Black Hawk Down! Bros Lie... A lot!

BLACK HAWK DOWN PART ONE.

One day I will tell you about Black Monday and the badassery of ordinary folks in taking down the US army in the Battle of Mogadishu. But today I will relate to you a rescue mission that took pure wit and gut. 

Phone rings. It's Moha. I havent seen him in weeks. I smile because this guy is my guy! We have broken curfew together just to buy groundnuts and cigarettes, we have read the same books, we have even dated the same girl (at different times. Nothing weird). I know when he calls he is somewhere flossing his teeth with a toothpick, smoking a cigarette and most likely chewing khat. Right now he could be clad in his sweatpants, arsenal jersey and Somali sandals like all Mohas of this world, and

I receive the call and in my loudest voice I blast 

"Muluhyaaaaaaa! Hahaaaaaa!"

Now under normal circumstances Moha would have replied with an enthusiastic:"Wariaaaaaaa! Hayye!" It's not a complicated inside joke. The premise being I am the "Muluhya" and he is the "Waria" so we switched it. You may not get the 'funniness' of it all but trust me, we laugh at such things. But I sense circumstances are not normal because Moha replies in his most humble of voices:

"Cheki bro, nataka useme tu ukweli. Jana tulikuwa wapi?" (Look here bro, I want you to say the truth. Where were we yesterday?)

I know almost immediately he is on loudspeaker and Caro, the girlfriend is breathing on his neck. I have never had to lie for the guy but today, wueh! I know he is on the spot. 

Caro is the kind of girlfriend who gives Moha money for mogoka and say things like "If you spend it on girls I will kill you!". She is a keeper that one! She oozes mega wife energy unlike some of you poor girls out here. But she has anger issues and she would scold my guy like a child! I sometimes take these death threats seriously but Moha dismisses them with:"Hawezi fanya any! We tuchane acha  uoga"(She can't do anything! Let's chew khat don't be a coward) Boranas are fearless like that. Which is why the humility in his voice is a red flag. Black hawk down!

I think of the most general answer I can give just in case my guy is in trouble with the girlfriend. 

"Buda kwani umechanga!? Hukumbuki tulikuwa wapi?" (Dude are you confused? don't you remember where we were?) I force a laugh. That loud laugh sex workers make to attract business. It's advertising. 

"This is serious Bro! You just say where we were!" At this point I know the man is in deep shit. I can almost see Carp glaring at him breathing through her beautiful nose like a rhino in labour. I calculate my next move fast. I don't know what lie Moha has told Caro, but I know for sure it's not the truth. The truth could get him killed. The truth in this case is called Sharon.

"It seems you smoked too much of that weed I gave you yesterday! Hang up the phone, I am coming to your place right now with milk!" I force another hooker laugh.

"Wait! Bro usikate...!" I hang up. I take my jacket and keys and rush to save this stupid man's ass before Caro kills him for sure. Black Lives matter you know.

BLACK HAWK DOWN PART TWO:

PSYCHOLOGY

Having a common ex girl forges a bond among men. Like when men went to war in the old days, you have gone through the same battles, your bond is forged in the crucible of blood and pain. That is Moha and I. We both dated this girl Yasmin. If you are reading this Yasmin, we havent forgiven you! I won't bore you with my relationship with Yasmin. All I can say for now is that she is saved as "Pure Evil" on my phone. That is a  story for another day. Today is a story about a hero who saved a friend in the most spectacular fashion. I am that humble hero.

Moha once told me that if you are cheating on a girl, you cannot lie to both of them. Smart guy Moha. But also the most stupid because he broke this very rule! I am rushing to his g girlfriend's house to save him from a lie that I have no idea what it is, and one that he dragged me in without my consent or awareness. That's what friends do. If you cannot lie to my girlfriend for me we cannot be friends. He has apparently told his Caro that he and I spent the whole evening together when infact I had not seen the man in weeks! My suspicions pointed at Sharon.

I arrive at Caro's house. It stinks of a nasty fight. One can tell because a few glasses are broken, the pillows are all over the living room and the most terrifying sight of all - Caro was holding Moha's signature Infinix Hot 3 (herein after referred to as exhibit 1) in her right hand with the left resting angrily on her wide Ugandan hips. I swallowed hard and plastered a fake smile on my face.

"Nyabo! Oli mulunji!" (Madam! You are beautiful) I have picked a few things in psychology class and I am happy to share my wisdom with you. Nothing disarms a lady from buganda kingdom than a man who knows the language her mother speaks. Caro looks unbudged. But I could detect a smile dancing at the corners of her Delilah lips.

