I attended a birthday party

He oozes an aura of subtle suave and debonair oomph. His brawny arms kind of protruding from his tight designer Oxford Shirt. His jungle green Fedora is fitting and has a flair of being an import. And since he has knee-length khaki pants, his soleus and gastrocnemius muscles bulge on either side of his legs. His dark complexion makes women go gaga, what women call tall, dark and handsome.

You cannot fail to notice that he is the guy who calls the shots. When he tells jokes everyone laughs even when they are dead beat and clearly evoke no humour. He has designer glasses that show how comfortable he is as he interchanges them with dark Police sunglasses to hide his darting eyes from introspection by those he aint acquainted. Him behind the lens, he probably understands the nature that man is.

His macho tendency means he has a Toyota Cygnus parked outside complete with a standby chauffer. The chauffer also acts like his valet and does errands that he sends him at will. He is however coy in retrospect and you have to snoop around to realize that his chauffer is not among the guests.

His penchant for spacious contraptions that are monsters on the road is also seen in his talk. Pompous and full of personal aggrandizement. When he speaks, everyone listens. All the Johns and Janes present want to hear how he made it. He long gone stole the occasion from the hosts. Never mind that the hosts were also of modest affluence. Call him master ordinaire.

On this occasion owing to the fact that he is on social family function, he carried his wife and children along. His children speak impeccable English. They know Swahili but only speak tad bits when out of the vicinity of their mother. Though they are young (boy is four and called Roy (aint sure though) and girl 6), their reasoning is quintessential. They however never show smugness when you engage them in pious confabulation. They know what they want and are not afraid to ask or question when things are not going as they had presumed. Their taste in music is half goth and half emo which seemingly sound creepy.

The lady of the house has a Range parked outside. It is sleek and ergonomically designed for an intuitive and engaging driving experience. The rota of her man is unknown and hence she has to take care of the children by ensuring their safety (Rover is a safe car, right). It is like an unwritten rule that they never share because the man may decide to stay late and inconvenience them.

It is a birthday party of Roy’s cousin but since they share the same month as their dates of birth, Roy also gets to have his birthday done. Roy’s attire steal the show and his cake too. He is dressed like batman (reminds me of Christian Bale in The Dark Knight). His superhero, wait. The birthday cake is also baked and sculptured like the superhero Batman.

He has so many superheroes, Roy. Limiting it to one is like feigning ignorance of the fact that he did not have other birthday parties his parents had held for him. The one in school, he was dressed like Spiderman. And he does not go to the regular schools that other children of his ilk attend. His yearly fees can pay a parallel university student fee for the four years and still you remain with change for upkeep for the whole four years.

The children they mingle with also don’t fail to assuage their lingo and deft sophistication as speak with robust confidence. Their mothers are their centre of gravitation. Everything revolves around them. There is one boy, probably past or gearing towards 10, he is called Fadhili. His heavily accented mum pronounces his name in a way you would mistakenly believe they recently jetted from Obamaland. His nagging sister who appears to have been fed up by the other kids easily goes to her mother’s laps and gets pampered like a medieval Persian princess. They all don’t speak Swahili. They all have Swahili names though. Yes you can never mistake, they are the kids of the nouveau riche whose parents hitherto lived on the other side of Nairobi but crossed to the West side when affluence did set in and they had to kiss goodbye to the formative days when they had to ceaselessly struggle with the hustler that is Eastlands.

The natter those in this party engaged in was energetic and you might be out of place if you never talk about living outside Kenya like yours truly. The banter is about the way things are different when you board KQ (is it still the pride or shame of Africa owing to the financial losses it made the past year) and head West. You easily never hear of East hunches as none is considered worthy of such speak probably due to the fact that the Chinese and Indians have stooped so low in the country, conspicuously becoming hackneyed. 

As a person who loves stories, you sit and listen. This is going to be a day full of fun, you inwardly tell yourself. Trust you me, words fail you at this juncture as the conversation sounds too colloquially synergized leaving me mum most of the time. Again you try to cope you as time goes by but feeling out of place about the whole idea, you try to remain calm. Silence they say is gold since speech is silver. Though this looks like déjà vu, you still feel like it’s novel in its own way.

“My domestic manager started weaning my child on unconventional foods and this has resulted in his poor eating mannerisms,” Roy’s mother says as she feeds him of the sumptuous delicacies well prepared by a five star chef for the occasion. While I was a tot, it was a decree never to talk while partaking of meals for fear of being choked. Roy however, speaks while being fed. I wonder why a child of his age is still being fed.

These ladies are not afraid to feed their children. Some look obese but they are forced to eat because their mothers are not going to prepare food upon arrival at home. Their mothers also talk of how they have stocked the fridge with all kinds of snacks but some of the children look like they are anorexic but still eat because their mother said so. Probably the chic aims to be a model. Who knows?

Roy’s sister and a certain girl also engage in some chitchat. From their conversation I could piece up that they are aptly well versed on how to ensure a child never gets choked while eating. They allude to some stories that I am not interested in. They love cartoon, their favorite is again unknown. I take my beer and sip it with some nyama choma as I listen to other stories that my memory cannot retain.

Since I am a big soccer fan, I switch the channel to soccer. In these apartments, HDPVR decoders are obligatory and they are also served with high speed internet whose broadband specs are laudable. When you are not watching you are either surfing the net since they have provided the Wi-Fi password.  There are murmurs here and there but I have to stick to my stand. It is just fair that I watch soccer since most people are discussing what leaves me having mum yet my beer has given me nerves.

In the meantime, the children go outside where there is a bouncing castle brought for them to do their thing. More nyama choma is served with cold booze to accompany it as conversation switches from time to time.

