Where are all the good men? @bikozulu Version

 There are no good men out there. That is according to ladies. Because the current crop of men are not living out to their standards. Or perhaps the ladies have themselves to blame for not finding the Mr Right.

Jackson Biko, alias @bikozulu, thinks otherwise. Have a read:


Take a lady. A professional lady. Age: 32, well schooled and with a decent enough job, probably works as a logistics manager at one of those NGOs that dig boreholes in Turkana and helps goat farmers in Mwingi market their milk better. She swears she loves her job.

She drives a VW Polo – silver – a car that also doubles as a shoe rack given the number of shoes on the floor at the back. She lives in a clichéd neighbourhood with the rest of the middle-class types and goes to church diligently because she was raised in a staunch catholic home.

Her value system is solid. Oh, and she’s a single mother of one. A boy. Or girl. Doesn’t matter. But it would be nice, for the sake of this story if she had a girl because visually you’d see her matching her little girl’s attire with her own shoes. And purse.

You might have guessed by now that this girl is single. She doesn’t talk about the “baby daddy” as they are now called. But when she does, he’s referred to using colourful adjectives like “useless”, “pathetic” and other words that my editor won’t allow to be printed here. But she isn’t bitter, oh God forbid no, as she says of him: “He isn’t worth my emotion and time.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that the sum total of her experiences has made her exceedingly cynical of men. But to her credit, this stand isn’t too unrealistic because apparently the dating game is marred by men who are virtually undatable. I wouldn’t know, men aren’t my type.

This woman will tell you a story about her driving to work one morning, and how at a junction, while waiting to join a road, she saw this gentleman in a swanky BMW X5.

“He was young, hot, neat and looked very well put together,” she’ll gush. And you will picture that guy too, I mean we see them in traffic; those pretty boys who have the windows of their juggernauts all rolled up in traffic because the smell of their success might come out of the car and suffocate the underserving masses.

So yes we know what she is talking about. Then she will finish this story by posing a bemoaned question, “ where do you find a decent man like that in this town? Unbeknownst to her, with this question she joins a chorus of women, wondering what happened to good single men to date.

Her routine is depressing: she goes to work until 6, goes home early to “bond” with the child, dinner (only salad remember she’s searching and she got to keep her waistline from forming a restless coalition with her bum), then curl in bed with a chapter of a book like Shades of Grey (which doesn’t help her sense of reality much) then black out. Repeat this the next day. And the next.

Once in a while, she will attend a random cocktail. Saturdays she works half day, then heads home to check on baby, then perhaps later she attends a chama with her girls. Or a random play at the theatre. Sunday is church then lunch and afternoon with her baby. Repeat this every week. Every month. Every year.

So in essence the only time she sees a man she almost likes, is in traffic which limits her pool to men in traffic (with their windows rolled up) and traffic cops. Tough life.

But it’s not that she isn’t hit on. She is hit on all the damned time: by married men. And losers. The married crowd you can understand, but losers? That she has to define. “ Oh,” she explains, “There are men who have no future; jokers who just want to drink and have a random shag. Boys!”

Her narrative goes back to her question: where are the good men like the hot chap in the BMW.

What she doesn’t know is that there is a good likelihood that the “hot” chap in the BMW is married. Women know how to clean up a man. So yes, Mr Hot-shot BMW could be spoken for. Or he could be gay.

Let’s be honest, the gay guys scrub up well. The guy could even be a mess – serial womaniser, control freak, childhood issues, druggie, commitment-phobic - and he masks his weaknesses with the car and the clothes. All that glitters…

What this woman might not know is that to meet a man she might like she has to change her routine, open herself up for interactions. So take a different route home; join a gym or drink in a different bar (and for goodness’ sake, drink less!) and most importantly be open minded to interact with men who isn’t “her type”.

Self-help books are also to blame. They have made women rigid in their tunnel-visioned quest to “go for what you want, what you deserve.”

In the process they miss out on good things because they have ridiculous pre-conceived notion of what they deserve. The result? They continue staring at men in traffic.

Caroline MUTOKO: A Rant's Worst Nightmare

There has been a spirited frenzy in our social pages all against the Radio Queen; and an equally defensive streak of spew.

Caroline Mutoko apparently stepped on wrong toes - too many times - and toes wouldn't take it in further.

So they erupted in furore, and formed pages, and criticized, and wrote bad things about her.

They put fotos, then raved and ranted unprintable adjectives purporting to describe her attitude.

Naysayers and idlers have never had a field event than the elevated platform, and this brought more bile, and caused other bad things.

And Carol responded, and called em haters, and other said losers.

This is one of the brilliant criticizer i have read, from Kenyalist.com, who didn't employ expletives to put a point across.

Dear Caroline Mutoko: My Beef With Kenchic Ceo
I just want to use my own listing (not your wall) to vent out on Kenchic CEO about some things

1) In the 80s Kenchic chillie sauce used to be genuine Peptang, undiluted. Siku hizi they just mix chillie powder and maji in a bottle of mineral water. They just pierce a musumari on the top and as guys are supposed to buy that? CarolineMutoko dear honey, I want to let you know that I think a lot about you when I have to shake that chupa of settled chillie sauce just to 'get it done'. However if you can holla at that Kenchic boss to give out an order to all the

2) Kenchic has a FB page but I will not use it. They are the ones I have beef with, how will they take criticism seriously. I dont take criticism lightly. You dont. Remember the plagiarism thing the other day? You literally told us you dont give a foyk??? I got an instant boner that time.

