I have thought long and hard about this and I am compelled by your insistence to write about my meeting with Nicholas . Unlike his meeting Guess he did not offer me cubed sugar cane in fact he offered me nothing at all!

Most of you have read what Guess had to say about Nick. I know you are all wondering whether her portrayal of Nick was truthful or just plain flattery. Read on.

Nick agreed to meet me not on neutral territory but in his home area. He must have been scared of meeting far from home and hence chose Wab Hotel in Buru-Buru as the place. This is a quiet estate hotel frequented by gentlemen my age and a little older. In fact at 26 Nick would probably be the youngest male here. He asked me to be there promptly at 7 PM.

I was there at 1800 hrs and I scouted the area for snipers, booby traps and anything that looked remotely out of place. I parked my car in the parking lot of another building and identified a suitable vantage point at the gas station across the street from the Wab Hotel.
At the gas stationed I questioned the attendants and showed them a picture of Nick in his spider mask and Milo in his kid- Ninja- Shaolin- Sumo wrestlers outfit. I felt relieved, as none of the pictures were familiar to them.

I then made my way to the Matatu stop on the main road and engaged a couple of Matatu touts in small talk- keeping my eyes peeled and my back against the wall. I watched the vendors selling fruit and other wares. They were all busy selling their bananas, oranges, mangoes, shelled peas, cut up sukuma wiki, pineapples etc. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed a 20 something year old kijana selling cubed sugar cane. This brought to mind Nicks date with Guess. The young man was dressed in faded blue jeans, a well-worn Michael Jackson T-shirt. His hair was surprisingly neat in dreads. An oversized rock seemed to weigh down his left earlobe. I heard him ask a young lady in sheng- ‘sasa kasupu? niku-undie ya mbao leo?’ He flashed her a smile and I could see his fluoride stained brown teeth. This teeth colouration is common amongst the Kikuyus from Murang’a but I remember reading somewhere, that in some parts of Kieni the fluoride levels are equally high. Was it possible that I had found Nick in his undercover disguise? (I had heard somewhere that young Nick was studying to be dentist- could his earth coloured teeth be his motivation?) I slowly moved away from the toothy sugar cane vendor, keeping him in sight at the same time scanning the numerous faces for Milo or any other assistant/assailant. A Matatu sprayed with all imaginable colours pulled up to the bust stop and a tout yelled out “wewe Kamash, leta ya kumi!!” The wanna-be Rastafarian rushed a plastic bag to the vehicle and I knew he wasn’t Nick.

Having certified the area clear and since I had about 20 minutes before my enemy number one was due, I decide to walk into the hotel and screen the patrons just in case Nick was one step ahead of me and had planted a mole in the bar. This was my first time in the hotel and I was cautious as I entered the main bar. There were groups of elderly men and women engaged in drinking their favourite Kenya Breweries drinks- loudly in a manner that only Kenyans know how to. From the melodious din of the drunkards there was little doubt as to their origin. There was no one under 30 in the bar full of Ndukos and Mutisos. On any other day I could have been at home here. The two television sets were blaring out Mexican soaps- “cuenda ses mia” on KTN and on NTV “secreto di amore.” A number of patrons were eagerly engrossed in the simplistic story lines. I was at loss as to how they could follow both shows at the same time. The bar was filling up with people coming in to wait for the 7 ocklock news- it has never ceases to amaze me how Kenyans will religiously drop everything they are doing to watch the news.

There were a number of unoccupied tables and I mentally selected two that I would lead Nick to. The tables were positioned at the rear in a covered verandah where I could see who was coming into the bar. Satisfied that my mission was successful and that Nick hadn’t pulled any surprises, I exited Wab Hotel. I found a truck parked by the entrance and used for cover as I watched the driveway.

After full 10 minutes beige Toyota Corolla pulls up and parks in a vacant slot opposite the truck I am using for cover. I watch it as the driver turns on the interior light and pulls out what at first looks like a weapon. I realize quickly that’s it one of those Afro combs. He combs up his fro and pats it into place and places a call on his cell phone. A second later my phone vibrates in my coat pocket and I look at the screen. Caller ID indicates SPIDEY. I say hello and he says: “sasa! Uko wapi!” I tell him I am at the entrance of the hotel as I cross the street. He says, “Sawas- I have just arrived give me a sec.”

Dark khakis and a round neck sweater covered the well-built 6ft frame of Nicholas . A light skinned attractive young man with an infectiously shy smile walked up to me. He reminded me of Todd Bridges of the ‘80s sitcom, Different Strokes. He had a firm handshake that was inconsistent with my first impression of a shy young man. As I sized him up I suspected that he must have been a fat little boy in his youth and this weight had now filled into his frame. I looked to see if he was squinting or maybe wearing contacts but found no evidence of that. I was pleasantly surprised.

In my normal manner, I took immediate charge of the meeting and invited him into the Hotel. He seemed to be okay with this and followed me through the maze of tables to the rear of the resident’s bar. I am sure that he felt slightly patronized by me at this point.

We took seats opposite each other at one of the pre-selected tables. I sat with my back against the wall watching the entrance. The last thing I wanted was to put myself in a position where my reaction time to the entry of Milo and Co. would be restricted. I could see Nick studying me with a bemused look on his face. I managed to get the attention of one of the establishment’s garcons and asked Nick what he would like to have. Nick ordered a FANTA- I kid not- a fanta orange! I ordered a cold Tusker Malt.

Our drinks were delivered without much delay and we got talking. I did most of the talking at first as Nick was restless and kept shifting in his seat. I told him of my experiences in the Kenya Army- which seemed to amaze him. He was in utter shock when I told him that I had retired 10 years ago. I studied his features as I told him I had a 21-year-old daughter. I could not find any obvious physical genetic flaws and I actually thought he would not make a half bad son in law. Nick told me about his family- he is a single child (I am sure spoilt rotten by his mother since the age of two to date.) I learnt that Spidey still lives at home and is actually a dentist. He adores his mother, his computer and his job.

After about half an hour Nick begins to feel more at ease and his sense of humour starts to show itself. He laughs a lot, critically analyses every word said and remembers every comment posted on his blog. I had three beers in the hour that we met and he declined another Fanta.

I am not trying to prop him up but this enemy of mine came across as a very nice and intelligent young man. Single ladies out there- I think you will find him good looking and quite a charmer.

If he is willing to learn from this old fart I will seriously consider handing my baton to him.

He is a truly worthy opponent.



In my minds eye I expected Nick to be a geek. You know- the dense bifocals, zits all over his face, shifty restless eyes and a Jackson 5 Afro.

I expected him to be short, plumb wearing oversized, sagging trousers and carrying a duffel bag filled with an assortment of toys, CDs , laptop spares, palmtop and flash disks.

I expected Nick to be shy, fidgety and two come with a couple of geek friends posing as bodyguards.

I expected him to drive to our meeting place in a dilapidated VW, which he wishes was an antique.

I expected Nick to order for his hot milk and Fanta and pay for it- and then offer me a drink and pay for it too.

Was I disappointed?

Find out SOON!!!


Blue's a-travelling

Across the plains of Ole Ndonyo
Thru the Banana plots of Nyakundi
Near the lake of Omondi
To the home of Chacha Mwita.

Blue is a travelling.

See you all in 2 weeks.


GOD is a Woman!

his post started as a reply to the Tag that I received from Milo. Together with Nick’s post where he mentioned ‘Indigo Children’- it forced me to take a stroll down memory lane. Yesterday I was watching some show on television and a married couple got me thinking of back in the day.

