A ‘Silly’ Dad

It’s been a long one coming. Alice sits from across the small coffee table. The big square is her favorite joint; it is convenient for me because of the proximity from work.

Alice is beautiful, she is chocolate in skin complexion and her make-up game is on point. Maybe I should blackmail her to teach me how to do my eyebrows. She is wearing bald, bold platinum bald. Her red lipstick screams independence, red is the color of the bold after all. She has a heavy Meru accent laced with a strong American accent, how she talks will just blow your mind.

”Good to finally put a face to the name Diana.”

”You sounded disturbed.”

”I have wanted to talk about this for a really long time.”

‘‘What do you want to talk about?”

”My dad, i want to talk about my dad.”

”I am here now, talk to me.”

”Coffee? I picked it up as a habit from you.”

”I hope you haven’t picked other unconventional stuff from me too.”

‘‘Only the good ones. You are an inspiration to so many of us, the way you write, you speak to me, my soul in particular.”

”Alice, maybe you should write me a fat cheque.”

She stops mid-sentence and stares at me, I know what’s going on in her mind, ”this woman is charging me for listening to me?”

I burst out with laughter, she is confused.

” Got you a good one.”

She rolls her eyes I can see the end of Iran. Our coffee is served.

”You were saying something about your dad.”

”God, I hate that man.”

I spurt out my coffee, not what I expected to hear.

‘’Hate is such a strong word.’’

“My mum died when I was only 5 years old. God rest her soul in peace. So it was me and my sister.”

‘’I am so sorry for your loss.’’

‘’Thank you.’’

She sips her coffee and looks out the big window at the already building up traffic, Mombasa road can be a nightmare. I don’t want to interrupt her train of thoughts, maybe she is having a memory of her mother. Then she suddenly turns to me and carries on, with no emotion at all.

‘’That man went to the states after the burial and we never heard or saw him until when I was in form 2. By the way my sister and I are only months apart, we look like twins. She was in form 1.’’

I sip my coffee and note the similarities to what happened to my cousins. Dad in states then shows up when kids are going to High School, which is a good thing because granny will get help paying school fees, right?

‘’Our lives automatically changed, and for the better. He had married another woman, she welcomed us with open arms and insisted that we call her mum. They had built a house in Syokimau. We just blended right in; she had 2 sons, my brothers, I love those boys.”

‘’That sounds like a good thing.’’

‘’Yeah, we were one happy family. He used to take us out, take us shopping, to excursions, you know those kind of things.’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’We grew up in the village with our granny, so coming to Nairobi to this transformation was kind of big. Kids in school knew we were rich because our dad was an American. He used to pop up in school in his black Benz and we’d be called from class regardless of what lesson was going on, the corruption in our institutions! Simply because he was from America, sic.’’

‘’I could have loved that experience while in High school, I could have behaved like a royal.’’

She laughs, maybe for the first time since I got here, or maybe because her laughter is rich and can win an Oscar if there was a laughing competition.

‘’After High School, my grandma became ill so we had to bring her to live us. Dad gave us an apartment along James Gichuru road. He owned the building, he actually gave it to us so as to sustain ourselves. I Joined Strathmore University to pursue International Relations. Life was good, we were okay. I mean, we had everything we needed. My best friend from High School came to live with us. For some reason my grandma used to say she had a dark soul.”

At this point she sips her coffee whilst fully. I can see the battling thoughts tearing at her, I can feel the thud of her heart from, her chest is not rising softly, no. It is raging. Is she upset? I reach out and touch her hand, I don’t know what to say to her. She looks up and her eyes are filled with tears. She takes out a handkerchief from her Korr bag and head to the bathroom. I am not good with dealing with emotions and for the few minutes that I am left alone, I reflect on a lot, finish my coffee and order for a fresh mug. A few minutes later, she returns. Her make-up is fresh, she doesn’t look like she was blowing her nose a second ago, she looks ready for a magazine shoot.

‘’Sorry about that.’’

‘’Oh, It is okay, are you feeling better now?’’

‘’Yeah. This is where it gets messed up.’’

I simply nod and wait.

‘’My dad used to come to see us every day, he stopped. He moved from home in Syokimau and never wanted anyone to know where he was staying. But he still provided for us and paid our school fees.

My sister joined University of Nairobi, my brothers were still in High School. Mum had her hardware shop going. He may have changed a bit but everything else was pretty much the same.’’

She sips her coffee, it is cold. She makes those faces, yuk faces. She makes a new order for fries and nuggets.

‘’Two years later, when, i was a third year, things fell apart. My best friend moved out of our house and somehow everything just went wrong.’’

‘’What happened?’’

‘’That week, dad called us for a meeting at home. He said he was bankrupt and could no longer afford paying our fees. As a matter of fact, he said we were grown up women and should find ourselves husbands.’’


‘’Yeah. I dropped out of school and started working at Nakumatt to keep my sister in school. Honestly, I wasn’t making much. Grandma needed her meds, mum had struggles of her own. Things were hard for all of us. Eventually, my sister dropped out of school too.’’

‘’How sad.’’

‘’That was just the beggining. One morning, i went to my dad’s office, guess who I find there?’’

‘’Your mum?’’

She snorts, a painful snorts coming from the chest. You know those choking snorts? That one.

‘’My best friend. I asked her what she was doing and she told me she was now managing my father’s properties. Can you believe that?’’

‘’This is worse than I thought.’’

‘’It does not stop there. I demanded to speak to my dad. She shut the door on my face and asked the security people to throw me out.’’

‘’What? The nerve that woman has.’’

‘’I waited outside until she left the office, she was driving his classic Benz. I followed her to somewhere along Kiambu road. I followed her to the house, a big stand alone house. Dad was outside smoking and when he saw me, the cigarette fell. I was not there for drama or anything, i just wanted my dad back.’’

‘’Did you talk to him?’’

‘’I did. I told him how she had thrown me out of the office.’’

‘’What did he say?’’

‘’That is what makes it all sad, he defended her. He asked me to leave and promised to call me.’’

‘’Did he call you?’’

‘’No, that week, we were served with an eviction note. He had sold off the house, we had a month to vacate.’’

‘’No, what?’’

I couldn’t wrap my head around this, I mean, what sort of a father does that? To his children?

‘’The Syokimau house and shop had also been sold off. We had no option but go back to the village. No degree, no father and all for what?’’

‘’I don’t know what to say Alice, really, I am so sorry.’’

‘’I found a job at the chief’s office, the only advantage I had in the village was that I was from Nairobi and I had been to University. I later found out that he had sold off all the properties and bought land in Karen, he built a really big house for my friend and they have two kids I think.’’

She laughs again, this time, a softer laugher that rings in my ears long after she stopped. She does not sound bitter at all.

‘’I got a Greencard a few years ago. I took my sister, my grandma and my brothers. We managed to buy land for mum in Thika and built a house for her, she says she does not want to be a slave to the Americans.’’

