One graceful lady, the blue book and the hapless me

I like female legs. I like them when they are healthy, shapely and without freckles. No sooner I approve of the face than I run my eyes down to confirm the legs department. While fellow men first rush their eyes to the bum or breasts, I have a mysterious fixation with legs. They are my fetish in the physical attributes of womanhood. I’m continuously frustrated by the pants that women wear; hence it comes as a breather once I stumble upon a beautiful woman in a skirt with particularly nice legs.

I have done crazy things for female legs. Once when I was in campus (I can finally use this line, he!he!), I followed this lass with exceptionally long, fine, fresh legs from graduation square to Chiromo. For those unfamiliar with the University of Nairobi, that is a damn one kilometer walking uphill. The chicka had the beauty and brains to engage us (me and my really weird nigger Plato) all the way to Chiromo before she disappeared into one of those quaint academic buildings before giving us her number after too much bullying and treachery.

Turns out the upscale, highly precocious charge was a first year. She spoke the Queen’s language pretty eloquently with a distinct accent that bespoke some decent upbringing. She exuded some patrician demeanour and given she tolerated our insufferable company, she was intelligent. My X-ray vision and X-rated mind saw a good body before her intellectual mettle won us over. She had one of those unrehearsed voices, soft as a bell that can sing an unknown neo-soul number in an uptown mall and the patrons will not exactly tell which is great; the voice or the song?

So much for legs. But that is not the story here today. Just demonstrating my crazy obsession with legs, even though this girl cast a memorable impression in my mind, rather ironically. In retrospect, it must have been my pubescent erotic preoccupations, not at all regretfully. For my troubles, I received a belated birthday card with bottomless tall women from her. Height of perversion or twisted humour?

I hate Kisumu. Every time I find myself in Kisumu, I want to get out immediately. The sweltering heat in the lakeside has a way of tampering with my often fragile health. The flies in the Backstreets of Kisumu are scary. I remember once while having a nap, a low flying fly landed on my forehead startling me out of my dreamy siesta thinking that an helicopter had landed on my face.

Hell, Kisumu is bad. The prostitutes there are the most vulgar and the roughest, in the physical sense of the word. Not that I throng the red light street or the bars but at my age I definitely have had my fair share encounters with the women of the flesh. The bodadoda men cannot spell nor pronounce a number of words. We can as well as enlist them; shall we?
-Civil behaviour
-Common sense
But they are very eloquent on a number of words
-Bad manners

But every once in a while I find myself in the Sun City. It is the closest to home. I have a number of folks settled down there and cousins I am so fond of. So inevitably, anytime I am in Kisii I must end up in Kisumu. This past week I was down there for a different kind of visit and it turned out to be an entirely blessed outing. For I met the most beautiful, graceful, angelic woman in my life. Phanice was her name and we shall come back to this, a little bragging on the way there won’t hurt.

Of blue and red books
There is an incomprehensible excitement that engulfs one once you get you national ID. It is freedom to get into clubs without necessarily being frozen or reasoning out with bully bouncers who leave their brains in the gym. It is the freedom to get into some buildings without being unaccompanied. Heck, it is the most important document before you own your first ATM card. And to some of us it came courtesy of hard work and the subsequent HELB loans.

Next comes the red book, or the drivers’ license. This brings the excitement to mess around the road without being locked. It is the realization that you can be trusted behind the wheel and the big bro can entrust you with his car during the weekend. It generates that good feeling that you can at one point drive a car, your own preferably.

But the blue book or the passport is the ultimate document of prestige, though not anymore. There were days when owning a passport was the extreme luxury of the rich. It could take up to six months to obtain the blue book and the immigration ministry was the mostcorrupt. Those days are gone and nowadays with Kshs 3040 and ten days or less of waiting you have the blue book in your hand, expectant of your travel outside the country.

My journey and the blue book
I will be travelling out of the country briefly later on in the year. The journey is one of those prearranged tours that require adequate arrangement and all documents must be ready two months prior to the date of travelling. That is how I was summoned into an office and the guys arranging the journey asking me to produce a passport pronto.

I lied that I have one and could produce it the following day. It pays to have individuals in some specific places. I called my very helpful boy, Henry at Nyayo House and he was not in town and those available could only deliver me a miracle in two days.