On TV Last Night. ( I don't remember the names of the characters so I have used Jack and Jane Smith)

Jack Smith has been married to Jane for 8 years. One morning Jane wakes up and heads for the bathroom as she has done at certain times of the month over the last 5 years. A few minutes later she lets out a yell from behind the door and Jack comes rushing in.

“Honey!! We did it”… she says, amid an explosion of tears of happiness.
Jack scrutinizes the pregnancy tester in total disbelief and starts jumping up and down, tears streaming down his happy face. “Thank you God. We have waited for sooo long!”

Jack and Jane go back to the bedroom where they call their places of work and both obtain a day off. They call both sets of parents and exclaim to them “ Mom, Dad! We are pregnant!” The folks in turn call their friends and close relatives spreading the word that Jane and Jack were expecting a baby.

Some people try for years to have just one child. Some people don't have to try at all. I have two girls of my own and the question of why I don't want a boy has always annoyed me. It is disturbing that in this day and age some people just dont get it-a child is a child!

The following is a true story:

I worked in the small lazy town of Gilgil for a while in the nineties. The town was forgotten when the new Nakuru- Nairobi road by-passed it. The only real reason anyone had for going to Gilgil was passing through on the way to Nyahururu. If you know Gilgil; then a picture of a small dusty Kenyan town, populated almost entirely by military, police, youth service and their families will come to mind. Perched high on the Kariandus hills; frequent whirlwinds (aptly nicknamed ********in kikuyu- any ideas- anyone?) blow across the whole town carrying papers, plastic bags and the odd branch or two. There is not much vegetation in Gilgil and you can imagine how painful it is to be caught in one of these, especially if you happen to be unlucky enough to come across a dust devil carrying the famed ‘ngoja- kidogo’ branch! ( I learned sometime back that the English name for that shrub is actually- ‘wait a minute bush’- google it if in doubt!)

In this town I had a close friend- he was a couple of years my senior and till today this story still amazes me. My friend Nzomo- not his real name -was a mkamba. He’d just got recently married and was blessed with twins three months after his wedding. The pretty little girls were his pride and joy. After about six months we started noticing that Susan was pregnant again and we jokingly asked Nzomo what was happening. He replied that since God had given him two beautiful girls he wanted a set of boys and he would be done. A couple of months later he informs us that his wife had delivered not twin girls this time, but triplets! All girls. We had a harambee and thought nothing more of it.

The months grind by slowly in small semi-arid towns. When the wind isn’t howling, its hot and the air seems to just hang in the sky suffocating everything- even the animals in its stillness. Absolutely nothing happens in this town and every day is like the other. The swelling of dark clouds over Lake Naivasha and the escarpment bring with them a distant longing for rain or at least a small shower. As soon as they appear ready to release their moisture, they are blown away to somewhere that doesn’t need the rain; and everyone is back to the slow monotonous daily routine.It was a really sad town.

But my friend Nzomo always looked on the bright side of life and as he resumed work after almost two months leave, his face was beaming. He told us that he had consulted Mzee Kioi and other wazees in his rural home of Mwingi. They had given him a powerful dawa and he was sure to father a boy this time round. We were slightly confused by this because we expected him to put a stop to his fathering after 5 children. But his need to have a son was very strong. I, for one, pitied his wife- Susan, but was impressed by her strength and love for her husband. The twins were now going on three and the triplets were nearing their second birthday. They must have been a handful.

Nzomo started buying boys clothes, toys and was always talking about his ‘son’. As the days went by Susan started putting on some weight and sure enough after a few months her pregnancy manifested itself. We held our collective breaths (or so it seemed) hoping that the visit to the dawa- man in Mwingi would bear fruit. Nzomos certainty was contagious and we all started believing in Mzee Kioi. Susans belly appeared smaller than the previous time and she could be seen looking radiant in the market, one kid on her back and the others at home with the house help.

This time we all went to Nakuru Memorial Hospital. Nakuru was the complete opposite of our little town of Gilgil. It was modern- had about six streets, several ‘high rise’ three and four story buildings. If my memory serves me right, I think the highest had a whopping six floors! The Memorial hospital was in Milimani at the base of the Menengai hill. It was off the tree-lined Nakuru Eldoret road on a side road leading to the rear entrance of State House Nakuru. Old colonial government houses surrounded the hospital. The Jacaranda trees carpeted the grass and roads with their lilac-blue trumpet blossoms. It was truly a most beautiful part of the town

We waited with Nzomo at the hospital for some hours but like all men we became restless. We convinced him that we all deserved a drink while waiting so we headed to Stags Head Hotel on the main street of Nakuru. We decided not to go to our normal pub- Gitwamba. This is where we came for our monthly R&R. The girls there all knew our names so it wasn't the ideal place to engage in a celebration. We ordered our tusker exports and premiums (remember them?) and had us a party at Stags Head! We allowed Nzomo to go back to the hospital on condition that he would return as soon as there was news. Nzomo never came back.

We later found out that Susan had delivered a brand new set of triplets-all girls. Our man Nzomo was devastated. 8 children in five and ½ years. None of saw much of Nzomo after that. He led a solitary life and avoided associating with his friends. Susan was shipped off to Mwingi and Nzomo moved to a small flat near the NYS camp. I left the dusty, hot and windy town of Gilgil that year and never really missed it. I lost touch with almost everyone I had known there.

A few years later however, I did hear that they tried one last time for a boy and had a final set of twins.
Two girls.


Wangu of The Mugumo Tree Part II

So promptly at seven ocklock Kinuthia was at the fig tree waiting for Wangu. She didnt keep him waiting for too long- she arrived just as the sun was sinking in the horizon. Kinuthia pushed Wangu against the Mugumo tree and put his hands up her blouse. His hard hands squeezed her breasts as one does when checking the pressure on a bicycle tire. His thumb and forefinger moved to her nipple roughly tweaking it. Wangu doesn’t like the feeling at all and she tries to pry herself away from Kinuthia. Reluctantly he let go of her but held on to her hand and said to her in a raspy voice laden with excitement:
"Riiu tudu uturaga ikinjira jiitiirii ndigutuma nyumanii ni wendo?
Ndaguthaitha tuthiii uhii uhanini na ndigakuhuya ringi. Nitutonye nahau undiikiirie!"
Since you always tell me to wait don’t you think I will burst because of this love(need)?
Lets get into that maize field and get it over with.
Her reply was quick and Kinuthia could not believe his luck.. … “Nandungicunuka! Ni ndiri mundu wa kuheana mahutiini- Nduara handu hangi”
Shame on you! I am not one to just give you in the bushes.. take me somewhere else.
"Nituthii cube yakua uhe- muthee na maitu niimathiiri mahoya": Lets go to my cube you give me- mom and dad have gone for prayers.
“Niui nguendete gukira nguacii cia maitu na meru ma maragua- taahutia wiguii uria ndinawendo.”
You Know I like you more than my mothers sweet potatoes or bananas from Maragua- touch me and feel how hard my love is!
Kinuthia directs her hand to his throbbing anticipation. He remembered the last time had sex- about 6 months ago with Peninah right here under this very tree. He had planted her firmly against the tree and had enjoyed having her legs around his waist. *** details removed by author due to explicit nature*** Peninah would later tell all her friends that all she got from this encounter was mahuti in her hair. But Kinuthia KNEW he had satisfied himself and her too in those action packed 3 minutes. Now he was getting really excited. He grabbed Wangus hand and quickly made his way through the ‘maveve’(maizefield).
He was 28 years old and he had done very well for himself- 5 girls – no simple feat for a young man his age. His pals- Kamau Nduati and Srystone- were so impressed with his exploits that most of them came to him for advice ( of course he always exaggerated and told them he had been with ten girls and his first was when he was 20). Only yesterday Kamau had come to him asking what to do about his problem of immature ejaculation. Kinuthia had explained to him that as long as he was ‘inside’ when this happened then it was allright because this is what makes a girl feel good. “Uguo niguo mendaga” that’s how they like it. He further explained to Kamau that once he becomes more experienced(like himself) he would be able to keep going for upto five minutes. This advice Kamau received with disbelief: “Ndagika 5.. icio ni nyingi muno.. mundu ndagikuraguu anagote muno!!!”
"5 minutes.. That’s Way too long.. one must be really tired after that."