‘’And your dad?’’

‘’I don’t care about him, he can continue changing diapers for all I care.’’

Pain comes in phases. I think by the fact that she has spoken about it, she is on her last phase. I want her to be happy with where life has taken her.

‘’Should we pray for karma to visit your friend?’’

She looks at me again like I am unbelievable.

‘’Diana, you really are crazy.’’

‘’Huh! My coffee got cold listening to you.’’

We both laugh. I finish the last of my coffee and she cleans her plate. Such a petite body but she eats a lot, where does the food go?

‘’Thank you for listening to me.’’

‘’You are Welcome dear, anytime.’’

‘’So, summer bunny, what did you bring for me? Reeboks?’’

It is a good feeling to watch someone lighten up, let loose and pour it all out.

‘’I am getting married in a few months; he wants the dowry but he isn’t getting nothing. He will not even walk me down the aisle.’’

Alice, do not let pain and anger consume you.’’

‘’I am not angry anymore. But I just hate him. I have brothers and a mum, they will walk me down.’’

‘’I understand.’’

It is late, time for me to get home. She insists on paying and we take our separate ubers.

A dad, instrumental yet can be so destructive.

Diana Mosoba

Betrayal in Flesh

“Have you ever been betrayed by the closest person to you?”
That is a question that most of you can relate with. One person that you could do anything for, but they drove a knife straight into your back. Jack is well into his 50s, a successful city business man with ties and connections. He has a family, a wife and 4 kids, two boys and two girls. Out of the 4, only one is his. “Is it possible to move out now and start a new life?”
“It’s never too late Jack, is it what you really want?” “Diana, you are too young to understand.” “But if you called me here, it means….” “It was weighing me down. This secret. I have carried it with me for the last 6 years. Each night, we sit around our dining table and share a meal and laughter in between, I feel the knife dredge further into my heart.” “What happened?” “Would you like to order for anything? Anything, just order.”
How can I possibly eat something when the man in front of me is breaking apart right before my eyes. I am hungry, but no appetite. Some people carry with them wounds, painful wounds and when they open up, you feel the pain for them.


“I will have coffee.”
“This place is called Tycoon, it is quite pricey, you should take advantage of their steak, it is sumptuous.”  “Jack, I am hungry yes, very much. But looking at you, your pain is apparent”
He flags down a waiter and makes an order, steak, medium cooked and roast potatoes.
“You will love their food. Wine?” My mind is on a frenz, but I nod, red sweet wine it is.
“You know, my age comes with a lot of lessons and one of them is, never go hungry when a pot full of meat is sitting right in front of you.”
“You are a funny man.” “I always thought my kids had a very uncanny resemblance to my best friend.”


He looks away as though wishing away something painful.
“My wife had gone to Dubai for a chama with her friends. I was home with the kids when my youngest son became ill. I had to take him to the hospital.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he is fine. He was 5 then, now he is 10 or so.”
“What happened?”
“He needed a blood transfusion and as the father, I was the first choice for a blood donation.”
I nodded, because nodding is what you do when you have nothing to say.
“The lab results was quite the result Diana; our blood was not matching. This somehow piqued me, how was that possible? Don’t get me wrong, I am not a medic but I know one or two things.” I look at him and imagine raising kids that all along you thought were yours but then they are not. Our food is here. Tycoon is called Tycoon for a reason and I can tell you for free that their food is sumptuous. Back to Jack, he digs in to his food, like he has not just told me something disturbing. He eats with etiquette. Finally he sets his folk and knife down and looks up.
“How do you like the steak?”
“Oh, it’s delicious.” “I told you, it would have been such a shame if you had not tried it.”
I laugh, a little because there is food in my mouth but mostly because I feel really sorry for Jack.

DNA results

“I called a friend of mine who works in Mp Shah hospital, I told him what happened and he suggested that we do a DNA. Let me tell you Diana, this is when all your life is laid bare. I was confused, and scared. My whole life was built around my kids, what if the results turned out negative? I couldn’t tell my wife about it, what if the results turned out positive? Our relationship would be over, either way I was screwed. But because I had doubts about the boy, I had to go on and do it. I did the DNA in secret and when the results came, my whole world came tumbling down.”
“I’m so sorry Jack.”
“Don’t be, I don’t want your sympathy.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked at him sip his beer. His beard is greyish by the way. “My youngest son was not mine, possibly the other three were not mine either. So, I did DNA tests on all of them. Only the eldest boy is mine. The other three….”
He trails off, lost of words, his voice is full of emotions. I can feel it. “I didn’t want to go home, heck I wanted to pack my son and move out, but it’s not that easy. A lot of things started making sense then. These kids look a lot more like my best friend Ben. I had to find a way to know if he had betrayed me with my wife.” You know those situations that you know not what to say? Yes, there was a lot going on in my mind but I had no idea what to say, lest I say something wrong. “Getting his sample wasn’t hard, he is my best friend after all. The results turned out positive. I wanted to go home and confront them, beat him up, I wanted to kill them. I was so mad and so hurt, I was helpless.”


“Jack.” “I didn’t go home for days, I switched off my phone, I wanted to die.” He sips his beer, and shakes the empty bottle. “You know alcohol has no solace, right?” “It warms my belly Diana, and sometimes my cold heart.”
“Your heart is cold?”
“Mmmmm, ice cold. I don’t know how I survived that phase of my life. It was the darkest moment of my whole life.” “But you are here, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am. I have been thinking of what to do since then. I know moving out will affect the kids but every day I spend in that house is an inch closer to my grave.” “How’s the relationship between you and your wife? And your friend?” “There is no relationship between us. I moved from where we were staying to put distance between us, we don’t even talk that much. When I found out, I wanted to kill them, I even hired a hitman but could not go on with the plan. I bought a gun, I still have it. I bought poison, all crazy thoughts I could have, I had. I watched movies involving smooth murder, I wanted to do it, to soothe my ego and numb my pain.”
“You are a good man Jack, but you need to think about your life now. Live while you are still alive.” “I have a Green card to the States, I have been toying with the idea of relocating with my son and just starting all over again, but look at my age.”
This man is hurting, a pain so deep i can sip through it. It is obvious he cares about his kid or kids. He means good for them. But is it fair to sacrifice his life for others? Personally, I don’t think so. “Jack, this may sound selfish but your wife cheated and even had kids with another man.” “I know, Lord I hate that woman. I loathe her, and it gets intense every day.
“Then why do you stay?”
“Frankly, I have no idea why I am still there.”
“You know what, take that Green car’s and your son and start a new life, you deserve it.”
He looks at me, keenly, like he is seeing me for the first time. He takes off his glasses and wipes them with a small white napkin. He takes time, he is in the zone, I guess the zone where he decides what to do with his life.
He looks up at me and smiles, it is a fresh smile, heck he looks younger.
“Diana, you are God sent.”
“No, I am just a good listener.” “I was scared of being judged and being called weak.”
“Who cares what the world thinks? If they have a problem with you being happy, let them learn to deal with it. Move on Jack, the world will adjust.” The waiter brings the bill, he swipes his card and takes out a clean note of 1000 and tips the waiter.  He returns his attention to me, “Diana, I needed to let it out. You know, just talk to someone.”
“I am glad to talk to you.” “I now know what to do.” He pours me more wine, I see the red tickle down the glass leaving a trail of wetness. We make mistakes, we make choices, we leave traces of pain to the people in our lives. We destroy them, yet we fail to see the damage because we feel entitled. Jack raises his glass, I raise mine, and they clink, in a new moment, a choice has been made. “To a new life.” “To a new life, I wish you all the best Jack.”