I liaised with my wicked friend Caleb who linked me with a chap called Evans down at Kisumu. Evans is my clansman, a highly enthusiastic chap, sharp and quick with stuff. When I called him, he told me he can hand me over a miracle in a record 8 hours but I had travel to Kisumu. Hence I was in an overnight Easy Coach travelling down West. I can’t understand why individuals pay double for the murky services…

The most beautiful and graceful lady
I walked into the lobby at exactly 8.03 am and it was unseasonably chilly in that Thursday Morning. There were handful individuals who had turned up to apply, process or collect their blue books. I met Evans who in the speed of lightening did the necessary before he told me to turn up later at 2pm and take my miserable-self back to Nairobi.

At 2pm I was back at the lobby and there no more than fifteen individuals, all from various ethnic, racial, and age backgrounds wearing the forlorn look that Kenyans now don courtesy of the price of Unga.

Then I saw her. As expected of all the typically beautiful women she was standing by herself and luckily enough, not feigning seriousness fiddling with the phone and updating on Facebook on how slow and bureaucratic the immigration office was operating.

Boy was she beautiful? At about 5’9, chocolaty complexion-skin colour of desert honey and a well coiffured natural hair, this lady seemed intimidatingly beautiful. She was flawless. She had that face that indicated she was unlikely to cheat on his man. She looked 23-24, contented or in old slang, had her shit together. She had long legs and her black skirt’s hemline was right at the knees revealing some really promising thighs and even better going higher. Her grey, light pull- over augmented her breasts so well and with my vantage height I certified her subtly revealed cleavage as the best. She was grace personified. She was elegant, class and completely unaware that she is the most beautiful woman in the planet. It helped that her hips gave her a waist that will make her enemies with the wasps in the region.

I was the closest to her age racket. I was the only probable person who could talk to her.
Problem:In spite of my towering height, I don’t have an instantly recognizable presence. Many a time, my friends have had to add, a journalist/writer, shamefully embarrassing me when it turns out that the women they so much want to ride on my name to lay have never actually come across my name anywhere.

Predicament: While our eyes locked, she gave me that look that told me that I was as erotically inspiring as the pillar she was leaning on. Occasionally I have that unsettling feeling that I look wooden. This was one of those days.

Trouble: I am a poor dresser. I have never quite believed that a man should invest in good clothes. I was in my black shoes, material trousers and a shirt that had taken me about one hour ironing and once I had put it on, it looked like it had been snatched from the mouth of cow.

Relief:My instincts told me that she really wanted to talk to someone. The building was boring. The turned on TV was unclear and predictably had one of those Afro-sinema series was on mute. Only individuals talking on phones in their mother tongue made the room seem to be having life…Ever heard a Kisii rap over the phone…You would want to die. So I moved towards her, gathered all the balls I could master and put up the most authoritative voice and spoke in a regulated bass trying to sound intelligent.

“Have I seen you in Strathmore?” I asked…
“Nope.” She said radiating some humility that made me like her instantly. Any chick with half her indescribable beauty would have an attitude that can explode petrol tanker.

“ Then I bet I have seen you at UoN…”I said…
“Never.” She said firmly but in a friendly manner and ready to take on my next guess.
Thing with monosyllabic answers is that you can hit a dead end unexpectedly if you prove to be a sucker. May be my height made her give me one more chance…
“I can’t for the life of me, figure out but I have a feeling that we have bumped into each other, either in some college or some high profile meeting…” I said trying to be as believable as possible maintaining my subtle twang, so cautious not to betray my rustic upbringing.

“You’re talking to the wrong person. I have never been to a Kenyan University.” She said in a voice not so remarkable, but sweet and I had to keep on pressing. My trick was to associate her with prestigious institutions so that to give an impression that I regard her highly. I have used that trick and all the women swallow it hook, line and sinker.

“Anyway, I am Silas. Here to collect my blue book.” I said eager to sustain the conversation.

“Phanice. I am here to replace my mutilated passport. I’m supposed to be traveling on Monday, wonder if they can help me fast enough…”

Damsel-in-distress! I have read enough mafia stuff to know that damsels-in-distress while vulnerable are one thankless bunch. I pondered if I could show her how connected I was but that stunt doesn’t work with any woman with functional brains. With such women, you just have to be straight and to the point. Any attempt to impress will fall flat. I proposed that Evans could help and she readily accepted my offer. Evans promised to help her, without ripping her off. I was making some headway.

Phanice was to travelto South Africa for some job before taking up her masters at Rhodes Universities. She is a rarity. Not many women have the beauty conduct themselves in that characteristic grace like her. May beautiful women have the diva complex that really pisses men off.