Kinuthias ‘cube’ is about 15 metres from the main house, partly hidden by the huge Mango tree that he had loved to climb as a youngster. When in season, the mangoes fell on his tin roof at times shocking him awake in the middle of the night. The room was not very large but it was comfortable. He had a nice bed and he had taken great care to collect newspapers and magazines pages to cover the walls. On the right side of his bed was a poster of a half naked Japaneese model which he had lovingly cut out of a 1992 calender. He also had several posters from'True Love' and 'Drum' and ‘The Pulse’ magazine, serving as wallpaper. These he was partcularily proud of because the younger girls were interested in Roughstone, Wahu, Nameless, Issa, Kleptomaniacs and other contemporary Kenyan artists. He KNEW he impressed them when he sang along to The ‘Gambler’…. “… You never cound yua mony when u a sitting at the tamble… They will mbe time enough for counding.. when ndeerings ndone.”

In one corner sat a one speaker Sanyo radio cassette and about 10 ‘compacts’. He had the latest of Salim, Man Mike, Queen Jane and several Kamaru oldies. He also had Kenny Rogers and Roger Whittaker and Dolly Parton. He had spent the whole morning tidying his room in anticipation of bringing Wangu here this evening. He had swept his dirt floor clean and had even sprinkled some water over it to give a smooth cemented look.
He pulled Wangu into the cube and placed her on the bed. Kinuthia could smell the arousing smell of Suzanna Pomade from her ‘Curly Kit’. At least she wasn’t a ‘kariko’ like some other girls. He turned to his Sanyo boom box and…….


Forever is here already

Repeat to me my dear how much love you have for me
Tell me again and again why I feel like this for you
I hear you telling me to listen to your heart
Beating so reliably regular strong as my will

Raise this spirit mine from those depths of doubt
and shine your flashlight into the dark chasms
Hold my hand, my love; guide me to a better place
Secure and far from those lying, prying eyes

Waver not for I feel your strength in my weakness
And I will lend you support for your every thought
A helping hand to feel our way in the night
Casting away those against this tender, powerful feeling
Together we must walk this course
Leaning on each other and nudging the other on
Looking back only for memories sake
Swiftly moving onward committed to happiness;bliss

Long has been the path crisscrossing many lives
In search of one that feels like you do or I do
Alone neither you nor I can find what is lost in time
The mating of searching souls now tired wary

I have waited forever for a love so pure so right
Finally my dreams and hopes are fulfilled
Smiles splashing my face feeling knowing
That forever is here already.



The Nyakundis are close in proximity to the lakeside Omondis but they are worlds apart. It has been said that they’re closest in behaviour to Merus than to any other Kenyan tribe. They can be violent stubborn and very difficult to convince but they are generally good-natured bunch.

Most parts of Kisii have rolling hills and the average farm size in there is ¼ of an acre. On this patch of land Nyakundi has divided his portion to accommodate the following: a few bananas, some tea bushes, and some ‘cash crop’ (weed). This ‘cash crop’ is exported to Nairobi and Kisumu and then to other parts of the Nation. They were the first to raise the potency of their ‘cash crop’ by soaking it first in Changáa then drying it before smoking it. If you have ever been on the Nairobi-Kericho road and are overtaken by a Keroka Express bus with a name like ‘Buffalo Soldier’ being driven at 176 km/hr- you know the driver is definitely rocking to ‘Bob Maroa and the Wailers.’

Nyakundis love their nighttime activity and I am well informed by members of this said community that the ‘cash crop’ makes them very horny. A true Nyakundi may only have one wife but he will have a number of mistresses. It is also common knowledge that Nyakundi men are well endowed in the area between the stomach and thighs. Rumour has it that the use of the ‘cash crop’ is not limited to the men-the women too enjoy the effects. Hence there is an explosion of little Moraas and Nyakundis in the villages. Kisii are many and they know it- during the last elections their political guru- Hon. Simeon Nyachae headed a party called Ford People with clarion call of: “ Watu… Watu wengi… Watu wengi sana!!!” Walking through the streets of Kisii town on any day as like walking in downtown Nairobi during rush hour. The population density is among the highest in Kenya.

Nyakundi is a hard worker- as long as you don’t mind the acrid aroma of ‘cash crop’ coming from the shamba and you are prepared to provide double portions for lunch- he can plough a couple of acres single handed at almost the same speed as a tractor.He is more than worth his pay. Nyakundis working in central province cannot understand how Kikuyus have Githeri for lunch as this is what they have for breakfast washed down with a couple of mugs of brown millet porridge.

Kenyan blue-collar employers are a bit wary when employing Nyakundis- they are well versed in the art of forgery and certificates are carefully scrutinised. One ‘A” level certificate or BA degree could be held by at least four people. Only recently the whole compliment of Kisii members of parliament was up in arms about the ‘wrong’ portrayal of their tribesmen as cheats in the local high school examinations. Three schools in Kisii had their results cancelled due to cheating.

Favourite drink: Not particular but would rather smoke a certain plant.
Favourite Songs- Sweety Banana- Nyambane
Food: Bananas & more bananas-but once the munchies hit anything is good.
Notable Kisiis: Nyambane, Didge and Tichi Nyasani
Characteristics: Hard-headed; fighting spirit; Kisiis love to hang around each other.

Most common Joke:
All sixth form results at St Barnabas High School,Nyamira were cancelled because the Kenya National Examination Council wondered how all four streams could have the same wrong answers in the English and Maths.
The headmaster and PTA annoyed by these allegations confronted the KNEC and explained that since the same teacher taught all the children then all the right answers and all the wrong answers should be the same.

Next… Luyhas…Warias…Embians…Kalenjins…Amerucans(Merus)…and Kyuks in that order.



"That my BMW"

If you don’t have a friend from the “Lakeside” you are missing out on a serious part of what makes Kenya Kenya!
The Omondis of Kenya are the most versatile of our tribes. They pride themselves in being the hardest working and most learned in Kenya. They can be found in large numbers in all social groupings. From the manual labourers in the quarries of Njiru, to university halls the world over; Omondis are found everywhere. My good friend Perminas Valentine Mak’Odhiambo tells me Luos go to school to become learned while the rest of us simply receive an education.

Issues of class and social position are very important amongst the Omondis- they will rarely cross barriers. The common questions to ascertain where one belongs are: “where did you go to school or who was your teacher and who are classmates now.” For illustration purposes I will use Okelloh a middle class 'jaduong' living in Nairobi. Any reference to his possesions must be preceeded with "That my" or That "his". Possesion is everything.

