Hafter Herekshons

The only thing we Kenyans love more than a good fad is evading responsibility. If ever there was a lot prone to washing their dirty hands clean of their dirty deeds, they reside right here in the 254. And now ‘after elections’ is the new catchphrase.


Why is the loo not flushed? Tuongee baada ya kura. Mbona hujafanya homework? Tuongee baada ya kura. You guy is how that 2k? Tuongee after 8th. Babe I’m late; tuongee after 2022. Why are you throwing litter out the bus window? Kidero haokoti anyway; tuone after elections. That raise you promised Madam? Uhm we’ll talk after elections. FYI she ng’oad this very badly due to her heavy tongue and I wanted to laugh but I was too angry to point out that legal would advise strongly against any chatter that would lead to a sexual harassment suit.

My landlord tried that on me, ati he’ll fix the security lights after elections; I told him pia rent ntalipa after elections. Tonight I bathe in a halo so bright from new security lights, I look like a Beyoncè poster gone wrong. Your boy don’t play.


All In a Day’s Diversion

I happen to have the fortune of not needing to get into town often since my journey, like Gulliver takes me round the world, well mostly from Kinoo to Hurlingham anyway. I get a matatu through Kawangware and another through Yaya. If I’m feeling like some exercise besides chewing, I’ll walk to ILRI and get a matatu from there instead. My people were long distance traders FYI so yeah yours truly can walk that walk.

This day the clouds are a bulgy puff of black, threatening to let loose great drops of rain at any time. The winds were ever so gusty, like they were late for the skytrain to Colorado to cause a tornado. My kind of beautiful weather this. Anyhoo I get to Kawangware and notice PB Riruta girls are out and about doing community cleaning. Let me just say for the record, PB alumni are the bomb dot com.



I walk to my usual sweet banana vendor and eat a couple of bunches, grab a free watermelon and walk towards the stage. Wait, watermelon slice, it’s important to specify it was just a slice people, jeez; what are we, savages? Past the annoyingly loud Kibera javs are the ominously huge and pleasantly silent buses of route 46, well usually. This day however I spot not one bus, zilch. Sheesh, tough luck; so I peruse through primary school books like I’m immensely interested in better Insha writing and Social Studies past papers are my jam. After awkward minutes of passing time, a bus appears and I’m so relieved I’d have offered to take the next squad washing the old rickety thing.

Nimble as a cat, I hop on. And bump straight into a hefty, not so nimble woman carrying enough terere to feed Bungoma and Kakamega counties, trying to alight. I say trying because her sacks of vegetables were splitting open and she was recovering every single precious leaf before they hit the ground. I tried to help, futile really; I say tried because she kept snatching the leaves I was collecting for her rather than focusing on her own salvaging operation. Where is the trust yo? Cue BEP’s Where is the Love…

Minutes later, I smell like a fresh farm produce pickup from Kirinyaga and my new t-shirt resembles those green Safcom promotional tees. It was originally grey in case you were wondering. Before I can hop back into the bus a small, corn-rowed dude nudges his way past me rudely and gets on. I ignore this slight by a slight man I could easily sit on and turn into a permanent part of the bus steps; only that dude chooses this opportune moment to connect his cheap earphones to his cheap excuse of a phone and plug those to his cheap, dirty ears. Ok I can’t confirm if his ears were dirty, I was just hating on Dirty Diana, with his corny corn rows. Nkt.

I have been at the door of this bus slowly moving through the traffic at Kawangware stage for the better part of 3 minutes when I spy behind the bus, a city council marshal marshalling a black, plastic pipe. I think it’s supposed to be a rungu but for lack of a better description we’ll call it a pipe. He points at me in a manner likely to suggest he wasn’t greeting me in the fashion of Shikuku, Moi or Jomo with their various hand toys. It occurs to me I neither give off the aura of a conductor nor a rascal, so pray tell, what am I doing hanging out of a bus? I assume this was the thought of said Marshal now galloping at me, pipe in hand, like a rhino charging down the Mara plains. Oh sweet mothertree of all avocadoes, this is about to get dicey.