I must commend the chef who cooked the food. When you are eating in such a place, you need to be very cautious lest the food backfires on you due to binge eating. Food, just like booze is never mixed. The stuff may backfire leaving you having ceaseless stomach pains or upsets even before the party climaxes. Experience has taught me to serve the meals cautious of the eventual repercussions and the image that you want to portray. Haribu jina jenga mwili only applies when you are really hungry and you think the food may end and you don’t fill your stomach to your feel.

I realize that one of the mothers of the children is quite abrasive after consumption of some cozy ale which she had in gulps, Remy Martin. She suddenly becomes a disciplinary figure not only to her children but those of other mothers. None of the mothers think this is unfair. They entertain it as her voice is what sounds harsh as opposed to her actions.

When the soccer match ceases, I switch the channel to what the children love best, cartoon. You take your beer bottle and sit down sipping it with nyama choma as you continue listening to the jousting that children of the nouveau riche engage in.

Well, you also take pictures. A reminder that you was in a party that caught your eye in Njaanuary. Did I say that apple IPads and Iphones are the trend in this bash. My phone is a pale shadow of the others but I still have to use it. Some people I realize only have gadgets they display but really don’t know the real essence of the how to maximize on those gizmos.

Since we also took a child to this bash, we have to make an early exit. Probably 2230hrs. The to me is a day well spent.

SITUONANE.

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ALTO: Every Broke Ass Man's Fetish

It is the little things in life that matter. An Alto is one of those little things. Yes its matters to own an Alto. How did those mandarins who are given the mandate to design a car come up with an Alto? Suzuki (made Suzuki a brand name in "79) for once scored so low even though my main drive is not intended for the company as they just make for consumption by the ever car hungry men who will want to be seen arriving on 'fours.' In Luo they say 'Olo nono.'

The first time I heard that there is a car called Alto, I thought it was probably a Japanese machine from the ubiquitous Toyota or maybe the synonymous Nissan. I had not thought of an Alto from Suzuki. Who drives these Suzuki's though.

Alto is a bland, thin, poverty stricken and a malnourished car that can be mistaken for a gaunt figure struggling for notice on the road. Other than the fact that an Alto is cheap, the car is morbidly debilitating. Even a Mr. Bean car has finesse and chutzpah when on the road. It (Alto) reeks of subtle malevolence and sap cheekiness.

Anyone who plunders his shekels on the moty is nothing but a stingy hell of a man who does not care that he is hurting his ego and that of those he is socializing and associating with. What with the car having no status symbol, making you look like a hell of a first time car owner, and it making you look cheap and a famished being seeking to be seen in a contraption.

Ideally, nothing is wrong with owning this car. You are however a hell of a looser who will be entitled to nothing but chide. A butt of jokes you will become whether you like it or not. Never tell guys you are going to buy an Alto (even Yolz damsels will never respect you). Or never show friends that you are shipping in an Alto. Do it as covertly as possible. Even when you shipping it into the country, just tell friends to wait for a surprise as you will no longer be boarding mats or using route 11. The one (photo above) I decided to use is more stylish and looks like a worthy contrivance to put on road.

Indeed if you planning to buy this car, you need to be a bachelor (below 25 if you can afford it). If you are a family man, an Alto is a machine that even cause your child stress each time you go pick him with that car from school. Unless you take your child to a school where parents have no cars. Either way, other children even if their parents don't have cars will bully and psychologically affect your progeny because of the diminutive shape of an Alto. Why? An uncle of mine wanted to buy a probox (they called it a toolbox) and his boys out-rightly told him not do buy the go damn thing. Methinks a probox in comparison to Alto does better (My revulsion for a Probox is inimical). Such is the pride children have. In fact, the people who influence parents a lot to buy items are their children.

As a person who likes speed, Alto is a car that can never sate my enthusiasm in a car. I rank some of the Altos in the same league as Bajaj (sic). Why? The speedometer limit reads 140 kph . Unless you are over 50 and fear speed since you want to reach the age of 70, an Alto, ah ah. Even a fifty year old who buys this car is just a joker or a very broke ass buda. When you are on the road, you need to press the gas pedal and feel like the car is moving. Again if everyone is overtaking you, it means you are just inferior (worse of all a Vitz).  MWK are the only people who don't mind mediocrity since they accept what they are bought. Dude, unless you are saving for something better or you aim at disposing this thing to a MWK, as a macho man, I beseech you to dispose it off like yesterday.

This car cannot do off-road effectively in as much as it cheap and economical in fuel consumption. Its resale value is unknown as very few chaps want to buy it unless you are thinking of making it a taxi after purchase. I mind my pride and I would be indignant if a person gave me this thing of a car to test drive. This car is arguably meant for Europe and Asia where the roads are well carpeted and maintained and guys are heavily taxed in order to ensure their environments are clean.

Don't get me wrong though, am a car fanatic and when I saw an Alto, I felt cheated because I was thinking of something better. But as much as I have exposed my naivety and ire, I still stand by my words on this obnoxious thing that one can spend his money on because it consumes less on petrol. I am of the opine that, when you entertain mediocrity and measliness, this tenets will follow you in your life.

SITUONANE.

[Photo Source: Google Images]

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I am building a door: Letter to my potential employer

It's been long since I read the bible. Now it's a source of comfort, a pacifier and a teacher. I usually turn to it for wisdom, when moments are high and low. I am not so much into conformity and as such, I am kind of liberal with my views on matters religion. It makes sense, I can’t force things. I love pragmatism, hypocrisy naught.

