WHY I AM SCARED TO MEET THE PRESIDENT

I dread to meet the president of this republic of ours. This is because when I do, I would look him straight in the eyes and punch him squarely on the nose. To his bodyguards: Do not kill the messenger, I have been sent by Walubende. Walubende is popularly known in my village as the man who greeted the president in 1998. Since he was too scared to punch the then president, he has sent me to complete his mission if/when I meet the president.

Don't get me wrong, i do like that guy who stays in state house. in fact I almost voted for him (darn those electronics masquerading as laptops during the general elections!) Shhhhh... Walubende thinks I actually voted and voted for Dida.

Walubende tells me that one only gets a chance to punch "big people" His expired in 1998. i try to reason with him. I tell him that our new president is different from the 1924 born dude.
"Are you crazy?" Walubende screams as he hits me on the head with his new walking stick. "He is the son of that old guy from Kabartonjo!" I am tempted to correct him but this old boy is wise, he foresees my impending correction and hits me on the same spot with astonishing accuracy.
"Those people killed Matiba! This is why I am telling you, Punch that man on the face!" I shake my head. Walubende is painfully behind in current affairs. I tell him that our president was not even a politician then and that Matiba is alive and kicking. I n fact, i add, the deputy president went to the hotel where he stays and had a chat with the good old boy.
"He stays in a hotel?" Walubende is shocked. this old man is good at looking on the negative sides of things. "And if he is alive, why didnt he run for president?" Walubende asks, preparing his walking stick just in case he doesnt like my answer.
"That is because he suffered a stroke while in detention and has not recovered properly. you should know that bwana Walubende!" Walubende hits my big head again.
"Go punch your president!"
Reasoning with walubende is like forcing a cow to lay eggs! I try to approach the situation from another angle...
"Tell me bwana Walubende, what has the president really done to you?" I move away after this question just in case it warrants another walking stick to my head.
"You fool!" he screams (it was wise to move away!) "he has not done anything wrong to me, he has done everything wrong to you! Why do you klisten to him when you know he is good at convincing people? look at what he did with the teachers!" i am now blinking like a faulty motor bike indicator. " Taxes on everything are risising! look at his cabinet! it was better when we had politicians in there!" he clears his throat and spits on the dying fire that made his breakfast. "now i hear we are not getting things from America and that parliament is back from holiday just to remove us from the Rome statute! isnt your president aware that this country is poor?" He is now trembling. " i could continue counting but I have run out of fingers!"  I laugh at this. Walubende is really funny. I wonder why people say he is a crazy old man with bad politics...
"And milk! Why is the price of milk going up?" AHA! Now i know why the old man has "caught feelings" like they say!
"have we sold our cows to Uganda?" he asks painfully.
"Actuall7y we have stolen all our cows from Uganda!" I try to be funny which only attracts another hit on the head. how does he manage to hit that exact same spot?
"Dont you care about milk?" Actually I dont. I don't take milk. WAlubende sends me away.

So next time someone punches the president, that might just be me... or Walubende. It is not my intention, I would just be helping an old man express himself. Otherwise I would rather shake his hand and tell him some of my best jokes...

MY COUSIN IS HEARTLESS

My cousin killed a cat with one stone. He picked up the rock and hurled it with such a determined force that the feline went down without a fight. if that is not heartlessness then my name is not Kennedy Nalyanya!
Maybe there are to sides to this story (there are always two sides). since the cat is not alive to tell the tale, i will tell it from my perspective.
I was perched on top of my favourite guava tree that grew mysteriously next to our leaning toilet that i usually refer to as the tower of Pisa. i was swallowing away the guava seeds in a very hungry fashion. In my defence, for those who might be tempted to critic my feeding habit, i had waited for this month of the year when the guavas are just about to turn yellow. You have to get them at this stage before the birds discover this delicacy. Enough with my agricultural expertise. Where was i? Right, at the top of the tree munching away guava seeds....
So i was perched between two strong branches enjoying this God sent fruit when something flashed under the tree. I hugged one of the branches in fright, fighting to remain as still as a cold corpse. It might have been a snake. you don't move when there is a snake in the area otherwise i would have gladly done so! Everything was so quiet. I think i peed a little. (it happens to everyone, do not judge me!)
there it passed again. This time my biological sense discerned that this was a rat. a very big white and black cat... or was it? It was at this point that my cousin saved me from the tedious task of identifying the creature.
"Arrest that cat!" He screamed in Bukusu, the language of the people from my village. all this while he was waving a cooking stick wildly above his head. He was jumping up and down like a possessed donkey (I have seen a possessed donkey!) This dance was accompanied by some words which are only uttered when a traditional circumcision ceremony has gone wrong.
Something bad happens when these words are uttered.
Still hugging the tree, i decided to help. I can be a really good negotiator when put to the task. i remember solving a huge dispute between the woman who makes bad alcohol and the county women representative. It was a big case that one.
Moving on with our story, i decided to help and immediately wished i had not!
"I think it has gone under that bush..." my heartless cousin did not let me finish my well intended sentence. A cooking stick caked in hot ugali locked me squarely on the nose sending me headfirst to the ground. that is not the worst part: my shorts were hooked at the top of the tree leaving me naked from the waist downwards. And I landed on the cat! This time I am sure I peed.
"There it is!" My bad cousin shouted adding the wicked circumcision sentence while hurling a brick which landed directly to where the ugali coated cooking stick had previously visited. Without even apologizing, my cruel cousin reached for a king sized rock, bigger than Chipkeezy's head. he hurled it; it missed me by two inches (I measured0. The next thing I know I was lying next to a dead cat.
The other side of the story is short and precise. I got it from my cousin as he picked up his cooking stick. Without even looking at me he offered the explanation: "IT LICKED MY SOUP."

