My 2012 to do wish list

I really tightened my mind while drafting my To do list for 2012 here. I just wanted to stay realistic. I’m letting my mind run wild here.  ‘If wishes had wings they could all make it to heaven and we will all be kings’ said T.I in the song Here ye, hear ye. It is however not bad to close your eyes and imagine…what if I had my way in 2012? Ladies and gentlemen, I have compiled a list of those things that I feel that it would be fascinating if I did them, yet they will not see the light in this new year…

Sell the snobbish mask

Not really a snob. For lack of a better name it is snobbish without the despising part. I never see any reason to talk to strangers more than I currently do. I am usually a very accomplished when it comes to pretending that the world exists around me. I wish I could really stop it but I can’t. I kinda love it. You can picture on your good day you are in a mat to work and this guy in a suit seats next to you with headphones on. You wait for a simple ‘hi there’ and it is not forthcoming. You conclude that the guy is a jerk… Yeah that guy is me. I don’t give a fuck. I will start giving fucks when my XXXXL condoms get delivered from Pandora. But seriously I cannot stand trying to ‘hi’ at you then you return ‘hi’ that sounds like ‘yawn’. I’d rather keep wanking with my ‘hi’.

Have a girlfriend

Yes. This is the subtle subject. Most of my friends have never seen me with a girlfriend. They have never seen even my ex-girlfriends. They are not many. Hell, I went through campus without having one. I should be given an award for that. At least I should be entered in the draw. I am not really prepared to horde anybody in my world, and I do not know what the fuck love is. If ever I stumble from my high egoistic ground and fall in front  of this stunning duchess, I will have accomplished a feat that I haven’t managed in…shit how long has it been?...tentatively 5 years. I know my pals will be very astounded. Probably they will bachelor party to cement the milestone.

Take a holiday to….um, Amsterdam

Everybody needs a holiday, right. Now that my employer never gives breaks during Christmas and new year, I would really love an all expense paid trip to Amsterdam. I would have preferred a better place but because of the tough economic conditions, I settled on the cheap one. In addition to that, I think a distant relative resides there. I would like to go look for him. If I find him, then my accommodation is sorted out…plus other issues I could like to clear in that country, don’t overthink it. *looks away*

Enroll for masters, power to the people

Na Tulenge juu. I should just enroll for masters, then subsequently do a PHD, then another degree probably in the area of engineering or medicine, then masters…o.k, I have finished yapping. The amount of laziness in my bones will not allow me to dream about that. At least not this year. I do not think I have the knack to sit for an exam in the next 12 months. I might not even remember my admission number. But this is just part of my wish list.

Start binging, no beer in heaven

I wonder why this is part of my wish list. Well I’m just speaking my mind. Some wishes will just be wishes. Fact: people who do not take alcohol miss a lot. I want in on the stuff I have been missing all along. But to get there I will have to join kibaki first of all, in cutting down the mugumo tree with a razor blade, then chopping it into timber and transporting it to North Pole. If ever by any chance I enter that happy club, I am sure my friends will hold another bash. This time the swimming pool will be filled with alcohol. 

Get a tattoo

            Just like alcohol, this is another thing I really fancy. It would be nice to have a ‘natb’ tattooed in the lower part of my bicep, just like that of Katie Perry. And when I get older with my own business I will have one on my neck. It’s not gonna happen. Why? You know, this stupid moral brick wall in me will never allow me. Get it? I know, I do not totally get it too. But how about this… get really drunk and have my girlfriend’s name tattoed on my balls while in Amsterdam. I will have fulfilled 4 wishes at a go.

Well, I have this feeling that I will do one of the items listed above. When that happens, I will definitely write a post about it, or not. Happy and prosperous new year folks.

Boom box playlist:

Shake it out – Florence and the Machine

My 2012 to do list

So we are about to reach the end of the year and just like a typical human being I will have to look forward to making new year resolutions which I will end up totally forgetting about by January 15^th. I think the whole point of making resolutions is to give your ass raison d'être to look forward to the New Year. After January 15^th you will not be having a incentive to face the year. This year has been fulfilling enough for me but not because I achieved whatever I had planned for in January. It is purely by the grace of God, (PS: grace means unmerited favour). The only resolution that I happen to remember from January is to listen to Eminem’s I’m not afraid as many times as possible and live by it. Well, am yet to master the words and am very scared of a lot of shit that I’m not supposed to. This time I will not call them resolutions, they will just be things to do….

