Tis’ the season to be jolly and like most of us Kenyans I will be out eating, drinking and doing some of things I’ll later deny I could have done. In the spirit of Kenyan Christmas, quite a number of goats, not a few chicken, and a splattering of cows, fish, and various fowl will lose their lives to satisfy this jolliness that I and my fellow Kenyans will enjoy. This season brings fond memories of Christmases gone by. Some mine, and some certainly not mine. (I still pledge the fifth on those)
In the days gone by we used to trek all the way to our reserves to celebrate this season. Naturally we would carry all manner of things to show how good the city has been to us and hide the kind of lie we really lived in the city. This is the time when we buy exotic foods we never actually eat, wear rented tuxedos, and hire cars to impress the village folks as to what kind of life we lead in the city of lights and garbage.
One Christmas gone by, a friend of mine who had just landed a job decided he is going back to the village to amaze his village mates on his new found success and impress a certain pretty diva who then had had no eyes for him. With that in mind he borrows a friends car, rents a tuxedo and goes for a shopping spree at one of the local supermarkets in town. Remembering how the village diva had looked six years back he buys for her jewellery and a rather expensive dress for the occasion. He also decides to carry a few bottles of some walking stuff to give him courage.
Reaching the village shops, he enters one of the popular bars there and proceeds to spread his largesse. After a few brown bottles, and a few tots of the walker, he gets emboldened and tells all and sundry how he intends to propose to Wanjiru on that day and take her back to his big house in the city. He challenges anyone who would try to prevent him and is rather surprised none of the village lads seem to be interested in taking up his challenge. He proceeds to extol her beauty and imagined charms and calls the village lads cowards for not managing to get Wanjiru. Getting an entourage of now inebriated pals in tow he drives to her father’s house shouting at the top of his voice that he’s coming for Wanjiru.
Reaching the house he meets an elderly woman sitting on a stool. He then proceeds to give her a few lessos he happened to have and asks tells her he has come to see her daughter. The lady looks at him aghast and tells him he is a bit too drunk to see such a young child and anyway at this hour children are in bed sleeping. He tells the lady how he went to school with her daughter and has since spent all his time in Nairobi thinking of her and how he is going to marry her. He also explains how he has brought for her a dress and stuff for her to wear.
The woman looks at him carefully then exclaims “Karuiki! Is that you?”
“Yes” he replies proudly, “and I’ve come for Wanjiru your daughter. I want to take her in my car to Nairobi”
“I am Wanjiru”
“You!” he exclaims, “no way. Wanjiru is not even 25 yet!”
“But I am Wanjiru. How do you expect me to stay young after five children?”
She then proceeds to tell him of the various father’s of her kids who have run away to the city, and how she has to sell cheap liquor to survive since her brothers had chased her away from the shamba her father has left her. All this time Karuiki is getting sober and shrinking as he realises all his dreams have just turned into so much hot air. The village lads are laughing out loud now and telling themselves how those fools from the city cannot even tell a young lady from an old one. They are repeating his boasts and somehow this leads them into louder laughter. Karuiki goes back slinking to his borrowed car and starts it up. It hiccups twice and dies. Apparently he had forgotten to put in fuel.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Why are we harassing our Kenyan MPs?
Today, finally, my faith in Kenyan MPs was affirmed. Now I'm entirely sure they are fighting for our rights. It is evident that Kenyan MPs know exactly why they are in parliament and, from the media coverage, so do the Kenyan people who put them there in the first place.
The first story to bring this to mind was the recent move by MPs to block this grossly unfair move by the former Minister of Finance, Kimunya, to tax their meagre allowances. The acting Minister, without regard for his fellow MPs attempted to bring back this unfair measure to the parliament, and the MPs rightly promised to block government spending if this move was tabled. Just imagine, the minister was putting honourable MPs at the same level as ordinary Kenyans. Doesn't he understand they are honourable MPs. Rules for other Kenyans cannot apply to them too! I mean, how many Kenyans can be called honourable? In fact doesn't the minister understand that all MPs have funerals to contribute to and harambees to attend?
Think of it this way, if the MPs were to be treated as Kenyans then how would they go back to their constituencies and still be called Mheshimiwa. Doesn't he realize every time they go there they have to be made clan elders, have homecoming parties and goats have to end their lives for their sake! Thinking of it even the ka-fuel allowance they are given cannot cater for their expenses. They need to be given something like 300 bob a kilometre for this.
Then there is this issue of campaigns. They have spent a lot of money campaigning for ODM and PNU. In fact it was reported that a certain MP spent almost 20 million bob campaigning for ODM, and that was all the money he had. Sad thing is when the Right Honourable got in this MP was not given any ministerial post! Imagine. 20 million down the drain like that. He should have had a ministerial post or at least an assistant minister. Some people who didn't spend as much are ministers and they certainly do not deserve that.
In fact all Kenyans should support him in his complaint about ODM not giving his people ministerial posts. All that money spent cannot surely go to waste. If they do not get these posts then they should go back to the communities and move all the communities out of ODM into a new party. That will show ODM who the real power is. Maybe then the right honourable can come negotiate with them.
Then there is this Waki thing. How can anybody even imagine that honourable MPs can go to court over this. This is prosecution of their communities. After all it's the communities that were fighting for their rights. The MP as a leader was simply helping the people fight for their rights. Any attempt to arrest an honourable MP will be considered as an attack on the community and will be resisted. In fact we will move our communities out of the government and form our own parties in opposition. Who is this Waki fellah anyway to sit judgement on honourable MPs?
Indeed the MPs are in parliament to take care of our interests. That reminds me, where is the number of this Nguyai fellah. After all I come from his village, I'm sure there is a small parastatal somewhere he can fix me in. I don't want much, just a chairmanship or two. I mean we are practically neighbours...