Saturday afternoon Washington Okello will drive "his" sleek BMW 520i convertible out of his parking slot at the Hilton (he never parks anywhere else) and pass through the drycleaners at the Hotel Intercontinental to drop off laundry as well as collect the next weeks suits. He will then drive to Buru Buru to change into his weekend wear-neatly pressed cotton pants and an expensive silk shirt and a suede jacket to match his Italian suede shoes (pronounced sous- the ‘h’ is silent). He adds the final touches- a splash of very expensive cologne and a heavy gold chain and bracelet. Okello looks round his house and smiles at what he sees. A sparsely yet expensively furnished sitting room (he prefers to call it lounge) seats from Macrays(where the expatriates and people who have taste and money buy furniture) had set him back a clean 250,000/= and the Large screen Sony television with a matching Sony home theatre System another 350,000/=.
Okello calls out to his Domestic technologist( houseboy): “Einstein, Did I not ask you to make sua you don’t touch "that my" music systeeem? I am sua because last night Akinyi and I were listening to Nacion FM- now I see it is on Ramogi! Let me warn you Odouri , next time I will send you straight to Siaya. Do you understand?”
Okello gets into "his" BMW takes his lap of honour around the estate smiling at all the nice Nyakos (young ladies) along the way. He slows down as he sees Akinyi flagging him down at the bus stop. “ Hhe , Yawa why are you not answering my calls today?” she asks as she slides into the brown leather interior of "his" BMW.
“Which line were you calling me on my sosio(social) line or my oficio(official) one?” He then proceeds to explain that his official line is never answered after 1200 hrs GMT.
First stop is the bar between Jeans and Johns in Nairobi West to meet The MD of a certain company, the financial Director or Group Editor of a local daily. They will entertain themselves here then move to Impala Hotel in parklands to listen to Lingala or to the Bridge on Jogoo road for some Benga.

I will say this: If any of our tribes know how to live life to its fullest- flashiest cars most expensive clothes, partake in the best drinks- Omondis take the cake. In my next life I want to be born an Omondi.

Favourite drink: Anything but beer- preferably Chivas or Remy for the middle and upper class- other spirits are referred to as industrial alcohol.

Favourite Songs- “I am not sober”- (This is an actual song and one of the verses talks about having Guiness for power with Michael Powers- an excellent song)

Food: Kuon(ugali) and Samak (ngege)

Notable Luos: too many to name on this page

Characteristics: Flamboyant, big spenders, High rollers, well educated

Lhuo Joke:

Patrick a recently promoted Kikuyu went to have a drink with a friend who had just completed his PHD. Upon sitting down the two gentlemen he didn’t know began introducing themselves:

Man#1: “I am Professor James Oburo Mak’Onyango, lecturer at Nairobi University. I was schooled in the U.K and America among other places. Some of my classmates are Professors John Montiago Odhiambo, Senior Vice President ADB and Dr. Innocent Uche of the United Nations. Nice to meet you.”

Man#2: “My name is Dr. Evanson Ouko Ochieng. I spesiolize (specialise) in the treatment of Cardio-Vascular diseases. I went to school with Dr Gikonyo Dr Ambrose Rotich and Proffesor Nyasani. I currently live in Muthaiga. And who are you young man?”

Patrick: “My name is Captain Kamau sir, pleasure to meet you.”

Man#1: Ahhhh.. Captain – very nice… Which Airline BA, Air France, KLM? Those are the ones I fly with.

Patrick: “Actually sir, I am a Captain in the Kenya Army.”

Man#2 (almost choking on his Chivas): Kenya Army? What happonned (happened)- was there a problem with school fisss(fees)?

Taking votes on the next tribe to feature here



Would Kenya be Kenya without our tribes?
This next series should not be viewed as tribal but rather as posts that talk about tribes with a touch of humour. I personally do not subscribe to the school of thought that advances the theory that we must rid ourselves of tribal labels. This is because to me they are just that- labels- nothing more. Tribes are our identity- none superior to the other but needing each other. Have you not heard it said how Kenyans are warm, happy and fun people? I agree! I say let us acknowledge and appreciate our differences, be happy, laugh together and build a better country.

A tribe of happy people who come from the Eastern parts of Kenya. They have a musical language and are dancers by nature. They have been noted to be acrobatic and can dance to the simple beat of a drum and a whistle. They make excellent house help and passable cooks. A visit to the Parklands area- inhabited by the local Asian community will bear witness to this. Mutiso is that ever loyal gardener who has been in the family since Grudeep ( Pradeeps father) was born.

Kamba men are famed to be notoriously good lovers and their sexual appetite is said to be unmatched within the Kenyan communities. He calls the neighbours housemaid “ngelemende”- (sweet) and they can be heard giggling behind the bananas at night. ( Parents of girls who employ Mutisos are encouraged to take them to boarding school when they turn 14).
Mutiso is also found in the nations disciplined forces. He is known to be a trustworthy, handy, polite and unquestioning soldier/warden/policeman. This is because he made a name for himself as an efficient gun bearer for the settlers as they made their way into the interior of Kenya. In the days of the great World Wars Mutiso fought gallantly in Burma, Ethiopia and North Africa.
Although he can go for months before going to his rural home,he will diligently send monthly payments to Nduku and his 8 children. She visits the city once every 2 months and the sounds that filter from his quarters are to say the least pornographic. He is however a good saver and at Christmas each year he can afford to buy a plot in Masii or Masaku ( they are not expensive there- 20,000/= will buy you a half acre or a whole one in some places. Clad in a yellow suit, red shirt and brown tie; easily setting himself apart from other Kenyans;he arrives at Masaku Airport- near the famous Athusi Day and Night Club-to board a matatu home. When he arrives at the ‘kambi’ he is received with awe by his fellow classmates who are farmers and village idlers mostly high on Kuona Mbee(that Methane based brew). Children at the ‘kambi’ announce his arrival with shouts of; ‘ Mutiso uya mujeci niavika!!’ (Mutiso the soldier has arrived) or Mutiso wa musongo ena suti nzeo ya led!! ( Mutiso wa muzungu has a nice red suit!) He then borrows Muokis ‘Kisululu’ and pedals 6 kilometres down the Mua ‘ills’.

Favourite drink: Fanda Horange

Food: Muthokoi, Maluu (potatoes) and kofisi (cabbage)

Notable Kaos: Late Mulu Mutisya and Parliament Clown Kalembe Ndile

Characteristics: Loyalty,lovers, colour concious

Most common Joke:
Mutiso decides to buy a coloured TV after saving for a couple of years. He goes to a store and asks the attendant:
“Ndo u sell TVs?”
Attendant: “yes sir we do.”
Mutiso: “ah nthey in colour?”
Attendant: “Yes.”
Mutiso : “Can Hi ave a gleen one please?”

NEXT WEEK- From the Lakeside- OMONDI



I love captions. I have collected a few pictures from google images and added captions to them. Its amazing what different people see when they see the same pictures. Lets all humour each other with these. Please include your captions in your comments. Label them Picture#1- Picture#6.

Have a laugh.


I swear sweetheart theres more in the bank!

Ladies you can only have one of us for xmas... Please choose.

Nick looks so funny chest thumping! heeee heeee heee.

See! It isnt hard we can do it too!

Up yours! If your prick wasnt this big i'd hit you over the head with it!

How to make sure a bloke stops to help you change a flat tyre.


Reason Why Not To Educate your Kids In Machakos

A friend of mine who thinks that Kao's and their pronounciations are hilarious sent me this phonetic alphabet from Machakos. My Kikuyu half is amused and still laughing.....
(Remember to pronounce it as if your name was Nduku or Mutiso.)

