A THOUSAND APOLOGIES…

I have heard people accuse me of bringing the industry down with my constant advise and observations. People like Nameless are always complaining to my colleagues and fellow artistes that this column is the reason the industry is down.

Well, I would like to offer my sincere apologies. Apologies because this column is the reason artistes go into the studio, spend lots of time and money only to finally come out with a sound that can only be appreciated by cats.

My sincere apologies to all actors, producers and writers of shows like ‘Nairobi Law,’ which has no flow, probably the second worst acting ever exhibited on Kenyan TV after ‘Cobra Squad.’ I am sorry that this column has picked up those things that everybody else seems to be thinking but are afraid to voice.

Please accept my sincere apologies for being the reason a very promising (allegedly) comedian like Omosh is off air. I solely accept that this column was the reason he was unfunny, uncreative, boring and nobody watched the show. You may not know this but this column is to blame that this boy’s hair wasn’t combed as well.

I hope you will find it in you to forgive me, the writer of the column, that I am hard to please and I demand the best from an industry with people whose sense of high quality is as sharp as that of a sheep.

I feel really bad that much of radio has gone to the dogs. I feel the column is to blame that radio presenters no longer have any meaningful content to share with the listeners. That all they do is give us a couple of boring sex or relationship stories then ask us to call is completely on me.

My dear readers, this column accepts the stories by Kenyan artistes that I influence you on everything I write. I am sorry dear artistes that you expect your fans to swallow everything you spew because they should be supporting everything Kenyan, no matter how stupid it is.

So allow me to finally say that Kenyan artistes are the best in the world. They are perfect, full of talent and if I ever said they had done something wrong like producing some useless track, I was wrong.

So here’s to the artistes who want to be the best in the world but don’t you dare compare them to the best. That is how best they are!
Sincerely yours
HEAT

NB: This article ran on the SN BUZZ Magazine's HEAT column on Sunday 06/06/2010

Gor Mahia and AFC Leopards: Brave Hearts

Going to an AFC Leopards and Gor Mahia duel requires a lot of spine. The fans were known to be the leading cause of stone-related injuries in the country and, even though statistics show the trend is slowly taking a dip, you never know when they may decide to rekindle those memories.

If you ask me, Gor Mahia and AFC Leopards were formed during a fight between the Luhyas and Luos and in between they decided to engage in a soccer match. Remember how the Spartans in "300" fought in the shade of arrows? I think that's how these two teams played back in the day when soccer was played by real men.

Anyway, I decided to throw caution to the wind last week and headed for the Nyayo National Stadium for a thriller between the arch-enemies. In the company of a die-hard Gor fan and registered AFC member, I felt safe — and figured I could claim allegiance to whichever side that showed promise in winning the stone fest.

The atmosphere was as I expected: electric. How these fans group themselves in the stadium remains a mystery to me. You’ll never find them mixed, ever.

So I found myself a space in the ‘VIP’ section of the arena, the part of the establishment where the ‘neutral’ masses follow the proceedings in their sparkling dark suits and sparkling mineral water at the ready.

Don’t, however, let the suits fool you. They guys can — and will — descend upon you should you be foolish enough to try some nonsense ... like blocking the guy behind you. You only get a warning that lasts a staggering three seconds before you are grabbed from behind and ordered by a hundred guys to put your bum down.

“Ketisha mwili chini buana! Ukitaka kusimama nenda huko!” comes the chorus of barking, angry mouths. Question, where is “Huko”? That’s their preferred dismissal word. You start coughing, “Enda kohoa huko” somebody lets a stinker rip, “Enda nyambia huko” You can’t win against these fellows.

Not even the coaches of either sides dare ignore their demands. These people run the show, including calling for substitutes and ending the match (sometimes in a hail of stones).

If you think rugby has the best cheering squads ever, you have never been to a Gor vs Leopards clash. Man, if you are a hamstrung player in the field, you pray that you don’t lose the match, otherwise you will be eaten alive.