Blithe Natb, blithe

I am one hell of a cautious guy. I will have to look right left right left right left and right again before I cross the road. I mean not literally. I take a great deal of scrutiny before doing something. I am that footballer who never risks ambitious passes and through balls. It may not be evident in my day to day life because I take a great deal of effort to conceal it. I have never been good at taking risks; I compensate that with worrying least. I never worry about lots of stuff because I am assured that it’s ok coz I never take risks. Risks come with adrenalin, this year I will have to take ‘em risks even if it means bungee jumping

Read more books

My reading habits have gone past ‘to the dogs’ stage. These days I do not read even a newspaper. No wonder I am getting lots of spelling mistakes as I write this post. I am yet to know how the working class manage to read so many books in a month. If you have the formular please holla at me. I have never read even the bible since clearing campus. I remember writing a post here about the need to read more. Well, it seems it was the proverbial dasani water that I passed over to you as I gulped down yokozuna. Some uncle of mine gave me the following books as graduation presents: The Great Controversy, A Christian Youth Lifestyle, Steps To Christ, The Fruit Of The Spirit And The AIDS Pandemic. I shall be seriously reading on 31^st December as y’all will be merrying.

Take more fruits, I mean fruits not soda

I only remember that fruits are essential to my body when I am sick. I was never sick this year and that means that I took very minimal fruits. To me fruits include mangoes and apples only. I am retarded right? (Note to myself: soda is not a fruit. Soda is not a fruit). I have taken it to my devices to replace fruits with soda in my diet. I am tempted to include water in the fruits list. I take very small quantities. Not unless I am swallowing some tablets when am sick.

Go out the more

I never go out. I mean like a night out in a club or something. The only thing that will drag me to such places is football. I do not need the other hand to count the number of times I went out in this year. That is a feat that will be applauded by my parents or that church-going-secretly-having-a crush-on-natb damsel. I am getting scared that one day I am going to wake up and find grey hair on my head. Or worse, kibaki-esque Mohawk. My moves are very ’69, definitely not like those of njaga.

Gym it

This is totally a plot to make me get more head than shampoo. I am fit, I walk daily from Ngara to town and fro. With a little gym session I will be able to untuck my six pack and there will be an official declaration of the ‘cuff your chick’ season. Guys, don’t say that I never told you.

Verbalize the mind

I started this shamba to speak those things that my mind tells me but my mouth disagrees. I have done a good job so far, right? My mind says no. Why? There are those subjects I have successfully scrapped from my notes. But that’s not the issue here. I am that guy who rather swallows the hurt and lets it injure my intestines instead of telling you that you have hurt me. That sucks. Sucks more than a straw. I guess I picked it when I was little or something. I intend to drop it. It is fun when reflecting on a scene you caused the previous night at a friend’s mum’s birthday party. God, I wish I had the ability to do that.

Bring back MKZ.

I am not kidding I am going to open a new mkz account and, you know, see how it feels. I miss the bullshit. Waking up to wish somebody a happy birthday. ‘nakuru here I come…’. ‘Xaxa xwie’. I have kinda lost my twitter mojo. My gods tell me that if I get back to mkz, I will get super irritated by the general lameness of that village that mr.mojo will spring out of wherever he is wanking himself off.

Fix that bathroom light

It’s been two months of no light in my bathroom. I am such a lazy bastard. There is this bulb right outside my bathroom that offers enough lighting not to bother with my bulb. If that ‘borrowed’ light gets snatched away one cold morning, I will be in trouble. I should be given an award for best procatinator. Atleast I should be entered to the draw.

Happy and prosperous new year folks.

Boombox playlist:

Avicii – Levels (Skrillex remix)

Well,well,well...

