..matatu chronicles..

“Sirrry. rook ati you”,…the elderly lady scolded the lady behind her as she alighted from the matatu to the amusement of the other passengers. Yes, matatus, always drama. The matatu had passed the stage of the deranged lady and in her anger, she passed her wrath to the other passengers getting off the bus at the next stage, almost pushing off the elderly lady from the bus. The hummer is now enjoying sun bathed days at home, she cant wait to get those wind-shield wipers, and to be back on the road tearing up the tarmac. Don’t worry baby, daddy is working on it.

And the other day got onto those beat down Nissan matatu’s, the 14 seater that at times transforms to a 20 seater..anyway, so this promoter comes up to us and hands some free mints. So we indulge and this lady seated next to me just stares on and the driver asks why she is not partaking of the mints. The lady looked square in the eyes of the driver and said “You take them!! For all you know they could be bewitched.!!”. I almost chocked on my mint trying to suppress the laughter. So you can get bewitched from eating free mints. Hehehe only in Kenya.

Touched. Truly and utterly touched by the outmost selflessness and generosity of fellow Kenyans who contributed to the “Kenyans-for-Kenyans” initiative to end the looming hunger situation in the country. We managed to rise over Kshs. 500 million. Imagine that. And the funds are still trickling in. big up to you all. That’s the power of the masses. I believe we hold the power to change our current status quo and not depend on these fat idiots in the hill to make the decisions for us. Let them enjoy their short stint in glory, for come next year, they burn.

Imagine one Alfred Some-one-or-other saying that they don’t have any reported cases of people dying of starvation in the country and goes further to say that we as the hard working non-sensicle Kenyans that we are, to report if we know of anyone, and I quote “who has died as a result of old age or starvation”. I went mental. Is this guy for real? I am even surprised that he managed to stay in office for this long when the most important thing he has ever done for this country is to offer comic relief to the stressed Kenyans by his senile comments of self perpetuated ignorance and indignation. You sir, are a not worth squat, and I shall not waste any more of my mental currency on you.

Feels good to rant and rave, huh? So we saw a Hyena the other day at Karen, of all places. I couldn’t believe it at first but when I got closer it really was, on the road, scratching it’s posterior on a stone. It was utterly disgustingly astonishing. A hyena, never mind we have them scattered all over this particular neighborhood, and they represent us in parliament as a matter of fact but not those ones but a real life one. How cool is that. But yes, I drove on, curiosity did kill the cat.

But I do miss the hummer. And I promise you this, next week, it will be on the road. Lamu. Island paradise. Man I miss that place. My sanctum of solitude. Miles and miles of white sandy beaches with no one in sight, the salty ocean air fills your lungs and you are instantly teleported to a nirvana of peace. Lamu. But I go there for other reasons to. Getting away from it all and just kick it on the beach but also….to walk on the beach absolutely…eeeh..in my birthday suit. Getting in touch with my primal instincts as I call it, and just ran and frolic like Adam did, but on a white sandy beached Eden. 98 days to go..and counting.

So folks, find you “Lamu” today, and just get away from it all.

...GOR BIRO..

The aroma of the half eaten chicken-pie hung in the bus. The whiffs of wind blowing it further up the nostrils of the now salivating passengers. A guy throws a mad glance at the mow-hawk laden lass listening to who knows what on her head phones. Yes. I am still doing Matatus and buses. The hummer hasn’t gotten a viable donor for the wind shield wipers that were disemboweled by my hyperactive two year old nephew. This is just one of many days riding in matatus.

But I think the one that topped it of folks, was the transvestite. Passengers held their breath as this “lady” with an Adam’s apple got into the bus. I have to give her / him credit coz she/he had a sense of style about her. She briskly walked by the isle as people stared at her in amazement. She/he got a seat next to this spectacled guy and the guy was quivering in his seat. She flopped and pumped his/her hair now and then and this elderly guy just squinted in her direction thinking that he must really need glasses. All of a sudden she throws a kiss towards the elderly guy’s direction. That was enough to tell the geezer to mind his own. Kenyans hehe.

Rose Nasimuyu. The nine years old who has made head-lines and touched the hearts of many with her ordeals and challenges as a cancer survivor. She is not a victim, but a survivor. I choked mid-way through her narration of the countless number of medical procedures she undergoes to stay alive. Rose Nasimuyu, is my hero. She has valor and particularly very knowledgeable for a kid that age. The cancer hasn’t robbed her of her childhood spirit. She is living proof of what self-will and determination can remedy anything life throws your way. Am blown away by her resilience to live.

“Gor Biro!!!” chants run through the stadium. The blinding green and white jerseys and apparels soaked the stadium, overshadowing the blues and whites. 

