The staring contest

I just lost a staring contest to my fridge - again. 

It 10 past hungry o'clock and the inhabitants of my alimentary canal are leading a revolt of gargantuan proportions. A chant of 'Feed us feed us , arises from the very depths of my small intestines to the very split ends of the hairs on my slowly balding head. It has been like this for the better part of an hour or two. I've tried calming those inhabitants down with water but I think they've figured it out; and my attempts to drown them have failed. For all my efforts, there's an amazing swish-swashing of water in my gut that,from the sound of it, turn a beluga whale green with envy.

So to quell all this chaos I've trudged to my house in search of a peace offering for the raging beast. It's time for that famous dance. I know there's nothing worthy of the title sustainance in that fridge; it too knows it has nothing worth it's salt in it; but the motion towards it seems to quell the worms in the gut if only for a while.

So I open the door, all the while,hoping for a five loaves and two fish kind of miracle, but lo and behold, it's exactly as it was in the when I last opened it. In the corner sits what should be a tomato or a bell pepper, a slab of mould with bread around it, an empty bottle of juice and copious amounts of energy drinks. 

I close the door and open it again. And again. And again. 

Then the stare down begins.

Buoyed by the rising cacophony in my gut and the desperate need to endit, I hold firm. The fridge, with nothing to lose in this fight, stares right back. I'd say who blinks loses but we all know how that would go. 

It's been a few minutes and by now I believe even the most hardy of gut residents have realised that this is just me buying time. 'FEED US NOW!' Goes the cry. It's no longer a question, or a request. It's a ridiculously loud demand. 

Still the fridge stares, unflinching, unwavering. I slam shut the door. Damn it! Another one lost. 

The pantry spews out some war time provisions - tomato soup and crackers. I'm pretty sure this student life is bad for my general well being, but this is a story for another day. 

The gut vermin are silent for now, but only for now. 

Ten years

Ten years. It's been ten years since that fateful Friday; ten years since that gunman fired that shot; ten years since you were so cruelly taken away from our lives. Yet it still feels like it was just yesterday. There are many reasons to not revisit that night but try as I might, whether consciously or uncociously, I find myself taken back to that night time and time again. I have come to accept that it shall stay with me as long as I breathe.

You must understand though, this world was not ready for you to leave it; our world was not ready for you to leave it; heck I was not at all ready for your exit. I was but a young man slowly beginning to understand the vagaries of legally sanctioned adulthood when this happened. It took me straight from young man to fully fledged grown man in but a flash and bang of an ill directed muzzle. I just wasn't ready.

But you knew all this didn't you? All those subliminal messages you'd been landing in my system all my life; showing me how to shoulder responsibility and taking it in stride; life lessons shared while fixing KWB as it fought to remain relevant to the world; at sports days as we competed against other tag teams; teaching me how to be a man without actually teaching me. I feel you ought to take full responsibility for the man I turned out to be. I only wish I had a chance to thank you personally before you left us. 

The shoes you left are massive to fill. Why just last month I walked Wanjiku down the aisle and when the priest asked me if I had anything to say as we handed her over to her new family, I said no. I could walk in your stead, but I still have to get to the point when I can speak as you would have spoken - but I'm working on it. I know that you check in on us every once in a while; but when you do, double the visits to mum. I know she misses you even more than either I or the girls do. 

I don't think I will ever quite fathom the events of that dark Friday night; nor will the order of those events; nor the occasional cold-sweated nightmares as fueled by those events. But I don't think such events are to be understood. So I will leave it as such. 

It's been ten years; the wound is still as raw as ever but that may change over time. 

Your memory lives strong within us all. 

Till we meet again.

The Insomniac tales: Counting dilemmas

Hickory dickory dock

The mouse ran up the clock

The clock struck four

The movie ran down the clock

Hickory dickory dock 

This silly nursery rhyme has been playing over and over in my mind from the moment that damn mouse run up the clock and it struck one. In this time, I have exhausted all the cold points in the bed and the cold sides of the pillow have run out. 