Make your money work for, don't work for money. This I read somewhere and hope that I am building a door for the avalanche of success to come knocking on a classic hand crafted mahogany door that lets you in and you automatically feel at home. This door will resist splitting, cracking and rotting. On completion it will have the durability of fibre glass, architecturally correct stiles, riles and panels. Again it will be environmentally friendly, akin to having the look and feel of an auspicious aura full of vitality that countenances.

So I decided to surround myself with those people I think will offer me a leeway and a lease to new gem. Those I gain from, those who lift me high and that is the sole reason I wrote a letter. A dispatch to my potential employer who may never get to read this letter since I am a jobless graduate who hears, talks, sees and knows no evil. One I will never send because it is more than 1000 words. And formality requires that I only pen a letter that is straight to the point and terse. Bulshit, I am creative and a letter and a CV cannot aptly satiate my desire of letting you know about me as they tentatively limit my ingenuity.

I am not afraid to knock doors. However timing is again very important. I just remembered I had to write this because I had it tacked somewhere in the yore files that almost got recycle binned infinitely. Unadulterated but heavily borrowed from some place you need to know or already know.

Here goes the letter.

Dear Madam/ Sir,

This is not the typical letter where I have to be precise and concise for you probably don’t want to read pages and pages of emotional outburst. However I will endeavor to thoroughly showcase my initiative, ambition, creativity, and enthusiasm in this epistle that is not limited to the corporate brevity expected of me. As I pen this dispatch, I am exultant for I know how difficult it is to stand out from the crowd in today’s incredibly competitive job market. 

Allow me to say I will take a detour by not only deviating from the norm but also injecting in some informal thoughts to truly drive the point home. Rules can be bent. Right. But I will try steering clear of flashy gimmicks or stunts. I am infallible that this uniqueness in my approach is atypical of the many cover letters you receive. This letter will not be devoid of emotional exposition of my deeply seated craving to be a part of you even if it oozes egotism in lieu of self-effacement.

I am not only interested in the job, in fact what motivates me more is the fact that my current financial status needs amelioration so that I can transcend to the next stage as soon as possible. That means you have the key to unlock the hidden potential that is famished but zealously waiting for a position of service to positively make the desired impact burning in my instincts. I am an alchemist, whatever I touch turns into gold. Trust you me, I got the Midas touch.

There is a language that everyone understands, the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired.  My passion for what I do and endear to do is priceless. Actually, I will be highly motivated to not only be associated with the brand you have created but the immense first-class reputation you have conceived as a company to my admiration. I also know that when you really want something, the universe always conspires in your favour to aid you in your yen.

Allow me to narrate a brief story. An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman all entered a 26 mile long swimming race. After 12 miles the Scottish man gets tired and drops out. Then after 16 miles the English man gets tired and drops out. After 25 miles the Irish man decides he can't finish the race, so he turns around and swims back to the start. Logically, these are the kind of people seeking for posts in your organization. Many are in the category of the Scotsman. I am neither of the trio, reason why I alluded to this anecdote.

I am an accomplished self-taught graphic and web designer and blogger who prides in the fact that I am independent and takes initiative. Experience and enthusiasm are two fine business attributes seldom found in one individual. I am sure these traits are deeply seated and ingrained in me. I am certain these skills will be of great help to your organization. Trust me; look nowhere else in discovering the Soul of the World, the Philosopher's Stone, and the Elixir of Life.

Here are five traits that I consider deeply rooted in my character in order to be instrumental in making a positive contribution to your organization.

a). I am insanely likable and I have a pleasing conduct that enables me to gel and work in a team structure.
b). I am going to perform incredibly well in this job through being decisive using learnt problem solving skills
c). I am really going to fit in around there as fast as possible as I have nurtured my communication skills after undergoing life skills training.
d). I have the ability to take responsibility which means I am able to plan, organize and prioritize work
e). I have good deduction skills that enable me to obtain and process information and analyze the data proficiently to create comprehensive reports thereafter.

Having grown up with the Nairobi city (where the hustle never ceases to bustle), I understand firsthand how you’ve earned your reputation as one of the best employers that all and sundry crave to work for in their lifetime. For many years, I’ve been impressed by how you revere customers and treat them like kings; now I want to impress visitors in the same way your team has so graciously done for me and those whom have been loyal to the brand you created.

This is a story, because at this point, it ceases to be a letter. Hope it has seamless segue. Already I have briskly elaborated my unique traits and my zeal to work for you. I am an avid consumer of your products (read services and goods). They have made an incredible difference in my life. Sometimes, I go to cozy restaurants, mull and daydream about what it would feel like to work with some of the brilliant minds that you have as a company.

I hate mediocrity and I also know that random trivia can come across as weird, currently I possess 25 years of inexperience. I may be inexperienced but what I do with what I know will greatly incite the urge in you to hunt for me to bring you the unexpected.  All this time has been spent shaping up my perspective of what I want and where I want to be. I only tolerate positives. The obverse was deleted from my diction as it did not build my drive towards personal fulfillment.

Life's greatest tragedy consists of men and women who earnestly try, and fail! The tragedy lies in the overwhelmingly large majority of people who fail, as compared to the few who succeed. I have tasted failure, now it’s my time to succeed. I know life is bittersweet and they said the roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. I want to witness this phrase for all along, I have been committed to the former.


I believe I can be a valuable addition to your company, and I look forward to hearing from you. Genuinely, I’m excited about opportunities within your company and hope to explore contributions I can make. I’ll call you next week to, hopefully, talk further or set up a time to meet with you personally.

Yours sincerely,
Signed A.O
Anan Ocampo

Ideally, this letter is a follow up to a piece I had written about the hustles of being an unemployed graduate. Blue collar jobs are sometimes a no, no (according to friends and family) and white collar jobs highly regarded as I travail through this life full of twists and turns. My only sticking point is being offered a chance. That of a start off and I will be good to go.