"Ssebo I have no time for your nonsense! Get in here!" She is a boss this one, like I told you, she radiates GOAT wife waves. I step further into her expansive house and there he is, my guy Moha, sitting on the floor hugging his knees trying to look as innocent as Ann Waiguru. If his clansmen saw him at this moment, he will be cut out of his father's will. It was embarrassing and I couldn't wait to tell everyone!

"Ken how are you?" Caro calmly asks as if she had not just reduced this lion from Mandera into a house cat!

"Nze seli na bigambo my inlaw." (I dont have words my inlaw) I stick to my luganda theory and throwing in the 'inlaw' bit to remind her who she is to Moha and I. Psychology.

"Cut that Luganda business, we all know you are from Bungoma. Kaa chini. Kuna kesi hapa!" She waves Moha's exhibit 1 on my face.  

"Do I use the sofa or sit on the floor like my bro here? Moha! What's up bana?" I try to be funny.

"Don't start with me Ken!" I see I have no audience here for my world class jokes. I sink non-commitally  on the edge of the sofa. "Munange... You have always been a good friend to me before I even met Moha" is this girl trying to play psychology with me? "You can tell me the truth Ken." Clearly Caro does not know where my loyalty lies. "Who is Sharon?" She keeps her eyes on mine. Guys I had not prepared for this question! What I had rehearsed was "Where were you last night?" of which I would say "Beirut, Babu's shop chewing khat" and I had photos from a month ago to back me up. Caro was not following the script! I look at Moha for answers. The thing is we have developed a comprehensive code when it comes to lying to our women or parents when cornered and we have no time to cook a lie. I have used the code more than he has.

"Tell her my friend..." Moha says looking dead into my eyes. There it is! The code! "My friend" is another inside joke. We have a gay friend who introduces his male partners as "my friend". How am I to fit this into an answer that makes sense?

"Oh Sharon? Sharz!" I laugh to ease the tension. Psychology. "Sharz is a lesbian friend of ours. We hang out with her in Babu's shop. You should meet her, she's awesome!" Liars talk too much. But I am impressed with my lie. I think it's over. Moha gives Caro the "I told you so" look. It isn't over. 

"Oh that's okay." Caro seems convinced about that one. "And who is Camilla?"

It's like I had just been slapped. Damn it Moha!

BLACK HAWK DOWN PART TWO:

PSYCHOLOGY

Having a common ex girl forges a bond among men. Like when men went to war in the old days, you have gone through the same battles, your bond is forged in the crucible of blood and pain. That is Moha and I. We both dated this girl Yasmin. If you are reading this Yasmin, we havent forgiven you! I won't bore you with my relationship with Yasmin. All I can say for now is that she is saved as "Pure Evil" on my phone. That is a story for another day. Today is a story about a hero who saved a friend in the most spectacular fashion. I am that humble hero.

Moha once told me that if you are cheating on a girl, you cannot lie to both of them. Smart guy Moha. But also the most stupid because he broke this very rule! I am rushing to his g girlfriend's house to save him from a lie that I have no idea what it is, and one that he dragged me in without my consent or awareness. That's what friends do. If you cannot lie to my girlfriend for me we cannot be friends. He has apparently told his Caro that he and I spent the whole evening together when infact I had not seen the man in weeks! My suspicions pointed at Sharon.

I arrive at Caro's house. It stinks of a nasty fight. One can tell because a few glasses are broken, the pillows are all over the living room and the most terrifying sight of all - Caro was holding Moha's signature Infinix Hot 3 (herein after referred to as exhibit 1) in her right hand with the left resting angrily on her wide Ugandan hips. I swallowed hard and plastered a fake smile on my face.

"Nyabo! Oli mulunji!" (Madam! You are beautiful) I have picked a few things in psychology class and I am happy to share my wisdom with you. Nothing disarms a lady from buganda kingdom than a man who knows the language her mother speaks. Caro looks unbudged. But I could detect a smile dancing at the corners of her Delilah lips.

"Ssebo I have no time for your nonsense! Get in here!" She is a boss this one, like I told you, she radiates GOAT wife waves. I step further into her expansive house and there he is, my guy Moha, sitting on the floor hugging his knees trying to look as innocent as Ann Waiguru. If his clansmen saw him at this moment, he will be cut out of his father's will. It was embarrassing and I couldn't wait to tell everyone!

"Ken how are you?" Caro calmly asks as if she had not just reduced this lion from Mandera into a house cat!

"Nze seli na bigambo my inlaw." (I dont have words my inlaw) I stick to my luganda theory and throwing in the 'inlaw' bit to remind her who she is to Moha and I. Psychology.

