Teacher’s Teacher

Philosophy is not something I can pin a definition to. The definition in the dictionary is what a group of scholars sat down and decided we should use. But who approves who a philosopher is and who is not? Was St. Augustine of Hippo a philosopher for saying, “If I am given a formula, and I am ignorant of its meaning, it cannot teach me anything, but if I already know it, what does the formula teach me?” Or was he a philosopher because these very words caught the attention of an individual or group of people that related to it? Anybody is philosophic in essentiality depending on the intelligence of the listener.

What I’m I aiming at? Standards. Who sets the set the standards for what is right and what is wrong? Good or bad? Are we not encouraged not to be of the world in Christianity? Are we not taught to maintain our own whenever we know it is right? But does the “world” not set standards to which we should abide to? Success is measured in the wealth one has accumulated or the level of education they have attained. Is success a societal achievement or an individual accomplishment? Is a person successful if he has no wealth and dropped out of high school and is happy? You tell me.

Who decides what is right or wrong in whatever beliefs you have? Are all these holy books not written by human beings? The white man introduced Christianity to Africa and made the black man abandon his beliefs. Is there a difference between believing in the Holy Spirit and believing in the spirit of an ancestor? The holy books have individuals that they revolve around. What is the difference between them and the prophets Africans believed in? Did the white man not make the African make take the bible as the “gospel” truth? Should the bible not be a guideline to how we should live? The bible clearly states the laws on sexual behaviours in human beings but the same people are the ones propagating for same sex relationships. Does the Quran not say, “Whoever kills an innocent, it is as if he has killed all humankind?” Then who decides who is innocent and who is not?

We have the judiciary that is charged with the duty of dispensing justice to the public. Justice means equity. Plato tried to explain the concept of justice to the Greek people. I will not attempt to explain it to you. The phrase on earth we live by the law justice is found in heaven perfectly summarizes the situation we are in. Take these scenarios. A consensual act of sexual intercourse between two students aged 17 years resulted in the male student being sentenced to 15 years, and the female going scot-free. Where is the justice in that or does justice apply differently to different individuals? The second scenario where defiling a child under the age of 11 years carries the mandatory sentence of life imprisonment, and if the child is aged between 12 and 15 then the culprit must be sentenced to at least 20 years. A similar offence on a child aged 16 to 18 carries a minimum sentence of 15 years. Are these not all children? Haven’t they all been robbed of something they can never get back?

These are just my thoughts. Did someone set the standard for what I have written? I don’t know but do you know whose standards you are bound by? Do you have any input in setting them and what is the consequence of setting your own standards? Self-evaluation will only take a minute or two. Look in the mirror.

Perfect Imperfections

Have you ever given your all to one human being? Not just yourself, but your time and principles? Emotions aside. When one individual will never vacate your thoughts and you never mind. The person you can see yourself with in more than just one situation. The kind of person you feel is the perfect fit to your puzzle. If you got this person, your life would be complete. When you can see perfections in imperfections, joy in sadness. This is not a feeling that comes so often in life but when it does, it’s not a feeling you would like to lose. I’d equate it to the feeling Shakespeare had when his plays were being enacted all over  England. The feeling Napoleon had when he was victorious in wars. The kind of satisfaction Mother Teresa had when she offered her aid free of charge. This is a feeling that takes any individual to a tranquil location where everything is going according to plan.

I have been lucky enough to have experienced this feeling in my life. If it never happens again I have enough content to put out for another lifetime to experience this from a third party perspective. I will just use the name I referred to and still refer to her as, my favourite or recently, the one. She is like the love song that makes you cry. Not because it’s sad. Her beauty is evident in all that she does. I will be honest that describing her is something close to a theory but my Math teacher made me believe calculus was possible so even you can be a convert. That is perfection fitted on a human body and given the ability to relate with the rest of humanity. I may be wrong about perfection but then again it is he who feels that knows. Scrap all that inner beauty notion people trying to defend their choice of partner try to propagate. She has visible beauty. She’s not the Brandy type of lady whose beauty takes time before it strikes you or the Nikki kind that carry their beauty in makeup kits. Her beauty is very simple with no artificial aesthetics other than her spectacles. She laughs at the fact that I am an Arsenal fan. But just like my beloved Arsenal and I, she has always been there through it all.