3) The chickens have been becoming smaller through the years. When outing on sunday I used to stand outside Kenchic windows to see Kukuz zungukaring. Uuuuuuuuuuuuup Doooooooown. Its a wonderful site. I go from Kenchic to Kenchic comparing on the window. (somewhat like what eastlandoz do with phone shops). Now caroline you say you dont like to see small things being posted on your wall? I also dont!!!! When I was a Kid one row of Kuku on the Window used to have 4 big chicken.....now there is 7 small chicken. Smaaaaaaaaall small things.

4) Who came up with the idea that forks can be replaced with toothpicks? I miss the days you could take a fork and just finyilia kitu 7 pieces of chipo and swallow yote. Chew for 5 minutes as you weigh the asses that walk into Kenchic. Kenchic never used to have skinny chics. Skinny chics used to go to Maggies and some cake shop near the Dolce Club in the 80s.

Id go crazy if you sort me out with this Kenchic CEO problem of mine but anyway if you beech around I will still get a boner. I like it when ladies play hard to niiiiiiniiiiiii. 

The Kenyan President's New Role

Our own president, the El-presidentte aka Prezzo managed to hook up himself with position 2 in BBA. Then he bags this price-less role of being One ambassador against malnutrition and the likes in Africa. Big role, serious stuffs there and major recognition for the Makini Herbs honcho.

Thing is, someone got issues with this. Waga Odongo, a weekly columnist 'The Wag' questions the sagacity behind giving the self-acclaimed president the international platform. Have a read about it...

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KENYA HAS a new ambassador. His diplomatic qualifications may be scanty, but he more than makes up for it in his love for all things foreign.

Prezzo, part-time rapper and full-time braggadocio — coming off the heels of being an also-ran in reality TV show Big Brother, the 21st Century’s metric for celebrity worth — is now an ambassador.

The exhibitionist extraordinaire has been made ONE International’s emissary to Africa against poverty.

We have now fallen into that “pit of no return” of celebrity advocacy of social causes. We have no situation too complex to be served up by a celebrity in easy-to-understand bites.

We are too thick, perhaps, to know about poverty unless it is fronted by a rapper who constantly sings about his material wealth.

Prezzo shot to the limelight on the back of his affluent background. His family money partly did what his talent could not and opened up doors for him.

He walks around with enough jewellery to send a Moi Avenue mugger into comfortable retirement.

He claims to have spent half-a-million shillings shooting a video clip which was stuffed with blondes and emphasised opulence.

So, is someone who promotes the nihilistic virtues of rank showiness, feral acquisitive greed, and a magpie’s eye for all things shiny and expensive the best person to be crusading against poverty?

All his songs and videos have the same background of wealth-without-work and offer a peek into his high-definition, opulent lifestyle.

They feature a carefully constructed and expensive artifice that promotes a lifestyle that does not take into account his fans’ social realities.

His rap group Cash Money Brothers proclaims their mouth-watering admiration and glorification of Mammon in their name.

They are interested in showing off wealth and never bother to tell us how it is accumulated.

Olympics in Kenya: Where we went Wrong

By the time track races commenced in Olympics, we cared not about our position worldwide; medal-less. The sleeping giant would once again reclaim its glory as the global champion on tracks.

Unfortunately, our confidence and sense of pride has been rubbed off the wrong way. Japs, Merikanos and Britons are taking long races, while the neighbourly Ethiopians continue piling dust in our athletes' eyes.

It is embarrassing when a night is sacrificed to watch the races and experience bales of disappointing results. Elias Makori, a sports editor attending the games has inside story in what is actually happening in TeamKenya.

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 Kenya came into the London Olympics with high hopes, everyone confident that we would surpass the performance of Beijing four years ago where Team Kenya scooped six gold, four silver and four bronze medals.

But the pre-Games tension between the National Olympic Committee of Kenya and Athletics Kenya has thrown Kenya’s campaign to the dogs. It is sad watching our sports officials, with their bloated egos, fighting turf wars at the expense of the country’s respected name and image.

Many will wonder just how Vivian Cheruiyot, the double world champion (5,000 and 10,000 metres) faded away badly in the opening day’s 10,000m final and indeed why London Marathon champion Mary Keitany failed to get a medal in the marathon last Sunday.
 
Questions arise from the women’s steeplechase debacle and the fact that we have just Hellen Obiri in Wednesday’s 1,500m semi-finals or how we failed to break the 44-year jinx in the men’s 10,000m.

Well the answer to these questions is simple: Our officials have let us down terribly and they must do the honourable thing and take the long walk away from managing sport in the country. Period.  

We raised the flag when a dozen officials from Kenya’s Olympics management team literally abandoned athletes to rush to a pre-season camp in Bristol that meant little in terms of quality preparations, especially for distance runners.

We saw Ezekiel Kemboi travel to Bristol, and then flee back home due to the atrocious conditions there, where the recalcitrant NOCK officials set up camp merely to rake in their $300-a-day allowances, totally ignoring the fact that serious competition awaited the team at the Olympic Stadium.

The tab was picked by the toiling taxpayer. There was drama as Vivian’s husband and personal coach, along with one of the team’s coaches and doctor were locked out of the Olympic Village by the NOCK team led by executive officer Stephen arap Soi and general team manager James Chacha, leaving Vivian, our red-hot medal hope, in tears.