Many a time, I have said I will write to you, walk to you office with my resume and cover letter in arms, however, I can’t. I usually use the net as a way towards reaching you. You never have replied my letters. I still am upbeat and hold onto a positive attitude that when time is nigh, things will work out.

But I have to rant and say the truth so as to set myself free, free from the bondage of the knowledge that I have to continuously be a leech. I want to be an ant. Be like a bee to search for nectar flowers to go use produce honey. This is nonsensical gibbery though. I am sure you get my drive. I hope to one day be an employer like you. But first you need to teach me the rues and ethics so that I will use them in future.

I am never going to give up, I will follow my dreams. I am careful of what I am wishing for.

SITUONANE.

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The diary of a jobless graduate: The hustle

Timing is one facet in life that has the potential of either abating or abetting procrastination as much as it influences the visions and ambitions we have in order to make majestic strides full of mettle in our esteemed aspirations. My preponderances and noble indignation have all been flustered towards making a legion of a loyal and royal retinue in my prospects which is basically aimed at copiousness and nirvana. 

This voyage has no sojourns and vacations where you lax your muscles then sit and wait for the sommelier to serve you with your favorite Chave Ermitage while lolling leisurely in a roller coaster yatch fully equipped with a myriad of high-end facilities and luxurious amenities that create an intimate, refined and immaculate one of a kind experience. In it you can explore the most breathtaking destinations while still feeling at home in the spas and wellness centres as experts chaperon you on a personal journey of self-discovery. The pricey figure paid is however out of the reach of a commoner as this comfort is reserved for the crème de la crème who have the time and money to splash on what they really fancy and hold dear after the struggle. 

The best things in life are free. Money can’t buy them. They oscillate around us as much as we may never recognize them. Like the smell of clean clothes or rose flowers, finding love in another being, the writings of this diary, the sound of rainfall on a mabati roof with no ceiling board inside, a satisfying siesta, silly stories that you are about to read, an honest opinion about how you view this piece of nonsensical gibbery and plus the list is endless. 

You probably have a family you can count on, that someone to cheer you up when down, that meal you cooked at home or someone to hear you out when you want to rant your frustrations in life even when satiated to the bristle when it regards matters financials.

Being a jobless graduate has its fair sides as much as it has the inoperative aspects that usually make it fun altogether. Your timetable is ever full. A friend confided this profound analogy where he intimated how life is for a hustler. 

In the morning you wake up like those on payroll and head to the illusory office where you have assigned yourself tasks complete with breaks and deadlines. The deadline is however your own creation and you really struggle to keep up with it. You pay yourself hefty sums of money since you are the overall boss of the responsibilities you have assigned yourself. More or less, you are fully qualified for the job but still it never overwhelms. Since you are the boss, you take leave any time you want without compromising on the turnover of the business since you are well versed with the general rates. Probably nil at the end of the laborious day. When you go to the fictitious ATM, you withdraw sums that you have never imagined. Obviously the bank manager and the sentries know you by name, you never queue like the rest of the commoners as the fat bank deposits you make shifts your status to that of a royal. In the shopping malls, you choose what you want, dine with high and mighty and laugh like a jester after a few sips of exotic cognac. When the time to exit the office arrives, you extend your stay since you sure want to reconcile the bank accounts, look at the grey areas and ways of ameliorating your franchise to open more offices as you move into being a big time entrepreneur. People revere you even though you are quixotic about your general financial status that you hope will not continue to plunge in the actual sense.

No longer is it fanciful to graduate with some degrees if you are not a hustler. Very few people are hustlers. For example, my good friend Titus sells branded cups upon request. He is a graduate from one of the local universities. He prides in being a very good marketer of his products. His hustle has seen him change shoes on monthly basis since he walks like he has all of a sudden become a supporter of Ugandan opposition leader Kizza   Besigye. He has duly christened his venture ‘Walk to work’ though he uses public transport to deliver the goods. He never complains about it, deeply he curses why he went through the protracted education system that never aptly prepared him for life after campus. His applications for jobs have become white elephants as they are rarely replied to. He wonders what he does wrong. The contractual jobs he gets never satisfy him much and he ends up reverting to what he knows best, selling branded mugs and cups and plates to his acquired and dependable customers whom he sometimes overcharges and they never realize due to the trust he has created. I told him to market them on Facebook, twitter and Olx. 

As a graduate, he has curved out a niche. Lies are peddled by those in the job markets that there are no jobs. Bulshit. There are so many jobs. Some have been brainwashed into believing that you must part with hefty sums of money to secure a position of interest in the best paying multinational. Agencies have popped up everywhere and you have to part with some few thousands for them to look for you a job. Ladies are forced to deflower themselves before they can get jobs in some firms. You talk ill of relatives who fail to give you a job because you think you will probably overtake them when you get that job. You go to school then wait for manna from heaven that someone will notice your impressive CV (The one you never wrote) and employ you. You are lying to yourself. It’s impressive, colorful and convincing; however it does not depict who you are. PR tactics you have employed and someone with an eye for details will notice some inconsistencies that may arise. Don’t be fooled my brother, they say make hay while the sun shines, like Obama during his first presidential campaigns, roll those sleeves and work till you get it right. All right. 

I was among those who normally whine and kvetch insidiously about no jobs. Then I came to realize there is a difference between there being no jobs and not having money. There are so many jobs that I know of but as a graduate you cannot just take anything. Friends will advise you so because they know what’s best for you. Wrong. You may decide to be a cook and end up wasting yourself cooking for a village school where no one will ever recognize you ever went to university year in year out. You henceforth know what you want in life, the only drawback preventing you achieving it is the requisite break-even point that has become elusive. Garbage in garbage out. If you aren’t careful at all you may be a case in statistic. 