Those who are familiar with farm animals know what it takes to milk a cow. It is so difficult. I have spent my life with cows in our homestead but I have never mastered the trade. The worst part of the whole process is that the cow will swing the cow dung laden tail at your face while you are busy milking. It will top up by taking a piss at that instance. It will eventually em, er, for lack of a better word, shit right there. In the rainy seasons cows usually have running stomachs. Ok I will leave it at that. However one thing is for sure. All that trouble will not be remembered as you enjoy a cup of warm milk at the comfort of your house. The satisfaction of proceeds from selling the milk makes you wake up the next morning to take care of that cow.

Every alumnus from the Kenyan public university has a negative word to say about the situation in their respective institutions. Am yet to find a person proud of Moi Kesses University. In audit terms I can describe the institution as a collection of What-can-go-wrongs. It seems bad facilities, mediocre services, dumb service providers, ridiculous red tape, worst geographic location and their respective cousins of darkness met, and as they sipped sugarless tea served in leaking calabashes, they decided to erect their headquarters in Kesses. All new and improved ways of depicting backwardness and general blindness to publicly accredited norms are usually tried and appraised in that place before being rolled out to other branches like the department in charge of processing ID cards. Whenever a new technology is invented to make life easier, the headquarters retaliate by adding more years to using the old technology, just to see whether it can undergo evolution.

I had written a very beautiful post about the little good that Moi university had done for me. I had even planned to write a sweet post of how splendid the Friday graduation was. How I had a hell of a time with Funk, Tosh, Mesh, Kama, Kim, Ann, Carol, Ann, skul of biz guys and last but not least, Ciku. The fuckin awesome meat and smoking (literally) ugali at Kimende. The 10 people 1 shirt escapade at tuskees. Pregnant ladies in clubs and pantyless ladies in clubs. About the convoy from Kisii that came to represent their very own. I wunt say a thing, I changed my mind today.

These guys gave us just Monday and Tuesday to return our gowns. They do not realize how far from the world that university is located. After marshalling all the hustle I undertake to deliver the gown today, they tell me that I had returned the wrong cap (ama inaitwaje?). Now they are closing the office today up to 9^th January. This is the worst part: the guy refused to clear the gown and the other cloth. I believe he feels like I exchanged the right cap with another that I had bought from river road and kept the original for posterity. I have done the math. I will call it the math of shame. A fine of sh 500 per day up to January 9^th comes to sh 10,000. That does not include the fine to replace the fake cap that I have. Then there is lost time of travelling to, well the middle of the forest to face those apes. I am not even sure I will get the permission from job. It gets shittier the more I think of it. Shittier than that cow that shits and pisses as you milk it. Yeah they say the last fuck is the,,um hardest?

Sigh.

Anyway. Despite all the shit and urine that we’ve had to swim through (apparently am yet to finish my whirling bit), the stay was worth it and we came out better. As we trudge into a life of alumnism (new word alert) we can only look back and reflect on the moments and experiences that each and every one of us had. Though it lasted for four years only, it has molded the character of most of us. The poor innocent looks of 2007 filled with eagerness of learning the university ways are no more. They have been replaced by looks depicting vast experience in life and all that it throws at us. The smell remaining after the four years signifies the resilience that we have acquired.

In the four years I made friends. Friends that I could not make anywhere else. I cannot envisage how I could turn up if I had opted for a different degree course, or a different university. Am thankful that I met all of them. They are the people who were around as I transformed from a hardworking freshman to a lazy fun loving veteran. They were there when I skipped classes to watch movies. They were there as I drunk lots of uji, as I got exiled, as I went to exams 1 hour late, as I got chased by police for demonstrating for a better road. They were there as CPA chewed my ass. They were there as I cheered my football team and jeered at my rivals. They were there as I kicked ass in monopoly. They were there as I invested in a multithousand shilling project that died before flight. They were there as I went to church and as I skipped others. They were there as I got sick and required somebody to walk me to the dispensary (which happens to be 100000000kms from the hostels). They were there when I required to copy an exam, (also when I needed somebody to copy from me), they were there when I needed people to form a dysfunctional group for assignments. I am glad they were there. I hope they keep being present. I am also glad that I made no enemy. There was a bigger common enemy to tackle for one to give time for others.