 To be continued…

Coulda Bean Us

On my way home on Friday, I see the most incredible sight, an overturned cereals trailer. Now keep calm y’alls, nobody was hurt (I’m not a sadist…unless we’re playing Monopoly). Thing is it was a freight truck carrying sacks of beans. Beautiful beans! Nyayo, Sura Mbaya, Yellow, Indian, White, Chickpeas, Kidney beans, Navy beans, Pinto…all types of beans of all shapes and sizes. I was in bean heaven I tell you, for those of you in the dark, I am a serial cereal killer. The only reason I didn’t get off the matatu was because I didn’t have a bag and also I doubt the good Lord would want me rejoicing in another’s misfortune. Mostly though it’s the bag; you already know I’d be repenting over a plate of mbosho garnished with avocado.


That morning I get invited to a wedding by my cousin. It’s he’s fiancee’s best friend’s big day and of course he must support. Quid pro quo kind of thing since their own wedding is in December. So anyway, I’m busy samboling (like my teacher used to say) various Ugandan beans when his girl says, “this couldv’e been us but you were so slow sebo…mschteuw.” Now there is a way a woman speaks and you can tell it’s a joke, all is well. Then there is another way and what you need to do is take cover, for Winter is here. I perceive very quickly that this scenario is the latter and make my way to the gents posthaste. My cousin has a habit of leaving me his messes to clean up, call me Mr. Kaplan; but I wasn’t taking this one for the team. If you were somewhere in Karen this past Friday and saw a long queue of regally dressed Ugandan men outside a portable loo complaining loudly, that was yours truly. Now I know my future wife is reading this thinking, “how embarassing”; remember, this could’ve been us but…


1. Delightful Sound: There are singers and then there are sangers. People who take you on a journey aboard riffs, hooks, melodies and rhythm. The King of R & B is one such sanger. For all his drama, demons and controversy the man who puts the R in and R n B knows how to get you there. The Gospel industry might have shut the door on him for good but I still pray for the tortured soul that is Robert Kelly. I believe I can fly, When a Woman Loves, Fiesta, Ignition, Bump n Grind, Storm is Over, Trapped in the Closet, You Saved Me, Happy People, Same Girl, I’mma Flirt…the list goes on. The man has churned hit after hit from the chocolate factory. My personal R.Kelly favourite? With a subtle ciello intro and sweet acoustic progression throughout the song, the ode to all the homies lost in Chiraq stands out; I wish.

2. Must Watch: Steve Carell has been cracking ribs ever since he could speak, I suspect he cracked his mama’s rib on the way out. Nowhere is his genius on better display than in The Office; adapted for US audiences from the British sitcom of the same name, this is the home of all bad jokes and puns. This is ground zero.

3. Worthy Read: There is hardly a better weaver of words than one Eoin Colfer, a genius who created the mystical wonderland of Artemis Fowl. Delve into the world of fairies, goblins and a humanity unaware of what lies under the surface as the teenage prodigy finds himself at the crossroads of good and evil.



Women of Faith

My mother, bless her soul, would always smile lovingly whenever we would watch the Women of Faith conferences; and laugh as I declared to her that one day I would sneak into one of them to enjoy the music. Profound wisdom saved her the blushes of pointing out to an inquisitive, naive boy the obvious deterrent to my attendance of an all-female seminar.

I remember that tape; it was one of her favorites; Darlene Zsech in that regal get-up, an image I have never forgotten. 27 short minutes, but what epic minutes they were; classic after classic, music that moved your soul. This is almost two decades ago mind you. So it was with great trepidation that I suggested this particular playlist to a cousin of mine who’d asked for my favorite all-female musical performance.

Here we are, in between a Willy Poze and a Jimmy Gait; hard pressed to find nourishment for bleeding ears. I knew for a fact this kiddo had no idea who Plumb, Don Moen, Ron Kenoly and Switchfoot were; she had not grown up on Family FM and Hope FM. She did not imagine that trap could be a tool used to capture prey, she had not spent hours trying to sing Lenny LeBlanc’s ‘Above all’ for her PPI class. There was a generation of musical heritage missing from her platter; no Gaithers, no Fred Hammond, John Kee; she had no idea why Mark Cohn was walking in Memphis or who Diana Ross was telling to stop in the name of love. I doubt whether Donnie Mcclurkin or Robin Mark have ever made it into her iPod. I forced Alice Kimanzi in there along with Elan and Mwanga, to bemused queries of “kwani saizi Elani wanaimba gospel?” Hehe, sigh.