I have in essence concluded a census of sheep, goats, cows, camels, donkeys, fish and all other sorts of animals that may have wandered aimlessly into Old McDonald's farm. At this rate, I could become a census official but I digress. 

Under normal circumstances, there would be enough mosquitoes to engage me in mortal combat that would last hours. Alas, it seems killing five of their breed and leaving their bodies pasted on the wall has finally paid off and the entire population has relocated. 

In three hours I need to be up and about contributing to the general development of the world but here I am counting my toes again. 

This will be a difficult day at best. 

Serenity

The hour is late and both body  and mind grow weary of labour induced since the sun was seen and the day was but a toddler. It's been one of those days. Nothing stirs the night time save for the occasional creaking as the building stretches in it's slumber.

They said it would snow today and true to their word, the snow is silently going about it's business blanketing the neighbourhood.  From my lofty perch I watch as green becomes white under a flurry of snowflake after snowflake.
There is something hypnotic about watching the snow fall from the heavens above; something magical and I daresay peaceful about it. Something akin to a fresh start; a cover up of our glaring inadequacies as humans; and watching it long enough nothing short of an ode to the wonders of mother nature.

So I sit in silence, contemplation made easier by the serenity provided by mother nature on this night. Unlike must people, the silence does not drive me insane. On the contrary, I find peace and harmony in such rare moments. However for now I will not sit and  think; I will just enjoy mother natures display of a pacifying mechanism and bathe in the serenity she's provided.

Lessons 2012 style

In a moment of possibly champagne inspired genius, I ended the year two thousand and eleven with the buoyant declaration: "Two thousand and twelve , your ass is mine!" In retrospect, this was proclamation over circumstances yet to be encountered. Had I thought it through, it would have been prudent to break the year down to smaller and more manageable segments, but now I do realise that this would have been the height of mediocrity and starting the year on a mediocre note would have set that as the benchmark; and mediocrity is definitely something I abhor being associated with.

Truth be told, two thousand and twelve was a tough year in many respects. Life happened as if it was on a cocktail of performance enhancing steroids and in the occurrence that is the perfect storm, Lady Luck was charmed right on out of my area code. When luck absconds duty, you grit your teeth and get stuck in it; and so it came to pass, teeth were gritted, sweat wiped off brows and Father Time kept that ticker going. Lesson 1: When the going gets tough, the tough get going or they get gone!

The 'summer' was a blur and with it came the celebration of world sport that is the Olympics. Those came and went and we did as well as a cow in the Kentucky Derby - we here is the collective term I use to represent all patriots-to-death like me. That lacklustre performance by our usually spot on lads and lasses put a significant  damper on the remainder of the summer. On the flip side however, new friendships were forged and old ones rekindled quite avidly. Lesson 2: Good friends are always good to have around as long as they are not seasonal.

Autumn and winter were about as much fun as an appendectomy with a blunt and rusty pen-knife. Teeth gritting only resulted in potentially high dental fees. These months were akin to that epic battle between Jacob and the Angel of the Lord as depicted in the Bible. Sometimes in life, the reservoirs of human strength are stretched beyond the realm or reason and we must look beyond ourselves for help. To the divine I turned and true to the word, assistance was forthcoming. Lesson 3: Swallow your pride and ask a higher power for strength.

All in all, two thousand and twelve was an action packed movie with really poor dialogue inter-spacing the fighting.

Two thousand and twelve, you have loved and left me but such is what life throws our way sometimes. I staggered out battered and bruised with a headache as if I got head-butted by a zebra. I have left feeling rather short-changed, like the water pipe forever ferrying water but never quenched of seeming thirst.

You have taught me things about me that nothing else could have and for that I thank you; however, next time, just send a letter please.

Two thousand and twelve, go and stay gone; two thousand and thirteen, learn from your predecessor, and be easy.

Here we go!

Chronicles of a timewaster - Time warp

I'm quite convinced that I stumbled through/across a break in the flow of time in the world somewhere.


