It's Been A Minute

I hate that phrase. It’s been a minute. It’s supposed to be a funny, ironic quip, but in fact the irony is that it makes one sound dumb. Picture the stereotypical blonde saying it and you’ll see my point. And no, I’m not the type of person that forms/believes in stereotypes; that one was in existence when I was born. Same way I found the stereotype that paints Kikuyus as a very money-loving community. That one is simply not true. Everyone likes money. Throw a couple of bills in the street and you’ll see what I mean.

I had a very interesting day today. Maybe it’s because I was in a good mood. Or because I begged the weather not to change until I got home and it complied. Or it could be because of the kids in the jav that entertained me all the way home.

I got into an over-priced jav at the stage. I tend to do that; I don’t usually hear the price the kange is busy yelling while at the stage, and by the time I realise it, I’m halfway on my way with no option but to pay. I hustled to get into the jav (read as scrambled) and ended up sitting in a very uncomfortable seat. So when the guy next to me was alighting, I did too in order to get a better place to seat. Only to be thrown into a tornado of children scrambling into the jav with their mother following closely behind. In my panic at losing a seat in a jav that I’d already paid for, I scampered back to my original spot. I ended up sitting next to a group of about 5 very noisy kids, while their mother sat behind us with an infant in her lap. All through the journey, she kept giving stern orders to her very riotous children. “Don’t stick your head out the window!” “Stop hitting your sister!” “Sit DOWN!” It was highly entertaining, especially because we were stuck in Langata road traffic. Those kids were so noisy and mischievous, and the fact that there was age gap of a year or less between each of them only seemed to reinforce that. Moral of the story? Well, I don’t have a moral, but what I’m trying to say is that perhaps the lady would have had much less stress in her life if she had not been so eager to procreate. I know God said fill the world, but he didn’t tell you to do it alone. I’m not judging; I’m just saying.

'Twas the season

‘Twas the season to be jolly,  tralalala lala la la!! Funny how even in Kenya, carols are still about reindeer and a white Christmas. For once, I’d like to hear a carol that’s typically Kenyan, talking about mbuzi and shags, with the words nyama choma, kachumbari and Tusker featuring in it. I know, I know. It’s too late to be having such thoughts now. Or, looking at it from a glass-half-full point of view, it’s really early. So that should give people time to write the ultimate Kenyan carol. We’ll see...

‘Twas the season to forget that the economy was bad and things were thick, and simply let go. Indulgence in life’s debaucheries was at a great high. It’s no wonder that it’s usually hospitals’ busiest time of year. Maybe that’s the reason why I broke my foot. Because ‘twas the season. But all that has passed now and we come back to harsh reality, with shallow pockets and bills to pay, not made easier by the blazing sun glaring in your eyes dawn to dusk. Party rock is no longer in the house. It is now the season to go back to school. Bags filled to capacity, as kids trudge to the bus stop at an academic angle, i.e. when their bag is so heavy that they tilt to one side as you walk. The Bata and Text Book Centre ads don’t help either, they just rub it in deeper. I tend to think that those guys are sadistic little bastards, who enjoy reminding people that January is back, because they are the only ones that make money then.

 It’s not only the kids, though. Everyone has it rough. The early mornings, the late nights, all work and no play, the few strands of hair that turn grey, all that defines the first month of the year. I sometimes think that maybe if Christmas wasn’t at the end of the year, people wouldn’t be so broke come January. Someone really ought to file a petition for the date to be moved to somewhere like July, when there are no public holidays and guys could really use a break. Tunaomba serikali iingile kati...

‘Twas the season when you could say ‘ ‘tis ‘  without judgement. It is now the season to go back to proper grammar.

But even when life is hard, you gotta move on. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. (But when life gives you melons, you’re dyslexic. But that’s a joke for another day. Perhaps when people can afford to smile, literally.)

 2012, I’m here with all the psych in the world. And no, the world is not ending this year. LET’S DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Time for joy, time for cheer

Haven't been here in a while. I blame it on the exams, lack of sleep and stress that comes with it. But now I'm here; and so is Christmas. Some say it's not Christmas until the Coca Cola advert airs. Here in Kenya though, it's not Christmas until you start eating. Parties pop up everywhere like flowers in the Springtime. And when they start, they don't stop till January, by which time people are flat broke and several kilos heavier, with enough fat to insulate them against the cold during festive season rave nights.