But Phanice is a woman comfortable with herself. Thankful to God for her beauty and graceful about it. Doesn’t look down upon guys, for if she withstood me, she can withstand anyone. Phanice can’t bitch. In our ensuing conversation, she proved very objective even when I got deliberately petty. Oh my Phanice!

I was excited in her company and after Evans had offered to help her, we got out of the building and she called someone to come pick her up. On our way, a red Mercedes pulled over and a gentleman, definitely Luo came out. The clean shaved dude with well-tended beard was slightly shorter than me but tastefully and fashionably dressed. The kind that money transformed his looks (I’m not hating), albeit he had some semblance of a pedigree.

He gave her some warm hug and I hated her tight breasts rubbing his chest that was obviously hairy and scary. It hurt. The gentleman gave me that look of a man who is completely not threatened. For all he cared I could have been a cousin or an electrical post. Phanice introduced me and to people like Phanice in the upper middle-class where you are defined by your job, career or level of schooling…

“Meet Silas. An interesting chap, just met but he has been very helpful, I can have my passport hopefully (she turned towards me) tomorrow?”

I was absent minded silently praying that the burger was a brother or so but…she turned to me,

“Silas, This is Joel, my fiancé,”

He gave a firm, respectful handshake calling me by my name and made a dry joke about my height, to which they both laughed, more to sound friendly than for the joke. We parted and she wishing me the best of luck as I finish campus and asked me for Evans’ number. We parted unceremoniously. I took one long look at her legs and I said to myself…Rhodes University-Masters…I wanted to call Joel to tell him how lucky he was but on second thoughts, I didn’t want to act like a genius for stating the obvious.

Now can nature tell me why I will never meet a beautiful woman who is not taken or without issues?

I am back in Nairobi.


40 things women aged 24-26 should know…

Last week I had a session with men of my age. It was interactive and admittedly I made much sense in spite of myself. This week, I turn my pen on women and hopefully I will step on a few toes. My apologies in advance.

“I only drink hard stuff when I really want to get down with it. When I really I want that dirty, wild sex…” That is a familiar  line I have heard at least from 5 different women aged 19-22. I cannot immediately disclose my findings in this forum but I have come to the conclusion that it mere wishful thinking. And women like men can thump up their chest on matters in the sheets, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating (pun-intended).


What exactly does it mean to be a woman in your mid-20s? You have certainly outgrown the bumpy years of post-teenagehood, marked by unadulterated experimental sex and the naive optimism that vanishes with the accumulation of years.


A woman in her early 20s leads an ideal life. The man has to be tall, handsome and preferably dark. The sex has to be rapturous. The man must be able to satiate her million desires. This also coincides with the time she is in her formative years in college, where she thinks pretty lowly about  her male colleagues. But by the time she steps out of college, mostly in her mid-20s, she already knows what the world is out here and what it holds for her…at least a good number should learn these things or should have an idea. We unveil some of the 40 things that chickas in their mid-20s must know.


• By 24, a woman must outgrow such silly lines like, ‘I have never done this, or I don’t like doing this’. This is when she is about to do something like giving a blow job, or that no-strings attached fling. No sooner she says this than she proceeds to give you some really good head or liking the fling so much that a man is left wondering for someone who doesn’t like that why she is giving too much. Outgrow that crap and accept you like it and you do it every so often. We know and we won’t kill you. Possibly the reason we ask you out in the first place.
• By 24, a woman who regularly engages in sex has aborted or can recite ten methods of abortion, crude and safer ones or at least know one backstreet friend who can come in handy, after that trysts results in her missing the periods.


-By 24, a woman should have learnt to monitor her reproductive clock and should never be caught unawares by an unwanted pregnancy. Unwanted pregnancies are stuff for teenagers. Hence stocking those P2s becomes a prerogative just any man of their age stocks condoms.


• In the mid-20s, a woman must have encountered all the men she has ever dreamt about. That tall, dark and handsome man. The men who gave her the sex of her life but left after too soon. You wish them back of course, don’t you?



-By this age of course that one bad shag or two is inevitable. We have already talked about it here and this is not a pornographic blog.


• By mid-20s, a woman at least should meet a man who at least suggested marriage and ready to commit. But of course you shrugged off such suggestions. What with your school and career. And of course you know the essence of your own income in the future. But come 26, in retrospect you discover that entertaining that idea won’t have been a bad thing as such.