I was up and about and happy as can be right around when the first pigeons were fighting for attention on my balcony; I am by now over my frequent altercation with those 'adorable' troublemakers and even once in a while leave out mouldy bread on the balcony for them - but I digress. I got into the flow of all that appertains to waking up but somehow between then, indulging in breakfast and going thorugh my email, three hours were gone; just like that! Vanished, never to be seen again. In my stunned bewilderment, I spent yet another hour trying to figure out just where that time had got off to.


I postulated on stumbling through a worm hole brought about by a rip in the time space continuum. Quite like Alice in Wonderland, I slipped down the rabbit hole of space and time and dug my way through to meet Father Time in the 'flesh'; what a dialogue was had as time stood attentively still clutching onto snippets of the conversation that stopped time; maybe this was the reason for that time lapse.


I then thought it smart to blame it on the juice I had taken with my breakfast. Perhaps the expiry date on the packet should have been an indicator that dire consequences lay at the bottom of that mix. The state of delirium induced by this relisation was nothing short of the effects of consuming a hallucinogenic mushroom. Perhaps indeed this was the problem causing excuse.


Or maybe, just maybe, it was the soaking in of all the negativity in so called dailies from all over the world and all assorted and associated paraphanelia (read humour columns and such like sites) that gobbled up time like a starved gremlin. In as much as I refused to believe it, this made the most sense of them all. Perhaps it's about time I embraced my mantra, the internet is not my friend...just perhaps...

Memories are made of this

The earliest memory I have of then was staying home whilst you carted the older ones to the All African Games of '87. I was but two years old and now I understand commuting to the other end of town with a screaming rug-rat in you hands would have been a tall order even for you. I think I listened to it on the radio or watched it on the news but alas my young mind was probably indulged in more pressing issues.

On hitting standard one, I remember those monster walks that we would make to get to school early every morning while you hustled to get your work bus; when I think about it now, it was all of 4km every morning and evening. No way I could have pulled that off alone. Then finally when KWB rolled in and that commute became so much shorter.

Remember all those weekends spent in the garage as Mwangi and his crew tinkered with Wb's ageing engine in a bid to pull out a few more years from her? The highlight of those fatty-chips fuelled adventures was the road-test afterwards that always left a bit of a sad note in the system for the garage-weekend adventures were done. What of that family sports day when we did the father-son relay? Apparently, you could run; we almost won that one I think - it was crazy fun though.

Remember waking me up at night to watch World Cup '94? Those were brilliant times; all in secret, never telling the girls. WWF was especially awesome as was football made in Germany. What of those road trips to see cucu? In the back of Wb; teeming with the noise of family. Who can forget those? All those drives home tuned in to sundowner and loving every minute of it. Those were the days.

Working on the house in Matasia; sort of a semi-labourer I was - not strong enough to be a worker but astute enough to hang around and learn. Tree planting was way more fun then and you should see what it came to now. Then that bike; 12speed mountain bike for doing so well in KCPE. Easily the highlight of year then. How much fun times did I have with that bike? Only the good Lord would know.

High school was not devoid of these moments though; like making goalkeeper for the school team, flyhalf for the rugby team and that graduation day. The pride on your faces was inexplicable, as was it on results day. Always strove to make you proud and glad that I did when I did.

A cruel twist of fate led to this post; 8years ago today fate snatched you away. Feels just like yesterday we were making all these memories; 8years so long yet so short. I feel so many more chapters of our book were yet to be penned down. I have no knowledge of how but I shall attempt to keep it burning and somehow I know you'll help out whichever way you can as you always did.

Miss you.

Always.

Oh happy day!

The alarm just went off so it's definitely Wednesday morning. I'm quite convinced that was way less than the hours the alarm convinced me of last night when I knocked off. If I didn't know any better then I would be convinced time was on some performance enhancement stuff but I digress.