There’re girls you want your friends to meet and those you want family that are not necessarily friends, who are the parents, to meet. She is a mix of both. Her dashing looks are not something you can fail to show off. Her hand I can hold while walking. My hands I can wrap around her shoulders anywhere anytime. I can let her lean on me anywhere without any ounce of shame. She’s my kind of girl. Not the overdone Nairobi girl that looks like a drag queen or the shady looking Mombasa girl. She’s a Beyoncé of sorts. Beautiful but very well mannered. The kind who don’t air their dirty laundry. I’m sorry Kelly Rowland. Her personality is lovable. She’s easy on the words with a Toni Braxton tone. I wouldn’t expect a person who listens to autotune and Miley Cyrus to relate to my awe in the voice but music enthusiasts will understand me. Her soft nature is something I have not experienced with any other being. It’s like slipping your feet into velvet slippers, the comfort and cushioning is amazing. She makes me comfortable and cushions my flaws to make me feel like a superhero. Nobody has a responsibility to make you feel this way other than those that brought you into this world and yourself. The fact that she is there in such a way for me it’s only natural that I am so passionate about her.

It just happens that this looks like a dream to the world but all dreams have to come from somewhere. I am wide awake right now but I do know that this has happened in my life at one time. It may be in my dreams or from my subconscious but I do have a favourite. How reality and fantasy are intertwined I may never be able to figure. I just know what I feel for this particular lady is special and will never change. The mist in mystery is something she puts in the blur that I have in my dreams. Maybe next time I wake up things will be different.

Choices

Image

Jane, simple and innocent was introduced to Jim,

At first Jim was everything she hated in life,

A drunk, non-committed, Casanova of a man,

Jim was the epitome of sin and Jane a saint,

Pure, honest and beautiful,

At first it started out as a friendship,

A platonic relationship with no form of intimacy

Jane was the perfect Christian, believed in monogamy,

Jim the perfect child, believed in the spirit of sharing,

Jane noticed Jim had a quality she wanted in a partner,

He took risks and never took time to regret his actions,

He was also easy with the vocabulary and charming,

With time she made it clear that had she had feelings for him

Jim did what was natural and reciprocated the thought,

A form of romance brew between the two,

This was turning out to be what Jane had always wanted,

To be shown love and treated like a queen,

But Jim was not on the same page,

Jim was a proponent of status quo,

He started to realize a change in Jane’s tendencies,

She tried too hard to make it in a world that was new to her,

And Jim,

He tried too hard not to make it in a world he was used to,

Jane was the modern day Monalisa,

Simple in her looks but caught the attention of many,

What was to be a blossoming relationship was turning out sour,

Jim wanted his life back; Jane wanted a new life,

This could not work out and Jane gave up,

The life Jane knew was no longer there,

There were new frontiers and new challenges,

Things she never thought she would have to battle in her life,

Jane walked into a den she had not been to,

She got pregnant and the father to be bailed out,

She had to make a choice, keep it or leave it,

She left it

Jane made a choice and she had to live with it

 

 

Mary was the opposite of Jane, adventurous and bold,

She would go for what she wanted, when she wanted,

She met Paul, a sucker for love,

They grew together in friendship,

This matured to romance and they loved every bit of it,

Paul was at a cross-road,

He met Danielle, the lustful version of Mary,

She showered him with intimacy he could not resist,

Mary was turning out to be nothing like he had envisaged,

She was a sucker for love just like he was,

She was putting on a brave face to get him,

Paul chose Danielle over Mary,

Mary met Jack, a young successful man,

It started out like they all do,

A simple hello and goodbye,

It grew to daily communication and weekly meets,

Mary and Jack were both hurt from their previous relationships,

They found peace and comfort in each other arms,

The terms of their relationship were not properly laid out,

They got intimate and forgot about love,

Mary started to get attached to Jack,

Jack on the other hand,

Had feelings for Christine,

While he showered Mary with intimacy,

He pampered Christine with love,

Mary came home one day and found shoes outside,

She walked in and clothes were on the floor,

She walked into the room and Christine was in her bed,

Her lean body pressed against Jack’s,

She picked up her belongings and walked out of the door,

She made a choice and she had to live with it

 

There are very few things individual human beings have control over,

The ability to make a choice is one of them,

They can be good or bad,

Right or wrong,

The joy of making a choice lies in standing by the decision,

There is a power in the mention of I,

Assigning blame only paints a picture of irresponsibility,

We have to be responsible for our choices,

It is all about timing and precision,

A choice can never be perfect for all parties,

You just have to learn how to live with them,

I have,

And that is the choice I made and live with.