• In the mid-20s, a woman must know that a heartbreak is part and parcel of life. Knowing how to move beyond that point of being dumped qualifies one as mature.


• In the mid-20s, a woman must sure discover that she can only give a man sex. Those who discover this learn how to use men for the rest of their lives. Men can do anything to get shag and any intelligent woman can know that any straight man’s intention of taking her out or having any interest in her is sexual. You know what David did and what brought Samson down.


• By mid-20s a woman must have big shock absorbers to the obvious truths like her looks and intelligence when brought into question. Nothing infuriates like a woman old enough to know that she is not as pretty and she thinks insisting on hideous make-up or presumptuous behaviour like a hellish attitude that is meant to mean she is hot when in actual sense she is not. See girls, life is not all about looks. We do not vote on how we turn up looking, otherwise all men will be Denzel and women Keysha Cole…If you fall short of looks, remember intelligence and good behaviour are equally good turn-ons on men and much more everlasting ones than looks.


• In the mid-20s, there must be a man you have done all sorts of crazy things with. Those wild escapades and defiant behaviour like sneaking into a club with hard stuff or sex in the car.


• In the mid-20s, it is now a fact that dating an old man is killing two birds with one stone. He provides and knows his way in the sheets.


• In the mid-20s, many women do have that one man they can get to bed after just one phone call. It could be an ex or an old flame. Or this man who is basically for the shags. There is an unspoken mutual agreement that the relationship should not go beyond the sexual.


• In the mid-20s, a woman learns why they lie about their age and value birthdays so much.


• In the mid-20s, a woman stops to worry why men are always vexed with weaves. Like, can’t a woman have her weave and men shut up?


• It is important at this age; a woman learns to stop venting all her anger and confessions on Facebook.


• At this point in her life, a woman must surely learn how to deal with her exes. Those who want back and she doesn’t want to see even their shadow. Those, she really wants back but she knows a camel would go through the needle eye first before they come back.


• By mid-20s, occasional cohabitation, purely to satiate a man’s pelvic thirst is not such a bad idea. He calls and you show up, after all, you like his diggs. The movies, the liquor and the nice foods in exchange for sex is never a bad thing or is it?


• By mid-20s, a woman should learn that sex is an overrated experience and the big-O can be an elusive thing.


• By mid-20s, a woman should learn how to fleece a pizza and money from his boyfriend without making it look like she is a gold-digger, unless she is one of course.


• Mid-20s are an important stage for a woman because some really stupid aunt might be fancying some crazy idea about marriage to some man,patently inspired by the disposable income of the man.


• It is crime if a woman is in the mid-20s, well educated dances bend-over, worst of all with a man who is not her boyfriend.


• By mid-20s, a woman can get really confused about her choices in life,. Hence she will fornicate on a Saturday afternoon, dance the whole of Saturday night and yet still show up in the Sunday morning service with eyes looking like pepper was sprayed into them.


• By mid-20s, it becomes imperative for women to fulfill the number 3 female fantasy; random sex with a stranger…There is no way I can explain the explosive issue of Chips Funga…


• By mid-20s, a woman must learn about safety and avoid potential serial killers. A woman should not at any point entrust a strange man with her total safety. Never.


• The mid-20s are the best times for a woman to focus on career aspirations and keep her eyes on the prize.


• It is at this point many beautiful women sadly realize that just because they are beautiful, it doesn’t stop their men from cheating on them. They also discover that beauty too can be overrated and men have a specific inclination for going after average chickas.


• By mid-20s, a woman should at least know six ways men use to dump women and should never wait even when the writing is on the wall.


• The mid-20s a woman gets to learn that there are men out there even if you sent all cues, verbal or otherwise they can’t see the green light. Even if you undressed, they still will be dumb and will never realize. Learn either you are not hot enough and he is acting disinterested or he is simply clueless. It is two-way.


• By mid-20s, it is only natural for a woman to be impatient with men of her age. They are probably broke-asses, good for nothing buggers whose only contribution to a relationship is a regulated number of beers in club in town and demanding sex afterwards.


• By mid-20s, if you must scream, let it be natural or at least be really. Exaggerated cries are a turn off. Period.


• In the mid-20s, a woman learns that any place can be made into a bed instantly and walking around with condoms in the handbag is not that evil. You never know when the craving will strike. Men can be creative of clearing the table in the office or that pavement. Nature.