Vivian was shattered and it was hardly surprising that she failed to pick herself up and take the battle to Tirunesh Dibaba.   This didn’t bother Soi and his team who have misused the trust bestowed upon them by NOCK chairman, our legend Kipchoge Keino, who, as a respected member of the International Olympic Committee, is playing multiple roles here, delegating the management of Team Kenya to Soi, Chacha and company.


Vivian’s loss on Day One should have fired a wake-up call, but rather than address the issue, Soi and company continued with their personal wars with Athletics Kenya, declaring the AK chairman, Isaiah Kiplagat, persona non grata at the Olympic Village.

 As the selfish turf wars continued, we lost the men’s 10,000m, where Wilson Kiprop, winner of the controversial trials in Oregon, pulled out with an injury that the Team Kenya officials knew about at the Kasarani camp but failed to address.

What a shame! AK’s decision to hold the trials in Oregon will seriously be questioned, as will Soi’s decision to lock out one of the team’s medics while knowing that some of the athletes, like steeplechaser Lydia Rotich, who is asthmatic, needed round the clock, personal medical attention.

Journalists critical of Soi and the NOCK management team have been declared unwanted guests at the Olympic Village, Soi’s team eager to sweep the management rot under the carpet as medals continue to, painfully, slip away from our grasp.

The issue of joyriders in Team Kenya hasn’t been addressed, while the rather unprofessional manner in which distribution of training and competition kit has been managed here continues to irk the athletes, with some of them, like swimmers Jason and David Dunford, taking no chances and purchasing their own strip.

As things stand here, Kenyans should be prepared for the worst, unless Prime Minister Raila Odinga, here for the final days of the Games, works out wonders to lift the dying Kenyan spirit. Unless this happens, I can only predict just three more gold medals from Pamela Jelimo (800m), David Rudisha (800m) and Wilson Kipsang (marathon).

Forget about the women’s 5,000m, men’s 5,000m or even women’s 1,500m where the gold medals belong to Tirunesh Dibaba, Dejen Gebremeskel and Fantou Magiso, all of Ethiopia, respectively.

Unless the Prime Minister cracks the whip, and unless we see the backs of the NOCK officials who have seriously let the athletes and the country down, we should not expect sporting glory to come any time soon. The issue of pre-Games training, lack of focus by AK’s top management and the absence of personalised training for our athletes are issues we will tackle another day.

Meanwhile, we await the report of the Parliamentary team investigating similar mismanagement of the Kenyan team at the last All Africa Games in Maputo where the same officials are implicated. Will we ever learn?

KENYA MIGUNA WAR: SARAH ELDERKIN Peeling Back Miguna's Mask

I have defended Miguna Miguna in the past, both in print and in private – at least, it was meant to be private, until Miguna broke an undertaking of confidence and made a private communication public.

That is typical of the Miguna we have unfortunately come to know – a person with deeply worrying issues and insufficient personal morality to restrain him from selling his friends down the road, let alone to prevent his embarking on a campaign of all-consuming personal vengeance filled with hatred.

Many of us, including Raila Odinga – the object of Miguna’s poisonous wrath, have tried hard to save Miguna in the past. Ultimately, in the Prime Minister’s office, it became impossible to keep Miguna and to protect him from himself.

It is deeply sad that a man with a good brain should be tortured and destroyed by emotions he cannot control, so that he ends up a victim at the mercy of his own self-destructive inner turmoil.

Other responses to charges in the Miguna book, Peeling Back the Mask, will follow this. But first, we need to peel back the mask that Miguna Miguna himself wears. Let us examine the untold Miguna Miguna story.

Anyone who has watched Miguna on television will have seen the staring eyes, the jabbing finger, the overbearing ranting and raving. But it was Justice Mohamed Warsame who referred very succinctly to Miguna’s inner turmoil, in dismissing, on December 15, 2011, the case Miguna had brought challenging his August 4, 2011, suspension from the Prime Minister’s office.

In his judgement, Warsame made some interesting observations about Miguna. Speaking of his own perceptions (not issues raised by lawyers), Warsame said that Miguna was a man “who exhibits mental and emotional fits in his defence of issues”.

He spoke of Miguna as having a “relentless sense of fighting back”, as one “who appears unpredictable and ready to fight”. Warsame added, “He is described as a man living in [a] mental darkroom.”  

It is from the turmoil of this “mental darkroom” and out of his “relentless sense of fighting back” that Miguna decided to do his very best to destroy the man for whom he had previously and fervently declared his “love”, and whom he revered.

Miguna is a man of wild extremes. His actions have nothing at all to do with Raila Odinga. They have everything to do with Miguna Miguna, his lack of balance, and his distorted sense of self.

Let us begin by setting straight the record concerning the relationship between Miguna Miguna and Raila Odinga. Contrary to the wildly delusional claim in the publicity for his book, Miguna Miguna was NOT “for six years … the Prime Minister’s most trusted aide”.

Miguna Miguna was NEVER the Prime Minister’s most trusted or most senior aide. The fact is that Raila never felt he could fully trust Miguna, and that is why he deliberately kept him at arms’ length in an office on Nairobi Hill, and never allowed him to operate from his own town-centre office.

Trust is surely something that must be declared by the person doing the trusting. The Prime Minister has never voiced or shown such trust. The claim is entirely of Miguna’s own fabrication.

Then there is the “six years” Miguna speaks of. By his own admission, Miguna met Raila Odinga for the very first time in October 2006. Note that that is not yet six years to date.

Raila had gone to Toronto at the start of a speaking tour and from there continued to a number of similar functions in the USA. Miguna, of his own volition, travelled along with the party from his home of two decades in Canada, to Raila’s next stop, in Minnesota, which was the first of many on that tour – Washington DC, Atlanta, Huston, Omaha, Kansas City, New Jersey.