 

 

Letter to a Spartan

I Salute you Spartan,

300. A motion picture that caught the eyes of many while at the same time inspiring the hearts of more. The life of a warrior is not determined by how many years he has walked this earth but the number of obstacles he has conquered. A warrior is someone who does not doubt his thoughts. A warrior is a person whose conscience has a conscience if I may say. I have the privilege of having spent time with many warriors. So today I take my time to pay tribute to those that walked with me and those that are by my side. Family is not only about blood cultural ties. Family is more of a mental connection between parties and how much one is willing to sacrifice for the other. Being part of a family makes one know that not everyone will raise you high just to watch you fall.

The journey of a Spartan begins when principles are in agreement. Being a warrior is all about having a common goal and not necessarily uniform means of achieving these goals. I pour out my thoughts to a brother, a friend and a great man. Eric Jura, I took my time to write this because I had to be sure that you would not defy death. I want to be like the rest and mourn your loss but instead I choose to celebrate your life. You and I were opposite sides of a coin. You were the one who preferred the beat down before the talk, the flow over the lyrics. But one thing we had in common is that we both preferred to enjoy life and loyalty. Loyalty and life are things that go hand in hand. If a person is loyal, there will be respect. Respect is greater than love. Not everybody will love you for who you are but once a person respects you, they do that for the person you are. The bouncers you beat up did not love you but respected you for the fact that you stood for what you believed in. If there’s a person you looked up to, it was Muammar Gaddafi and his is the epitome of what respect was. He was not everyone’s cup of tea but even after his death respect still echoed what was a legacy left behind.

Just like every other family relationship we may have had our disputes but we sat down like men and sorted them out. The line you repeated so many times was, “Told my ex don’t be bitter, be better”. Fabulous said it but you emphasized it and as much as it was just a line for you, it was a philosophy for me. I have learnt that once things are done away with and everything is sorted out, do not bring back the past to determine the future. Being a warrior is more of choosing to be behind the camera and letting others be the focus. People said I was crazy when I said I’d attend your funeral service just to see all the beautiful girls that would show up. I know you’d kill me but you have really hot cousins. I understand why you hid them from me. I’d hide my own cousins if I had a twin. I remember sitting next to some rastaman during the service and he looked at the picture of Jesus and asked me, “Why is he not black?” You, Joseph and I shared a passion for Africa. If you were the one in my position you’d have fist bumped the hippy and laughed out loud. Victoria read the chorus to Valley of Death and I was telling Juelz, “I told you this house nigga loved that song!”. I’m certain wherever it is people go after death you are telling Pac and Biggie of these artists known as Rick Ross and Pusha T. Pusha still hasn’t replied the Kendrick verse but if he does it’s too late though I know he’d murk that beat.

I’m not willing to be the house Negro so it’s going to be a race between JT and Steve. Steve is probably the front runner because he blacked out the longest when all of us were last together as a group. Junior hasn’t shaved that savannah grassland of a head yet and I am planning an intervention with all the jobless barbers. Your guy Kidero smacked the ratchetness out of Shebesh on Friday, some real gangsta shit right there. And on that gangsta business, the trench coat you were rocking was top class and they didn’t completely pull the Uhuru comb but it was almost there. I haven’t met Joy yet. Milk prices are too high right now and mothers are the last people anyone wants to meet. Pampers are on offer but the kid will get hungry and you can’t deny it what is rightfully his. We are planning on going to Coast in October for recess. Though most likely not at the same time, we are on a mission to live and let live. Junior will most likely be the weird guy with the go-pro camera recording what will be an epic story which I’ll probably write down for you. The girls are ok I guess. Since your disappearing act I haven’t really had the opportunity to have a chat with either of them but I guess it’s all good. If there are any beautiful girls there just tell them to hold on for 70 more years, I’ll come with experience for a century. At the moment I will just be the gentleman I think I am and settle down with myself. I’ll keep you up to date with everything that is going on though that depends on how many beautiful girls are around me. Just tell Aaliyah and Left Eye I will be cheating on them with Kelly Rowland till she can’t take anymore kisses down low. As for Lady S, just try your luck bro, I’m sure she’s met some refined ninjas there who have fine tuned her. I’ll be sending you information on a regular basis but until then, stay away from any fights until you have partnered with Eddie Guerrero or Chris Benoit.

