I am a dream away from being your nightmare

I am that breath
that just won't go through your nostrils
I am that last sight
before blindness creeps in
I am that lover
who introduced you to hate

I am that piece of vegetable
that sticks in your teeth
I am that breeze
that turns into a chill
I am that extra air through your windpipe
that gets you to choke
I am that extra fat
that clogs your arteries


I am that extra line
that destroys a compliment
I am that dream
that you let turn into a regret
I am that "one last beer"
that causes you to crash
I am that "one last dip"
that brings you AIDS

I am that poop
that stinks up the whole house
I am that drop of rain
when you walking out of the salon
I am that gush of wind
that send your sunny dress flying
I am that step you miss going down


I am that fly
that won't close in public
I am that technical hitch
during a live broadcast
I am that writers block
when you are filing a story
I am that loose button
that pops when you sneeze

Yes, I am a dream away from being your nightmare

How I Met Your Mother... On Facebook

The year is 2030. Majority of the youth today will be parents and the obvious question from the former bundle of joy turned home-made terrorist comes: "How did you meet mom?"

The resulting facial expression depends on three things; If he was forced to marry after the two month old girlfriend got pregnant and didn't even know where she came from, if he married for love only or if both mom and dad had hit the dreaded 30's and needed to sire ASAP.

The kind of expression is that of nostalgia, reminiscing about the days he was a "free man" and how much fun he had until he checked into lock down. Being the era of Facebook and Twitter, I can bet my salary majority of the marriages will have been made possible by the two social media networks.

The year was 2010, he starts, there was this thing called Facebook. (The kid looks at him wondering with amazement because FB will be so "yesterday" at that time and chuckles)

As I was saying, it was 2010 and I was on Facebook going through my friends pictures and I saw this girl holding a bottle of Smirnoff Ice Black screaming so loudly, I could see her thorax, she was really pretty so I tagged myself to that picture.

I figured out who she was and I clicked on her link and sent her a "friend request" with a simple message, "Hi, I think you are pretty".

She did not accept my request immediately, infact she waited for six months before she agreed. (At this point, the mother walks in and explains the delay)

He had this shady profile picture and we only had two friends in common and I didn't know the other two. I went to his pictures and saw he had tagged himself in one of the pictures and I thought he was a stalker like many men back then so I waited until we had several friends in common who I asked about him.

Immediately I accepted his request, he wrote on my wall "Thanks for the add". Surely, how blonde can someone be, we used to have something called "Inbox" which was private. But that was not the worst thing, he had subscribed to some "Gift" applications that kept throwing pillows, snowball cats, chocolates and flowers at me!

(He looks embarrassed but takes over the story) I kept poking her but she never poked me back or even send one of those virtual gifts I kept sending her way.
(Mother) Worst thing was he was always the first person to comment on my status updates every single time. I would write "Bored" and he would be there two seconds later, "What's wrong hun?"

I even put a dot on the status, he would still comment and even "like" it. I thought he was psycho! He was all over my wall and pictures he practically owned my FB account.
(Father) I was a consistent man and I knew if I kept entertaining her, she would respond and she did.

We set up a date and went to Java where she came with three of her friends. They asked for the most expensive stuff there that I only took a pot of tea which was cheaper.

We then started hanging out and then one day she was pregnant and guess who was the daddy?

Leave Gully Creeping to Elephant Man

This is a public service announcement. Ladies, stop doing the “Gully Creeper” in town!

Wondering what that is? Glad you asked. By now I am sure you have a clue what “Gully Creeper” is, if you don’t, don’t sweat it, you are in good hands.

“Gully Creeper” is a ragga dancing style where the dancer strikes a pose like they are creeping. It was popularized by none other than Usain Bolt.

So what do women have to do with a style associated with Usain Bolt? Again, I’m glad you asked.

There is this craze about extra high heels with women. Some look gorgeous while others are a complete disaster. The latter are the ones who do the Gully Creeper.

Ever seen a woman walk like she is stepping on nails, has this constipated look on her face and her walking style is, well, gully creeping?

Just look at what she is wearing and you will find your answer. Women have this thing about following fashion that’s straight out of Cosmopolitan magazine.

I once saw a woman on the phone – must have been her boyfriend on the other side and he was asking that they meet at one of Nairobi’s most popular meeting places. No, not Tea Room, 20^th Century building.

She was totally pissed. She was screaming on the phone asking the boy to come to where she was -- Kimathi Street.

I am not one to eavesdrop but I understood why she was angry. Her heels almost reached her knees. They were extra high like those worn by strippers. Don’t ask how I know that.

Her knees were awkwardly bent and, with every step she took, I could swear she hoped it would be her last but no, she had to keep moving and now the man in her life wanted her to walk an extra 400 metres. Such a mean guy!

To make matters worse, one of her heels got stuck in a crack in the pavement and she had to hop around, balancing herself on one long heel.

Women are a strong breed to put themselves through one long heel day after day. They even have some sandals in those “self-contained” handbags for such emergencies!