"Cut that Luganda business, we all know you are from Bungoma. Kaa chini. Kuna kesi hapa!" She waves Moha's exhibit 1 on my face.  

"Do I use the sofa or sit on the floor like my bro here? Moha! What's up bana?" I try to be funny.

"Don't start with me Ken!" I see I have no audience here for my world class jokes. I sink non-commitally on the edge of the sofa. "Munange... You have always been a good friend to me before I even met Moha" is this girl trying to play psychology with me? "You can tell me the truth Ken." Clearly Caro does not know where my loyalty lies. "Who is Sharon?" She keeps her eyes on mine. Guys I had not prepared for this question! What I had rehearsed was "Where were you last night?" of which I would say "Beirut, Babu's shop chewing khat" and I had photos from a month ago to back me up. Caro was not following the script! I look at Moha for answers. The thing is we have developed a comprehensive code when it comes to lying to our women or parents when cornered and we have no time to cook a lie. I have used the code more than he has.

"Tell her my friend..." Moha says looking dead into my eyes. There it is! The code! "My friend" is another inside joke. We have a gay friend who introduces his male partners as "my friend". How am I to fit this into an answer that makes sense?

"Oh Sharon? Sharz!" I laugh to ease the tension. Psychology. "Sharz is a lesbian friend of ours. We hang out with her in Babu's shop. You should meet her, she's awesome!" Liars talk too much. But I am impressed with my lie. I think it's over. Moha gives Caro the "I told you so" look. It isn't over. 

"Oh that's okay." Caro seems convinced about that one. "And who is Camilla?"

It's like I had just been slapped. Damn it Moha!

BLACK HAWK DOWN PART THREE. 

DIPLOMACY 

A woman like Caro does not stalk her boyfriend, she investigates. Whereas you stalker girlfriends will give up after reading text messages on his phone (which smart men like Moha delete), Caro will hack his email and run a background check on all unfamiliar names on his call log. Which makes it extremely difficult to lie to her. Here is where diplomacy comes in! Diplomacy calls for diversionary tactics, logical lies and confidence. I am a master diplomat. Here I am defending a man, my guy Moha, whose crime I am not even aware of. I lying my ass off infront of his girlfriend, detective Caro. I am just done defending Moha about "who is Sharon?" When she hits me with "And who is Camilla?" Damn it Moha! How many girls is this one juggling? 

I am foremost shocked by how Moha landed Camilla. Camilla is a cop and she is out of everyone's league! Whatever league Moha is playing, like that team we support, he is not winning any trophies!

"Ssebo! You are quiet now? Who is Camilla? I know you know her!" Caro advances like a leopard that has marked its prey. It is time for diplomacy. 

"First of all Caro, hii ni madharau gani?" (What treatment is this?) I change my tone pointing at Moha dotted on the floor hugging his knees like a prisoner. "Can't your boyfriend sit on the chair we sort this like adults? Ona vile Moha anahurumisha manze!" (See how pitiful Moha is!) Heartstrings have been played. Caro calms down. He motions to Moha to take a seat. My guy gets up with fake tears hanging on his eyes. He is the best of actors! He even let's one roll down his cheek as he sits.

"Thanks babe..." he says sniffing and wiping his Oscar award winning tears. It is time to lie to this woman. I look at Moha in search for a code. We have codes.

"Tell her the truth Kennedy." His tone is grave.

"What truth?" Caro is now full of concern. What she has missed is the code Moha has just thrown my way. See, no human being on God's green earth has ever called me "Kennedy", not even my parents who gave me the name! All but one: A drug dealer in it hood who sells all kinds of illegal substances. I fear the guy so much that I am not comfortable bringing him up in this story. He is the only person who calls me Kennedy. I think it is a power move to assert dominance. So when Moha called me Kennedy I knew my lie had to involve drugs.

"Camilla is a drug peddler." I look at Moha again. We are both sweating.

"Yes." Is all Moha chimed.

"She hangs out with us once in a while..."

"Yes."

"Moha is addicted to cocaine..."

"No!" Moha jumps up

"What?" Caro's face registers horror, "Moha tell me this is not true!"

"It is not! Ken what are talking about?" Clearly I have messed up. My lie is too extra! But this happens in diplomacy guys. I have this in control. I hold Moha's shoulder

"Denial is the first step to acceptance bro." I have been to therapy countless times. I turn to Caro, "He has been trying to clean up secretly and Camilla, being a drug dealer, has experience in this. We have been working together to help this poor guy." I pat Moha on the head. He gets the message and humbled his posture. He looks like a puppy that has been rained on. It works! Caro hugs him suddenly.