The first story to bring this to mind was the recent move by MPs to block this grossly unfair move by the former Minister of Finance, Kimunya, to tax their meagre allowances. The acting Minister, without regard for his fellow MPs attempted to bring back this unfair measure to the parliament, and the MPs rightly promised to block government spending if this move was tabled. Just imagine, the minister was putting honourable MPs at the same level as ordinary Kenyans. Doesn't he understand they are honourable MPs. Rules for other Kenyans cannot apply to them too! I mean, how many Kenyans can be called honourable? In fact doesn't the minister understand that all MPs have funerals to contribute to and harambees to attend?
Think of it this way, if the MPs were to be treated as Kenyans then how would they go back to their constituencies and still be called Mheshimiwa. Doesn't he realize every time they go there they have to be made clan elders, have homecoming parties and goats have to end their lives for their sake! Thinking of it even the ka-fuel allowance they are given cannot cater for their expenses. They need to be given something like 300 bob a kilometre for this.
Then there is this issue of campaigns. They have spent a lot of money campaigning for ODM and PNU. In fact it was reported that a certain MP spent almost 20 million bob campaigning for ODM, and that was all the money he had. Sad thing is when the Right Honourable got in this MP was not given any ministerial post! Imagine. 20 million down the drain like that. He should have had a ministerial post or at least an assistant minister. Some people who didn't spend as much are ministers and they certainly do not deserve that.
In fact all Kenyans should support him in his complaint about ODM not giving his people ministerial posts. All that money spent cannot surely go to waste. If they do not get these posts then they should go back to the communities and move all the communities out of ODM into a new party. That will show ODM who the real power is. Maybe then the right honourable can come negotiate with them.
Then there is this Waki thing. How can anybody even imagine that honourable MPs can go to court over this. This is prosecution of their communities. After all it's the communities that were fighting for their rights. The MP as a leader was simply helping the people fight for their rights. Any attempt to arrest an honourable MP will be considered as an attack on the community and will be resisted. In fact we will move our communities out of the government and form our own parties in opposition. Who is this Waki fellah anyway to sit judgement on honourable MPs?
Indeed the MPs are in parliament to take care of our interests. That reminds me, where is the number of this Nguyai fellah. After all I come from his village, I'm sure there is a small parastatal somewhere he can fix me in. I don't want much, just a chairmanship or two. I mean we are practically neighbours...
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The beginning.
In the beginning it was just a feeling, an itch, a hunch, a buzz at the back of my mind. I would wake at night and gaze at nothing, think nothing and the nothing would think back at me. Yet it bugged me, it bothered me that I can feel what I do not feel. It was nurtured through the days by the nothingness that I’d feel. It was fertilised through the night by the emptiness by my side. This something that was nothing yet was greater than the sum of somethings that I had.
I battled with myself, speaking to the ghosts in my mind. I tried to run, yet it was me that I was running from. I tried to hide, but how do I hide from myself? There was no solace in my mind for I knew what it was I was trying to hide.
In the beginning it was a fear. Of rejection. Of change. Of hurt. Of pain. Knowing that all those could happen. Knowing that all this is happening, and I was as helpless as a twig upon the ocean current. The traitor was within me, and the saviour, too, was within me. How could joy bring so much pain, acceptance bring rejection? And yet it is just but the beginning.
I told myself all this will pass, but I knew I didn’t want it to. I told myself it is a illusion, though I knew if it was an illusion then reality is not for me. I told myself I’m strong, and felt that strength lead me yet again astray. This is was is and this is what still will be.
In the beginning it was an ache, a gap, a need, an emptiness to be filled. Yet these had existed side by side without demands and now are demanding surcease from the torment. A torment they had never had. A torment that came from knowing it is possible to finally fill the gap. I gap I didn’t even know I had. I gap I’m sure I didn’t want to have.
And yet in this was my fulfillment, in this lies my content, with this I can want to live…
I battled with myself, speaking to the ghosts in my mind. I tried to run, yet it was me that I was running from. I tried to hide, but how do I hide from myself? There was no solace in my mind for I knew what it was I was trying to hide.
In the beginning it was a fear. Of rejection. Of change. Of hurt. Of pain. Knowing that all those could happen. Knowing that all this is happening, and I was as helpless as a twig upon the ocean current. The traitor was within me, and the saviour, too, was within me. How could joy bring so much pain, acceptance bring rejection? And yet it is just but the beginning.
I told myself all this will pass, but I knew I didn’t want it to. I told myself it is a illusion, though I knew if it was an illusion then reality is not for me. I told myself I’m strong, and felt that strength lead me yet again astray. This is was is and this is what still will be.
In the beginning it was an ache, a gap, a need, an emptiness to be filled. Yet these had existed side by side without demands and now are demanding surcease from the torment. A torment they had never had. A torment that came from knowing it is possible to finally fill the gap. I gap I didn’t even know I had. I gap I’m sure I didn’t want to have.
And yet in this was my fulfillment, in this lies my content, with this I can want to live…
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My cousin Obama
The whole world has been following the Obama story, and here in Kenya we have been following very keenly the developments and victory. After all Obama is a son of K'Ogelo. That village where he comes from, you know. As is common with us, we have adopted Obama, renamed streets, schools, villages, churches and even babies after our great son. Grown up men have changed their surnames and even those of us who couldn't are busy trying to see by which route Obama and family could be related to us. His Jaluo speaking grandmother has suddenly become an ambassador and now has an office, an interpreter, a spokesman, a family spokesperson and a whole new staff corps to look after her newly created status.
However we in Kenya are still completely puzzled by the American electoral system. After all we are a democratic country and we know Democracy. We know how it is done and the Americans seem to have their system all wrong and undemocratic. There is this issue of the Electoral College. We think it is akin to the Kivuitu's (Electoral Commission of Kenya chairman) of this country. But strangely they also vote. We know the Kivuitu's are supposed to arrange the elections so that the 'right' winner wins. They are supposed to read the electorate (read rig) so that the people’s choice wins. But these Americans actually let their Kivuitus vote, and more than a month after the rest have voted! So how do they read the electorate in the correct persons favour?
