ALL IN A DAY’S WORK


The sun slowly sinks into the belly of the earth, gently caressing her five-head (as Joe the joker always refers to her humongous forehead). That cocktail glass in her hand feels weirdly cold, so she empties its contents and places it on the makuti stool beside that beach chair she has been occupying for a better part of the evening. Initially, she had come to read a chapter or two in the Jeffrey Archer novel but the sinking sun was too beautiful to ignore. Too beautiful. Probably as beautiful as her 2year old daughter who was playing in the sand a few yards away.

Then she hears the sirens from a distant. Long annoying siren sounds which keep increasing by the second. Involuntarily, she reaches out to the makuti stool to fetch her shades. She’ll need them to walk along the beach or else sand wil find solace in her huge blue eyes. The sand around here has an affinity for eyes.

And she touches it. The alarm clock. The source of the annoying sound.

“Dammit!” she exclaims as she hits the snooze button. “Can’t a sister dream in peace?” she hisses as she fights the urge to smash the clock against the wall and slip back to her reverie.

But she knows it “arise and shine” time. She does not feel too shiny but she has to arise or else she’ll never shine. Neither will her daughter. Its 6:30am.

Groggily, her half sleepy self gets out of bed after the forces of sleep loose to the forces of harsh economic times in a short lived duel. She’s got 90 minutes to get out of that house and go chase paper, or what everyone else calls money. You see, she fails to understand why there is so much fuss over mere pieces of paper with numbers on every corner and the face of the country’s leader. Their circle metallic siblings are sought after but not as much as the Webuye products. If she had her way, she would create a world where money did not exist. She had no idea how that would turn out, but she had always sworn she’d do it given the chance. “Dream on!” her friends at work would always tell her.

7AM

She is at the bus stop, awaiting her ever punctual mathree to come ferry her to that place where money is idolised. And just like any other day, the 14 seater PSV comes to a halt barely a meter away from where she is standing. “Oya stella! Tunaenda ama?” shouts the middle aged tout as he leaps out of the vehicle in his maroon uniform. They call him Vinny. She smiles at him and gets in taking a seat behind the driver’s seat. “Si unaona throne yako nimekutunzia“, says Vinny as he slams the mathree’s side signalling the driver to take off.

Vinny is 32 years old but he looks 25. A decade of touting has ensured he never ages. Running after a moving vehicle is probably the best work out ever. He starts his day at 4am and retires at 4pm, after a day on the road to and from the CBD ferrying passengers from all walk of life. Life as a tout is not the best out there but he has learnt to be contented and lives a day as it comes. Bad policy but has worked for him ever since he moved out of his parents’ house.

Pesa hapo mbele” he says as he extends an arm in anticipation of bus fare from the passengers sitting beside the driver at the front.

In 45minutes, Stella will be in the big city. A city she loathed. A city where money was everything. You can even buy a child in this city. She was sick of it. Too sick to leave. Probably because it was her lifeline. In this city, she earned her daily bread. It is in this city that she has met a lot of people who have influenced her life in ways she had never imagined of.

For instance, there’s Gregg the guy manning the main entrance of the office where she works. They call him Sojja, probably because of the regalia he dons that resembles that of the forces. Which forces? No one knows, but they still call him Sojja. Gregg has been at that door for as long as Stella has been working at that office. May be even longer. She found him there. He is in his early fifties, and a father to three sons. From his standing posture, it’s easy to tell he is not fit for the jib. He can barely lift that baton that he always clenching in his left hand anyway.

Then there’s Pat the receptionist. Patricia is her real name, but this make up doused girl insists on being called Pat. She says Patricia is too long and “kinda not cool”. At 22 years, all Patricia has to her name is a very colossal Infinix phone that is always in her hand, either taking selfies or chatting, and a huge collection of make-up. Well, you could say she owns her designer outfits and glamorous shoes but everyone at the office knows those are acquired via money solicited from her 72 year old Italian “boyfriend” whose pot belly is so huge he cannot spit straight ahead or else he risks spitting on his stomach. Guys at the office call him “Uncle Bae”. Uncle Bae is their boss. Crazy world.