"Why didn't you tell me babe? You had me worried! I am here for you and will support you in whatever way!" Caro hugs the guy again. Moha is now weeping loudly, gasping for air and throwing "I am sorry baby!" like Christmas cards. I feel my diplomatic work here is done. I have lied well. I start leaving giving the two love birds space to hug it out.

"Ken! Wait!" Caro calls me back.

"Webale nyo nyabo(Thank you madam),  I won't have tea!" I am in a hurry to leave 

"No. I want you to call Camilla." She extends Moha's phone to me.

"What?" We chorus in panic, Moha and I.

"Call her. We need to discuss, all of us, on how to help Moha" She kisses the condemned man on the cheeks. I have zero options. Diplomacy has failed.

I dial Camilla. I pray she is not on. She is. Hell!

"OCPD!" I blast as soon as the Camilla picks up. I need her in good moods.

"Ken is that you? Uko na Moha hapo?"(is Moha there with you?) I can imagine her dainty face framed in a police cap.

"Put her on loudspeaker." Caro whispers. We are screwed Moha and I! I put her on loud.

"Camilla where are you?" My plan is to draw out the conversation for as long as possible.

"Cut that crap! If Moha is there with you tell him I want to see him now!"

"Camillaaaa! Hata salamu hauna jaber?" I try to keep things light.

"I don't have time! Tell him to come see me now and explain things!"

"Things? What things?" I shouldn't have asked that!

"Infact now that I have you on phone, you can explain, who is Sharon?" Caro looks like She is about to explode.

I almost drop the phone! It is Sharon again. It has always been Sharon! Maybe Moha can explain: Who is Sharon?

4am demons

The 4am girl. She has drunk more than her boyfriend had budgeted and probably smoked something illegal. Six inch heels and the tight miniskirt were not prepared for this outcome. Her makeup is coming off. Her lipstick smeared on some dudes face... the dude she almost had sex with behind the urinals. She is screaming profanities at her boyfriend. Poor guy is almost giving up on her and the whole relationship; understandably so given she almost had sex with some stranger behind the urinals. She pukes violently. The boyfriend tries to hold her hair back and maybe save the two-month relationship in the process. Poor fellow is pushed away with more "F you's" and other insults constructed to demean his manhood.
"Where is my freaking phone?" She screams at everyone gathered outside the club's entrance to witness her drama. Taxi drivers laugh and shake their heads glad they didn't sire daughters. Boyfriend produces her latest infinix phone clad in a pink cover.
"Here it is babe..." He offers, hoping to be the hero that safely kept his babe's phone while she downed dry shots of whiskey and showing off obscene dance moves on top of their table a few minutes ago. He really should be angry with her utter disrespect to their relationship but he is Mr Nice guy. His kind gesture is welcomed with more insults this time extended to his family.
"Motherfucker!" She blasts. Boyfriend takes a few steps back as she swings her handbag at him much to the delight of the taxi drivers and onlookers. It is Monday, 4 am and she is as drunk as fish.
She suddenly breaks into laughter.
"Bitch!" She shoots the insult at boyfriend and bends down to puke again. She is sweating. Despite everything that is going on allover her face she is strikingly beautiful; perhaps too beautiful for the boyfriend. "Call me an uber you bitching son of a biatch!" She makes a poor attempt at kicking the boyfriend with her left leg, the only casualty being her miniskirt which tears along the slit exposing her sky-blue panties, and her perfect bum on which she lands. The drama has more audience: the campus praise and worship team headed for morning glory now casting pitiful and judging eyes at her. They shake their heads and thank God they are not sinful drunkards. Boyfriend is not sure of his next move. He hesitates. Grave mistake.
"We are done Collins! F you! We are done!" She laughs again and the laughter morphs into loud sobbing. "Don't leave me baby, I love you!" She raises her hands up like a baby. Boyfriend takes this as an invitation of truce and rushes to help his baby up.
"You piece of crap you have torn my skirt!" She cries as boyfriend tries to balance her weight on his shoulder. "Where is my jumper?"
"You left it in there..." Boyfriend whimpers. She is getting on his nerves.
"Go get my freaking jumper!" She is screaming again. Poor guy doesn't know whether to drop her back on the floor and go get the said jumper or do the same and walk out of this relationship. He is saved by a gang of three other equally drunk chics.
"Gai! Is that Shiko?" A tall girl staggers closer to the couple.
"Babe are you okay?" Another short girl joins the party.
"Collins what have you given her? You know Shiko doesn't drink makali!" Another tall chic reprimands the boyfriend. They are taking over this disaster. The 4 am girl pukes. Again.
"Gai!" The tall girl holds back her hair. "Bestie you will be okay..."
"I am fine! Leave me alone!" The girl spits out then wipes the vomit away with the back of her hand and off goes what remained of her maroon lipstick.
Music is still blasting from the club. 'Don't go am kujaing!' Sings king kaka.
"Woohoooo!" Screams our girl. "That's my jam! Let's go back bestie!"
"Where is your phone?" The short one asks. She really is too short.
"That motherfucker has it" Our girl burps out without even looking at boyfriend. The four girls stagger back to the club and poor fellow stands there. Lost. He has a C.A.T to sit in four hours.
"Bro are you okay?" It's a deep voice. It's some tall guy with dreadlocks. The guy who almost had sex with his girlfriend behind the urinals.