I could have given her the norm, your everyday radio pop and afro something but then she hears that every day I figured. So why not dig into the archives and let her enjoy music for the ages? If your friend has ever asked for your phone to play music, you understand the fear; what if they hate it, what if they think you’re  not cool or with it? Your library has been painstakingly sourced from far and wide, your precious as Gollum would say. It speaks of what you love and who you are. So you can imagine how much of an old geezer I felt when recommending said video to these teen youngin’ whose ringtone is some chap I couldn’t comprehend screeching like a car coming to a sudden halt over some ‘sick’ beat.  Skree skree.

Therein began an interesting discourse. So Dom, what’s your opinion on open marriages? Huh? Wait, weren’t we on music? Apparently we were on everything. Faith, sex, worldviews, love, hate, responsibility, purpose, meaning, lust…you name it. Over the course of 3 years we had passionate disagreements, discussions and vulnerable heart to hearts. I’ve been here before, talking to teenagers at the crossroads. It’s hard, sometimes frustrating work; but darn it if it isn’t fulfilling. The aforementioned cousin tagged me on Instagram for the first time last week, doing an amazing cover of Wonderful, Merciful, Saviour. She who had been too ashamed to be associated with ‘ol boy as I was not ‘cool enough for her feed’; si nililala na viatu. An a capella and sweet worship; I was so proud.

She made me promise not to reveal her identity here, nor post the video of her crying at her baptism. I’ll respect that. So let me talk to you now. Are you say, 12 to x years old, female, and confused about life? Yes? Read on. If not, worry not, we’re an all-inclusive joint here at the Batcave; read on as well…and return your sister’s phone, it’s no longer funny.

Everyone and their avocado have an opinion. On everything! How you should dress, walk, talk, who to date, where to school, work, when to marry, how many kids to have, where to take them to school, where to shop, go to church, not to go to church, travel…sheesh; it is a lot. But keep calm and trust. If ever anyone went through life having completely figured it out, I must’ve missed it. We’re all messy lumps of clay (except maybe Alice Kimanzi, she’s a lump of gold aki and Kaluhi Adagala; that one is a beautiful scoop of avocado). We all make mistakes, trudging along the corridor of chaos trying to get a grip on the walls of uncertainty; don’t let this engulf you. The storms of life come fast and thick, don’t let them bury you. For this you must have faith.

Faith in what exactly? Money, career, beauty, love, power, independence, achievement, family, friendships, education, talent, religion, intellect? While all these things may give you temporary security, satisfaction and sense of significance; believe me when I recount the words of King Solomon, “tis all vanity!” There was a boy who once asked me how a man with that many women could be dissatisfied, what about the wealth? Was it not enough? The truth, shocking as it may be, is no. For anyone you consider the apex of their field, who pursued that with a singularity of purpose forsaking all else, observe closely what happens just after their peak; there is almost a sense of betrayal. “Is this it, is this all I get?” This is oft the cry. It’s loneliest at the top of the world they say. Alexander conquered most of the modern world, and for what? Tesla, arguably the greatest inventor ever, was consumed by insurmountable grief and died miserably. So the list goes on; Michael Jackson, Prince, Pablo Escobar, Marilyn Monroe, Jimi Hendrix, Robin Williams, Ernest Hemingway (not to be confused with Baba Thandie), Kurt Cobain, Guru Dutt, Steve Jobs etc. I’ll draw your attention to one particular case, that of Brad Delp of the band Boston; his suicide note said simply, “I am a lonely soul.”  1 in 1 will die; the question is will we live when we leave? And until then who are you?

