SHIKAMANA

I was having a drink with a fellow sometime this weekend. As usual, we punctuated the money-talk with chit chats of our respective butter-halves.

“What made you ask her out?”

“Haha. C’mon now. Does that really happen anymore?”

“You know, for someone with such little faith in relations, you’ve had quite a number”

“Your sister has marks to show that, huh”

“Haha. Nice. Really though. Why her. What’s so big about her?”

Warrup, my good people!

This convo re-featured in my mind this morning. At friggin 3am! Anyway. Why her, huh. Ever wonder why a fellow stalls when he’s asked this kinda question? (Like I’m doing right now). It’s because he pro’ly isn’t sure what to say. To hell with the “I’m with you for a myriad of reasons, mami” response he’d pro’ly give. See that’s the thing with men. Words come awfully easy. Rebuttals are cache-d. And when you blush, in his mind, “Phew! Close one”.

Men are stray. Most need a friggin leash. Direction. That ought to explain why left to him, he’ll pro’ly not make any solid move; any solid commitment. And ladies kinda figured that out. That’s why she will lead/ guide you into a relation, and before you know it, you’re calling her Baby.

So why her? I’ll answer for fellows that are too pussy to take their whiskey neat (like Brucey), fellows that are too pussy to say No (like Brucey), fellows that sweep eeeeverything under the rag (LIKE BRUCEY).

It’s Her because she was the one Bold enough to say what was on her mind. The elephant in the room when you’re out with her some place. She’s wondering what your intentions with her are. You’re praying to God she doesn’t ask. You deflect. And deflect some more. She gets too drunk to bring it up. Poor you if she doesn’t drink. Because it’s the sober ones that will have their way with you (ah, you know what I mean). It’s the sober that will look right at you and slap you with “What are we doing here.”

A fellow isn’t wired to say No to a lady. Our fathers taught us better. So what if technically she’s the one asking you out. Big friggin deal if in retrospect you’d duck. She’s bright. You’re not. Umeshikwa. Shikamana.

 

Appreciating faith!

did you ever realize that other than father’s day there is not any other day that is set aside to appreciate the man?

Men are always bashed endlessly for good reason and sometimes for not so good reason. This appreciation is coming from a single lady so y’all need to cut me some slack for not being in a fulfilling relationship with one of these special species God put on earth for us. I dream everyday to meet that one great man that will blow me off my feet; don’t get me wrong i’ve met me one or two before but just like all things everything comes to an end but that’s not the point.my struggling constantly fantasizing love life is not the point

Yesterday i came across a post called “there are men”. i was so blown away by the faith of this writer the least i could do was emulate them but give a more realistic approach (from my point of view). i know this is coming from a woman but men write about women all the time. Thanks for giving me this pass.

Men are really complicated, I’m not here to understand them,i could never. Just appreciate them. Men will just like any other human being respond to how you react to them. A man will judge you according to how you dress and speak; how you carry yourself infront of his friends and his family. How you talk to him and the things you say to him. Ladies, these men are looking for virtuous women. A lady who’s not only good when she lays on her back but is even better when she stands on her feet. A man wants a woman he can trust to bear and raise his kids, a woman who has at least an idea of the world she lives in; a woman who will respect herself more than she respects him because he knows that if a woman respects herself she automatically respects him. A man wants a woman who can sit at home and take care of his home when he is out hustling or out drinking; he doesn’t want his boy as his life partner at least the straight ones don’t. A man wants a gentle,loving,compassionate person to spend the rest of his life with. Lets face it.African men were raised by African women, they don’t expect you to act any less than one. A man wants you to listen to him. Give him his position in the home as the head of the home, someone to let him lead. Ladies, you could be the C.E.O of a multi million dollar company but the way nature fashioned men they are the protectors and providers. Even though you make more than him, the way he’s wired he still wants to feel like the provider.

I know i’m beginning to sound like a cosmo relationship column but lets cut the men some slack. lets let them make mistakes, they’re humans not fictional characters without flaws. Try and see the effort he puts in anything, thats what they want most of the time. Nobody is perfect, they won’t know you like them or find them sexy if you don’t tell them. With the same love you tell them how you love how his brow creases when he is deep in thought is the same love you should find to tell him that when he forgets to call you when he said he would you feel like he forgets you. be gentle, be kind. Don’t use him as a tool to feed your ego and forget that his ego needs to be fed too. Act like an African woman. don’t let the media fool you into believing what African men want has changed. They still want a lady that dresses appropriately, cooks well and is home oriented. Someone who will stay up with his child when they are sick and someone who will make him food for his hangover and serve it to him in bed when his head is pounding. Instead of NAGGING about how he never takes you out. What makes women special is their ability to accommodate and be patient, use that gift every so often. Love for us is more hands on than for them, that”s what makes us more ferocious and stronger than them.When you love him, be loyal and make it unconditional. Accept him and he will adore you.