At home, Christmas starts when Mum’s birthday comes around. Best way to begin the festive season. A goat always loses its life, or, like in today’s case, a goat and a sheep. With a humongous White Forest cake to go with it. So as I sit here with a plateful of cake, listening to the noise of the happy people in the background, I know Christmas is here. Happy birthday Mum. Lots of love!!!! Now off to the gym…

The Waiting Room

You sit there, silent, staring, waiting. You went there because you were unwell and were seeking treatment, but the boredom is making you sicker. The TV is tuned into a boring channel, with the volume is so low that you can’t watch it even if you wanted to. What’s the point of having it on anyway? You want to listen to music, but you forgot your earphones. So you stare jealously  at the guy seated across from you with earphones plugged into his ears, because the music seems to be saving him from the vicious arms of boredom that are reaching towards you. The novel that you brought along with you has a slow start, too slow to entice you to to turn the page, so you slam it shut in frustration. You stare out the window and stare at the clouds floating by, and amuse yourself with all the different shapes. A screaming child provides welcome distraction, and you turn to look at him. He’s seen a doctor clad in a white lab coat coming towards him, and it’s freaking him out. You half smile, slightly amused. You remember the days when a doctor’s white lab coat was the omen. You begin wondering whether a different-coloured lab coat would have the same effect, or whether they would never know it, never see the needle coming. Haha. Little suckers. The intercom crackles, getting you out of your daydream, and you hear your name called out. “Finally,” you think, “took them long enough.”  With a sigh you stand up and shuffle your feet lazily towards the door.

After being kept waiting for so long, the doctor is done with you in two minutes and sends you to the lab. Shit, lab...needles. Perhaps you’re still a child inside after all. You take yourself towards your impending doom, and you turn away as the white-coated monster snaps his rubber gloves on. He taps the inner part of your elbow lightly, and you can almost swear he’s licked his lips, like a lion about to pounce on a willing, juicy antelope. You wince as you feel the needle go in. Oh, the horror! But before you know it, it’s over. “That wasn’t so bad,” you tell yourself, wondering why you were scared in the first place. Childhood trauma perhaps? You’re told to wait outside a while. Great, another waiting room. It smells the same as the other one. That hospital smell that attacks your nose as soon as you step one foot into the building. You sit facing the fountain, looking at the bubbles rising towards the surface, listening to the gurgling noise. From the speakers you hear Jimmy Reeves playing, a nice, soft song. A soothing calm takes over you...

You’re jolted awake by someone roughly shaking your shoulder. A nurse in a starched, white uniform, who looks like she’s just eaten a lemon, hands you an envelope. “Take this to the doctor” she says, in a very surly tone. “Someone hates their job,” you think. You take the envelope and go back to the doctor, who makes you wait again. You sit exactly where you had sat before, only this time it’s a bit different because the people around are different. Life seems to have moved on since you were last there. You stare at the the two blonde girls chatting animatedly, and wonder if they are at all sick. The guy seated in front of you turns, blocking your view of the blondes. You turn to look at what distracted him. It’s the long-legged girl in the miniskirt that’s coming down the stairs. Of course. Why are you not surprised?

The doctor calls you back in, wrinkling her forehead as she looks at your file with quick spasmic nods. Wordlessly, she jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. “Take this and you’ll be fine in no time.” She whips out of the room, lab coat billowing behind her.

You go to the pharmacy, and the pharmacist asks you to wait. Boy, they really love making people wait in this place, don’t they?! You sit down anyway, because you’ve got no choice. You’ve been the epitome of patience this whole day. You should be given an award! Before long, the pharmacist calls out your name and shoves a brown package in your hand. Why does everyone at this hospital seem angry today? But you don’t care, because you’re done.

Shielding your eyes, you walk out into the blistering sun.

The body part that is technology

A couple of people have asked me, “How come you don’t blog these days?”. Caught me quite by surprise actually, when it came from even the randomest of people. I experienced what I’m guessing is what celebrities feel when they walk the red carpet and people swoon at the sight of them, though to a much, much smaller scale. I didn’t let it get to the point where my ego developed an ego; just a small swelling on the side. I mean, you gotta massage your ego once in a while because your mother is not always around to do it.

The reason I do not blog much these days is because I have been preoccupied with quite a lot of things. Weighty things (at least in my opinion). Things I could not blog about because they were personal (and some perhaps a bit incriminating). If I had a personal journal I’d have written all about it there, but I don’t have one. Having a journal would have made my writing feel less relaxing and a lot more like homework. So I didn’t upload my thoughts on the Internet, because it is a bit disconcerting to have a guy with a name such as Swaggamasta98 or BigCheeksBovine leave a comment like ‘I know exactly what you mean!’. Plus there’s something about putting up personal stuff on the Internet that may one day come to bite you in the gluteus.

There were many times though when I had things I wanted to write down, but I never did because I didn’t have my computer with me, and I’m not used to blogging on the go. There’s something about twiddling your thumbs over a tiny keypad that makes you not want to write long stories. I’m assuming that’s how SMS language came about. That plus the fact that your characters are numbered. But that’s a story for another day. Even if I wanted to though, I couldn’t have blogged on my phone today because I forgot it at home. In this day and age, leaving your phone behind is a very big deal. It’s like having a part of you that’s missing; as if you walked out of hospital and left your heart behind. I’m curious, is that the same thing that people feel when they wake up from surgery where a dodgy doctor stole one of their kidneys to sell on the black market?? It’s a very valid question actually...do you feel like a part of you is elsewhere (literally)? I’d very much like to ask someone these questions, someone that has undergone these unthinkable horrors, but I don’t know how I’d go about it. First of all, how would I know who’s parts were stolen? It’s not like they walk around with a sign hanging from the neck saying ‘That guy stole my kidney’.  Plus I’m sure if I just walked up to someone and said “How does it feel to have half your liver stolen?” I’d be met with a slap. I have to find a politically correct way to ask those questions. Those are thoughts that I’ll leave to ponder...