How about Janet? Yeah. Janet from HR. The sentimental mother of two who has a heart the size of Patricia’s phone, as Joe the IT guys puts it. Janet is that calm, God loving lady most people in the office look up to when in distress. And she has never turned any one away. Not even once. Rumour has it that she even helped Reuben from PR sort out issues with his wife after she stormed the office with a machete and skirt in hand, claiming she was tired of him not living up to his roles as the man of the house. “Punda amechoka!” she kept screeching for 2 minutes straight before Madam Janet chipped in to salvage the situation which was a trending topic in the office for an entire month. The ladies even took up the phrase and would chant it every day just before work hours faded away!

                                        8AM

Stella settles at her desk, and switches on her desktop which as always kicks start her day at work with the word “HELLO” boldly displayed on the monitor. It must be a Dell. Indeed it is.

As soon as she keys in her company credentials to the company’s e-attendance list, someone calls out her name. It’s Gregg. He signals her to follow him outside where she finds Ken, her bundles mwitu “peddler”, standing with a silly smile on his face and his signature black phone in hand. He has come to bring her the usual her weekly “dosage” of data as she likes to call it. “Leo nakupa bonus ya 1GB” ken says as they shake hands. She hopes it doesn’t take long since Uncle Bae will be walking in anytime soon and he doesn’t like it when his employees idle around.

She looks around, takes in the familiar surroundings for the second time this morning and braces herself for another day at work. It will be a long one just like the rest have been.

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HUBBY DON’T TOUCH ME THERE

That night she left work earlier. It had been a really long day and all she wanted to do was get home, fix dinner for her man and retire for the day.

Traffic was bad. Bumper to bumper. “If this place was not so ruffian rigged, I’d have walked home and leave this car right here” she murmured to herself lazily gazing at the tail lights of the vehicle in front.

Getting home was all she wanted. And she wanted it real bad.

Nights like these are those she wished she had a house help. That way she’d head straight to bed without worrying about what Laius would have for dinner.

He was a pain on the backside when drunk, but quite a darling when sober. Beer always had a way of flipping his personality but Ashmita loved him with all she had. They had been married for two years, with their fair share of matrimonial woes but she always held on.

There were nights he’d come home reeking of female perfume and cheap guest-room soap, but if she dared ask it would Monday Night Raw re-enacted. She never understood why he always cheated on her, despite her being so faithful to him.

The car behind her honked, rudely returning her to reality as she gently floored the accelerator. The traffic was thick but at least it was not one of those annoying highway parking lots experienced during rush hour. The gap was reduced and she drifted back to her little troubled world.

You see, her career was demanding. She had weird working hours which Laius never understood. As a matter of fact, he had always suspected she was out having fun with another man. So every time she got home at “weird” hours as he liked to call them, she always had to explain where she had been. And it was never easy. A tap on her window startled her. A pissed diver was asking her to make use of the accelerator since the traffic had eased. She apologised, quickly zooming off. Confrontations were never her thing. 15 more minutes and she’d be home.

True to her calculations, she was home in 15 minutes, reversing into the garage. Then she noted the light in the house.

Sigh!

He was home early. And she knew a war of words was in the offing. But that, she was getting used to it.

The front door was not locked so she let herself in to a house reeking of whiskey. He had been drinking. And from the smell of things, there was a massive spill somewhere. Probably on the woollen carpet in the living room where he always like to poison his liver from.

And true to her expectations, he was sitting on the sofa directly opposite the door, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He looked animated. Jovial even. She scanned him in one single look. The sexy in him was no longer there. He no longer made her loins tingly. She couldn’t even remember the last time their matrimonial bed was used for anything else other than sleeping. But that couple session she had booked with their marriage counsellor was certainly going to help, or so she hopped.

“Woman! Where are you coming from at this hour?” he roared with a slight slur. Hic “You think this your sister’s house where you walk in at whatever time you will?”

“But honey, it’s just 8pm. I was stuck in traffic” she replied meekly, too scared to even move.

He stood up, looked at the wall clock and walked towards her. The slight headache she had was now on a roller coaster. Her head was throbbing with pain.