There is sort of a mini-hurricane going on outside; well devoid of all the rain at least but I can almost swear I heard the trees outside cry out in agony. Despite all this, I'm still pretty amped for this hour of the morning; the good weather took off earlier in the week so that is definitely not it. I have this class to get to that is fast working its way up my all time favourite list; its Applied Sustainable Science and as a bonus its all of three minutes walk from my house . Why is this relevant? Well because I do not have to fight the famous 'Wind tunnel' that is the Cornelius Drebbelweg; as a slight diversion from this I must mention I have many a time sat in the EWI (Electrical Engineering) building watching people get blown off their bikes at that point much to my amused amazement.

So this class is just a pre-cursor to my other class in the afternoon - Sustainable mobility (which is what I'm actually so amped about because we get to work on/with this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7g3v00cBok8
the most environmentally friendly car of all time (and it looks like a cross between a Bugatti and the Bat Mobile - awesome!!). Before you start wrinkling your nose up at the potential of being bombarded with 'how bad you are for the environment and such like philosophy, watch the video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAjLeSpj6PM
attached and tell me who would not want to hang with that, all day.

You see, the dynamic of being here is that I can balance it all out; Rocket scientist all day and at some point, figure out how to save the world. How many other places can you do that? All in one day? You tell me!

The power of a sunrise

The sun came out to play today.

That may sound like a rather inane statement suggesting the rather obvious concept of sunrise and sunset may not be as it should be. However, when you live on the end of the world where Spring acts like a mini-summer and sunny summer days are punished by a week of semi-typhoons, you learn to appreciate the sun coming out to play.

So I woke up today with an air of excitement; you see, I come from the sunny side of the world, so waking up to a decent sunrise, I get excited. Not that it will in by any way influence the price of oil in the world; nor will it reduce the effects of the massive damage we cause to environment in our wretched path to 'development'; nor will it automatically mean that all my problems will melt away. No! It just means that for those ten minutes when all is still and silent (save for those infernal pigeons and other flying creatures floating by balcony) nothing else exists save for the inexplicable beauty of Mother Nature in her royal splendour. Therapeutic is the word my friend used; humbling is what I proffered.

Nothing beats nature in the morning. I dare you to prove me right.

The DQ is at it again

Enough said, the talent is insane :)



httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7hfU0DkMwU

Ngeli ya Baiskeli VI: From whence it began...

Since the beginning of my Dutch adventure, there has always been one constant; and no its not the cold, neither is it the near homicidal winds, nor the erratic weather patterns but the availability of a means of two wheeled, non-motorised transportation.

The chronology of those that I have come into contact with and involved with can be traced in earlier versions of this here blog but for the sake of memory, we shall delve just a bit into the past.

First there was Blackie (later christened St. Blackie due to her boundless magnanimity). She, who accepted and shieleded all stray noises and gave them a place to call home, I proudly owned and took all over the place but sadly retired herself in a moment of suicidal insanity that left her destroyed and yours truly limping for a week.

Next came Newbie, lithe, fast and in great condition. Run well for a couple of months and even accepted to take on some of the traits exhibited by her predecessor (maybe it was a haunting, or Blackie just looking out for me - we shall never know). Took on noises left, right and centre and then one day, just refused to work. I should have taken a hint when her back brakes just seized up for no reason mid cycle to class one morning rendering that ride a cardio-vascular session. Then she unceremoniously broke four spokes in one ride and two more on subsequent rides. Finally she gave out and just refused to move; what option did I have but to let her go?

Then there was the 'Greyhound'; a sturdy city bike with working light systems, gears and systems at al. Perfect workhorse that could cart across the city in record time on demand or just cruise around at slow speeds for random cycle work. What a bike that was; no complaints whatsoever about 'The greyhound' I dare say...well till the day that it was nicked from the parking lot outside my house...stunned was the only expression I had on my face for a couple of days, and the mystery surrounding that remains just that, a mystery.

So now I cycle around on a brilliant bike. However, for fear of history repeating itself inexplicably, I have refused to name it. The bike is capable of 21 speed and has extra handle bars, handles brilliantly and is as light as light can get on a heavy duty bike. But as is characteristic of all those that have passed through my possession, magnanimity has not eluded even this one. The home of all noises seems to have been moved from all the bikes I had previously and is now in the cogs and chains of this here bike but I fret not. Apparently, this is a good sign; fast track to potential naming soon and after that the sky is the limit.

