GENERATION GAP

GENERATION GAP

My boss seems to think that he actually he has a better musical orientation than most of us do. So I pointed out that he has a knowledge of music that he listened to as a youth and music that he grew up with . I was tempted to point out rather drily that that may also be limited but chose to stay my tongue.
Why he chose to join our little argument as we discussed music, Kwaito to be precise is a mystery to me. So there we are discussing the highs and comparing Mafikizolo, Brenda Fasie, Uhuru and other various artists when he starts telling us about how we are young and that he has more knowledge on kwaito than we do. I steered the topic towards South African house and challenged him to argue it out. The first thing he said was,  "what is that?"

A conversation I overheard in a supermarket between a teller and a customer. the customer was a young lady looking about twenties decent with a body to match. probably the only thing that drew my attention as i watched the exchange.
"Email niweke yamine?" The lady asks
 "Weka ya yours."  The teller, an elderly guy with  gray thinning hair on his head replies in the same vein.
I laugh silently! To begin with, I do not think the word yayours exists in any language spoken in Kenya. sheng inclusive. considering that then two were conversing in sheng, I couldn't help but feel the old mans zeal to stay on the same level with the customer. 

We have all had to contend with forty something year olds taking to the dance floors in clubs and gyrating their bodies in time to the beat as if to point to us the younger generation, YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO PARTY. At such times we stare, judge and shake our heads as our rebellious get away places are invaded by people who are old enough to be our parents. We look on as they pretend to like our music, we look on as they go on to get helplessly drunk and make  fools of themselves. Yet should anything go wrong with our lives fingers are pointed our way as tongues wag in that phrase that will never grow old as the generations change, "watoto wa siku hizi."
There are no mechanisms in society to bridge the age gap. When a forty something year old person develops a rebellious streak and realizes that midlife is new 21 and instead of devising ways they can keep themselves entertained while leaving their younger counterparts to their wiles, they instead choose to mingle with the young ones themselves. Wolves let loose among the lambs. Ere long, they are exploiting the innocence of the young lings and fill their heads with blatant nonsense about what to expect in the world out there at the same time filling their bellies with liquor, brandishing their big cars and fat wallets. An attempt at escapism from their failed lives. Young ladies play fiddle and form delusions of grandeur on the type of men they want, who sadly' they cannot find among their peers. Young men before long get pulled into sugar mummies and form a dependency on them that kills their ambitions and deters them from chasing their dreams. "After all am being provided for, why bother?" 
There is a group of people who have been sidelined by society. That age bracket of 21-26. At this point in life, you are expected to be old enough to take care of yourself and not old enough to be engaging in unsavory behavior.Most of the people are away at college during this age or are just fresh out of college and carving their way at the bottom of the corporate totem mostly with big dreams in their eyes. Their guardians are probably busy concentrating on their younger siblings or managing midlife crisis. Its left up to this group to guide themselves through life in patches that are often very thorny and dogged with challenges and dangers.
 In a society that has become dysfunctional, fraught with age stereotypes, full of a young generation that is bubbling with energy at discovering themselves and a middle generation group that is realizing what they missed in their twenties or heck life has just become sweeter, a bridge is needed. A bridge to close the gaps that make us judge, wrinkle our noses in disgust or even try to ape what the other generation is doing. A bridge to give clarity where vision is dim as to why we cringe inwardly and hope we don't turn out as some frustrated people we know. A bridge to the generation gap in work places especially open offices where you find yourself seated across a workmate who is old enough to be your father, who cant understand what Riddim music is or why House music appeals to you when to his ears its just noise. Abridge before Memos come raining down from Human Resource with accusations of "hauniheshimu!"
Brian Adams must have been right though, 18 TILL I DIE!

GRADUATION DAY

3 am in the night smoking cigarettes on the balcony of club hush and stoned beyond care. Surrounded by a majority of strangers all of whom are lost in a realm of stupor and druggie heaven! How did I get here?

