tHiNkEr’S rOoM

One of the unfortunate side effects of rising in the ranks is the introduction to the murky world of meetings. A cursory look at my Outlook Calendar is all I need for my heart to be engulfed with despair.

My personal preference when it comes to meetings is not to have them at all. And if we have to have them, let them be brief and to the point. Of course the problem is that people who enjoy meetings have very generous interpretations of the ideas of “short” and “to the point”.

Angst in the feeling I get when assorted individuals show up, pens, paper and notebooks in hand, ready for their fix of meeting. I have tried all manner of passive resistance including carrying nothing at all into meetings, but needless to say my compatriots are unmoving and unmoved.

It is an especially bad sign to see people carrying laptops and such into meetings and proceeding to open them up. This generally means that there will be several breaks of several minutes while desperate attempts are made to open spreadsheets that graphically display fascinating statistics, like 3 out of every 4 people consist of 75% of the population.

There is always the hope of a light scandal when a forgetful presenter opens a browser and then clicks the address bar to type HSBC.com. After hitting the first H the browser, ever eager to please, promptly drops down a lengthy list of recently visited sites that start with H, and among them is something looking suspiciously like hotcat.com.

In this era of flash disks, chances of embarrassment can grow exponentially. Some weeks ago a chap proudly brought the flash disk containing his presentation and merrily plugged it in to my laptop. Windows Vista, for those yet to experience it, takes the idea of large icons and thumbnails to extreme lengths. So our friend’s flash-disk happily mounted and automatically opened in explorer. Without wasting time, Vista happily chugged through the contents of the flash disk and generated enormous thumbnails of the assorted movie clips and JPEGs in said folder. I motioned urgently to the distracted chap who was having a side conversation off the the side but no cigar.

Vista ruthlessly chomped through all the rich, multimedia content on the flash disk and generated enormous thumbnails on the screen which were promptly relayed via a projector to the large projector screen where stunned attendees to the meeting took in the rich collection of thumbnails, involving a pair of individuals in, at first glance, physically impossible positions engaged in activities that are encouraged to be restricted to the institution of matrimony, and even then, behind the privacy of locked doors.

When the chap turned, and his horrified eyes took in the tableau, he provided ample demonstration that contrary to popular belief, we men of Negroid disposition with rich, dark, chocolaty skin actually can blush.

Or this a meeting I had not too long ago. A small meeting, just 10 or so of us. We were seated at 3 (meeting was scheduled for 2) and the host, naturally, was late. We were about to pack it in when there was a commotion at the door and the host burst powerfully into the room. On his face was a benevolent smile. On his lips a hearty greeting. On the front of his trousers was a conspicuous stain. Spilling from the top of his trousers was his ample stomach apparatus and shirt tails.

The source of his good cheer, I discovered shortly after he sat down at my elbow, was not his inherent good nature. It was,to be precise, East Africa Breweries Limited of Ruaraka, Nairobi. He had found himself urgently in need of the “crisp, clean bite” offered by Smirnoff Black ice and had partaken of a very liquid lunch. I may have suspected it initially but I confirmed it the instant he clapped a heavy arm around my elbow and bellowed a greeting in my face. The alcohol in his breath watered my eyes and disinfected my face.

The warm, moist, alcohol laced breath tried and failed to hide the fact whatever lunch he had had, its constituent parties were obscured by the powerful presence of onions and garlic.

In capacity of meeting chair, I rallied my forces and tried to make the best of a bad situation. I had just opened the proceeding and was moving a motion for confirmation of previous minutes to be carried out when our host let out, in a rich baritone, a stentorian belch that shook the rafters and sent birds in a nearby tree fleeing for safety.

I pride myself as a man that can weather storms but it took me all of five seconds to rally my forces and soldier on with a brisk introduction, issuing threats of physical violence to any of the muscles and brain cells that are stakeholders in the activities of laughter.