What next?

He picks his phone and calls his now ex best friend,
“Bwana, it’s been a minute. Can you come to the house with mama, I have something I want to share with you.”
A few more aha and oho and I will see you then.
He calls his wife, or who used to be his wife. He tells her they are hosting their friends for dinner tonight, “Make it extra special because tonight is special.”
If I was the woman on the other end, I’d be confused because the Jack I met when I came in is not the same Jack I am looking at now. I question my advice to him, did I tell him to do the right thing because as sure as the rains, two families are disintegrating tonight. Two broken families are pulling off their masks, beneath the masks is always ugly.
The truth is always ugly, has more casualties that initially thought.
He looks at his watch,
“Time for me to go and meet them.”
“All the best.” He smiles, a wavering smile that lasts for a few seconds. He then gets up and hurries out. Tonight, I pray to God that Jack starts living, and that he finds the grace to move on and that he grows back into happiness. They say, sometimes the wounds that once bled can blossom again.

Betrayal in Flesh.

Diana Mosoba


Hello dad? Hello mum? I write this wiping away tears from my young cheeks. Tears of fear. Fear of what might happen to me and my little sister. Am afraid. Ideally, I should be writing to ask you for protection from my fears. Ironically, you are the ones I now dread more than the vampires in horror movies. But I still love you because I have not known any parents apart from you.

I have been watching in the news how estranged parents have brutally murdered their kids without an iota of remorse. Hardly a day passes without such an incident getting mentioned. I always shed tears for the innocent souls deprived of a life so promising and full of hope. Not killed by bears or wild dogs but by their biological parents. Parents who just decided to turn against their own flesh. Which child couldn’t be afraid.?

A little background search has always pointed to family wrangles. Wrangles the kids were not privy to. Wrangles they never took part in, they only found themselves in the mix. Nobody cared to listen to them. But still what could they have to say in situations they understood nothing about? And what did they get back for their innocence? Brutal murder. Are you now seeing why am afraid?

Granny’s place

Lately, you, our parents, haven’t been in good terms. It is no longer the same lively life we grew up in. Everything today is messy and noisy. The frequent fights and quarrels are draining us. They are affecting us emotionally and physically. Is our presence in your lives irritating hence the cause of all this rampage? Were you happy before we came into your lives? Are you just afraid to face and tell us to our faces that we, your kids, are the reason for the constant fights? So that you have resorted to turn your anger to each other? Tell us. We will walk out to our granny’s place and start life there. Granny loves us unconditionally. She calls me ‘ My husband’ because am named after her husband my late grandfather. She always cooks us good food and sings nice traditional songs to us every evening when we are at her place. That is why I want to take my sister with me, and seek refuge there. In our absence, I guess you will be happy again. You won’t fight anymore. You will embrace warmly and cuddle like young lovers. Just open up.

A slap

Last month a hot slap landed on my innocent cheeks when I tried intervening in your fights. Am still hurting. I had to lie to my teacher in school that I had fallen over while riding my bicycle with friends at home. She never doubted. I feel guilty I lied. I should have just told her you guys were fighting and when I tried to stop you, you unleashed one missile my way and it landed on my cheek. Now I understand why peace-keepers die in those peace keeping missions. I wanted to do what our priest said when he was preaching about the beatitudes. You remember, ” Blessed are the peace makers for they shall be called sons of God.” I wanted to be called a son of God. But you angrily shouted at me and hit me in the process and out of fear I had to run and hide in my bedroom as you hit each other, tore each other’s clothes and insulted each other in terms you’d kill me if I dared use on other kids yet I have come to learn them from you mom and dad. I still haven’t forgotten how my little sister frantically cried that day.


I know you are planning a divorce. Mum has said she will take us with her to wherever she goes. You have severally threatened her of untold consequences if she takes us with her. I can tell things are going south. Soon or later we are going to disappear. Our neighbours will say they haven’t seen us in a while. They will admit that our home has had a tough and rough time in recent days. Everyone will be worried.

Reports will be made in all police stations around. Our pictures will be circulated on social and mainstream media. People will be asked to report any information regarding our disappearance and whereabouts to the police. Some will offer rewards.  One week will elapse without a trace of us. Anxiety and fear will now increase. It will now be almost obvious that we are no more.

Authorities and relatives will begin tracing our last movements. They will go through CCTV cameras in the neighbourhood. They will check our parents last communications on their phones.  Then boom, shallow graves will be discovered in a thicket nearby with badly mutilated bodies of two kids rightfully believed to be ours. A lot of people will gather around. Women will be wailing uncontrollably. Police will be having difficulty controlling people from coming too close and interfering with the scene of crime. People will flash out their phones and take pics of our lifeless bodies to update on their social media statuses. Others will post and say, “Type rip if you have a heart”. Journalists will interview people around. Some will say what they know, others will say what they think, others will say what they heard. But they will all be speaking about our death. The police will say investigations have been launched and they will bring the suspect to book.

We will be soon forgotten

That incident will be the headline during news time. Everyone will be shocked and sad. They will type ” rip angels”. One week will pass and we will be forgotten. Our cousins and uncles will miss us but they will soon move on. In another week’s time, we shall have been buried upcountry and that will be it. Forgotten for good.

So please, let us out as early as now. We don’t want what befell our mates find us. If possible, please reconcile and continue living together happily with us. Before the chaos, you have been the best parents we could ask for. I still believe you are. Bring back the love, the laughter, the joy, the hugs, the gifts, the walks, the outs, the picnics and games that were our way of life. I beg. Because, I don’t want to die and be discovered in a shallow grave. I don’t want to die in the hands of a parent I have loved all along. No. I also want to grow up and bring forth lovely kids that will be your grandkids. Please don’t kill me! Don’t kill each other also. We need both of you in our lives.

By a child from an enstranged family to his parents.

Why People Would do anything to get government jobs

Government offices in Kenya are nothing but dens of laziness, corruption, illicit sexual affairs, absenteeism, poor service delivery and insensitivity. Insensitivity to the citizenry and their needs. Staff in these offices forget that they were placed in those positions to serve people. People whose taxes are used to pay them (staff). But what do we get back? Poor services and loathing from the very people we pay to serve us.

