2014 IN THE VILLAGE TOILET!

I am not proud of the fact that I spent part of 2013 and 2014 inside a village toilet! on that note let me wish you a happy new year!

 

My prayer has always been never to get pressed in the village. My fear of the village toilet supersedes that of snakes! And god knows I fear snakes.

The village toilet is one that leaves you with so many options on how to use it, none of the numerous options is comfortable.  First and foremost, the village toilet is cold. Were it not for the hygiene factor, one can preserve milk inside there. The main reason for these unfriendly low temperatures is the worn out sack that serves as the door. The problem with this kind of door is that it only covers the face of the user and not the fundamental parts that make the toilet a private room…

You certainly do not want to visit the village toilet on a windy day. This is because the sack that covers the little privacy you could afford will be flapping about furiously! To save yourself from the embarrassment that could ensue, you have to hold the sack with both your hands. Woe unto you if the small hole is far away from the ‘door’ or worse, if your hands are short!

Tissue paper does not come easy in the village… people have to be creative. If you are lucky enough to visit a rich man’s toilet, you will have to make do with old pieces of newspapers. Now, I got no issues with this form of paper, but won’t you find it weird to ”serve” yourself with an obituary page? If I was a ghost, I would haunt you for life if you used the page am on in this manner!

If you visit a poor man’s toilet in the village, please do not question the plantation that has grown inside this all important structure, the green leafs are means for you. If I owned a village toilet, I would plant a poisonous plant next to it just for fun when a visitor uses its leaves as tissue paper… yeah. Am a sadist!

I was surprised when I spotted a jembe in one of the village toilet. Upon inquiry, Wakukha, my cousin to whom the toilet belonged explained graphically that it was for “the mess afterwards just in case” Judging from the size, the temperature and the type of door the village toilet has, a mess is bound to happen!

I AM BEING INCITED AGAINST MY GOVERNMENT

I went to visit Walubende again; the man my mother insisted is bad influence. But this guy greeted the president in 1998! just to be clear, Walubende has been angry since 1998, he wishes he would have slapped His Excellency instead.

Walubende is angry with politics and he is inciting me.

"The son of a poor man, subject of the digital government, how are you!" he greets me jovially as I enter his stuffy hut for the second time this year. He spits on the fire and disturbs the burning embers with his walking stick.

"What subject do you take at the college my son?" he falls in a coughing fit.

"Media Science..." I answer when he's done coughing. Walubende is getting old. He laughs at my broken voice.

"that is why I thought about you when my son was reading the newspaper to me" I am impressed. the old lad has a good memory still. "I am told KANU is at it again... the funny business of firing and harrasing journalists..." I correct him. KANU is not in power now. not anymore. But Walubende is a proud man who does not appreciate correction. he tries to hit me with his walking stick. I know this move, thats why I made sure that the distance between him and me is longer than his walking stick.

"Do not be smart with me young boy, the old men of KANU are still drinking milk in state house!" Walubende coughs again. I excuse his old age and try to reason...

"They are not old men, the president is in TNA and his deputy in URP. Multi-party!"

"Multi party nonsense! Those who fought for multi-party have no power. those in power are the ones who fought against it! Take your president for instance..."

"Uhuru?"

"No! Not the loud one, the quiet one."

"But Walubende, Kibaki left the big house in April this year..." Walubende should really buy more newspapers!

"Whatever!" he spits on the dying fire again and pokes the firewood with his stick. "I watch news at Peneteta's hotel. I have seen your president and his gang, young man I know the jogoo party when I see one!" Well, I might have underestimated the old man afterall, he seems conversant with current affairs.

"So the son of Jomo has the power to fine and fire you once you start working on TV, radio and newspapers?" He asks. It hits me, Walubende has heard the rumours about a bad media bill.

"Its not him doing the fining and firing but some people he appoints..." I correct. He swings his stick at me and misses.