God, it feels like I am narrating a story to some person after doing time in Kamiti while awaiting the last soap dropping sexapade on January 9^th.

Boombox playlist:

We made it – Busta rhymes, Linkin park.

Happy non-bathday for me..

It almost slipped out of my mind like it has been happening most of the times. Yesterday marked the day I was born some 24 years ago. I have never been a big fan of birthdays; probably it’s because of where I was brought up. Another reason might be because of the rituals surrounding birthdays. To many, a birthday is an opportunity for your friends to throw dirt on you, literally. That point is mitigated by the fact that the dirt will be disguised in mostly water, uji, duster, juice and initially dirty water. I have never understood the reasons behind that. Maybe one looks like a dustbin when transitioning for one age to the next. To cap it all, you will be expected to hold a bash (or a similar event that require your pockets to be emptied) for the dirt-fiers after the dirt-fest. Why would I pay/reward/award you for smearing me with dirt?

 In a parallel universe where I am a well respected pimp, my subjects organize a surprise party for me on December 11th every year at different sandy beaches. Those women who like climbing poles, nekkid are always present *looks away*. The only water you encounter is when you jump into a swimming pool, in slow motion. The only dirt you encounter is subsumed in the thoughts of the things you will be contemplating to do to the twin sisters after the party. I hear this time the event was graced by a special guest appearance from Nikki Benz whom I happen to share a birthday with.

It is so sad that I am stuck in this universe with my muddy, dirty minded friends (pun). One way or the other I have always managed to evade the annual bathday, almost. This is mostly because it is on December and, well it slips out of most people’s minds. Mine too. We never celebrate birthdays at home. MKZ really made people to start noticing it. I really hated wishing strangers a happy birthday.

My fascinating run of non-bathday birthday ended this year. In February. You can imagine the agony I went through when a bunch of miscreants, led by the chief demagogue @Funk6 decided to transfer my birthday from December 11^th to February 11^th. Nkt. I am yet to recover from that.

All that agony came flooding back the moment I received a text in the course of the week from the same same Funk , booking an appointment for a washing session. It can never get any more unfair. Dude am not your clothes. There will reach a time when I will have to say enough is enough and publish the damning information in this blog, specifically about you Funk. I know am not in the clear about this whole washing situation but it would be appropriate at this point to state that my place has not been having water for the better part of the week.

During birthdays people are expected to reflect on the past and look forward to a better future. This is the same thing that I’m going to do. I look forward to a year worth living. The year in which I will finally break down all the walls that protect the route to exploiting my full potential. A year in which I will grow the eagle wings to propel me to greater heights. The year in which I will finally say goodbye to…..nah. I will rather stop at that. I got carried away and turned it into a sermon. I’m lying; probably the only thing that will change for me is the number of years. I will be the same guy with the same flaws and the same determination to make the best out of them.

A big shout out to the family and friends of NATB who have seen him through all these years. NATB loves y’all.

Boom box Playlist:

A star is born – Jay Z ft J Cole.

Kick, push

Time has flown and all of a sudden it is more than two weeks since I came over here to weed my lil shamba. Well, I would blame it on alcohol if I were a fan of it. This is that moment that I am allowed to start my sentences as ‘there comes a time….’ in a bid to offer an explanation on the cause of my desertion. Am not good at apologies, I also do not expect you to apologize when you have wrong me. Gibbs used to say, ‘never apologize, it’s a sign of weakness’. It is my lifelong obligation of keeping my weaknesses as far away as possible from the human folk. My weaknesses form most of my secrets and that’s why I would take most of em to the grave, now that I do not drink.

I have been busy in the last two weeks bashing. I knew that the job I had gotten into involved a lot of mental strength before I started it, but that was not a definite shield from it. It’s been one and half months and yet I feel tired to few thoughts away from applying for an early retirement. I always take that as a natural reaction my body undergoes just to prove I am human. At any point in time a human being has to possess a basket filled with stressing occurrences and individuals. Even the wealthiest have to possess something to groan and complain about. Basic signs of being human.