Scientists have forever warned of back problems later in life for women who balance themselves on needles but to them, that’s a small price to pay for looking like Beyonce, right?

OK, here’s a pointer. Don’t copy Beyonce, she is chauffeur-driven everywhere she goes and doesn’t walk the length of the Globe Cinema Roundabout to Afya Centre every day on those nine-inch heels like most of you!

But, for comedic purposes, continue wearing them. They make my day.

Of Eagles and Ducks

Some weeks ago, I came across an advert in the local dailies about an upcoming motivational talk by a “world renown” author and speaker. His name fails me.

The talk was to cover how to get to the top of the field and soar with the eagles in the financial world. Titled, “Are you an eagle or a duck?”, the workshop was meant to make eagles of ducks.

It sounded interesting and very motivating... until I got to the charges. A whole Sh65,000 for, wait for it, one day! At that point I figured that I might as well be a duck than an eagle. If I can afford Sh65,000 aren’t I an eagle already, or at least a swan? I mean, such an amount should at the very least buy me a plane ticket – so I will be soaring anyway.

Come to think of it, while being an eagle might look and sound exciting, ducks don’t get sucked into plane engines.

Here’s another thought: as a duck, why not save the Sh65,000, which I can then use to pay for a two-week holiday somewhere at the coast? And by the way, don’t eagles fly alone? So what would all those eagles be doing in the same place?

Motivational speakers are brilliant business people. Pay all that money only for some guy to tell you how you need to set aside some money and invest in a profitable cause. Excuse me, didn’t I just part with my capital money to attend this workshop? So much for being an eagle!

Part with Sh65,000 and all you get to do is fill out a questionnaire to determine if you are a happy with your life or if you have what it takes to become rich.

I have never attended such high profile ‘eagle meetings’ but I do know there is nothing about attending one that will really change my life – apart from being Sh65,000 poorer.

Want to know the secret of being a millionaire? Simple, don’t spend your Sh65,000 a day on a workshop that will tell you everything you probably already know. For Sh65,000 I better come out of that workshop with a multi-year government tender or, at the very least, something to attach to my CV that will get me a job as an expatriate.

Who really is the duck in this case? Is it me who decides that I have better use for my money or the bloke who spends such a hefty amount to listen to some other dude talk about how he got to the top?

On top of all that, I still have to buy his damn book! Am I the only one who doesn’t see this for what it is – a brilliant business opportunity for the motivational speaker?

Heck, I need to become a motivational speaker and travel the world reciting my life story to some multi-millionaires who want to know the secret to making your first million.

Like I said, eagles may soar but ducks don’t get sucked into jet engines! I am an eagle, but I fly economy.

Toyota Recalls: Maybe 2017

If you have been following the international news, you would think Toyota has just started WWIII after recalling millions of cars because of a sticky gas pedal problem.

The car making giant has even stopped selling eight models in the United States and Canada, including its popular Camry and Corolla, because of possible unintended acceleration.

This story is likely to make Toyota drop the "ota" in their name and start making toys!

The media is furious and is constantly updating the story, how Toyota's stocks have plummeted ever since that story hit the headlines early this week. There seems to be chaos and confusion. Apart from this part of the world.

In Kenya, that story has not even graced the news pages and is tucked away somewhere in the international news columns. But there is a reason for this, Kenyans and most of Africa don't buy their cars from the show rooms.

The few who do are yet to save enough to buy the 2009 model, which is most affected by the pedal problem. If anything Toyota Kenya has since issued a statement that no recalls will be done in Kenya. I wonder why?

The rest of the population rely on imports from Japan and the "newest" model you will get is probably the 2003 one because of the seven-year-and-below rule on importing a car to Kenya.

So going by that projection, we will experience the gas pedal problem in 2017! By then, the rest of the world will be grappling with another problem, the "personal eye reader" which is used to start the car might be causing blindness.

And I doubt people would even blame Toyota, they would imagine it's only their car that has the problem and proceed to the "mechanic capital of Kenya" on River Road and have it fixed by a "Kinuthia or Moha" and that story wouldn't even make it to the media.

The other problem would be a typical Kenyan having to return their car and remain "carless". That never happens to my fellow citizens. "Why can't I just take it to the mech and have it fixed on a Saturday afternoon while I am at the pub?" Many would ask.

Can you imagine a recall of the Vitz? Do they have gas pedals or do you just pedal away like a bicycle?

Think people are worried about the Toyota recall? Nope. Even if it happened in Kenya, only ten people would be affected. Now if that recall were to happen to the recently purchased government VW Passats, then we would have a problem although the procurement dudes in government would get paid to let the problem "go away".

But if a story would surface about a problem with the 2003 models, Lord help us, Toyota would have the gas pedal stuck on the floor hurtling towards doomsday!

A Kenyan on vacation

Kenyans are a peculiar lot like one Michael Joseph once claimed and was almost ran out of town.