There was a meme I once came across that depicted how many people dislike government hospitals, schools, services but ironically, everyone would die to get a government job. Your guess is as good as mine. In government offices, people report to work when they want, leave when they wish, work as they wish but still get paid handsomely. Who wouldn’t want such a life?

And that explains why people would do anything to get government jobs. From spreading their legs like the gospel to selling land and cows to raise bribe money because of the assurance to return whatever was spent on bribes hundredfold within a short period of time. A Kenyan parent will sell anything within their disposal and even borrow from saccos and Shylocks to bribe their children’s way into a (government) job. Morals kando nanii.

Visit at noon

Have you ever walked into an office at around noon? If you haven’t, please don’t. You will be frustrated and left helpless by souls that don’t give a damn about whatever issue you want addressed. First you would be lucky to find somebody in office (at that time). On a bad day, 90% of the staff will be absent. The remaining percentage will leave for ‘lunch’ immediately the clock points noon. Probably a receptionist with 3kgs of raw attitude will tell you without looking at you, “Rudi saa nane”. She even doesn’t want to know what your issue is. Sometimes it is just a simple inquiry but she will tell you to come back at two. If you insist, that will be deemed as disrespect and you risk not getting served in that office at all until Christ’s second coming.

So you will anxiously and desperately wait for 2 pm for you to get attended as instructed. The two hours wait is like a whole day especially when you urgently need something  crucial that is compulsory for you proceed to other stages or seek certain services elsewhere. Maybe a certificate or document here, a stamp there, name them. So you wait at the waiting room, or just outside. In extreme cases, people still remain in queues all that time because they want to be served first.

It is 2 pm. You enter the office. No one is back. Just that receptionist and she is on phone putting her PhD in domestic affairs into practice (moshene tupu). And there is a way they hold their phones in between the ear and the shoulder as they type something on the computer. Mostly they will be on Facebook. Like expected she will signal you to wait. Of course you have no option because none of the staff has arrived from lunch. One would be tempted to believe they were waiting for githeri that was placed on the fire at noon. Or what else explains why someone would take more than two hours in the name of having lunch?


When you are almost despairing, at around 2: 45 PM, they walk in with tooth picks in their mouths. Akina plesident Kingston sasa wanaingia. Laughing recklessly and belching. Men will be touching their potbellies as sign of satisfaction. Still they will be talking about last week’s seminar and how they were fed well. They will be selecting who should attend the next workshop and other staff much to the dismay and annoyance of the people on the queue.

The slay queen will catwalk with her loud heels which are irritating to the fatigued souls that have been waiting since noon. Her skirt is as brief as a cock on top of a hen. It ends where it starts. She is not ashamed like the others who walk as they pull down their skirts. After all si walisema my dress my choice? She occupies her seat after wiping it with a wet wipe for 5 minutes.

She then pulls her hand bag and places it on the desk. Takes out her lip balm, lip gloss, lip stick sijui ang’owa and applies it for 20 minutes. You are there watching. Sorry, waiting. After she is done painting her lips with duracoat, she asks, “mnataka kusaidiwa?”. Jesus Christ. Of course, yes. Or what would people be doing queueing if not to be served? Madam, you think people have been waiting here for that long to admire your fake nails?

She will serve two people, receive 5 calls from her ‘gals’ and boom! before you know it it is 3: 45 PM. She will then say “nimechoka, masaa ya kazi imeisha. Mnataka nikufie hapa? Nitawacha Jayden wangu na nani?” And you are left to wonder what she has done for her to claim she is tired. You almost tell her ” heri ukufe tu” but you manage to control your anger.

You are left standing there as she packs her belongings into her handbag that can carry everything you would need for two weeks camping trip. She shuts down the computer, closes the files ignoring pleads from old weary women who have spent the last five days in that office seeking help. They will answer without an iota of sympathy that they also have children and they don’t get paid to work beyond working hours. You are left wondering what hours she is speaking about when she walked in at 2:45 PM and is here leaving at 3:50 pm.

Before they leave, they again apply their duracoat on their lips. They will hug each other bye and jump unto waiting cars of their male colleagues and leave you standing there bewildered. And you can’t tell them nothing. Especially if they are the vegetables of the boss. Some of these people are people who got the jobs they hold not due to merit but due to technical know-who. They are well connected like electric cables in a serious manufacturing plant. Utado?

There could be exceptions but those are just few. You may get one or two dedicated, professional and ethical public servants but that is like a drop in the ocean. Their efforts and impact gets completely overshadowed by the complacency and inadequacy of their colleagues. Honestly, in a process that requires several approvals at different stages, it requires a combined effort from the relevant staff to offer satisfactory services.

Impromptu Visits, the way to go

That is why impromptu visits to state departments have led to shocking revelations. Unless something is urgently done, the situation in these offices is wanting. A total overhaul, tougher measures on errant staff and constant evaluation on the effectiveness and efficiency of systems for improvement and adjustment would go a long way in providing a remedy to this sorry state. But as things are, these places are worse than a Colonial chief’s office in pre-independence Kenya characterized by foul language, threats, bravado, braggadocio, vitriol, ego-centrism and total disregard to the needs, views and feelings of the citizenry seeking services.




Nore People?

I come from South Africa. Thank you. Those who hail from my place must have heard this phrase, ” Nore people?”. Loosely translated, this means “Do you have people?” Now ‘people’ in this context refers to wife. You will attend a function and a man will introduce his better half like, “These are my people.”( Aba nabwo abanto bane). Aki we South Africans are funny.

The craze with this phrase actually resulted to the composition of a song by the same name or something close. People became and still are obsessed with it that Sometimes I think it is getting abused. Same way “am fine”, “it is okay”, “poa” and the several conventional responses we give to greetings have been misused (for lack of a better word). Someone will say they are fine even when they are on their death bed struggling to hold on. People will say they are okay even when the evidence that they aren’t is overwhelming. Maybe it is in our upbringing. I don’t know. Story for another day.

Over the past few months alone, I have lost count of the number of people who have asked me if am ‘peopled’. To be honest it has been irritating like someone who picks their nose using their fingers on a (first) date. A complete turn off. Someone calls you and you’d expect that it is something important or at least just catching up but they quickly drift from the subject and begin asking you if you have “people’. Da F ? These are mostly distant relatives and close enemies you last saw when Amos Wako was the attorney general!

Handling marriage questions

If you are a young person, particularly male, every time you go upcountry be prepared to come into contact with that question from people you have to struggle to recall where you last saw them. You are going to thank me for that leakage because the holidays are here and you are probably going to pay your folks a visit. Boychild nimekupea mwakenya. Jipange na responses za kuhandle dem fools one at a time.