While you sit and wait others are forging on ahead faster. They are not waiting for you as you slacken and slouch on the hard seats you arse is probably on. You are drooping and may soon become stale and fusty for the ever dynamic job market. No one will want to engage you having developed radical attitudes and behaviors that are very hard to mold into the desired contrivance of a person which will act like the perfect carousel. Yes in employment you are not you. You let others decide and you follow. That also applies to private practice, decisions are not binding and conclusive altogether. There is change, and embracing it without qualms means you move on faster than you would have anticipated.

As a youth, I want something that is believable and has legitimacy. Trust is one thing I have realized works best when the institutions in place are consensual and integrate transparency in the processes without leaving an iota of expropriation. If systems in place could have been devoid of bias and prejudice and as such independent and free of external influence by third parties who reign supreme over the processes in place, then many would not have been crying foul. When we adopt the policy of may the best man win, integrate them with prolific ideas then we overcome cowardice and instill competition which is indispensable in the process of ameliorating our plight to self-independence, we move up the ladder and develop an unrivalled long leash. 

With no job insight, I hence try to live life to the fullest and as if it is the last. Even though I try to live by the fact that yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift, the immense opportunities that I stumble on and those I never seize still bog my mind. I hence try to accept my present in terms of developing proper habits and never resisting the flow of life. As such I am not resistant to change. I am devoid of constancy and conformist and conservative societal ambiguity and innuendoes. If I find out I am limiting my prospects, I take a seat in the recliner and think over nothing.

I have found a purpose in life. Something that gives my life a distinct and unique meaning which I cannot walk away from. That means I have to be as realistic as possible to myself in what I do and how I do it. If positive thoughts are a disease then I am bedridden as an individual for they control a better part of me. I am one carefree chap who has found solace in listening to my heart and never deceiving myself when things look grim. Still even though tomorrow is a mystery, I anticipate that with it I will get good tiding that will bring an avalanche of lavishness.

Of course there are times when things are thick and tough, but when you think of those who are in a worse disposal you get a better perspective never to relent. The goals you set are ambitious and after advice, you turn them to 

those that are achievable, within range and realistic.

Ok ok ok. A diary is a reflection of what you have been up to in the recent past. Yet so far this looks naught what it was supposed to be. The thing is, sometimes it takes a lot of time to truly know your place in life. You try too many things before you finally settle on one that you never know whether it will be the last resolute decision you have ultimately made.

As a job seeker, you need to be all eyes, ears, skin, mouth and nose. In short, your senses should have been on the know of the slightest opportunity that arises. Opportunities are usually rare. They are never forthcoming as expected. But on my part I have been very selective with the opportunities that come my way.

For instance I sent a message to seek clarity from one of the many leading sites where prospective jobs are posted. In the site you have the option of applying directly for the job. Alright, you have applied for several and no replies are forthcoming in the many you have applied through the site. Instinctively you are sure of having qualified for the job so you mail the site owners asking why they are taking guys for a ride. They give a reply that reading in between the lines, you realize they are just like the ragtag sites that enlist jobs to get hits so as to get paid by Google for promoting adverts of prospective clients using ad sense.

Someone tells you hand delivering your CV and cover letter is better and will result in you getting the job faster, but you also heard that those papers are recycled in the office and used in photocopying trite gen. That left you addled.

You have wasted too much time already, but you keep hope alive. You console yourself that Abraham Lincoln also failed several times before he could make it to be the president of the most powerful nation on earth. Inwardly, you know your self-esteem is crumbling day by day, your mates have jobs and you are tantamount to the ubiquitous and cacophonous beetle that usually flies at night then falls down all of a sudden. The hope you had is fast giving way like the crumbling of techtonic plates. You are in a kind of time release panic attack. Luckily, there is that friend who had contacts, yes, the guy who bragged while you kept solemn of the many places he could get employed in but he is still a hustler.

Other than the degree, you have other qualifications you thought would have given you an added advantage and an edge in the employment market but still you are redundant. In the meantime you continue sending CVs online every morning. Only getting a job will stop you from sending them.  It is never easy I tell you. Sometimes you get frustrated and disheveled to a point where your vision and mission in this world is blurred and you are contemplating going back to school because you can’t withstand being idle. School fees however acts as the barrier to your proclivity.

In the meantime, a certain chap you were in school with has changed like three jobs and still thinks of looking for greener pastures that may arise. You however aim at being a prototype. Being a butch, you know that the going is usually chunky. You have adopted a pseudo-Japanese tendency of thinking things are alright even when they are wrong. Like, you don’t have a job, you are in the city and dependent, the last time you bought clothes in G-mall (Gikomba) was months ago. Yet you think this is alright. No things aint right. 

You keep on postponing things till it becomes a behavior ingrained into your system. Like you wanted to go to audition for the next play with either Fanaka Arts or Jicho Four at KNT but you lost hope the last minute as no one could elate the fervor you had for failure to open up. Maybe just maybe, you think you can make a good comedian. You have occasionally recited some jokes in your mind and want to go to Churchill live and audition, be on TV and become famous overnight. You think you can make a better comedian, one who never makes jabs at the different tribal tendencies of Kenyans. Again time flies away fast. You no longer are able to go, so you use the social media platform as a bait of testing the ground. After about a week, you realize no one retweets your jokes, no one likes them on Facebook and you have tried your able best. 