This is a letter to all my fallen warriors Muas, Davie, Tosh, Onyi and any that I may not have mentioned. Respect!

Words from a fellow Spartan.

What is freedom?

From my posts I do not seem like the kind of guy that would sit down and question the existence of freedom. But when you get to observe a few characters and scenarios in your life, you begin to question things. The definition of freedom is the power to act, speak or think as one wants without hindrance or the absence of subjection to foreign domination. But have you ever sat down and really thought about the concept of freedom and if it actually exists or just like the ufo’s, is the imagination of some witty person whose imaginary bounds were unlimited. I may come off as a person who just wants to draw controversy but after reading this for the first time, get rid of your bias and approach this piece with an open mind. It has become apparent to me, as I’ve stated from observation, that the concept of freedom is a state of mind.

Historically, slaves were denied their right of association and essentially their “freedom” as human beings. Aren’t we all bound by someone or something in life? Don’t we all have that part of our lives that we feel if we shared would leave us vulnerable? And even if we share it, isn’t it always with the person we assume we trust the most? Don’t we all have that one person we can do anything for? Aren’t we slaves to the relationships we have with the people we relate to? Don’t we always hope that what we share in confidentiality is kept as just that? To love and be loved is part of human nature and it is only natural that we look for that love where we feel it is readily available. This state of emotion lets us open up to those we perceive as loved ones and share the most intimate bits of our lives. Whether you do it in the first, second, third or imaginary persona, our emotions make us slaves to the various aspects that we are exposed to.

I am not against the idea of love and I personally believe to have a healthy lifestyle, every human being should be exposed to love. Look at Samson biblically; a strong, God fearing man who had all that a man at that time would ask for; freedom, superhuman strength, dreadlocks and the love of a beautiful woman. Even with all these, he still was a slave to the emotions he felt for Delilah. During the romantic era, Shakespeare wrote the famous play “Romeo & Juliet”. Both these characters’ demises lay solely in what they felt for each other. Adolf Hitler, a German corporal, made history, albeit in the wrong way. This was a great man who was a slave not to emotion but to his own self. The ambition that drove him to kill millions of Jews came from within. He was the leader of one of the most powerful nations at the time, but he had something motivating him that put him in a situation that made him a villain.

Jump to the contemporary times and we have people who are slaves to their ambitions and careers. Chief Executive Officers and business moguls have everything at their, disposal but are slaves to their own careers. It is not only the rich that are slaves to their lives. The middle class are slaves to their imaginations. They always want to go for the lifestyle that is beyond their financial bracket. Paying house rent of 50,000 shillings and driving a thirteen million shilling car on a 100,000 shilling salary. This is a person who is a slave to his own mind. The poor are not left out of this either. You thought poverty is a state of mind? Well, the mind is a slave to poverty. Most people are not poor because they are exposed to less privileged situations, but rather because they find reasons to support this notion. Freedom from one state only leads to slavery in another state. The poor get money, the lifestyle changes and class slavery reveals its ugly self.

I believe nobody can claim absolute freedom of any kind. Being of the world and around other human beings with systems we have to be in some form of slavery.

The slavery to some is psychological, others emotional, others physical and for some religious. Emancipation from these states is futile. Our preferences and principles also limit our freedom. Some things we never do because we are bound by certain tenets while others we engage in because our beliefs are in line with them. Doesn’t education channel out thoughts towards a certain thought line? Why would there be universal laws yet we all are different? Why would I need to be subjected to various tests which are the works of another being to prove my intelligence? Aren’t we slaves to our expectations and achievements? I certainly do not know for sure of the existence of freedom in this world. I may be wrong or I may be on the course to discovering whether I am right or wrong. One thing is for sure. We as humans have aspects that tie us down and one way or another we are a slave to them. Whenever you get a minute or two, put this into perspective and see what you are a slave to. The question at the end of the day is, “does freedom really exist?” And if it does, “are you free?”