Do your best ladies, have some faith that there is more good than bad in the man you’re with. Cut him some slack, stop complaining and start appreciating. have some faith. When you appreciate the little that God has given you he trusts you with more! Appreciate the real man God has given you and stop wishing for someone else’s fantasies. Men are so important to us, we need them in so many ways than we could ever think. they are our strength, our support and our other halfs. appreciate them. Appreciate their efforts. Because when you look out the window and see hundreds of men slaving everyday; guess who they’re doing it for?

URAFIKI 2.0

Warrup fatties

For as long as I can recall, I’ve been running into a myriad of troubles with marafiki.

Yester-evening, I sought to know why.

Shiko represents the kinda friendships that are unhealthy. Or so I believe. The kind that let you be You. However rubbish You is. I mean, this mathe puts up with piles, and PILES of You. Albeit with a TRUCK-LOAD of Noise! Heh. Boss, you make too much noise!

I digress.

Friendships, in my world, are all about Three things; Loyalty, Simplicity and Sweep-under-rag.

Loyalty: You’re my friend? You’re Mine. Sounds class-five innit? Well, I still live under parents’ roof, so I’m allowed to be class-five.

Simplicity: “Be eaze”. I’ve lived by that simple doctrine ever since I can recall. Pardon me if I assume everyone else does as well.

Sweep-under-rag: Arguments are pointless to me. Nothing good ever comes out of confrontations. Arguing with a friend is like removing band-aid from an unhealed cut. So what if that buddy borrows money and never refunds. Ignore that. Look at the bigger picture. They’re always there when it counts, no?

Thing is though, I’m tired of merry-go-rounds. The new-bff-every-six-months thing isn’t quite working for me no more. So here I am. Stuck with these two annoying powerpuff mathes, for a while. Fuck. I’m even losing weight just thinking of the work I’m to put in

But hey. Seems the new way to do friendships is to Compromise huh.

Even shitty thing is it’s not any better with men. An un-replied text warrants a “umenitupa”. An ignored phone-call deserves a second, then a third try. A weekend without a shout makes the friend assume there’s an issue.

Christ. Let’s all wear skirts then.

Sigh. Here’s to doing-better, I guess

MEAT PIE AND COFFEE.

Here’s the thing about traffic and Music. It’s sheer serenity. That courts all sorts of Emotions. More so in this daily bread. I mean rain. Daily rain. Jay C what’s good!

Warrup my fat people

Have we forgotten what dating is all about? I mean, growing up, we had this picture about what going on a date was all about. That picture was closely tied to some considerable ounces of fear; of butterflies in tummies, not funny feelings our pants. When did that fear fade out? I blame that fading to black for the Death of Dating. We were supposed to fill Coffee Houses. To fill restaurants. Not bars. Liquor got in the way of Love. Liquor ushered Lust into our lives. And pants.

I bet this was the kind of weather our parents courted to. The kind of weather they went on coffee dates to. Sober. When “I love you, Keziah” was first said, I bet it was over hot, steamy coffee. I bet when mother blushed, it wasn’t because of no Sambucca shot.

Meat pie and coffee mean a shit load more to our parents than good-taste. They symbolize Love. They symbolize get-to-know. I bet every slice of pie stinks of nostalgia to mother. And that, my good people, is what Life ought to be all about. No?

I bet father got to know mother’s dreams at the-then Dormans. I bet he found out she wanted one more child on a day this cloudy.

I bet.. Nah. Let me call it quits right here.

Let’s bring the Old School back to life. Our women keep yelling about something. We think it’s nothing. But what if it’s something. Less of the liquor aided meet-ups. More of the get-to-know-her.

Less of Jack Daniels & Coke. More of Meat Pies and Coffee.

D’accord? D’accord.

GAL A BUBBLE.

Warrup!

So the past couple weeks I’ve gotten flack for lazing off this scene. My mother’s been insulted, my father cursed! Okay I’m kidding. But you get the point. See that’s the thing with humans. Routines. I made my she-goat of a wife (Log out Conso, this is not for you!) get used to Sundays with me. So on the Sunday I can’t pull it off, Heh! So yeah, what was my point? Yeah, (we nyeudhis) were used to my Saturday posts.

