It was all a Dream..

The goodness of sleeping early is that you get enough time to at least have a decent dream before morning rudely interrupts you. The other day I had an occasion of sleeping early and yeah, I had a dream. Not the Luther kind of a dream though. That day I had some hideous paper to write and another to rewrite. They ended up sapping all the energy from my magnificent structure, such that I could not even manage to blink constantly.

That day a customer had made me rewrite more than 2000 words and the blunder was his. The guy was just sloppy and forgot to include the most critical of information. The dumb fruck sent it on time and it reached me as I gave out a deep sigh, rejoicing to have finished writing the essay. I had to start, again. All that time, the punching-somebody-in-the-space-between-nose-and-mouth…..thought was relentlessly ringing in my head.

I really need to find somebody to punch. The kid who wakes me up every morning is a strong candidate. Just like cocks (this is a male hen kama ile ya nyayo, pervert) the kid wakes up early to practice for the Screaming Olympics. A cock crows twice or thrice and stops, till the next morning. The kid doesn’t. It ends at night fall. But again, I don’t hit kids. Ok, I don’t hit kids any more.

The last time I hit somebody was 14 years ago. I was just 9. Wrestling was the in thing in the village. With 20-30 hyper active village boys in the same age group, there had to be a way of knowing who does what, who is able to what, and who is the reigning Stone Cold Steve Austin. After hours of football, A would argue that since B can beat up C and he can thump B, it goes without saying that he can trounce C. They call it the law of…um..ok, I forget. It’s in economics 101. Is it transitivity? Anyway. If C disputes whatever A was asserting, we organize a wrestling match. No pulling of punches.

I used to be sneaky and at the same time very cautious of whom I fight. I also had my big bro as insurance. I would aim my killer punch at the ears. It used to work so well.

Going back to my sleeping early story.  I found myself in a big beach hotel. The air smelt like it was in Dubai. That is how cool my dreamy nose is. I wonder how the Amsterdam air smells like. So there I was, in a funny short and a t-shirt with a jumper on top of it. I headed to some round table dinner. My dad was present. There were like 15 people in business suits at the table. Dad was visibly appalled by my choice of attire. I must have been terribly tardy. Food had already been served.

I did not take long in my seat before I announced that the guy speaking was plain boring and a liar. He was apparently the father of a girl that one of us was planning on marrying. The surprising thing was that I was not drunk. Everybody had this sycophantic smile as he went on and on about how much a princess her girl was. I wasn’t so amused with that. I rose and gave everybody a piece of my mind. I could not catch dad’s face. I bet his head must have exploded with rage. My dream fizzled out.

Now that the little handsome Joseph of the New Testament is not around and I do not have his number, I am left wondering what the hell that meant. This dream contains scenes that I have never dreamt of doing. Ok that did not come out well. This dream contains scenes that I will never find myself doing. I do not have half the balls required to do what that dreamy self did. Maybe one of you guys is a dream interpreter. Help a brother out.

PS: I told a friend that I had eaten beef that tasted like paint and he laughed at me. I knew something was up when Peter Marangi started appearing in my screen standing in front of food and telling us paint is ‘fresh’. Smh.

Boom box playlist:

A Dream – Jay Z, Faith Evans, Biggy.

Tough times

Maintaining this little shamba of mine is taking its toll on me. I am doing this post just to tell whoever cares to notice that it is getting more difficult to write something, here. I used to have myriads of ideas to write before I instituted this blog. And they decided to vanish. Am getting some consolation by the fact that all things are in a contraction mode these days….purchasing power, MPs brains, value of the shilling, food in the country…etc. It is more difficult to come up with a post especially if your pockets are next to empty and there is no feasible sign of a refilling mechanism for you. This is a big problem for most people in my situation (recently from college). This big brother called HELB taught me bad manners. I was used to the fact that at some period around August my bank account could suddenly be bloated, albeit marginally, with God-sent cash. I demand retirement benefits from HELB! They can’t just abandon me like that at once…*end of rant*

I am getting apprensive of the increase in page views at the moment when writer’s block is setting in. It is even terrifying thinking that there might be someone out there always looking forward to a post from me. I am not saying that it is wrong to find these posts worth your time. I may not be able to churn entrancing posts consistently while ensuring they are painted with wit. This is why. I am a dull person. Feel free to add lackluster as my middle name. Apart from regular fights with flies and mosquitoes, nothing much goes around in my world. My heart beat rate is always normal. I was thinking of jumping in front of a moving truck then I figured it might be carrying relief food for the Turkana guys. They do not need delays at the moment. So I stopped. Sometimes it sucks not to be born in a Kirima-like family where you are allowed to slur your sister. Or just insult anybody, or punch somebody in the space between the nose and mouth. And then run away to Daadab or South Sudan with your girlfriend and a bag of American dolla$. You see I cannot start insulting a person without some wrong thing done against me. Nobody koseas me. Am that good. And it sucks sometimes.