How brilliant can this get...nameless one, on to you..

Of growing older and seemingly wiser..

Birthday week has come and gone; yes I claim a birthday week. Why you ask? Well because I figure that after an entire month laden with study calumniating with exams form the back door of hell itself, I deserved a week off from life in general. Luckily, my birthday falls right about the start of this lazy week I call it so I could so easily protract it for an entire week and have no guilt about it whatsoever; thus birthday week!

So what is it about growing older that makes us so excited? The need to hire temporary help to respond to messages on all sorts of social and electronic media aimed at yours truly is one I think. On this one day is when all and sundry will be nice to you; handshakes, hugs, kisses and the likes even from total strangers in a sort of emotional domino effect kind of concept.

As this day wears on, and in between my nonchalance to the system of classes I should be attending, I steal short moments here and there to try and contemplate all that I have been through in the past few years of my life and see if I have become any wiser since when I last did this.

Like a proverbial mirror on the wall, I stare into space to objectively assess my life in the past years in anticipation of massive revelations about the point of life and its direction in my particular case. For one the face has not changed much; the beard I shaved just last week is back with a vengeance, facial hair seems to grow much faster now (must be the age!); the eyes are a bit more sunken and tired (must be the midnight oil sessions taking a toll); the face has lost its initial youthfulness and naivety and aptly replaced with seasoned experience on issues life et al; the hairline is showing signs of receding which leaves me a few worries here and there.

They say a face can tell an entire story, so details of other changes are rendered pretty irrelevant in general.

Fast forward to the latter parts of the evening and a birthday party is in full swing. As I sit in a corner, head bobbing to the music or inadvertently due to the extra special drinks imbibed with over zealous individuals hell-bent on getting me on the drunken express in record time (as they believe a birthday is best spent drunken and disorderly!) - I know not - I recall when I was a member of the aimlessly-hopping-about-drunken-youth bunch in a night club with an inexplicable amount of energy; days gone by when I lived for the party; days gone by when FILO applied (for all who did some sort of management studies you will understand the first-in-last-out principle); days gone by when the success of a night was measured by how much one could imbibe in an evening or how many non-rejections from the fairer sex one would have notched up on the counter.

A loose chuckle escapes me as I watch the ensuing events of the evening and think back to why we actually celebrate getting older in life. Then it hits me; its not about celebrating ageing, it is celebrating getting through one more year of changes in one's life; one more year of growth (both physical but mainly mental); one more year of victories and losses and lessons learnt. It is a celebration of all that one has accomplished in a year and the hope and longing for another year of similar if not greater achievements. It is a celebration of life and an extension on one's lease of life.

So ladies and gentlemen, give thanks for the life you have and celebrate life every single chance you get!

As was said by Steve Jobs:
'Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice and most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.'

Salutations to you February-borns; we rock!

The Schitt History

Attributed fully to the Jujubean herself...


Who is Jack Schitt you ask? The lineage is finally revealed. Many people are at a loss for a response when someone says " you don't know jack schitt." Now you can intellectually handle the situation. Jack is the only son of Awe Schitt and O Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O Schitt, the owner of kneedeep N. Schitt, Inc. In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt, and the deeply religious couple produced six children: Holie Schitt, Fulla Schitt,Giva Schitt,Bull Schitt, and the twins, Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt. Against her parents' wishes, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced.

Noe Schitt later married Mr. Sherlock, and because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was then known as Noe Schitt-Sherlock. Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt and they produced a nervous son, Chicken Schitt.

Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt were inseparable throughout their childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony. Thewedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens wedding. The Schitt-Happens children are Dawg,Byrd, and Horse. Bull Schitt, the prodigal son left home to tour the world, and recently returned from Italy with his new bride, Pisa Schitt.

So now when someone says, "you don't know Jack Schitt", you can correct them.

Hi5's all round...why not?