A: for Ause or Handerwear
B :for Mbloke or Mbullshit
C :for Ceenake
D :for Ndie or Ndabrew
E :for Heat
F :for feheyko or fagina
G :for guice
H :for Hindia or opeless
I :for iyena or iccups
J :for jeespot
K :for Kino
L :for Lofermboy
M: for Mbomb Mbast or eballsment
N: for nglleen
O: for ot Like “hot”
P: for ply
Q: for curio
R: for lombert
S for: saver
T for: Tlue lies
U for:you
V for: fegetamble
W for: “U” “U”
X for :Hexcept
Y for :why
Z for: Zelo


Time to Bury our Dead

Well well. This war has now been going on for a week. Spidey has managed to get himself an escort/mascot/teammate.(Lets hear it for Spidey- Wuff,Wuff!!) To tell you the truth- they are formidable opponents his new found ally has struck me a blow that I am still reeling from. I swear I didn't see it coming, he came out of nowhere and hit me below the belt--OUCHHH!. My intelligence sources tell me that that's only the beginning... Heck they could be coming from outer space for all I know.There's plenty to follow. At first I convinced that I was fighting Nick all by himself but friends of his are crawling from the wood work and fear that I shall soon be out numbered. I need time to regroup and find myself some allies.

I am new at this bloc war thing an I can see I have a lot to learn. Allegiances that were formed before my time are coming to the surface. Nick is a good fighter and he has me a dose of my own medicine. But you can relate to my confusion in this whole affair- I mean look at him: he's barely out of web diapers( but he sure packs a mean punch.) I have no intention of continuing this war single handedly. I have therefore sent an emissary to him requesting for ceasefire.. To allow us count our loses and to bury our dead. Seeing from Mshairis(I know she is biased because Nick is her nephew) scorekeeping that we are even at one all- I think this is a good a time as any to halt the war.

I had a look at what his beautiful Guess could do - and if she is on his side- then I have to seriously take stock of my situation. I may be old but I am no weakling. I just don't believe in fighting the ladies. And besides its grossly unfair to ask the ladies to choose .

But what really upset me is the rumours he spread about SWEET Kipepeo! That was low down and I cant apologise enough for Nicks cowardly behaviour of dragging her into this war. Kipepeo take it from me.. Nick was lying - I said you had beautiful hair. The rest is his imagination.

I was also truly touched when I saw what our good friend NicK been reduced to doing by the "Nyeri chapter". I know we all feel for him. He deserves a break in order to work hard and repay that 2 million he owes. The above picture of him on a rickshaw was taken outside parliament buildings yesterday evening.

He sent back his own emissary has telling me that he has accepted the ceasefire offer. The sign language and chest thumping was a little difficult to deceipher but luckily I managed.

From the sign of things,I am sure this but a lull in the many battles that we shall continue to wage against each other.



Nick the Chick(en)

Hon. Dr. Muru Wangaru
The Grand Master (Nyeri Chapter)
Rware Towers
Nyeri Town

Dear Sir,

Firstly may I extend my sympathies on your recent banning from traveling to the U.K. I hope your secret meeting with Robert from Zimbabwe went well. As you are well aware we shall always stick by you as our Member of Parliament and also Grand Master. I hope that the meeting was fruitful and a common approach to dealing with Tony Brair has been reached.

I am writing this letter to explain the circumstances that forced me to abandon the boxing match between The Blue Poet and myself. I do recall our meeting in Nyeri where you we partook in Muratina at the sacred Mugumo tree. I heeded your advice and bribed the radio and TV announcers. They did an excellent job and followed our script to the letter. I also planted the rumours about Papa Smurf talking about lice in Kipepeos hair and buying diapers from Farmgals new shop. This was not well taken and these beautiful young girls are still sitting on the fence but are leaning more towards supporting Papa Smurf. I have no idea what kamuti the mkamba has used- but it is effective.

It all started in the changing room. I had never seen Papa Smurf before and when I did I was speechless. His 6ft 2 inches solid frame made me at 5’1” feel like a midget. As I sized the man from his feet upwards I started getting that hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. His legs were firm and toned and as he walked in (like in slow motion) I could see the thigh muscles tensing with each step. His stomach was not lined with muscle but he didn’t have a pot either. His body had all the hallmarks of one who worked out at least three times a week at a good gym. A far cry from the cement filled Kimbo tins I use in my back yard. His chest and arms were well filled and I couldn’t imagine why I had chosen to fight this man. I looked down at my crotch, my spider briefs looked they contained a couple of marbles and a stick of Wrigley’s gum. Pangs of jealousy ate into me as sneaked a look at his briefs.. Man the guy looked he did some weight training in that area too! His briefs were filled by what might just as well have been oranges and I could see the outline the size of a Ugandan plantain. Three beautiful Kamba girls were oiling his whole body and as he turned round I saw his firm buttocks… at this point I was both envious and scared. My trainers started giving me puzzling glances( they weren’t sure what was going on behind my Spiderman’s mask) I sincerely hope they didn’t suspect the truth…. I am not ready to come out of the closet just yet!

The hall was filling up and the crowd was getting excited by the minute. The poet had pre-paid for 10,000 of the 12,000 available tickets. The whole of Makueni and Machakos were here. I could hear them singing the Poets theme song (which had been suggested by one of my supporters who has defected) Queens ‘Another One Bites the Dust’. My two Matatu loads of jamaas from Kieni and Mathare were drowned and our MJs ‘Beat It’ entrance song began sounding like a cell phone ring tone in a live concert. I had completely underestimated the Kikuyu side of the Blue Poet. He had money and lots of it at that. Free muthokoi and drinks for his supporters.Kipepeo,Farmgal,Luna and all the beautiful girls looked lovely jumping up and down- pom poms swinging in the air. I even heard that my aunties and all the girls that had stood firmly behind me in the past were now giggling like little girls. The Mutisos, Musyokas and Mathekas had them eating Muthokoi from their hands!!!
Dr. Wangaru, The Kukekamba combination is awesome.

I was the first to step into the arena and I was hot under the mask, my ribs were already aching with the anticipation of being punished by Blues hands. My rackety legs were knocking and I couldn’t stand properly. I saw blue behind me and the crowd went bananas as he made his entrance… I couldn’t take it any longer and I knew I was just wasting time… I ran back to the dressing room knocking into Blues ring men. What would all those girls think of me now. How was I going to repay the Nyeri Chapter the money they had advanced me to bribe the judges, referee and the radio presenters? This is the reason I am writing this letter to you, sir in the hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive this son of Kieni and to write off the 2 million.

I wrote to Papa Smurf asking for his understanding and he has agreed to call off the battery of lawyers he had engaged to sue me for defamation. I am having second thoughts about this man- he has graciously accepted my apologies. He even offered to take care of Wifey, Mistress and my concubine. That man has an enormous heart. I actually regret engaging in a war I now know I was bound to lose… but I am learning. This is one lesson I will always thank Papa Smurf for. I salute his age, wisdom and pray that I grow up to be like him.


Enclosed please find sections of my last will and testament should the mob decide that I should should end up in River Chania.

Nicholas Gichu

I, Nicholas Gichu, of Kieni Village,Nyeri District, declare this to be my Will and hereby revoke any Will or Codicil I may have made.

Marriage and Children
At the time of the execution of this Will, I am married to Wifey, and have the following children from said marriage:

As used in this Will, the term "spouse" refers to my wifey.

Payment of Debts

I hereby direct my Personal Representative(Milonare) to pay all expenses of my last illness and funeral expenses.


Specific Bequests of Tangible Personal Property
I will, give and bequeath unto the persons named below, if he or she survives me, the following described tangible personal property:

Wifey: 1/16th acre plot in Kieni(marriage was never consummated)
Milonare: Spiderman underwear( Hardly used worn 7 days and washed only once.) re: Guess
Aunt Mshairi: My collection of books and movies
Msanii_xl: Sugar cane patch at the banks Nairobi of Nairobi River

In the event I name a person in this Article and said person predeceased me, the said property shall pass under the other provisions of this Will.

