At the start of the year, I had no clear direction in life. I had no
idea what I wanted from life, or what life wanted from me. I was like a ship
whose captain had taken a sabbatical. I would eat, watch, text and sleep then
repeat. Since I was growing into a lay about, my parents decided to push me
into some nifty computer school. There, I was supposed to learn the history of
computers and supposedly be busy till it was time to join campus.
In between, I was chasing chicks. Nothing serious. Lying how much I
loved them and how my world was going to stop without them. They were bullshit pick-up
lines, but some fell into my net. All I wanted
was to sample their inner thighs. No love, nothing. Just driven by lust. A
feeling only a boy who has just concluded high school can comprehend. God was
on my side, I managed to reign in a few chicks. Some had brown thighs, some
chocolate thighs, other thighs were really black. Some had thick thighs, lithe
thighs, nubile thighs. Some chicks did not give a rat’s ass, they plainly
ignored me. My WhatsApp remaining blue like waters of the Atlantic. My texts
unread, my calls unreturned. This taught me one lesson, you can’t get them all.
I had been writing previously but on rare occasions, nothing serious. I
had not thought of a career in writing. I wanted to be a pilot, do you know how
absurd that sounds right now? Me a pilot? In some Emirates Dreamliner issuing
instructions to passengers.
“Attention all passengers. We are about to land at JKIA, please adjust
your seatbelts.”
And then one time the plane is hijacked by AL Shabab and they come for
me.
With Somali accent “Who is the captain of this plane?”
Here I am shitting bricks in the cockpit.
“I repeat, who is the captain of this plane?” (Somali Accent still)
More silence.
“Because you are not talking, I am going to shoot this crew member.”
He aims his AK 47 at some hot bird, a hostess I have been eyeing for
some time. Because I can’t let a hot chick die, I jump from the cockpit.
“It’s me, it’s me, please spare her. She has done no wrong.”
The insurgent will eye me ludicrously for a moment then say.
“Oh, please! Don’t be dramatic Mr. Captain, we just want you to crash
this plane into the UAP towers.”
And here, I will know for sure that I am toast.
“For Allah! And Muhammad his prophet!”
No, being a pilot was out of question.
My friend Mahanda Martin, recommended I read Bikozulu. By the way, he
performed well in the recently released KCSE results, Mahanda not Bikozulu, congrats
bro. The moment I read the first story of Bikozulu, I knew this was the real
shit. And I asked myself where this blog had been hidden all this time? I
continued consuming more Bikozulu stories and deep down I ultimately knew that
I wanted to write like that. Biko breathed life into my stories.
A small problem. No money to build a
domain, furthermore host it.
It’s a long story really, I will narrate it sometime in the future. For
now, here are my top 2018 moments. Times which made this year one hell of a
ride. Some were successes, others failures but they all played a part in the
man I am as I type this.
Resigned from a job
I got a gig to write about Instagram celebrities. I was doing this for
some dodgy men’s magazine. Writing about hot chicks in a sweet way. To convince
lustful men to idolize them and follow their Instagram profiles. I wrote about
some top chick honchos in the entertainment business. It was good money. But
two months into the job, I fell out with my editor. We argued constantly about
this and that. I couldn’t take it no more, sod it! One evening, I texted her
and told her to find someone else to writer for her. She replied with some
emoji which was not even remotely funny and that was it. No goodbyes, no hugs
or kisses. No talks of how I will miss you, how we could have been better. None
of that claptrap. My inner peace is more important than any amount of money in
this world. I hope she found another writer, she must have. But I am yet to
find another employer. One lesson I picked from this, you’re dispensable.
People move on with life and forget about you. Another writer is reaping the
benefits, but I wonder how she/he is surviving. Maybe they clicked, you never
know.
Nyayo house scare
I was at the infamous Nyayo house to apply for my passport. That place
is a sea of humanity. Suits, Hijabs, Kanzus and police uniforms and everything.