Why in whoever’s name?

I am not going to defend myself on the allegations that most of my posts are based on the events of myself getting the better of an alcoholic beverage. I wouldn’t classify myself as a drug because I am abused by these genius chemical portions. I had been alcohol free for close to six months after the Sheeva incident and things were looking really good for me. I was able to save up some money and get myself enough alcohol just in case an apocalypse occurred and I was left behind. This is one Friday I would like to forget but its memory keeps on flashing before me every time I switch on the television or go to the city centre or school.

Friday the 13th it was and everything was smooth other than than the hunger pangs that were constantly clawing my intestines out. So Eric, my heavily built friend  shows up and after careful deliberation we decide to get a loaf of bread and milk. That was the first mistake I made. At the moment it seemed as the best option to nullify the curse from my guts. As usual, Eric was the one who came up with the bright idea to get ourselves a small drink just to get the day rolling. We headed down to Dong Fang and after careful negotiations settled for the king, “Napoleon”. This we drowned without an issue and headed back to school with beaming faces knowing the night was going to be epic and epic it was. After about half an hour, another sinner in the name of Junior makes his way in and on using his psychic abilities suggests we get another drink. That was mistake number two, listening to this character. We head out and on the way the devil incarnate appears. The realBIGmeat is his name. I can solemnly swear this guy hides his tail and horns during the day but his eyes are still red though. This was a big enough quorum and we head over to the liquor store at  Kenol Hurlingam and get a bottle of Kibao. Knowing my history with this drink I proceeded with caution and took like three chokes. By this time the naps was already checking in. “Where is it written dilute to taste? Where?” Yes. That was Byrone asking why we need to get soda for the kibao. By this time Oriwo (formerly a gangsta) had absconded his duty to love and chose the bottle. We obtained the second bottle and this is where, the devil opened up his home. We finished it in less than five and started to put the actions that follow into use. The first one was to hijack the night guards chair and refuse to move from it. I did the sitting, the devil did the refusing. This was probably the first and last time I approached a Sud mami. All I can remember is some Arabic mambo jambo and the next thing I was being held back. I shall avoid the next four hours because I have no recollection whatsoever of what transpired but the period after was more shocking. I woke up and just walked out of the room in my socks but it was colder than usual. I know we have no staircase in the house so when I went down the steps I started questioning myself. What woke me up was the mourning because clearly that was not moaning from one of the rooms to my right. Before I could recover from that shock, the sight of a watchman made it even worse. And just before I could question him, I see a lady walking out of a bathroom with nothing but her fro to cover her. I passed out for a second or two and when I came to, I started questioning the watchman. He narrated how a group of rowdy looking men had brought me there and promised to come pick me up in the morning. All this while I hadn’t realized that my shoes were missing, my spectacles were lost and I had large cut beside my eye. This is when it all got real. As I’m negotiating with this watchman to give me my phone and shoes that I had voluntarily abandoned in Hurlingam.

The sun was almost coming up and I could not walk out of a brothel at that time of the day with all the respect I am yet to command in Nairobi. So I coaxed the watchie into giving me fifty bob and walked around the rooms looking for someone who did not need their shoes. I luckily found one outside a room where some guy was using unorthodox means to pleasure this mama. I didn’t want to interrupt them just for gratitude, so I tiptoed away with the ladies rubber shoes. I rushed out of the place, went and got a jav home and tried filling in the missing puzzle to the night. I removed the rubber shoes as soon as I got to the gate and walked in innocently before blacking out. The best part about all this is that I went to Hurlingam the next day and found my loyal and durable Nokia phone still ringing on the road. I have not had such an experience since then but I always ask myself, “Why in whoever’s name did I have to do all that?

