Archive for the ‘In Living Memory’ Category

Happiness is so overrated.

It’s Friday evening. My friends are plotting the weekend’s rendezvous. I on the other hand am sandwiched between a box of stationery and a steaky screamy rambling mammoth of a woman in a ramshackled contraption destined for the land of my forefathers. Some melancholic composition by one Bahati Bukuku (sp) is playing. Let me educate you a little about my people.

You’ve probably heard a lot about the despondency surrounding my motherland but kindly allow me to put things into perspective for you. Most of the land that birthed the seeds of my existence is dry and arid. Poverty, misery and despair are a permanent visitor. And with the kind of leaders we have, our fortunes don’t seem to imply much will change anytime soon. Yet my people still very desperately cling on to the hope that as the distant rays of tomorrow’s sunrise begin to advance, their forlorn looks of despair shall blossom into beaming smiles brimming with happiness.

My people have an unshakable attachment to salvation. Ask any random person amongst my kinsmen and I promise every other one of them will pledge their unyielding allegiance to He who has no beginning and no end-The Alfa and Omega. It is in Him that they believe all happiness comes from.

I am here to send off the remains of my grand-uncle who just kicked the bucket. No need to wear any sad faces, he died out of illness emanating from old age. He had reached the end of his long winding lane. In his time, he had seen many sorrowful and grim times. Not for any particularly unique reason, but because sadness is a demon that continuously stalks my folk. So you understand why I was sneeringly amused when in his eulogy they were desperately trying to paint the picture of how happy he had been.

Tonight I spent the evening with my cousins. I realized how little it takes to be celebrated in these here parts. Simple gestures which to we ‘civilized’ urban folk would seem like a mountain of a task here are rewarded with tons of goodwill and blessings. And with utmost sincerity. Somehow, with all the turmoil that clouds their gloomy existence, my people still care to share the little happiness they can spare.

After the funeral, in the company of my fellow visiting cousins from the city, we proceed to sample the groggy swallows of my kinfolk. Many mouthfuls later, the conversation veers towards examination of the achievements of our toils in the city. It strikes me that everyone present is straining to present a decorated report card. Each with the ultimate goal of gloating about how happy they are.

On my way back, my old man and his Mrs. offer to let me hitch hike on their automobile. Typical of my mum, always eager to show how together her home is. Even when she has to bend over backwards to do so. Never mind that her back is already cracked from the years of labouring in an effort to ensure our tomorrow would be a tad better than yesterday. Her youth ebbing off, along with the dwindling traces of happiness she once glowed with.

Even as I retire to my bed this evening, my thoughts still linger on the smile from my little cousin from the village. Filled with innocence and peace. His heart-prodding eyes beseechingly cast in an empty gaze. Oblivious of the twists and turns that beckon his sprouting existence. His disillusioned father and desolate mother too deeply drenched in poverty to ever notice the potential of his future. Shall he know happiness?


Hello again. Pardon me, it’s been a minute. The city’s hustle and bustle kind of gets to a brother sometimes. Nevertheless, pleasure to have you staring at me again.

So 2010 just upped and whizzed! Jeez man! Don’t just walk out on us like that! Here one second, gone in the next! But anyhow, that’s life! A bitch with no conscience. So I’m in my retrospective zone and I start to wonder; “what was it like?”

I learnt a lot by the way. And all the bits and pisses paint the colourful portrait that informs the content of this post.


Bro’s Before Hoe’s

Sorry to spit it out so bluntly and in public like this honey but you aren’t the one riding shotgun on this excursion.”… This perhaps has been the most significant discovery I made last year. Bro’s will have your back through the hunting, killing and skinning, hoes will only show up in the banquet. I know it sounds very bigoted, primal and archaic, but sadly, it’s a fateful fact of life. For me, 2010 taught me to see the real ties that bind. (no homo)

Growing Up Can Be A Pain

A pal of mine introduced me to this song by some old school blues musician I would otherwise never in my life have listened to. I can’t recall his name but the chorus goes like: “growing up can be a paiiiiiin…” (errr!…that’s about all I can remember). Anyway, never in my life have I experienced first-hand the reality of those words like I witnessed in 2010. You know how you really couldn’t wait to grow up and be an adult so life stops sucking so damn much? Well whaddayaknow? It actually gets worse! From family drama, to girlfriends, to how the hell I’m going to get my shit together after I’m done with college in the next six months, to how broke my ass is, to…WTF???!!!! The only thing good about being an adult is sex! And even that’s overrated!