Anyway.

We all know how passionate I get when I talk about my (imaginary) daughter. Malaika. We all know.

So a couple weeks ago, one of you sends a link to that Gal-a-bubble vid. Heh! Yani tuseme I’ve been getting short-changed for fucking twenty five years?! People can do things like that? I was that guy showing my colleagues what was “out there”. If homes are broken on that account, thank me later?

A day, okay maybe two days later, it came to mind. That was someone’s daughter shaking her thingamajigs while someone else was pouring liquor on her derriere. Then Malaika came to mind. I called my friend up. That Jack Daniels had to be Had.

Thing about growth. It’s not dramatic. Lord knows you don’t get an ISO Cert (Shouts to City Council). Growth lands on your laps in all shapes and sizes. The fat(tie) size being thinking of your Malaika before you toy with a girl’s emotions. The fat(tie) size being listening to your queen of a sister go on and on, and on and on about her Wedding dress et al. (I LOVE that lady). The fat(tie) size being actually keeping your wife’s birth-date in mind, without the help of reminders.

Stop “aww”-ing me, girl, Bubble!

Social Lights!

This post is NOT judgemental..it could be the truth,it could be a bored person writing on a sunday afternoon and not engaged in mind blowing copulation (i really can’t get over this word) or it could be an observation; whichever way you look at it,i hope it makes you smile!!

Nairobi like any other city in a developing country is becoming really cosmopolitan and at an extremely high rate, everything is changing..the people are changing, the clubs are changing, the levels are only going higher and hopefully the leadership too (vote wisely). The more things change, the more they remain the same especially in the party scene so here is my little list of party goers in my beautiful city with a detailed explanation of course.

Papichulos

Papichulos are the big bosses..you can find him posted at the bar with a bottle of Jack Daniels in white linen with the ray ban shades on his forehead. He looks about 105 at most and 45 at least. He should be at a members club with men his age discussing politics but he’d rather be at Volar where else will he see the beautiful young women his daughter’s age though?he has lots and lots of money, he will at times have a young girl by his side but you never see them talking. They are just observing, picking out their prey or rubbing their pot bellies. The young men want to be him or hate him but watch out now.Sharing is caring they say but his money is not the only thing he’ll be sharing with you.Also,he’s constantly checking his pocket to make sure his wedding ring is still intact.look closely.

Swag Lords

These are the men and women that trap all day,play all night. Whether its the well dressed gentlemen with beers and bottles at their table having a great time with their boys (and girls) or the beautiful ladies with the cocktail glasses and killer heels out on a girl’s night out looking scrumptious. These are the people that work hard and play even harder., with a full university education probably till the PHd level from here or abroad; intelligent conversation, roaring laughter and credit cards are all they got, throw in a few accents here and there too. They are also the one group that have the most closeted gays and lesbians.They make it look so easy but they’re struggling just like everyone with secrets and desires. i appreciate these ones though, balance is everything.

Struggling socialites

Where to start? you’ll find these ones at every single event. You won’t know for sure what it is they do with their lives. They are the lives of the party and will tweet their location ever so often so that we never forget! I REPEAT You’ll never know what exactly they do with their lives. They’ll be at all the classy events but will probably have a bottle of kibao in the car and will ever so often run outside to take a swig, reason being the drinks at the joint they’re at are too expensive for them. When they walk into the joint you want to be their friend, up until they start name dropping how their grand father used to be the 2nd under secretary in the Ministry of Finance. WHO THE FUCK CARES what your relatives do?the million dollar question is WHAT DO YOU DO? They’re also the ones who used to be the sufferers (see below) and couldn’t wait to become swag lords so they worked hard and made money and everyone knows their name but in reality “you can take the boy out of the village but the village in the boy..” my point is BE YOURSELF.ACT YOUR WAGE. Most people these people go out to impress don’t care, when all is said and done father time catches up, this is not the United States where your paid to go out and make appearances. This is Kenya, people work hard to get by. Funny thing is this group is the most discriminative; they want to know what you do, what your parents do,where you live and will only be your friends if they have something to gain by being associated with you. They feel entitled, life has a way of sorting them out.Thank God.