The One

Dear The One,

Thursday evening. It’s a bit chilly and I’m in the house going about my specialty;lazing about. It’s been two and a half months and I haven’t seen her. My heart wants to beat for her but it’s my mind that craves for her. Her scent is what I can call mature and I’m not referring to the ‘sweet’ scent of sweat. Her body was carved out of flesh only. Unlike dames i spare some glances at,she wasn’t created by angels on internship,no: the Almighty did it Himself and put time into it. My phone rings and who is it? My favourite. Yes,that’s what she is;my favourite. As if fate was listening in on my thoughts,I get music to my ears. “Hey, fav. I’m in town can you come see me?” Can I? She was asking the wrong question. I’d go see her even if she was in hell or the kuklaxklan had her in their headquarters. In no time I’m racing down the road to go and see my favourite.

Time slowly fades as I stare into her eyes and upper chest(she has great knockers). I have a lot to think about but her life is equally important and interesting. With every statement that comes out of my mouth charm smuggles itself in it. The Charmer. That’s my alias when i’m with her. She’s the type of girl you can spend a night describing and still not come close to how great she is. I’m a serial paraphraser but there would be no words that can paraphrase my feelings for her. She is the first girl I honestly fell in love with. I remember her falling down in primary school,her having a wrapskirt mishap. The list is endless. She’s the one girl I can frankly admit would have had me in her bag. We reminisce the good times and the not so good ones. She’s headed back home and it’ll be another three months before I can see her again. As we wait for her bus,I am glad to just have her in my arms. Made me feel like I was in a James Bond movie(You do know 007 is a smooth operator?).

This is a feeling I can’t explain but what I know is that it’s a good feeling. If I was in favour with God like Gideon was i’d request the time to stand still. Every moment I spent with her is a moment i’d like to relive. There is not a day that goes by without her popping up in my thoughts. If she was to get a cold it wouldn’t be a common cold and I presume nothing is common about about her senses either. All she has is heightened to another level. She’s the kind of girl you’d introduce to your boys as the hot girl and to your family as the wife to be. Yeah,I know I sound messed up,but all cartoon and comic lovers know that the protagonist always has a weakness. And my kryptonite is her. She’s my mystery girl. The girl i’d run out of a drinking spree to see how her broken nail is healing,but with the beers in tow of course. She has what we call the magnetic self. If you are blind and miss out on the visual attraction then don’t despair my brother in darkness. Her personality will grab you by the collar and you can feel it’s breath on your face. I’m not exaggerating. I’m sure the sun first shines on her before remembering its duty to the rest of the world. Ok,I guess that’s a lie. The sun shines only on us because she doesn’t like the spotlight. What makes her so special? She brightens up my world. Whenever i’m around her I forget all that’s going on around me.

Enough about her,and more of me. That comes in a later episode or possibly season. I am not in the literal zone yet but i’m in my comfort zone when she’s on my mind. Her name I will keep a secret not because i’m ashamed or afraid but rather protective. If I say it i’m certain the CIA,KGB or Mossad may try and whisk her from under my nose. If not,the CID may pull a GSU on me and beat me up but i have sworn not to disclose her identity. That is until they actually start to beat me up of course. She’s my future cardio. Intelligence is my thing. I have a thing for girls with brains not bimbos. I never open up to a girl unless I have ulterior motives. With her I had none. I opened up because five years of bottling up feelings for one person can be too much for a normal person to carry. But not me. I’m Edward Ochieng Oyugi alias Ted Pot. I didn’t open up until five years later. That’ a hero right there. I’m only giving you a preview of season two;The Charmer. As much as I would want to make her the heiress to thee Oyugi seed,certain factors are not at ceteris paribus. My real reason for being single? I believe that one day fate will deliver her to my door if not my hands. We all have someone we want so badly. It’s a human need to be loved for without the love of another human being you have no reason to fight for life. I wake up each day knowing she will one day get over the pain of losing someone’s trust and won’t be afraid to explore her emotions. I know that I will get the opportunity take her to another world. Disney world would be a great destination but that is a topic for another day.