You Can’t Teach An Old Dog New Tricks (I’m working on a theory that will validate this hypothesis).

I have a dog. He’s called Silas. He’s my dog {American slang for ‘brother’} and also my dog {domesticated four legged mammal that barks and bites}. I’ve tried to teach this egghead everything. From how to pronounce “thirst” (trust me, it’s not so easy for a guy with a deep Kisii accent), to how not to wear ‘don’t-touch-my-ankle’ trousers and (most fruitlessly) how to get a chick laid. Just thinking about it gives me depression.

In many ways, my dad and Silas have a lot in common. Which is probably why he doesn’t understand why my mum refused to talk to him for two months when he didn’t bring her a rose on Valentine’s day. Essentially, these two guys are old dogs. They’ve reached a level where their rate of adjustment to change has stagnated. Based on my most recent dating relationships, I would say I have grown into an old dog too. Trying to introduce any new modification on what I have formed as an opinion on a particular subject will be an effort in futility.

You Can Be Anything You Want To Be

This statement very aptly captures a summary of what my year was like. If you set your mind to it, you can be anything you want to be in life. There is nothing more rewarding than to see the seed of your imagination blossom into an amazing reality. Last year, I tried a more…hands on approach to life. And I can confidently say it put a smile on my face. I may not have conquered any extraordinary challenges, but the sheer hope in the possibilities that await those daring enough to merely make an attempt overwhelms me. And so I made a resolve to try as much as possible to milk whatever is left of my potential for all its worth.

Chelsea FC Rocks!!

I just felt I should say something to piss you off!

Let Haters Hate…

…otherwise they wouldn’t have a job. So think of yourself as an employer when you get haters. Just in case you get the wrong idea, I’m not talking about me. I’ve got nothing for haters to hate on. Anybody hating on me is one bored son of a bitch! Anyway, this is directed to those guys who always find a reason to undermine other peoples’ achievements. I see people hating on Alfred Mutua because the guy is trying to get his hustle on. The same guys will find a reason to poke holes on Churchill’s brand of comedy when the guy is actually good at it. Heck, same guys will hate on Eric Wainaina for hitting that TPF chick when it’s obvious she wanted it too!!! Yeah, that last one was probably a tad uncanny. Bottom line?…just dust your shoulders off and tap them the fuck out of the way.

Do Something Good For People When You can

Believe it or not, God exists. And he exists in the hearts of men. Over the years, religion has lost a lot of value in my eyes. But my spirituality has grown in leaps and bounds. In other words, I’m not looking forward to a trio of angelic forms riding out of the sky on unicorns. But I know for a fact that the good or evil you do upon a fellow human will beget the good or evil that another will do upon you. And thus we revolve within this vicious cycle. (Deep,huh?)

My self-actualization dream is to provide medical assistance to those guys who lie around the streets in town with placards pleading for donations. I’m talking about the ones who have eye watering medical conditions and have no one to come to their aid. Deep within me, I feel disgusted to belong to a society that tolerates such blatant disregard for one another’s plights. Very few things move me but these particular cases touch me in the deepest, most sentimental crannies of my being.

Happy 2011.



Ps: Do you think any of my future bosses reads this blog? I’ve heard nowadays employers examine any potential employees’ internet profiles before hiring them. Is that true? If the answer to any of the two questions is in the affirmative then I guess I’m screwed, aren’t I?

Happy New Year

Posted: December 29, 2010 in In Living Memory, Palaver

2010 is dead and gone. 2011 is calling on us…like a virgin waiting to be deflowered. One of my New year’s resolutions is to slave my ass off to ensure this blog becomes a lifeline to other demented sociopaths like yours truly. And that my friends, is one resolution I intend to fulfill come sh*t or piss!

In the meantime, here’s to hoping you had a good 2010 and to wish that 2011 will be even more awesome! Do Mary and make merry…as long as you don’t indulge in anything that might lead you to stick a phone up your rear like that guy from Naivasha.(I have no idea where that came from).