Chipos

You’ll spot this ones at about 3am at the club, almost doing a somersault along with that bendover, they almost everytime have horrible weaves, a toothbrush and stockings (for their short skirt in the morning) in their clutch for the next day. You’ll find desperate men talking to these ladies when reggae/african music is playing at the club (usually it indicates the DJ is wrapping up for the night) or outside Qs or Changes at that shawarma or choma sausages’ guy’s spot. You could also find them next to a cab trying to negotiate in between their heated kisses. The guy chipos are usually alone at the club, haphazardly grinding on unsuspecting ladies (We HATE your kind btw) most of the time they drink two to three beers from 11pm to 5 am. Watch out for these groups, people who behave the way this group behaves have little close to nothing to lose. They’re capable of anything.

Sufferers

These are the ones that studied in the heart of Kirinyaga.Siaya,Kilgoris,Busia,Marakwet,Machakos,Marsabit,Turkana (you get the point) from like nursery to form four. They are in Nairobi chasing the big dream working or studying. There is not enough space here to explain their behaviours. Lucky for all of us, their accent gives them away from a mile, sometimes they smell like fair and lovely or brut.Most of the time, they are really good natured people just trying to have a good time. They never pretend to be something they’re not. They”re my personal favourites. One day they’ll be as snobbish as we Nairobians are, i cross my fingers they don’t forget where they came from. They’ll lose the plot if they do.

Nairobians

Nairobians my favourite people. They are snobbish, full of oxymoron/double standards. They love to drink and will find ANY excuse. Nairobians are special people, they come up with the most hilarious shit yo! they are educated and hustlers!we are the nyama choma and tusker nation while watching soccer tukiburudika na marafiki. We love to party, you will never understand us unless you were born and lived here all your life. We are the city of beautiful women who like wearing tights and bubble dresses. We are the city of handsome men that love money, soccer and subarus!We are the nation that has crazy traffic on the friday at the end of the month.You know where we’re headed! When you come here, you never want to leave!

All with a light touch!:-)

MALAIKA

Malaika,

I know you hate it when I apologize. I hate that I always put myself in positions calling for fucking apologies. Like right there, again! Anyway, umm, look, I’m not brave enough to tell you things to your face. I’d much rather write you. How many of my letters do you have under your bed? I heard you tell your mother how weird you found my words. How’s about we keep daddy-and-daughter things to daddy and daughter? That lady you call mother doesn’t know you like I do. (He lied to himself)

Angel, is that a corny name? Angel? I probably would have said so before I first met you. But. You stirred brand new things in me, kiddo. Only your grandpa gets I Love You -s from me. Well, now, only you and grandpa. In that order.

Kiddo, Thank you for choosing Books over television. Okay, maybe I didn’t quite let you choose that aye? A good book, a brilliant book, is something else. It takes you to writers’ worlds and shows how much similarity there is in diversity.

Child, Thank for choosing Truths over Lies. Do not let mother’s spankings and yells stop you from keeping honesty in your heart and mind. Corny as this sounds, it sets one free.

Love, thank you for choosing Me over men. I know this will change soon. But if you could be mine forever! If only! No one deserves the beauty that is you. No one but me.

You’re bored already, aren’t you.

Fine. I’m wrapping it up

Malaika, thank you for choosing Love over hate. Life over Death. Trust over Doubt.

Thank you for choosing Mother over Me. I hurt her, I know. Thank you for reminding me everyday. And one day I hope she will forgive me, and let me see you. Once more, Malaika. Just once.

Daddy.

HELP ME HELP THEY.

I banged on the door. Once. Twice. I told myself if she pretended not to acknowledge my presence she will have to pay for that,  in a few minutes.

“I will be on the other side of this door in five minutes. Whether you open the door or not“.

I could hear her cry. I could hear her trying to dial a couple numbers. But she was making no headway with that. No one could possibly hear her with all the sniffs and irritating sounds that came with it. And no one cared. I made sure of that. That with this one, no one cared.

She unlocked the door. Defeated. Resigned. A mess.

I did my thing, and was done with the girl in an hour. She kicked. Punched. Wailed. Screamed. Well at least she tried to kick. Tried to punch. Tried to wail. Tried to scream. She was too beaten to do anything, really. A punch to the gut will do that to a female.

(Every dawn, five children wake up defiled, three people end up dead and two women are raped, according to police statistics.) http://fidakenya.org/2011/01/rape-in-kenya/

Warrup my good people.

Somewhat ironic for a branded-asshole to be Passionateabout the (ignored) issue that is Security-for-the-female huh. Well, I give a shit about it, man.

I have the most bubbly (sometimes annoyingly so) Sister in the world. That lady is probably the source of all the energy I slap in your faces everyday! And .. FUCK.