I then asked if anyone had any objections to the previous meeting’s minutes. Our host’s objection was difficult to misconstrue.  A sound reminiscent of that of a canvas sail tearing issued noisily from the region in the neighborhood of the seat of his trousers.

The sound seemed to go on for hours. The birds in the tree outside that had returned now fled for good, diving swiftly for the ground in an attempt to avoid what they were sure was anti-aircraft machine gun fire. The window panes rattled. And as if to confirm our worst fears, assorted pungent gaseous compounds of sulphur wafted over us like waves of troops storming the Normandy Beaches.

A wise man knows when he is defeated. Throwing the tradition of captains going down with the ship to the windows I muttered a quick excuse and on winged feet made for the exit.

I pride myself on the fact that the door had fully closed behind me before the Katrina of laughter welling up inside burst forth with venom and I laughed myself to tears.

FLICK OF THE DAY

Beyonce Dives Face First Into Concrete Then Recovers

PIC OF THE DAY

GROAN OF THE DAY

What did the first Earthquake say to the second Earthquake? It wasn’t my fault! (Via one Chrenyan)

 SWV - Right Here

So I got arrested the other day.

Perhaps I jump the gun a bit. Now that Roberta is in the shop, with strange men fiddling with her delicate bits, I am forced to deploy my trusty two stroke, two  piston engine and do quite a bit of walking.

I don’t mind this. Those who know me well know that I have many problems, but fitness is not one of them.

So there I am in town. I have just had an excellent lunch and am making my way to the Kencom stage.

So far so good.

I see the City Hoppa I need to board to return to the office round the bend of the stage. I am the wrong side of the railing between the stage and the road.

Again, for those who know me will appreciate that being vertically challenged is again not one of my problems.

And so, if you are long of limb and swift of foot and fit of body, and in your way is a pesky raining, I did the only reasonable thing that could be done. With a quick hop I was over the railing and in a few milliseconds I was going to be again firmly grounded like a cat.

 
Kencom Stage

It is at this point the person with the biggest sense of humour, God, pulled another one out of his hat to keep the multitudes in heaven from getting bored in their state of “eternity”.

Before my feet touched the ground two hands attached themselves powerfully to my trousers and a third to the scruff of my neck and I found myself being marched smartly across the road by three men.

“Kijana,” gruffly spake the first(He with fingers round scruff of my neck) . “We are arresting you. It is an offence to jump over the fence.”

My outrage leapt into action.

“Human being of Negroid disposition please! Says who? Since when?” (Outrage also needs to be politically correct)

“Says the city council and since last week!” The speaker said without breaking stride.

Finally were across the road and I was pushed towards the city council Black Maria.

At this point let me break off at a tangent and school the ignorant.

In the Nairobi CBD be very wary of a white police Land Rover, with NCBDA on the side. This is the Black Maria preferred by the police. If you see this thing RUN FORREST … RUN! Because 4 times out of 3 you will find yourself being beckoned over, and unless you have 200 reasons why not, you will find yourself being hoisted by the back of your trousers into the back.

The best view: Black Maria Leaving

Like a black hole, the back of the Black Maria contains more than the size of the Black Maria itself. So from outside it looks like a mere Land Rover but once in the back you will be surprised to find there are 28 other people in there, some sacks, furniture and assorted domesticated livestock. It is rumoured that the Black Maria can arrest everyone in the CBD and there will be room.

But I digress.

The City Council’s version of the Black Maria, Black Wilmina is no Land Rover. It is actually a tiny white Datsun van, but with no less capacity. And without further ado I was encouraged to find some room within to accommodate my frame.

The first order of business was a quick “Nice one guy!” to The Man upstairs. While objecting to being the source of the hilarity in Heaven, I give credit where it is due and The Man is a master of the craft.

The next order of business, as advised by Sun Tzu, is to know thine terrain. Reading from left to right were as follows:

• 3 (three) hawker
• 1 (one) jay walker
• 1 (one) litter-er
• 1 (one) Fence hopper
• 1 (one) Spitter
• 2 (two) Council Askaris

The man then spoke again.

