FORGET IEBC.. I GOT 2017 COVERED!

The only system of election I trust is "Rock-paper-scissors". It is one that Uhuru cannot rig and Raila cannot contest when he loses! I do not see the point of voting... after all, your vote does not count; IEBC does. So t make life easier, let us do away with IEBC, since they are simply kids in soiled diapers waiting to be told who to swear in, and let us bring in the all efficient, all trusted, good old rock-paper-scissors. This is how it will go down: We bring Raila Amolo Odinga and Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta on live television (all the other stupid thieves-cum-politicians who call themselves presidential candidates locked somewhere where they can follow the elections on TV like the rest of us) We then get a refferee, someone from a good family who has an experience in Gor Mahia-AFC Leopards officiating, and one rich enough not to be bribed by Uhuru and the Kiambu mafia... We then get Larry Madowo of NTV who will have a panel of experts to explain to Kenyans why rock crushes scissors, why scissors cuts paper and more especially how paper beats rock by covering it. Surely this will take only hours to prepare and would be very cheap! I could even sponsor it! We then give the two presidential candidates thirty minutes to go over the rock-paper-scissors concept since I have a feeling it might be a bit difficult to conceptualize... you will be surprised by our politicians. When all are ready, the ref blows his whistle and three seconds later we have a president!.... or a run off... we do it again in case of a run off.. eventually Uhuru's scissors will cut Raila's paper, Raila will conceed defeat but he will take us to  referendum where we shall amend the constitution to make the paper cutt the scissors and patiently wait for 2022! PROBLEM=SOLVED!!!

GHOST PASSENGERS

Meet the ghost passengers of Embakasi... These are industrious men and women of this country who clad themselves in smart suits each morning and head to the city center. Their sole purpose in life is to create the illusion that the matatu is almost full especially during off peak hours. the squad of about eight usually sits patiently in the matatu while the engine is running. You will board the vehicle thinking that your journey is about to begin. Woo unto you; afterr about two minutes, one of the ghost passengers will alight... the drill continues until the eight Kenyans who had no intentions of going to Embakasi are replaced by eight other innocent travellers like you! By then you would have wasted about an hour of your life in which two buses that you were tempted to board have already left the stage.

 And the drivers are not any better. They keep raving the engine while moving the loud matatu back and forth... each time you hope they are about to go. And God help the touts who are always shouting for a whole hour "NAFASI YA WAWILI! NAFASI YA WAWILI!" passengers

SIX WAYS TO INJURE YOUR SWORN ENEMY (some classified stuff for those who don't know KARATE)

Have you ever been cornered at a club or in the school playground by some muscles coated bullies and did not know what to do apart from wetting your pants? well, me neither but i care about defenseless human beings on this planet. Pay attention, I am going to teach you some classified techniques that I have learnt both from experience and the movies I have watched. Here is a list of  SIX WAYS TO INJURE YOUR SWORN ENEMY (some classified stuff for those who don't know KARATE)!

#6. PINCH THE GUY WITH A SAMBAZA IN A MATATU.
Kenyans in the house know what I am talking about. First and foremost convince your worst enemy to sit strategically on that lonely chair behind the conductor. Then talk to a heavy woman, preferably one who sells chips mwitu in the market to be the last one to board the mat. As she is shoving and shifting through the narrow space, place the illegal piece of wood famously known as "sambaza" such that the enemy's thigh is sandwiched between the wood and the seat. Let Physics do the rest as our female accomplice heavily lands on the sambaza. Clever huh?

#5. STEP ON HIS SMALL TOE.
We all know how that little bastard can hurt! The small toe should be classified as a vestigial organ. You tell me one use of the little toe and I will give you money! That is besides the point... we are on a mission here... So step on the guy's little toe. this would be more effective if you are wearing heels. If you are not a wearer of heels, you can convince your girlfriend or someone of the fair gender who also hates the guy in question, to do it for you. Remember: make it look like an accident... otherwise it is just rude to walk up to a guy and step on his little toe with your high heels.

#4. THROW A 40 BOB COIN BETWEEN THE EYES, RIGHT ABOVE THE NOSE.
The Kenyan 40 bob coin is the heaviest money since 1963. Why between the eyes? Apart from hurting as hell, this spot will blind our enemy momentarily without damaging his eyes. this gives you a chance to run like the wind. If you are lucky, the victim might even nose bleed! Let no one lie to you that he will catch you later on, just make sure he does not see you when you stand directly in front of him as you hurl the money at him.