I, Nicholas Gichu, having signed this Will in the presence of Kamau Kiratu and Wangu Kimani who attested it at my request on this the 14 day of August,2005 at White Rhino Hotel Nyeri.

Nicholas Gichu


To Nicko Kiddo - " Alls fair in.......

I (handsome me on the left)am incensed. But I have learnt to keep my cool. A certain ‘chest thumping’ (tried in vain to find a picture of a baby gorilla doing that) has declared Blog War II. He has decided to launch attacks through the comment sections of KBW. He no doubt thinks its ‘Gorilla’ warfare. He has refused to show his face. I do not envy this young man for he has bitten off more than he can chew – my dentures vs. his milk teeth? Obviously no match!
This foot soldier (pictured on the right)has dreams of taking on a veteran general, decorated both by experience and age. I assure all of you that this general will not be cowed.

Go ahead kiddo dig your trenches and line up your toy soldiers and I will have you all for breakfast. I will chew you and spit you out- my dentures can handle that. That is the truth and “you can’t handle the truth!!!”- (Said with the voice of Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men.)

Truth is, I was once where you are now, young and blind to the real world. I can relate to your Matrix type thinking but if you think you are Neo then I am the Oracle and I have tonnes to teach you boy. And I know you think you are ONE… (I am betting you think Guess is Trinity!) I will unplug you for life!!!

Insecurity is a word that I am now not familiar with- I remember back when I was your age and the day to day challenges that came my way. Your challenges are very different these days. I have often heard and seen (my eyes and ears are fully functional) your type :
a. Arguing about which mathree has louder music (I know you are convinced it is actually music.)Or is painted with more colours!!
b. Wearing dreads because it makes you feel rebellious - sometimes artistic.
c. Referring to where you live as the ‘Hood’.
d. Talking like 50 Cent is one of your…. what’s the word -“homies”.

Please be informed that you taking me on is like TETU district taking on mother CHINA.
Finally, I know Guess is a fine styled up lady. She wrote some nice things about you in her post. Since I also know she is of unquestionable integrity, I am puzzled at what threats you and the Nyeri chapter of the mob used to have her paint you in such glorious colour.
Before you gorilla thump your spider chest and crack some ribs- take off that mask and take a good look at yourself in the mirror( climb up on a stool) then take your webby self back to your clinic and continue playing the tooth fairy.


General Smurf.


What is 'KOROGA'?

Pradeep (read that with an Indian accent, bobbing and swaying head on neck without moving the neck) a longtime friend and his family invited me for my first Koroga and I immediately fell in love. (With the Koroga- not with Pradeep!) This is how it happened.

I was struggling with rebuilding a car I had just bought and was terribly upset when I drove into my mechanics ‘workshop’ in South ‘C’. Wahome, the owner of the shop welcomed me with this statement:
“Pore sana ndugu yagu lakini Krangasaft hii ramiza uperekee muhidi.”

As it was about noon and I knew most engineering workshops close at 1 o’clock I quickly called Pradeep and asked him not to close- I lied to him that I was caught up in traffic. He agreed and I headed straight out to Baricho road.
On arrival I found the whole family, Pradeep,Sundeep and the dad-Grudeep Shah. ( I know the names the names sound funny but I assure you- they are real people. The workshops heavy steel doors were closed and they were all visibly annoyed at me for delaying them.

“Rafiki.. shauri gani veve nafanya sisi na ngoja zaidi?” Daddy Grudeep asked with the bobbing of the head.

“Ni shauri ya traffic mzee.” That bobbing always amused me and I caught myself just in time before I started imitating him. Grudeep was a happy old man, he was always smiling and liked to refer to himself as a kikuyu muindi.He instructed me to leave my crankshaft with Mutiso and come to collect on Monday morning.
“Shauri veve nachelewa veve naenda Koroga na sisi nei?” This was posed as a question but I had known him too many years to mistake it for that.

I parked my car, jumped into the back seat and made myself comfortable in their van. As Pradeep drove through the Nairobi streets he turned up the volume of stereo and ‘hindi’ music erupted through the speakers. I pretended to enjoy the music.

Our first stop was South ‘B’ where we purchased 2 kienyeji chicken. The Shah’s were regulars here it appeared, because the chicken were quickly slaughtered, halved, quartered, cubed and packed in two plastic bags all in under 10 minutes!

I had thought we were going very far but we crossed Mombassa road and went to Kenya Motor Sports Club. We had barely sat down when a couple of waiters descended on our Makuti banda delivering a jiko a wok, butter and an assortment of dried spices.

Grudeep put the wok on the jiko and a slab of butter (yes the WHOLE 250grammes) followed. The onions were thrown in when the butter had heated up and fried until they were crispy brown. Next he threw in the tomatoes- already cut up and mixed spices to the already heavenly smelling concoction. As Grudeep threw in the chicken pieces he explained why it was important to use ‘road runner chicken’ and not broilers. He said broilers are too soft and cook to fast. The aim of the Koroga is to spend time together tell jokes politick and just enjoy a drink and the outdoors. More onions went in and more spice and yes- a lot more chillies!! Water was added when it started sticking to the bottom and at intervals Pradeep Grudeep and Sundeep would take turns at stirring (or korogaring) the mix. Stir (Koroga) -add water- taste- Stir (Koroga)- add water- Stir- taste- add water – Koroga. After a couple of hours of this and low heat you obtain a delightful chicken Koroga. Served with bread or roti or ugali it is splendid.

That my friends is Koroga.


I am waiting for pictures of the Quatro Charge from a friend so I can show all of you in pictures. But in short: The Quatro Charge is an annual event where big boys and recently big girls come to participate in an obstacle challenge for 4x4 vehicles in some very ungodly terrain. The challenge is a bit like the Rhino Charge without the distances and less rigorous and shorter obstacles. Some of the obstacles are man made others are natural-eg river crossings steep inclines and so forth. It is a spectator event, which is family friendly. Many serious charge fanatics use this to gauge the performance of their vehicles before the Rhino Charge.Spectators can try attempt the challenge- although it is advisable not to use you office to work car for this. Rob Collinge of Robs Magic suspensions was the organizer.

More to follow.



On Sunday I was sitting at Tamasha in Hurlingham having drinks before going out to Athi River to watch the Quatro Charge (Yes I have pictures and will post them shortly). I had just had a haircut at 'Kinuthias Super Cut'. Kinuthia is my barber and has been giving me a haircut for the last 18 years. (He is the only man allowed to touch my hair!) It's as quiet as you would expect for a Sunday morning. There is music playing and a number of early risers, together with a few patrons who look like they didn't get home the previous night, are cuddling steaming bowls of soup in an attempt to keep warm.

I have been kept waiting for over an hour by my good friend Willy- who by the way is never on time. We had planned the night before that we would do a 'Koroga' at the charge. I had risen good and early; proceeded straight to Nakumatt bought some chicken and other ingredients as per our agreement ;I then let Kinuthia do what he does best on my head.

Then some dumb DJ plays a song that meant so much to me many many years ago. He plays Cat Stevens 'Father and Son' but redone with -Ronan Keating of Boyzone. Its not as good as the original but the lyrics are the same. I look around me and realize how old I actually am! A forty one year old man sitting at a bar, surrounded by people close enough to his eldest daughters age, waiting for an equally old friend who is probably having problems getting out of bed because of his joints.