2/1/2011

The 31st of December, commonly referred to as New Years Eve, is one of the most looked forward to days of the calender. That day is pregnant with the anticipation of a new year, a better year, a brighter year and a host of good tidings. I spent the 31st of December 2010 at a wedding; speaking of which...congratulations to Peter and Jane - an eternity of bliss and happiness be heading your way. Away from all the glamour that weddings present and the wedding juice all mothers imbibe before they show up, a wedding of a common friend from Kitas brings all characters that make up Kitas 00208, The Series, together.

More so, when the wedding spills over to an evening party which will in turn double up as the New Year's party and then you see that Kitas is not just a place, its a way of life! Midnight comes and is marked with the attendant pomp and splendour deserving of such an occasion. That marks the beginning of a 'party till we drop fiesta' fuelled by the over zealous dj and his 'Shouter' (this is the name I have appointed to the guy who stands next to the dj and yells random things into the microphone in an attempt to hype the crowd).

Come 7 am as we drive into home after a night well spent crossing over into a new decade. How many would have loved to see this morning but for one reason or the other could not; we never forget to give thanks for such mercies and indulgences.

The time to get back to the Northern Hemisphere is fast approaching; however, before leaving, a mention must be made of all those who made this holiday as massive as it was: Dq and her attendant posse - y'all take rocking to a different level. Pilli, Liz, Nduku, Eric, Muriuki, Dmuitta, Di - la familia extend! Mko juu tu sana. Lillian, way too long it had been...lets fix that. Bubbles, sigh! Need I say more? Mutheu, unofficial Nairobi tour guide, how awesomely awesome are you? Brilliant! Sheri and the crew of Kabasiran, next time we make it bigger. Kitas crew hi5's all round. To all who might have been missed in this, you are never forgotten in the heart - where it matters most. To Nairobi in general, the love I have for you is unbelievable! Stay good, till next time.

I'm out.

Christmas times...

25/12/2010

When I was a young one, say in primary school days, we had a used to have Christmas holidays at the end year which also coincided with the end of year school holidays. As we were wont to do, we had this little nifty songs that we would come up with just for the occasion. We had a mix of a famous Christmas song that would go:

'Tis the season to be be naughty,
fa la la la la la la la la,
burn the maths books and the textbooks,
fa la la la la la la la la la,
set the teacher's desk on fire,
fa la la la la, la la la la.'

I awoke this morning with that song playing in my head; a random hum of the same permeates my room as I get into the Christmas mood. I mean, it is Christmas and though it shall not be a 'white Christmas' (26 degrees begs to differ) it shall still be an epic one. There are certain duties that need to be carried out on such days by the men of the house and top on that agenda is the death of the goat to be partaken. That done, and the hapless animal hanging decapitated and skinned upside down off a tree, and fire set up for the open roast.

The beauty of Christmas at home is the superb atmosphere. Graced by my uncle and his family and a friend peculiarly named Jesus, Christmas could not have been better. Humour abounds as stories galore are flung about the fire. Picking myself up after every tale gets harder and harder as they evolve from the true to perhaps only bits of truth and more fiction. How much more awesome can Christmas get? I don't quite know.

Jesus (pronounced as Hesus!) took photos of the barbecue so as soon as I can track him down from Kakuma (way in the North of Kenya!) those shall be uploaded.

A great day was had by all; and memories galore shall remain with all present.

Oh happy days.

'tis the season to be naughty...'

Dude in the big city

16/12/2010


Farmers choice sausages and free range eggs; chai ya Ketepa, mkate nusu na uji - Now that is a breakfast of champions. You see, the perks of being at home are varied but without a doubt, food is right there at the top. How dare one not appreciate just how epic a breakfast of this magnitude is? While acknowledging the skill of the chef who put effort into it?

Today is day one in the big city; been away all of twenty four months and rumour has it development has finally found its way to my beloved city. I'm curious as to how well it has turned out seeing as the ride up to home began all smooth and dainty but ended up as a version of The Rhino Charge at some point when we still alleged to be on the road.