It is never an easy ride in this life. We all have to manufucture the right formular of overcoming the challenges on the way as an individual, unless you are a relative to those two guys in the forbes list. One has to be watchful for the opportunities and pounce on them. The sad fact about opportunities is that you they do not announce their arrival nor do they inform when they will come back.

It doesn’t matter where you are from, unless you are in the business of chasing the spoilt Nairobi teenage girls. The worst one can do is letting his/her background influence the future. Life is like the 400 metres race. Once the race has started, the guy in the outermost lane will appear to be leading in the first 100 metres. As the race graduates, the athletes will appear to be even and the winner will be dependent on the one with the right tactics in the last 100 meters. It was recently that I noticed that I was level with that guy in the outer lane who had been leading the race all along.  

Nobody should lose hope in life. Nobody should resign and let fate determine the future. In one point in life, all rich and successful people were not rich and successful. They were wondering also whether they could be rich. It is never late. Those who have done CPA exams will attest. Passing a given exam and leaving a colleague behind is not a guarantee that you will complete section 6 before him. Everybody has his/her own unique and intricate pattern to follow to success.

Well, that is good enough for today. I sound funny writing this, right? I felt like saying this today. I hope I have not gotten it all wrong. *going back to read this post again*

Boom box playlist:

Don’t believe ‘em – Busta Rhymes, T.I, Akon

My 69 minutes of sex

With my word page cursor blinking and no words to constitute a post for this shamba of mine, I’m reaching for my earphones. Attaching them onto the laptop and clicking for the windows media player. Its library has 5,610 songs, that’s roughly 404 hours of listening. I need to filter this shit. I type ‘sex’. There are only 14 songs with the word sex? That’s only 69 minutes, I am disappointed. They say a normal human being thinks about sex all the time. Being a normal human being I’m going to listen/think (read engage in) sex for the next 69 minutes.

Being on random, the media player plays sex on the beach by T.Spoon. I’m hoping all the good names had been taken by the time the bloke decided to sing. Anyway, it’s a nice song.  It’s been long since I listened to this song. Long since I listened to soul. The lady on the chorus wants sex on the beach. Me too. It’s just that there aint beaches in Nairobi, just bitches.

Next there is a sexy lady riddim called L.O.V.E by bennie man and calibe. Can bennie finish a song without saying zagazagao? I wonder what it means in English. So they are singing about love? I don’t understand love, so I press next. Another sexy lady riddim by Choco called chemistry. I have never liked riddims. Where did I get these from? This girl has vocals. I let her finish describing the chemistry she has with her physics teacher who happens to be her biological brother. Am playing with you, but that was smart, right? All three sciences in sense making sentence.*beams*

Marvin Gaye comes next with sexual healing. Nice. Feels like those songs you wouldn’t mind if they lasted for er, 69 minutes. I wonder what kinds of diseases that are healed through sex. I know of diseases created out of sex. Damn I should have enrolled to study medicine. Maxwell comes on to sing the remix of sexual healing. He mangles it with the help of some Jamaican frog singing the chorus. It comes out like ‘sexual ailing’.

Akon teams up with the lonely island to sing I just had sex. So people sat down to write this song. Smh. I kinda liked the video. They put effort in making it fascinbating now that they did not employ a single brain cell in the lyrics and content. Check this out: ‘have you ever had sex/I have, it felt great/it felt so good when I did it with my penis…’ . it goes on that way. Akon is shoddier in the chorus.

Sexy can I by Ray J and Young berg. I do not know about you but whenever I meet ray j’s name, Kim Kerdashian hastily comes to mind. Do not ask why, go ahead and switch on the lights before you suffocate with darkness. Now that Kim is divorced, how about a season 2 of the Ray Kerdashian sexcapade? If you are of the opinion can I hear you say ayeeeee….