You are in a function, probably a wedding and you are having a good time enjoying loved ones solemnizing their union then someone taps you from behind. The first thought that creeps into your mind is you are probably blocking them from witnessing the happenings of the day with your big head. So you tilt a your head alittle to angle Theta so that you can allow a brother have a glimpse of the altar. To your surprise, the tapping persists prompting you to turn. You turn. It is a distant relative. ” Yako Sasa ndio imebaki” or “Yako ni lini?”. On a good day when Unai Emery has not tampered with my moods and emotions, I will frown and softly respond “Mtajua tu”. On a bad day especially after I have calculated all my debts and arrived at the obvious conclusion that am a walking debt, yaani Ile tu nafaa kubadilisha jina niitwe Denis Juu ya madeni, I will tell him “Nyoko” like I always tell people who get into my nerves.

I would react differently if my parents, close family members or someone I regard highly inquired about my marital status. Ironically, our parents who are better placed to query our alleged procrastination in matters pertaining  matrimony, understand us so much that they will grant us time and peace of mind till we begin spotting grey hair. At this point, they will softly and/or jokingly remind us that they don’t want to die without seeing their grandchildren. Hapo sasa inabidi  ucheze kama Messi ulete gaidi pale aonekane na wazazi halafu mabaaden umpatie ball na ubaki na possession juu enyewe VAR siku hizi ni noma. But we ain’t there yet. No grey hairs yet. Kipara tu ndio inasumbua Juu ya stress.

CBK Governor

When the current CBK governor was being vetted for the job he is holding, someone in that panel wanted to know why he was still single at his age then. He is still single by the way. He gave a simple and satisfactory answer, ” Am single by choice”. He is an Opus Dei.The next time someone wants to rush you with his useless timelines in regard to marriage, quote the good CBK governor, that is if you are decent (un)like me who comes from South Africa.

There are so many things to worry about in this country. From how we got to the point of appointing dead people and those about to die(literally) into office to how Kibra residents are being told to elect someone who will actually not vote for himself. Neither will the people pushing for his election. But we are used to comedy in this country. A friend recently told me that since we are a country of drama we should just vote for Daniel Churchill Ndambuki as our president, Professor Hamo akuwe deputy wake, Adhis JoJo pale na akina Mammito Eunice waingie Kwa cabinet. Of all the problems bedeviling our country, “when will you get married?” features nowhere in the top 1000. And that is courtesy of one simple thing, respect for other people’s choices.

Charles Njonjo married at 52

The Duke of Kabetteshire ‘Sir’ Charles Njonjo, Kenyas first African Attorney general married in his 50s. He married a white. I will not speak about his loathing for blacks because that isn’t the subject of the day. Guess what, the old attorney general, legislator and cabinet minister is today 99 yrs old enjoying life like the prince he is. He still swims ( he loves swimming by the way), drives himself and has grown ass children and grandchildren around him. He is happy. He never got influenced by worries from irrelevant characters to begin a family when he was not ready for it but waited for God and his right time. Na hata hatujafika 50s na mtu anatuharakisha hapa. Wachana na sisi.

There are so many reasons why people choose not to settle down as soon as you would expect them to. Reasons bado ni zilezile za history; poor infrastructure, inadequate resources, language barrier, inequitable distribution of resources, diseases and epidemics, wars, illiteracy, colonization, rise of the Mwene Mtapa kingdom… name them. So kama ni reasons unataka tutakupea if it is worth it. That is if you insist, but meanwhile let us be. Unless you have daughters somewhere that you want to gift us and an industry and a house like Prof Jay wa Mitulinga in His Song Zali la Mentali. ” Baba mkwe alitupa kiwanda, nyumba na BM(BMW)”. Hapo hatuwezi kataa. But since you ain’t providing any of that, stay calm. Desist from rushing us with those irritating, disgusting, cantagarous, obnoxious, uncouth, and ignominious questions. Allow us the peace of mind to work on our preferences and priorities first. We will get back to you later puris.

Not a discouragement

And we are not discouraging anyone from settling down. No. If you are ready please go ahead. Or if you want to try, please do. Ikiweza zidi, if it bites each other, utarudi tu kwa bachelorhood. Your place will still be intact. Nobody will grab it like a piece of land next to Langata primary. What we are discouraging is doing things not because you want to but because others want you to ( if at all they genuinely do) then live the rest of your life unhappy and regretting inside a septic tank. Please choose happiness above everything anyday anytime.

If you are not ready for marriage, kaa Na mama yako; usikuje hapa.


Offensive Matatu stickers

” Hatusemi wewe ni mnono, lakini ukikalia viti mbili utalipa.” I am sure most of us have come across this sticker in matatus. If you haven’t, then you probably haven’t used matatus in Kenya. I am not sure how fat people feel when they board these matatus. To me it sounds very insensitive and reckless.

Human beings were created by God (so we believe). And the scriptures proceed to state that we are all created in the image and likeness of God. So then, if am fat, that is God’s image. Same thing if am slim. 

But even without following that religious angle, can’t people just be? Why do we always need to dictate how other people should look like even when we are not helping them out achieve that? Oh, she is fat, oh sijui amekonda… Total crap. Not everyone wants a slender body like yours. Equally not everyone desires a chubby stature like yours. So, be and let others be. 

People have been bullied, insulted and shamed for the least of reasons. To me, people who shame others because of their bodies are just weak. They suffer from complexes I can’t explain and take pleasure in hurting others emotionally. Come to think of it, what does it benefit one after shaming someone because of his/her physical appearance? Does it make you better financially, physically and emotionally? Do you get a job promotion at your place of work if you have one or even get you a job if you never had one?

Personally, if people are comfortable with their bodies there is no single human who has the right to feel otherwise. What should dictate one’s choice of body is their preference and health. Anything else is pure sewage. If your doctor tells you to lose or add  a few kilos, that is the only person you should listen to. Ignore the rest.

I have seen young girls struggle with their weights not because of their choice but because of the choices imposed on them by strangers. I don’t know when the last sitting that declared slim as the ideal body for ladies was held and who were the participants. In all the men’s conferences I have attended including the latest one in Eldoret, we have always emphasized that all women are beautifully and wonderfully made. If your preference is slim, please pick a slim one and leave the rest. Kila mtu atapata size yake, just like bras. Same applies to men. We can’t all have the same tastes and preferences. Choose yours, let others choose theirs. Respect other people’s choices and they will as well respect yours.

There are notorious cyberbullies that have led people to commit suicide or contemplate it. Survivors of cyberbullying have stories to tell. It takes a bold spirit and emotional strength to overcome cyberbullying especially on body shaming. Never allow anyone, and in this case a stranger on Facebook or Twitter make you feel bad about yourself for nothing. He/ she doesn’t pay your rent, buy you food, clothe you, pay your bills…so don’t let them decide how you should look like. Ignore them. 