“Well, you always have a reason baby. Don’t you?” Pause. “You have no time for your husband since you are busy pleasing your silly gigolos out there. It’s about time I got what’s mine” he said coldly, pushing her to the nearest sofa, narrowly missing hitting its edge head first.

But before she hit the sofa, he was already on top of her, ripping her outfit from her waist downwards.

“Ashmita dear, today you are mine!” he mocked, pulling of his pants.

“No Laius. Please don’t. Please let me freshen up, fix you supper then we can take this party to the bedroom” she said, with as much seduction as she could integrate into her shaky voice. She was scared but she was hoping she could dissuade him from making a mistake that would cost them a lot.

“But why wait? Aren’t you my wife? I can have you anywhere anytime” he retorted in disgust! Oh! Wait! You want to get rid of your adulterous evidence? It’s okay. I do not mind the scent of another man on you” he added, this time angrily. She knew she was in trouble and she had to act quickly.

They struggled as she tried to free herself but she was no match for his burly figure. He figured she’d keep fighting so he slapped her right across the face, blacking her out

When she finally came around, her genitals were sore. A clear indication of assault. Laius was calmly seated on the floor with a cigar resting between his lips, wearing a satisfied face.

She couldn’t believe her husband had assaulted her. Thoughts of legal action crossed her mind but the social victimisation that would follow was guaranteed. She could even face ex-communication. I mean, how do you tell the authorities you were defiled by your own husband?

She looked at him once more and broke down. He was no longer the man she had fallen in love with.

GUILTY PLEASURES (THE CULMINATION)

“I’m all yours papi” she mumbled as I pulled one side of that silk nightie off her shoulder.

God! She had the skin of a baby. A skin so soft it would tear from rubbing. Heck. My fangs would easily create scars on this one. And considering how rough I can be, she’d bear a couple of scars to remind her of me.

The remaining side of the nightie came off as soon as the other side reached her elbow. Then she wriggled it to the floor. Nudity had never felt so fine. The feel of her skin on mine was heavenly. Okay, I don’t know how heaven feels likes so I’ll go with the big O (if you know what I mean).

My pants were still intact but I knew it wouldn’t be long before they joined her nightie on the floor. But I decided to keep them that way unless she decided otherwise.

I kissed her on the neck, trailed the tip of my tongue along her jawline, teased the back of her ear and even nipped her earlobe gently. She would momentarily gasp, get on her toes or even try grabbing my head. That could be cloud 3 I figured. We had 6 more clouds to go.

Without warning, she turned around. There was fire in her eyes. It was that look of lust and desire all bundled into one. Looking at me straight in the eyes, she went straight for my buckle. “This is hurting me” she said, smiling coyly as she unbuckled my belt then got rid of it in one swift pull. I smiled back at her teasingly. And she knew I had been waiting for her to do it. “You jerk!” she said before grabbing me from the back of my head with one hand and pulling me in for another breath-taking lip lock. The other hand was busy working its way up and down my zipper. It was my turn to gasp. She was teasing me. I could feel it though the fabric of my school uniform pants.

Noting I was too carried away to even sync my lips with hers (blame me not. I’m a man. I cannot multitask) she broke off the short lived osculation, and got her back off the door pushing me away friskily. Then her eyes scanned the room, stopping at the mahogany study table at the corner at the furthest end.

“Have you used that yet?” she asked

“No,” I replied with as much sobriety as I’d get my hormone-intoxicated self to garner.

“I see you do not like reading. I’ll teach you a lesson”

She grabbed me by my pant-fasteners, and pulled me as she led the way to the mahogany table. I followed meekly feeling like a hawker who had fallen prey of the unforgiving county council cops.

At the table, she swept a finger on the well-polished top to check for dust. I bet that was her in full dom mode. The she looked at the finger and shook her head in satisfaction before sitting on it.

“Not even a creaking sound. This one will do just fine, aye? “She said, unfastening my pant and unzipping them in quick succession. I sighed in relief. Why on earth did she have to take this long? Mr. Man down there was suffocating behind that zipper. And just to verify that, he popped out in joy. Freedom at last.