Posted: October 26, 2010 in In Living Memory

I’ve been reflecting on my love life lately and I realized the reason I don’t have a girlfriend right now is because I’ve been going out with so many different types of girls/women/ladies that at some point I honestly lost focus of the type of woman I would actually like to date. Not that I think any of you would be able to help in that department but I figured I should let you in on the various types of women out there. At least from my point of view. And just so they don’t get offended should they stumble upon this, I’ve named them after their corresponding music celebrities.

NB: This lineup is in no particular order.
Alicia Keys
She was fragile, gentle and sensitive. Almost like a glass. She was the most submissive person I ever met. She was there whenever I needed and even when I didn’t. Within a month of our dating, she had introduced me to her sister, brother, her closest aunt and if I’m not wrong we were supposed to meet her parents a week before we broke up. Honestly, she scared me. To top it off, it was never my intention for us to date. We just met on a random occasion and one thing led to another so I figured why not? Next thing I know were meeting the parents?! Either she was desperate or deranged because given the circumstances of our relationship, I wasn’t exactly the type to introduce to the folks.
She was drop dead gorgeous. I had to keep her hidden from my friends for a good while just to make sure I didn’t get sliced. That, by the way does not by any means imply that I was insecure. It only means I was trying to keep her extra safe. She was freaky too. I still shiver when I think of the naughty things we used to do. She was sensitive, caring and an absolute darling when she wanted and a raging tigress when the situation demanded. The trouble with this girl was…where do I start? She was an insecure, spoilt little bi*tch. Well, I did cheat on her once or twice but trust me, any man that doesn’t cheat on his girlfriend with another woman is probably doing it with another man. And in any case, if she wasn’t so nosy she probably would never have found out and who knows, maybe we would still be together today. She also couldn’t cook, clean or even make the bed. I could probably live with that but it was her constant nagging and incessant demands that drove me mad! The worst part is that she was the closest I ever came to real love. In another world, we would probably get back together but given the nature of our breakup, it’s safe to say that’s over and done with. Though I deeply regret having hurt her.
Nicki Minaj
We dated for about a month then realized that wasn’t getting anywhere so we decided to review the terms and conditions of our contract. So far its working out pretty fine for me except every now and then we have some disputes about one clause or another but the good thing is that there’s always an amendment we can make to put things right before were back in business. She’s a freaky little thing and is the definition of ‘gettin down and dirty’. She’s one of the best girl-friends I ever had. She doesn’t ask too many questions, does what she’s supposed to do when she’s supposed to do it and is there when you need her and gone when you don’t. We have a unique type of relationship with her. It’s a mutual kind of thing where we both gain not just physically but also emotionally and mentally. And she’s not my clande if that’s what you’re starting to think.
Mary J. Blige
She was beautiful, principled, focused and organized. Everything about her was almost robotic. From how she walked, to how she talked and even when she…you know. She had a maturity about her that stirred a lot within me. To a large extent, she helped shape much of the man I am today. I still wonder how we ever got along because back when we were dating, I was a rolling stone and she was…what’s the opposite expression for a rolling stone? Anyway you get the point. Were still good friends by the way. She’s one of the few people I can open up to without fear of being judged. I think we were destined to be friends as opposed to lovers. The one thing I hated about her (still do) was her domineering nature. I’m a hardhead as it is without a woman breathing on my neck which will only serve to arouse the rebel in me. I’m pretty sure she always has the best of intentions but I guess it’s a matter of ideological (in)difference.
Indi Arie
The only reason I’ve named her after India Arie is because India is my favourite female artiste and this lady was undoubtedly the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Also because whenever I listen to India Arie (which is a lot of the time), I remember her. I don’t like feel sorry for myself about her or anything but I like to think of her as my ‘one that got away’. She was perfect (for me). Gorgeous, real, focused, caring, sweet, smart and fun. We met in unanticipated circumstances though I had known her for quite a while but had never made any formal effort to approach her. It turned out she had it in for me too (sigh!). One thing led to another and before I knew it we were officially dating which would have been perfect by me if only I wasn’t already dating someone else at the time. I know, I’m a screw up! So in the end, my conscience (yes, I have one) wouldn’t let me cheat on her (notice, I wasn’t worried about cheating on my original girlfriend, it was her I didn’t want to hurt) and I had to let her go…just like that. We never even broke up…I just stopped calling and avoided her and eventually she just got the idea. I still feel like tearing my balls apart whenever I think of it. I’ve done ALOOOOOOOOOOOOOT of stupid stuff in my life but this will go down as my all time classic. The funny thing is that even when we bump into each other, I hardly know what to say because of the guilt and torment of what transpired between us. Sadly though, she’s changed a lot from the girl I used to know that I’m not sure we would even get along like we did during our brief stint together. But I guess life’s like that!