The impressions of the city are not lost on me; brilliant expansions of roads I once considered no better than one way estate roads, re-carpeting of these same roads and every other major road I can think of; and the crown jewel of them all, the multi-level interchanges on the 5 lane a side Thika road due to be commissioned later next year. Tears almost well up in my eyes in a moment of sheer unadulterated patriotism as I imagine how it shall look when fully done.

It takes all of five minutes on the road to figure out that Matatus shall never change; and Kenyan's along with them. The blaring music hits me as a multi-coloured blur (that could have been anything from a vehicle to a stampeding buffalo herd) whizzes by nearly taking my life with it as I attempt to cross the road at a zebra crossing. Clearly, we have yet to make that stride.

The brilliantly warm sun shines down hard upon her people; the hustle and bustle of Kenyan's wearing smiles on their faces brings a warmth to the heart. I have missed this and I plan to enjoy it as long as I possibly can.

Much love Nairobi.

P.S: Have you seen the interchange they intend to put up at the former Museum Hill roundabout? Have you? You should! Darn!

Kitas - back again

14/12/2010

The sweet, slightly chilled air of the highland areas that make up the so called 'Burbs' greet me as I alight the car at home. Kitas - the fond nickname we have coined up for home - also known as Matasia (short for Enoomatasiani) has a gorgeous view of the sky I have come to admit. The silhouette of Ngong Hills over the hills at midnight is nothing short of surreal; this is what I've been missing.

The lowing of the cows and the incessant debate over which chicken gets the early worm makes for a jolting back to life in Kitas; farm politics and details make for early morning breakfast discussions and the likes - You just have to love being home. A solid ugali is on the menu for lunch without a doubt and acquisition of a sim card to join the millions of fleecees (yes derived from fleece and meaning those who are fleeced!) on a Kenyan mobile phone network are the top two scheduled activities for the day. Those and numerous phone calls that have to be made to pay homage to relatives and friends without whom the journey of my life would have taken a different tangent.

But for now, I shall sit back and enjoy the warmth of being home.

How I have missed you so!

Homecoming

This is an entry I wrote on paper but failed to upload onto this blog.

13/12/2010

Dreams of a clear, smog-free, warm Nairobi sunshine have been shelved by circumstances that go way beyond my control. The anticipation of devouring the ribs of a hapless goat brought to slaughter in honour of the 'homecoming' have been put on hold as the plane sits like a lame duck on the runway. We're back at the airport for the second time in as many days; last nights' crushing news that the flight had been delayed by 16hours has been numbed somewhat by the stay in the three star hotel and loads of open bar drinks and food courtesy of KQ.

Its boarding time, and the itchy excitement of smelling Nairobi's air and savouring its intense warmth render me all giggly; its been nearly two years since I set foot in my motherland and the excitement is palpable. Just eight hours I tell myself and I shall get my chance to do so yet again.

There is nothing quite as breathtaking as the descent from Northern part of Kenya to the J.K.I.A. at night I dare say; its starts as a bleak darkness punctuated only by the occasional light - 'tis a scene that mirrors the heavens on a clear night. The punctuations slowly graduate to a line here and there and finally an entire array of lights as streets come into view and the beauty of the city is there for all to enjoy.

Clearance done and customs sorted. Luggage does take its time when you can see your loved ones through the glass partition of the airport arrival lounge but at last it is processed and I can safely say I'm home.

Overwhelmed by emotion and love, the admission that home is home is rather evident; the smell of the clear air, the perfect night sky, the flow of Kiswahili, Sheng and all other sets of dialects is music to my ears. Fighting back the tears is quite the task but it be time to drive up to the house and enjoy being in the motherland.

It feels good to be home; +254 you have been sorely missed and I'm here to prove it!

Vilage chronicles I: Old McDonald and alarm clock woes

Life on the farm can be quite the interesting one I daresay. It’s a perfect blend of peace and tranquillity that is second to none in this world. After a year of fighting to keep ignorance at bay, a holiday on the farm was just what the doctor ordered. However, the doctor never thought that an animal farm could be such an ‘interesting’ place to live.