But there are signs to show that this is indeed true. Take what Kenyans do while on vacation.

Kenyans spend half of their working time dreaming about going on vacation and resting. When they finally get to Mombasa, Naivasha, Nanyuki or Nakuru, they will do everything else but rest.

They will hang out every single waking moment, dance themselves lame, shout themselves horse, drink themselves silly and stare their eyes blind.

Ask any soul that was in Mombasa over the Christmas and New Year how many hours they slept. Want to bet that in the ten days, there are guys who slept a combined 10 hours?

Club Lambada and Bobs were the main reason for this self induced insomnia. Guys would rave for 12 hours straight. From midnight to midday, leave the club, catch some forty winks for two hours or less and hit the beach with their poison of choice.

The drinking would start at 3PM until 9PM before it the session would be transferred to Bobs.

You see, Bobs is not that great a club, the music is boring, security guys feel sweet but people love it because that is where Nairobians meet.

It beats all sense why you would escape the concrete and traffic jam laden jungle that is the Capital city only to go and meet everybody you always see back home. But hey, we are Kenyans right? You wouldn't understand.

The ladies who feel sweet for guys in Nairobi are extremely friendly when they are out of town. So if there is a girl you have been following in vain, just know when she’s headed to Mombasa and you will be in luck.

So after all the rave, it is time to go home and what do Nairobians do, they intoxicate themselves further with the slim hope they will sleep on their way back.

That never happens, they keep slipping in and out of slumber to make sure the levels of their intoxication is constantly rising. They get to Mtito Andei and they refill further.

You would think after a week or two in Mombasa, one would be ready to get to work. No, not Kenyans, they will need a day or two so as they can get the rest they were to take in the first place.

Now, check, the itinerary of a foreigner, they check into the hotel, sleep and then the rest of the days will be spent at the beach getting a tan, snorkeling or kite surfing.

Save for those who come for the sex tourism, the rest get as much rest as possible that when they go back home, they can work for a year straight.

But that’s boring to a Kenyan. Don’t expect me to sleep on vacation.

I am Kenyan... You wouldn't understand!

There are somethings that I, or any of my fellow citizens would do that only we understand. You see, "We are Kenyan, You wouldn't understand."

Every holiday season, we all made the exodus from the concrete jungle to the the lush green jungle that is "shagz" (upcountry). We still do batter trade here, We take maize and wheat flour, the XXL loaf of bread, Kasuku (thats the name for all cooking fats) and some other fancy items and they in return slaughter a goat, buy the soda and provide accommodation. You see, we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

We are shocked whenever we hear a full grown American or Brit saying they didn't make it in life because their dad missed their recitals, soccer games or graduation. You see, for us, the only time we wished to see our parents was on visiting days, for those of us who were in boarding schools or when she just dropped by and brought goodies. If you got news that any of your relatives was around, it was probably bad news or something that resulted in an ass whopping. You see we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

Sometime back, Oprah Winfrey had a guest on her popular show talking about how to discipline children. Really? Apparently, this genius of a person, recommended was not the good old spanking, no she advised parents; "You look your child in the eye and with a very stern voice tell them to stop," Now if that had happened in my house while I was growing up, I would have written a best seller by now. You see, we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

Still on spanking, what in God's name is a timeout? The only kind of timeout Kenyan children know is when your parent is taking a "time out" to catch a breather and continue with the ass whopping either with a belt, slipper or anything they can grab. Most of the time, the fight stopped when the neighbours intervened. You see, we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

You must feel for Tiger Woods, just because he had 14 mistresses, he is the scum of the earth? If he were Kenyan, or African, he would be a hero. This story would not even have made headlines, if anything, he would be on a public rally somewhere launching his political career! Just 11 mistresses? There are politicians who have been accused of raping and they didn't even step in a police station. You see, we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

You see, when it comes to ladies, we have the most beautiful girls in the continent. They are gracious but they do have their own lingo. Let's call it "Swanglish" (Swahili and English) and it goes like this; "Jana I kwendad nyumbani and I kutanad with your brathe usiku. I was nyeshewad mbaya sanaa!" Or it can also go something like this; "Si I ambiad you to wacha chekeleaing me?" You see, we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

When it comes to our parents, we have never heard our folks talking about how they have money. Never! Its always "I am as broke as a church mouse" then they go and come back with a new car, buy land. Even when we grow up, they still never have money! You see, we are Kenyan, you wouldn't understand.

We never understand why some of our own would wish to travel to the US and get a job bathing old people in homes while your very grandmother who is older than them is still strong enough to go and till her own land. You see, we are Kenyan, we also don't understand.

Whenever tourists come to Kenya, they always struggle to address us in Swahili only to find that some of us have more complicated accents than them and they have never stepped the inside of a plane. You see, we are Kenyan, we also don't understand!

When you have a birthday and you wish someone "A Happy birthday," you will most likely get this response; "You too". You see, we are Kenyan, we also don't understand!