The other day I went to places,

and in those places things happened,

things I had never before fathomed,

things that made my dead ancestors roll in their graves,

things that made my future offspring eager to exist.

I went to places the other day,

and in those places, women danced,

No! they slithered. like snakes,

and their naked  backs glistened in the glare of the neon lights that reflected off the oil that coated their skin.

I went to places the other day,

and in those places, the men were huge and buffy and frightening,

their hands were the size of an elephants thigh and they wore tight t-shirts and their muscles threatened to burst out of their skin

I went to places the other day,

and in those places young girls wrapped their stomachs and exposed their busts and groins,

and the boys wore hats at 274 degrees. and their trousers dangled below their waists like they were filled with excrement.

I went to places the other day,

and things happened that I will not forget anytime soon.

Disclaimer: I am not by any standards a poet so this was not intended to make any poetic sense.


Posted: August 30, 2010 in In Living Memory

Last week I witnessed a murder. I recall the events as vividly as I remember the day I shed the foreskin of my penis in a traditional ritual designed to usher my initiation from boyhood to manhood and believe me it is not a pleasant memory.

To be entirely truthful, no one actually died in the incident. But my spirit did. Along with the hopes and dreams I had for the future of our not so great country. You might be justified to think I’m overreacting by condemning our motherland to a doomed fate based on a single and perhaps inconsequential occurrence but I beg to differ.

So anyway, on the material day, an innocent young man stumbled into one of the rooms in our campus hostels. He was visiting an acquaintance with whom they had shared one too many earlier in the night and they had decided to spend the night at the hostels since the visitor was too intoxicated and unable to make his way back home.

By some twist of fate, the host’s girlfriend happened to show up and what does he do? He kicks his male friend out in the middle of the night. In campus it’s called getting ‘exiled’ and I’m sure all comrades are all too familiar with this scenario. Personally I’ve had to spend many a night sharing a bed with a snoring friend whose sexuality I have been driven to question judging by his mannerisms whenever I am forced to spend at his room…No! I’m still a virgin in that area so nothing has really ever happened but I’m looking for another emergency bedmate just to be safe.

Now I’m trying really hard to understand this guy’s predicament but it still doesn’t feel right. Any man caught in a similar pickle would probably pull all his hairs out trying to figure out what the right thing to do would be. Of course if it were me, I’d spread a mattress on the floor for the guy and cuddle into bed with the missus then wait for the fellow to doze off before getting down and dirty. But then that’s just me. What?! The guy was drunk anyway so he probably wouldn’t even hear a thing! I’m just saying.

Anyways, this dude is tipsy, homeless and a bit confused so he wanders around the hostel hoping some Good Samaritan will see his dilemma and bail him out. And lucky for him, his guardian fairy appears out of nowhere. Well, actually they met in the loo’s while taking a leak but I figured that would take the shine out of the story so let’s imagine he appeared out of nowhere.

So this guy, after listening to the story, offers to help a brother out and leads him to a room where he would sleep till morning then be off. They get to the room and he opens the door for him, lets him in and goes on his way promising to check on him first thing in the morning. Now, comes the stupid part.

As it turned out, the guy who offered the room didn’t even stay there. He was giving out someone else’s room to a complete stranger without the prior knowledge of the owner. Meanwhile, this dude just walks in and makes himself comfortable only to find a lady lying in bed, presumably hoping to surprise her boyfriend or lover or clande or what-have-you. Before the intruder could say ‘hard-on’, the room’s legitimate occupant walks in and quite understandably is rather perplexed by the scenario that greets him. Pause.

This is precisely why I have argued time and again that women are the source of all of men’s woes. Take this guy for example. It was because of a darned woman that he got kicked out of the room where he was supposed to spend the night in the first place. Now he was about to experience an entirely new meaning of the word ‘beating’ courtesy of a woman he had not intended to meet to begin with. I would totally understand if this dude turns into a serial rapist who keeps women locked in his basement then slices their genitals one piece at a time to auction on e-bay! Continue.