“Climbing the railing is a fine of 3,500. Do you have that on you?”

I consulted the mental books of accounts. As usual it was unaware and uninterested in my cash in hand position. A physical examination of my wallet resulted in the following

• Innumerable receipts
• Several shilling coins
• A few business cards
• A passport photograph
• 450 shillings in 50 bob notes
• String of indeterminate origin

“Well … no. What happens now?”

“We proceed to Makongeni police station and you can be presented in court tomorrow morning.”

At that juncture I arrived in what is called a dilemma

• I was horrified at the idea of being in a situation where I am trying not to drop the soap on the floor
• I had an urge to burst into laughter at the idea of a judge with a solid 4 years in campus and 8 more years trying to get his wig sitting down to listen to the case of “M jumped over a railing”.

Needless to say this was not a course of action I was willing to see to its logical conclusion.

“Hold on there … ” I said easily looking for my best smile. “Do we need to go all that way? I mean …”

“Do you have 3,500?”

“Well no, but …”

BANG!

The back of the van was slammed shut and without further ado it lurched into action.

One of the askaris said:

“If anyone has 1,000 bob it ends here.”

But one of us, as it was, had that sort of money.

It was with great relied that i produced my phone and called for rescue. Relief from the fact that I had reset my credit limit that very morning after exceeding it and being cut off the night before.

Help was far away and would take 20 or so minutes to materialize.

I asked the askari if his friend at the wheel could develop lighter feet for 20 minutes. He assured me that was not possible. Makogeni or burst!

It is said that challenging times like these show us what we are made of. That if we stand firm truth and justice would prevail. That men of principle would stand firm and triumph.

I had no time to wait for truth, justice and certainly not principle.

I had very little time to develop Lima Syndrome on the part of the Askaris, and did not waste time getting started. I won’t tell you exactly how I did it (or everyone will be doing it and hence it will be useless to me!) but I can at least share some of the interesting tidbits I got from Mathenge and Okul (the two guards)

1. It is an offence to cross a road without using a Zebra crossing
2. It is an offence to shout in town.
3. If you are wondering how they measure, it is at the discretion of the Askari
4. If you are seen past 10 in the company of a female, it is assumed you are soliciting and he is an itinerant trader peddling assorted services.
5. Hooting in town can get you arrested
6. “Making noise” is an arrestable offence (Which means MPs should consider the CBD out of bounds)
7. Hawkers are the most screwed of the lot because
• It is an offence to hawk merchandise in town
• It is illegal to carry the paper bags they carry their merchandise in
• Those who sell sweets for instance are trebly screwed because they are selling plastic
8. The City Council is making a KILLING out all the fines, enough to sustain their operations
9. Councilors have a very dim view of MPs
10. It is an offence to uproot or in any way maim any of the plants city council has planted
11. The City Council is looking for more things to make offences round the clock

Finally after a long chat Anania Tom Barasa (the shotgun name conjured up when asked) was helped by Okul and Mathenge, my new friends to alight from the van. They happily bade me a good evening replete with cheer and goodwill to all men, and warned me if I really wished to jump over poles there were establishments whose center attraction was indeed a number of poles.

I nodded sagely and thanked them for arresting me. It was, I told them, precisely the sort of reminder I needed for the lesson to be learnt. I encouraged them to keep at it until Kenyans stopped leaping willy-nilly over railings.

The 400 bob I benevolently contributed to their children’s education fund was very well received.

FLICK OF THE DAY

 Notorious B.I.G & Bone Thugs -N- Harmony - Spit Your Game

[Special Shout Out to Salome]

Unlike most of my brethren, my interest in cars begins and ends in their exterior. We can debate whether the VW Touareg indeed looks better than the BMW X5, or whether the S Class looks better than the 5 Series.

Once you pop the bonnet you are pretty much dead to me. I know the general principle  of how a petrol engine works vis a vis a diesel engine, but after that I don’t give a flying rat’s ass precisely which bits do what. I cannot tell you a V8 from a V 12 from a VW. I cannot tell you the difference between mineral water and battery water. I don’t know a piston from a pistol.