And, speaking of losing, this is the biggest test for the fans. I don’t have a choice team in the Kenya Premier League although I was forcefully given a team, Thika United, after one of my pals announced I didn't support any of the two. Soon, words like “Nyinyi watu wa mananasi mutaenda huko” were being dished out.

I decided to cheer both teams ... but forgot my neutrality when AFC scored. Engulfed in the spirit of the moment, I stood up and clapped long enough for AFC fans to see I was with them, but short enough for the Gor diehards not to notice.

I was still smarting from my momentary lapse of judgment when the stadium started to echo with a supremacy battle between the Luos and Luhyas.
“Obama! Odinga! Oliech!” shouted the Luos, to whom the Luhyas replied: “Musalia! Marende! Mariga!”

Call it whatever call it you may, but this maniac loyalty to one’s tribe is the best display of positive ethnicity I have encountered in recent times.
Most people where I was started finding their way out five minutes before the end to avoid the flying stones trilogy.

There was no sense of order, it was a free environment and I loved every bit of it. That is why, me and the "Mananasi express" (Thika United) will be at the stadium when these two bulls meet again.

Hanging Out With Celebrities

Being a celebrity looks like lots of fun to us ordinary folk. Know what's not fun? Hanging out with them.

For some strange reason, people zone out in front of celebrities. I mean really zone out. You might as well be their well-endowed naked brother; the fans will not notice you even if you were swinging youryou know what like a noose. (No wait, they will notice that)

I say this because I have been in this situation several times.In case you are wondering, I don't hang around celebrities; it’s the nature of my job, that's all you need to know.

The few times I have been in their "hallowed" presence, my self esteem has taken a beating. Not because of the people I am around but because I look like every other hanger-on and groupie whose space I have taken up, albeit momentarily.

Posers have a wretched past. MC Hammer had a posse of around 45 hungry illiterate men and they are the ones who managed to "touch this" and sent the guy and his parachute trousers tumbling down to the land of bankruptcy. I do not want to be associated with that kind of history.

I feel like there is some parent thinking to themselves: "What a waste. Is that all he could do with himself? What does his mother say his son does?" I should warn you I have a very proud mother—proud of how she raised her children, and when I am around a celebrity, I feel like I am dishonouring her.

Hanging with celebs means you run the risk of being the guy picking his nose at the back when their picture hits the press. If you are on the picture, the caption reads; "Celebrity blah, blah poses with an unknown admirer...." You cannot win I tell you.

I need to make one thing clear. I am not dismissing celebrities. Some are brilliant people with great minds and attitudes, and we spend time together on a regular basis. There’s a big difference between hanging out with and spending time with. Got it? No? Too bad; maybe it’s just an excuse.

The bouncer tag was attached sometime back, I was with a what we call in entertainment circles, a “celebrity couple”. We were walking into a club when, out of nowhere, some girl screamed as she staggered, okay, let's say she ran, towards the celebrity duo.

I never knew drunken people had such speed and balance; her screaming would be grounds for divorce if I were the boyfriend. But did she care? I have seen rioters with more decorum than she had.

After all the running and screaming, she gets to the couple and guess what she says? "Oh my God, I am speechless," Really? After all the screaming? She could have fooled me.

The couple are basking in the midnight fan love and adoration and are all smiles. I am at the back looking on with my hands in my pockets totally disappointing my dear mother who still wonders what it is I do when I’m awake at midnight.

She still demands answers whenever she calls me and I tell her I am "out". "What are you doing out at this hour? Do you have a sweater?" The love of a mother!

Back to our groupie. After what seemed like years, she finally asked: "Can I hug you?" (Not me, the stars) It’s a yes, and she squeezes the two like they are cute puppies. Then decided she needed an autograph, and that is where drama began.She had some paper but no pen.

She fumbled through her "Guchi" handbag (I kid you not, looks like the House of Gucci is expanding fast and catering to the local market), but there was no pen.

Then it happened. It was a light bulb moment for her. She looked up, froze for a second then stared me in the eye, and like a scene from a karaoke gig, I could read what she was about to say before she said it.

She turned to me and ordered: "Bouncer, bouncer, give me a pen!"