Her fiancé better know that before he formally takes over the Secure-her role later in the year, I’m always behind her, gun in hand. I FUCKING SWEAR.

Anyway.

I don’t know what I can do to help with this Cause. All I know is I want to HELP. Badly. Desperately even. So if any of you have any ideas as to how I can do that >> bmuchelule@gmail.com

Love.

 

 

BABY MALAIKA.

Is it considered Sin when one steals a Bible?

Where are my manners. Warrup gang! Every morning, mon amie sends me a Bible verse. It’s steadily become a ritual of some sort. A routine. And if you know bits of me, you know I’m a routine kinda person. That spontaneity jibber jabber? No way jose. I wake up, do my moonwalk ritual (I swear), shower in the same format, go downstairs and watch Supersport channel 200 while having breakfast; yada yada. You get the drift.

Where was I? Oh yeah. So when I got to work I flipped through the Nation, and stumbled onto this pic of a baby. You really have to see what I’m talking about, man. Page 2. Something else about me; I hate watching news. That shit makes me lose weight! And we all know how serious I am about growing fat. #ProjectPumPum. It got me thinking. Is God too busy? Wait, don’t give me that look. I mean, is He exhausted? I think He is beginning to tire. How else does one explain all the babies getting raped, the sons taking their fathers to Court because of land issues. The .. The .. See? I’m already tired. And the Man Up deals with these kinda things on a daily all over the place. See my point?? This shit got me thinking of the famous 10 Commandments. Remember those? Well, I don’t, so here goes.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me- I’ve already failed and we just began! Anything good or bad happens to my day, I shoot a text to Pops. Then I sneak in a Prayer. Who’s come first?

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing- Money.

Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain- I say Christ, and Lordy in half my texts, tweets, whatsapps, BBMs.

Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy- “Are you going to church today?” Mother asks me that every Sunday morning. And every Sunday morning I mumble something, and change the topic. I mean, I don’t party on Saturdays, yet for some reason I’ve learnt to find it impossible to church once a week; to tell the Bugger upstairs He’s the business!

Honour thy father and thy mother- How many times does a child anger the folks, in a year.There.

Thou shalt not kill- http://valviolabrucey.wordpress.com/2012/02/04/life-after-death/

Thou shalt not commit adultery- Christ.

Thou shalt not steal- As a kid in church folks used to give us moneys to give as offering. Let’s just say I owe the church a hundred hundreds

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour- Aih boss. We were all kids once, man!

Thou shalt not covet- Fuck that. “I’ve got the hottest chic in the game, wearing my chain.” Okay. After Jessica Sula

And that, ladies and gents, is why there are nine-day old Baby Malaikas going through that kinda torture. Because the Bruceys find it impossible to follow Ten simple Commands handed to them since they were nine days old.

SECURE HER.

I link up with my people on Friday evenings. When I’m back home parking my car at Lord knows what time, I always look up to folks’ room. And I always see the lights turned off. It’s a drunk game I play with mother. Haha nah. Call it a ritual of some sort.

(Note: This drunk game doesn’t go down when father is around.)

My sister and her mister got robbed yesterday afternoon. Guns and what not. See here’s the thing about this lady. She sports a smile twenty five hours a day. So when she came home yesterday evening and I saw her face, I knew something fugly was about to come out of her mouth. And I remember that feeling I got when she went on to explain. I believe the wazungu brand that emotion Anger. Father’s text to me this morning, “when I leave you my pajero to take care of, treat her like she’s a concord”.

(Note: He calls his daughter his pajero).

Have I lost y’all yet? Quick run-through aye. About the drunk game, mother doesn’t sleep easy when father’s not around. When he is, she could care less about why the gate is being opened at 4am.

My lady-friend likes my hugs. Not because I cup her derrière when I’m doing so. Okay not entirely because of that. (Haha sorry Conso). But I figure it’s because of what the embrace means. Metaphorically even.

This city can be quite ugly. Especially for the fairer sex. That’s where we come in. Men of today have been branded many things. Let’s try not add wimp to that list. I’m not asking you to throw a friggin punch at the club. Let’s leave that for the kids, kindly. I’m talking Security here. For heavens sake, don’t let your mrembo wander this city seulement at fucking 11pm in the name of club hopping. There must be some sort of difference between that single girl that bugs you at 9pm every night, and your Lady. Treat your lady like gold. Keep her safe. Her father, however angrily, has left you that job. Hakuna kurega rega.