"Stupid boy! when I hire a househelp, does he do what he is supposed to do or does he do what I tell him to do?" Good question Walubende has.

"But he has not yet signed it..."

"Dont be a fool, all bills are written by him and his jogoo party!"

"You mean TNA?"

"I mean KANU!"

We are both confused. he sighs loudly and spits on the fire then pokes it. Why on earth does he keep doing that? He stretches his old bones. From behind the stool he is sitting on, he puls out a bundle of newspapers.

"Take this to bwana Muigai down at the butchery. Buy some mandazi with the fifty shillings he gives you." I thank Walubende's generosity... But I have this feeling he has just incited me!

KOMBO, THE SON OF NASIPWONDI

After enjoying a hearty lunch that was composed of two ugalis and three quater kilograms of nyama choma, my friend Sarah Nalyanya could not hide her surprise when I told her that I am a stand up comedian. She even let out a small scream when I said I was soon going to do a comedy tour! It is funny therefore how she quickly believed me when I informed her that I am in Musikari Kombo's campaign team!

If the small meetings at Barasa's Park inn Kimilili are anything to go by, then I am indeed campaigning for Nasipwondi's son.

I know friends who are making that noise Sarah Nalyanya made when she learnt my job. well, let me state categorically that I am in it for the money and I do not support the ideologies of New Ford Kenya! There are those of the view that I am not political (especially my girlfriend) but what do you expect? I am a grandson to Mwalimu Sylvester Wakoli Bifwoli! Whom I am sure will not win...

That said the, it is hereby my duty to war Honourable Moses Wetang'ula... the son Of Nasipwondi, also known as Owa Nasipwondi by the people from my village, is seriously almost winning the upcoming by-election in Bungoma county.

Before I am labeled traitor by my fellow "foot soldiers" (that is what we, door-to-door campaigners in Kombo's camp call ourselves) I hereby stae that I am not a registered voter in Bungoma county... My name is in one of the IEBC register in Uasin Gishu, the county where I almost voted... Now they have a good reason to stone me!
Back to the good man Wetang'ula, Owa Nasipwondi means to win by all means. I have witnessed and also taken part in his aggressive campaign. He is directly in touch with over 300 voters in each polling station. Weta you got to work hard sir!

Owa Nasipwondi is also successfully soiling Wetangula's name. He has managed to convince almost half of the county that Musa is responsible for all the violence in the ingo county. Talk of the killing of Advocate Wanyonyi and Weta's name is dragged in. The annoying Eugene Wamalwa even gave a dramatic moment of silence for the good lawyer and then went ahead to accuse Mose of murder in front of a crowd of hardworking kimililians!

talk of death threats to Kombo supporters in Sirisia and the CORDed Moses Wetang'ula's name is dragged in! He is trying to sway voters by tarnishing other's name. And it is working.

Owa Nasipwondi Musikari Kombo might be the next senetor of Bungoma county!

I KNOW PEOPLE! NAIROBI PART TWO

Smart Joker has a bad handwriting. Thats right, I am talking about 'the sweet joking smart joker kutoka Kibera' you know him from Churchill Show. He is quite a cool guy, I had a small chat with him as he signed me an autograph (from which I now judge his handwriting) Ever since I started seeing him on the telly, I have always wondered if his eyes are that big when he is off the stage. They are. But he doesnt lean that way in real life...

The point I am trying to brag away is that I was at carnivore Simba Salon during one of the live recording of Churchill Show. True to my being, while there, I tried to borrow Big Ted's coat.. you know that giant. He didnt give it to me. it was one of those moments when the stage was being set and the audience was invited to do their thing. The first guy to take the opportunity was painfully not funny while the second guy was tone deaf but tried to do a reggea number! The third guy was me, Prof Chochi Celeb Phd, I treated them with one of my "choir master" jokes... It is awesome standing on that stage.