Here is the song:

Father and Son

It's not time to make a change
Just relax, take it easy
You're still young, that's not your fault
There's so much you have to know
Find a girl, settle down
If you want you can marry
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

I was once like you are now
And I know that it's not easy
To be calm when you've found
Something going on
But take your time, think a lot
Think of everything you've got
For you will still be here tomorrow
But your dreams may not

How can I try to explain?
When I do he turns away again
It's always been the same, same old story
From the moment I could talk
I was ordered to listen
Now there's a way
And I know that I have to go away
I know I have to go

It's not time to make a change
Just sit down, take it slowly
You're still young, that's not your fault
There's so much you have to go through
Find a girl, settle down
If you want you can marry
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

All the times that I've cried
Keeping all the things I knew inside
It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it
If they were right I'd agree
But it's them they know, not me
Now there's a way
And I know that I have to go away
I know I have to go

Original Song by Cat Stevens (Yussuf Islam)- Tea for the Tillerman

Now I feel OLD.

Any attempts to refer to me as Blog Grandad or Papa Blue will be met with fury and I shall not be held responsible for my actions thereafter! ( Nick read this as a promise not a threat!)



Do you ask yourself how the Sun shines so warm?
Or how flowers swaying in the wind are so bright
How clouds paint pictures without a brush
And rivers and trees make music that is so right

Do you ask yourself how mountains are so high?
Or that scenery is so breathtaking just before night
How bird’s fly and eagles soar with so little effort
And rivers and trees make music that is so right

Do you ask yourself how the sea and sky are so blue?
Or sand on the beach so fine; how fish swim in schools so tight
How waves rise and fall everyday without end
And rivers and trees make music that is so right

Do you ask yourself how the forest is so green?
Or how rain sometimes falls so soft from such height
How moonshine brings feelings of love and romance
And rivers and trees make music that is so right

Do you ask yourself how fruits are so sweet?
Or how snowflakes are perfectly formed and so white
How dreams we dream at times fill us with such joy
And rivers and trees make music that is so right.
Do you?

By now the majority of you have discovered the truth. I have a personality disorder. In me live two very distinctly different human beings. My Kikuyu half is Dr Jekyll and the other half Mr. Hyde. Dr Jekyll is usually in control of this person called Kenyan Kukekamba and as you have surely noticed he is polite, well schooled, well mannered, sensitive to his friends, relatives and even people he has just met.

On the other hand the Mkamba is a loud, abrasive, full of himself, sexually minded flattering Kikuyu basher who thinks with the brain in his small head- (yes… the one between his legs) He is not a bad person but he views life through X-rated spectacles and this at times is quite perturbing.

The Blue poet has gone into hiding not because of Nick or Msanii_xl and other silent members of the mob, but because Dr Jekyll has willed him away.

You are probably asking yourself “what brings out this wicked man from the otherwise tempered Kukekamba?” The truth is that this currently horrible cold weather and a couple of double Famous Grouse usually do the trick. When situations get out of hand, as they have over the last couple of weeks- the drink (when one must be had) of choice becomes Tusker Malt Lager and a more direct route from the office to the house. During these sober moments the Kikuyu in me is at peace with the world and is most creative.


Should the Blue Poet be allowed to rear his head in Blogworld or remain banished?


Blue Poet in Hiding

Location: Somewhere in the Timbaroa Forest

Date: Wednesday August 3, 2005

Time: 0300Hrs

Temperature: 8 degrees Celsius and dropping

Dear Ladies,

The events of the last few days have forced me to flee the comforts of my Thika office and as a result I am now holed up in a friends cabin in Timbaroa. As you can imagine the weather is extremely cold and I am having difficulty in typing out this message from the small keys of my laptop.

I would like to apologize for being unable to post the second part of my series, which I am sure you were all eagerly waiting for. When I explain the circumstances that have led to this I am sure you will agree with me that my decision hold off for while, is the best course of action.

A good and dear Kikuyu friend, who for his own safety I shall not name, managed to record a conversation between several high profile bloggers engaged in plotting my elimination. Yesterday’s piece- I shall not be deterred – touched many raw nerves in my half community. I have listened to the tape over and over again trying to narrow down the identity of these people but save for one I am at loss as to the identity of the other three voices. I am sending a copy of the tape to each of you by mail- please help if you can.
I have made a transcript of the areas that scared me the most. It is my sincere hope that should they succeed in eliminating me that you will all know that I was speaking the truth. I am personally convinced that you ladies deserve men that are sensitive to you feelings and know how to turn you. You need men who are able to take you to new sexual heights, men who are not scared to excite you and take you to the limit. That ladies, is my dream. A dream I was ready to fight for. But now looks like I may have to die for or be forever banished in this forest.

In the background Mike Ruas song is playing :‘Kahora maurimu… niukite muno….
DL: Come slowly teacher.. you have come too much.

Voice# 1: Andu aitu, ninyitiri thimu kuma Mureithi na ajira nimarahotire kuaria na ‘the Njako’. Areda dorra mirioni ithano atuninire kamuikaba karia.

DL: My people, I got a call from Mureithi and he tells me they managed to get hold of ‘The Jackal’. He wants 5 million dollars to finish the Mkamba.

Voice#2: Very good. Kamudu kau nuhindi karabiririe kubrogg natarora airetu othe matiraima haria karii!! Ndiratarire ndirona ena airitu 7 regura… ni uru muno.. nitukabatwi.

DL: Very good. This has just started blogging and the girls are not leaving his spot. I counted 7 regular.. its very bad.. lets kill him.

Voice#3(Nick?): Nii nidiraririe na adu a censorchip na diramareha! Murata witu Ngunjiri niegusend a kavirus siteini yake. Twe hamwe uhoro wa njako… nitwiki kaharambee.

DL: Nicks Voice? : Me I spoke to the censorship people and I Paid them! Our friend Ngunjiri will send a virus to his spot. I am with you about the Jackal… lets hold a harambee .

Voice#4:Nitunine kabru kao!!!

DL: Lets finish this Blue?

As you can see ladies I am threatened. There is a way that you can each help me. Please share you experiences on Kikuyu men and Kamba men. This should let some pressure off me and show these merciless kyuks that I speak only the truth.

Yours truly,



I Shall not be Detered!!!!!


Kikuyu guys all over the world have started a campaign to silence, ban and boycott reading or commenting on the slanted, immature derogatory and fictitious stories that are appearing on KBW. They have vowed to protect their dignity from the unwarranted attacks of the madman formerly known as the ‘Kenyan kukekamba’. Three meetings were held simultaneously in London, Dallas Fort-Worth and at Njuguna’s on Waiyaki Way Nairobi to map out ways of dealing with this serious threat. Sources at the Nairobi meeting indicate that the meeting was unanimous about the need to urgently address the situation. At the conclusion of the frantic calls between London, DFW and Nairobi several resolutions were passed.

A. Inform the Mount Kenya Mob and obtain contacts of a hit man.
B. Seek assistance of the UK Home Office to have the Blue Poets Visa to the UK revoked.
C. Convince the FBI that the Blue Poet is a known associate to terrorist groups.
D. To give silent treatment to the Kikuyu ladies on KBW who are commenting and encouraging the Blue Poet.
E. To start their own Kamba bashing series.

The Nairobi meeting was jolted by the arrival of Njoroge Wadutu who runs the SpyGrass Dectetif Angesy. Mr. Wadutu produced these three drafts of the Blue Poets post which is due for posting on Wednesday the 3rd August 2005.

1. *****Kinuthia pushed Wangu against the Mugumo tree and put his hands up her blouse. His hard hands squeezed her breasts as one does when checking the pressure on a bicycle tire. His thumb and forefinger moved to her nipple roughly tweaking it……….