 I take a long look around clutching my beer tightly in my hands as my unsteady feet propel me to bump into Brent, one of the white boys Selah is hanging out with. He is a confirmed junkie and gambler, he has just won a 40k bet and he is blowing all the money on booze. On the other hand is Jess, Jess the, don’t judge a book by its cover for she is the most innocent looking person under different circumstances and is a good friend. Jess is doing sambuka shots with Selah. On the other end of the round table is this guy who just brought in some Indian substance, the one you stick between your teeth and gums and just let the shit drive you crazy. He has unkempt hair and talks a lot. Not a lot of sense though. The balcony is crowded, so crowded you have to push your way around. Spirals of smoke are billowing into the moonlight and electronic lights cocktail. All these I see in a dreamy haze, everything in clear toned colors. Frozen into a slow movie that I am living, only that I am the observer. damn!  I feel good.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have gotten stoned with Dan.

It was graduation day at the college today; Jack was graduating, him,  and a lot of my other friends. Jack welcomed me to college on my first day. Next year it will be me here. Usually during such functions, there is a lot of free booze flowing around, hot little missies in daintily colored dresses and youthful luscious college ass that is just crying to be plucked. The variety, the abundance of people who have come to pay their regards to the graduates, the gay mood just floating in the air, sweeping everyone along. Folk spanning all calibers are here. The whole village that has come to witness the first graduate from the village ever are a mixed lost but happy looking folk, the single mother who has come alone to witness her only daughter get her bachelors is all smiling and proud as if telling the world, “see, I stood alone by my child and see how far she has come.” The seemingly normal family is here, brothers and sisters and a loving father and mother, see the kids make fun of each other as they paint the little happy family picture. The rich snobs are here too.

Dan is eyeing this chick. Some very brown new looking thing he has just espied by the library grounds with a brood of siblings tagging along. So he thinks it a good idea to ask us along so we can babysit as he vibes the lass. Kevo and Kobi agree to come along. Unfortunately when we get there, the lass has gone someplace else and is not around. The siblings are however still here. Dan seems to have his antenna at full mast today as in no moment does he spy another chic and runs along asking us to wait for him. Ten minutes by the chic he initially wanted comes back, 15 minutes, no Dan. we decide to leave. He follows us after a while calling us traitors for not staying to back him up. He will speak to the chick later in my absence and the chick will embarrass him because he cannot hold a conversation in English. “Brayo we ndio ungeweza huyo dame,” he tells me as he narrates the whole event.

We decide to go drinking. The students center is the closest watering hole we can come up with. The crowd in the campus has congested cellphone traffic. The network is playing hide and seek and we cannot withdraw cash via Mpesa. None of us only kevo has cash but it isn’t enough for two bottles of blue moon vodka. We hit the nearest Mpesa outside campus to get the cash. The security guards at the gate we have used want us to produce our ID’s. None of us have any, we bully our way inside. The center benches are full of guys drinking their way into rowdiness, the signs are evident as they whistle and shout at the ladies who are using a route nearby. We find ourselves space and proceed to join the action.

Jere calls at around three. We are fairly high by then. At least I feel the beginnings of happy thoughts in my mind and the hot African such pressing down in a humid Kakamega weather is making me feel all warm and lightheaded in a sweet kind of way. He picks us up from town and drives to his home. His sister’s graduation party. At the party we choose a dark corner at the back of the tent. Kev and kobi immediately start discussing football and arguing like their lives depend on it. Dan chips in from time to time but the other two carry the day. Some of the guys at the party join in. I do not follow football so I turn to the girl next to me and start making small talk. I forget her name immediately she says it. She is nice but not really my type, I lose interest and instead start talking to Fai, the lady friend of the Kevo’s gang. She is much more fun.  Food is announced. I eat some vegetables I haven’t had awhile and miss home. Speeches are made. We leave after presents have been delivered. We are debating whether to go see the peddler at Bhagdad. It’s a nice evening to be strolling around.

Belinda is at salsa practice. I had promised to to get her and her friend yoghurt after they had been haranguing me earlier in the day to get them soda. The cellphone traffic having jammed and me having no cash then promised to get yoghurt. She wants Blackforest  cake to go with that too. Nakummatt are out of Blackforest and am too tired to walk back to Tusky’s. I call her and she settles for a Swiss roll. When I get to her, the usual salsa suspects are already gathered dancing to some Kizomba tunes. Belinda and her friend Diana bounce on the drinks as I take the floor with Elvia. A few more dances later and I hit town. Belinda doesn’t want to come.