What do I know about women or faith? Of the former, absolutely nothing; the only woman I’ve ever understood was my mother. So I shall dwell on faith. The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I define faith as the naive, absolute trust in Jesus Christ. Once I was asked, “do you have to bring up Jesus in everything dude?” What does He have to do with global warming, making homemade milk shakes or college applications? Well, when you view the world through the eyes of Love you cannot fail to see His fingerprints and workmanship everywhere. I care for wildlife and the environment because He made them, I don’t Google most of my recipes; instead like my dad, the inspiration for most meals comes from the Master Chef. Yes! The Father rejoices in seeing the joy it brings to enjoy food He has provided.

What do Catholics have in common with those folks celebrating Sister Rosa’s resurrection? How about those folks in the Advent, why is their music different from the glamorous Pentecostal Church pop scene? Honestly? I steer clear of arguments on religion. My faith is based on two facts I hold eternally true: I am a great sinner and Jesus is my only salvation. The rest is a beautiful journey following the Master; unique to me as yours is to you.  If you can look past the inevitable disappointment humanity will serve you, the sadness tragedy brings and the despair that occasionally afflicts us all; Christ is the light that will guide you home. The rest? The rest is living. Living in faith.


1. Delightful sound: One of my favourite bands of all time comes out of Russellville, Arkansas in the shape of Deas Vail. Boasting rich melodies, ethereal harmonies and agonizingly beautiful lyrics the collective fronted by classically trained vocalist Wesley Blaylock continue to bless. Sixteen, God rest ye merry gentlemen, Shoreline, Atlantis, Still, Do you hear what I hear, Birds and The things you were are but a few of their best works. I personally recommend you start with Light as Air and Desire. Sweet!

2. Must watch: Becoming one of the highest grossing franchises of all time while scooping Oscars at will; Tolkien’s Lord of The Rings is universally acknowledged as film royalty. I subscribe to an annual pilgrimage of the extended version in epic 1080p, it deserves no less. Long before Wonder Woman, Katniss Everdeen, Wasp, Jean Grey and Storm there was Eowyn, Galadriel and Arwen, who fought the evil of Morgoth and Sauron in Middle Earth.   

3. Worthy read: In a world of Ugandan school mischief, journey with the enigma that is Moses. A fine product of Mukibi’s Educational Institute for the Sons of African Gentleman; along with King Kong, Itchy Fingers and Rukia, follow as the late great Barbara Kimenye tells the most hilarious story told to young adults all over Africa. I literally literary lost myself in these books as a child and I still laugh myself silly reading them today. Enjoy!


You don’t think I’d forget the subject of this story did you? For Ruth, the first woman of faith I knew, and all daughters of the Most High, He who began the good work in you will be faithful to complete it:




There are times in life when haste is required, urgency, need for speed if you may. Take for instance at a wedding buffet line, my Kao friend and I decide to keep it cool. Why queue when we can chill and walk straight to the goodies when the crowd dissipates? Geniuses are made in Kitui I tell you. This is a traditional Baganda ceremony FYI, so ideally there should be no cause for alarm, seeing as I’m the closest to a Luhya present. Word reaches my table of this delicacy everyone can’t seem to get enough of, absolutely mouth-watering, the naan. You want to venture a guess how much of it was left when I got to the buffet? That’s right; none. No naan. Blistering Barnacles! Look at these shady naan finishers, no shame.

IG weddo


Two years ago I took a bus from Hurlingham to Kawangware; large, rusty ‘ol pile of scrap metal heaving ghastly plumes of black smoke. Every time the driver changed gears, I could almost see a polar bear fall dead clutching its heart. If you live in Nairobi you know that the only places without traffic after 4pm are government offices, the library and your DM. I’m used to it, as are we all, and equip myself with a 1980’s to 2000’s music greatest hits collection and a nice novel. This day I see a rather agitated young man shout incessantly towards the driver. Now I’m not the nosy type but if I can see an interesting conversation happening, I might as well hear it right? I’m not like those couples that display endless pictures of their good times on your timeline and then suddenly discover social media’s overbearing presence after breaking up.