“Go sit on that swivel chair behind the desk” she ordered me. And that got me flipping. So I squinted, looked her direct into her eyes and with as much spite as I could gather, I asked her, “And who exactly are you to order me around?”

“You are not the boss of me now”, I added sneering.

“WOAH!” She exclaimed. “Eaaasy tiger. Easy. I am your chemistry, but I will be teaching you biology today. Time to do some practicals you never did in form three”, she said hopping of the desk and tagging me along to that swivel chair. “Have a sit dom” she teased

Lackadaisically, I settled into the seat. Pissed but turned on AF. The scramble for power has always intrigued me, and standing right in front of me was a woman who knew how to tango. Damn!
Feet at ease, hands akimbo she gazed my crotch, smiled for the umpteenth time before straddling me, though careful enough not to sit on well, you know what.

I got tired of being teased and grabbed her, kissing her hungrily. And she followed suit, loosing ourselves in the passion and hunger. Cloud 6 was nigh.

Then we heard a loud knock on the door.
“Muthumbi open up!” came the command from that familiar cold voice I dreaded.

It was the principal!

        ***THE END***


GUILTY PLEASURES (The Fast-Track)

“Surprised to see me?” she whispered, grinning like the devil.

Then she figured I didn’t hear squat. So she grabbed me by the nape and pulled me closer.

DAMN! This one’s a dom. We have a problem here. A major one.

“Surprised to see me?” she repeated, this time with a somewhat commanding tone.

“Eeerm…” I mumbled “Well, I was not expecting to see you but since you are here…” I tried to salvage my stupefied self.

But before I could say another word, she placed her right fore-finger on my lips.

“Hush” she said. “You talk too much” came the teasing words as I backed her against the door she had already locked. Things were reeling out of hand pretty fast. And I knew whatever was about to go down would only appear in the bible somewhere within Songs of Solomon.

She was starting to breathe fast. Tell-tale signs of unplumbed thirst. Thirst that couldn’t be obeyed. Sprite wouldn’t save her soul here. And that was my weapon. I was going to make her hate me. Then make her love me. Then make her hate everything. Yeah. That cursing roller coaster was imminent.

By now, she had both hands hooked behind my neck. I could feel her trying to move her pelvis, even pressing it against me. So I moved back, got her hands off me and pinned them above her head. Slightly high. Or may be too high. She was on her toes. Literally.

From where I stood, she looked like a dragon. Breathing fire, with lust written all over her face. Slowly, I leaned in then stopping a planck length away from those lips. God knows how much I’ve always wanted to be this close to them. And since they were here, I was going to take my time. Even make her look like the villain.

“Who sent you here? What do you want?” I asked in the same teasing tone she had used on me moments ago, making sure my lips brushed ever so lightly as they moved up and down in speech. The look on her eyes. That look of hunger and anger. A caged predator. I was liking it. I was obviously pressing all the right buttons.

With my free hand. I pulled her by the waist. She resisted. But heck! I wasn’t going to let a woman run my show. Okay it was her show. But I just stole it. And I’d run it till the end. Or at least that was the plan. She was wriggling, trying to free her feminine hands from my grip. But that only made me grip harder.

“Nick you are hurting me” she hissed looking at me with viper eyes. “Please let me go.”

“Make me “I replied with a chauvinistic simper. “Make me free you”

Then I bit her lower lip. Hard enough to deliver pain and pleasure in equal measure.

“Who sent you?” I asked once more before we locked lips.

Man! Those lips! Those luscious lips! Too warm for one lifetime. Too soft for a grownup who had grown though the sugarcane-chewing childhood. I wanted them so bad. And now that I had them, my wants were elevated to needs.

She was hungry too. I could tell from how she kissed. And her tongue in my mouth. She was relishing every moment. And there I was busy thinking about her.

“This is not how it’s supposed to be” I thought as I pulled back, flipping her around like a revolving door.

She was now facing the door. So was I. Only that she was between the door and I. Her bum on my crotch. Her arms slowly dropping. And eventually free.