I love sleeping; it’s on my list of top ten things that I love in this world. Needless to say, any interference with my sleep for reasons that do not directly affect the sustenance of my life may lead to a life long enmity between the perpetrator of such a heinous crime and I but I digress.
I haven’t used my alarm clock since I got home for holiday mainly because I love to sleep. However, of late I have been feeling a bit like Old McDonald from the famous childhood sing-a-long ‘Old McDonald had a farm’.

It all starts at the ungodly hour of three a.m. when the battle of the cockerels begins. The chief cockerel stamps his authority with a deep and long crow that would put all others to shame. Not to be cowed however, the neighbours’ cockerel is quick to respond and likewise with the entire zone such that in no time there’s an entire battle of the cockerels going on. You would have to be deaf to not to appreciate the efforts of the fowls as they go about their business of establishing who gets bragging rights for the entire day. This war goes on for all of an hour; which leaves one with just enough time to get back to sleep before the cattle take over as they begin their long incessant lowing in a bid to remind all that its time for them to get milked. Woe unto thee who forgets to milk them for you shall surely not sleep for their lowing is relentless. For sure, dawn is right around the corner when one finally gets back to lay his head on the pillow and try and get some sleep.

As if by some nasty twist of fate, at this particular moment is when the pigeons of yester tale show up and teach the attendant birds of the farm how to tap dance and sing-song on my window sill and has been proven in the past, silencing these breed of birds is nothing short of an impossible task.
So there goes an entire night, whether I like it or not, and up I have to be. Indeed, I have become Old McDonald from the famed folklore and established the answer to the question just how useful can an alarm clock be in these circumstances?

Of Spring and hybrid mosquitoes....

As has become custom, my love-hate relationship with the pigeons on my window sill continues; they love to irritate me to within an inch of my sanity and I hate them for trying to befriend me. The united voice choir of pigeons (U.V.C.P.) is at it again and they seem to have recruited a fleet-footed tap-dancing raven that is without a doubt as tone -deaf as a severely inebriated man. I awake to the cacophony of poorly coordinated, discordant though slightly harmonious cooing of pigeons accompanied by an inexplicable tap-dance by the newest recruit to the band. The cawing of that infernal creature I cannot stand and after running out of objects to throw at the window in a seemingly lost battle at chasing them away, I surrender to the ‘music’ and kiss my slumber away.

It’s yet another grouchy morning; not that I have anything against the morning but this has gone on long enough and besides, I haven’t really had much sleep of late and early mornings are great for this but alas the U.V.C.P. has other ideas.

Spring is a great season I daresay.

It’s apparently the season of life and love; trees awaken from months of slumber and grow some leaves to cover their bare sides; flowers bloom and fill the air with sweet scents of breed after breed that can be quite invigorating and intoxicating at a go; bees in abundance as they spread around pollen from flower to flower in reckless abandon occasionally smashing into all and sundry as they buzz around; even the fowls seem much happier with general warmer temperatures and make a point to show you as they splash around in ponds and canals all over the place.

For all these creatures of the earth, I have nothing but joy and envy save for one. I wouldn’t have a problem if they just minded their own business but they don’t now do they? Flying around, darting in and out, biting here and there and moving on as if it’s their right to do so. Yes, these are more tenacious than any I have ever seen. Sleep has become a thing of the past; counting sheep has been replaced with counting them.

They buzz, dart, bite they fly off. Hybrid too they have become, I can attest to this. They are organised, fearless and ruthless. I can almost swear that they now work in teams; some to lift the blankets and sheets covering my head and the rest to attack the top of my head. It sounds ridiculous but I can almost swear I have seen them do this, almost accidentally. I once woke up in a start only to find my blanket hovering strangely above my head but dismissed it as a confused dream and went back to sleep. However, shock on me when I awoke the next morning to find a set of bites on my forehead. Indeed, hybrid they have become and quashed they must be.

So yes I love spring and all the attendant life it brings along but I still stand by my assertion, hybrid mosquitoes must be quashed and I shall lead the campaign. Feel free to join me!