#3. PUT A THUMB-PIN ON HIS CHAIR.
You know this one... especially if it is a classmate or office-mate... just make sure the pointed part is facing upwards. You can choose to remain in the room and sadistically enjoy the drama that would ensue... or leave and hear the story later. I suggest you leave so that you look innocent. This is also a nice one to play on the class teacher.

#2.SERVE HIM HOT SWEET POTATOES
To pull this off, you must first declare a fake truce, you know, like what happened between Gaza and Israel? Invite the bully for breakfast. This will lure the big guy into a false sense of security. While you are laughing and joking at how he used to harass you, sweet potatoes should be boiling. Serve when its steaming hot and insist on the fact that it has to be consumed in a hurry. Sit back and watch as the tough guy debates on whether to spit or swallow!

#1. WAIT TILL HE RIGS AN ELECTION, BECOME PRESIDENT, GO TO A RALLY, THEN WHEN HE STARTS GIVING HIS SPEECH,THROW STONES AT HIM!
Or a rotten egg! Classic!

I SEE CRAZY ALL OVER MOI UNIVERSITY!

Its getting crazy in Moi University main campus! Power hungry sons and daughters of some hardworking Kenyans (who are breaking sweat to keep their DNA carriers in school) are on our faces from every corner of the university. Since last Friday I am getting more hugs from strange ladies who didn't care I existed a few months ago... I am not complaining though, I am enjoying the long hand shakes and the even longer hugs!
Aspirants are throwing the "I-know-you-personally" smile all over the place while uncomfortably adjusting the noose around their necks that they call ties... the lady-politicians are freezing just to shine! thighs are being exposed to the biting cold, mosquitoes and the lusty eyes of we the campus men! God help they don't die of malaria or pneumonia before the election date. Tribal meetings are being held in the school of arts under the dark. A friend of mine who had political interests sometime back was told, and I quote: "Entertainment docket tumepea waMeru". What on earth! I got Meru friends who are not aware of this privilege that was apparently handed to them by their leaders!
Random meetings are being held outside the student center... usually it is one atticulate guy in an oversized suit and armed with some out of this world vocabulary, sorrounded by the smiling faces of keen listeners who keep nodding wisely once in a while.
Such conversations are bound to happen:
"Who are you voting for chair?"
"Nalyanya.."
"That guy is not serious! vote for Makanaki, he has promised me alcohol next Friday!"
Oh the booze!!! at what point in these campaigns is the booze coming out? Cheap alcohol diluted with pineapple juice in a bucket will be making rounds at the corridors of Hostel H soon! I know a guy who cannot wait ;)
Door-to-door campaigns. This is basically a group of comrades coming to interrupt a moment between you and your girlfriend. Everybody knows this shit does not work! You knock on my girlfriends door, I say 'come in'. Obviously you don't hear it over the sound of the boiling rice so you knock again and my girlfriend answers. You come in and start dictating to me who I should vote for and my girlfriend and I put on fake smiles while secretly peeling off your skin in our heads. You leave a flier with the untrustworthy picture of your preferred candidate on it, which goes to the trash can right away. I close the door behind you going: "What a moron! NKT! Now... where were we?" :)
Hooligans armed with vuvuzelas... well I won't go into that because I am one of them! Anyway after elections guess what is staring at your face? GREEDY LEADERS AND END OF SEM EXAMS... life sucks!

"SHE IS MY EX" the stand up comedy

It is a little bit ego-centric to do a review of your own comedy show... but who cares!
When I put up posters to advertise my first stand up comedy special "SHE IS MY EX" there was a special group of human beings I was not expecting to see on the audience, my ex-girlfriends. So you can imagine the tension in my bladder when three of them showed up in solidarity and with impunity, planting themselves at the back of the hall! For a whole hour I debated whether to do away with some bits of the script which talked about them or to go ahead as rehearsed.... I reached a decision when the opening comedian Chief Munene, rocked the audience; I decided not to mince my words.
From the ex who forced me to pay for her shit (She went to a public toilet and I paid!) straight to the one with a bukusu, I did my routine and luckily, the laughed!
It was not all about heartbreaks and embarrassing ex girlfriends though.. this script had political hints and some deep stuff.  But as usual, the funny takes precedence.
"She is my EX" is the first one man show I have done in Moi university and I am currently working on the next one "THE PEOPLE FROM MY VILLAGE" which covers everything from sports, culture, politics, relationships and tribalism. Therefore if you want to be part of the PROF CHOCHI CREW, leave me an e-mail at nalyanyaken@gmail.com... I will appreciate your support fans!!