WHY I WILL NEVER SHAVE AGAIN USING A RAZOR BLADE!

Hairstyles are the in thing currently in my village. Gone are the days when the standard shaving style was a jordan, where every hair on your head was liquidized. The more enlightened folks in the village would go with the famous "bakisha kidogo" (leave a little hair). the downright spoilt ones would go with a "box" otherwise known as "punk". Those were the bad examples of the village and form one dropouts.
My mother however, has a bad idea of shaving. Where ingredients like salt and avocados are involved in shaving one's head is just inhuman. It is a family ritual that all male members of the family get rid of their hair every fortnight. This of course is with the exception of my father.
EXTERMINATION
the process begins with the washing of the head. A stone is used to scrap off any living thing that is present in the head and a stick to remove the non-living ones. Boiling salted water is then run through the thoroughly washed head just to make sure the extermination is successful.
UNDRESSING
For some strange reason, we were always naked before the shaving began. The idea, my loving mother explained, was not to dirtify the shirt. those were the days when a small boy did not require to wear anything below the waist. As long as the shirt was long enough to cover the important areas, we were good to go... until we were forced to strip during the shaving. And do i need that the shaving was done in public. Apparently the lighting indoor was was not favorable for my mother's shaving skills!
THE AVOCADO
Imagine my excitement when my mother sends my sister to buy ten avocados.. obviously i sharpen my appetite and make a mental note not to steal guavas from our neighbor's orchard. Come the shaving time and my hopes are dashed. Each one of us is smeared with two avocados on the head. The reasoning is to soften the hair. I still object to the use of food in this manner! (hujuma!)
THE BLADE!!
This is why we had a fight with my father at the age of eight when he tried to explain the concept of circumcision to me. I was never good under razor blades! The blade was passed only once, taking with it my hair and pieces of my scalp! nerves and capillaries were not spared. We dared not shed a tear just in case we got a thrashing from crying!
THE BABY POWDER
After our heads looked like the bottom of a calabash, the baby powder was introduced in not such a soft manner. it was slapped on our heads with astonishing    sharpness. this was to kill the germs that the blade had introduced and also heal the wounds we had acquired in the process.
TIPTOP
This specific brand of petroleum jelly was smeared generously leaving our heads shining like disco lights!
though i appreciate my mothers expertise in the barber industry, I will never shave again using a razor blade! not even my beards!

MATTERS OF THE WINDOW!