The thing about mobile phones these days is that they’ve become such a necessity that you cannot afford not to have one. Do you know the trouble that one goes through when they want to meet someone somewhere yet they do not have a phone? It’s not something you want to experience, trust me. The hustle makes you wonder whether that person is really worth it. I wonder how cavemen used to live, without phones, internet, TV and all that. Such measly existence. No wonder they’d be out hunting and gathering all day. So that they wouldn’t get bored and want to watch TV or get on facebook.

Embrace technology today, and take care of yourself. Don’t let someone take your organs in your sleep. (But if you do get your organ stolen, please tell me how it feels.)

I lack the relevant song for this post, especially one that would remind you of missing body parts. I’m sure Lady Gaga isn’t far from writing such a song. This one is close enough though, especially how it starts.

Teeth - Lady Gaga
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-t_hLnhg_YY

It’s raining. It’s pouring! It’s flooding!!

I haven’t done this in a while. I could go for the closest excuse and blame it on writer’s block, but I think that should be saved for the writers, not the ramblers. There were many times when I began writing, and then I’d go at a loss of words after two sentences. Other times I felt like I had nothing of great importance to say. (Not that I do now, either. But that shouldn’t stop you from reading. You never know what life-changing opportunity is up ahead.) Then there’s the times I could not articulate my words to perfectly bring out the emotion I was experiencing. At some point I had forgotten I had a blog, and someone had to remind me. Most times I had many small ideas, but they never culminated into anything substantial. Like how I noticed a guy selling suspiciously black/dark-coloured mutura. Or the fad that is Supras and skinny jeans for men. Though I think the latter is such an atrocity it deserves special mention. Watch this space.

I’ve been doing a whole lot of soul-searching recently, trying to discover who I am, and what exactly my purpose in life is. I found out quite a bit, actually, like how much of a procrastinator I am. I mean, look at how long it took me to write this. I experienced the rollercoaster that life can be: when it’s raining it always seems to pour, and when it’s dry there’s a real drought. Isn’t there a saying that talks about nothing coming singly? (That includes the traffic jams in this beloved country. It’s taken me three hours to write this because I was stuck in traffic all the way to the gate. And for someone who lives in Kiserian, that is quite a distance.)

I heard something that caught my attention, said by one Pitbull in what has come to be one of the biggest hits this year. ‘Me not working hard? Yeah right, picture that with a Kodak.’ I don’t know why, but this line really motivates me. Maybe that’s because you can only say it if you know it’s true. It’s the kind of statement that screams at your conscience. Think about it. Plus I like the pun.

As I sign out, I leave you with a song from someone I think was a very brilliant musician: Amy Winehouse. Her death left an impact on me like MJ’s did to others. I wasn’t really a fan of his, so upon news of his death I just shrugged and moved on with my life. As opposed to hers, where I stood in shock for about three seconds. Three seconds of my life is considerably much more than a shrug. A bus could hit you in three seconds. Really good news could get to you in three seconds. I could come up with the next sentence in three seconds. This repetition has bored you in three seconds. See? Anyway, rest in peace Amy. I’ll be enjoying your music for a long, long while.

Amy Winehouse - Back To Black 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1evzhSast8

Amy Winehouse -  You Know I'm No Good
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ll7UFxqI2pM

Rambling

It’s a beautiful night out. Clouds with a feather-like effect dot the sky, the stars shine bright, and the moon glows with a rainbow-coloured ring around it. Perfect for a romantic scene in a movie. (Actually this seems a lot like the beginning to one of those soppy romantic novels.) Anyway, it was just an observation whose beauty I thought deserved mention.

On to more interesting things, (no offence to all the star-gazers out there) I’ve just heard over the radio that there’s a goat derby scheduled for sometime later this month. There’ll be goat races and a goat fashion show among other things, perhaps even a goat fight. I hear those gather quite a crowd. No doubt people will attend anyway, because if they’ve got the same train of thought as I do, they’ll go expecting mbuzi choma. Perhaps the goat that wins the race? Let’s cross our fingers guys. It’s for a good cause though; something about open heart surgery for underprivileged children. People are getting very creative. Though if I was the one who had come up with the whole goat fashion show idea, I’d have been met with many weird and/or concerned looks....

Last week saw what was probably the biggest trending topic on Twitter: Ramogi Night (#ramoginight). The things I read have got me laughing till now. Here’s one that made me tear up: “Omera, I do not sleepwalk; I execute my dreamland escapades in 3D.”

10 minutes later, after laughing till my sides hurt, I’ve come back to log out. Partly because I need to go read about worms with 3 lips that will give you constipation due to intestinal obstruction for an impending CAT, and partly because temperatures have suddenly dropped and my fingers have turned into icicles. With the current weather situation I thought this song would be appropriate, July being the closest we will ever come to winter.

Omarion ft Timbaland – Ice Box

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQybgJCswF0

PS: can’t forget to wish one Rachael Kiragu an awesome 21^st birthday. Lots of love coming your way.