There is a lady who was asked by an illiterate and insensitive bodaboda guy, ” Madam Na si umenona”. The lady in question composed herself and asked him, ” Kuna nyama yako imepotea mahali na unashuku niko nayo?” Of course the foolish thing couldn’t make a comeback from such a tackle. Hiyo ndio inaitwa kuweka mtu ‘bahali’ yake. But in such cases, especially if you are not bold and strong enough, give it a deaf ear and glide away. Bodaboda guys are not people you should waste your precious time arguing with. Like fighting a pig in the mud. It has nothing to lose. It is fun(to the pig not you). They will drag you to their level and beat you with experience. Before you accuse me of blanket condemnation and generalization, let me state that we have few mature, respectful and civilized bodaboda operators. But those are just few, like the number of sufurias in a bachelor’s house. 


The fact that even prominent personalities have been body shamed and they nearly broke shows you how serious this is. None is spared. Actually, the more prominent you are the more chances people (haters) will find something to talk about your height, weight, nose, buttocks, breasts, hair, teeth, armpits… So trivial, unnecessary and personalized attacks whose main intention is to distract you from your focus and bring you down. Don’t fall for it. Don’t listen to them.

Only listen to your doctor

Love yourself, love your body because if you don’t, nobody will. If you are comfortable with your appearance, you will be confident and with that you will scale heights. Only listen to your doctor and not bodaboda operators and makangas. By the way nobody beats the two in insults, irresponsible, reckless, insensitive and foul language. And it is like they were born of the same mother, went to the same schools and graduated with a Bachelor of arts degree in foul language. First class honours. Nobody had fail.

PS: ” Urefu na ufupi ni maumbile, lakini mimba na unono ni bidii ya mtu.”(Matatu sticker).


Love your neighbour

“Love your neighbour as you love yourself”, commanded our Lord Jesus. I don’t know if He had the people who don’t love themselves in mind. What are such people supposed to give because ‘Nemo dat quod non habet. Anyway. Story for another day.

My neighbour apparently took this command a notch higher. Surprisingly, I don’t know her for being religious. She is something close to agnostic. But I don’t want to judge her. However, how she learnt of this scripture and chose to keenly observe it still baffles me. Okay, I don’t know if she knows it but am imagining she does, going by her actions.

One time I jokingly requested her to invite me for supper. That is the day and reason am writing this. I wish I hadn’t. I forgot the request as soon as I made it because it was not something I was serious about. You know those casual statements you make when you meet someone you know especially if they are carrying food. Something like,”pika mingi ninakuja“. The constitution stipulates in the Nyumba Kumi act of 2014 that never shall a male ask another male to “pika mingi ninakuja”. That is a statement that is only said to a female from a male or vice versa especially if both are single. A boychild can however say this statement to any female provided they have that relationship (of joking). Anyone who contravenes this law will face unspecified legal and non-legal consequences including but not limited to expulsion from the plot, a day at the chief’s camp, writing a detailed apology to the affected parties, to the nyumba Kumi chairman and to the landlord or all the above.

So, after the request I forgot and went strolling leisurely in the hood sampling mutura and soup ya kichwa na magoti like the legend I am. Nothing helps unwind like soup. Kwanza ikue na kapilipili size yake. Weuh. You sip that thing and it hits somewhere in your brain that makes you close your eyes. A special moment when you can make any requests to the ancestors and they will listen. The only thing that compares to soup is avocado. I can miss calls, miss a flight, miss an exam, appointment or a date but I can never miss to have an avocado. Not me. Sometimes I think Eve was tempted by the serpent to eat an avocado and not an apple. If it was an avocado, I totally understand her. I could have fallen for that as well.


How many times am I going to digress now. Someone shout at me, “Ona huyu” like those sounds djs insert in their mixes. I have heard you. Back to the request. I returned back to my humble abode at around 9 pm ready to rest. I hadn’t even settled when someone knocked on my door. I told whoever it was to come in. Silence. Second knock. My mind started wondering and wandering. Who could this be? The landlord? No because I never owed him, a hawker? But this wasn’t time for hawking. So, I decided to open the door and peep outside. Guess who? My neighbour. Standing there arms akimbo, her head covered with those things ladies wrap on their heads when they are going to sleep. She was in a long loose t-shirt. I don’t know if there was anything else on the lower part of her body. I didn’t see it. I was pamphazoed and discombobulated (I don’t know what that means). What is happening? I thought to myself. There was an awkward silence. I decided to break the silence that was threatening to last if I wasn’t going to act. ” How can I help you Cate?”, I managed to say.

She smiled. ” Supper is ready.”, She said and left. “What do you mean? I was joking.”, I mumbled as she walked away exposing her fine Thailand (if you know) that was barely covered by the t-shirt she was wearing. She never responded. She opened her door and left it slightly open. About two minutes elapsed. I had since gone back to the house and was standing there calculating the next move. My door was still open. In my confusion I hadn’t remembered to lock it.

Then boom, I found someone standing next to me. I almost screamed. I honestly never heard her come in. It was her. This time furious. Rage was written all over her face. I knew it was business unusual. She never allowed me to speak. She looked at me in a manner between suggestion and intimidation. “Usipokuja usiwahi niongelesha.” She firmly said without blinking and left.


No boychild ever wants to hear those words from a girl child especially a potential vegetable. Anyway, what was it going to cost me? I asked myself. I decided to go. Maybe I was still going to go anyway only that I was acting like I really wasn’t interested. Knock knock. She came to the door and held my hand in. That hand was tender. The kind of hand that can lead you to hell and you won’t realize until you meet (think of that politician you hate). Thank you. You know on judgement day there are people you are going to be put in the same category with and you will be sure you are hell material. Nitaje? Sema ng’wee!

The aroma in that house was so appealing. The owner was more appealing. I made myself comfortable on one of the seats. Cate came and sat next to me. This time I explored Thailand well. My earlier suspicions were confirmed. She only had a t-shirt on. Nothing else. The inspector general had already started saluting. I crossed my legs.

She stood up and went to the kitchen. Okay, the kitchen, the living room and the bedroom are in one room. We are neighbours remember. She served one plate. She had prepared some nice rice with beef stew. I almost asked for an avocado. But I remembered this was not my house. I had to behave kiasi.

She brought the plate and placed it on the table. Then placed two spoons on the food. One pointing to me the other pointing her direction. Si walituambia pale primary school that the arrow points to the eater? She said a prayer before we started eating. I never even heard a single word. My mind was not even thinking about the food on the table. But it was thinking about food.

She was the first one to taste the food. “Usiogope, kula. I made this for you kababa”. Let me make something clear. If you wanted me to give you anything on this planet, just call me kababa. Hapo utakuwa umenivunja magoti kabisa. Hapo Sasa mimi sina nguvu, sina uwezo wowote kama Manchester United. I blushed and started eating. I rarely cook rice in my house. Rice is like a snack to me and snacks are usually taken with beverages or soft drinks. But I wasn’t going to eat like I do in my house where I eat directly from the sufuria to minimise the number of utensils that get dirty after meals.