The air at club Hush is ripe with the promise of a good night. Jess and Selah are sitting by the door. I join them as we wait for Selah’s baby brother. Dan and the rest of the gang have already worked their way through a bottle of Smirnoff vodka. My first beer later I join them for the vodka. Jere is still wearing the suit he wore during the day and so far he is the only guy in the club with a suit on. Dan has a joint. Outside the club there is an alley, we duck into that and light up. The rest of the guys remain inside. Between herculean inhalations and rings of smoke Dan tells me how much home sucks. A few tokes myself and am agreeing with him. So the night is still young.

Fourth beer is gone, drowned with a a glass of Dan’s Vodka. He has had enough and is busy tweeting. The resident Dj is not patronizing the decks and for a change the music feels different and nice. Kwaito blares its way in and I get up to dance. The music is good hands are up in the air people are having fun. The club has filled up. I see friends who have graduated, I get invited to a few tables. In this fashion I stumble into the balcony for a breath of fresh air only to find it as packed only spiced with cigarette smoke. Selah hands me a fag. A waiter disappears with my change, I cannot tale the faces, they all look alike, it wasn’t much anyway. The club colors are beginning to call to me. In hues of Technicolor. There is no more space to dance. Fai has joined the fun. She is looking gorgeous! A  Dark brown mini dress snuggly hugs her body. The new DJ clearly knows his stuff! I try to clear my head. Then the guy with the Indian stuff shows up. After that its I remember a story from a Stephen king novel and the words of a blogger,  F.U.B.A.R Fucked Up Beyond  Any Recognition. I check the time on my phone. 3.49 am.

CIRCUMCISION

CIRCUMCISION 

Cultural ceremonies demand that a man swallow his pride, loose his suit and tie, roll up his sleeves and get rowdy with his mates. Then the act of drinking with a reed straw from the communal pot of broth is considered ordinary.

As a kid, I never imagined this possible with my father. I always fancied him as a calm composed man who never got up to  antics. Such antics. Ever serious and brief.  My opinions were however shattered and I gazed in open mouthed fascination at my circumcision ceremony as my father who is an introvert by nature was carried shoulder high by females (his sisters and a bunch of their friends) for a considerable distance. At the same time singing profanities that to my 8 year old mind were akin to the shocker of my life.

I remember walking for long something I was not used to. Accompanied by a majority of people I had never met who were chanting the Kisii circumcision song which by far is full of profanities. I remember trying to sit down because I was tired and getting forced to stand up because I was a warrior of the tribe now and I was a man. (8 years old then). One of the guys I knew by virtue of the fact that he was among the neighbors you were always asked to go fetch to come help in restraining the cows when the vet came around told me that during their time, they could cross ridges and mountains just to inform the world that they had become men. During their time too, a man never got circumcised alone but the whole age group got circumcised and as such there were always a group of rowdy youths who had just been enclosed for close to a month terrorizing the village hens and raiding the village farms. This is despite the fact that they had an abundant supply of food.

I remember my grandmother spitting cuddled milk and cow’s blood on my face, I remember being asked to carry meat from one room of the house to the other, why? Culture, I could not enter into any house unless this was done. The spitting I was told was a blessing, so a grandmothers spittle is a blessing… I remember being passed around a group of old women my grandmothers age who told me that I was now a robust young man who was supposed to do the community proud as the first born.

Had I been a stranger I probably would have run for my life as a group of women adorned in leaves and twigs over their clothing wielding machetes and slashing plants in their way while chanting and ululating led by my mother came to receive us. I had never seen my mother dressed thus and looking so alien. I remember her jubilation. On that fateful day I learnt what the word ‘egetoro’ meant. To translate it roughly, it means a present given to the hosts lady by other ladies in debt. It is to be paid back to the giver if she ever has a ceremony. Failure to reiterate in the same vein is enough to make you the village gossip topic for a while.