Talking of social media, blogs keep you updated on the latest 411. You are ever on the net looking for the latest news on which celebrity was got pants down or cannot do TBT of her previous snaps, which politician was spotted on Koinage Street. In fact you are a fanatic of blogs to the extent that you become a psycho of their premises. Whatever they say you take it as gospel truth, you are the first to relay back the gen to people who sometimes don’t give a damn about the blogosphere. Socialites wow you like shit. You wish you had the shekels to take them for the various sabbaticals they promote while at it with loaded chaps whose carnal desires are real and they satiate making young girls think they usually have it rosy. They know best the story, the bdsm like in Fifty shades of Grey (book not movie) and all that. Economics you remember. Insatiable human wants and scarce resources have left you in a quandary.

You are probably like a child now. You know all the programs on TV. Sprawled on the couch, slurping some cheap lumpy heath drink and yakking half the day away. Initially you vowed never to watch Nigerian movies, you talked trash about them, those Pilipino, Mexican and Indian soaps. You are a master of following the intrigues, drama, jealousy and all the various themes that arise. You never want to miss them after completing your daily rota which ends early in the day. The love scenes makes you think you can pull one with the svelte Miss Mboch who has gotten into your nerves. Obviously, she is waiting for you to hit on her, get her paged and when you secure a job later in life, she will bring the burden. You enjoyed with her, never used rubber, told her sweet nothings and in future FIDA will be on you. The child a perfect replica of you. No need for any DNA test. Then you are with your campus crash. She never knew it but you looked for her at the time of plenty. Bulshit brother. Things never work that way. She is also employed in a reputable company. But your mess follows you and threatens to tear your young family apart.

You realize you are addicted to either twitter, instagram (double tap comes to mind) or Facebook. Ok there is also whatsapp where you chat raunchy details with the various ladies on your list. There are so many chics you have hit on, those you easily take to your pals for some romp because you don’t have your own house yet. The profile pic in your graduation gowns you placed on your account is enough to sway a couple of those gullible chics. Those whom you think consider themselves classy, KFC, Subway of Pizza in nyale.

On twitter you tweet like you are paid to tweet. You think you are very creative now that you have been able to get a few retweets since Twitter is increasingly getting populated with shagzmodos. You follow all the hot trending topics and tweet about each. Some poor attention seeker ranks you among the mid wigs. You have slightly over 1000 followers. The recognition makes you go gaga. Yet you are a busy body. Damn you, some fellows are paid to tweet. On Facebook, you have liked almost all the pages, you are in groups that make you feel at home, you are content with the status quo. You are wasting time brother. You are wasting time you tell yourself. Thirty more minutes and I will be out of here. That thirty becomes 4 hours. Chances are a Chiquita did wow you with romantic messages and being a harlot of a man, you want to meet her ASAP.

Someone tells you that you can get lots of bucks working online. So many network marketing firms have emerged and you buy into the idea. You borrow cash, pay up for the program and get swayed into believing you will become an online millionaire.  The presentations and the confessions prompt you to think things are easy. Upon trial, you fail miserably on the first week. Yet they made it look very easy. Like a relaxed Sunday Morning. Pumbavu. Things are taking a nosedive, you are plummeting faster than you thought. 

You still find time to go for raves and silently conjure of pulling an Alfred Ajani (Google this name). Football still manipulates your thoughts like you have been chained like the negro during slave trade era. You occasionally drink booze but your favourite are those sold in wines and spirits. Cash issues. There you mingle with like-minded cretins. Poor Kenyan graduate. Life is never easy in the city. It gets to that point you resort to the church but that dude in Kile who wanted you to tutor his kids on Maths and Science found a better option. What next. You are headed to the shags, singing Q-ta-C's song 'Narudi Ocha'. And the cycle begins again. Luckily you will find a job, that job that is elusive. That job that will demarcate the learned and those without content between their ears. Yes in shags though you call the shots, you still keep hope alive. 

If you are keeping hope alive like me. 2015 is the year of SUCCESS.

SITUONANE.

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The fight against impunity continues

Do people have to shed blood for justice to be meted out? Do children have to suffer for their rights of play and recreation to be reinstated? Is it because the children are in a public school that they are tear gassed with canisters? Probably they are children of peasants and men and women struggling to make ends meet? They were tear gassed in full glare of the cameras; International (BBC, VOA and the likes), national and local journalists. Pictures they say are worth 1000 words. A policeman was injured even though they had five police dogs, machine guns and heavily armoured.

Who on earth goes to a primary school with kids and uses tear gas canisters and police dogs? Their crime; occupying public land that used to be their playground. A private developer or is it investor having blocked off the playground from the reach of the primary school children while they were away on holiday. Intelligentsia it appeared, had briefed the police that events would turn messy as they did go there in five cars, both administration and regular police.

I was on my way back to school to pick my school certificate and saw what transpired while in the car. On this day things happened. Public outcry had seen to it that pupils in school get their rights, their right of play. A right some pupils in some schools have been denied because they are private schools or in public schools where land grabbers act with a lot of indemnity and there is no public outcry. It is only because the school is in a relatively affluent area (near Weston Hotel, Airport View Estate, Wilson Airport and Amref) that they were able to repossess the land awaiting final judgement? 

This is a right that they would have forgone if the media had not highlighted the encroachment of their playground by powerful forces that had fenced off the land belonging to a school. It is not yet determined who owns the school playground but preliminary reports indicate its title was acquired in 1974 by Lang’ata Road Primary School. I am sure many Kibera residents have their children in this school since it offers FPE.

It seems the builders of the wall were like “Utado?” This is an attitude that is slowly being entrenched but needs to be shunned by all means and ways. The children can’t do anything, the teachers might not do anything, but the public can, through social media, since some of those on social media are former students and parents in the school.