Then I brushed her hair to one side so as to bare her neck, burying my face in it. Biting and kissing every inch of it. I could feel things getting hard. And I knew I was game. So I just had to return the favour. Snaking my left arm up her body, I finally made contact with her left mound. Squeezed a knob and cupped things. She let out a soft moan. That “gimme more” whimper.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

GUILTY PLEASURES (THE GENESIS)

The principal walked to the front of the queue poring over each one of us from head to toe. He just had to make sure we are all looking impeccable. Clearly, his army antics still reigned supreme within him.

I was looking particularly sharp today despite the long journey. My school shirt well ironed just like my cream pair of trousers with the front crease looking like an axe’s wedge. It could be a weapon as far as my classmates were concerned. My black patent leather shoes were mean enough to hurt the eyes of anyone who dared gaze at them. Shoes are for the feet. Not thy eyes.

It was clear I had put extra effort into looking immaculate. I even had my hair trimmed! And that had earned me a fair share of trolling from those idiots I had known for the last 4 years. But only one of them knew why I had even unsealed my newly acquired cologne and that was, Martin, my desk mate.

Well, that fella was like a brother to me. So he always knew what I was up to. He looked at me, then beckoned me to look at the front.

Holy cow! Aphrodite was here!

God! That lady!

Then I heard him muff laughter. He could tell I was already getting hypnotised. So I raised a middle finger at him. That was how we saluted each other anyway.

She stood there, shining in her glory. Looking like the goddess she has always been. The purple peplum dress she was wearing got me summoning my ancestors’ ancestors. Her toned arms connected her palms to a trunk that was a sight to behold. Those palms, well, I wouldn’t mind having those on me. All over me.

I gazed as she strategically placed the on that tiny waist. My head started feeling light. She was too fine it was getting me dizzy.

“Muthumbi are we together?” bellowed the principal who had obviously noted I was ogling at the lady he had wanted to bonk ever since she showed up.

“Yes sir” I retorted, feigning seriousness.

My desk mate nudged me and I acted promptly, shifting my gaze back to my prey.

She was looking right at me. Yikes!

Heck, I was not going to break that stare. So I stared back, with one eyebrow raised. Challenge accepted. But she couldn’t hold the stare for long, so she looked away, smiling sexily. She even bit her lower lip! I swear I saw her do it. Well, reading body language was not my expertise but I had a hint of what that meant. So I spent the remaining part of the assembly gazing at her, and well, toying with the idea of…

After what seemed like all eternity, we were dismissed so I asked my desk mate to go fetch my key as I headed to pick my luggage from the lobby.

Then as I stole a last glance at her, she winked at me holding up her key high enough for me to see her room number!

“Oh boy! Look what you got yourself into” I thought silently as I smiled back at her. That “I got you smile” but she wasn’t looking at me in the eyes. She was gazing at my crotch. I wonder why ladies like staring at my zippers. My tailor’s work must be really great. Ha-ha

Anyway I walked away trying to hide the swelling on my pants that I had been so oblivious of till Aphrodite brought it to my attention but I could still feel her gaze boring into me. This one will be a great trip.

So after getting my luggage at the door of my room, I stormed into Martin’s room to fetch my key.

“Weh Smooth Operator! Hujui kubisha mlango?” he shouted at me, throwing the key in my face.

“Sorry man” I managed to mumble an apology before closing the door behind me.

At my door, I fumbled with the lock before opening the door. I was nervous. And I knew why. The temperatures were not making it any better so the beads of sweat on my forehead morphed into streams.

“Damn it! Someone get extra ACs for this place already” I exclaimed a tad too loudly as I dragged my suitcase into the serene room, locking the door behind me.

Exhaling deeply, I looked around, just to familiarise myself with the place I’d call home for the next 3 days. The king-size bed directly opposite the window overlooking the beach looked like heaven. I wanted to collapse on it like a log and let the white cotton sheets caress my scorched skin.

At the extreme corner, there was a mahogany study table with a study lamp on it. Of course I wouldn’t ignore the swivel chair just by the table.

Next to the window was a recliner chair which would offer the perfect spot for some lazy afternoon reading.

“This room was designed for one” came a random thought as I dropped my luggage beside the bed and walked towards the door leading to the shower. I’d unpack after a cold shower.