I remove my earphones and take it all in. He’s a shouter this one; loud as a Ng’ong matatu and clear as your bank balance. His bone of contention happens to be the pace. We could be moving a lot faster he says. I question the wisdom of this thought amidst a gridlocked traffic jam at Yaya. In my head of course, no need to agitate Wafula, as I learn he’s called, further. “Harakisheko vane! Pipi ameniflash mara mbili nachua ameshaweka maji ya ukali kwa moto ni mpoka anataka nipeleke”, he says. I see smiles all around as the tirade continues, “pana unachua wenkine wetu ni breakfast tu inashikilia mifupa”. He then proceeds to accompany a lollipop with the peanuts in his mouth; I fear for this man’s neighbors’ sewage system.


I look forward to my annual Lord of the Rings extended version pilgrimage; it’s a night I enjoy immensely. Last year I made the mistake of watching it with a few friends of less discernment in taste. 5 minutes in and a friend of a friend pipes in, “hauna movie nyengine kali tuwatch? Ii anger ngames?” I ignore the thick Meru accent and say a silent prayer. Ten minutes later she chimes again, “hauna antha ndee njay hafro yeyothe?” It is here that a decision was made most expeditiously, with precision and post haste. I lost a friend that day. I don’t know why she was mad though. I would understand if my friend politely kicked me out of their home for ruining their favourite movie, especially if they got my uninvited friend and me an Uber. Right?


Ah love; it’s a complex thing ain’t it? More surprises than a GoT season and more twist and turns than your sister’s cornrows. Still, we all want that love aye? With all the material available out there on dating one would think someone has finally figured it out. So my boy, name withheld, rhymes with Ted, asks me how to tell when is too soon to ask a girl to be his girlfriend. I ask how long they’ve been dating and he says they just chat online. I swallow some rather choice spicy burns and enquire when he plans to get her number. Smart chap then looks at me like he’s just discovered the missing link and declares, “that’s the trick! I’m not chasing her, it’s reverse psychology dude!” This is what happens when Zigi meets Jaguar people. Bless their souls, that was a nice song but as uncle Charlie would say, “the race belongs to the swift…unless you have a shortcut.” Brethren, do take it slow and avoid shadowing your lady everywhere, but please, do not wait too long. You might end up with us at that table, at her wedding. Without naan ya dig?


Back in the day, at Nyali Primary School, my brother and I were reigning back to back eating competition champs. I was in class 3, he in class 6; those poor kids didn’t stand a chance ha-ha. I hear childhood stories of kids being caned to eat their food; I was caned for eating my folks’ food. We were two well-oiled eating machines. We guzzled, chomped and swallowed our way to infamy. They cancelled that particular race; apparently we were a bad influence. Respek the OGs y’all. Sports day was never the same after that. I was recounting this story to a former classmate who had invited me over for lunch one day. Chicken biriyani, a specialty of hers. Midway through preparation she starts singing along to Alice Kimanzi’s Waambie, beautiful song. I however, suggest the more appropriate song for both our single selves would be, “Unikumbuke…Unikumbuke or Mungu wangu we wajua sababu…” Safe to say the only thing I ate that day was humble pie. Doesn’t taste half as good as biriyani I assure you. Don’t be hasty, as Treebeard would put it, think before you speak.


Remember that bus ride I told you about earlier? It came after I participated in a city marathon, my first and last. I have nothing against raising money for good causes but marathons won’t be my thing. Why you ask? Well I don’t know what the protocol usually is for other races but let’s just say I ended up walking around with a ‘package’. I was not a happy lad to be honest, it’s embarrassing and gross. There were no washrooms anywhere for 10km! Don’t judge me; you don’t know what I ate that day. I sat myself in a fully packed bus all the way home, praying this was one of those odourless ‘loads’. Years of playing cards have perfected my poker face fortunately and I was straight in luck; just happened that a young baby and her mom sat next to me. Poor kid got the angriest looks from suffering passengers all the way, several from me; I even comforted the traumatized mother. I have repented, severally I assure you but I have come to accept that I flourish in the sort of races where the only speed required is mental. For all ye runners, here’s some motivation for your next race, which you can be sure I won’t be in:

PS: have you noticed that when you’re having a hard time hearing someone and ask them to repeat whatever they said, the only thing you won’t hear again is that vital part containing useful information? All you’ll get is blah blah blah blah…silence…blah blah blah. I don’t get it either to be honest. Do have a weekend devoid of unnecessary urgency and haste!

