the syllabus of a certain course and the notes were approved and voila, you got the cash to sustain your lunch.

Something funny about cash is that, you never know when you will have it. Sometimes you get so broke you feel the world will tumble but you keeping on moving ahead because what is in store ahead is better than what is present. Life is not static. The moment you let the sorrows and frustration it besets take the better of you, the moment you stoop into some unintended frenzy panic and quagmire that clobber all positive thoughts.

Eating at Mama Mswahili is like dining at Hilton or Intercon. It is the most expensive eatery that sells deliciously cooked food and you are served to your fill. There is no surety that the owner of the food kiosk is Mama Mswahili, though. But she is the recipient of cash. She has the eyes of a hawk even though she remains strategically positioned so that she can see all her customers.

Her two waiters are always on the move at lunch time. They serve more than five hundred people on any given weekday. Her meals are pricey because there are some places where you can get what she sells at half the price of her meals. Credit must go to her for having been the one and only food vendor that we trust. You see some folks from campus who also frequent the place and realize you are not alone.

At Mama Mswahili, it survives on referral. The person who referred me here was also refereed by another person and the chain continues. She ensures her meals adhere to standard and the quantity serves you to your fill. This could be the reason why cars are parked outside her place by the proletariats who are willing to forgo the luxury of some more decent food joint.

However, amid all the hullabaloo of the eatery having many customers, it’s like the infamous Club 36  found near  University of NAIROBI only that it is not open air. The walls are made of rusty patched up metals and corrugated iron sheets that you oversee because this does not matter especially those moments when you are hungry and need to eat after hours of staying in the office without even a single meal since breakfast. The aisles are so narrow that no two people can walk side by side. The wooden benches that are synonymous with Kenyan eateries of low-end franchises are the medium of sitting. The tables are never clean even though they have covers that are wiped by the waiters one off. Looking at the rooftop, you notice holes that let in air.

If you want to get out while seated at the far end next to the wall, it means you have to disrupt the other customers who have to give you way because the place is so squeezed. The floor is obviously not tiled or cemented. It being a rickety structure, and the possibility of being run down anytime being high, not much has been invested inside in terms of making the place to look serene and buoyant. The counter where Mama Mswahili sits on slightly elevated is full of plates and mugs that are used to serve customers.

Mama Mswahili is the talkative type. Guess this is a characteristic of the coastal women. She is never quiet and makes so much noise like a hornbill. And luckily she even knows us because we usually enter the place as a group from our workplace. That means when she sometimes sees us, she never fails to greet us because we have been loyal customers. Never mind that there have been suggestions we sample out other eateries which obviously rival this one but the suggestions have been just that, suggestions, as we have deafened our ears.

Sometimes you are tempted to think that the woman bought those food kamotes in her meals so that you find yourself sticking to her meals without changing. But the reality is that as a people, when you get used to one thing, it takes you ages before you can break off a bad or a good habit. Like the habit of never changing something because you are content with the situation.

Status quo could also be a disturbing tenet. How can you decide to lower your status by going to a less pricey eatery (the cheapest food at Mama Mswahili is sh.60). Looking into the future, when things will start looking up, we might just move to the Panari’s, Eka’s or Ole Sereni’s of Mombasa road. Then we shall be like, ‘How come we did not notice that we were probable of being attacked by  cholera or the odd of being devastated by other water born diseases’ pesa mzuri ikiingia.

HASTA LA VISTA BABY

[Picture Source: My Own]

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