 Then came the teasing of the ladies who were slightly older than me. Those who knew the purpose of the tool that lay between my legs. The slightly older guys were no mercy though as they called me nyokeu. If you ever were in a Kenyan high school, you know what the name njuka means. I have no idea why that name always makes you feel hot faced but that is what the name Nyokeu in Kisii did for me.

So beer (busaa) did flow and the drunks did make idiots of themselves.  The food that was served in trays was cleared away neatly by a multitude who are experts at turning up at events and making the best of it. People you never knew but people whom you bumped into at any village ceremony nonetheless.

At the end of it all, I did come out as an 8 year old man who could not even wash his own clothes. Blame it on the numerous households employed by my mom.

DEPRESSION

At times it happens so sudden that you only notice it when you are about to hit rock bottom. In that void of darkness clutching at straws and trying to still your sudden plunge into that chasm that will only hold you down, strip all the light and joy of living from you and leave you  empty. Depression!

I haven’t written in a while, I can feel the tugs of creativity  at my brains every morning as I turn and turn in bed trying to find the perfect position to enable my falling back to sleep, damn morning sleep is so sweet. I can envision the words playing out of reach in my brains, I can feel the urge and itch in my fingers down my gut and I can feel my brain working overtime trying to create characters and plots and themes. The saddest thing though is all my characters are depressed. I think in drab colors, grey and more grey, I think of days filled with rain and endless mists. I think of characters who are suffering in swamps without end, plagued by the cold and nameless monsters. I see a world without joy without color without any zeal.

I should be at that point in life where I am bubbling with energy and striving to climb mountains and exercise the testosterone in my body, I should possess the energy to hurl a spear across six ridges as a one Ted Malanda would put it. Yet a lethargy has taken over my mind, slowly chipping away with judged blows that I cannot seem to parry. Life is moving past me in a slow flux, and am not moving with it, I feel stagnant in a world without chains. The wise say the limits of this world are your brains imagination. So what am I to do when my brain is slowly embracing my claustrophobia, closing in on all the expanses I possess and slowly stifling me down to that unthinking stage where I move through life like a zombie?

Time and time again, books have helped me snap out of it. Burying my nose in the characters that are fictions of some writers’ imagination and living with them in their world helps give me sanity. Books have given me a whole new world I can escape to. Books give me a sense of empathy and a freedom to practice my emotional wiles. My favourite writer is unarguably Stephen king and lately I sadly find myself criticizing him. I have read over 20 works from the fellow and I have come to notice a few things that I’d like to ask the fellow should I meet hi. His works though as strokes of pure mastery especially the Gunslinger series. Why does he always have the character of little boys who are plagued by some troubles, family or so and why do these young boys always survive any circumstances surrounding them.  His characters are almost predictable, you can almost anticipate having someone in an abusive relationship in his books, someone with a dysfunctional family, a complete phsyco.

In one of my class assignments, I am supposed to write a personal discourse on the book Things Fall Apart. The article should be at least 1000 words long. I first read things fall apart when I was in class seven, when I was starting to fancy myself as a young writer and had graduated from reading the fantastic seven sth(cant rem the exact title) Goosebumps and was penning compositions that had teachers praising me. I find myself trying to recollect my thought and trying to see if I can put together an article without actually reading the book again. I simply feel lazy. I have no idea why sitting down to do a class reader seems such a big deal yet I daily tuck away pages and pages of fiction in my brain.

Am trying to kick the habit as it were. (the phrase kicking the habit leaves me in stiches, think of a nun’s habit). Am trying to start living, I realized with a start that it has been three months since I last wrote something that appealed to me, I read Tony Mochama’s article where he describes himself as a Tsar of sentences, (hats off dude, you continue to inspire us) I picked up one thing from the article, you writing id directly proportional to the amount of works you read, quick question Tony, does that apply in vice versa? In all the time I have been away, I have read the whole of Terry Pratchet’s Discworld series, Patricia Mackphilips  on Morgon of Hed and numerous other stories.

Time to go seek out my friends and start living, get a girl laugh with her and see if I still have my mojo open the windows in my house sweep away the cobwebs and get a breath of fresh air. Hell, in might even eat a fruit today. The clouds are chasing each other in a sky that is largely blue. Sometimes I do think that it would be fun to visit a shrink.  Then again I think to myself, therapy won’t work on me!