Enjoy Alice Kimanzi’s Waambie

Days of Our Lives.

You know how you can leave a substantial amount of your favourite food when you leave the house in the morning for supper? Hmmm, you spend long stretches of the day almost tasting those beautiful Jacmil chapatis; ah pure bliss. We all know food tastes better with time, not piping hot straight off the furnace, those lovely ingredients need time to marinate in their own juices.

But alas, I remember that I had left aforementioned food covered, lid sealed shut. This if you’re wondering is in response to a certain pesky cat that had decided to get overly friendly with my beans awhile back. What happens when you deny food air? Especially if like me, you don’t have a fridge. Snap. Thank you Sheila for bursting my edible bubble; everyone needs a friend like that, mschteeuuw.

So I mop around for the rest of the day and can’t wait to get home and clear out what promises to be an aspiring pile of manure. I get to the stage and find, like most other routes in Nairobi this week; mine seems to be facing a severe shortage of matatus. Kwani where do they go? Someone please tell me how this isn’t part of the grand plan by the US to invade N.Korea & Iran?

The rain is the one good break I get; it means I jump from the end of the queue to second in line when that long train of a bus rolls up. As it turns out, most people mind getting wet. Shocker. Must be the expensive clothes and hair; neither of which I possess (repeat after me, “be humble”). My natural hair or lack thereof actually enjoyed the mini swim.

Onwards then into everlasting traffic, sigh. From the St. Paul’s roundabout to Mountain View takes almost an hour and a half. Now if you live in Rongai, that’s a good day on the road; sisi watu wa ‘Uptown’ we don’t know traffic priss. So this is bad, real bad (say it like Russell Peters).

I eventually get home and the first thing on my mind is to clear that spoilt food…no I actually I needed to pee first. Don’t cringe, we’re all friends here, TMI ni wewe; you have your routine when you get home too. I unlid my containers and what do you know, my precious beans aren’t spoilt. This is why you should live in a cold area, your whole house becomes a fridge; whoop whoop. I warmed that cabbage, beans and chapatis; made my guacamole (Kevin, it’s not guacamoli nkt) and prepared myself for a feast. Mama I made it! Mbona nisilale na viatu leo? The first smarty pants to say, “obviously utachafua bed sheets”, I will register your face book account to online dating services in India. Try me.

Before I even have my first bite, my phone rings; you can’t make this stuff up I tell you. So here I am; spoon stuck in mid-air almost at its destination and time seems to freeze. Do I answer that or call back when I’m done? Could be one of several friends calling to say they will soon clear their debts (which is wasted breath usually), or maybe this is that month the landlord decides kwani iko nini, ii mwezi it’s on me or maybe a radio station finally decided to recognize my talent and put this face made for radio on air.

Curiosity gets the better of me, call me cat you dig? So I answer and hurtle head first into an endless abyss of pity and melancholy. My boy, let’s call him Denno, was in tears. No like literally, ‘ol boy was sniffling and blowing his nose like a classic Kim Kardashian cry scene. Ugly stuff I tell you. Having been in this scenario severally, unfortunately, I push my plate aside grudgingly and prepare for whatever narrative had broken this youngin’s heart.

Denno liked a Ruth Mwende (we’ll use that because all Ruths and Mwendes are nice); so he befriended her, took her out on dates and generally tried to woo her. 7 weeks later, Mwende became distant. Denno was left confused, why did she get cold on a brother? So he asked her. Her answer, “aki sweetheart, I’m taken.” Ouch. Apparently she thought he was ‘just a friend’ but she had a boyfriend of two years. Double ouch. Cue the sound of a shotgun ringing in your ear. I tell him this is a normal occurrence; Mwendes generally tend to be taken seeing as they’re nice. Hold on he said, there’s a part two to this story.