Papers shuffling around, names being called and cameras snapping away. It’s a
smorgasbord of Kenyan bureaucracy. You
can’t believe that some decades back in the subterranean chambers of Nyayo
house, Moi terrorised those against his rule. It’s hard to fathom that underneath this show
of a government installation running efficiently, there lies a dark and haunted
past. Nothing tells you that years back, somewhere underneath, Raila was lying
in a cell filled with water as he battled for a multi-party state. There are no
scars here, no blood on the walls, no reminders. People moved on, but Nyayo is
still there. A weapon from Moi’s age.
After I had finished the process at Nyayo house, I go to take a leak
then leave.
The toilets are a mess, Gava please do something.
I am about to leave then I decide to take a photo of the building. I am
obsessed with photos too, after writing. I have taken a few shots then a voice rings out.
“Kijana unafanya nini?”
With my boyish naivete, I was like.
“Napiga picha tu.”
“Ati picha? Do you know that is a criminal offence?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” I wanted to tell the officer. “I am a law student and
Sonko, your governor, said that creatives are free to use public property for
shooting. As long as it’s not porn.”
But you know, Kenyan policemen. You say that and they explode.
“Huh! Kijana, unadhani baba yako ni rais. Unajiona kusoma law hapa. We
will see who is the real lawyer. Motherputa!!”
But because I wanted to avoid a scenario and acting like a smart buff
wasn’t going to take me anywhere, I took a backseat. The policeman talked of
terrorism and its dangers. And how this was close to that. I apologised profusely
and swore not to take any more photos. I even swore not to look at Nyayo house
directly because that as much might amount to terrorism. And who wants to put
Moi’s torture house in danger? Not me. I kissed ass big time, and that
policeman said that I was good boy. I wasn’t fooling no one though. He asked
that I delete the photos from my phone, I deleted them. But then, I have a good
phone, you can delete something then restore it. So, Gang, how does Nyayo house
look? Certainly, it is in a good mood. If that policeman was reading this blog,
he would certainly feel cheated. Sorry officer, it’s just blogging.
I learnt this, if you’re arrested
don’t be tough. Don’t threaten Afande that you know who and who or how your
call can end his job. Don’t, ask him if he knows your father or mother, they
don’t care. Just play nice, commend them for the job they are doing and they
will let you go.
Favorite Article
Letters From my village got a lot of people but for me, it was MARIO
which stood out. It came to me while I was in church. And I punched out the
first few sentences on my phone. I wrote about the fears of fatherhood, read it
here MARIO. In that article, I opened up my soul and laid it bare for the world. Oh
yes, I hope to be a father someday.
Most read Article
Remember BROKEN, this was about a boy who just can’t stop sleeping
around. Read it here BROKEN. The last time we talked, he has this hot new fourth year
chick. She is funding everything in his life. All he got to do is hit it right.
Celebrity of the Year
As a developing creative Mutua Matheka (Truthslinger) touched me a lot
on who he is as a person. Despite having scaled the heights of photography, he
is grounded, humble as he comes. He is verified on Instagram but we exchange
DMs like high school friends. Then on photography, he is the King of the art
here in Kenya. Check out his Instagram here TRUTHSLINGER. Thank you Mutua Matheka, you
inspire me a lot.
Inspirational figure
Eliud Kipchoge. I can’t say whether he is a man or a machine. But on the
breaking2 documentary produced by Nike, this guy changes your perspective on
everything. He talks of running with the
brain and not his body. He says, “everything is possible, if you just set your
mind right.” This is after he almost run under two hours. Chamgei!!
Most elusive person
Jackson Biko of Bikozulu. I tried. I sent DMs, sent messages, twitted,
tagged, sent emails, made phone calls; met with people who said they could put
me in touch with him but he still eluded me. But I know Biko is watching from
somewhere, there is a time he liked three of my Instagram posts and poof! He disappeared
into the wind. People say my writing mirrors his but I think it’s a long way
off really. Biko is about 23 years my senior, there’s a big difference, I am
only starting to walk. Anyway, if you reading can get me an audience with him
in 2019, please do. Even if it’s for two only minutes. The guy is a writing
savage.