Petrol station attendants across Nairobi can attest to some wild haired, wild eyed feller in a RVR who after filling his tank waves absently in the general direction of the front of his car, pops the bonnet and cheerfully gives vague instructions to “Have a look see.”

Roberta

This fly by the pants approach invariably is doomed to failure and this Monday Roberta began to automatically switch herself off whenever I shifted to a lower gear. As you can imagine it is a very merry drive coasting down the highway with a car that is off.

As Kenyans, the definition of a split second is something we can claim as our own.It is the period between something going wrong with your car and the jackass behind you letting loose with his horn.

Kenyan motorists did not disappoint.Very sure that I have a death wish and that I am switching my car off deliberately at inopportune moments, like negotiating a roundabout, they let loose with their horns and flashing lights.

Being a man committed to fellowship with his fellow man, I did not want them to feel as if I was ignoring them. I did my best to respond to each irate hoot. FIDA, Maendeleo Ya Wanawake and Maendeleo Ya Wanaume will be glad to know I did not discriminate. My right arm worked overtime. If you hooted I saluted.

But I am but a human being and cannot attend to all of you at once.

So if you were hooting at a stalled green RVR on Monday morning and somehow did not receive acknowledgement, my apologies. Here it is:

In case you missed it

After much gymnastics and coaching, and close to 7,000 one fingered salutes, I limped Roberta into the garage closest to the office.

Friendly Lady: What seems to be the problem
M: (Alighting from Roberta and massaging sore right arm) Keeps going off. I think I need more battery acid.
Friendly Lady: You mean an engine tune up?
M: Right. What did I say?
Friendly Lady: Err …
M: While you’re at it, have a look at the Mzima, GWs, amniotic fluid …
Friendly Lady: What?!
M: What did I say? I mean springs, bushes, battery fluid,  and all that jazz.
Friendly Lady: Aha. No problem

Still massaging my sore arm (sticking it out the windows repeatedly in salute is harder than it looks) I strolled to the office and an hour later I was summoned to receive the report of things wrong with the car.

Listening to the friendly lady talking took me back to days of yore, standing in the hot sun listening to the headmaster going on and on and on and on like 3 energizer bunnies. Reading from a sheaf of papers stapled together, she listed at length all the things wrong with Roberta. Finally, after several breathless minutes, she was done, and then she and the 3 mechanics looked at me expectably.

“Oho,” I told them finally. “Well,” I continued philosophically, “Let me look on the bright side. Did you find anything wrong with the radio?”

“The radio?” Friendly lady said. “No. The radio’s fine.”

“And the body? Do I need a new body?”

“No, no!”

“Excellent. At least there’s something in that doesn’t need to be replaced.”

I then pointed to a bump and some scratches on Roberta’s flank, the results of a disagreement she had with a wall. I take full responsibility, and i admit i was responsible for goading Roberta into trying to park in a very narrow inclined parking between two solid walls, with the solid experience of a single driving lesson. Needless to say, Roberta lost the argument to the wall.

At this point the boss, a gentleman who can trace his ancestry to the Indian subcontinent stepped forwards and after much holding of the chin and murmuring to himself wrote me a quote.

Panel beating: 7,500
Front plastic mounting: 8,500
Front door painting: 8,500
Rear door painting: 8,000
VAT: 5,200
Net total: 32,500

Santa Claus could have taken lessons from me on how to laugh heartily. The mechanics and their bosses watched in disbelief as a son of his father laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Finally I wiped the tears and addressed my new friend.

Cannabis in full bloom

“My son, cannabis sativa is not your friend. Really. It is bad for you. First of all, why does it cost more to paint the rear door than it does the front door? And secondly,The only time I’ll pay 35k for panel beating is if you are panel beating my personal Aircraft Carrier. Until then I suggest you take that quote, sprinkle it with chili, a bit of cheese and some tomato, roll it up tightly, season it delicately with pepper and aromat, turn that bad boy sideways and shove is straight up [THUNDER STRUCK AT THIS POINT], m’kay?”