A week later, his best friend (I don’t trust dudes with best friends FYI, how do you decide between Jemo wa Mutura na Ali wa Garage?) walks into his hostel room gushing about how he had found the love of his life, the apple in his pineapple, the go in his mango, the ape in his grape, the mellow in his watermelon etc. “How did you meet?” Denno asked. Well singles in church had been asked to stand up and BFF & said lass had stood up next to each other. They chatted after the service, found out each had been single for years and voila; sparks flew, the sun smiled, flowers bloomed, wind blew her hair and so forth; just like in a good Bollywood movie. They went out a couple of times and decided they were a good match. In fact, the mystery lady was on her way to the hostel room for lunch so would Denno be a lamb and clean up his own room and then go away to give BFF some privacy for the date? Reasonable chap this one. Denno acquiesced to the request and began to clean as BFF went to fetch Miss BFF.

Wouldn’t you just know it, one Ruth Mwende showed up draped in the arms of this colonialist; Denno was dumbfounded. If his mouth opened any further, engineers would mistake it for a mountain pass and build the highway to Tanzania there. Ruth, to her credit, made like she had never met Denno before and after awkward introductions, he went and sat his sorry self under a tree and thought the ideal thing to do after such an ordeal was to call me. What are friends for aye?

Almost 2 hours later, long after the Juventus-Monaco match I was supposed to have watched had ended, I had encouraged ‘ol boy enough to return his shattered ego into the rough winds of reality and hope his wings still worked. At this rate I should quit my day job and begin a counseling practice; the amount of wisdom I dispel on any given week, chei! Na siringi, I am proud to be humble. So to prevent any further scenarios where I end up with cold beans and hot ears, let me address the nation…of women.

Dear sisters, we are not all dogs. Some guys actually like you and want to date you. I also don’t understand why they won’t join me in waiting for Nicki Minaj to get saved but it is what it is. So, if a guy likes you and tells you as much in word and deed, please be honest. If you don’t like him, say as much. If you do, say so as well. I know you’ve been told to wait to be chased and pursued like the jewel you are; and you will but please give a brother a sign, preferably in English and to him. That shrug you gave his shadow doesn’t count, neither does the wink you gave his sister’s aunt’s neighbor’s cat. Don’t lie that you’re taken. Let him know from day one what’s really going down. If you know, and you DO know, hawes mek; shoot that brother down before he even dreams of your DM. If you think hmmm, maybe; then say as much and see where that goes. If it’s a solid no, please put that pizza down unless you’re splitting the tab. Don’t be accepting chocolate from some remote village in Belgium and then acting like this your baby bro.

Think of it like this, if you were in the salon with your girls chilling, getting all cute and stuff then one of you decides to say, “don’t worry girl I gatchu, Imma pay for this one, get that pedicure too” what would your reaction be? This offer is made to you alone, Becky with the good hair and the rest wanaangalia tu. Right? I thought so. Likewise if Denno wants to take me alone for a photo shoot at Arboretum, issa problem. A friend will not single you out from the pack, if you’re being friendly, be friendly to all of us. You don’t see friends joining a newlywed couple on their honeymoon, that’s nanya. None ya business. Like sand through the hourglass, so are the…

Hell Hath No Fury…

Cat owners of the world be warned:

In the epic battle of the ages between cats and dogs, I have always been team feline; largely due to Garfield. No more.

You know how you can look forward with great relish to devouring a good meal you left in the house? That was me ten minutes ago; until I walked in on this ugly, scrawny, malicious, evil, hideous, hairless excuse of an animal in my sufuria. There it was, paws deep, caught in the act. The tiny, muddy pawprints traced a trail of destruction and massacre.

I am now sharpening my knives and on this dark night  😉, instead of protecting the streets of Gotham, I shall be in your alleys and backyards; skinning those pesky critters one by one until they give up the perp. What I shall unleash upon said cat, even I shudder at the thought.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I would never throw away beans unless KEBS certify with absolute certainity that they’ve gone bad. Minimum a month ago; anything less, my stomach juices can handle.

So you can imagine the mental anguish, psychological trauma, physical pain and horror I am undergoing. All my blood, sweat, tears, secret mbosho recipe and love gone into the trash; my toil for naught. PETA may revoke my membership but it is well. My avocado’s death cannot go unanswered. This day, there will be cat to pay.