Miguna has claimed that he paid for this trip and met the expenses of Raila Odinga, a man he had never previously met, and certainly a man who had no need of or desire for Miguna’s sponsorship.

The tickets for the trip were, as confirmed by Raila’s friend Paddy Ahenda, who over the past weekend has consulted the relevant records, bought in Nairobi through travel agent Al Karim. It is one among many of Miguna’s self-aggrandising statements.

From that first meeting in Toronto, we fast forward four-and-a-half years – not six years – to the day Miguna Miguna was, on August 4, 2011, suspended from the office of the Prime Minister for conduct unbecoming. 

During those four-and-a-half years, Miguna was an employee of the Prime Minister’s office for just under 2½ years, having been appointed by President Mwai Kibaki on March 6, 2009.

Six years? Miguna Miguna is a master of exaggeration and fantastical ravings.

After that first meeting in October 2006, Miguna (who, like everyone else, could calculate that Raila Odinga had a very good chance of taking power in Kenya the following year) apparently took stock of his own situation in his adopted country, and decided that this was his opportunity to leave behind a chequered and rather uncomfortable past, and to reinvent himself back in his homeland.

Much of Miguna’s legal work in Canada had consisted of assisting immigrants, including immigrants from Kenya. In the course of this work, the 40-year-old Miguna had been publicly arrested on November 4, 2002, and charged with sexual assault on one of his clients, a 19-year-old woman.

Miguna appeared in court for trial on July 14, 2003, when he was rearrested and charged with further counts of sexual assault on another immigration client.

The trial judge acquitted Miguna, ruling that the alleged victims’ evidence was partially contradictory and not strong enough (as so often happens in sexual assault cases) to sustain a secure conviction. The trial judge did not, however, rule that Miguna’s accusers had acted maliciously, nor that they had formed a conspiracy, nor that they had lied.

Miguna reacted in a manner we have come to recognise – by suing everyone in sight. The defendants ranged from the Queen of England through the Canadian minister of justice, crown attorneys and the Toronto Police Board, to police officers involved in his arrest, for what a Canadian Appeal Judge called “a galaxy of reasons, some existent in law, and many not”.

Miguna also sued a newspaper that had printed a police appeal asking anyone else who believed herself a victim of Miguna’s unwanted attentions to come forward.  

Miguna sought Canadian $17.5 million in damages, but he lost just about all, if not all, the more than 20 cases he launched, ending up having to pay out tens of thousands of Canadian dollars.

Dismissing some of the cases, the Appeals Judge referred to Miguna’s “allegations based on assumptions and speculation” and said that Miguna could not “merely plead allegations that he believes may or may not be true”.

Miguna was apparently operating in the realms of fantasy and speculative allegations even then. It seems to be a pattern.

But now an opportunity to escape all that had presented itself. Miguna must have eyed his new acquaintance with Raila Odinga as the chance of a lifetime.

Throughout the following year, while still in Canada, Miguna tried to cement this plan by bombarding Raila with unsolicited and unwanted advice.

This is what Miguna now describes as having been a political strategist for Raila during the period. Knowing Raila, I doubt he ever even read those communications, or had time to give them any of his attention.

Raila Odinga is a consummate political strategist. Why on earth would he need to depend on a man who had been out of the country for 20 years, having run away at the first hint of trouble in 1987 – at the same time as Raila Odinga and many others were undergoing the torturous conditions and life-threatening privations of Kamiti, Shimo la Tewa, Manyani and Naivasha maximum security prisons?

Raila suffered many years of three separate detention periods and went into exile when a fourth threatened – but he stayed away only a few months, and then he returned to continue the fight for change. Unlike Raila, Miguna stayed away living a very comfortable life in a western nation for two decades, leaving it to genuinely committed others to fight the real battle for reforms.

During 2006-2007, Miguna was also trying to raise his public profile prior to his return to Kenya by bombarding newspapers with his articles. Many people became dismissive. Miguna was not back in the country yet but he was already becoming a figure of fun, not taken seriously. It is sad, for an intelligent man. But he brought it on himself.

Eventually, Miguna returned to Kenya, in September 2007, just in time for parliamentary nominations. He tried his luck in Nyando and failed miserably at the ODM nomination stage, gaining miserably few votes.

Characteristically, he lost no time in instituting a court case.

Homosexuality in Kenya: Not a welcomed option

Prof Makau Mutua’s piece titled “Rights body has finally stood up for gays and lesbians” (SN, May 13) bashes valid objections to homosexuality and lesbianism, and attempts to recast these practices as human rights protected under the Bill of Rights, though they remain illegal under the Penal Code.

Fixated with Western aphorisms such as “democracy”, “human rights”, “tolerance”, and “openness”, an increasing number of African intellectuals under the aegis of “civil society” have gleefully joined a well-choreographed global campaign by Western governments to propagate homosexuality as part of the “human rights” rubric and population control agenda.

Aware that within most cultures few openly embrace or accept sexual deviance (including homosexuality and lesbianism), the powers behind this diabolical agenda have relentlessly sought to rebrand them, to make them more readily acceptable, hence the donning of sodomy and lesbianism with the ethereal-sounding and legally-protected garb of “human rights”.

As part of this sexual-cultural putsch, the traditional and widely-used descriptions of same-sex relations such as “sodomy” and “homosexuality” have been replaced by more innocuous-sounding, suave, (even anagogical and acceptable) ones such as “gay”,”LGBT”, or “men having sex with men”.