• In this age group, there are many paid-up trips organised by men. If you are willing to show up, then it is in order to know the expectations of the men. It is forbidden to show up in that part of the month,. Neither should you take offence if a man wants a random fling. Get it right; unless it is a church outing, there are not charitable men out here. Every gift you receive comes with a responsibility(read sexual obligation)


• If a woman is a player, she will better be discreet and know how to compartmentalize the men in her life well, lest she gets busted. A busted cheating woman is a sore sight.


• A woman at this point in her life should unlearn those foolish theories about height and size.


• At this age it is significantly important for a woman to drop stupid ideas like that nauseating belief that a man with car is someone worth sleeping with.


• At this age, any intelligent woman should know how to tell a fake from a really man. Unfortunately, this is the most gullible age group. If a man must front all his belongings and you fall for that then woe betides you. A man must sell his material side as well as his intellectual and charming side to woo you. If all he has are fancy electronics and you fall for him, SHAURI YAKO.


• A woman in this age bracket must have learnt on how to handle her mood swings, heck they have been there for more than ten years.

40 Things about men in the mid-20s

The mid-20s (24-26) are a very significant stage of manhood. It is the time a man tries to find a bearing in his life. It is a time a man has so many business dreams and ideas but no capital. It is the time the man wants to be independent but has no proper means to fend for himself.


It is time everything in the world is unforgiving; the job market wants experience and he wields none. The girlfriend wants him to prove his worth by availing the chocolate and flowers. The parents want see some value for their money by seeing some accomplishment, at least academically. So the mid-20s is a phase that any man worth his balls should have learnt and experienced a number of things. 40 of them are here with us this Monday.


  1. In the mid-20s, a man should have outgrown masturbation, wet dreams and seeks more conventional means of attaining sexual fulfillment. Masturbation becomes an increasingly embarrassing activity and wet dreams are synonymous with adolescence. So spare that Vaseline jelly for the face.


  1. At this stage, a man should have dated the most beautiful woman by his standards, the ugliest by his standards and anything in between.



  1. A man should have broken a heart or two (and to the bad boys, numerous).


  1. A man must have had his heart broken into smithereens by the woman he wanted to give his all.



  1. By 25, a man must have been rejected by this gorgeous chicka who gave him too much audience but in the end said NO. It is still mysterious as life to the man over why she turned down his advances, yet she claimed to feel the vibe.


  1. In the ages 24-26, a man regularly has to turn down blatant sexual gestures from willing female friends. It could be because of their looks, their morals or simply the man’s discretion doesn’t allow him to shag anything willing female around.



  1. By 26, you have had one or two extremely disappointing bedroom encounters. You shouldered the blame. Either you couldn’t rise to the occasion or had premature ejaculations: which is the most frustrating comparable only to eating rice with a toothpick.


  1. You must understand that occasionally a man must pay up for sex, and not necessarily prostitutes.



  1. At this age, a man must not lie about his age (or at any given time.)


  1. At this age, a man must come to a conclusion that all women (our mothers and sisters included) possess a demonic gene that often coincides with their periods. It is the gene that compels them to nag, ask questions you do not have answers to, gossip and possibly insist on weaves.



  1. Speaking of weaves, at this age, a man can only hate on weaves because there must be a folk or female friend out there who dons a weave. So you just ignore.


  1. By 24-26, a man must drop those silly nicknames off their Facebook profiles and stop asking questions like, ‘I am heartbroken, what should I do?’. Instead he should inbox his close confidante and seek advice. Some things are really silly when they are in the public domain.



  1. While at Facebook, a man in this age bracket must drop those silly updates and vulgarity. If you must post something dirty…it gotta be dark humour or a sexist joke that can generate that odd laughter.


  1. In this age group you have an ex or two who are only a phone call away for sex.



  1. You have an ex who hates you so much that of you stepped into a lift and found only her, you will have to step out.


  1. You must have an ex who desperately wants back but your mind is already made up on this.



  1. You have an ex in another serious relationship who occasionally calls you or meets you and warns you on bad habits such as drinking, smoking or philandering ways. You value her opinion so much, and you still don’t understand why she left if she still cares that much.


  1. At this age, you must have one or two women who have eluded you ever since for some time. They wanted you to have too many guts, money or both. At the moment you have neither but you have sworn that even if it will be in your 30s, you must lay them, whatever it takes.



  1. In your 24-26s, you should have known your alcohol capacity, brands that you take on different occasions and should outgrow bar brawls.