I saw it coming, but once it left her mouth, it still surprised me. She grabbed me and looked at me like I was the dog that ate the homework. Her grip was tight and with purpose; she wanted an autograph and not even the lack of a pen could deny her.

I just walked away wondering what it was that made her not see I was just a friend of the stars and not a bouncer. With all due respect to bouncers, I am not built in that way, I have a "soft" stare, and my voice is friendly.

Oh well, the joys of hanging around stars.

FACELIFT? TRY KENYATTA MARKET!

You need to watch one of those American shows where they do cosmetic surgery and you realise these people really do have money.
One such surgery is liposuction. In liposuction, a vacuum-like structure is inserted beneath the skin then sucks up all the fat leaving you with a lean stomach albeit with an ugly sagging skin.

Then there is tummy tuck and other surgeries that rich people decide to splash their money on. But there is one cosmetic surgery, a facelift, I realised we can do in Kenya for as little as Sh1,000 at Kenyatta Market. A facelift.

Two weeks ago I met a girl and she had one of those “Chinese eyes” and they looked like they had been transferred to the forehead. It was as if she had to tilt her head backwards to see properly because they were almost at the spot where the hairline starts.

I remembered my own sisters used to come home looking like her. The girl's skin was tight, real tight, and that's when I remembered, Dr 90210 on the E Channel had a “patient” who wanted her face skin to be tightened. I can bet she had to part with thousands of dollars for that operation and here was, let’s call her Vicky because, well, that’s her real name, who had the same operation for Sh1,200.

Come on, isn’t this a talent we can export to the US? We can land in Kenyatta market, round up a few of the stylists and voila, Kenya will be mentioned in the fashion circles and not just the usual athletics.

Anyone see my business sense? All these women walking in town with extremely tight facial skin did not have needles stuck on their beautiful faces to numb their pain, they did not have to undergo anaesthesia and their skin mutilated. All they did was hop into a Ngumo Estate bound “Hoppa”, and drop off at Kenyatta Market where someone pounces on their hair and starts plaiting as they haggle over the price.

If you are in a hurry (FYI, all this info came from my sisters) whoever finally “won” your head calls for backup, you are forced to sit on the cold floor as they hoist their dress revealing everything, (thank God there are no men around unless they are gay) and start plaiting.

I am told the facelift-cum-plaiting takes two hours and you have to blink severally to confirm that your eyes are working and can see from their new position at the forehead. You pay and voila, a job that would have taken a surgeon in Beverly Hills five hours to do and a month to heal takes two hours and you can even run after a City Hoppa! The only problem I am told is that you can’t touch the hair for two days!

This is one project I am willing to undertake and ya’ll can laugh but when I am sitting on the Oprah couch talking about my “ingenious bloodless facelift procedure” and the crowd will be full of “Awww that's so sweet” and some even crying, you will take me seriously! I will even add the “It's a procedure that’s very environmentally friendly and does not contribute to global warming” just to have Oprah hug me!

So all you Westerners looking for facelifts, look no further. Africa has the solution, you can save your money what with the recession and maybe you can use it to adopt another child since African kids are accessories!

So Kenyatta market, I salute all the women who do bloodless cosmetic surgery everyday. Keep it up. Up yours Dr 90210!

Ramblings of a "single" mind

Now that pigs have since flown thanks to "Swine Flu,"
Would I still have to wait until Pigs fly
Going by the rate of obesity in the world,
Would I still have to wait until the fat lady sings
With Iran and North Korea building nukes,
Would I stand a chance with you if I was really the last man on earth,
I know its your life,
But would I attract yours even if my life really depended on it

Global warming is melting the arctics,
Do I still stand a snow balls chance in hell
Still on the change of climates,
Do I still have to wait until it snows in summer
And what are the chances that Hell will freeze over
Vegetarians are on the rise,
Do I still have to wait until the cows come home


You told me to go to hell, and your still here,
Does that mean you followed me
I told you to get lost,
But I came looking for you
You said we are like two peas in a pod,
More like two beans in a pot, boiling
They say like poles repel,
We are more like two poles rebel

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?