A good friend of mine from the village (now a town girl who has finally lost the accent and the ways of my people from the village) once narrated to me an ordeal she encountered when the door of a matatu they were traveling in got stuck. This is not an uncommon scenario in our beloved country! As long as a machine has a yellow band and can move, it is qualified as a public service vehicle.
The long journey started when Melissa's alarm clock decided not to wake her up after she had kicked it to the floor the previous morning. Downing a huge cup of hot tea down her throat, for she had not completely forgotten the ways of her people, Melissa took off the house and in no time was at the stage. She was terribly late for work.
No sooner had her sharp pointed high heels stepped on the stage than a rattling assembly of rusting metals with a yellow band parked next to her. The matatu was as full as a sack of potatoes with all kinds of body parts sticking out of the window! The tout, a loud mouthed class five dropout with an otherwise outstanding skill in addition and substraction was hanging by his finger nails at the door. This guy could spot a traveller from a mile away. It is no big news then when she swept our ever elegant Melissa into this potential accident.
The innards of the machine were worse than the out. there was no space to even wiggle! There seemed to be some heat generating device from behind the driver's seat and someones shoe was melting due to that heat. A deadly stench of onions fed the nostrils of half of the travelers who were not lucky enough to have blocked an running noses! The owner of the onions did not smell any better. She was a generously sized mama mboga with no concept of hygiene. The irony was that she was loudly complaining of the bad smell in the nissan.
"Kuna mtu hajaoga hapa! Tutamuosha vile tuliosha Kamau wa butchery! (There is someone who hasn't taken a shower! We shall wash him just like we did to Kamau the butcher!)" said the big woman suspiciously looking at the tout. No one commented. Everyone was looking ahead as if in deep meditation. The mama mboga went on to narrate in gory detail how Kamau the butcher was picked out as an anti-shower thanks to her super natural sense of smell. It was in a matatu just like this one where our stinking stench picking madam had apparently raised the alarm and Kamau consequently arrested and thoroughly cleaned at the heart of the capital city! All this while the onion smelling Mama mboga was narrating this graphic story, she was animating it with all sorts of non-verbal cues occasionally sticking a thumb into poor Melissa's nose! The tout, sensing the pending danger of being picked out as an anti-shower gave the big woman a tongue lashing; threatening to kick her out of the vehicle. She defiantly changed the subject and started complaining about the government. a topic which everyone contributed.
A space finally opened up next to mama mboga. It was much better than sticking out ones behind outside the vehicle while it cruised at a blood-chilling 90kph! The space was a piece of wood cleverly placed in between two seats to serve the illegal extra person. Mama Mboga, sensing how unpopular she had become, she decided to boost her fan base. She gladly offered Melissa her seat saying that beautiful ladies who worked in offices should not sit on 'sambazas' (the wooden chairs!)
She then offered the seat to Melissa. As she sat on the sambaza, the piece of wood pinched Melissa! The Mama Mboga did not seem to move any time soon!
Tragedy was when the door stuck and the big woman had to go out through the window and over Melissa! Talk of deals too good!

MARKI WABWIRE THE SUPER PHOTO MAN!

It is either the people from my village are revoltingly ugly or Marki Wabwire the photo man is a bad photographer. Photo shoots in my village are an annual event when Wabwire is in "town". The singing of the joints of his old black-mamba bicycle wakes the whole village up with a start. Mothers dive into their closets hunting down for clothes that do not have patches on them. This is the point where clothes are discovered lost and many househelps lose their jobs. On this day, petroleum jelly is used extravagantly leaving faces shining like alluminium foils in the sun. kids are forced to put on matching 'vitenges' with their siblings.
The old men generally maintain their cool. They treat Wabwire's arrival not as important but of course jumping like small boys on the inside. They would look for their Christmas coats and ask the house helps (assuming they are not fired or arrested and charged with stealing their wives' clothes) to iron them. Others will be sipping their breakfast while fighting with a stubborn tie that refuses to be tied. Those wealthy enough to own shoes will be airing shoe polish tins in the sun so that the little residues of polish present will melt and avail themselves for usage. Schools will be empty with only the camera shy teachers sulking in the staffroom about the myopic nature of my people from the village. This is how big Wabwire is in my village!
But do not be fool by the air of importance around the man. Ironically, he is one photographer whose image he forgot to care about! he had a small head with everything big on it. His neck was long and surprisingly strong, and from which a black camera the size of a suitcase hanged. His bony hips danced to the tune of the creaking bicycle as his toe stuck out of his akalas pedaling away to the stuffy structure that was his studio. On the door of his studio, a sign was proudly written on a cardboard with charcoal "WABWIRE AND SONS PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO" Underneath the sign was a rough translation:"DUKA YA PICHA"
By noon, the studio will be full with a long line outside. Wabwire would have hang a blue bedsheet he used in highschool to serve as his back drop. he would then take the families one by one into a gruelling task of posing and smiling. At the end of the day, everyone went back home anxiously waiting for their photographs. Wabwire would ride away to the city where he allegedly "washed" the photos. Weeks would grow up into months and Wabwire wopuld be a cursed man in the village. Everyone complained about his delay; from the chang'aa dens to the "chama cha wanawake" women's group; from primary school playgrounds to the market place. Rumours will even start going round that Wabwire had robbed them off their money! some even vowed never to take any photos again!
But several months later, Wabwire will ceremoniously return with photographs containing ugly people from my village! the anger against him would soon be forgoten as soon as people received their poorly taken photos.
"When will you come again?" the women would ask the super photoman.
Trying to wear a business like face, which made him look like a scared scare-crow, Wabwire would take sometime then answer: "mmmmh... let me check my schedule and i will let you know."
With that, the bad photographer would travel to the next village to continue with the vicious cycle of terrible photography!