Then there is the campaign. None of the candidates promised anything sensible. If they had done the right thing (Kenyan style) Obama should have promised a multi-lane highway all the way from Washington DC to California. He should have promised that he will remove development away from Texas to California since the incumbent must certainly have been developing only Texas. He should have promised all government jobs would go to Californians and all government projects will go only to sons of California. He should have promised that even the dustbins in California will have electricity installed for the homeless and the council of California will stop harassing small business persons (read hawkers) so that they can lay their wares right in the doorways of the giant supermarkets that are taking away jobs from their neighbourhood.
The funding of the campaign was even more amazing. Politicians are supposed to be rich people otherwise they wouldn't be running for office. We watched with amazement as people contributed their five and ten dollars to fund the campaign kitty. How can that happen? Obama is running for the highest office in the land, he is supposed to fund the potential voters. We expected him to be liberally throwing money around to ensure voters will vote for him. We expect him to send representatives to the local bars with wads of cash to by free rounds for potential voters. We expected him to start projects just before the election in his home area to show how serious he is. We expected him to be dishing out copious amounts of cash to potential voters and promising that when he gets there more will be coming our way! How can he even accept these small amounts of money from voters!
We expect him to attend all harambees and contribute generously. We expect him to attend all funereals and promise to educate the children of the deceased. We expect him to promise that no stone will be left unturned in the search for the deceased killers. Who cares if we know he died of some incurable disease. We expect him at the same funereal not only to contribute generously but also to praise the area senator and tell us to vote for him as well since he needs him to bring development to our people.
And the actual voting? Rubbish. That was not voting. How can you have results almost as soon as the polling stations close? Where were the party agents, the missing form 16A's, the missing names from the electoral list, or even the intimidating presence of party youth to ensure you voted for the right person. Where is the agent dishing out one dollar to every person entering with dire warnings to vote for the right person? And what was this pressing on screens to vote? You are supposed to vote on paper and put in a voting box pre-filled with the correct number of votes to ensure a win! That was certainly not a real election. Where were the politicians throwing chairs at the electoral agents?
About Obama being my cousin? Certainly he is. He's my mother's sister's roommate’s ex-boyfriend's sister's mother-in-law's cousin thrice removed on her father's side by the uncle's friend's brother who was playing football with Obama's cousin's best friend’s uncle's father-in-law's cousin's ex-girlfriends who's best friend comes from K'Ogelo.
However we in Kenya are still completely puzzled by the American electoral system. After all we are a democratic country and we know Democracy. We know how it is done and the Americans seem to have their system all wrong and undemocratic. There is this issue of the Electoral College. We think it is akin to the Kivuitu's (Electoral Commission of Kenya chairman) of this country. But strangely they also vote. We know the Kivuitu's are supposed to arrange the elections so that the 'right' winner wins. They are supposed to read the electorate (read rig) so that the people’s choice wins. But these Americans actually let their Kivuitus vote, and more than a month after the rest have voted! So how do they read the electorate in the correct persons favour?
Then there is the campaign. None of the candidates promised anything sensible. If they had done the right thing (Kenyan style) Obama should have promised a multi-lane highway all the way from Washington DC to California. He should have promised that he will remove development away from Texas to California since the incumbent must certainly have been developing only Texas. He should have promised all government jobs would go to Californians and all government projects will go only to sons of California. He should have promised that even the dustbins in California will have electricity installed for the homeless and the council of California will stop harassing small business persons (read hawkers) so that they can lay their wares right in the doorways of the giant supermarkets that are taking away jobs from their neighbourhood.
The funding of the campaign was even more amazing. Politicians are supposed to be rich people otherwise they wouldn't be running for office. We watched with amazement as people contributed their five and ten dollars to fund the campaign kitty. How can that happen? Obama is running for the highest office in the land, he is supposed to fund the potential voters. We expected him to be liberally throwing money around to ensure voters will vote for him. We expect him to send representatives to the local bars with wads of cash to by free rounds for potential voters. We expected him to start projects just before the election in his home area to show how serious he is. We expected him to be dishing out copious amounts of cash to potential voters and promising that when he gets there more will be coming our way! How can he even accept these small amounts of money from voters!
We expect him to attend all harambees and contribute generously. We expect him to attend all funereals and promise to educate the children of the deceased. We expect him to promise that no stone will be left unturned in the search for the deceased killers. Who cares if we know he died of some incurable disease. We expect him at the same funereal not only to contribute generously but also to praise the area senator and tell us to vote for him as well since he needs him to bring development to our people.
And the actual voting? Rubbish. That was not voting. How can you have results almost as soon as the polling stations close? Where were the party agents, the missing form 16A's, the missing names from the electoral list, or even the intimidating presence of party youth to ensure you voted for the right person. Where is the agent dishing out one dollar to every person entering with dire warnings to vote for the right person? And what was this pressing on screens to vote? You are supposed to vote on paper and put in a voting box pre-filled with the correct number of votes to ensure a win! That was certainly not a real election. Where were the politicians throwing chairs at the electoral agents?
About Obama being my cousin? Certainly he is. He's my mother's sister's roommate’s ex-boyfriend's sister's mother-in-law's cousin thrice removed on her father's side by the uncle's friend's brother who was playing football with Obama's cousin's best friend’s uncle's father-in-law's cousin's ex-girlfriends who's best friend comes from K'Ogelo.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
October
Not everything I've done in life has been mischievous (well almost not everything) and quite a number of them were done with my small big sister Angela (including the mischievous ones). When we were young and presumably innocent we had mainly each other for company. Dad was working, our mothers were working and our grandmother was rather too quick with the cane for us to keep around her. However she still had the knack of finding us and giving us the most odd of chores. One particular chore still leaves me smiling in nostalgia.