As if on cue, I heard a knock on my door immediately after taking my shirt off. So I left the shower somewhat annoyed to go answer it.

“I told you not to disturb me man! I’m not going out tonight”, I said as I opened the door expecting to find Martin wearing his signature stupid smile.

Oh crap! She was standing there, In a dress that looked like a nightie for all I a cared. I could see her nips trying to stab me in the eyes, as I stood there dumbfounded.

“Hi Nick,” came the words from those luscious lips as she playfully pushed me back into the room. Locking the door behind her.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

I MISS CHRISTMAS


The year is 2002. And Christmas is here with us already. The goat is hanging upside down on that tree outside the house all naked. Not that Kameri (the goat) has decided to play bat, but uncle Mwaura decided to strip Kameri and hand him up by his legs after slitting his throat. I had asked had cried when granny told me Kameri will be grilled on 25th since he was awesome company whenever I was around but she told me Kameri was destined to die. I do not get why they had to be so ruthless to the only animal that I could chase around grandpas compound without granny getting pissed at me. But mum later told me that we will be having Kameri as a meal later on when dad, uncle mwaura and other uncles work on him. She knew I had an extraordinary liking for roast meat.

Inside shosho’s smoky kitchen, granny is kneading some dough to prepare chapatis. Aunt Mary is busy chopping onions for stew and my cousin Carol is slicing up beef. Someone calls out for mum asking her to go lend a hand in the kitchen. But mama has to dress Nicky first.

Yes.
I have to don my Christmas clothes. That brand new 005 jeans suit straight outta Eastleigh and the snow white Reebok sneakers.
So I am dressed hurriedly. But that’s after having a shower behind the house in full view of my cousins and everyone else who happened to pass that way. Mama always insists that bathrooms are for grownups despite my repeated repudiation to take a shower in the open. Last time I told her I don’t like it because I feel like Meni (the family cow) in a cattle dip, and she laughed till her eyes got teary. Then she told my cousins about it. That’s how I got a nickname.

Anyway, I eventually walk out of that house bouncing. Like a boss. Then I pause just outside the door, remember I have forgotten my shades on mum’s dressing table so I rush back to fetch them. I will need them to show off. My upcountry cousins must see me in full regalia. I know they all have new clothes but none of them can rival my sharpness. I mean, I’m the cousin who came to visit from Nairobi. No one is allowed to outshine me!

Later on we will have the family gathering before daddy and his cousins as well as friends gather at the farthest end of the corner, to empty the “soda” for grownups that comes in brown bottles.

Fast forward.
25th December 2015

I wake up at 10am with a heavy head. Okay. Two of them. But the one with a brain hurts as hell. I can barely recall what happened last night. Then I reach out for my phone. I’m glad it got home safe and sound. 11 missed calls. 6 from mum, 2 from dad and the rest from those idiots we were with yesternigt. I call mum back only for her to remind me that it’s Christmas day. Oh snap! I forgot. I was to take Levi out. But from the look of things, the only place i’ll be going today is outside my bedroom. To the loo. Wait. That kid might never forgive me if I do not fulfil my promise. So I will just have to drag my hangovered self to the mall I had promised to take him.

Then I log on to Facebook. My newsfeed reeks of Christmas absurdity. Bloody fools. Who are you wishing a merry Christmas on Facebook? Get off that phone. Get off that PC and go make someone’s Christmas merry. But I know half of these idiots will spend the day nursing hangovers like just like yours truly. Too wasted to even make their own Christmas merry. So I just log off to read my WhatsApp texts.

I block a few chumps who have forwarded me Christmas messages from last year. This whole message thing is a load of bull.

Finally I get out of bed, take a shower and rush to pick up the kid before he starts cursing me in baby language.
But alas, he is not even prepared. I find him sitting on the floor. Still in pyjamas.

“Nini mbaya levi? Kwani hutaki kwenda na uncle raundi mwenda?” (What’s wrong Levi? You don’t want to hang out with uncle?)

He looks at me. Smiles then picks something from the floor. It’s a gaming controller.