KIDS

 

Can kids be in love?

One of my friends who studies human behavior seems to think so. He  told me that everyone makes a connection. He went ahead to tell me that kids can fall in love, kids as old as a month old. (I thought him insane). It is also the reason why a baby will cry when some people hold them and will cry not when some other people do even when they are total strangers. Kids too can fall in love, it’s just that they won’t know that they are in love or will not be able to distinguish that feeling clearly. They too can get attracted to people and can select out the people they like. He gave me a rather perfect example which I found plausible but perverted. This is what he told me, no he asked actually.

“Have you ever found little kids coming from school, girls especially and then one of them takes an interest in you and starts playing around you or doing some things that are bound to make you notice her?”

“But they are kids, and that’s what kids do. Play!” I answer back

“Were they playing with everyone or were they playing with you?”

I shut my mouth.

I live in a neighborhood that is rife with kids, noisy little burgers. There is something that totally scared me, picture kids who are less than three years old. A group of them, you are passing and then suddenly one runs up to you holds your hand and says UNCLE! At the same time looking at you with those innocent baby eyes and smiling, and the other whole lot starts shouting uncle uncle in mirth.  First off, I almost had a heart attack, am the first born at home and none of my siblings has an offspring I know off, secondly am not a baby person. I can stand babies only when everyone is oooing and aaaing around them and they are in someone’s else hands and the moment they start bawling I bolt for the nearest exit. So I was at a loss. To make matters worse, the mothers were standing a short distance away doing what idle women do best. Gossip. I had to part with a few shilling for sweets. I have become bosom buddies with those kids since then. Damn! Kumbe kids can be fun?

I know this couple, it’s not really a couple but to me they are. It’s a five year old couple. As in five year olds who are a couple. They do everything together. Walk together, hold hands, share everything, watch TV together, u could think they are twins but nay, just friends from the same neighborhood. I pray they grow up just like that. That life does not get in the way and screw up everything for them as it does the rest of the world. Just imagine innocent looking kids spending almost every minute of their lives together, and the parents know about it and are okay with it.

I have seen a girl wipe boys tears with her sweater. And hold him and comfort him like you could comfort a baby. And they were mere babies.  And I thought to myself, that is caring!

Then again I have seen mean kids. So out-rightly mean you wonder where they picked it up from. There is a game kids play, three players, two at the end, one in the middle, a ball is flung back and forth between two, the one in the middle tries as much as possible not to get hit. I saw one get hit and she walked right up to the one who had thrown the ball that hit her and push her violently into the ground. I was dumbfounded! Why for God’s sake why? It’s part of the game, right? 