*the names used in this blog do not refer to any real person. The characters are purely fictional. any reference to a real name is purely coincidental. lol ;-)

THE SHORT JOURNEY OF A CHICKEN THIEF!

From the very first glance you throw at him, something will tell you that there is something really odd about Embeywa. Born and raised at the banks of River Nzoia, the boy has mastered the art of  chicken stealing. Were it a degree, he would have been the proud owner of an M.Sc. Poultry stealing!
His escapades started way back in 2000, at the dawn of the new millenium when he dropped out of class two. At age seven, with no role model other than his uncle Waliaula the cockrell (who had impregnated half of the village), Embeywa had no other person to look up to.
His journey to the life of crime kicked off one hungry afternoon. The sun was on fire up there, making the empty stomach more empty! (that thing in physics about heat and expansion...). Embeywa was yawning as if he had been sent. He wished he was one of the birds in the air... those freaks dont labour or anything, they just wake up and eat! Or the neighbor's cows being zero grazed, what was the deal with them? just to sit there and be fattened? Or his uncle's chicken.... wait!
That was the birth of a bad idea! Embeywa looked longingly at the clucking hen in front of him. He had a decision to make. It was like having a hot potato in your mouth and you start debating whether to spit or swallow.... Good Embeywa decided to swallow. He took the bull by its horns, or in this case the chicken by its neck. You always go for the neck otherwise the bird will scream like a woman facing a handbag snatcher (story for another day). After ripping off the hen's head out of hunger, anger and panic, Embeywa roasted the big bird, kick starting his career in chicken stealing that would later land him in trouble.
So  our story begins while we were gossiping about our new governor in the shopping center. My friend Pascal, who claims to have taught at the Kenya school of Law was busy misquoting our good constitution when something whized past us leaving behind a trail of red feathers. While we were still nursing our confusion, a generously sized lady flew on the same route in an equally terrifying pace. After a second or two, a crowd of market people rampaged, on the same route singing war songs. this was no new scenario, a thief was being chased! You would have been a fool not to have joined in the chase! This was not only  an opportunity to catch up with old friends whom you had not seen for some time but also a chance to pick the pockets of strangers!
After hours of serious chasing and not knowing where we were, i finaly caught a glimpse of the thief. As you might have guessed by now, it was good old Embeywa, sweating like no ones business with a headless red chicken under his armpits!
We caught up with him. At this point it is important to mention that the generously sized lady did not get her hen back. Both the hen and Embeywa are victims of mob (in)justice.

MY FRIENDS HAVE BAD MANNERS! THATS WHY THEY ARE MY FRIENDS!

My friends are weird. I am officially concerned. One minute we are having a really deep conversation on matters of life and the next one is dancing to a non-existent lingala beat! photo sessions have neber been a serious affair; I am telling you my camera has seen all sorts of facial distortions. One lady friend of mine once commented that it is safer to look ugly on purpose (she is one of those who has locked away her passport photo in a cupboard with an intricate security system!).
My friends have low self esteem. In fact it is so bad that they can no longer take complements! There is this one who is really beautiful, but dare you say anything to that effect and all you will get is:"Are you making fun of me?" accompanied by a face the would suck blood out of you if that were possible.
My friends have bad table manners. They are greedy and their love for food is unhealthy. Three quaters of my friends will give anything for food! the other quarter has low self esteem and is trying to slim!
My friends are rude. We socialize by insulting each other. "Stupid boy" in our language means "you are smart and I am proud of you", "toka hapa, kuku wewe" means "please dont leave i need you". And a painful slap on your back is an equivalent of a congratulatory handshake!
My friends are careless. Apart from the lady friends, the rest never ever spread their beds under their own volition. I have taken it as a personal initiative to demoralize any friends who tends to make their room tidy!
My friends have no sense of fashion, save of course for a few of the lady friends. We might just decide to look smart as a gang or decide to "rust" as a gang! of course we prefer the latter to the former! I got friends who shows up in class in pajamas! of course i won't judge him or her because i would be wearing one myself.
My friends are spoilt brats! But they are angels infront of any of our parents (I hope mum won't read this part!) You should see how we smile innocently when one of our parents is around. But under no supervision, we are as cheeky as small class two boys!
My friends are poor at keeping relationships, unless the patner is part of the gang. because honestly no one understands us!!
I could go on and on about my friends... Mark you i am not complaining, they are my friends because i chose them. In the years to come, we shall make the weirdest and awesomest grandparents EVER!!!!