tHiNkEr’S rOoM

Watching the baggage carousel at the airport is something I will henceforth be doing with considerable apprehension. After the one at the Sir Seretse Khama airport ceased to revolve without any evidence of my trusty blue case, alarm bells went off in my head.

"Can I," an optimistic voice in my head wanted to know, “Survive without my case?”

The answer from other quarters was unanimously in the negative.

Hair: I like that! And who is going to take care of me?
Feet: Dude! If you think I am going to accept these socks for a second day you have another thing coming!
Torso: This new vest chafes!
Teeth: Survive without your case? Just who is going to brush us?
Chin: Thank God! Can’t think why you insist on bringing sharp blades near me each morning!

"Try the 3 flight," A bored looking staff member said stifling a yawn.

So I tried the 3 flight And the 6. And the 9.

It was well that the Air Botswana staff members rapidly left their offices because the heights of eloquence I rose to left little doubt that I would make an excellent commissioner of oaths.

(more…)

After much procrastination, dilly dallying, pussyfooting and stalling, I am finally on my own shiny new domain.

Yay!

I’d like to thank my main man Rip who made this all happen, getting us a domain, hosting the what nots … Dude, you rock! All I have to do is tinker with the look and feel and post, nirvanah for chaps like me who follow Newton’s law of conservation of energy!

Thanks are also in order to Sam, Muthoni and Sin who have distinguished themselves by threatening physical violence on my person to get me to get a domain and do the blogging.

Lemme know what you think.

Do note this is very much work in progress, so i reserve the right to change completely everything at whim!

Oh, and update all your bookmarks/references etc to point to the new digs

Snow - Informer

Getting to Botswana from Nairobi necessitates getting to Botswana by Kenya Airways, flying over it and landing in Johannesburg. Jo’burg airport could learn a lot from JKIA

• Having natural gas powered trams to ferry passengers to the terminal is not good for passengers’ health. They will develop flabby underarms, pot bellies and varicose veins
• Refusing to announce departures and arrivals is not good for passengers either. They have to keep reading from dozens of impossibly large screens, which is bad for their necks and eyes.
• Having large plasma screen TVs in the departure lounge again makes vegetables out of travelers. They should be indulging in quality time with their loved ones.

Once at the terminal, you are greeted by a cheerful gentleman behind the Air Botswana desk who issues you with your boarding pass. You then proceed to explore the airport and almost immediately find a colossal eatery. In the list of Things To Do In The Lifetime Of M I can cross out drink fresh strawberry juice. A sandwich made with impossibly fresh bread, with bacon that belonged to a pig that was quite possibly half an hour previously happily eating his swill.

(more…)

I’m off out of the country again. This time I’m not stepping across the border, but will be crossing several borders. Unlike some people who we will not name (like Chris Murungaru), the Government where I’m going does not object to my “conduct, character and associations” and will let me in.

I’ve spent the entire week applying for a passport (hence the silence). To pry a passport out of the cheap, unwilling fingers of the Kenyan government requires 30 working days if you are lucky. Seeing as I had just under a week, molehills and mountains had to be moved, oceans parted and multitudes had to be fed with five loaves and two fish, a tale for another day. Fascinating fact: Even if you’re dying the best they can do is one week!

Suffice it to say if I see an indefatigable car labelled KACA indefatigably pulling up at the office gates I will surreptitiously effect a silent, ninja-like exit from my office window and lower myself to the ground with my shoelaces because they undoubtedly would be anxious to have a word with me over the events of the week.

In my back pocket is a shiny new passport I secured in exactly 22 hours and 34 minutes. The yellow fever vaccine has left me feeling like I have ran two marathons back to back. I ache in places I didn’t know I had.

Anyway, I will be in Gaborone, Botswana for a couple of weeks. If I can convince my camera to work I’ll see what I can do when I intentionally get lost in the streets of Gaborone. After life in Kenya’s system ya majambazi I dare say I can survive. As for blogging I can’t promise anything so try not to get them voodoo effigies of me and drive pins into them!

Flexx - Nyundo

When it comes to heartbreaking stories, the news yesterday was on a roll.

The first was of a stepfather who had raped his young stepdaughter. The mother promptly took the matter to court after seeing her daughter to hospital but to her amazement her reception at home was that of an outcast. Her relatives objected to her presence and after failing to convince her to drop the case, threw her out.

While I was trying to swallow the lump of my throat another one came. This time a neighbourhood idler sexually assaulted a small boy. The said small boy was shown on TV walking with great difficulty. As I’m struggling to digest this the bombshell dropped — the man was to be released on bail and promptly return to his old haunts and his boyz.

The biggest WTF moment was when it was drawn to my attention that when it comes to being an ass, Kenyan law stands head and shoulders above all others. We won’t go into assaults before policemen or shooting others and being released after you apologize. Those are chump change compared to this revelation that I heard from a lawyer:

The poor boy’s mother could not believe it, and very emotionally made it quite plain that if she was not going to get justice, she was going to kill him herself.

Not having gotten to the stage of my life when many little voices address me as “daddy” I cannot pretend to even remotely comprehend what was going through the mother’s mind. I cannot even start to imagine it, nor do I want to. But I feel very confident that if I were in her shoes the only action to be taken is just one:

I will personally hunt him down and break his fucking neck.

Screw the law, screw due process and screw his human rights. Anyone who assaults innocent, defenceless children automatically forfeits any human rights he may have had (seeing as he is barely human to begin with).

This by the way extends to any Michael Jackson-esque characters, fully grown men who have other people’s children in their beds. You have no business being in bed with other people’s children! Much as I am a fan of MJ’s music the instant I heard the man took other people’s children to bed he was already guilty.