In a bid to chase paper, I enrolled as an online writer. Here am required to write essays, research papers, proposals and other assignments for affluent and dumb American kids on demand for a fee. It sounds so exhilarating till you actually start writing. Just imagine sitting for your worst exam brusquely and you will get what I am going through. Then there are those times when a grumbling customer refers you to your work citing some discontent. That’s where you learn words like ‘babbling’. The guy will tell you to improve on ‘grammer’. It’s so unfair that one cannot stretch over and punch the space between his/her nose and mouth and then run away to Daadab or South Sudan with your girlfriend and a bag of American dolla$. The unpredictable nature of the orders just sickens me. An order will be sent when you are in a matatu to town. This is certainly not the way to illumine my life. After several plagiarism-free pages, my life is as dull as it was. I might as well take my friend Funk’s advice of getting laid…and writing it in the next post, huh?

Boom box playlist:

Going through changes – Eminem.

Nailolongo...

Living in Mlolongo comes with additional intrigues that never cease to amaze me. I am not saying that I live in Mlolongo, but I can say that I reside there when I come visiting the big city. There is always that awkward moment where a friend calls me to ask me where am at. I say ‘am in Nai’. The friend is like, ‘which part of Nai do you stay?’. ‘Mlolongo’ I answer, enter #thatawkawrdmoment moment. I am not to blame for transferring a place from the municipal council of Mavoko to the city council of Nairobi. You see the distance I traverse from my home to that place lets me to assume that I live in Nairobi. Plus, there is no big difference anyway, wait, there is….

Matatus plying this route (especially minibuses) have one thing in common, Kamba songs. Recently I boarded one of them and it was all Ken wa Maria. I have never gotten to listen to those songs, but I did it that day. Looking around, the passengers seemed to be enjoying the ‘mahewa’. I was in time as Mr. Ken was churning out name after name. The dude went on for like 5 minutes. It’s like he mentioned names of all kamba people in the census register. I never heard the name Curtis Musembi being mentioned. So I asked the guy besides me (who was vigorously showing his undying love for the songs) why that name was not in the recitation list. He told me the song was about wa Musembi and so the other names he was mentioning were just to fill up the song! By the way if you claim to be a kamba yet you do not know Curtis Musembi then you are not. Stop pretending and go back to your original tribe. This is the brightest kamba-some guy that the larger eastern province has ever produced. In every society, the brightest person is well known. Even in school, the no1 kid is known by the whole school. That is why you will baffle me if you are a progeny of Masaku and have no friggin idea who this guy is. FYI he is warming up to take up the governor position for the Machakos county come next year. Go tosh! O.K I might be partially kidding.

Mosquitos living in this place have this swag that those from other places (like kisii) just dream about. It is like there is a MOU that was signed making it a right for them to suck your blood ANYTIME they deem appropriate. While other mosquitoes retire to ‘bed’ at around 6 am, these creatures stick around up to like 8. At 6 pm they will be up and buzzing. They also have these powers; probably they saw this fringe episode where people are able to pass through solid walls. In the morning, on opening you eyes, you will notice many of them inside the net yet you had done a thorough job tucking it in. On my first night I never bothered to use a net. The first bout of usingizi ended in 15 mins. On the brighter side, I hear these little guys do not carry malaria virus. They just come to irritate your ass.

I went to watch the Manchester united/Manchester city game in mlolongo town (town?) on Sunday. I thought the place could be immune to the arsenal loudmouths. The fool besides me kept shouting into my ears how horrible manutd was and how arsenal could have beaten mancity. That was in the first half. He must have gone to make love to a transformer in the second half. He disappeared the moment we scored the equalizer. So as from next week the football ghosts will arise….can’t wait.

Boom Box playlist:

Vilomena – Ken wa Maria