  1. You must have had that one woman who got you all mushy and romantic but your best was never good enough. Either she was not the romantic type or her romance sensibilities were in the league of fancy electronics nice rides.. She made you run errands like fetching pizza or movies in exchange for a rare sexual encounter. It was always on her terms until you concluded you can get the same from any woman for less.



  1. By this age, you should have participated in a groupie and must have dropped the habit. You should be through such adolescent stupidities of combies and wild sex should gain new meaning.


  1. Related to 21, by this age, a man who wants a good shag must know where he can get one. Which woman can provide. Which tribe (any Luhyia or Kao in the house?), which occupation, say the Koinange women. Or generally any average female who is an urban dweller has watched one too many pornographic movies and read too many magazines about style and hygiene.



  1. By this age, post-coital (after sex) talk is no longer an embarrassing affair.


  1. By this age, inborn knowledge should enable one to trust his instincts and sticking to what they tell him.



  1. By this age, maturity should catch up with you. Respect women. All these other wars we often wage against women should not blind you from acknowledging the role women perform in our lives. You don’t generalize everything and you have women you respect so much in your life.


  1. By this time, you should have known that women think Logic is the second moon in Planet Mars. Ever tried being logical with a woman. It is frustrating. In fact given an option of running round a pitch 20 times and reasoning out with a woman’s whose brain has taken a deliberate leave or PMSing , I’d rather the 20 punitive laps.



  1. By the time a man gets to this phase, you should know your potential in every aspect of life; academic, sexual…


  1. You learn that women are hardly loyal to any man. A woman can dump you in the morning and in the evening she is in the arms of another man. It is funny what they tell the new men in their lives. About their strict sexual discipline. About how they like men who are men blah blah blah…



  1. By the time a man gets to this phase, he should be having friends who have Vukad the border and became snobbish. You know the guys who got into the military or took up parallel degrees after school and now earn a six figure salary with Some NGOs…It doesn’t help that these are the guys who you always beat academically in class. Now the game has changed.


  1. By this age, you occasionally wish to bed the girlfriend of your best friend or you have harboured such an ambition. She was willing. It is always a matter of time and opportunity.



  1. By this time, you have possibly betrayed you best friend by sleeping with his ex…and he knew. There is no such a thing as an ex someone completely cast away.


  1. By this age, you should have two or three permanent enemies. It could be your high school teacher. It could be your lecturer or a relative.



  1. By this time, you must have known the beauty of no-strings attached relationships. You possibly have this chicka, you occasionally meet for drinks and rapturous sex until next time.


  1. You must have decided on the nature of music you will listen into your latter days as a man and you have taken up music with longevity such as Lingala, Benga and Soul.



  1. Still on music, you have outgrown crunk, rock and other genres of bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, music. Rock. Who listens to this repetitive, crass music…Charlo, get a life. Rock. F*** that. I sed it here?


  1. You should be having an Obama out there or should be having plans. Men there is no time left for you and marriage seems to be going South…having a son out there might come in handy sometime in the future.



  1. You must have developed an intellectual mettle that can sustain some relevant academic discourse.


  1. You must possess some special skills such as cooking nice ugali or slaughtering a goat. Also opening wine, gin and whiskey bottles requires a dexterity that only comes with age.



  1. You must have hardened your heart and emotions that you are never surprised when you discover that your chicka is a baby mama and you never imagined about it. You must have matured enough to act calm when you walk into an isolated bar and meet your chicka with a man who looks like he likes some. And the nature of their talk that doesn’t seem like it is business or a Christian meeting.


  1. You no longer fret about women playing men. You understand that the rules of the game have changed. For better or for worse.




  1. You must possess some social skills such as dancing and swimming. You should also learn never to let your woman dance or swim with any man. Men are invariably sexually opportunistic in such moments and the percentage of women who have self-control under such circumstances is equal to the percentage of the Kenyan police who are not corrupt.


  1. You must develop confidence to approach any good looking woman without freaking out. All women are the same, whether rich or poor. Intelligent or stupid. The skills are always the same. Just listen to her…Know what she wants or expects out of a man and be exactly that….

Finishing campus, a freaky trip down to Naivasha and settling in the Eastlandz

“I’m rolling like shiyieet!” Njeri’s characteristically sassy, hoarse voice was pouring out Caleb’s phone that is by default too loud for the next guy to eavesdrop into the conversation comfortably.