STRANGER ALERT!

Today I walked into my room after a boring class about state and development. All I wanted to do was to fire up my Lenovo laptop, drop on my bed and play NFS Most Wanted. I could not do the dropping-on-the-bed part because there was a snoring full grown red-blooded thirty-something year old drunk male human being on my bed!

For those who know me are familiar with my non-violent approach to issues, Mother Teresa is my inspiration. But at this point in time I cared less about some dead nun… I wanted to kill this sleeping bag of meat! He was shirtless. I have never seen so much hair in one place away from the head. Immediately after the bush that was his chest came the mother of all pot bellies. This slob could not see his toes if his life depended on it! His trousers were held somewhere under his intestines with a sisal rope which might have been previously used to tether cows based on its color. He must have wrestled a pig too judging from the fresh mud all over his trousers. His feet rudely stuck out the trousers with disturbingly jigger-infested toes trying to escape out of his ancient socks. This was a pile of disgust. And it had piled itself on my bed!

There are a number of things a man can do in such situations. For instance my friend Wakukha would simply have beaten the man up with two giant pieces of wood tied together. My friend Jakajimbo would have gone passive aggressive on the slob; suffocate the dude under a pillow before setting him on fire. Or Musa, our watchman, would do the opposite, set the drunk on fire before suffocating him with a pillow. I wanted to beat him up with two giant pieces of woods tied together, set him on fire then suffocate him under a pillow! Lucky him I couldn’t get any of the three weapons! Therefore, I did what I am good at; I screamed as loud as I could and in a very high pitch.

“What is it?”

“Where is the pig” two guys stormed into the room. Yes, I had screamed:”Nguruweeeeee!” (Pig!)

“There he is on my bed!” I reported to my rescuers.

“Your bed?” one of the guys wondered. A fresh look at him and I saw a hangover written all over him. The other guy was staring at me as if I had operated on him, took his kidney and ate it.

“That is Kiprop…”

“oh…” is all I could say. Apparently I had wandered into the wrong room. Silly.

HOW NOT TO CIRCUMCISE A LUHYA

I am trembling in excitement as August approaches. It is yet another year that the people from my village painfully circumcise their young ones. The soon to be declared adults have started their rehearsals which include dancing, blowing of whistles, playing special bells called chinyimba and most importantly eating  more than usual.

It is during such a season that events of August 2006 come to mind, it was the day my friend Wakukha was almost circumcised for the second time. For those of you who understand this scientific process, you only need the delicate operation once; afterwhich there is no much left for a second time. I guess you can now picture the gravity of the situation Wakukha was in.

Let us not rush into condemning the circumcisor and his team before getting his side of the story. Wakukha had diligently faced the knife in 2004 as per the Luhya custom. the only difference was that the boy opted to do it in hospital; something which did not go down well with Mukhebi (the village surgeon). A man from such a big household in the village, according to Mukhebi, should not expose themselves to those sophisticated equipment which were not painful enough to make one a man. So when word went out that Wakukha's younger brother was going to the hospital in Kitale to face the scalpel rather than the blessed knife of old, Mukhebi swore to reach for that foreskin before it traveled to the cool town!

Come the wee hours of his brothers circumcision morning, Wakukha got up earlier than usual. He wanted to milk the cows before the flies woke up. While he was busy pulling out the soft drink from the animal, he heard a circumcision song. Now Wakukha cannot be left behind on this things, he immediately forgot about breakfast, took out his vuvuzela and went to join the party. Coincidentally, the obscene song that was being sang happened to be his favourite...
"Eh mayi mbekho Panadol...." He soloed as he approached the cutting team. A few meters from the party, Wakukha realized all was not well. Mukhebi's knife was out. Everybody knows that when that weapon comes out, someone loses something they were born with!

"He has brought himself! The boy does not want to go to hospital either!" Mukhebi proudly announced with a tear of utter joy escaping his chang'aa tinted eyes. It took several seconds for Wakukha to realize that he had been confused for his younger brother. Within those seconds, the man was airborne with his fly halfway undone! His efforts to announce that he was a black skinned, red blooded Circumcised Luhya man fell to deaf ears! Mukhebi was saying special prayers to Mango, the father of the knife. you see special situations like this you don't just cut up a person... Were it not for the intervention of Wakukha's sisters, who are known for their anger, Wakukha would have been circumcised again. And that people is how not to circumcise a Luhya, do not circumcise him again!