Speaking of choir masters, I also met YY... a comedian in Churchill Raw. I bumped into the boy at night in Kenyatta University. He immediately noticed my knack for Luhya jokes. I crack them a lot now that am writing the script to my one man stand up comedy show "THE PEOPLE FROM MY VILLAGE"

Very few folks believe me when i say that I had lunch with Tonny Timase, he of business news. Okay, I will confess that it happened by accident... we happened to share a table at a restaurant near the Norfolk hotel.Ther man ate a whole fis while I did with two sausages and a sodaa (they did not have chips and their chicken was way too expensive. do not judge me!) I was tempted to talk to him and even ask for an autograph but some say he is not as friendly as the sweet joking smart joker. I however managed to get a blurry snap of him on my cell.

I will be a hero and maybe the people of my village will elect me as their county assembly representative when they read this: I saw Cyrus Jirongo! We were trapped with him in a traffic jam.... well, I was in a stuffy "citi hoppa" while he was comfortably dozing off in his black range rover. this guy wanted to run for president, right?

there you have it Prof Chochi Celeb PhD (born Nalyanya Kennedy) knows people!

MY VILLAGE HAS ARRIVED IN THE CITY: NAIROBI PART ONE

Five minutes into Nairobi and I had counted more than fifteen people from my village. That and adding those who had euther been arrested ir passed on, I can comfortably confirm that my village, indeed, has moved to Nairobi. Talk of rural-urban migration and i will promise you the people from my village as the perfect case study.

Let me start from the "big" people. Adviceroi Mundalo, the man with the strange name, you all know him from the romantic kumbekumbe story. This avid lover of flying vegetables was idling on top of that flyover next to the good university of Nairobi. He tells me that he is now a manager. He manages all the beggers in River Road and a few along the begging hot spots in Jogoo Road. This man seems to have put his vast knowledge of Mathematics into good use.

I cannot fail to mention Wabwire... You might have met this man in one of your encounters with my blog, the photoman. Yes, the man too is in the city, and no, he is not taking photographs. He is in the smuggling business. He tells me that beer is a lot cheaper in Uganda and since he was born in Busia, he is well versed with "panya routes" to our neighbours to the west. He seems to be doing well too judging from his afro and the pot belly under his ribcage.

I also bumped into the good man, Shiramba. He would kill me if he learns that I didn't mention him in our blog. (it is now known as "our blog" to the people from my village). I met him within the fences of Jomo Kenyatta University of Science and Technology. I might have not seen him considering the nice hangover I was nursing after an all night party with th old boys of Friend School Kamusinga in Thika. Shiramba doesnt allow himself be ignored. H e called me by the name only people from my village use. He tells me he is a lab techinician at this technological institution. Though I do not believe him, he seems to be leading an honest life unlike Mundalo and Wabwire. A good man that Shiramba is.

How can I forget the man whom am angry with? Douglas, the boy who came to Nairobi and changed his name to a short. Literally he calls himself  "Suruali fupi" which actually means "small underwear" back in my village. I am angry with him because I did not physically meet him yet he knows how much I value handshakes! But atleast we used his alcohol which he told us to pick at Ruiru on our way to the party in Thika....

Nairobi part one, it gets funnier :)

I BROKE WESISI'S LEG

Now that I am more than 500 kilometers from Nasianda village (The village where my mom rests) I can fearlessly confess that I was the one who broke Wesisi’s leg.

I got only one reason for administering that fracture: Wesisi is one annoying man.

Where does one begin to describe this creation of God? Lets start from the basics, Wesisi is a serial funeral attender. He has attended practically all the funerals in my village. The only time he will miss a funeral is if and only if it coincides with another funeral. Trust me, attending all funerals in my village is a Herculean task, the people from my village die a lot!

Perhaps it would help if Wesisi brought a little laughter and good cheer to these sad businesses. But no, the good seventy five year old boy comes to funerals and mourns louder than the griefing. It doesn't help that he composes songs for the departed…. It is an annoying habit that would drive even the most meek of beings (i.e. me) to that bone-breaking point. He simply cannot be tolerated.