We finished our food. She wanted to bring more which I strongly objected. Siwezi choma siku ya Kwanza. There is always that awkward moment after meals in someone’s house when you don’t know for how long you should stay before leaving. After clearing the table, she came back and sat close to me again. “Sasa mbona ulikuwa unakataa kukuja kwangu?” She asked me. “Sikukataa.” I responded. She took her hand and placed it on my beard. ” I like your beard”, she said. Thank you. I was now dying. I was literally struggling to breath. I took my hand and held her around the waist. I looked into her eyes. Mtoto macho mlegezo.Huyu anataka kitangatange mpaka kieleweke.” I told myself kimoyomoyo.

Party spoiled

My phone rang, I had forgotten to put it in silent mode or switch it off. I wanted to ignore it but she looked at me. There was a message. I assumed it was one of those promotion messages from Airtel or Tala threatening me with unspecified consequences if I fail to clear my debt. To my shock, she took the phone from the table and read the message. Her smile faded. Her glow vanished. She changed. ” Who is joy to you?” She asked. Silence.

…….to be continued.

PS: Yours truly is an aspiring pope.

A drunkard Mother Part 3

At first, as would be obvious, Mama Jack strongly opposed the idea of her moving to ushago. Can you guess how long it took for her to oblige? Not one, not two but fourteen days. A whole two weeks. Just when Baba Jack was giving up, his wife announced that she would go with her mother-in-law. It was considered a good leap towards her recovery process fueled by the fact that she had finally admitted to be having a problem and needed a way out.
So it was. The family helped Mama Jack to pack up. On the day she was to travel with her mother-in-law, Baba Jack bought her two Tuskers to use during the journey, hoping it will be the last alcohol his wife would ever take.


Two days later, Jack’s father received a call from Ushago. His wife was very sick. She had fever, severe headaches, was vomiting a lot and was very, very violent. Jack heard his dad ask if his wife was pregnant, of course bewildered. Jack was later to learn that was not the case, but his mother had been kept locked up in the compound, away from all alcohol. What she was suffering from was withdrawal syndrome.
After about a week, Jack’s father travelled upcountry after an urgent call. He left Jack in charge of the household that weekend. When he returned home Sunday evening, he made the kids pack up. He was taking them upcountry, for their mum was very ill. She has been admitted in hospital with severe dehydration. Jack was worried. He cried for the better part of the overnight journey.
Indeed when they arrived at the hospital, the teacher’s wife was in grave state. Jack knew why his dad had taken them there. To see their mother for the last time. Even Grandma looked remorseful. She kept begging the doctor to let her daughter-in-law be given at least a glass of alcohol, if that’s what would save her.
That night, the children and their dad spent the night at their Grandmother’s place. All night, they waited for a call from the hospital, the dreaded call. But no one called. The following morning, Baba Jack got himself ready to go. His mother gave him two flasks. One had uji and the other had tea. The teacher thought they were meaningless at the time but took them anyway in order not to upset his loving mother.
Soon as he got to hospital, Grandma’s phone rang. The aging woman received it, her hands trembling. The children were there with their Grandmother. She moved a metre away from them and said “hello”. The children waited. She did not scream, she did not wail. She fell on her knees and started singing a praise song. ” When Jesus says YES, nobody can say NO!” Then she beckoned to the children to go near her. She said, “Your mom says she’s grateful for the uji, she’s already gulped two mugs!”
Tears of joy flowed. That afternoon, the children were taken to see her. She was frail but something was back. Her jubilance. Her happy laughter. Her peace.
The children and their Dad travelled back to the City. The teacher travelled upcountry every other weekend and often brought cheering news.
The journey to recovery was happening, but was not smooth. Sometimes Jack’s mother would relapse and begin drinking all over again, killing everyone’s hope. Eventually she completely quit it.
A whole year went by with her upcountry. Her children had not seen her since the first time she had been hospitalized.

The battle was won

One Friday, Baba Jack travelled upcountry. He did not return on Sunday as planned. When they came back from school on Monday, the compound was literally glowing. The house was spotlessly clean. There was food on the dining table in hot dishes. The aroma was heavenly. Their father had done that? He emerged from his bedroom and made the children sit. Then he told them, “I’ve brought a new woman. From this day, you will not be like motherless chicks.”
Silence fell. Jaws hang. Eyes sparkled with tears. Then little Ann broke the silence.
“A stepmother?”
” No,” said a lady’s voice from the kitchen, as she emerged to reveal herself. Mama Jack herself! Beautiful, in make-up, neatly dressed and with a beautiful hairdo. She was back! She was smiling from ear to ear. The only thing missing were her two front teeth, otherwise she was the mother they had lost several years ago. Tears of joy flowed freely. It was jubilation my friends.
That night, the family enjoyed the best dinner they’ve ever had for ages. Their mother helped them with homework. The following morning, they all woke up to ready breakfast, and fresh lunch was packed for them.

Journey of victory

This is a story of victory. This is Jack’s story. His mother is currently the manager of her own clothes business. She imports her stock from Dubai and has two big shops, one in Nairobi and the other in Eldoret. Jack’s father retired some years ago, a happy and fulfilled man. Grandmother is old and does not remember much of her past, but even in her incoherence, she never forgets to remind everyone that greets her, that she once fought a monster and defeated it. We all know that monster, don’t we?

A drunkard Mother Part 2

Jack, just like his father, would appear very strong, but deep inside his heart was a gaping wound. He missed his mother’s company and vibrance that was no longer there. He hated being the laughing stock. He had less friends, the stigma was real. His father was struggling financially, running up and down to clear debts incurred by his wife. At one point, he had had to part with 5000 shillings to bail Mama Jack out of police cell after she and others had been arrested over drunkenness and rowdy behaviour.
Jack’s mother grew weaker and thinner by day. She rarely ate enough. Her eyes were always swollen and bloodshot, her lips red. She had two missing front teeth, thanks to blows received during their usual drunken fights. She no longer loved to shower and do make up. Her hair was another big mess. The teacher’s wife was in a pit of self-destruction. Baba Jack’s colleagues often advised him to file for divorce.


