Haidhuru

As the saying goes “Ngoma itũrĩkagio nĩ gũthinjĩrwo” i.e. “Indulgence exacerbates craziness”(WI, 2006) or directly translated “craziness becomes worse when you feed it/ slaughter animals to feed it”

This is well-fed craziness.

D is for directions

Km ask for directions: 1 point
Others don’t. They prefer to ride around lost for hours: 0 points

Km on the other hand, ask for directions in a way that leaves even the person from whom directions are being sought confused. Picture the scene. You’ve been looking for his aunt’s house for hours. You’re tired. Hungry. And you now have to pee. So you finally tell him to just quit it and ask “that guy” who’s selling three legged stools how to get to Ngatika. So he rolls down the window, leans over your shoulder and proceeds to confuse the hell out of the poor guy.

See Km don’t ask “How do I get to Nyatiks?” and leave it at that. Noooo… after being told to “go straight, past the Kenol, curve with the road, past the harambee school and then ask for directions there… ” Km proceeds to ask “Lakini si there used to be a road, with coffee trees on both sides that Kenyatta once passed through that will take me past the dam, over a wooden bridge and there’s a mama who sells samosas there?”… So stool-selling-pedestrian racks his brain until you can almost hear CPU sijui RAM quickly doing search and replace and he concurs tentatively … “For the truth, I think that you’re right. I remember that during the coup in 82, we passed through a road like that. How did we used to go? Ebu hold on I ask Mwangi… (aside) Mwangi, you remember that road that we used during 82? How did we go… OK… you have to go back to the primary school in Macegeca and the road that usually takes you to KyaMicheal. But you won’t take that road…. No wait… (another aside) Atĩrĩrĩ Mwangi, that road for Kihumbu wasn’t it made into a dam? OK… you won’t take that one… Now how shall I tell you to go? You know what, there’s a guy who lives in that house over there- he drives a bus for Jogoo-Kimakia, ebu ask him because I can’t remember…”
For confusing the man giving you directions, I give Km a demerit: -1 points
Others: “ I know a short cut… ” [insert long, long rambling scenic-route seeing drive in circles]… “This is the shortcut”
Others=0.

Total (this round) Km=0, Others 0:

E is for Eloquence

Or lack thereof.

Specifically when referring to a lady that you adore. You know how it goes. You ask an otherwise articulate Km “You love that squeeze ama?” and He’s like “She’s sawa”. Or when talking to the folks “She’s not bad” (translated from the vernacular)… At best, you might overhear him say “Yeah, I pendad the squeeze” (always in the past tense). Declarations of love usually revolve around him referring to you, when refuting the fact that his feelings to you might be trivial as “Zai- that’s wifey”… Ah, that highest accolade that Km offer “Wife”. Kenyan men declare themselves with statements like: “I would sell all my fertile land and be left with the dry leeward side for you” . Or, if you’re at a party, to show that he adores, just might tell his younger brother to “take the car keys and take her home and yes it’s burning gas petrol, but if I cannot waste petrol for her, who then? ” .

Other Men on the other hand use words like ‘adore’ and ‘love’. Like I was taken aback the very first time a man, in broad day-light, not in the throes of passion (as we all give excess vibes then) was like “Muts, I love you. You are [fill in conversation that would make a Mills and Boon reader proud]”. Of course, what’s a Kenyan to think? Yup you guessed it “What have you done, and is she on her way here right now to confess it to me and that’s why you’re being … ermm… you know?”… and next thought being “Oh my God!! I’m so glad we always used a condom”… It’s very different when a man says (and in front of witnesses sometimes!!!!) how in love he is.

But before I catch grief for this, this is not to say that Km don’t love. Noooooo. It’s just that actual mentioning of the word “love” (in English) is usually done by earing-wearing, probably corn-rowed or blond-haired, distressed-denim-wearing-sorry but I don’t speak-Swahili- very suspect Kenyan chaps in my experience. It’s time to mainstream this custom reg’lar Kms!!!!

For succinctness I give Km 1 for words to make you cry, I give the other team 2.

This round: Km 1: Others 2

Wah!!! This English Alphabet is looooonngggg….. I should have used the Xhosa one.

And now, in my used to be customary alphabet soup fashion, I bring you *ta da* “The difference between Kenyan men and normal men”

A is for Alarm Clock

i.e. the electronic (or mechanical for those who don’t mind that gaddamn tick-tock Hickory dickory dock nonsense noise made as the second hand makes its way up the clock) gadget called an “alarm clock”. For other men, this is a device to wake him up in the morning. To Kenyan Men (Km not to be confused with KM), it’s a device that wakes me up so that I can then in turn wake him up (preferably with other parts of my anatomy- clenched fist smacking his back vigorously not included!).