Best books
I set out to read over 25 books but I managed to read about 5 novels. I
am not even sure, don’t blame me, I have been busy! The books stole my heart,
all of them. But the one which stood out for me was Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. It
is about a boy battling virginity and fatness. Not a good combination. Set in
the Dominican Republic and USA it balances between immigrant life and life in a
third world state. Furthermore, it is narrated in the first person by Yunior.
This book will rip you apart with laughter. My favorite conversation.
“Yunior, do you think I will die a virgin?”
“It is a crime for Dominican males to die without having sex at least
once in their life.”
Other books which chipped at my heart include: A thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini its full of sadness and
humor. Then there is The Book thief
by Marcus Zusack, its worth your time, set in Nazi Germany. And then Fearless
by Ifeoma Chinwuba. Pen chair Khainga O’okwemba gifted me this book but I have
not been able to thank him enough. Salut sir!
Top writers
There are people who were born to write. There is AA Gill of Sunday
times UK, he passed away in 2016 but guy had epic turn of phrase. There is Paul
Salopek of National Geographic, his story, Lost
in the Sahel: Road to Darfur is an artistical triumph of epic proportions. Junot
Diaz wrote in the New Yorker how he was abused by a priest as a boy Legacy of a childhood Trauma. It is a
sad story, he opens up like a flower, saying all the reasons why he has had
trouble accepting people in his life. The prose is just something else, he
narrates of the troubles he had breaking his virginity and the women whose
hearts he shattered afterwards. There is
Aleya Kassam, you read what she has written and feel like proposing to her.
Magunga Williams is right up there For
Akello, he talks of breaking up
with his girlfriend of 4 years. It rocked me. There is Anne Alvira, her writing
mostly about lifestyle issues. Family, relationships and all that mumbo jumbo.
You see Alvira writes with flair, like she has seen it all. She hasn’t, but it’s
worth reading. And of course, the Godfather, Bikozulu. I have read almost every
word he has written this year.
Joining campus
It’s fun. It’s a jungle out.
Movie of the Year
Remember the Titans – Denzel Washington hit the home run with this one.
Chat of the year
There are people you talk to and they change you. Their smartness,
organisation and planning. They have their shit together and have made peace
with who they are. Ayub Okwaro did that to me. Guy is a final year Law student
at Nazarene uni and he just oozes finality. He opened my eyes in ways I can’t
put to paper. To more life brother.
Event of the year
CBA Concours De Elegance
This was a winner.
Party of the year
I am shy of groups. And I try my
best to stay away. But sometime this year, under ill advice and influence, I
attended some bush shindig. It was way past Kiserian, deep in the wilderness.
Some place with no network, no electricity. Just us, children of the world. It
was a nice one.
Love Life
Cupid decided that I wasn’t going to find love this year. Its okay
cupid. Those who were unlucky in the love department like me, please raise up
your coffee mugs. Let’s try again in 2019. But people like Kimaru Kim should
not try at all.
Crew of The Year
You were the best Gang, and I cannot say thank you enough. You turned up
each Wednesday for coffee break. Reading, commenting and pointing out problems.
I have come to know wonderful people, always pushing me to be better. Thank you
Gang and God bless, you. Let’s do this again next year. Merry Christmas and a
prosperous 2019.
Its exactly 2:51 AM as I finish writing this. Dogs bark from afar.
Everyone at home is sleeping. I am the only nocturnal punching out words at this
surreal hour. Writing has taken much from me this year so I just want to chill
really. No reading, no writing. Just talking to my father, listening to music,
watching football and a sprinkling of Nat Geo.
The last person here to store the sugar well. We’ll need it come
njaanuary.MARIO
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