“There are no funny plans. It is just a weekend out, no hanky-panky…” Caleb was pleading as he was wading through the Saturday morning traffic along Jogoo Road.

“No. I am in a bad shape and nursing the mother of all hangovers, I won’t be ready by 2.” Njeri said firmly. Caleb’s face went foul with disappointment written all over his face.

See, Njeri is that rare Kiuk lady who is sexy. Kiuk ladies are mostly pretty, never sexy or shapely-no beef, so Carol and Anne, spare me any argument-at least by consensus. Njeri is an exception. Every straight dude I know has ever stated a wild desire to bed her. Just a week ago we were getting smashed at Delta, I saw a nigger caressing her bum asking her in a low voice if she had anything under…

Njeri. She would have been good company, but she was not coming along. It was a painful fact, at least to Caleb and the trip was turning out to be what he had not anticipated…

Winding it down at Naivasha
Saturday 25th June 2011

This is the day that I officially finished campus. I was confused. Clearing out was proving to be impossibly difficult given that I was due to get a house. Hence Saturday Morning I was in the Eastlands trying to get a roof over my head, but to this later.

My last semester in campus was frantic to say the least. It started at the peak of reinstating SONU. The SONU constitution was being reviewed and the process was no significant difference with what happens when the stupid and illiterate councilors meet. The old annoying Luo-Kikuyu rivalry was always rife. Fists were exchanged. There was nothing intellectual ever exchanged or something targeting the welfare of students. It was always about money and who should control it.

These meetings were wasteful and frustrating as individuals turned up high on bad stuff. After delivering the constitution, it was time to start the preparations for the elections. It was a time consuming process and milked life out of most of us. Money was the bottom line. The stakes were pretty high.

Soon I plunged into a very short-lived relationship that had a quick courtship process and an even quicker separation after discovering some secrets that can get people killed elsewhere. When a beautiful woman comes easy, be wary. So much for believing and trusting what women say against my often correct instinct? Next term papers were upon me and the exam beckoning. So there was never a dull moment in the semester and I didn’t see the final day coming too soon.

So it was only in order for me to find the best way of wrapping my four years in campus.

In the preceding two weeks, my extremely wicked friend Caleb had conceived a plan. The plan was that we pick a few beaus from school, go to Naivasha and get smashed. I readily agreed, in spite the worst timing possible given the financial constraints and the inconvenience of having to move out of campus pronto. But a good plan it was.

The ladies in question here were my classmates who have been good friends to me; a few like this blog and we have generally maintained a good rapport for the four years though they spent their first three years pursuing CPAs and all of them are certified accountants. It was one of those outings that anything goes, but due precautions were already playing out. The plot was, get all the liquor from HAFCO, order the juiciest goat meat possible down at Naivasha and go camping at Cray Fish for a night.

At exactly 4 pm, we were gathered around Hall 12 getting into the three cars driving us down. Am cut from my boys, Bon-I and Paul but I’m safe and comfortable around this unfamiliar partying crowd.

The ladies were full of expectations from the outing just as much as the men. The expectations of course varied. During such outings, there are always those who desperately need a shag anywhere, anyway. There are those who simply want to go and have fun; food, drinks and drugs and that is it. And there are those who don’t know exactly what is it in for them. The lot that can turn up in that part of the month.

With the rides ready, money in our pockets, and the psyche within, we got into the rides and proceeded down with Caleb, and chap called Joel and Moha behind the wheel.

I instantly hated this Luo dude who was behind the wheel. A fat spoilt kid, who looked, sounded and even smelt obnoxious. Whilesome of my closest friends are Luos, I have a specific aversion to the overbearing flamboyance that really pricks my nerve. His name was Mohammed. Moha is Christian. I pointed out to my homeboy Moseti that Moha looked the type who if denounced sex by a chick might resort to abusing her that she is ugly. I knew from the word go that Moha was going to be our trip’s undoing. And I was right. He nearly killed us in his car but thankfully again saved our lives…we will come back to this.

The mood was buoyant as Moha drove down with all the zeal he could muster, thumping his chest, Lord he could hurt it. We were only three men in the car against the five women. The third man is a young, inordinately shy guy who kept quiet all along. So it was me and Moha doing all the talking and trying to keep the ladies entertained. We faired on fairly. But, given we had never interacted with Moha, we were both cautious but the trip was uneventful until we met some policemen in some corner down at Limuru with a new digital speedometer that can tell from a far how fast a vehicle is moving. The cops ripped us some Ksh 500 which parted with very fast, because we couldn’t wait to get to Naivasha…Dusk was upon us.