MGMT - KIDS 

CAMPUS RELATIONSHIPS
Show me a campus student who hasn’t been in a relationship and I will show you a saint!
Some say it is a passing phase in our formative years. Having a relationship in campus is as normal as taking a cup of tea. Anyone who doesn’t belong to this category is more often than not labeled as a social pariah. Everybody is dating, student verses student, students and lectures, students and working class people. All these comprise of the dating bracket in campus. Why do people enter into these relationships in campus?
Society bestows standards by which people conduct themselves and live in, campus is a society and as such there are rules. Perhaps the paramount reason why students get into campus relationships is to fit in. join first year, totally green and realize that your superiors are all in relationships, so it is the in thing, why not join the bandwagon? Before long you are neck deep in it, you are breaking hearts left right, you heart is being broken and you are in the system. Thus you now belong. Everybody is doing it, why not me? This is the question that comes to everyone’s lips when the question of why they are in relationships is posed.
Most campus relationships are based on sex. Students get into such relationships basically for sex. In never hurts anyone because they understand that it is just for a while. Students have managed to work out a system that is commonly referred to as “friends with benefits” the benefits here being sex. Most of us did our high school in public boarding school and never got the chance to explore our sexuality. Campus offers that opportunity where you can engage and explore these avenues. There is no parental supervision or societical judges. It is campus. Everyone is having a roll in the hay. This is amid the numerous abstinence campaigns by those labeled as :holier than though activists in campus” am not by any chance glorifying sexual relations, am just pointing out the obvious and calling a spade a spade! Not everyone is doing it though. One spoilt apple does not spoil the whole basket. At least one or two will escape the rot.
There are some relationships that are based purely on favors. Often, these kinds of relationships are practiced by ladies. It also involves sex. This is not to say that men are innocent for there are a few practitioners. Lectures and staff are the other party players here too. At times students just offer themselves yet at times it is the lectures who as for those “favors’ sex for better marks and other educational favors that can be offered in campus.
Some relationships are about finances. Man can never be equal in terms of finances. There are students who come from well to do families and have the capabilities of maintaining a certain lifestyle. Other students want to ape this but lack the means. They resort to other means, like dating sugar daddies and sugar mommies. Students who engage in these usually have boyfriends and girlfriends their own age and still keep sugar daddies. The sugar daddy if the finances and when they need emotional attachment, the boyfriend or girlfriend comes into play.
Then there is the category that practices real love, there is that couple who show up together everywhere, live together and are obviously in love. These kinds of relationships are based on honest feeling and attachment to each other. They are bound to blossom into fruitful marriages if kept on. Such couples are usually known around campus and accorded the respect they deserve. Nobody messes with them.
Most relations in campus don’t last though, sadly! The expression “untill holidays do us apart” comes into play. Students stay together until when they go for their long holidays and unless they come from the same area back at home, the relationships tend to break apart. The coming of a new academic year sees some pick up from where they left or look for new partners. It is very rare to be in campus and just have a relationship with just one person, the average number is usually three by the time you are completing campus. And those are the good ones.
Can campus students really exist without relationships, without the sex and just concentrate on learning? No! it would be a lie. In traditional African society, the age at which people join campus could have been the prime age for marriage. In modern society, that is when most youth are discovering their potential, what they can do and what they cannot do. It is also around this age that most of them are broaching the idea of marriage. Denying them the opportunity to date (interact) will rob them of an experience that will come in handy when they decide to settle down. So yeah, let them find out for themselves what is like, let them break a few hearts, let them have their hearts broken for when the right time comes, they will be wiser.

OF MAIDENS AND FLOWERS

WHAT BECAME OF LOVE?

Whatever happened to giving ladies flowers? What became of the cliche and novelty of romance? What became of a symbol so lovely and fragrant as to sway hearts? Perhaps time caught on? Perhaps times a changing? It is sad that the old conventions are dying away, Replaced by tokens that seem so empty and plastic. Plastic in the literal sense, think ATM cards and plastic money. Think electronic gadgets and car keys. The competition to outdo each other in pleasing a maiden these lies with the amount of cash one has to spend to get the attention of a lady. And sadly most of these tokens are without meaning

What became of the days when ladies got swept off their feet by gallantry and a broad chest and sinewy arms? When the sign of a man’s rippling muscles could make ladies flock to him? What became of the ruggedness that screamed MAN! The neo modern man is a joke. I don’t want to seem cynical when I argue this point, but really? Manicures, pedicures, complicated hair products that could put a models dressing table to shame, and the dressing, what the hell are men wearing these days? Yellow skinny pants really?

Love has lost its meaning; it has been replaced by lust and necessity. Necessity because people are getting into relationships to satisfy society. Not because they want to but because they have to. Because society expects that of them and they do not want to be outcasts. Funny how society divides people. Our forefathers must be turning in their graves at the amount of sex people are having these days. Almost every object in the 21^st century is portrayed sexually. sex is no longer that holy act that was meant for bed chambers and only adults. 12 year olds can school you about sex these days. Heck there are even 9 year old getting pregnant.

Since this was about maidens and flowers let’s go back to that, shall we? Girls love flowers, am yet to see a girl who will frown at a flower that has been presented as a gift to her. Unless of course she is allergic to pollen and she starts sneezing the moment you present the flowers to her. That could be downright bad. Most of the ‘trendy’ (do that quote sign with your fingers) flowers if I may use that word are roses. This flower has been used so much for so long that variations on its presentation has come up. Which brings me to the question, who coins these things? A red rose to mean…, a pink…, a white…, the number of roses you present someone also have a significant meaning, like being sorry, asking for ones hand in marriage, asking to be engaged, proclaiming your love… blah blah. Now the Kenyan man has no idea what any of those symbols mean. To him a rose is acts a symbol of proclaiming love. He cares not for the color or the number unless he has an aesthetical eye or he is a stickler to detail.  I saw a picture of a green rose, with a water drop hanging on its base. It was just something I stumbled upon on the internet. Does a green rose exist in real life? I was too lazy to google that shit at that moment.   