PATRICIA (part one of five)

Patricia is a man
He stinks of sweat weed and cheap ciggerates
He has three girlfriends and doesn't care for any of them
He hates them. But he loves hatred
He always smiles at them
But not with his eyes.

 Patricia has a deep voice and is always excited.
Patricia smiles with his lips and teeth but not with his eyes.
His eyes glitter with pain and anger and horrors of his nightmares
But he loves his eyes.
He enjoys burning people with his steady gaze.

Patricia hears voices
Screaming at him to die
Screaming at him to box the walls and play with razors
The voices are his own, drumming the insides of his skull in mockery
Cry
Patricia cannot cry. That will ruin his black eye-liner

Patricia loves bleeding
His blood is always warm
Patricia loves playing with razors on his wrist
And bask in the buzzing pain vibrating in his left arm
He loves the tickling of warm blood streaming down his arm
They make him smile... sometimes laugh
But not with his eyes.

Patricia loves laughing
He will laugh at anything.
At how pretty his angry eyes are
At how he dreams of being stabbed in the stomach
Or taking a bullet through his head

He laughs at his speedy funeral
No coffins
Washed bathed in fresh water and wrapped in white sheets.
Patricia wants to be hurried before 4 o'clock, within 10 hours of his death
He laughs. Never with his eyes

Patricia wants to take over
Patricia is the joker
Patricia is the man
He does what he wants


He loves to laugh not with his eyes 
Patricia is a man.

SHE GAVE ME AIDS IN (PART TWO)