Angela and I loved chicken, however we never quite got round to trying out our hands at killing any. One day after we had bugged our grandmother (well out of reach of the cane) for chicken, she decided to teach us a lesson. We were informed that if we really wanted to eat chicken then we had to slaughter as well as de-feather it before we could eat. Naturally in our youthful enthusiasm we thought this would be a ball game in the park. We had watched others doing the job and we were pretty sure we knew how to do this.
We got a sufuria of hot water, and went chasing chicken. One thing I've noticed about chicken (live ones that is) is that they never seem to want to get caught. Unfortunately we didn't know that. My sister and I ran helter skelter all over the field trying to catch the chicken grandmother had shown us to no avail. After some time it dawned on us that running all over the field may not exactly have been a grand idea. I suspect my uncle's laughter may have helped us in getting to that conclusion. We decided to chase the chicken into a room and after a rather long struggle got it cornered and caught.
Now came the grand ceremony of killing the bird. I'd seen my uncle kill birds before, so I strategically put one of each foot on a wing, pulled up the neck, removed neck feathers and with a grand swipe off came the head. With a smile I hold it up to show my sister and make a small skip. Next thing we notice is a streak as the headless chicken goes off on a tangent into the shamba, knocking banana trees and each time veering in another direction. My sister and I are again off in pursuit. At this time my uncle is weak with laughter and has to sit down wiping tears. My grandmother has seen the action and is in pursuit of the two of us with her makeshift whip shouting all kinds of threats as to what will happen to our backsides if we do not catch that chicken. We certainly believed her and that added quite an impetus to our speed. To date I'm still not quite sure whether we were running after the chicken or away from grandmother.
The chicken did eventually did get caught and cooked. But by then we were too tired to take more than a token bite.
You might wonder why I called this note October and there doesn't seem to be any reference to that month? Well, sometime ago my sister succumbed to breast cancer and October is the breast cancer month here in Kenya. I miss her. We all do. But I certainly hope wherever she is she can remember the times we had, the laughter, fights, fun and life we had with her. Rest in peace Angela. I love you.
Angela and I loved chicken, however we never quite got round to trying out our hands at killing any. One day after we had bugged our grandmother (well out of reach of the cane) for chicken, she decided to teach us a lesson. We were informed that if we really wanted to eat chicken then we had to slaughter as well as de-feather it before we could eat. Naturally in our youthful enthusiasm we thought this would be a ball game in the park. We had watched others doing the job and we were pretty sure we knew how to do this.
We got a sufuria of hot water, and went chasing chicken. One thing I've noticed about chicken (live ones that is) is that they never seem to want to get caught. Unfortunately we didn't know that. My sister and I ran helter skelter all over the field trying to catch the chicken grandmother had shown us to no avail. After some time it dawned on us that running all over the field may not exactly have been a grand idea. I suspect my uncle's laughter may have helped us in getting to that conclusion. We decided to chase the chicken into a room and after a rather long struggle got it cornered and caught.
Now came the grand ceremony of killing the bird. I'd seen my uncle kill birds before, so I strategically put one of each foot on a wing, pulled up the neck, removed neck feathers and with a grand swipe off came the head. With a smile I hold it up to show my sister and make a small skip. Next thing we notice is a streak as the headless chicken goes off on a tangent into the shamba, knocking banana trees and each time veering in another direction. My sister and I are again off in pursuit. At this time my uncle is weak with laughter and has to sit down wiping tears. My grandmother has seen the action and is in pursuit of the two of us with her makeshift whip shouting all kinds of threats as to what will happen to our backsides if we do not catch that chicken. We certainly believed her and that added quite an impetus to our speed. To date I'm still not quite sure whether we were running after the chicken or away from grandmother.
The chicken did eventually did get caught and cooked. But by then we were too tired to take more than a token bite.
You might wonder why I called this note October and there doesn't seem to be any reference to that month? Well, sometime ago my sister succumbed to breast cancer and October is the breast cancer month here in Kenya. I miss her. We all do. But I certainly hope wherever she is she can remember the times we had, the laughter, fights, fun and life we had with her. Rest in peace Angela. I love you.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Curiosity
Let me tell you a story. A story about a pussycat. And a tomcat. No. Not about cats, but about curiosity. The curiosity of a cat. This you’d say, you’ve heard about. It’s about curiosity. And about a cat. But it is also about us humans too.
There was this well fed cat, her name was Tracy. She owned a human. One human. This human would give her food and milk, and sometimes would make funny noises to tell her what it wants. Sometimes, if the human was good, Tracy would allow to be scratched on her back. But only sometimes. If the human got too much, she could always scratch back with her lovely long claws. You cannot let humans get too close you know, they just might get spoilt.
Next door used to live a tomcat, lets just call him Tom. Tracy always thought Tom had a better deal. He owned several humans of various sizes and shapes. They used to play with him all the time and make funny noises at him. Tom would let all these humans lay their paws on him all the time. He would actually sit on some of them. And he had all those lovely chairs. Imagine that! Tom was a spoilt cat, Tracy thought.
In between these two houses was a rather curious hole. Tracy used to see small creatures hesitate and then jump into that hole. Usually after that she would hear sounds as if somebody was having a very delicious meal. None of those creatures ever came out of that hole. Tracy thought there must be something very nice in that hole to keep them all in. And it never ever got full. Tracy would stare at the hole hoping some creature would come out, after getting fed up, and tell her what was in the hole. But none ever did.
One day Tracy decided to ask Tom what was in the hole. Tom shrugged his shoulders and said that he did not know, what’s more he didn’t care. He walked away with his tail straight in the air. How rude! But Tracy noticed, when Tom thought she wasn’t looking, he too stared at the hole in wonder. Tracy was determined to find out, no matter what Tom thought, and then she would show him. Tracy decided she must go into the hole and find out what was so nice about it. She was determined to come back and tell Tom what she had seen. She would not stay inside it like all the other creatures that didn’t know when they’d had enough. Just you wait.