I invented sex, that’s the lie Trey Songz is selling to girls. By the way who really invented sex? Satan…eve…adam…akuku danger…anyone? I think I should bring it up with one of the church elders next Saturday. I wonder whether they will give me a straight answer or splash holy water on my face. Canton Jones has a remix of the same song. This time it’s a gospel track. He says he knows who invented sex. He is advising girls against helping men get laid. ‘don’t rush lets go slow/ it will be time before you know/and let’s get married/baby that’s the plan for the man who invented sex/

R. Kelly and Keri baby are uuu! Uuu! With number one (sex). Go ahead and tell a real kikuyu girl to say: R Kelly really loves Keri. Hehehe, that’s smart too right? The laid back way in which the beats go is jazzing me. I love this song.

Birthday sex. I have never had this in the 23 birthdays I have gone through. It will mean something if I turned 24 happy like Jeremih, ludacris and twista in this song. Luda is crazy. ‘since you like to wrestle am gon pin you to the bed/I have you leaving on a stretcher when I see how far I can stretch your legs’. This December will present another chance for me to sing this part in action. Hehe. Tierra Marie has a remix on this. I know for a fact that she will not leave on a stretcher just by stretching her legs. That girl is fit.

Songa karibu mpenzi you’re so sexxeyyy! Where the hell did these trio go? I hope they are still alive. At least Amani can be found, lakini Patenee (sp)… anyway this is a nice song. They all brought their A game into the song. Next comes sexy back by justin timberlake. Yawns. Press next.

I have no words to describe the nice feeling I get when listening to this next song. Kings of leon – sex on fire. ‘Yeeeah this song is on fiiiirre!’ that’s my own remix, again very smart right? I play it for another time. And another time. I have look for lunch.

Well that about 69 minutes well spent and a post to show for it.

Boom box playlist:

Sex on fire – Kings of Leon

Perfect Imperfections

          Sometimes it is in order to be fascinated by a defect or an imperfect circumstance or an unfortunate occurrence. You know…. for instance the thrill of events colluding to create the worst of the accidents in the movies or that strategically disguised concrete block that will send you flying onto the floor in your mitumba mabati suit . Instead of feeling sorry for the affected parties, you will be busy digesting the beauty of the events. I guess this is the ideology that most artists use to sell their work. A guy tries to paint/draw an object then in the middle of it he realizes that he has messed it up, what does he? He smears different colours of paint on it in frustration and hangs it for exhibition. It is later auctioned and ends up in some rich, cigar smoking, pot bellied, bald headed guy’s clande’s bedroom.

Well this week I saw a perfect imperfection. I happen to be one of the Kenyans crossing Uhuru Park in the evening from job. Don’t judge, it saves money, time and money. I failed include that it saves money too. With my earphones on, tuned to X fm and daydreaming about my mansion about to be completed inside the CBD, I saw her. The lady in front of me must have been a Toyota…sorry I got carried away. The lady in front of me had the most spectacular knock-knee legs you can imagine. It was an absolute beauty. The tiny yellow dress complemented her wonderfully. They were so perfectly done that I couldn’t help but stare as she…er...um sashayed away. Sometimes you can’t help but concede that it takes so much effort to create something to be in such perfect imperfection.

They say you got to embrace your weakness and you will live in peace. Everybody has a weakness or two and each one has a customized way of overcoming it. It turns ugly if one leaves his/her weakness unattended and it eventually runs wild, possibly becoming a wild animal in the process. It is worse if the weakness impinges the tom, dick and NATB whom you interact with. We all know Sonko’s weakness. I was also enthralled by how far he could go to prove that he is really a..…well, I have no appropriate word.

I got an invite to grace some fundraiser with my presence at the Sarova Stanley (but do I say..).  Hey I have no money to give away; it’s just that it was work related. The chief guest was Sonko. So I had the occasion of being in the same room with the one and only sonko. Yaani I had an opportunity of throwing a punch or a curse word right into his face for the days he had made me puke in my mouth. As you have envisaged I did not take the chance.

I supposed that that day he could overlook his folly for a change. The guy never squanders any chance to astound. He started off by giving a very ridiculous conspiracy story about the Sinai fire. Maybe he it was true. The amount sonko gave is not an issue. It is the amount his bodyguard gave and the token from the prime minister that perturbed me. His bguard gave a donation of 10K. He insisted he was a PA but am sure he was the body guard, unless these days P.As are twice your height and wear jeans and a t-shirt written ‘Convict’. The guy was behind sonko’s back even when he went to the loo. Of course Mr. PA couldn’t utter a word in English. Sonko then declared that the prime minister had sent him with a donation of 50bob. Who does that? Well, it is only him. I really wonder how these breed of Kenyan leaders will be eliminated. Such public display of imperfection by people expected to be reverential makes me question boasting that we are better than the monkeys.