This rebranding has been marketed from a variety of springboards, ranging from court decisions to social organisations, in order to accord rebranded homosexuality wider acceptance, legality, and authenticity, while at the same time stripping it of the stinging stigma.

Zealous acolytes have pilloried anyone standing in their path and perceived to be resisting this wave, branding them as “homophobes” and “conservatives” whose cultural, religious, or moral reservations towards, and against homosexuality are dismissed as having atrophied into irrelevance.

More fundamentally, foreign aid is increasingly being tied to acceptance of homosexuality.

As a conjugant in the trend, particularly in Western Europe, stretching the scope and application of “hate speech” laws to punish anyone who frowns upon homosexual conduct has been the latest frontier in this rebranding, but which (to his credit) Prof Makau steered away from.

In the end, the phonetic gymnastics describing same-sex relations may paint a superficial transformation from a pejorative, stigmatised act to what is perceived as a politically correct expression of “liberty”; but this nevertheless leaves sodomy essentially unaltered in terms of what it has always been known in Africa – unacceptable.

This is not a putative, theoretical rejection of homosexuality across African cultures but a factual one. In exemplification, the Kikuyu of Kenya have consistently rejected homosexuality as “mugiro”; meaning an intolerable evil, and an abominable act that invites divine wrath.

This cultural rejection of homosexuality can neither amount to bigotry nor be classified as an expression of hate.

It simply is not within the moral sphere of the Kikuyu to embrace homosexuality, nor is it openly practised among them, with the notable exception of extremely rare cases.

When Prof Makau laments that he has been pilloried for defending homosexuality and then turns to brand as bigoted and hiding behind religion and culture to “spread” hate anyone who objects to the practice on religious or cultural grounds, isn’t he being hypocritical?

To argue that the Constitution does not outlaw homosexuality (even indirectly) is redactionist of Prof Makau, and is itself a very narrow interpretation of the document, since the Rule of Law espoused in Article 10(2)(a) presumes that Section 162-165 of the Penal Code are automatically embedded in the gamut of valid Kenyan laws.

Which African culture is this that Prof Makau speaks of that openly embraces homosexuality and offers a platform for one to readily and openly practise and celebrate such acts as part of its cultural values, and which Kenyans should belong to, so that they cease condemning homosexuality? None.

Which religion does he have in mind that promotes homosexuality? There is none.

The freedom of religion enshrined in Article 32(4) of the Constitution guarantees that if one’s religion outlaws homosexuality, then as part of that religion, one is entitled to an unequivocal expression of disaffiliation with homosexual practices, and to condemn an expression as “bigotry” is itself a breach of that right.

Rhetorically, does “openly speaking for gay rights” which he propounds as a solution to eliminate the stigma that attaches to homosexuality effectively function to reduce or eliminate the stigma?

A stinking fish by any other name will never cease to offend nasal senses even if the mouth speaks bountifully of an imaginary beautiful scent.

Mr. J. Harrison Kinyanjui

A CHILD'S VIEW OF THE BIBLE IN SUMMARY

A child was told to write a book report on the entire Bible.

This is amazing!!. I wonder how often we take for granted that children understand what we are teaching??? Through the eyes of a child here is the Children's Bible in a Nutshell.

In the beginning, which occurred near the start, there was nothing but God, darkness, and some gas. The Bible says, 'The Lord Thy God is one, but I think He must be a lot older than that. Anyway, God said, 'Give me a light!' and someone did. Then God made the world.

He split the Adam and made Eve. Adam and Eve were naked, but they weren't embarrassed because mirrors hadn't been invented yet. Adam and Eve disobeyed God by eating one bad apple, so they were driven from the Garden of Eden. Not sure what they were driven in though, because they didn't have cars. Adam and Eve had a son, Cain, who hated his brother as long as he was Abel.

Pretty soon all of the early people died off, except for Methuselah, who lived to be like a million or something.

One of the next important people was Noah, who was a good guy, but one of his kids was kind of a Ham. Noah built a large boat and put his family and some animals on it. He asked some other people to join him, but they said they would have to take a rain check.

After Noah came Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Jacob was more famous than His brother, Esau, because Esau sold Jacob his birthmark in exchange for some pot roast. Jacob had a son named Joseph who wore a really loud sports coat.

Another important Bible guy is Moses, whose real name was Charlton Heston. Moses led the Israel Lights out of Egypt and away from the evil Pharaoh after God sent ten plagues on Pharaoh's people. These plagues included frogs, mice, lice, bowels, and no cable. God fed the Israel Lights every day with manicotti. Then he gave them His Top Ten Commandments. These include don't lie , cheat, smoke, dance, or covet your neighbor's stuff. Oh, yeah, I just thought of one more:.


Humor thy father and thy mother.

One of Moses' best helpers was Joshua who was the first Bible guy to use spies. Joshua fought the battle of Geritol and the fence fell over on the town. After Joshua came David. He got to be king by killing a giant with a slingshot. He had a son named Solomon who had about 300 wives and 500 porcupines. My teacher says he was wise, but that doesn't sound very wise to me.

After Solomon there were a bunch of major league prophets.

One of these was Jonah, who was swallowed by a big whale and then barfed upon the shore. There were also some minor league prophets, but I guess we don't have to worry about them.

After the Old Testament came the New Testament. Jesus is the star of The New Testament. He was born in Bethlehem in a barn. I wish I had been born in a barn, too, because my mom is always saying to me, 'Close the door! Were you born in a barn?' It would be nice to say, 'As a matter of fact, I was.'