So the room’s owner walks in and it so happens that he comes from a part of Kenya where bananas are in abundance and the women are so unattractive they would depolarize a magnet. In short, he was a hot-tempered Kisii. Without further ado, he pounces on the innocent lad and is almost immediately joined by two passers-by who must have either been medics coming from a group discussion or gay. Otherwise what would two sober guys be doing together in the middle of a Friday night on campus?

Anyways, the ensuing commotion awakens the occupants of the adjacent rooms and in no time the entire hostel is stirring with activity as every Tom, Ochieng’ and Omondi dashes to the scene of the crime. Oooh yeah! It’s like our brothers from the lakeside have radar that detects trouble and automatically sets their course in the direction of the cause.

Let nobody cheat you. Men are the worst rumourmongers! Men spread rumours faster than a Kao chick can take off her undies. If anybody asks, I never said it! In the midst of all the fuss, someone happened to whisper that the victim was a thief trying to steal from a comrade’s room and before anyone could clarify what was happening, there were pangas and nyahunyo’s flying all over the place. There is a deceitful solidarity among campus students. They will be so quick to stand up for one another under the cover of a crowd but wait till it boils down to an individual case. They will betray you faster than a…okay, no more dirty jokes.

In a bid to save his dear life, our guy makes a run for the window and blasts through in a lightning dash. You should have seen it I tell you. It was a like a scene from one of those Flash-Gordon cartoons in the Sunday Nation. I will soon introduce an M-Pesa fund for this blog so you guys can donate money for me to buy a digicam so I can capture such moments. How’s that for a worthy cause.

But this only serves to infuriate the mob further. They quickly make their way outside the hostel where they find the man lying helpless on the ground covered in shards of glass and a pool of blood. Someone kicks him to see if he’s alive. Eureka! He’s alive! And the mob pounces on him once more. Some Sudanese ex-soldier continuously pokes him in the chest with a sharp piece of wood as if aiming to puncture his heart. At one point he manages to draw some blood and wields the weapon in a celebratory gesture to demonstrate his accomplishment. He even promises to keep the piece as a souvenir. And you think the war will ever end in Sudan?

It took the intervention of a few sober-minded comrades (read: yours truly) to restore calm and save the poor souls life. Injured, battered and half-conscious, the guy was rescued by university security officers and taken to hospital where he received treatment for multiple injuries before being discharged.

I happened to witness the entire incident as it unfolded. Well, at least most of it. At first I was excited. The adrenaline rush was quite exhilarating since to be honest, I had never witnessed mob justice prior to that. At one point I almost cast a stone myself. But my conscience wouldn’t let me. And I’m glad it didn’t. Throughout the remainder of that week, word around campus had it that the guy, who had since been identified as a student from a local University, had died. Luckily, as is the case with most rumours started by men, it wasn’t true (like when we say we’ve had sex with each and every girl that has ever stepped into our rooms yet we were actually teaching them how to play Solitaire).

I saw the guilt in the eyes of my friends and classmates who had partaken in the orgy of violence. I felt the self-resentment dripping off their blood stained hands. I heard the sorrow in their hushed murmurs. Yet I did not feel an ounce of pity for them.

Such animalistic ways are intolerable and to imagine them coming from University students, the crème of society, the hope of our tomorrow, is sad. Not only is such behaviour primal, it is equally cruel and evil. One wonders what would happen if the same were to unfold in the streets of Kibera or Mathare or (God forbid!) Kondele. To witness such an event in the hallowed grounds of the university is demeaning and saddening. But it was also a lesson. One we must reflect on long and hard to realize exactly what the implications of such actions are.

Ol’ Skool

Posted: January 28, 2010 in In Living Memory

I’ve been trying to recall stuff from high school for this post and my oh my…it’s like jumping into a black hole. So I’ll just try and select some random bits and pieces here and there.