A little piece of my mind, there are so many flowers out there. It doesn’t have to be bought in a flower shop for it to represent what its meant to. Since it’s a symbol, even that little beautiful shrub that grows by your gate could suffice.   

 snow patrol | just say yes

AN ODE TO NAIROBI

We upcountry folk always hear the scariest stories about Nairobi. We hear of muggers, traffic jams, the crowds and of how expensive it is to live in Nairobi. The painted picture is usually gory in which makes us see only what we want to see.
 No one mentions that it a beautiful town with beautiful people. No one tells you of the magnificent grandeur of The KICC, that is one beautiful building. They always neglect to mention how the skyline looks at night to someone who had never seen so many lights before; Its hypnotic! Not to waste too many words trying to describe it! No one mentions the Heroes of Independence standing proud in monument! Dedan Kimathi,Tom mboya, All standing in proud defiance. All town, other statues stand guard, like those home guards on (I forget the street's name)... and the others.
There is a hidden place called Agha khan walk, I can never seem to find it though, I get lost every time. But I love sitting there! Why didn't anyone ever tell me how peaceful and quiet it is just be  sitting there, a stone throw distance away from the madness that is Kencom bus station?
Did I mention I love food? And the number of fast food joints in Nairobi to a guy who comes from upcountry is mind boggling. Every street u walk down has its own aromas calling to you. Not to mention the number of restaurants available all over the city. You can never find a burger upcountry, and then there it is, fat and succulent, you bite of a big chunk and chew slowly, an explosion of bliss shocks your taste buds. You pause and sigh in obvious pleasure, then you continue to chew, you add some ketchup to the remaining burger. If the first bite was bliss, this is better than that.
Have you visited Uhuru park on a cold June morning just for the thrill of it? Looked at the ponds, contemplated taking one if the boats out? Started feeding biscuits to those little adorable fish that come up grab and disappear?
Lets go downtown, shall we? Meja Mwangi has a novel called "Going Down River Road". I found myself on Grogan road, Someone once told me if you want motor spare parts that's the place to go, and I wanted to go to Ngara and visualize how Ben lived. A friend bought me soup in some shady hotel in Nyamakima. The soup was whitish! I dint like it but I drank it anyway. Down to the last drop. I stood at the fire-station and envisioned it in black and white, from a newspaper mug shot I'd seen. Then I went down river road, I dint get robbed, which was disappointing.  further down towards Jack and Jill. It no longer stands but I think that name will carry on forever! There it ended.
 I bade Ben Goodbye and went into Muthurwa. They were right though. It stinks! And everywhere you pass someone is trying to grab your arm forcefully in an attempt to convince you to buy their wares!The human traffic is stifling. Not to forget the innumerable number of mugger looking types who idle there. Did you know that as bogus as the market looked, a whooping 700 million was used to construct it? Or that the initial plan included a hospital, a banking hall and a police post?
Out to feel what a Nairobian faces everyday other waking day I got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half, just sweating it and wondering how much time was lost thus daily. It also reminded me of that No stress Nivea advert, (and I gotta try that perfume by the way)  . Which reminds me, the stretch between Jogoo road roundabout to Muthurwa is never without jam, Never have I used it and found traffic moving, its always bumper and bumper. On that part they were right.
I continue to get lost almost daily as I explore our Kenyan capital. All this is without regrets to say the least for I embrace the men do not ask for directions thing. Stop looking at me like that. Google maps on my Huawei Ideos seems to get me lost all the time too. The other day as I was coming from work, riding the company bus, I passed my stop and spent the better part of the evening touring Eastland. I alighted at my stop on the return trip and I have to admit I was impressed by the conversation the driver was having with the guys who work night duty. Those who were riding the bus back that is.
This is not a story about Nairobi.
This is an ode to Nairobi.