“Shosho aliniletea PS. Sitaki kwenda kutembea. Nataka kucheza FIFA” (Granny got me the PlayStation. I don’t want to go out. I just want to play FIFA)

I sigh! These kids of today! They’d rather sit their butts down and stare at screens.
If only he knew how much fun there is outside these four walls.
I wish I’d take him back to the days Christmas was Christmas, though I’m glad I won’t have to walk in the sun with this headache.

Truth be told, today doesn’t feel like Christmas. I miss Christmas.

PROUDLY KENYAN(2015)


12th December 2015, Kenya marks its 52nd year as an independent country. Though we have our own share of trouble there’s much to smile about.

I love my motherland.

Tell me, where do you find blind beggars rejecting fake notes? Kenya.
Where do you find cripples running after street urchins who steal their coins? Yep! You are right. Kenya.

To be honest, it would suck living in a country with no fake men of the robe. The occasional false prophet saga puts a permanent signature to our comic motherland.
Go to Paris, mention “Mbegu” and watch everyone get amused. “You’re from Kenia. Right?” they’ll ask, yet they already know the answer.

It is only in Kenya where you ask a stupid question and the answers you’ll get will make you stitch up your mouth every time you leave the house.

And the Kenyan touts will leave you in stitches. Their witty responses are simply out of this world. No lie.

A while ago, a female Jamaican artiste was in Kenya and she made it so clear that she was madly in love with Kenya(ns). More so the Luhyas, a tribe that has had to bear with all sorts of very hilarious jokes.
I am yet to decide if she was in love with “Wafula” , “BANANA” or “Mombasa Road” but I remember changing my name to Nick Wafula while she was around.
But someone should warn her that my first lady comes from Nyeri and frustum wearers from that region are natural black belt bearers.
They beat the masculinity out of men. I’m already cringing at the thought of what she’d do to a Jamaican woman who earns a living off her looks and voice.
Just for the record, I am not a player. I am polygamous… Sorry. I mean proudly Kenyan.
But just in case she really wants to settle in with me, I’ll call up Vera Sidika and ask her to donate the “tint” she shed off. I do not want guys to think I am stinking rich just because I am courting a white lady! Yep! That’s just Kenyans being Kenyans.

Talking about courting. In Kenya, that’s only done by our brothers from the lake side. Those are the only Kenyan male species that clobber women with love and expensive stuff till the auctioneers do them apart.
As for our brothers from Nyanza, it’s all about rearing. They show their love through feeding. They are so good at it, they even have a feeding program for their first ladies.
What about the entrepreneurs? Our brothers from Central Kenya? Ha ha. They invest. Either for financial or conjugal benefits, it’s all up to their long time plan with “Mama Watoto”

As for the Kenyan ladies, I choose not to delve much into them (as long as this blog post is concerned *hic*) but one thing will always make them stand out.
Their love for selfies.
Only a Kenyan lady will take a selfie with a burning house in the background and caption it, “That’s all me. I’m hot like that!”. The love for cameras on this side of the Sahara surpasses our love for… uhmm… work!

Our leaders.
Kenyan leaders are comedians who choose to showcase their talent(s) on a different platform. Watch any parliamentary proceedings or political rally and laugh your butt off before crashing your TV set.
They are too funny it’s annoying. Literally speaking.

Eye witnesses.
I do not know about the rest of the world out there, but back here at home, being an eye witness is a full time job.
It is only in Kenya where an eye witness gives full account of an occurrence with sound effects as a bonus.

I’d talk all day about our lovely motherland, but there’s not enough time. I need to go out there and celebrate our country’s 52nd birthday.

Oh! Wait!
There was no way I’d wind up without acknowledging my shujaas this year. At this point, if you are below 18 years please log off. Its playtime for you.
Anyway, this year a couple of guys have given the entire a really good laugh. I’m talking Bro Ocholla, Mollis and Dj Spank-de-la-Scream.
Don’t you think it’s funny how all this guys have something in common? All their escapades involve naked ladies and, well, trees. Ha ha

And to all those ladies who made their men shave anything other than facial hair, I salute you too. You are the real deal.

God bless Kenya!