The Nairobi Women’s Hospital in Hurlingham, that treats victims of sexual violence needs your help to continue its operations. Some of its sponsors are pulling out and the hospital needs your support to keep treating those of us unfortunate enough to suffer sexual violence. Do what you can to support these selfless people in this very noble cause.

Les Nubians - Makeda

Duly inspired my Mshairi and Mental, I have to stand up and be counted

There once was a chap named Christopher,
who filled a good deal of a sofa.
Who one day was told,
put your plans on hold
if you want to travel to Britain.

Increase that day did his sweating,
as he sat there sullenly regretting,
saying sadly to himself,
“Oh how I am unlucky,
not to buy a new rubber ducky“

Christopher thought it was a disaster,
that Kenyans were rolling in laughter,
singing “rub-a-dub dub,
you fell in a tub,
and now your body is a bump“

And enter Mwakwere the Minister,
looking disjointed, shifty and sinister,
who created a whole mess,
on the strength of an SMS,
that hostages in Iraq where freed.

He opened his mouth and let loose,
and put his neck straight in a noose,
and left no doubt,
that he really knows nought,
when it comes down to diplomacy.

So Christopher assembled his lawyers,
and said to us all “Look before ya,
I’m really as sure, as I know my manure,
that very soon, I hope, I’ll be off to Europe
And run my ministry remotely“

Beverly Craven - Promise Me

What was Kenya’s leadership doing instead of standing shoulder to shoulder with the still tearful, still traumatized Kenyan victims of the August 7 bombing?

Blowing hot air from their considerably large blow holes about some nonsense visa.

NOT ONE government official showed up at the commemoration ceremony.

Public money that will be wasted filing court cases in the defence of large sweaty gentlemen with a penchant for falling in bathrooms and shopping at Harrods I feel would be better spent getting treatment for some of the victims that still bear the trauma today.

I work hard from 8:30 to 5:00 and at times up to 7:00 so that my hard earned money will be deducted for people masquerading as leaders to get their grubby hands on my hard earned cash to waste it on spurious expenses like challenging decisions sovereign states have a right to make rather than improving the lot of our people.

Why oh why are we cursed with these self seeking, utterly selfish Gadarene swine?

I for one would not shed a tear if every one of our MPs emulated the Gadarene swine and run off a cliff. Our leadership, ladies and gentlemen, is a chocolate teapot — utterly useless!

Michael Andrews - Mad World

Recent events in the diplomatic arena have led to some rumination: that of the drawers of what is the Kibaki cabinet few leave any doubt that in the intelligence department it is doubtful they would be smart enough to hit the water if they fell out of a boat.

Chris Murungaru, Njeru Ndwiga, Ali Mwakwere and indeed a good chunk of the August House need to get over themselves as soon as possible and realize that double digit IQs are immediately apparent to external observers, discerning or not — they have no need to be exhibited repeatedly. If anyone had doubts that MPs misguidedly think a good deal of themselves these doubts ought to be put to rest by recent utterances they make.

• Chris Murungaru swears to defend his “human rights”. (Shopping at Tiffany’s comes immediately before food, shelter and clothing in the hierarchy).
• Njeru Ndwiga thinks an economy that has a GDP of billions of dollars will throw tantrums at losing the odd coins that Kenyan tenders would provide, and that they would be so incensed that they would ban an insignificant (not literally you understand) cog in the global stage from setting it’s (the cog) sweaty foot on it’s (the economy) soils. This ban will inexplicably open the doors for floodgates of said tenders. So convinced is he that the British populace is pining and withering away in his absence that he strikes a mortal blow to them by depriving them of his company , daring the Home Office to revoke his visa.
• Ali Mwakwere opens his mouth and leave little doubt that prerequisite qualifications to run the foreign affairs ministry are as welcoming and all encompassing as they can get — at minimum you must have a pulse and opposable thumbs. Anyone unfamiliar with the term ‘oxymoron’ needs to listen to this gentleman ask for diplomacy with language that turns the air immediately around him blue for miles. (Credentials to head the Foreign Affairs Ministry can be sourced at Uchumi, Nakumatt or indeed any nearby kiosk)
• Assorted half witted MPs (sadly, the higher quartile in the IQ department of the August House) detect some colonial connotations in the actions. They try (and fail) to explain what is colonial about banning a man from visiting your premises.

Personally i am of the opinion that my house is my sanctuary and I can decide at whim who can and who cannot visit mi casa. What’s more, I do not owe any explanations to anyone. And it is ludicrous for you to sue me because i have refused you access to my house!

Gentlemen (and i use the term very loosely) you do not, repeat, DO NOT have a right to a visa, not to the UK, not to the US, not to Papua New Guinea, not to Surinamme. You do not even have the right to visit a shack in the Kibera slums.

Being a cabinet minister may impress your friends, relatives and livestock here but it holds little or no water beyond that, and still far less abroad, especially factoring in that practically a third of the entire August House are also ministers. Being a minister has become like owning a mobile phone — everyone has one. Beyond your immediate family, friends and admirers (both of them), no one cares whether you are the Minister of Security, the Minister of Transport or the Minister of Livestock with Two or More Feet, so don’t be shocked when your crowd of followers shrinks to the security officials at Tiffany’s who keep you from abstracting items you would rather not pay for.

Unless your job description changed, or there is a Minister’s Exchange Program in operation, your duties are confined to offering services to the people of Kenya. You’ll have to try a lot harder to convince us that surreptitious trips to Britain are part and parcel of your duties.

August Jinx
- Dr John Garang RIP
- King Fahd RIP
- Robin Cook RIP

Fela Kuti - Lady