During His life, Jesus had many arguments with sinners like the Pharisees and the Republicans. Jesus also had twelve opossums. The worst one was Judas Asparagus. Judas was so evil that they named a terrible vegetable after him.

Jesus was a great man. He healed many leopards and even preached to some Germans on the Mount. But the Republicans and all those guys put Jesus on trial before Pontius the Pilot. Pilot didn't stick up for Jesus. He just washed his hands instead.

Any way's, Jesus died for our sins, then came back to life again.

He went up to Heaven but will be back at the end of the Aluminum. His return is foretold in the book of Revolution.

The end, awe men. via

 

 Kraziest kenyans

KCSE 2012: What We Can learn

Its lovely watching the announcement of KCSE results. The kerfuffle, brouhaha, spirited intros and lovely speeches. I loved watching Mr. Etyang and the choir. He was my music teacher in High school. Professor Ongeri read results upto hundredth positions. I may never know the reason for such chutzpah. Perhaps its the idea that this might be his last public announcer in such ministerial capacity.

Maranda High school has topped. Wow!

Both Alliances, Starehe Boys' then Mang'ú. Who leveled the playing field? 11.8 points by a school. This is dexterity and commendation should be in order.  St. Peters' Seminary has listed the top candidate, Job Nalianya.

I faced this day years ago; the day of redemption. I remember that day, anxious and apprehensive, my heart yielding to panic before announcement of results. There was an inkling of my expected grade(s), but needed an official confirmation, a stamp that would decide the path i would take in future.

Before joining the top-rated high school in the country, i knew i would end up being a neurosurgeon, thanks to my infatuation with Ben Carson's paperbacks. Four years later it obvious I was good in literature, theater plays and spoken word. I had no love for Chemistry and basic Biology was a bore.

I will graduate with Bsc. Actuarial Science, finish CFA and CSIA papers, and rot in the realm of securities. The country has lost a brilliant movie director, script writer and actor. Our parents want their children in blue-chip companies; not rolling tapes for entertainment purposes. No one wants to understand that informal sector is oiling the bulk of the country's economy. It is unfortunate.

That is why many are pursuing courses irrelevant with their liking. The society has been forced to embrace worthiness of white-and-blue-collar jobs, disregarding the very cradle for employment; doing what you best can to the benefit of the society. If what you are doing fails your desires, it is obvious very little effort is put for the desired result.

Students are oiling their brains day and night, swotting to weird extremities, their hearts beating achingly to one desire; that of getting a degree in various institutions of higher learning. That is why constituent colleges have sprung up, with roof-top institutions peddling degrees to eager just-out-of-fourth-form junkies, irrespective of their dull grades. And its also reason why weird and ludicrous courses have jammed the lecture rooms.

Not everyone is celebrating today. There are those who have disappointed their parents, and the society. Those parents that stared directly into their eyes just before KCSE exams, and reminded them how hard they have worked to ensure their smooth sail in high school. The moment they will register Catty or Doggy results, they will feel a pang of guilt. The nearest tall tree and a rope will be the absolution to the guilt. Case Study: Suicides due to recently announced KCPE results.

Parents have forgotten diploma and certificate courses. They want that pride; my daughter is doing law in University of Something, my son is pursuing medicine and so on. Everybody is full of bull nowdays. Great personalities did not tap their greatness from grades, but by conviction of what they knew of themselves. Those who were not eligible for University and had passion for, let's say Engineering, commenced with certificate from local polytechnics, then a dip from a college, post dip before securing a place in varsity for their degrees.Do not fake your disability to achieve on your full potential on drab grades, that is pathetic reasoning.

Those who have A's and parents will never allow them to take arts, i feel you. Dont despair though, do what you can do with the course you will pursue, but dont let your dream die. Join a chorister, do a musical, enroll for dancing classes and perhaps, perhaps your parents will value your desires.

Dont join varsity for a hogwash course so that everybody in the village will respect you. Join Maseno for Soil Science, or Moi for Ethics and after graduating, the respect will dissipate. If you are not good in books, and you appreciate you weakness, be Oliech, be Mariga, be Karume. Earn em dollars in other ways, play football, make tracks your home, play with numbers in streets, marry a microphone and be an MC. Be anything you want to be, let no goals be impended by results.

And perhaps we can all be termed as winners!

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Nderitu wa Njoka, Louis Otieno, John Michuki: A tale of three Kenya men

Nderitu wa Njoka

They ask what is in a name. I ask what man bears such name? A disconsolate name with fatuous ring on it. Such man is intrepid if he loves the glare of cameras, the stain of his vulgar name on print media, a jest from the mouth of rumor-mongers, a topic trending in social media. Hail the leader of Maendeleo ya Wanaume (MAWE)

When his cogent burr wafts through our ears, clogging the senses of reasoning, scratching the veneer of reasoning, i digress. He genuinely talks for men, beleaguered in distress, embroiled in troubled marriages, suffocating under stench of inflicted mass-extinction (if hailing from Nyeri).  Apparently MAWE is an outfit resembling FIDA, the woman's mouthpiece.

The high rate of Nyeri men undergoing physical re-arrangement by the section of their ribs angered this Njoka guy, the plight on the Sunday victim being the last straw. The jowl on his pampered face moved rhythmically with his clenched jaw, kerfuffle-ing in tandem with his body sway, an irascible rage the end-product of his flak to the women suspects. Such vim!