We are like two very contrasting species that complement each other. She’s like a persian cat;warm,homely and furry. On the other hand i’m like a greyhound;lean(i mean really lean),live on the edge and have little care for what is around me. But just like a greyhound i’m reliable. I’ll try never to disappoint when she’s counting on me. Our differences are what pull us together. I’d give my life for hers in a mouth-mouth resuscitation situation. She calls me for long periods and i’d rather be silent but have her on the other end of the line. Her name in it’s native form means queen and mine royal guard. Now I see the source of the lean body and my urgency towards her welfare. I’d say it’s fate. Hope is used by people who have no faith in whatever they claim to believe in. This sounds like one of those fairy tales or soap operas but trust me there’s a gangstar side to it but I have to own a gun first and mum says no guns till i’m thirty. I know one day she will read this but if you happen to read it prior and have those African American names like Shaniqua or no English names like Wavinya Ndeti be certain it’s not you. When she reads this i’ll have given my first literal piece to her. I’m surprised at how a girl can make the Prince and heir to the crown of Lazyingdom write this in less than a day.(sorry have to take a bathroom break;i’m back now). Yes.she made me write all these in less than four hours. My word! I couldn’t even complete an essay in high school. That is my letter to you.

Yours lovingly,

Me

Here I am Pearly Gates

It’s been a while since I last sat down and put anything down that wasn’t going to earn me a grade or get me laid. So on this particular day Rodrigo and I had set our sights on attending a Homeboyz gig at the Carnivore grounds and nothing was going to stop us from turning it up that night and stunting like Alpha Blondie shopping at Junction while shottas are waiting for him at KICC. So we link up in the CBD since none of us had access to a private ride. But what’s the difference; I have a chauffeur, an entourage and a butler. So two other pals join us and we choose to get the poison of our choice. We walk straight into the alcoholic aisle; Mututho was still hustling back then. So we pick our vodka and head out of the supermarket knowing this was going to be the night when it all goes down. Knowing the night was going to be rough we chose to have some bitings before our ride got there. As soon as we heard a black rhyno tune playing in the background we knew it was out time to leave the city and get our night on course.

As soon as we get into the jav, the sight of caramel thighs, baby bearing hips and no bras was enough motivation to know this night was set aside by one of our ancestors, Solomon most likely. So we pop open our bottie and drown that poor man’s liquor so fast I should have got head from one of those mamis just for that. We get to Uchumi and since everybody is going in the same direction, the chauffeur decides to be a wuss and take us near the gate. As if the Lord was listening to my silent prayers, we meet a lone ranger who was out to conquer the night but was beaten to it by the liquor. After pouring libation we take the untouched mzinga from him and go on to show him how it’s done. And if I wasn’t so distracted by miss caramel thighs I would have realized I was the only one drinking the God-forsaken drink.

So far so good, the night was proving to be a great one. We walk in and who is the first person we bump into? Marie Curie (her story I will narrate later). All you need to know for now that she gives great lip service. She was the kind of chic that was always head over heels when intoxicated, that’s why we all loved her low shoes. So we all plot on who’s getting her for the night. One of us, we’ll call him Jakech, wasn’t planning on finishing up this deal in the morning. So as I stagger around, I bump into Marie again and when drunk, whenever I open my mouth it’s with the intention to lay. And that was all going well till the next thing I remember was handing Jakech a pack of rubber. So apparently for four hours I was out cold but that’s their side of the story. My side of the story is very different and that’s what we’ll go by.

In the process of putting Marie in the zone, I saw caramel thighs and I could have sworn there was a trumpet that was sounded and a beam of light shone on her bum and she signaled me to follow. That was when Jakech showed up and in the process asked me for the pack of rubber. So I head out with caramel thighs, hand over my personal belongings to Rodrigo and know I come from the 12th tribe of Israel. After a few shots of whatever it is that she gave me (my taste buds were numb) we decide as good people we should give some sort of respect to France and lock lips, tongues and other body apparels. Now this is where things got tricky. She said she wanted to have a seat and being the deviate I am, I obliged. We went to the sheesha gazebo and that is where everything changed. I turned to pick a poof and the next thing I saw when turning back was a bright tunnel, which unfortunately didn’t have a light at the end of it. So the first thing that came to mind was, the hell! I made to heaven and there’s no traditional song and dance, just Supercat playing in the background. I search, for someone to ask for my crown but I couldn’t get my eyes off the tunnel.Yeah, it was the inner thigh of an Indian chic. So I gather my courage and ask, “Where is Sheeva, I need to pay my reverence for not being turned into a sea horse?” They all laughed and handed me the sheesha to calm my nerves. All this times I was thinking, did the world end while I was tapping caramel thighs? And did we climax or at least did I? As I am busy thinking about my past life, miss bright tunnel crosses over to my side and places those blessed thighs on me. Never in my life have I felt so incapacitated. The best I could do was ask, “Are you Sheeva?” It didn’t get me laid but at least it got those pink lips plastered on mine. And immediately after they left, and no, my ass was intact, I confirmed. I found my way around and got to where Rodrigo was and found him with some mami, Jakech looking all worn out and Marie still smacking her lips after a job well done. I never got the chance to meet Sheeva or Caramel thighs again, but at least I have seen the Pearly Gates.