We got to Naivasha and parked in town as we searched for someone to grill the meat for us. We opened the beers and the party started right there along the highway. I obtained some cigarettes for me, already I could feel that something was going wrong and the only way I can regulate my nerves is to smoke. Smoking has a funny way of calming my nerves, unbelievable as it may sound.

We proceeded to Cray Fish where it was bound to happen. As we waited for the grill, we got playful, chasing each other around in the chilly biting weather. With my height, I carried them around, all of them were actually petite and don’t even look quite 20. It was a good evening and all the alcohol was registering well in our bloods. The mouths were getting free. At some point, we were engaged in conversation with Happy, a chick whose company I have hankered many a time only that lately she has been on hard stuff and it seems it getting into her head. The conversation was deep, really questioning the value of 8-4-4 after finishing quite successfully.

I was doing my cigars quite well, minding my own business, unduly preoccupied by the tough non-student days ahead. The Luo who outnumbered us were doing quite a bad job of ensuring a good mood prevails. They were trying to carry us as baby (forgive the direct translation) as if we had not paid for our fun. This touched on my monumental ego and I was out of the picture completely.

Then came Sunday on our way back and Moha chose to be a nuisance. Having drunk all the beer and hard stuff he was too intoxicated to accept that he was high, yet he was supposed to drive us back. He had developed a liking for Lauryn, a sweet, petite young girl in our midst who is instantly likable. He couldn’t even start the car, and the chicks in the ride all decided to change the cars leaving me with Moha, Jack and a certain George who was too high that he thought we were in Kisumu.

Moha was greatly affected by the desertion that he decided to prove a point to these ladies that he was a man and he was still capable of driving back. Whenever someone does something to prove point to someone else, something is bound to happen. In this case, Moha was hitting the bumps and blaming the breaking system. The car was a very light Noah, yet he was doing 140. It was God at work. At the time I was trying to tell him,

“Omera, bed’mos”, he was arrogantly telling me that Omera, I’m the one driving. I gave up. It was only a matter of time. As we hit the Highway, he was speeding so fast that he did not see the traffic ahead of us. There was a bump far away and he was accelerating fast towards joining the many vehicles in the light jam occasioned by tracks. As he was breaking to cross the bump, he could break fast enough and he rammed into the next car, while trying to avoid the accident, he swerved and on the side of the road was a deep slope but thankful to his experience he managed to regain fast enough to get the car back to the sidewalk. The man whose car was knocked turned out to be an unreasonable character, but given his age and the drunken state of Moha, he was excusable. For the small, negligible dent, wanted Ksh 5000…Moha told him to go to hell and caused really a show in Naivasha town in the lazy Sunday afternoon.

This potentially ruined the generally good time that I couldn’t account for what might have transpired the previous night. Anyway, we got to the Delamere and ate more goat meat, all of us quiet of what had happened…Thank heavens we got to Nairobi and that wrapped our life as undergraduates in Kenya’s best University…

Settling in the Eastlands

The decision to settle in the Eastlands didn’t come easily. See, I was born in Lang’ata, grew up in Kibera before abruptly moving to the countryside where I did both my primary and secondary schooling. I have lived in Kibera, Dagoreti Corner, Kiserian and Ngong Road. I have never had anything for the Eastlands. I loathe the Eastlandz. In fact, prior to my settling there, I can count with my feast how long I had visited those sides.

I had searched for houses in Zimmerman and Roysambu. I had been to my favourite and dream place; Dagoreti Corner. It proved to be too expensive for me to afford. I was back to Roysambu and Zimmerman and did get some decent diggs at very convenient place but Eastlands was beckoning…

I talked to my godfather, and a man I always turn up to when I fail to comprehend women, Wizzy. Wizzy was anti-Eastlands and for him, I’d rather fake it in B in a single room until I get a bearing. I picked opinion from all the friends and folks whose opinion I so much value and weighed all the options and Eastlands was the only one left.

The commonest question was, “Where would you be telling your fly Mamaz you stay…certainly not Eastlandz, or where would you be hanging out…where would you be passing with your laptop…?

Anyway, I’m the Eastlands, from where I will keep running this blog as we depart from campus and settle for more mature stuff and content. Keep it up here. But how do you hit on chick in the hood…?