The mood is electrifyingly intoxicating and the evidently dark-skinned keen from the lake-side were in numbers. That was the gimotimore (that’s what’s up) at last weekend’s game against two of Kenya’s top soccer clubs. Gor Mahia FC a.k.a Sirkal and AFC Leopards a.k.a Ingwe. The traditional Isikuti (drum made of hallow tree trunk and Python skin) originally from the western parts of Kenya is largely the “tool’ choice of the Leopards’ supporters, resonated throughout the stadium..the catchy tunes had us Gor supporters moving our heads in our seats. Well, us Gor supporters aren’t left behind with our tongs and “Obu” (horn made of Thompson’s Gazelle horns) sang of the heroics of the Gor Mahia fraternity. Yawa, Semji..not today. We gave them 3 goals to the meager 1. Gor is taking over. So the next game is flood-light on the 3^rd of August. And am going to dye my beard some fluorescent Green. Cant wait.

Cant help it, I am just Jaluo like that…

Kids. Its amazing how my two year old nephew can switch from “super cute adorable mode” to “full on destruction mode” in a blink of an eye. And on the receiving end was my poor baby, the Hammer. The kid jumped on the bonnet and ripped out the wipers. He’s a kid, he couldn’t control himself, you say…well my back hand has been feeling mighty “not controllable” lately. But I get that he’s curious.

My brother, Ken, got married over the weekend. Two down, only baby sister’s remaining for the year. It was all the pomp of a Luo and Kikuyu wedding. Being the best man, I had the privilege of driving my mother to go get the bride from her home. As tradition has it, there is a short ritualistic “singing at the gate on the top of our voices until you open for us” thing before we are given the bride for keeps!! There is something about getting ten women to a function in time….it will never ever happen. So my crazy driving paid off. Got them on time…but emotionally, not in one piece.

The service did start on time and as they said there vows you could see that this two love birds will have an eternity of happiness together. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Ken Oloo. Sure, I cried my eyes out…in the inside :-].

The hummer is indisposed, thanks to my nephew, and that only means one thing…public transportation. Dread. There is never any joy in riding in a small confined space with fourteen other individuals with varying body odors plus the un-brushed stink of the conductors’ teeth. The shoving and pushing of passengers trying to get in and out, the slight concussion you get from a ladies hand-bag on you temple to that idiot who just doesn’t understand you took thirty or so minutes to brush your shoes and decides its an extension of the matatu’s floor. I miss my baby.

My old man cracks me up. He is a Luo, through and through. The other day we are at this shop getting airtime and a guy buys credit for fifty shillings. And my Dad is clearly puzzled. “so what is he going to do with that?, he asks, “send text messages only??”. To him, air-time ranges from the denominations of five hundred shillings and above.

Since we are on that subject, Ramogi night is going down tonight. The biggest showcase of..well…showing off, in the Luo calendar. It’s sort of a Luo cultural night thing. This is the only night where you all the Mercedes are at one venue and the mobile networks are jammed thanks to the three or four phones for every jaluo in the establishment. Here, guys order everything “on the rocks” even water to wash hands. They make such lucid demands on the cooks, from having the head of the fish medium-rare and the rest, rare. Or whether the spices used to make the Mbuta (Nile Parch) were organic. Yawa, my brothers.

So I’ll be off to Ramogi night, put on my Gucci suite, douse some Parco Rabbanne cologne, Ferrari socks, and my pleather alligator shoes….complete with a CK belt…and take a matatu to La’ngata…..coz I know the Hammer will have self-esteem issues parked next to all those Marcs. Its been real.

..In memory of Chowder..

Hey lay there..motionless. He had been dead for about 4 hours. Rigidity had already set in. Brave soldier. Chowder. His last few days, I wouldn’t wish on anyone. From peeing blood to having both your legs broken and ran on ‘em. I took one last look and went inside the house to break the news to everyone. “Chowder, is dead”, I said, almost not believing it. I wish it wasn’t true. “At least he wont pee on the curtains again, huh?”, I tried to joke..but no one was laughing. Chowder, our cat had gone to cat heaven.

He had been sick these last couple of days, the sickness didn’t get him. But the dogs did. Lancelot and his gang. By the time I got to them, chowder was already down, hissing madly. He saw his opportunity and fled only to return in the morning. I knew defiantly that his fore paws are not supposed to bend that way. He was a fighter, he was. Two broken legs. And he walked on them until he got into the house…and just collapsed. He didn’t eat, he didn’t do anything. Good bye Chowder.

“I want to be a Judge”, he said through cracked lips and a hearty smile. Somehow, I could picture Maura in that ridiculous judge outfit passing sentences and hitting the gavel. Meet Maura, ten years old, and up until four years ago, one of the many children at the Vumilia (Swahili for ‘perseverance’) camp for the internally displaced, in Mahi Mahiu. Like many children there, he doesn’t understand why he can’t go back home and play with his friends and stay up to dusk chasing tires and hunting pigeons.