"Brandy or whisky?"
"Anything with an alcohol content, except chang'aa"
"I have done chang'aa you know?"
"Get out!" My eyes wide, my jaw drops, "Aren't you full of surprises!"
"Turns out chang'aa isn't that bad!" She shrugs and grins. I am not sure if she whether she is serious or joking. She is Viola from our previous blog post. She is a gorgeous twenty five year old girl. And (as she puts it) and she has AIDS.
We have located from the coffee shop to the bar at Zaika Lounge.
"You know they say people who drink when the sun is up have either made it in life or they are clinical alcoholics..." I point out.
"Well they are stupid! You and I answer to a higher law!" we high five. The lounge has only one other person. Maybe because its 11 am on a Monday. He is a sharply dressed man in a beige suit with dreadlocks like Dedan Kimathi. If my earliet theory on day drinking is anything to go by, he looks like he has made it in life AND a clinical alcoholic.
A waiter comes to the counter where we are perched.
"Are you ready to order?" her voice should be on radio.
"I will take any vodka and two shots of chang'aa for this lovely lady." Viola explodes in that loud and careless laughter. She is roaring on the floor. The waiter is dumbfounded and clueless on how to nurse her confusion. "I am sorry, she will have the same." She walks around the counter to the shelves not at all impressed by my joke.
"So..." I start as as Viola catches her breath, "I want to ask how she infected you but it seems a bit insensitive..."
"Don't you want to know how I became a stripper first?" She is either toying with me or she is scared of telling her story. Either way I am curious with this bit of information.
"I have always wanted to be a stripper!" I kid. She lets out a whoop like sound then cocvers her mouth stifling her signature loud laugh. Dedan Kimathi guy turns and smiles at us.
"Chochi you are so stupid!"
"Awww, thank you!" Our drink arrives. We take the first shot together. It burns like acid. "So stripping..." I take out my note book.
"Oh yeah, your friend and I eventually got broke, and she suggested this new way of making quick cash at a club here in town. A cousin of hers was stripping there and she agreed to train us and get us a gig there."
"You mean to tell me," I sweep a quick look around the lounge to make sure we are out of ear shot, "There is a strip joint in this town?"
"Kwani which hole do you live in? I will take you there one day soon..."
"Nope!" i throw my hands up, "I am not ready to be a stripper yet!"
"To watch, not to strip!" But she knows I am joking. "Anyways, your bestie and I got hooked up at the club. We would strip dance on saturdays and sundays..."
"How much does it pay?"
" five thao per night..."
"Jesus girl! Maybe i should be a stripper!"
"You'd make a good one!" we laugh. Dedan Kimathi is clearly interested in our conversation. We give him the cold shoulder.
"I still strip, but in Nairobi. My stripper name is Viola"
"I dont know what to make of that . Wow!" There is silence as we down our drinks. We all know what the next topic is. But she waits till i ask.
"Are you ready to talk about it?"
"I want to kill your friend then kill myself." She says this as a matter of fact, calm, collected and premeditated. "She broke me first emotionally and when she could manipulate me she infected me. You know what she said after I told her I am HIV positive?"
"What?"
"She looked at me in the eyes and said, 'welcome to the club' !" Tears welled in her eyes. I patted her on the back. She pulled away, "Do not touch me. I hate being touched!" She took three shots of the vodka in three quick successions. I waited. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that."
"It is okay to react like that." I resisted the urge to hug her. "Do you mind telling me how it happened?"
"No I dont, thats why we are here, right?"
As if she knew what we were talking about, the waiter enters the DJ booth and tge lounge booms to Kate Perry's "I kissed a girl" hit song. We looked at each other and to my relief Viola cracks up in genuine laughter.
"It was a Sunday night, my third day at the strip bar and our shift was over. I was high on three different drugs. I could barely see clearly or even think straight. Your bestie was walking me out of the club's basement where our changing room was when one of the older strippers came along. She snatched my purse and emptied its contents to her hand bag. I was too weak to even raise a finger."
"What were you high on?" I was burning to find out.
"The usual, booze, weed, some of those pills they give mental people" I had heard of these pills but never laid my eyes on them. "Anyway she slaps your bestie and says something i couldnt quite hear but sounded like insults. We staggered out of the club and she shoves me at the back of a cab. The cab driver seems to know your friend pretty well. He asks if we have money and to my horror she sits me upright and says. "I got this one. She is fresh, you will see!" Before I even know what is going on, the taxi driver leans to the back sit and plants his lips on mine!" There is a look of disgust in her face. Her eyes, lost in the distance well up and this time she gives her tears a free reign. "The taxi driver asks her : "My place or yours?" "My place ofcourse, we dont have money on us" And we drive off. It feels like a few seconds before we reach your friend's house. The two carry me and throw me on the bed. She helps him undress me...." Tears choke her. She can't go on.
"Oh deary..." I hug her, she doesnt pull away.
"She watched him doing this to me. I looked into her eyes helpless. The pills had taken over my body I couldnt make any move. I looked into her eyes and she did nothing." She was in pain. I wanted to tell her to stop. I couldnt. "After he was done guess what?" I am silent. My own tears are filling up. "she undresses...."


"I went for HIV tests every two weeks since then and on the fourth testing my horrors were confirmed. I had AIDS. And what does your bestie tell me?"


"Welcome to the club..."


A true story.

SHE GAVE ME THE AIDS IN (PART ONE)

"You are so hot,  I will let you give me AIDS" I wink and she bursts out in a fit of infectious laughter. Her laughter is loud and careless and attracts the attention of other customers. We are in Java house, Eldoret town. "Seriously, you are so hot... it is worth it!" this sends her screaming in extended laughter. She is one of those humans who run away from the point where the joke was cracked while laughing.  A waiter signals us to keep it down.
"Chochi you should be a comedian!" she wipes her tears. It is my turn to laugh.
"You know I do stand-up for a living!" I punch her playfully on her shoulder and she punches back. she is a joy to be around. Her name is Viola and she has HIV and AIDS.