HOW TO BE SHOT BY UNKNOWN GUNMEN IN KENYA

So you are tired of your miserable existence and you just want it all to end? Well, suicide is not the option. it is messy and most of the time doesn't work. Here is a tip for you; why dont you get gunned down by the most patriotic Kenyans: unknown gunmen! These guys love Kenya so much that they would not hesitate to put a bullet in you while you are strolling in the streets of Mombasa (or anywhere else). But you have to give these patriots some motivation first; afterall killing a person is not that easy, is it? Well it depends...

1) BE A MUSLIM

This is a good motivator. Apparently, unknown gunmen are fond of shooting muslims. So if you really want to die you can try shifting religions. All you need is a nice white Kanzu, a Friday and a mosque to walk out of. This seems to rattle the tail of these unknown Kenyans with weapons.

2)HAVE AN ACCENT

No. Not a Luhya accent... nor a Luo one. Unless you want a slot at Churchill Comedy show then you are good to go. But if you are serious about this dying business, then you need a dangerous one, either Arabic or Somali... Mostly the Somali one. According to unknown gunmen, a Somali accent can voice activate a hand grenade. True story. So come on you suicidal freak! Let us fake ourselves a "bahali yake" accent!

3)LEAVE YOUR IDENTIFICATION PAPERS AT HOME

So your girlfriend is a pain in the neck and just doesn't want to go away? this is a tip for you. Steal her Identification papers and send her for mtumba shopping in Eastleigh! We need a story to back your saddistic doings... she'll get arrested, sent to a refugee camp somewhere and when she comes back to the city BAM!!! Our unknown friends strike! a bullet to the head or a driveby and your love story comes to a bloody halt.

4) SHOW YOUR FACE ON "JICHO PEVU"

We want to see you on TV before and after you die. So have a chat with Mohamed Ali. And do not mince your words during the interview. Say something unpatriotic; like you hate Christians, Kenya sucks, KDF are thieves, mention ICC cases if you can, put the Inspector General under siege (wink!),  throw in an insult or two about the government of the day... you know, all the true juicy stuff. Here is the thing, Unknown gunmen watch Jicho Pevu too. They'll help you die and watch you in the next episode of the investigative documentary!  

5) FOLLOW ADEN DUALE'S ADVICE

Do not throw a grenade in Eastleigh... go to Machakos. I know Duale said it won't get you killed. He is right, the government might not get you but our buddies the unknown Kenyans will get you.

6) FOLLOW MY ADVICE

Thats right... follow my advice. But just incase your family tries to sue later on, I plead insanity!     

DRINKERS ASSOCIATION OF MOI UNIVERSITY (DAMU)

Imagine my excitement (as a journalist) when I bumped into two bona fide members DAMU, Drinkers Association of Moi University. They do exist people and my do they drink! They are more organised than some media groups i write for... this i gathered from their club t-shirts written "save water, drink alcohol", we dont even have a logo in some media group i write for!

Before you all get creative and jump to conclusions, let me announce that it was at broad daylight when i encountered these two gentlemen. I was at a pork joint in campus having my lunch and writing up material for my comedy show "laugh with impunity" when the duo staggered in. Despite being a Monday afternoon, the undergraduates were as drunk as a nominated senator (see what I did there?). Their t-shirts had a smiling face of Tabitha Karanja holding the new Guiness bottle. Remember when Bifwoli Wakoli walked the streets of Nairobi screaming "Awori poleeeeee!"? These two drunk vuvuzelas were doing exactly that only this time calling for more beer and some other things which i cannot write even when I am alone and in darkness!

"HII SIO BAR!" (this is not a bar) the pregnant waitress was almost in tears.
"Do we look drunk to you?" One of the beer bottles asked, "Do you know who we are?"
"We are DAMU!" screamed the alcohol in the other guy, "Drinkers Association of Moi University!"

At this point, most of the self righteous pork eaters made their way out of the joint cursing the makers of the brew. I would have walked out but I was still looking forward to an "ugali sosa" afterward. Besides, I figured this story might impress the editor of our publication (For the record, this story was killed).