His eyes are full of hope in a sea of hopelessness. His heart, bigger than any other. We visited his home a few days ago and help built permanent housing for the IDPs. Thanks to the valiant efforts of Habitat for Humanity, we were able to set up foundations of 10 houses. Not an easy task! Not trying to create a holier than thou persona here folks, just trying to stir passion in you guys and open your eyes to the plight of the many suffering in IDP camps now scattered all over Kenya. The men are full of despair, but they hide it in boisterous conversation with us. The little crops they planted, maize mainly, now lay dry in the fields, the rains came to late, and now, they are good for just cow feed. Which is a twisted joke, because they don’t have the cows to feed. The women tend to the young ones and try to their best to have something for them to eat. At times, they go hungry.

Nick and Jenn. They got married like two weeks ago, and boy, did we have fun at the wedding. Jenn’s Dad, Dr. Prather, is just crazy. Mid way during the traditional father-daughter dance, they put a mix of hip hop, to jazz to country to pop…with dance moves to boot..and just left us guys laughing. We wish you all the happiness. You guys deserve it.

Eleven. One-one. Kumi na moja. Yes folks, eleven, that’s the number of children I am intending to have….but I scaled it down to eight kids when I had the opportunity to baby sit my adorably lovable hyperactive  seven month old niece. I absolutely don’t know anything about kids. And the few hours I was left with her ratified this. Even when she was asleep, I felt I had done something wrong. Was she sleeping correctly, was the pillow to fluffy or should she be holding her stuffed elephant with her right hand coz she is a righty or to the left to improve her coordination. But one thing, when she was fast asleep, and he little fists curled up, and occasionally, her toothless grin, that was amazingly cute, there’s nothing as precious as children. Not going to cry…not going to cry…monster trucks..monster trucks..phew that was close.

So a thousand plus hits later and a few stories later, errant photographer is giving you guys mad love. Thank you all for following my blog, your creative criticism and general support. Thanks. Many of you don’t know this, but my other name is actually ‘Juma’, but I decided to drop it, it doesn’t go down well with my beard. Enough said. Don’t wany to get a cavity search next time am in the airport..get my drift :-]

Only three weeks and my brother is getting hitched. Congrats bro. my aunties are still on my case, asking why I’d prefer my baby..the hummer..than getting out there and get me a girl. How can I leave the hummer!! Yes she has abandonment issues and occasional mood swings to next Tuesday, but which girl doesn’t. It’s me and you to the end baby. Hey, sorry for taking a while to blog, been caught up with work, speaking of, soon, watch this space. Errant photographer out.

From Kisumu...with love..

So if you call me and I take a considerable amount of time to pick your call….am not ignoring you….blame it on this “bollywood” theme song I got as a ring-tone. Every time my phone rings, I just have to get my dance on. Its just irresistible…Punjabi MC, totally rocks.

Kisumu. The source of my river of life. My origin. I went there this week and it’s just magical. The sleepy town of Usenge on a wet Tuesday morning. Bare-footed school kids with patched bottom shorts litter the roads. Funny story, behind their bare-footedness. Rural schools, from our area, to my knowledge, don’t allow primary school kids to wear shoes to school. Why, you ask. Get this, because by them doing so, shows some level of disrespect to the teachers. How is it disrespectful to cover your toes from the elements? Messed up!!

But I immensely enjoyed my short stay there. Saw my aunt as well. She even found me afew lasses to court. She told me she was devastated that I am still single and yet there were well mannered girls..with all teeth..there in Kisumu. Noted. My aunt, the sales person she is, introduced me to the pros of her selections of would be brides and glazed over the cons. She even tried to bait me with “the way to a mans heart is through their stomach” cliché, telling me that I would have home cooked meals everyday at the appropriate meal intervals and have my clothes washed meticulously…even them hard to wash denims. Hehehe city chicás…beat that.

Aah yes. Ethiopian Fridays. My novelty weekly shing. Ethiopian is simply…wow. Went there this Friday and as ususal. Blown away by the splendid cuisine and gourmet coffee. I like. Am pretty much full when I make way to the center and this guy stops me and he looks like he’s been in a fight with a knife…and the knife won!! He gives me the usual story of not eating for a whole week, and he jut needs some money for food. The pungent smell of days old liquor still on his breath and my eyes were burning from the stench of cigarettes from his breath. I know this guy will immediately get a smoke the minute I give him some chumz, but who am I to judge. I think that’s where we go wrong, assumptions. So I decided to give him the benefit of doubt and give him some loose change. Guy immediately smiles, almost saying “sucker” as he walks away. Guess I am a sucker in some way.