One evening, Jack’s paternal grandmother arrived from upcountry. The children were so happy to see her that for the first time they cried together as they hugged her. It was clear they had all been hiding pain within them. Jack saw his father wipe a tear quickly.
That evening, the children were sent to bed earlier than usual. Jack’s Dad and Grandma needed to discuss a very important matter. The girls went to their bedroom and soon fell asleep, but Jack chose to eavesdrop on the conversation. He was sure it was pertaining to his mother, and truly it was. ” So, mom,” Baba Jack began, ” will you take the girls with you to ushago (upcountry)? ” ” No son. It’s your responsibility to bring them up, just as I brought you up. My work is done, do yours.” ” Mom, the children are suffering. I need to protect them from…” “From their mom? From this shame? Son, some things can change, some can’t. Your wife is their mother, that can’t change. They already know she drinks and it hurts. That can’t change, what they know. But one thing can change. Their mom can change. She can quit drinking.” ” But mother, we are tired! I am tired! I want her gone!” ” Good. You want her gone. Gone where? WHERE WILL SHE GO?”
” Mother, I don’t know. ”


” To the streets? Her parents are dead. Her brother sold his inheritance and drunk himself to death. Mama Rose has nothing else but you and the children. ”
” Mother, you don’t know how I feel. You don’t know my life. ”
“Baba Jack, you don’t know how your wife feels. You don’t know her life.”
After a moment of silence, Jack’s Grandma spoke.
” I know where she’ll go. I’m taking her with me upcountry. I’ll take care of her. If I succeed, God be praised. If I don’t, God will know I tried.”
“Mother you don’t mean it.”
“I do. This is a test, perhaps from God. We must pass the test.”
“A test mother? This is a curse! We had this with Dad. Why undergo the test again?”
” Good question. We must repeat the test because we failed it last time. We failed with your dad, he died like a dog. Your children must see a victorious ending, not a remorseful one.”
By the end of the conversation, an agreement had been reached. Jack almost screamed in applause of his Grandma, then he remembered he was eavesdropping.

My Wedding Day

” On my wedding day, there will be a break where you will all go to your homes, eat then come back” Haha, don’t be scared. That is a whatsapp status I read on a friend’s profile and I couldn’t hold my laughter. What was this guy thinking? I actually replied and told him “hatutarudi!” No mercy to the merciless! We ain’t going to sacrifice our time to witness you exchange vows with your woman only for you to treat us that way! Nefa!

But this got me thinking. How will my wedding be when I finally find the ‘Laugh of my life?’ To begin with, there will be no committee. Committees should be a reserve for serious issues like finding solutions to the perennial food shortages and famine in Kenya and not for planning a one day event where two consenting adults swear before uninterested all and sundry that they have decided to tolerate each other’s foolishness for the rest of their lives. Till death does them apart. Wengi hata hawafikangi hapo kwa death, wanafikishwa (septic tank manenos). Anyway…


If anything needs to be planned, it will be between me and my gaidi. We will choose what we want to wear on our big day. Personally am not going to DON a suit. It is not an interview. I will be comfortable with an African wear. ‘My person’ will also make her choice. Si cha muhimu ni vows? Ama ni uhai. Haha. None of my friends will be forced to strain their finances to purchase clothes because of us. No. We care about you. Kuja vile ulivyo bana.

No contributions to finance my wedding. By now you must have realized I don’t want to subject anyone to misery (on top of the one they already have.) Again, people will always lie to you that they will support your wedding, only for them to change the narrative and say how you are forcing them into whatsap groups to contribute. I don’t want that. The other day I saw screenshots of a dowry contribution group where everyone left. Everyone, apart from the admin, who probably was the one going to pay dowry. I think he also left later. What would you be doing in a group alone? He should have known better. Hata chibudee, the proprietor of Wasafi Records who is busy uniting east Africa (not musically) but by dating, marrying and separating with women from Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania condemned that in his song ‘Kanyaga.’

My ‘gaidi’ and I will decide what you people are going to eat on our wedding depending on our financial situation at that time. Kama hatutakuwa Sawa, mtakula ulimi zenu na hadithi za pilau bana. But we will try to get you something. Maybe a soda(ndogo) and kdf. Or simple rice with beef. My aunties will help prepare that. I will help slaughter the goat. It has never taken me more than 30 minutes to slaughter and skin a goat. So hiyo budget ya catering services tumetoa.


Mine will not be a highly publicised wedding like the Pope’s visit. But I will make sure those who need to know are aware without sending those cards. Probably two or three weeks to. Just so that they can plan to attend if they wish to. You know Homo sapiens will pretend to feel bad that you never informed them about your wedding when in the real sense they still would have given excuses. And it’s not them you were going to tie the knot with! Mscheew!

Mkishakula nini ingine? Gifts. One awkward thing about informing people about your wedding is that they will be thinking, you expect gifts from them. Mine will be different. Kuja jinsi mlivyo. And I say this from the heart of my bottom (pun intended). But am not going to reject a 504 Peugeot from anyone. Ama kama ni wakati wa campaign, uncle Ulliam akuje aniangushie V8 my fren. That will be the last day you will catch me condemning graft!I don’t want blankets, jugs, 100 litres water tanks, glasses, sufurias, spoons, shirts… Thank you. Hizo tutanunua na Switat yangu. Na si madharau.

Am not sure yet if there will be cutting of cakes. Until recently, I never knew that wedding cakes can cost up to 200k. Mimi na ushamba yangu, I have been thinking no cake costs more than 5K. It is a friend who bakes cakes that chanuad me that a cake can cost up to whatever amount you want as long as you afford. Kwanza this cakes with ghorofas up to sijui 7th floor. Kwanza mi am scared of heights. So instead of a cake, I will get my grandmother ( God bless this lady) to cook for me Ugali ya Wimbi. I will then have Kuku kienyeji dry fry. That is what we will cut and eat. By the way my grandmother won’t prepare the chicken because it was a taboo for them to eat chicken. So I won’t torture her to prepare something she doesn’t pertake. Am civilized. But our grandfathers were mean. They made our grandmothers prepare things they(women) weren’t allowed to eat for them. The laugh of my life will instead do that. Si harusi ni yake. I have seen couples sip wine at weddings. Hiyo sina shida nayo. Ama niwaletee chang’aa so that you all pass out tuwaibie hizo pesa mlikataa kutununulia gifts nazo? Imagine a situation where the groom is ‘out’ ( like everyone else) after imbibing chang’aa from Suneka and is grinding mother-in-law. Unaambia mother in-law, ” weka mate niteleze kama nyoka pangoni”. Uuuwih. No. So for that reason, no chang’aa. I have seen what it does to people.

What have I left behind? The venue will definitely be a local church. The reception will be at the very grounds, probably outside. Am not going to pay for a venue. Pay rent and pay for a venue for a wedding.? Nijikute!


So that you all don’t act surprised like you’ve seen lot’s wife turn into salt, I will inform my local priest, family and gaidi’s family about my plans for the wedding. Wakikataa niende Kwa attorney general faster. Harusi ni yangu. Wafanye zao vile wanataka. Yangu nitafanya vile nataka.

Honeymoon ni kwa nyumba. And they lived together forever ama inakuwanga happily after?

PS: We went far talking about the wedding. Let me first find the ‘Laugh of my life’! Lucky if she will accept these terms and conditions. Wish me well!

PS(2) : Today am ish*. Haha.