She began circling the hole. Getting closer, and closer, and closer, and closer. Tom watched her half with apprehension and curiosity. But Tom was afraid, Tracy thought, he couldn’t enter the hole for himself. She would show him.
“Don’t enter that hole,” Tom called out, “it’s dangerous”
“How do you know? You’ve never gone inside” Tracy rejoined. That Tom really is a coward, Tracy thought to herself.
With that Tracy made a hop, skipped and jumped into the hole.
Now we don’t know what happened inside that hole to Tracy. She never came out to tell us. But Tom heard like somebody was having a really delicious meal. He could have sworn he heard lips smacking. Now Tom would like to find out what Tracy found in there. He thinks he might have to go in and ask her. It’s not that he’s greedy, but curiosity…
There was this well fed cat, her name was Tracy. She owned a human. One human. This human would give her food and milk, and sometimes would make funny noises to tell her what it wants. Sometimes, if the human was good, Tracy would allow to be scratched on her back. But only sometimes. If the human got too much, she could always scratch back with her lovely long claws. You cannot let humans get too close you know, they just might get spoilt.
Next door used to live a tomcat, lets just call him Tom. Tracy always thought Tom had a better deal. He owned several humans of various sizes and shapes. They used to play with him all the time and make funny noises at him. Tom would let all these humans lay their paws on him all the time. He would actually sit on some of them. And he had all those lovely chairs. Imagine that! Tom was a spoilt cat, Tracy thought.
In between these two houses was a rather curious hole. Tracy used to see small creatures hesitate and then jump into that hole. Usually after that she would hear sounds as if somebody was having a very delicious meal. None of those creatures ever came out of that hole. Tracy thought there must be something very nice in that hole to keep them all in. And it never ever got full. Tracy would stare at the hole hoping some creature would come out, after getting fed up, and tell her what was in the hole. But none ever did.
One day Tracy decided to ask Tom what was in the hole. Tom shrugged his shoulders and said that he did not know, what’s more he didn’t care. He walked away with his tail straight in the air. How rude! But Tracy noticed, when Tom thought she wasn’t looking, he too stared at the hole in wonder. Tracy was determined to find out, no matter what Tom thought, and then she would show him. Tracy decided she must go into the hole and find out what was so nice about it. She was determined to come back and tell Tom what she had seen. She would not stay inside it like all the other creatures that didn’t know when they’d had enough. Just you wait.
She began circling the hole. Getting closer, and closer, and closer, and closer. Tom watched her half with apprehension and curiosity. But Tom was afraid, Tracy thought, he couldn’t enter the hole for himself. She would show him.
“Don’t enter that hole,” Tom called out, “it’s dangerous”
“How do you know? You’ve never gone inside” Tracy rejoined. That Tom really is a coward, Tracy thought to herself.
With that Tracy made a hop, skipped and jumped into the hole.
Now we don’t know what happened inside that hole to Tracy. She never came out to tell us. But Tom heard like somebody was having a really delicious meal. He could have sworn he heard lips smacking. Now Tom would like to find out what Tracy found in there. He thinks he might have to go in and ask her. It’s not that he’s greedy, but curiosity…
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Og beginning and endings
In slightly under two weeks it will be my birthday (and yes I expect quite a lot of presents you dolts!) In my calender this is usually the time I take stock of where I'm going, where I've been, and where I want to go. This also the time that I decide the direction of many things in my life. Naturally the usual beer and meat thing does play a role at this time (alcohol is an acceptable present)
This time though my birthday is going to be different. Not the presents or the beer part, that I still expect, however for the first time in quite a number of years I am going to be adrift. I have no idea what direction my personal life is going to take. It just might be the first birthday in a while that I'm going to be lonely, though not alone. And most of it is in my making.
Those of you who have been following (and a few who haven't) know that I'm in love so you'd wonder what happened to this love object. The bright few who have manged to read between the lines would have noticed that at no time have I said I am with the object of my love. Or that I intend to be now or in the future, or even that I do not intend to. But I still need companionship, love, sex and fun. I still want to be wanted, lusted after, maybe loved, but certainly enjoyed. The choice still is mine to make, and the consequences are also still mine.
So this time instead of concentrating on mundane details like how my finances are going to be (there are doing fine, thank you), or what career direction I'm moving to, or even whether I'm finally going to buy that house, I will ponder on my personal goals and aims. I will decide whether I like where I'm going, and where the rain might have started beating me. I'm going to look deep and see what I need to change, what I need to keep, and what I've been carrying around as excess baggage in my emotions. Re-evaluate my psyche so to say.
On thing I certainly need to do is keep the few friends that I do have. I value each and everyone of my friends. I may be poor at communicating, poor at making that call. sometimes I may be stuck in the office when I should be seeing them, and sometimes I just may be feeling like being alone. But I do value each and every one, and I certainly intend to avoid losing even one. You know yourselves, here on facebook, and the ones elsewhere them too I intend to keep.
And I also need to get some...
This time though my birthday is going to be different. Not the presents or the beer part, that I still expect, however for the first time in quite a number of years I am going to be adrift. I have no idea what direction my personal life is going to take. It just might be the first birthday in a while that I'm going to be lonely, though not alone. And most of it is in my making.
Those of you who have been following (and a few who haven't) know that I'm in love so you'd wonder what happened to this love object. The bright few who have manged to read between the lines would have noticed that at no time have I said I am with the object of my love. Or that I intend to be now or in the future, or even that I do not intend to. But I still need companionship, love, sex and fun. I still want to be wanted, lusted after, maybe loved, but certainly enjoyed. The choice still is mine to make, and the consequences are also still mine.