            Boom box playlist:

            Fuckin’ Perfect – Pink

            Before it explodes – Alexandra Burke ft Bruno Mars

Safaricom Cloud: The burlesqued version

First I will wish to state that this is not a form of promotion for Safaricom that I am running and therefore there is no consequent arrangement for billions to exchange hands as fees. I am not ready to receive calls from relatives, friends, stalkers and strangers demanding a share of the cake. However, if by any chance (which I am thoroughly convinced that it is likely) this post results in an eventual material increase in the revenue accruing from this product, I am convicted that I am entitled to be paid by Mr.Colymore for my royal services. In other word I am willing to be paid for this.

In the recent weeks we have all been hearing about the Safaricom cloud. The good thing about their adverts is that they are not long enough to explain to you what kind of animal species a cloud belong to. They are however long enough to tell you that it will enable you to reduce your costs by 30%. I have always admired Safaricom for the belligerent market leadership when it comes to innovation and product development. They are so good that they make the Airtel, Yu, me and Orange look dense, slow, lacking direction and thoroughly dumb. I know after like 6 months they will all be wobbling to the market with a shady and faded form of a cloud. It would have already rained billions for the better option by that time.

So what the *blip* is a cloud? I hear these days when a person says PC he/she is not talking about the national holiday speech reading, helmet clad Provincial Commissioner, not even Personal Computer. It means Personal Cloud. Stop with the blank look. Habari ndio hiyo. So what is a cloud? Well, just like almost all Kenyans I do not know. After visiting an internet branch along Koinage street at 11 pm on a Friday and subsequently feasting on Wikipedia and other related foods that were on display, I know what it is.

I found out it was simpler than I imagined.  Cloud is a mass of frozen water hanging on the atmosphere waiting to be pregnant enough so as to urinate on the earth’s surface or on people or on polythene bags on people’s heads. At least that’s what my geog teacher, Mr. Mbugua told me, I think. I don’t remember well. But I remember him calling me Rojes. SMH. So that’s a cloud. A safaricom cloud is a cloud safaricom has formulated to help them boost their chances of having over 20 billion shillings profit. Simple, right?

How the *blip* does it work? Thanks for asking. Since it operates high above the earth surface, far away from even a ladder placed on top of times towers, nobody has identified how it operates. Not even the makers. What is however known is its great and proven efficiency. This is evident by the colossal smirk worn by the people sitting on the cloud in the adverts.  What is its use? Nice question. Custody. Storage. It is used to store data or any item. You know storing and hiding are synonyms right? Kinda. So it can also be used to hide things…or people.

Who is supposed to use Safaricom cloud? Mmmhhh bright question! Anybody. If you have something to hide, or store or if you want to hide this is your heavenly (pun intended) blessing. As long as you can be able to transport your item/yourself up to the cloud with a safaricom logo up in the skies, you can transact with the better..umm the only option.

Has safaricom gotten any customers yet? Excellent question! Yes of course. Here are some of the pioneering clients:

Ocampo 5.5 – now that the hague date is looming, they have booked a place where they will hide if shit happens to head in the direction of the fan. They will just jump out of the hague-bound plane onto the green cloud.

Office of the PM and the PM – the kazi kwa vijana money had to be stored far away from the prying noses of Kenyans in general and bonny Khalwale in particular. Nobody can decipher the trail of these money now. The PM has booked a space here if by chance the G7 and the CJ comes for his neck.

Al shabaab – I hear they are shitting in their pants because of the Kenyan army. They intend to run away to the cloud for safety. Now that there are no planes flying out of Somalia, they have devised a way of reaching the cloud. They sit on a grenade as it blows away. Very bright.

Ongoro’s husband – the missing CDF cash is safely tucked in the cloud. I hear he is also planning to move there. The upper cuts are getting more and heavier.