 I went to an all-boy’s day school which was one of the best schools in the country in our time (very few schools in Kenya fit that criteria – boys, day and best – so it shouldn’t be hard to figure out). One of the things I loved most about it was the location. It was on a cliff that hung over the shore line overlooking the main entry channel into the port of Mombasa. On one side of the school you could see cars zooming across Nyali Bridge while entering or leaving the island. On another side was a magnificent view of some hotel (I don’t remember the name) while on yet another side you could see the ships as they entered/left the port. It was splendid. The schools architecture was ancient with an Arabic touch and there was a tale that the main building had actually been carved out of stone by the Arabs in the colonial days. However true that is, I have no idea. But perhaps the most fascinating myth about the building was that it sat on an old Muslim cemetery. This was actually true since the school was partially surrounded by graves and in the four years (give or take) that I was there I witnessed at least four burials. In fact, right in the middle of the school grounds was a monument erected in honor of some prominent Sheikh who had apparently been buried on the grounds. Yet another myth (there were hundreds of ghost stories doing rounds) had it that a pot of gold had been buried beneath the building to appease the spirits of the dead. One day I intend to physically prove the validity of that belief…just one day…

Afternoon lessons were my favorites. Not because of the lessons themselves but because of the drama that usually unfolded. Our staple food was Chapatis or Rice with Beans cooked in coconut oil which was a very filling dish. On one occasion, one of my classmates, a dude by the name Mwidau, massacred eight chapatis by himself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat that much in my entire life. Anyway, after lunch we would go hang out at our base before heading back to class for the afternoon lessons. The problem was that after having such a heavy meal it was usually difficult to stay awake in class in the afternoons. The cool ocean breeze did little to salvage the situation and neither did the bugger who designed our timetables. Somehow the dude always thought it was a good idea to place Literature or Biology in the afternoons. I’m feeling sleepy just imagining it! There was one guy in particular (Moody was his name) who would sleep throughout the entire afternoon. The guy would nap through Maths, Chemistry or History. He had no discrimination whatsoever. The teachers would get furious about us napping especially when we were in our final year but I bet even they understood our situation.

 Then of course there were the girls. As is the case with any teenage boy in high school, a good chunk of our free time was spent chasing after skirts. This wasn’t really difficult because girls would swarm all around us during symposiums and inter-school events. After all, we were the cream of the coast (sic!). One time our class teacher advised us on how to go about such situations; I remember his exact words; “Some of you do not even know what to look for in a lady. When you are going after a lady, look for one with a waist like a wasp, not one with a waist like a sack of maize.” Our self proclaimed sister school also happened to be our academic rival in the province. We had some kind of love-hate relationship which blossomed throughout the year but turned sour when the K.C.S.E exams were around the corner until after the results were out. Then it would culminate in a heated rivalry before mellowing down again. Visiting days at the girls’ school (it was a boarding school) were a major event. Guys from our school would go to unimaginable extremes to outshine one another during such days. Some of my classmates would save throughout the month only to blow all their savings to buy gifts for their girlfriends or hire cars (Orlando, Jobba and Peter come to mind) in an attempt to make a statement. Macho, huh?

Apart from a good education, the one thing I gained the most from high school was ‘friends’. Four years (give or take) spending each and every day with total strangers whom you have little in common with are bound to have an impact on you. And it did with me. Our school was a blend of different religious, ethnic, cultural and economic backgrounds yet not one time did I witness any form of aggression or disagreement based on those lines. Instead, it helped us develop life-long ties which we share to date and even though we all went our separate ways after our time together was over, the bonds we made while there remain etched in our personalities and memories for the rest of our lives. And once in a while we do hook up to catch up on old times.

Kisumu Ber!

Posted: January 26, 2010 in In Living Memory

The Kisumu retreat is considered the ultimate outing for student leaders in UoN for a multitude of reasons. Top on the list is of course the financial rewards on offer which range from the rather modest allowances provided to the more hefty ‘jackpots’ at stake for the more ‘enterprising’ students. Then of course there’s the lavish living, lovely ladies and lots (and lots) of liquor. Needless to say, it’s the most anticipated event of the year albeit for all the morally wrong reasons. But then again this is campus; morality doesn’t rate so highly in the order of priorities around here.

So here I am a junior student leader with all the zeal you can think of, totally psyched up for this one in a lifetime experience. My buddy Paul and I were over our heads with excitement. All we could think of were the good times that lay ahead and like the rest of the one hundred and fifty-something guys in our entourage, we were certain of having the time of our lives.

Thirty minutes before our bus departs we head to a nearby Uchumi Supermarket and stock up on some booze for the road which could be considered enough to throw a small party for a group of average drinkers. We head back to our bus and find a cozy place to sit before embarking on our 600km journey from Nairobi to Kisumu. In the meantime, Paul and I start imbibing on our alcohol to get ourselves in the mood for the trip. I should point out here that I have always known that having more than 50 campus students in one place at any one given time is a sure recipe for disaster and this case was no exception. Let me correct myself, this was an exception. These weren’t 50 ordinary students but 150 hot blooded UoN student leaders intoxicated by a variety of (mostly illegal) stimulants and gigantic ego’s. How many ways can you spell ‘trouble’? Lest I digress, I’ll spare the nitty gritty for another day.