"Viola" is the name she told me to use in our interview. Its is also her stripper name. She broke the news about her HIV status via a text message, "Hey Chochi, I want you to publish my story on your blog. And I have AIDS". That's it. And I have AIDS.  That is how she put it, hard and cold.
" '...and i have AIDS'? Really?" I asked her.
"When you break such news several times you stop beating around the bush and just drop the bomb. I am used to all types of reactions..."
"How many people know?"
"Those who need to know." she sipped her second cup of coffee. I liked the way her pink lips kissed the mug.  It had been close to two years since I had last seen her back in campus.
"So where do we begin?" I try to be serious because we are loud and people are looking at us disapprovingly. "I mean,  since how long have you had it?"
"I have known for eighteen months now. Your friend gave it to me... "
"You have to stop dropping bombs like that! " My heart was literally beating in my throat. It is a bit disappointing that all my male friends crossed my mind and I suspected 99 percent of them.
"You know her quite well too. " Another bombshell.
I was speechless. A few seconds pass before I realize I am staring at her, looking into her eyes the way a certain 2022 presidential candidate looks at a land he wants to grab.  "Dude! You ain't fun anymore... "
I suddenly see in her eyes what she is afraid of, the reality of what she has in her. She has made it this far by taking it all lightly and laughing it off. In this dead moment I can see pain written in subtle wrinkles under her eyes. The pink lipstick covers a tiny sore that can only be spotted if you are looking for it. She sighs heavily and a hint of brandy hits me from her breath. For a brief moment there she hasn't got it all together as she would love the world to see and think.
"Are you still dating that nasty girl who does not know how to dance?" Viola asks, changing the topic and returning me back to the room.
"I left her" I smile halfway
"It's the dancing, isn't it?" Her careless laugh joins mine. When the laughter dies I realise we cannot look at each other with the comfort we began this date with.
"How did it happen?" I tap my pen on my notebook
"Well her dancing was so horrible you left her! " She laughs so had she starts coughing uncontrollably.
"Go away! You know what I mean! " I ignore the coughing.
"Well, my house was locked because I had not paid rent for two months going into the third month. I lacked a place to crush so I slept at a night club for a couple of days... That's where I met your friend. She bought me a meal and a drink. We talked about you for most part since it was the only thing we had in common. I waited till I was high enough to tell her about my accommodation situation and she was more than happy to help me out. That bitch! " There was pure hate and anger in her voice and written allover her oval face was pain. "She abused me emotionally, physically and sexually. Just because she had taken me in...  And she gave me the aids. " She said this looking straight in to my eyes. It felt uncomfortable. I felt she blamed me. I don't know why. I wanted to look away but it felt  unfair to look away, like i owed her this gaze; just as it felt unfair to ask 'How did she give you AIDS?'

To be continued...

KIONGOZI AT A FUNERAL

Kiongozi is wired to thrive at funerals. The member of parliament is a special mourner who only cares about the deaths that have occurred in the vicinity of a general election. When Kiongozi arrives at a burial ceremony, the women stop wailing and the dead is left unattended for a moment as their leader makes an entrance. He arrives fashionably late when everyone is present to witness his arrival. Being an embarrassingly short fellow surrounded by a gang of former body builders who now serve as his bodyguards, Kiongozi has everyone stretching their necks to catch a glimpse of the overweight lawmaker. One of the village boys clad only in a shirt long enough to cover his privates has broken through Kiongozis security team and is hunting for a handshake. Kiongozi masters a fake smile greets the little bastard and makes a mental note to fire one of the bodyguards. The dirge has stopped and in its place the local band is dropping its latest hit about Kiongozi. Every politician has a local song about them nowadays. Waving generously to the crowd he marches to the tent meant for family, in-laws and watu ya Nairobi. The deceased widow is humbly requested to give up her sit for Kiongozi. She is told that the leader has taken time out his busy schedule to eulogize a lost vote. She reluctantly obliges. Kiongozi smiles at her and squeezes a one thousand shilling sorry in her poor heart broken hands. One of the bodyguards take long strides towards the pulpit and requests that the priest himself should introduce Kiongozi. Kiongozi is impressed, and makes another mental note not to fire the guy; he has redeemed himself. As soon as the man of God introduces Kiongozi, everyone
forgets they are here to mourn. The church choir switches gear and breaks into a traditional song much to the disgust of the priest. The choir master has added some "umph" into his craft and the drummist has gone crazy. The funeral has gone into a political frenzy. Kiongozi can already see himself back in office.
"Harambeee!"
"Kiongosss!!" The crowd is raving with excitement.
"Winston Churchill said..." the crowd screams and claps drunk with unexplained joy. This was proof to anyone who doubted the validity of Kiongozi's degree certificate.
"Winston Churchill said success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm. Harambee!"
"Kiongosss!" The crowd goes. It is the word "enthusiasm" that has tripped them. surely Kiongozi is a born leader who has gone to school!
"And our people say..." Kiongozi is a smart man he has to throw in a luhya proverb to balance out the Winston Churchill quote in case his opponent accuses him of not being in touch with "the ground".
"Our people say when a dog barks during the day, no one pays attention. but when a lion roars..."
The crowd has now lost it! laughter and cheers fill the funeral. Did Kiongozi just reffer to his opponent as a dog and himself as a lion?
"Kiongosi nguruma!" someone shouts from the crowd eliciting more laughter. Kiongozi is impressed with the fellow and calls him to the front.
"Ningurume nisingurume?"
"Ngurumaaa!"
The village DJ at this point plays a soundtrack of a lion. The crowd is now in the seventh heaven! what!
"Harambee!"
"Kiongosss!"
Kiongozi has achieved his objective. He has stagemanaged his new nickname "Simba Kiongozi" with the slogan "Nguruma!". He offers a quick condolence message and heads out in the same fashion he came in, leaving the rest to bury their dead.