It was impossible to convince these enemies of Mututho that they were not in a bar. In fact, they broke into their club anthem which was interrupted by a series of belching and hiccups. At this point is where I intervened, heroically even, i dare say.
"Comrade power!" I screamed.
"Hey! aren't you that comedian guy?" I must say one does not feel particularly safe when recognized by a drunk.
"Thats me bwana!"
"Your joke about the toothless girl was pathetic man!"
I made a mental note to scrap that one off my script.
"You guys are a club or something?" I asked partly out of curiosity but mostly to change the subject.
"Ofcourse! we are DAMU!" (after which they sang their uncomprehendible anthem) "the lady you see on this t-shirt is Tabitha Karanja... do you know her?" i shook my head though she looked vaguely farmiliar.
"You do not know her?" the other drunkard sang. I swear his breathe did make me a little bit tipsy! "This is the mother of all beer! the CEO Keroche breweries!"
"We have been trying to contact her to sponsor our club..." a sudden sadness covered their faces, "You see the University cannot support our club... is that really fair?" I did not feel safe answering that question so I dipped a serious piece of ugali into the pork fat and stuffed my mouth.
"We are a free country for God's sake!!"
"Wako wapi?" a kalenjin accent asked at the door. security was here. As the two were being whisked away loudly, I scheduled an interview with their leader which they agreed on condition that I find them a sponsor. so if you are out there....

WAZEE WA SIKU HIZI

The old people of nowadays have a problem with our generation. I am not talking about age here. I refer to the good men and women who are scared of change especially in fashion and technology. They disapprove of everything youngsters do. Sometimes justly so but more often than not they are just scared… And it did not just start recently; it began when we were born. Ask anybody who was born after 1990 and they will tell you that, in more than one occasion, we have been referred to as “watoto wa siku hizi”; the children of nowadays. We have been branded as the manner less generation that watches violence and sex on TV… and we do not respect our elders. Flash forward to approximately 15 years later… there we are in our early 20s and the “watoto wa siku hizi” has metamorphosized into “vijana wa siku hizi”.

 It is true that my generation has done many wrong things including twerking, skinny jeans and killing letter “s” by replacing it with “x” (xorry, am not apologizing!).

You do not see us condemning your generation when Aden Duale exposes his small brains and big mouth on national television, do you? Or when Shebesh and Kidero are slapping each other senseless? Or when some genius decides to embezzle tax-payers money? Do you see us shaking our heads and condemning the whole lot of you going “tsk tsk tsk! Wazee wa siku hizi!”? Many of the Wazee wa siku hizi have done a lot of harm to the society too. Well, we have out done you but that doesn’t give you the right to judge us blindly. All these feelings I have “caught” come from a single incident where my hair was on the spotlight…

I am a proud owner of a curl activated semi-Mohawk that I spent my own money to make. For those wazee wa siku hizi who do not know what that means, it’s almost similar to the box shaving style only that I have put some chemicals on mine to make it look awesome. My problems started at the salon where I was having it treated. That is right, we go to salons nowadays. A woman in her midlife crisis could not contemplate for the life of her what a man was doing under a drier.

“They do that nowadays madam… it is normal” the salon lady tried to come to my aid.

“Vijana wa siku hizi…” she shook her head in disapproval. She went ahead to give everyone who cared to listen a lesson in morality. Well, I have seen rapists and thieves who are loyal to the old fashioned kinyozi with old fashioned hairstyles.

Things took a turn for the worse when I boarded a matatu in Eldoret. It was in the evening and the wise old people of today were coming from work. I could sense more than ten pairs of eyes staring at my freshly done hair. Everyone had decided to keep their opinion to themselves were it not for Mama nani who had coincidentally followed me from the salon.

“Mimi nipate kijana wangu amekaranga nywele!” (Should I find my son frying his hair!). The all too familiar voice broke the tense silence. And just like that the “vijana wa siku hizi” massacre arose. Dreadlocks and skinny jeans were put on the table and devoured hungrily and angrily. Examples were given of naked girls in the streets and in the villages alike. Universities were cursed as the breeding ground for irresponsible youth. The driver even slowed down and threw his thoughts on the topic. He predicted that the next time we meet I will have ear-rings on my nose and a tattoo of the devil on my fore head!

I am twenty one, the hair on my head is yet to fall out when balding sets in, let me play with my hair! Plus I am not trying to impress the wazee wa siku hizi, this is for my future wife!