Then, to my horror, he confirmed, to our worst fears, that he has nothing between his ears. He inveighed against women by demanding a long-week hunger strike!

HUNGER fucking STRIKE?

By Jove! show me a Kiddy-garten pamper-adorning toddler who can afford such luxury in pitiable bull-shit and i will gladly show you an egg that cannot crack under a clamp.  I have endured his loony kvetchs but this was clap-trap indecipherable. He works so hard to make a laughing-stock out of honorable outfit, this Njoka guy is!

Louis Otieno is a besieged fella. A successful chic from a rich back-ground, a top-rated TV host star, Kilimani, hospital bills, note, suicide, strangulation, death, a hot Chepchumba, police and you have a complete Love-Affair-Gone-Awry saga. Best advice to Louis, run for your life. Definitively!

RIP John Michuki. Time we rattled the snake...

NYERI MEN: The Art of Male Battery in Kenya

Imagine this,

You are a man. You arrive home after decorating your throat with cheap daiquiri in a local den dished in sooty tins as glasses. You hic to the effect that you need food to your other half, oblivious of the emanating fetid stench from your mouth exacerbating her already irked spirits.

The food is cold and you struggle with it but it completely refuses to go down your throat. You begin realizing your wife has commenced serving shit for supper, what with the emetic taste. You chastise and remind her where she belongs in an African family setting.

Her egregious habit makes doldrums creep through the collar of your shirt and the evening is spoilt. You rise and stagger towards bedroom, then halts suddenly, this woman's fatuous actions overwhelming your feeling. You turn around to add another volley of castigation towards her when you spot a shining blade at the control of a matronly woman targeting your neck.

You are quickly sober, you mind clear and gaze appalled at the approaching blade, then at your wife's determined countenance, then at the fast approaching blade again. Your wide eyes are receipting the environment in a slow motion mode, as if through series of photographic slides, before ducking.

The last you can remember is trying to locate your dislodged jaw, your dismembered hand and your shattered ego infront of cameras, pouring your tribulations to Nderitu Njoka, the MAWE (Maendeleo ya Ihii) boss.

This is the fear an average man in Nyeri County is facing in his matrimonial home.

Men battering will soon overtake maladies as a major cause for hospital incarcerations in Nyeri. Women are blaming men on forfeiture of their marital responsibilities, inebriation and blatant aloofness as a result of vile caused by deadly cheap alcohol.

Raphael Tuju launched his political Party of Action (POA) yesty-day. Melikes this humble servant, his sagacious reasoning , his ebullient nature. He is visionary, young and possesses an assiduous catchet. This is a clarion call to all and sundry to take into account the readiness of a leader to serve the nation on achievable ideals and not mere tribalistic cheap-talk propaganda.

I was brought up with serenading musical tones of Whitney Houston. In high school days, we would plaster her lyrics on letters as dedications to our potential soul-mates. Her demise is a cause of sadness to the world spanning all ages.

African Cups of Nations ended yesternight with a sizzling match between Zambia and Ivory-Coast. Drogba's only chance to hold the cup turned foul when his penalty went above the bars. Gervinho's and Toure's blatant shoot-outs sealed their fate and gave the Chipolopolo their needed win, dedicating to the '93 team that perished in a crash.

Muffled Killers: What went wrong in Kenya?

Last year i caught up with a client along Kimathi Street and ushered him in one of handful up-class restaurants within the street. CCTVs, G4S guards and a mannequin with an overflowing coat ushered us in. Serene and dimly-lit, an environment suitable for a briefcase rendezvous.

My client's fervor spirit immediately gave in to deprecation and barrage of effusive castigation about my choice of the place. I feigned ignorance, for i was really ignorant.

I let mine eyes get accustomed to the surrounding and gulped hard. Yes, the place was darn familiar. Skimpily dressed courtesans batting their eyes at us tables away. We were in a bordello!

I was contrite and profusely apologized for the incidence.

So Nairobi Mayor, George Aladwa, invades the telly space and manages two cents worth of something about legalizing prostitution.The statement is mired with social incorrectness, so he follows his campaign PR's sage and come the next day, the family man with a wife and daughters is filled with compunction, apologizes to the potential voters and asserts the media mis-quote him. Way to go Governor!

It gets juicer. Anne Soi Mwendia, a senior reporter with KTN comes up with a startling revelation about male harlotry in her documentary Muffled Killers.The cogent realization biffed my conscience, down to my throat.

John cried!

Soon public rage was witnessed in social networks, radio discussions et al. Most excoriated the vice, few sympathized. Argue the genetic way and i'll brand you worse expletives than envisaged by our faggot brothers.

I have always had a loathing for faggotry - that uncharacteristic act of chewing asses - for sexual gratification. My certitude ideals have been further strengthened after watching effete masculine figures with effeminate voices, trying to woo the public's battered conscious into accepting them, understand them, hug them with their pink tees.

I remember worrying about a trend of men who are evolving into sissies, the idea of facials, plastic surgery and tights. How does a man wear tights and be comfortable with them?

DAVID VS GOLIATH: A collection of Kenyans fables and other escapedes

The first time Keruraza-gate saga exploded in the Kenyan Media,  I was flummoxed. The untimely incubus elevated the status of a security guard, propelling her to the limelight of a celebrity while her portrayed nemesis enervated in bales of flak.

Kerubo passed as a diffident, humble ingenue who couldn't hurt a fly but behind those big innocent eyes i detected a sly smile. Baraza's inimical reaction branded her diabolical, exacerbating the situation with cavalier barbs and eventually trying to wriggle out of the situation with a present worth trolley-ful bag of Tusky's shopping.