Now logically, you’d expect that after a year of this two-step activity, he’d allow the woman to have it on her side right? Noooooo. It’s always “No, no, no, no, no… I have an early morning meeting”. OK, then. If I had it on my side, it’d make it much easier for me to hit the snooze button and I wouldn’t have to reach over you!!! Then again, it just might be a genius, genius move… Now I think of it, if I may quote the Guiness commercial, that’s “Brilliant!”

Kenyan Men 1: Others 0

B is for- what else? Blow Job (and not of the Katrina kind)

Some nationalities have developed a tendre for Southern Affairs. I actually know of one person who is such a connoisseur of the kitties, that he’s developed a palate. Envision him tasting and pinpointing the year that particular vintage (or rotgut) was produced so there’s no way the 32 year old mama is passing herself off as a 25 year old young ‘un. Nope! Dude goes down on you and he.will.know “Ati 1982? Stop your jokes! But not to worry, 1969 was a very good year”

Km, on the other hand are almost Hassidic Jew-ish in their insistence on kosher kitty. Biggest complaint? That our recreational area is too close to a waste disposal site (gross I know), OR that they’re Kikuyu and they don’t eat fish *smh*, that it’s “Un-African” and when you pointedly glance at their PDAs and Harvard Law degrees they shrug and say that “the only foreplay they need is buying you pints from the bar”.

Kenyan Men 0: Others 1

C is for Condom

I reprise this story which must be true as it was on the internet

Make special condoms for Africans - Kajembe By Daniel Nyassy
Changamwe legislator, Mr Ramadhan Seif Kajembe, has called on companies manufacturing condoms to consider making special condoms for African men. Kajembe alleged that the condoms currently in the market were “weak” and meant for white men who were “more gentle” than their African counterparts.
“The African is more ferocious. He needs a tougher thing than the condoms in the market,” Kajembe said.
The Kanu MP claimed that despite the widespread use of condoms, HIV/Aids infections were on the increase since condoms in the Kenyan market kept on rupturing. He said due to the type of food Africans eat, they were “more energetic” and required tougher, improved latex condoms. “With the nyama choma, githeri, ugali and other African foods we eat, these condoms are not tough enough,” he said. The MP made the remarks at Changamwe/Bokole where he unveiled the Bokole-Scope road repair project.

Kenyan men 1: Others 0

So far the score is Km 2: others 1 but we still have 23 more letters to go… See you at D, M and V.

KBW is a finalist on the 2006 Black weblogs awards!!!! in the category of Best Blog Community. You all know what to do so get cracking!

P.S.
Peep the international category- it has one of our favorite bloggers!

Is it me or is the Economist beginning to sound like Bush era error apologist and a pimp for Anglo-American carnal relationships? And a tad (just a little bit!) pontifying towards the unwashed (Southern) masses and diplaying double standards on the cost of brown life?

Hmmmm….

UB sure ‘bout that?
So I’m at the public library trying to make sure that my budget sustained by my anorexic non-profit paycheck stays balanced (“Will-not-buy-any-more-books” is my mantra) and I’m also borrowing CDs. So I get an uncut Bob Marley CD and proceed to checkout and this stereotypical librarian (old, sweet white woman with glasses on a string presumably wearing comfortable shoes) peeps the CD and says “I love reggae. But I like the good stuff like UB40 and not Bob Marley”. Errm… OK.

Bust the myth why dontcha?!
aka “the no opportunity ever wasted friend”. So I’m talking to my boy and apparently it exists. That (un)holy grail- the perfect pussy (PP). My boy apparently found it and he is a changed man. Like really. According to him, it’s not just in the moistness and the very snug almost oppressively tight fit- it’s also in the softness (apparently, men can feel the texture of the various cell membranes through latex… hmmm) and the shape of said PP that accommodates some curvature to the left thing that’s going on with him (I mean, at this level of TMI detail, I was like “Keep it moving braddyf*cking”). I’d be happy for him if he hadn’t dissed Kikuyu mamas as he was like “This chick- it’s the full vagina dialogue- as opposed to Kikuyu mamas that’s a vagina soliloquy”… Punk! So at the end of it, when I’m like “yeah, yeah, whatever” and if I were a less mellow kinda chick envisioning cuntricide, he’s like “I suspect that Kikuyu mamas just get bad press. Si you help me bust that myth…”I had to laugh and give him his respect for always being on the job.

Solicitation…
Ermm… yes. I fell off the nicotine wagon. I know, shame on me. So I’m visiting Massachusetts and apparently, they banned smoking in clubs since I left that place. So I wobble off outside and I’m getting my smoke on when this extremely respectable looking guy stops and asks each and every one of the chicks that was outside if we want to “smile with him”. Like literally. He went down the whole gaggle of smoking squeezes!!! And the crazy thing is – the 1st chick was like “How much?” and he’s like “$200” , next one $60 and he varied the price according to some internal price code. Bizarre! How much did he offer for me? Ah well now that would be telling. I was tickled –ermmm navy blue.

Back to the mines….