Christened #OccupyPlayGround on social media, I must commend those on twitter for coming together and tweeting on the illegality that was being condoned in public view yet hitherto the playground belonged to the school. Someone whose children were not lacking in amenities had thought it unworthy and hived off the playground next to Weston Hotel from the children whose parents had them taken to Lang’ata Road Primary.

When I was a pupil in a public school (Hill School), I used to love playing. Luckily, our school would issue us with footballs that we played with every time we went for games as opposed to balls home made using plastic bags. Some schools have no PE time and games though. Those that have no land for PE usually hire undeveloped land which involves persuading the owner of the land to let children use it as their playground before the owner decides to officially develop it sometime later in life or sell it to the school. It is a win-win situation. The owner of the land is usually assured of security that the land will not be unlawfully grabbed by conniving land dealers since the school might probably fence it off. The children also get to play and that way they benefit since all school with no play makes John a dull boy.

Our school had three fields. One was known as big field and also had seats like those found in a stadium or those that are found in a theatre or cinema (reversed though) such that those near the playground sat on the lower seats while those at the furthest point had to walk up. 

Big field had two football fields, a netball field, handball field and extra space for hawkers and peddlers to sell their wares. It was usually used for major sports like athletic and football competitions not only by the school but sometimes by secondary schools and some important events in the town that necessarily did not involve pupils. Mostly, we did not go to big field because it was far away from the classes. The other two fields were such that those students in upper primary classes had their own field and those in lower primary also had their own fields, all having hockey pitches.

The good thing with the primary school I went was that the school had workers who would use lawn mowers every other time grass had overgrown and was looking hideous or could hide animals and insects that were harmful and dangerous and thus could injure children. As such the lawns of the fields were beautifully manicured and well maintained.

Near the field next to that of the upper primary field was a basket ball pitch and the Sanatorium. In the event you felt nauseated or traumatized they would take you there (whether in the field, class or dormitory). Opposite the field next to lower primary, the well secured and nicely built hose belonging to the School Principal (It had a principal and headmaster). Since the school was a colonial relic, most of the houses (for teachers) and classes were designed in a manner that bespoke of Anglo-Saxon architecture. Still it was a public school, one that still held onto the culture of teaching children the traditions of Englishmen using Kenyan curriculum.

But today I witnessed a new dawn in governance. Sad that it had to end terribly with close to five children injured. What the land grabbers were telling the government subtly was, “Why don’t you buy children play stations?” Sugarcoating the truth and letting things be without questioning them has now become a national past time. 

Mmmh, like the media said, there is not a single person identified as a private developer, all of them (media houses) only say some private developers made inroads on public land, I also don’t know those private developers *hides face*. 

When the children were tear gassed by police, the acting IG suspended the officer in charge of Lang’ata. Is this not an act of saving face it being a cosmetic exercise? How sure or accurate is this claim now that it reeks of being fallacious? Don’t police usually receive orders from above before they can start pelting those obnoxious and irritating weapons of controlling those picketing?

While in campus, it was like a routine that almost all semesters students demonstrated and had to be shielded back to the hostel using tear gas. In campus the cat and mouse games were fun to some students but when the police realized that they are not reining on students, they pelted more sometimes rarely even using live bullets. Spent cartridges collected hinted to this. 

I know the harsh and piercing feeling having firsthand experience having gone for some of the protests and demonstrations and it is never fun as at times ended tragically. Tear gas fired by police causes one to have a runny nose and the eyes flow tears like it is a waterfall. In campus however they could never dare use police dogs. It would have meant death of the dogs as students united irrespective of the courses they pursued and hurled stones that forced police to retreat when their tear gas canisters got exhausted. 

Some students were however brave and caught the canister in the mid-air and projected back the pieces to the police.The police once tried using horses but rescinded when it became so hectic.

Once, students protested against the killing of a comrade by the police and this effectively meant that comrades were to go to the streets. The altercation lasted from morning to evening when the police were forced to propel canisters to the surging students to take them back to the hostels. It was horrible, my friend came back running like an antelope to the hostel and went straight to the shower, the canister having landed next to him. It was exam time and that night, students were sent home with immediate effect as the exams were also cancelled indefinitely. We went for Christmas having not finished exams.

Concerning the Lang’ata Road Primary School, giving pupils sticks to use to attack police is a complete no no. School children need to be taught on the best ways to ward off provocation by the police. Police are law enforcers and the protesters who accompanied the children should have taught the children better. They might end up disrespecting the police and this is not right. In as much as the pupils were provoked, they need to have even protected the environment also (bet they are taught about environment). Twigs are a way of demonstration in our country which pollutes the scenic beauty of land. Peaceful demonstration where the police are alerted is something that as citizens they need to be taught or have known. I am passionate about the environment and using twigs and careless disposal of the same is something that should be preached against. 

I am watching from a far as the events unfold though. I am hopeful that children in public school who some people consider as of peasant heritage will continue to enjoy their rights as any other children. Just a stone throw away is Jonathan Gloag Academy where the children of the moneyed taken and they speak impeccable English as opposed to the Sheng prone Lang’ata Road Primary. Chances are they never knew that unpleasant scenes had ensured on Lang’ata road and there was a heavy traffic snarl up since Kenyans like watching were it is happening. 

When it is said and done, this day will go down the memory lane as a day that the Kenyan people had fought against the forces of impunity. The government cannot watch as land owned by a public entity is grabbed. The people are the government, and the government is the custodian of the people’s property. We don’t need to picket to ensure our rights are not infringed. The late Wangari Maathai risked her life to ensure the city was rid off from the grabbing of Uhuru Park by those who never wanted or cared about a recreational site within the city. Reason why she won the highly coveted Nobel peace prize.

I am lost of words and when it reaches such a point, I usually sin off by saying.

SITUONANE.
 