So this time instead of concentrating on mundane details like how my finances are going to be (there are doing fine, thank you), or what career direction I'm moving to, or even whether I'm finally going to buy that house, I will ponder on my personal goals and aims. I will decide whether I like where I'm going, and where the rain might have started beating me. I'm going to look deep and see what I need to change, what I need to keep, and what I've been carrying around as excess baggage in my emotions. Re-evaluate my psyche so to say.
On thing I certainly need to do is keep the few friends that I do have. I value each and everyone of my friends. I may be poor at communicating, poor at making that call. sometimes I may be stuck in the office when I should be seeing them, and sometimes I just may be feeling like being alone. But I do value each and every one, and I certainly intend to avoid losing even one. You know yourselves, here on facebook, and the ones elsewhere them too I intend to keep.
And I also need to get some...
Monday, September 22, 2008
Misery
Misery is a self inflicted disease. I think. So I'm to guess that I have inflicted upon myself my misery. What ails me? What is it that I've done to myself? I, too, have been asking.
First I fell in love. Supposed to be a beautiful feeling, puts you on top of the world and makes the skies blue and the sun yellow. At least that is what I've been told. Nobody told me about the ache in the heart, the trepidation when you've not heard, the, sometimes, bad decisions you may make, or even the feeling of inadequacy when you are sure you should have done something you couldn't.
What about that time you wake up in the morn get on with your job and finally realise that you've just spent the whole day not communicating. Who knows about those days you want to talk yet you are not sure you should intrude. Where does your space end, and where does hers begin? When can you intrude and when can you not? Who has the answers to these questions anyway...
Second, because I was in love, I did something that might have been good for others, or might have not, and yet it hurts. So does that make it good because I had good intentions, or bad because it hurts? Is this something that can be answered or is it just endured?
Third I have too many questions. Self analysis is a nice thing, where it gives answers, however can be a very frustrating thing where it raises questions. And questions I have raised in plenty. Am I a good person? Is she? Am I on the right track? Is she? Thinking further what right do I have to ask these questions? when did I give myself the right to decide for others what might be good for them? Yet it is that very quality which makes me what I am. The ability to let somebody be themselves, and yet accommodate them in my life. Not a very manly quality I've been told.
Yes I'm miserable. and only I could have brought it upon myself...
First I fell in love. Supposed to be a beautiful feeling, puts you on top of the world and makes the skies blue and the sun yellow. At least that is what I've been told. Nobody told me about the ache in the heart, the trepidation when you've not heard, the, sometimes, bad decisions you may make, or even the feeling of inadequacy when you are sure you should have done something you couldn't.
What about that time you wake up in the morn get on with your job and finally realise that you've just spent the whole day not communicating. Who knows about those days you want to talk yet you are not sure you should intrude. Where does your space end, and where does hers begin? When can you intrude and when can you not? Who has the answers to these questions anyway...
Second, because I was in love, I did something that might have been good for others, or might have not, and yet it hurts. So does that make it good because I had good intentions, or bad because it hurts? Is this something that can be answered or is it just endured?
Third I have too many questions. Self analysis is a nice thing, where it gives answers, however can be a very frustrating thing where it raises questions. And questions I have raised in plenty. Am I a good person? Is she? Am I on the right track? Is she? Thinking further what right do I have to ask these questions? when did I give myself the right to decide for others what might be good for them? Yet it is that very quality which makes me what I am. The ability to let somebody be themselves, and yet accommodate them in my life. Not a very manly quality I've been told.
Yes I'm miserable. and only I could have brought it upon myself...
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Love and Musings
Yesterday was probably one of my most interesting days. Coincidence, I think, but interesting certainly. At least in matters of the heart. It's a long story, but I'll keep it short.
I've been booted by the girl I love, and the girl who loves me I've booted. All in the same evening. Interesting. Let me tell you the story.
I'm slow in matters of the heart. Mainly because I stayed alone for so long I began to feel comfortable with myself. However for quite a number of years somebody has been in love with me, and at one time I was completely in love with her. This changed drastically when I met somebody else who was so much what I really wanted. And perhaps a bit too much like me. It took me time and a small break from the old relationship to realise that I've fallen. Yesterday I decided to make the break permanent. Before I could do that the person I'm thinking of being with boots me. That should have made me pause about the other relationship, right? Wrong. I still went ahead and made a permanent break with the other relationship. Stupid of me, yes I agree. I still think it was right though.
You must understand, I'm honest with myself, if not with others. I cannot live and tell myself a lie. Again the other girl is in love. She loves me. And she really is a very nice girl, quite unlike the bad me. Faithful, honest, loving and steadfast. Everything a man would want for a wife. I wouldn't be honest with myself if I continued a relationship based on the fact that she loves me. It wouldn't really be fair to her.
So here am I at a crossroad. Somebody who loves me and wants me back, and somebody I love who doesn't want me back. Looks like I am human after all...
I've been booted by the girl I love, and the girl who loves me I've booted. All in the same evening. Interesting. Let me tell you the story.
I'm slow in matters of the heart. Mainly because I stayed alone for so long I began to feel comfortable with myself. However for quite a number of years somebody has been in love with me, and at one time I was completely in love with her. This changed drastically when I met somebody else who was so much what I really wanted. And perhaps a bit too much like me. It took me time and a small break from the old relationship to realise that I've fallen. Yesterday I decided to make the break permanent. Before I could do that the person I'm thinking of being with boots me. That should have made me pause about the other relationship, right? Wrong. I still went ahead and made a permanent break with the other relationship. Stupid of me, yes I agree. I still think it was right though.
You must understand, I'm honest with myself, if not with others. I cannot live and tell myself a lie. Again the other girl is in love. She loves me. And she really is a very nice girl, quite unlike the bad me. Faithful, honest, loving and steadfast. Everything a man would want for a wife. I wouldn't be honest with myself if I continued a relationship based on the fact that she loves me. It wouldn't really be fair to her.