“So,” friendly lady said, “About the repairs…”

“Ah yes, about that. You want me to get two rear shocks, each at 12,500?”

“Er … yes, those are the best.”

“Indeed. And apart from making my car feel like a Roman chariot, do these shocks do anything else? Play piped music? Solve Sudoku riddles? Transform into Autobots? Do the crossword? Sing ballads?”

Kwik Fit’s Magic Shocks

“No,” she said grudgingly.

“Then let us revise that preposterous figure.”

After much discussion I left them to work. They had promised to be done by close of Monday but i told them “take your time, my friends. Take your time. I will collect Roberta tomorrow.”

And the following day I did collect Roberta, who was even freshly washed.

And less than an hour later I was parked on the side of Mombasa road, turning the air blue for miles and startling birds away from their roosts as I expressed myself firmly at considerable length to the Friendly Lady.

Because the garage had completely wrecked Roberta’s engine … CONT’D

PIC OF THE DAY

 Lupe Fiasco & Jill Scott - Daydreams

As I have said time and time again, formidable is the individual whose construction was overseen by XX chromosomes. Scholars, philosophers and idlers have applied themselves from time immemorial to the problem of understanding the woman.

They failed.

It is no coincidence that in Chess the Queen has free reign over the board while the lumbering King is somewhat hobbled.

 

And yet even today we have misguided individuals believing fondly that they have mastered the daughter of Eve. Futile is the effort to convince them otherwise.

A classic example is my lad we’ll call Jimmy.

Jimmy is one of these armchair philosophers convinced he has his finger on the pulse of everything relevant to contemporary existence. He believes that given sufficient time, he will understand the female in her entirety.

I am reminded of a situation quite some time back that he came to renounce his convictions and join my fellowship.

We were at some amorphous gathering, whose place, time and purpose I cannot immediately recall. I was with the (at the time) missus, Michelle, and he was with his, let’s call her Carol. With us was another good lady whom we shall call Helen.

Before I proceed, a side note: one of the first things a wise man with token knowledge of the female should know, is that when it comes to dealing with women, they are like Pirates Of the Caribbean, or Lord of the Rings, or the Matrix. Granted, they always make things hum, are generally exotic and will keep you coming back for more, but those are not the only parallels that can be drawn.

The parallel I wish to draw your attention to is that you will generally have to deal with them in threes. There will always be two friends to contend with. This is more the case when the relationship is at the stage just before “and then there was light, and the garden of Eden”. This was precisely the situation with Jimmy and Carol.

Carol was Jimmy’s target, and he was just about to cross the finish line. But in the process of wooing Carol, he was forced by some weird Female Code of Conduct © ™ better known as the FCC © ™, to impress Carol’s best friends, which happened to be Michelle and Helen. You understand I’ve not actually read the FCC, nor would I wish to. One Pandora is a Pandora too many. But from what I gather is that prior to you securing the affections of Miss X, you must be thoroughly vetted and approved by friends of X, Y and Z, hereafter known as the 300.

This is not optional. Failure to go through with this time hallowed torture agony rite of passage will mean that you will end up playing solitaire with yourself because even your computer will have nothing to do with you. If you want to secure the pearl, you must also secure the friends of pearl.

This was especially the case with this trio. Boy did the 300 make me jump through hoops! If I were a Persian general, and given the choice between these three and 1000 of the original 300, I would take the original 300 any day.

Well read intelligent women in addition to knowing about Maslow’s triangle and supply and demand, also know things like Chinese water torture and psychological warfare.

But I digress.

Despite my persistent warnings, Jimmy was convinced that he not only had Carol down to a T, he also had Michelle and Helen down to the same. As I privately appealed passionately to him to humble himself minutes before, I described his attitude as catatonic foolishness. I might as well have tried to appeal to Njenga Karume with a copy of Einstein’s Relativity: The Special and the General Theory (Penguin Classics). Smiling kindly at my naivete he grabbed my arm and gently pulled me towards the door, mumbling something about us being late.