[Photo Source: Google Images]

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Jokes Galore

When you explain a joke it ceases to have the comic effect it was supposed to effuse. Anyone who laughs at a joke upon clarification is usually just pleasing the person who explained it or does not want to feel out of place. Damn if you can’t get the joke at its debut, don’t ask. Very few people are able to comically execute the joke as the person who first told the joke and it was captured spot on. If someone explains to you a joke and you pretend you are laughing, chances are that laughter is either a consolation or a phony. Damn you are dump and palooka to pretend you are laughing to an explained joke.

So there was a time I received this contact from a friend who likes poking fun on Whatsapp. The contact was that of the president’s daughter. Some crazy fellow had thought of this crazy idea an created the contact. Everyone usually wants association. So he created snake oil of Ngina Kenyatta’s contact. Obviously, upon receipt, I was like, dude so this guy has contacts. The picture of Ngina was on point (the one that makes you believe that it is true) and excites the nerves.

So on opening the contact message, you get a rebuttal chiding you for wishing to have the contact of a person who is above you in the social stratosphere and you should stop your idiocy. Thank goodness Kenya is not like Europe where royalty marries royals and such like things among the oligarchy.

Since it got me laughing, I thought it would cause some buggers on my whatsapp contact list rolling on the floor laughing out loud to the joke. How damn I was to think it would elicit the same reaction I had on it.  

The first few people got the joke and every one of them was like “hehe or haha.” Then there was a lot that never got the joke. I will not concentrate on those who got the joke, those are the people I can let accompany me to Churchill Show live recording. They won’t find it boring or keep pestering me to decipher for them the message.

Then there are the dimwits who I want to address. They really got into my nerves. Some are people I revere but as far as some things called jokes are concerned, they are dunderheads. For real, they started asking questions and giving mediocre comments instead of sharing the craze with others in the dark.

One of those dimwits I sent the contact, one told me I had stooped so low to have had a crush on such a person and I should find a better hustle. Crush or no crush, false accusations and badly decoding the message was my main bone of contention.

Most of the people who poorly decoded the message were chics. Jealousy or it was just utterly being blonde perhaps. They sincerely thought I had ideally got her number. I sent the contact message so that we could laugh together and maybe talk about what was up. Anyway, you can never think for someone.

Most dudes who laughed at the joke went on to further tell me that she was not their type and such like things. Maybe she was not their type because they were out of reach of the current royal Kenyan damsel. But actually, not much is known about her status which means it remains a mystery whether she is in a relationship or not.

However not most men would prefer being in a relationship with a person who runs the show at their expense. If it is for the money, most would do anything. Money sometimes drives men crazy. The association bit is also a matter of pride and worth sneaking into a conversation once in a while if you are the perennial public seeker who stands for nothing other than talking about those who have already made it.

There is this story of a certain city lawyer who wanted to marry the daughter of a rich fellow (I have forgotten his name). The rich man never wanted the daughter to marry the fellow he considered poor and whose bait was the inheritance her daughter would share with a man gold digger. By Kenyan standards a lawyer past 35 is not poor. The father of the lady would send police to chase around the daughter. That is if what was in the news and blogosphere is to be believed. Insanity, the daughter lovestruck and enjoyed the spoils of a engaging in truancy at a latter age. That is what I call true love.  Their current relationship status is what is not known to me. Ask Chris Kirubi, he knows the essence of having a debonair and a prodigy of lawyer as a son in law (facts I created here though). He is now the guy who facilitates most of the legal work that his firms are engaged in (Ahmed Nassir vs that son in law on #jkl). And that means his progeny and future of his business are somehow well secured.

From my coterie of male friends, I realized that most wanted to make it without going through the easy way. Not waiting for things on a silver platter then grabbing if the situation presents itself. But wait, if the situation presents itself is another story altogether. Make hay while the sun shines though. I like the spirit, that of looking at the bigger picture and creating your own brand.

There was a certain movie I watched back in the days about the daughter of an American president who sneaked from the secret service and went out to party with friends. It was hectic looking for her as she went ghetto. As much as it caused panic among the security guards, this was really hilarious.

In the case of dating the president’s daughter, as a man, you have to swallow your pride. You will forever be under her charm and control and as such have no stance of your own. The public will be talking about you if are not of the status quo. While you may swim in the deluge of opulence, chances are it probably could have its own inhibitions.

First, being under the armpit of a woman is a no no for a man. Men need to be macho at times. In as much as the lady may have her inadequacies that you may be able to tune to your preference, the much she can do to you is like a juggernaut. If you mess up with her (forget about dont mess with Kansime- she is still lousy) and she calls those men in black to act on you, my guy, you know what’s up (maybe you need to covertly go study fencing, judo and karate). In fact, cheating in such a relationship where you are almost all the time on scrutiny is pathetically hard. Men are never born cheats, situations make them.

Away from those hypothetical scenarios, don’t human beings like to be associated with those who have made it? Odinga family, Kenyatta family, Kibaki Family, Moi family and all those families that are in the who owns Kenya rank highly among those the middle class like to associate with.

The middle class is obsessed with the ideology of whom you know. This craze is not limiting in age. You will find a grown up ass bugger telling you that he personally knows Kimaiyo (former IG) or his cousin is intending to marry into the Biwott family. In a way, this subdues those who suffer from bouts of inferiority complex. Who in his rightful state cares if you marry the daughter of a prominent chap. 

Man is however weak when it comes to being pampered. That is something you have to fight with like seriously.

Since I am on my way towards reaching a target, I want to try musings, short reads and things that pop up into the mind and I write them since this blog was created for nonsensical gibbery.

SITUONANE.

[Photo Source: Google Images]

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