Alcohol Vs. Liquor

So there are very many times we are involved in the process of Science which involves getting induced in multiple distilled drinks. There is a very thick line between people who partake and those that indulge, as well as between liquor and alcohol. Alcohol entails the likes of Le Bleu (Bluemoon), Naps, KK and liquor contains the whisky family such as Glenfiddich, Jack Daniels etc.   So being a Gemini, I have been able to practice my schizophrenic personality and be involved in both. Whatever I write or don’t shall not be used against me next time I’m seen trying to hook up with a mama. The events of these nights are recorded separately and as much as some of the information may be scanty, I guess we have to deal with what we have.

Being the optimist I am, I will start with the liquor. This just like any other epic started off with the sun rising and the fact that I actually never saw it rising. It was one of those days that you just feel from the moment you walk out of bed and don’t remember what time your fries left and that nothing is missing. Yes, you guessed it right; it was my date of birth. Like every other normal human being, I had no hangover and I had run out of tissue. So I stroll out to go get me a roll and as I get to the shop, I see a headline on one of the local dailies screaming Mombasa. For a moment I thought I actually felt it touch my thigh and whisper “Come have some!” I rushed back to the house and after fulfilling my duty to the process of contributing my daily tithe to Ruai I buzzed my pal. “Hey, are you up for Coasto tonight?”  I did this to three of my pals, the third being me of course and it was a plan. So I went to school and it was all good. We were to leave on Friday night. All this time I was just thinking, this is going to be one awesome weekend. So at around 8pm we hook up in the city. This was before the onset of the Mututho laws so we were in no hurry to purchase our liquor yet, which we eventually didn’t. Alcohol on the other hand is a drink that should be taken with caution. On this night I made the mistake of carrying a bottle of Naps with me. So we were at my pals in Kabete and decided we were going to go out that night. We took kibao before heading out of the house and when the time was right. On our way I remembered I had a bottle of Napoleon in the pocket. I broke its virginity and offered it to the rest of the guys. I don’t know where they had left their balls because it’s a chic who accepted my generous offer. After a few sips she handed back the bottle to me. I didn’t know whether she was looking at me badly or the taste of the drink made her “fold” her face. We got to Westy and walked straight towards Changez. At this point, it was a discussion on whether we were to go to Red Tape or the former. I settled for the back seat of my pal’s car which had a kilo or two of khat. I remember having the first few grams then the next thing I remember these guys are driving off with me and I just shouted, “Follow the club behind you!” So they stopped just outside Havana and I staggered off to Changes. I can’t quite figure out how long it took me to get there but eventually when I did, I was still up for more booze. I remember leaving the house with a K and by then I had only 900 in my pocket. After buying the two beers at the entrance, I was left with a hefty 500 shillings. So I join my pals and after a few minute I’m already involved in an altercation. My pal’s girl is being vibed by some big guy and I just walk in, hold the mama’s hand and just look directly into the guys eyes. For whatever reason, the guy apologizes and takes off. The guy was a giant just for clarity. But the worst bit came three weeks later when some mama calls me and tells me the details of what happened before I got to Changez from Havana. Let’s just say I saw RDX trying to shag her on stage and she wanted me to chip in in raising her already born kid. Being the gentleman I am, I sent her 50 bob credit and told her to call the father of her child. I have since then been very wary of alcohol.