So here am I at a crossroad. Somebody who loves me and wants me back, and somebody I love who doesn't want me back. Looks like I am human after all...
Monday, September 1, 2008
Truthfully
I'm sunk. Really sunk. You know how in relationships you are advised to tell the truth always? That is a lie.
Recently I was talking to some friends of mine you were under the impression that they are high on my priority list. I, unfortunately, do not really know how to tell a lie when asked a direct personal question. So when I asked if they are on my priority risk I answered in the negative.
The dilemma is, I like these people. They are fun to be with and I really wouldn't like to lose their friendship, however I have told them something which will hurt them greatly. Though they did ask.
Moral?
Do not ask a question whose answer you may not want to know. Or maybe do not ever answer personal questions truthfully. You choose.
Recently I was talking to some friends of mine you were under the impression that they are high on my priority list. I, unfortunately, do not really know how to tell a lie when asked a direct personal question. So when I asked if they are on my priority risk I answered in the negative.
The dilemma is, I like these people. They are fun to be with and I really wouldn't like to lose their friendship, however I have told them something which will hurt them greatly. Though they did ask.
Moral?
Do not ask a question whose answer you may not want to know. Or maybe do not ever answer personal questions truthfully. You choose.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Dilemma
I'm in a dilemma. You know those things where whatever you do something is going to go wrong? Yup. That one.
I have been variously accused of being intelligent, not too bad looking and generally even in temper. Some people like that. However I cannot really say I'm even in temper. I'm just able to hide it more. People thus find it easy to be with me and, because of my rather eccentric ways, fun to be with. But I do lose it. And bad.
So where is the dilemma you may ask?
What do I do when I really feel something. It is not in my usual nature to show it. It is also not in my usual nature to confront people. However this can fester into an ugly wound, creating one sided tension and making me feel like I'd want to take off somewhere alone, or simply avoid some people. Not a good thing since they do not know about this.
If they'd know I might lose a nice relationship, and if they don't I might also lose a nice relationship. I need the service, the client supplier relationship and the pseudo friendship that tends to be made around these relationships. And yet I'll rather not.
So do I, or do I?
I have been variously accused of being intelligent, not too bad looking and generally even in temper. Some people like that. However I cannot really say I'm even in temper. I'm just able to hide it more. People thus find it easy to be with me and, because of my rather eccentric ways, fun to be with. But I do lose it. And bad.
So where is the dilemma you may ask?
What do I do when I really feel something. It is not in my usual nature to show it. It is also not in my usual nature to confront people. However this can fester into an ugly wound, creating one sided tension and making me feel like I'd want to take off somewhere alone, or simply avoid some people. Not a good thing since they do not know about this.
If they'd know I might lose a nice relationship, and if they don't I might also lose a nice relationship. I need the service, the client supplier relationship and the pseudo friendship that tends to be made around these relationships. And yet I'll rather not.
So do I, or do I?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Of inches, feet, yards and miles
I got this from one of my old writings...
Anybody who's read my blog knows I'm fascinated by that measure of male inadequacy called the inch. Especially since I seem to see it all the time. 2.54cm right? Right. And wrong.
As a symbol of male inadequacy it is somewhere between 0.1cm to 6cm depending on whether its said by a male, a satisfied female, a disappointed man (for those who are that way) or a frustrated female. A 6" pride of manhood would be anywhere from 3cm to 36cm depending on whom you are listening to, while a twelve inch battering ram would be anywhere from 1cm to 72. Apparently the bigger the ram the smaller it gets.
Interestingly enough I also discovered there are other measures based upon the inch like Foot, Yards and Mile. 12" = 1'. 3 feet = 1 Yard. 1760 Yards = 1 Mile. Somewhere within there are also hands, chains, palms, furlongs, fathoms, and rods which are poles which are also strangely enough perches. Sounds like a guy with a serious fetish problem.
It doesn't even stop there. Apparently people can inch past something. If you creep you are inching. Like inch out of the wardrobe past the sleeping husband of his l'amour. Apparently chameleons inch too. So its not only wife f***ing men.
What I didn't see is why not go right ahead and use the foots, yards and miles in the same way - like...
' They heard a knock on the door. "Shit", she exclaims, "that must be my husband. Yard into the wardrobe and do not make a sound. You can inch out later when he is asleep and mile to your place" '
You could have rockets mileing into the stratosphere, cars yarding along on the freeway, while horse drawn carts foot leisurely by the Grandfather who is inching his way home
Interesting language English, isn't it?
Anybody who's read my blog knows I'm fascinated by that measure of male inadequacy called the inch. Especially since I seem to see it all the time. 2.54cm right? Right. And wrong.
As a symbol of male inadequacy it is somewhere between 0.1cm to 6cm depending on whether its said by a male, a satisfied female, a disappointed man (for those who are that way) or a frustrated female. A 6" pride of manhood would be anywhere from 3cm to 36cm depending on whom you are listening to, while a twelve inch battering ram would be anywhere from 1cm to 72. Apparently the bigger the ram the smaller it gets.
Interestingly enough I also discovered there are other measures based upon the inch like Foot, Yards and Mile. 12" = 1'. 3 feet = 1 Yard. 1760 Yards = 1 Mile. Somewhere within there are also hands, chains, palms, furlongs, fathoms, and rods which are poles which are also strangely enough perches. Sounds like a guy with a serious fetish problem.
It doesn't even stop there. Apparently people can inch past something. If you creep you are inching. Like inch out of the wardrobe past the sleeping husband of his l'amour. Apparently chameleons inch too. So its not only wife f***ing men.
What I didn't see is why not go right ahead and use the foots, yards and miles in the same way - like...