But am I really, for always trying to see the good in people or having a glass half full perspective?? Spread a little good today, where ever you are. Sure, you definitely don’t get anything in return but who knows what a little goodness can do. Ya’ll have a good one.

..BUSTED...

“Godi, ati unasema nini?? (Godi, what are you saying?)”, “Ati huna bibi!! (you don’t have a wife!!!)” ….the female voice shrieked from the speakers and in unison.. the entire matatu roars with laughter. You just been busted mate. Kenyans are crazy. Busted, literally. I absolutely love this show. It’s just hilarious how these cheating buggers are caught and try to wiggle their way out of the situation like the worms they are.

“Sii, hivo…ilikuwa tuu ni jokes(it aint like that, I was just joking) ”. Godi is now apprehensive, clearly, realizing his folly. Long story short, Godi’s wife was sick and tired of his meandering ways, and decided to rest her suspicions once and for all. She did what any red blooded Kenyan wife does…look through the pockets and the phone log and sniff the hubbies clad for anything sinisterly female. She did. She later calls this popular radio show.. “Busted, with Ciku” and yaa, catches the guy pants down..no pun intended. Dumb ass. Don’t get me wrong, I have no sympathy for those horny toads that just cant keep it in their pants…but if that’s who you are…at least be smart enough not to be caught amigo.

I don’t know, I just don’t. cant a guy wear reasonably fitting ( I don’t want to use tightly fit ) pair of jeans without being looked at. So I did, and got stares, but hey, at least attention has shifted from my goatee, but it becomes worrying when I get into a matatu and trust, its full, and these elderly lady looks at me like am some piece of meat. I aint on the menu lady :-] . I love my “oops-I-have-dropped-something-pants” ..that’s what I call ‘em, and hey, so what, I like to extenuate my features now and then. Live with it.

This guy knows how to live people. Guy was stone drunk. From what I heard, he got into his car, like he always does, puts the reverse gear to get out of the parking, looks behind to do so and all of a sudden the car just goes forward. Kenyans.  I know there is the rising costs of fuel and all, but really, you can’t just go making shortcuts anywhere. I think that’s the lesson for today folks. No shortcuts in life. Just go the straight and narrow, not the crooked but wide..makes sense. Have an awesome rest of the week folks.

Rainbows are awesome too...

Weddings ..everyone is getting married. Hurray for me. Covered one this past week. You gotta appreciate the diverse cultures we have in Kenya. A Masaai and a Samburu…what!! The pulsating chants and almost synchronized trade mark jumping was simply breath taking. The groom was Samburu and the Bride Masaai. Garden weddings..a photographers answered prayer…only if it doesn’t rain though. Pomp and color…love sparkled in their eyes. They were truly and madly in love.

Speaking of, the Royal wedding is on today, and it’s the entire buzz. Frankly, I don’t see what the fuss is all about….just heard on the radio, a guy, in England of course…tattooed the royal couple’s portrait on his teeth at an estimated cost of about 1,000 quid (Kenyan shillings 120,000) …c’est bizarre!! I wish Prince William and Kate all the happiness…and long live the Queen.

Masaais. You gotta admire their spirit. The mention of them conjures thoughts of club wielding nomadic herdsmen, who slay lions. If you had a Masaai watchmen, then you rested assured that no thug in their correct state of mind would even think of robbing your compound. So, am at this hardware in Ngong…a place where Masaais thrive..and this shuka (traditional Masaai attire, comprising of a long clothe wrapped around and fastened by a belt) dawned Masaai..yes, with a club, made his way in. The club was uniquely customized, with a bohemian metal nut as the head. So he comes over the counter and he has these outrageous cork-bottle spectacles and asks if the owner could spare some few nails for his rungu (club). The owner is more than obligatory and gives the fellow.

“Jusi, mwisi nakuja iba kioo ya gari…mimi napata, alafu nakat kata..alafu napiga rungu…alafu nakata tena..(‘the other day a thug came to steal the window of a car..I found him and cut him good with my machete…I hit him with my club…and then cut him some more..’) “ , he says..and we just looked at him with morbid shock and dumbfoundedness. He takes a stone and drives the nails in the club, fastening the nut. He hobbles away, chanting a Masaai tune,,,,crazy.

Rainbows. Don’t they just give you that warm cuddly feeling.. I love rainbows..yes, that didn’t come out at all quire…but I do. Just reminds me of my days in primary school with my extremely petite, rubber-band waist shorts. I hated umbrellas and had to persevere the unmerciful rainy days. And then, just after a heavy pour…a rainbow, it stirred something in me that I can’t explain…rainbows.

Always look for rainbows..after a heavy storm of disappointments, anger, rejection, depression…after the storm is over,,,I bet the rainbow appears .. appreciate it..even if it is only for a little while.