So after 10 hours, 6 bottles of whisky and about a dozen fights, we finally arrive in Kisumu. At some point during the long ride I had managed to learn some Luo and upon disembarking form the bus, I screamed something in Luo which someone had told me was some kind of greeting but as I later came to learn (under not so pleasant circumstances), this was far from the truth. Anyway, we were shown our way into our hotel which I was told is the best in the Lakeside city and proceeded to have a sumptuous meal before heading out for an unguided tour of the ‘city’.

After hopping from one club to another Paul and I finally settled on ‘Jazz’ club somewhere in the heart of the town centre though I would have preferred ‘Kengeles’ where we had bumped into some fine looking ladies from Maseno Uni. Incidentally, half the guys we had travelled with had somehow managed to find their way to the same club making it rather packed and quite livelier than I had anticipated. And you know what they say…the more the merrier.

This chic from campus tries to teach me pool (which I still haven’t quite gotten the hang of to date) and while were busy trying to push the balls into the hole (that didn’t come out right did it?) I spot Liz (one of the girls from Maseno). That pretty much marks the end of my pool lesson for the day as I quickly pounce on this chance to get to know her better…<wink>. Unbeknown to me, this was to be a blessing in disguise because what follows next is one of the reasons I decided to start this blog (To preserve my memories).

One of the guys from UoN had his phone robbed by God-knows-who and pinned it on some dude from the club who by a twisted stroke of fate happened to be related to the club’s manager. In the ensuing scuffle, one of the club’s security officers (a mean fellow whose head looked like it had been circumcised) intervened. Before anyone could say ‘SHIT!’ a small riot was in the offing outside the club pitting the UoN students on one side against the club’s bouncers, security officers and local ‘boda-boda’ operators on the other. You should have seen the street the next morning. Shards of glass lay scattered all over and there were some random pools of blood here and there.

Meanwhile, I was busy ‘knowing’ Liz a little better and I must say I was loving the direction we were taking until her other friends decided to come over to where we were seated to ‘say hi’. For starters, we had already exchanged greetings twice in one night and secondly, I would assume that the fact that we were seated in a dark secluded corner of the club away from everyone else was enough to suggest that we were a bit preoccupied with ourselves (or at least we were intending to). Anyway, after brief deliberation, my female companions decided we should leave and asked that I should pay for their cab fare (classy, huh?). I decided to do what any honorable man would do; asked to be excused for a short call and high tailed it out of the club.

At the exit, I bumped into several of my campus mates arguing with some bouncers and conveniently chose to ignore them. I have learnt from experience to mind my business in such situations. After all, I am not exactly of athletic build and cowards actually do live longer. In my defense though, I was unaware of what had occurred and maybe (just maybe) if I did I would have…nah!…who am I trying to fool?!

In no time I was on a rickshaw heading back to the hotel where I made straight for my room and hopped into bed. I awoke after what seemed like five minutes to the concerned calls of some chic who I learnt was Lillian (one of my classmates) upon opening the door (at which point I also learnt that it was already morning). Apparently, Paul had been caught up in the previous nights scuffle and was badly injured. Some security officers had cornered him and hammered him senseless leaving him with a cracked skull, a fractured arm and minus his cell phone and money. Incidentally, another guy whom we shared a name with had received similar treatment and (wait for it…wait for it…) his balls had been thumped high up into his groin. The thought of it still makes me cringe! There were a few other guys with minor injuries here and there but it was this case (and Paul’s) that were of particular interest to me. Apart from the awkwardness of my name-sakes injury, the fact that we shared a name with the ‘injuree’ meant that a lot of people confused him for me and actually showed a lot of concern for my prize jewels. It was nice to know that the well being of my lineage was of importance to my campus mates.

At the end of the day we returned to Nairobi a deflated and injury stricken lot. I can’t wait for this year’s trip!

Hello world!

Posted: January 26, 2010 in In Living Memory

Welcome to my brand new blog. This is my first active blog and you are all welcome to comment and critique any of the post uploaded here. Thank you and have a pleasant read.