' They heard a knock on the door. "Shit", she exclaims, "that must be my husband. Yard into the wardrobe and do not make a sound. You can inch out later when he is asleep and mile to your place" '
You could have rockets mileing into the stratosphere, cars yarding along on the freeway, while horse drawn carts foot leisurely by the Grandfather who is inching his way home
Interesting language English, isn't it?
I'm in love. Very much in love. And it's not a she, or a he (in case you thought I was bent that way).
When I first came into my majority, I was, as most boys my then age were, sort of disoriented, perplexed and felt that finally I'd been given the key to the world. Here was I, 21 years of age, in college, doing what I had no idea I'd end up as and thinking there has never been an handsome lad as I. My parents were coughing out prodigious amounts of money to keep me studying in hopes that I'd finally make something of myself, and I was spending prodigious amounts of that money swallowing what was later to become my favourite drink. Naturally I'd not thought beyond the immediate, and if you'd asked that was all that mattered.
Then came this day that I graduated. Suddenly I was adrift with no "income". No one to tell I needed books to buy, college trips to go for, meals to pay for and transport to use. All suggestions as to financial help elicited a blank stare usually followed by 'I thought you were looking for a job'. This, I think, is when I really came into my majority. I had discovered the first rule of adulthood. 'You make your own bread'
Years later I've finally learnt to make my own bread, live my life and have an idea of what I really want to do. I've also learn to spend prodigious amounts of money imbibing my favourite drink without any feelings of guilt, or remorse. In the process all the euphoria that adulthood brought has evaporated.
And so you may ask, "What has this got to do with being in love?"
Nothing. Nothing at all.
When I first came into my majority, I was, as most boys my then age were, sort of disoriented, perplexed and felt that finally I'd been given the key to the world. Here was I, 21 years of age, in college, doing what I had no idea I'd end up as and thinking there has never been an handsome lad as I. My parents were coughing out prodigious amounts of money to keep me studying in hopes that I'd finally make something of myself, and I was spending prodigious amounts of that money swallowing what was later to become my favourite drink. Naturally I'd not thought beyond the immediate, and if you'd asked that was all that mattered.
Then came this day that I graduated. Suddenly I was adrift with no "income". No one to tell I needed books to buy, college trips to go for, meals to pay for and transport to use. All suggestions as to financial help elicited a blank stare usually followed by 'I thought you were looking for a job'. This, I think, is when I really came into my majority. I had discovered the first rule of adulthood. 'You make your own bread'
Years later I've finally learnt to make my own bread, live my life and have an idea of what I really want to do. I've also learn to spend prodigious amounts of money imbibing my favourite drink without any feelings of guilt, or remorse. In the process all the euphoria that adulthood brought has evaporated.
And so you may ask, "What has this got to do with being in love?"
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Shares and fares
Like every Kenyan I was exited by the Safaricom IPO. I imagined I was going to own a hefty chunk of this mega company. So payslip, ID and deposit in hand I approached my bank to get 'free' money to invest.
Getting to bank I found I could borrow 3 times what I'm investing. Good. Okay lets invest. Then I decided to read the small print. We have interest due at the end of the month, refunds to be used to offset whatever balance I might not have paid, shares to be held until I pay, and only to be traded under the auspices of the bank. So. Who owns those shares? Hmmmm. It appears the bank owns those shares, my cdf account and can actually use my cdf account to recover any outstanding loans. Even sell shares I did not buy with that loan. So by getting the loan, not only have I given the bank any potential Safaricom shares, but also any other shares I already own and trade. Suddenly this doesn't look like a nice idea. I'm giving carté blanché to a bank to sell all my shares whenever they think they want their money back! I would be sold, lock, stock and barrel, to the bank.
Thankfully I chickened out before I could follow this up. So now when everybody is hanging out, mourning and bitching about their 21% allocation, I am one of those few Kenyans who do not own any part of this amazing company with peculiar trading habits. Now it is trading at 7.25. Good price, but given the interest rates and stuff, I think I wouldn't have broken even.
Interesting that I'm still one of those Kenyans who have still refused to change from the network though. Given that we were issued with 'free' calls that couldn't be made. Which were subsequently changed to 'free' calls at the witching hour (that still cannot be made) I still wonder what logic inspires me to ramin on Safaricom. I hear celtel has a clear network, cheaper rates, and a customer service that you can actually reach. Yet I still reatain my Suffericom line and use it almost exclusively. No wonder we are called peculiar...
Getting to bank I found I could borrow 3 times what I'm investing. Good. Okay lets invest. Then I decided to read the small print. We have interest due at the end of the month, refunds to be used to offset whatever balance I might not have paid, shares to be held until I pay, and only to be traded under the auspices of the bank. So. Who owns those shares? Hmmmm. It appears the bank owns those shares, my cdf account and can actually use my cdf account to recover any outstanding loans. Even sell shares I did not buy with that loan. So by getting the loan, not only have I given the bank any potential Safaricom shares, but also any other shares I already own and trade. Suddenly this doesn't look like a nice idea. I'm giving carté blanché to a bank to sell all my shares whenever they think they want their money back! I would be sold, lock, stock and barrel, to the bank.
Thankfully I chickened out before I could follow this up. So now when everybody is hanging out, mourning and bitching about their 21% allocation, I am one of those few Kenyans who do not own any part of this amazing company with peculiar trading habits. Now it is trading at 7.25. Good price, but given the interest rates and stuff, I think I wouldn't have broken even.
Interesting that I'm still one of those Kenyans who have still refused to change from the network though. Given that we were issued with 'free' calls that couldn't be made. Which were subsequently changed to 'free' calls at the witching hour (that still cannot be made) I still wonder what logic inspires me to ramin on Safaricom. I hear celtel has a clear network, cheaper rates, and a customer service that you can actually reach. Yet I still reatain my Suffericom line and use it almost exclusively. No wonder we are called peculiar...
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