The list is endless. Some names have not been published because of national security. A special offer is on the process of being laid out allowing people to deposit items and other people they do not want to see again a.k.a Safaricom shift+delete. I can’t wait for it.

Boom box playlist:

So High – John legend ft Lauryn Hill (cloud 9 remix)

War, scanners, snitches and the vital organ

It has taken me so long to write something about this war we are fighting in Somalia and the ensuing grenade attacks in this beloved city of ours. Yes WE are fighting the war. The thing is that I might have been a wee bit scared of opening the door to the land of jinxes in the process of saying an indecent word or two to the al shabaab (somebody said people in Kisii call em Al sapapu, I agree). Being one of the Kenyans who pass through Accra road nearly every day, I have this dumb and paranoid speculation that this crowded boulevardcould be a nice place to blow up if ever the al shabaab fancied. My ancestors have this proverb ‘en’goba nero ekomenya’ loosely translated as the scared one is the ones that live. So you know where I get my paranoia from.

So every building, kinyozi, public toilet, kitchen, salon, smoking zone, bar, city hopper and mama mboga’s kibanda has a watch man with some piece of timber to scan your body parts for a grenade or something that may make a grenade for the period you are in that place. I really doubt that it really works. Maybe it does. Ok, it doesn’t. sigh. *shrugs*. Anyway, no place scans people’s asses thoroughly like the NSSF and NHIF buildings at Upper hill. I went to NSSF at lunch time and the queue at the main gate was astonishingly long. The car queue into the NHIF building is always this--------->looong. Sometimes it causes a jam around that kabend. The car owners have to get out, then the watchies search the car as if they have been told that it is right there. These guys check even under the accelerator. They are a single instruction away from dismantling and reassembling the cars. It seems we share a common trait with the big guys in these buildings - getting scared of some nonexistent stuff.

I don’t know how Kenyans are letting these media houses to keep on with this snitching business. The dailies report on everything that the army has done and what it plans to do in the next days. Kwanza daily nation’s front page always has a map with labels showing where our men plan to attack, there are symbols and they even indicate where north is facing. I never read front page stories but I think they must be reporting the tactics to be deployed, time of engagement and the possible escape routes that the militia can use to evade the attacks. All this is currently being revealed to the enemies at a cost of sh50. Apart from conspiring to snitch on Kenyan army, they are conspiring to raise the cost of newspapers. Lucky for them the guys who are good at demonstrations (kina Sonko and his pack of hooligans with widely spaced brains) do not even stop to read newspapers nor do they buy meat. So Rinas Getahe and Boll Melly can have a peaceful sleep.

There is this e-mail that people are forwarding to one another on the precautions to take if one is unlucky enough to find his/her butt near a ready-to-blow grenade (a real one, not the one found in the PM’s office). If you haven’t been forwarded or not yet read it somewhere on the net, then I advice you change your friends and possibly visit the nearest internet branch more often. Internet’s main office is along Moi Avenue. So I was saying about the precautions. These people are asking a lot from us, the victims. You cannot do a tenth of what they are advising before you meet with the grim reaper. They’re saying you lie down with your feet facing the grenade, feet together, hands covering your ears…blah blah. Then they talk about protecting vital organs. To me my vital organ for now is situated in the groin area. Well, am yet to sire a Natb-let, soo that’s rather obvious. I guess my hands (and legs if possible) will instinctively scamper to protect my vital organ. I do not want to imagine myself screaming like that dude in the movie Piranha, as the fish swallowed his, em, vital organ. This means I may not qualify to follow this spam they call precautions to take in case one is unlucky enough to find his/her butt next to a ready-to-blow grenade (a real one, not the one found in the PM’s office).

I take this chance to say that, just like the rest of Kenyans I support our troops in Iraq…er, sorry, in Somalia and I want them to know that we are proud of them. I have no single thread of doubt in my mind that they will defeat the al shabaab and eventually bring peace to this war torn country. Go ahead and crush those ma’gkxv’kers. So sad that there aint oil for us to take advantage.

Boom box playlist:

This is war – 30 seconds from mars