It was not for long before Jimmy’s tapestry began to unravel.

Some chap, with a polite excuse me, passed between our little group and went on his way.

Helen, the unattached one, spoke thus:

“Wow! Who was that?”

As an old hand reading danger in the air, I surreptitiously took a few steps back. So surreptitiously that my feet did not actually move. I then grabbed Jimmy and attempted to pull him back.

But he would have none of that and shrugged off my hand and stepped close to the trio.

“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “But I’ve seen him around a few times.”

“Odd looking but cute I suppose,” Helen said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Carol agreed heartily, she then turned to Michelle and received a nod of agreement. Carol then turned to Jimmy to get his opinion. Michelle turned to get mine but by that time, after much experience, I was an old hand and I was already crouched and hiding behind a dustbin.

Jimmy stared back bluntly.

“What?”

“Well, what do you think of that guy? Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Jimmy threw back his head and his laughter shook the leaves of the trees.

“What a preposterous question!” The fool scoffed smugly. “You’re asking me … ME … if I find another man handsome? Of course not!”

I whispered a quick prayer for my foresight and for Jimmy’s fate as he plunged headlong towards his doom.

The trio came closer.

“So,” Michelle said with the sweet voice I knew very well was the precursor to a finishing move (Mortal Kombat fans will understand that one), “What you’re saying is that he is ugly?”

“Yes. I mean … er … ” Jimmy said comfortably, but with that much less bravado. “All I am saying is that I can hardly be expected to have an opinion on another man’s looks. I don’t go around looking at people and classifying them as beautiful or not. For God’s sake, these are people, not pieces of meat. Besides, beauty is not black and white. You know what they say … one man’s … er … meat …”

“Uh huh,” Carol absently put her hands on her hips in the classic battle stance. Upon hearing her voice I pulled up my knees, put my chin on them and tightly grabbed my head the way they tell you to to it in the event of a plane crash. “You of course realize that if you think he’s ugly it says something about my taste in men. About you actually. Are you telling me I have poor taste?”

“No no no!” An edge of panic had crept into his usually suave voice. “That’s not what I meant at all, you have impeccable taste. Truly first class!”

“What, for instance, do you think of Michelle? Do you think she’s beautiful?”

The silent scream of warning I let out was only heard by dogs in the next yard. Having set up the noose, Jimmy proceeded to put his neck in it, step off the bucket and kick it away.

“Michelle? Oh absolutely!” The fool gushed. “Quite, quite so …” His eloquence faded as he suddenly noticed that they were smiling at him very strangely indeed.

Jimmy was suddenly under a devastating barrage of fire.

“I thought you said  people were not pieces of meat,” Michelle said kindly.

“Yes, and I thought you said beauty is not black and white … what colour is it now?” Helen said smiling.

The shot that downed Fort Jimmy came from Carol herself.

“And for exactly how long have you been looking at Michelle and how long did it take you to classify her as beautiful? Are you still classifying her?”

Wild eyed and desperate, Jimmy looked around for a friendly face. I resolutely crouched further behind the bin. It is not a light decision to forsake a brother in his hour of need, with three cock crows echoing around him.

Discretion, after all is the better part of valour. Wise men know which battles to pick and which to run screaming from.

Suffice it to say it was a much humbled Jimmy that emerged from that exchange much later.

As we departed he drew me aside with new found respect.

“Dude,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “Teach me, O master. Enlighten me in the ways of the M. How the hell do you always manage to not be there when things become sticky?”

“Simple my son,” I said kindly to him as we walked (considerably) behind our significant others. “The first step is realizing that you must always avoid combat. Why? 11 times out of 10, if you are in a battle with a daughter of Eve, you are in a losing battle …”

PIC/GROAN OF THE DAY

I’ve been laughing at this for the past half an hour

 

 Bone Thugs -N- Harmony - Days Of Our Lives