Take my mother's funeral for instance; Wesisi, or rather, his voice arrived at our homestead at 6.30 am only for him to arrive thirty minutes later. He was singing the names of people who died since 1989 in a very high pitched voice. What annoyed me more was that he had taken the eulogy, translated it into four different dialects of luhya, exaggerated it and finally made it into a song.

Upon setting foot in the homestead, Wesisi demanded to be shown the kitchen. He claimed that someone might have sensed he was coming and was trying to poison him. so to save his life and those of others, he should supervise the brewing of breakfast! I wanted to poison him right there and then! No one needed to show him the kitchen, the good old boy sniffed his way to it.

After harassing the women in the Kitchen, Wesisi finally came out with a whole debe of steaming hot tea. He was loudly sipping the brew while complaining that the milk used to make the tea was from an old cow. He even went ahead to accuse some of my good aunts for hiding sugar in their bags instead of putting it in the tea!

Immediately after downing the last drop of tea, Wesisi resumed his "mourning". He danced around the compound and seeing he wasn't attracting his desired attention, he threatened to throw himself into the grave. This did not stir anyone. Deciding to make his threats real, he took off and actually did it! too bad for him the grave diggers were only a foot into their work...

Tired of his morning drama and having exhausted all the energy his breakfast had given him, Wesisi sat behind the bathroom going over and over a monotonous chorus... I know you are wondering why I hadn't broken his leg yet... wait for it.

When lunch-time was approaching, Wesisi suddenly became sadder and grief struck him like nobody's business! He shot up and cried his way to the kitchen cursing the spirit of death! Were it not for one brave woman (a distant relative) to hit Wesisi straight on the face with a hot ugali-coated cooking stick, the man would have once again taken over the kitchen. I am sure Wesisi cried for real for the first time since he woke up that day, for I know the pain that a hot ugali-coated cooking stick brings (read the story http://nalyanyak.blogspot.com/2013/09/my-cousin-is-heartless.html?spref=tw )

That silenced the man for a while...

Now this is where I break Wesisi's leg... It is that moment when the coffin is being lowered, everyone is crying (and others pretending to), Wesisi the drama king of my village decides to grab me and take me away from the grave because he had apparently read my body language and deduced that I was going to jump in because that's what he would have done... I remembered a martial art maneuver that i have mastered and kicked the old boy right on his left knee...

I left him there yelling and went to watch the most painful scene in my life...

WORLD TOILET DAY

As a comedian I am forced to recognize this day... otherwise i would rather sit back and crack jokes with my cousin Terry than subject my fingers to this Herculean task of typing. (I am a painfully slow typist and i use only one finger)
Today is World Toilets Day, no. its not what you think about it something about sanitation. but thats not good for comedy, I have googled it. This day has an awesome name and deserves to be celebrated in equal measure! On that note, here are two toilets I would never want to use.

1) PRISON TOILET
 Right there on top of my list is the Prison toilet. I have never been arrested thank my good manners. But I hear they do not have doors. No, hygiene is not my issue. but a doorless toilet is a place you dont want to be, especially if there is a queue of pressed criminals in front of you hurling threats. It is even worse when you are constipating; which is probable considering the kind of food prisoners are given. But my friend Musa who was arrested last week for impregnanting the chief's daughter who is in form two, told me that it is not that bad. I don't want to confirm that

2) PUBLIC TOILETS
Like anything else public, public touilets cannot be trusted. Notice how they issue toilet papers and soap then charge you money for it? AHA! That was a trick question. now i know who goes to public toilets. Dont worry, I know it was an emergency.... the issue with public toilet is that people judge you when you come out... The people collecting money at the door will give you away. I remember when a friend of mine (a lady whose name i wont mention) shyly coming out of a public toilet in Eldoret only for a young man to add to her embarassment by shouting "Haja kubwa ni twenty bob madam!" (a long call is twenty shillings madam!)

happy toilet day everyone....