INFORMATION VS TWERKING NIGERIANS

So there I am in the office explaining the conflict between Israel and Palestine to my friends. They seem intrigued. I am a story teller and i cannot, for the life of me, tell a simple story without acting it out. My arms are allover the place, I am drawing missile projectile paths in the air, I am making exploding sounds with my mouth... I mean I am in there!

How I demonstrate the "six day war"

Just as I begin to narrate the "six day war" in Egypt as if I was actually there, an intern storms in with a sense of emergency and excitement in her eyes. She is making one of those little screams 22 year old ladies make in the presence of shiny objects. Trust a light skinned third year college comrade with her pretty lipstick to steal attention from anyone. She was waving her Huawei Y360 smart phone in the air while making a poor attempt at running towards us thanks to her yellow heels.
"You guys have to see this!" she squeals. She is cute.
"Actually Israel is about to attack the Egyptian air force here so..." I try to down play whatever she had downloaded thanks to the free wi-fi in the office.
"what is it?" No one wants to know which side of the war to support any more. So i put my imaginary jet-fighters back and join in the circle that has formed around this intern. Her perfume smells so nice. or is it her hair? Whatever it was, it was sweet.
"This Nigerian chic has released an awesome twerk video but watch what happens at the end!" she squeals again. Everyone was in on it. The Nigerian lady got skills though. The leso around her waist falls off at the end exposing her nakedness and the whole office roars with laughter. I pride myself in having an excellent sense of humor. On any other day i would have laughed my head off. Not today. I am an actor and I love my attention. She "runs" off to the reception to spread her message to the rest of humanity.
"So Chochi, you were telling us about Egypt?"
"The thrill is gone..."

NEREA HAS EIGHT KIDS!

Nerea should not be allowed to get pregnant again! she already has the eight sol-fa ladder in a period of ten years... and she is not ready to let go of her youth, she just turned thirty-five last weekend. I know this because she threw her birthday party at Bungoma Ndogo Bar and Restaurant - the dingy keg bar at the heart of Eldoret town. And if you thought I am talking about Nerea the girlfriend to Sauti Sol and those two other guys who told her not to have an abortion, you are wrong. I refer to Nerea, the new bar-maid at Bungoma Ndogo... given her eight off-springs, she is obviously pro-life!
Nerea's birthday party made other birthday parties look like nothing... first of all, Makhalange was offered for free, (oh.. makhalange is a delicacy from western Kenya. it is basically something between ugali and busaa, an alcoholic brew) and sodas were sold at half price. Our MCA was present to grace the occassion and as if that is not enough, Nerea gave birth right behind the counter!It all started when DJ Ras Kisondios 1999 Party mix played. Now all of us know the "ikibamba sana wapi nduru!" call that DJs make when they feel that whatever they have done is worth screaming at. Coincidentaly, Nerea's labor pains began at the very moment when the mix was worth screaming at! Every time she screamed, the patrons would join her in what sounded like a gang of owls being attacked by hyenas. Not until the baby came out and let a shrill that everyone knew...well... shit just got real! Many think that Nerea's kid will grow to be a President, an oscar award winning actor, or a revolutionary that would change this world... but some of us pessimist think he'll end up being a janitor, local thief, or at best own Bungoma Ndogo in future... but that is just me!
We are still brain storming on what to call Nerea's last-born (hopefully)

MISS MOI UNIVERSITY....

I remember when I ran for Mr Culture Moi University 2014 and came in fourth... (sigh) Good times there.. But that is neither here nor there. Meet the current miss Moi University 2015/2016. One gorgeous Audrey Awuor; easy on her laughter and a lover of alternative rock.
She laughs loud and smiles bright. I do not believe it at first when she tells me she is a belly dancer

"As in katumbo dance?" I couldn't resist a joke.. she laughs then shows me a few youtube videos of belly dancers; quite a talent there! So if you want to meet this intelligent Media Science student and awesome belly dancer, save a date on 31st May 2015 KICC Tsavo Ball Room where she will be on the Miss University Kenya Runway... check more pics at Miss-Moi-University-Audrey-Awuor-for-Miss-University-Kenya-2015

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!