I could have laughed if it wasn't unfortunate.

Now that she has been suspended, courtesy of the powers be, i weep for what was to be her apotheosis in terms of achievement. Pride is a commodity essential for disgraceful downfall. Combine it with arrogance and the greatest of humanities will fall from the grace of apogee to grass of stark humility and eventual ignominious evanescence.

The seven-member team will judge her harshly, but i believe our President will employ his adroit way to break the truce. She will retain her seat but her character will be severely damaged and the public will drown her with their disdain. They will have no confidence in her.

The Ocampo 6 has been reduced to Ekatrina 4. Ali's aquiline features and Kosgey's convivial brio betrayed their pent-up catharsis. Of course the confirmation of the remaining suspects was a clarion call to all politicians with addled bonces to display their emetic crud in public. They did not disappoint; a hunger strike to show solidarity? Pooh! go suck a pig...

Ever heard of Uggie? There is a worldwide outrage by adoring fans that want Uggie to be included in the nominations for the forth-coming Oscars. No, they have no problem with Brad Pitt or George Clooney having all those nominations to themselves. Having appeared in The Artist, a movie with ten nominations, it is then prudent, they reason, that Uggle should have a chance at winning in Oscars. The committee will have none of that because, Uggle, who already has almost 4000 followers in twitter, is not an ordinary guy. He is a 10-year-old Jack Russell terrier, a dog.

Now to the best news of the decade. There is, there has never and there will never be crap called G-Spot. The manufactured erogenous zone by Dr. Ernst Gräfenberg in fifties that has resulted in inferiority complex in men and as a black-mailing tool by women does not exist. Surprised?

                                              

"Without a doubt, a discreet anatomic entity called the G-spot does not exist," said Dr. Amichai Kilchevsky, a urology resident at Yale-New Haven Hospital in Connecticut, and lead author of the review, published Jan. 12 in the Journal of Sexual Medicine.

Dear men, we have troubled ourselves for too long. It's time you switched off your torches.

The Christmas Gift

This happened to me before Christmas. It has taken me slightly over a fortnight to overcome the frightful incidence. Writing about it is the only catharsis to these emetic doldrums, a price for an innocent's heart actuated to pursue happiness and bliss from a feminine creature.

It was a simple Facebook friend request. I could have ignored it and continued with my daily activities. She had a mutual friend. Something kept gnawing the depths of my brains. Was she of whom Kelly kept praising her effeminate beauty, a congenial lass whose countenance bore an elixir to a dry-balled like me?

I have few Facebook friends thanks to my old-fashioned beliefs of knowing persons you interact with in social medias. I scrutinized her photo and almost died with pleasure. She was indubitably an angel. So it came naturally that i accepted her friend request.

Binti Kazuri. A quick scan on her profile page revealed 60 friends, student at University of Nairobi, works at Gliuntelle Fashions.

She inboxed: Yu luk like a reasonable chap, mind coffee?

My heart exploded with desire. Reasonable? I wanted to tell her i was more than that; a man full of fervor, extreem doughty in principles and ethos, a certitude erudite with business acumen and power of gab despite my lean cadaverous body features.

Yes, i would meet her for coffee and show her all my qualities.She had added magnesium in my incendiary emotions. I could visualize her writings as dulcet tones caressing my ears and coaxing me to be complaisant with her every desire.

The day arrived and the appointed time crawled at a snail's pace as if taunting my impatience to meet Binti Kazuri. The whole day my mind was plagued with her pleasant impression of ivory complexion, dreamy eyes and a body pulsing with youth and vitality. This meeting was fate implied, i thought, cementing my belief that the acquaintanceship would produce something permanent, not transitory.

At exactly 1, I spend off from office at View Park towers to Nakumatt Lifestyle, the strategic meeting place as my heart pounded with the walls of my chest with inebriated vigor due to anticipation. I would be in black pants, blue shirt and brown suedes, i naturally lied.

Standing there for over ten minutes gave me jitters and the worst of probabilities attacked my timid mind. had she thought otherwise, ditched me without even meeting me or there was a passenger-jam? Time was ebbing so i whipped out my cell and called her. Then for the longest two-minutes of my whole life i survived a catatonic trance.

A lady...ok, a feminine creature next to me received the call and you can guess it right, she answered it.

Feminine creature: I've been here at Lifestyle for the past 10 minutes waiting for you...kwani uko wapi?

My tongue turned into a sand paper, no saliva to gel it, just an ugly catarrh blocking my wind-pipe. Was she the Binti Kazuri? Oh no, i groaned loudly and my bowels almost gave out with disappointment. For the first time i appreciated the power of blue-tooth gadgets. I tried all my best to act normal and discreetly return the cell back to the pocket but it was too late. She had seen me.

My heart literally bled with confusion. Before me stood the perfect contrast to an image on her wall-page in Facebook. I shook my head, pinched my nose and willed, strongly, for a sign or something, a miracle, anything to assure me that i was dreaming. 

Feminine Creature: John, here you are...(arms flaring wildly for a hug). It is not sensible to keep a lady waiting!

I groaned heavily. Then robotic-ally explained to her my pressed schedule at the office and desire to re-arrange the rendezvous. She was impressed with it. As i headed back to the office, still reeling with shock and disbelief, i blocked her number and eventually her FB profile.

                                                     

That's why, my dear friend, i usually have phobia for friend requests. Especially from ladies with very beautiful photos.