Nituthii cube yakua uhe- muthee na maitu niimathiiri mahoya
DT: Lets go to my cube you give me- mom and dad have gone for prayers.
(line courtesy of farmgal )

2. ****“ A Kikuyus idea of a date with his girl is taking her for an afternoon of Nyama Choma and an evening of Mugithi at Rim Club and listening to Mike Rua of the ‘One Man Guitar’ fame.

3. *****Umekura Nyama shoma ikiwa na firi firi, umekunywa leds, Hatiri kuariria ….Shuma lazima irare Ndani!
DT: You have eaten Nyama Choma with chilly, you have drunk reds, there’s no discussion the chuma must sleep inside!

The sources also overheard the following statement:

"Kamuikaba gaka karatuthukiiria riitua numuhaka to deal naku"
DL "This Kamukamba spoiling our name must be dealt with".



I am half Kamba. Being one and also having a Kikuyu half enables me to subjectively analyze each half with the benefit of proximity…i.e. my Kikuyu half has been watching the Kamba half in action since I first knew about the birds and the bees. I can thus speak authoritatively on Kamba males.
Yes!!! to all you girls asking. It is a fact! It is not a rumour that Kambas are renowned lovers (ask any female and she will be blushing when she remembers Mutiso or Kimeli from back in the day)

The art of loving is passed from generation to generation but only through the Kamba female. The Kamba male is blessed with the trait of understanding and as such is a quick learner. In addition Kamba males are not afraid to discuss their sexual feelings with their partners. Making love for Kambas is both physical and audio (I will develop this later in part 7 of this series). :) If any of you have ever had Kamba neighbors and thin walls, you will attest to this- during the act there is conversation- the man is always asking; the woman directing, the man questioning; the woman answering,interspersed with sounds of pleasure , moans compliments etc.. Making love is an interactive activity. In order for us to understand the Kamba psyche we should first look at what others do and compare it to Kaos. Let us take Kikuyus (as I am half ) in a rural setting for simplicity- If any Kikuyu male is feeling like I am ‘hating’… I suggest you stop reading right now!!

****Please note that Kinuthia, Wangu, Mutiso and Mweni(These Kaos will feature from part 5 of this series) are fictional characters and any similarity in name or persona to fellow bloggers is not intentional.

Phase 1. Solicitation

Mwangi meets Wangu and after a brief exchange of niceties he begins to solicit for some: the conversation goes something like this: ( DT in italics stands for Direct Translation)
Mwangi: nduraga guhoyaga naduri wa he… umuthe numuhaka uhe!!
DT: I have always been begging you and you have never given me. Today you must give me.
Wangu: Kari umuhaka guhe? Ndakuirire weterere nginya Dethemba!
DT: Is it a must I give you? I told you to wait for December!
Please note that Mwangi is forceful and demanding while Wangu attempts to ridicule him and gives him a date very distant in the future. This is an important kikuyu trait. Observers have noted that if Wangu was treated half decently she could be very different. At this time she is merely responding to Mwangis crude overtures in the language that he understands.

A few months later Wangu gives in to Mwangi’s advances and the conversation goes like this:

Mwangi: Ma ya Ngai umuthe Wangu ndirakurekera Niikuhe kana Ndurahe!
DT : As God is my witness today Wangu I will not let it pass! Are you giving me or not?
Wangu: Haya.. tucemanie haria Mugumoini tha imwe huaini. Ndikwenda tuunu nimudu.
DT : Okay.. lets meet at the Mugumo tree at seven. I don't want anyone to see us.

Wednesday- Kikuyu foreplay


Sensuality Barometer By The Blue Poet

My brother read my post ‘For the Kamba in Me’ and I think he was horrified. I can picture him reading my post and muttering to himself,” Big bro has lost his marbles! “ Well l have not lost them, at least not all of them- yet. He then coined a name for me- The Blue Poet. That I like - somewhat because the colour blue is a nice colour and brings to mind many things (and yes pornography is one of them).

To more serious matters now. I put a tag at the end of the poem but in hindsight I feel I should have used the word Sensuality instead of Sexuality. Sexuality refers to (in the context of my post) the concern with or interest in sexual activity. What I had in mind was the quality or state of being sensual. I was more interested in seeing how my fellow bloggers reacted to stimulation (yes sexual!)

I will now proceed to rate all of you who visited my blog on a scale of 2 to 12 (don't ask why 2 instead of 1.) I know you will all hate me but the truth must be told…. And here it is for the world to see! Sorry folks. There is a lot of room for improvement!!!!

As I am the poet and the author of the poem I award myself --- 10 points

Nick and Guess tie for second place with ---- 8 points

Medusa and Farmgal are a close third with --- 7 ½ points

Kipepeo comes in a close fourth with ----- 7 points

Prousette, Wanduma, Shiro and Mshairi get ----- 6 points

Msanii_xl ------ 2.85 points

Aikey---------------------------------------6.86 points
Ms K----------------------------------------8.01 points

Bloggers who visited and didn’t comment were awarded ------ 2 points

Key: White – not sensual ------------- 2 points
Green- Timid/shy ------------- 3 points
Purple- Interested -------------- 5-6 points
Blue - Warming up ------------ 7-8 points
Yellow – Steaming up ------------- 9- 9 1/2
Red- Kambas and French -------- 10-12 points

Ratings are continuous so please log on for the latest. Feel free to comment and improve you rating!!!!

Kudos to my blog friend Nick for showing me the way to easily post photos. Thanx Nick ehhh...Sorry for your rating!!!


For the Kamba in Me

Mellow music dancing rubbing
Cuddling romance perfume cologne mingling
Holding talking laughing smiling teasing
Arousing slow tempting snuggling touching fondling
Shoes shirts buttons zips belts discard
Flesh body touching soft hair chest fingers

Sharp fast
Quick excited breaths
Pounding racing leaping heart
Hands here there everywhere
Wet hot mouths moving roaming searching
Kissing licking nibbling famished ravenous

Breasts full taut pointing wanting inviting
Sensitive fingers caressing kneading hands
Sweet heavenly sensation higher rising higher
Needing wanting longing waiting sweating
Pleasing gratifying stirring

Hard firm solid intense strong powerful throbbing sweet agonizing
Thrusting plunging deep rising shallow rhythmic regular
Anticipation expectation hope holding off eager wait
Words terms endearment baby please faster stop almost
There good nice again together more unified don't stop that’s it

Bursting pleasure building release swinging arching tension
Warm… glowing colours … slow pure…circles
Pulsating joy, which is limitless in peace quiet moments
Waves on the beach…. tranquil sea rising and falling
Feathers ever so soft flying floating in the air
Nerves full of feeling tingling falling
Laughter suppressed calmness settling
Smiles thoughts memories
Tender dreams

I was tempted to write this in celebration of an act that is held dear by most people. Some of you may think it is crude, unfit for publication or downright degrading. I feel that the way you react to it will be a true reflection of your sexuality or lack of.


what drives the poem

For me poetry is about feeling. It’s about those issues that I grapple with everyday. Some of the things that inspire me maybe as simple as a song that I used to listen to way back or may be triggered by someone’s name or a smile. What’s hardest is when this happens and I am driving in traffic and I can’t stop because I will be late for work and words keep pounding in my head. Or in the middle of the night when I cant summon the energy to get out of bed and do some writing. I feel bad in the morning when I can only grasp shreds of some profound feeling that I had in the wee hours. I keep telling myself that I must by one of those Dictaphone thingamajigs but I have never gotten round to doing so. This would be cool so that when I get to where I am going or become full awake, I can just rewind and put all the sentences together and hope that I can make sense of the confusion.

Recently one of the people who reads my poetry (and I am flattered by all of you who think that I write half decently) asked me why they were all so sad. Then I didn’t have an answer but I have been thinking about this for the last couple of weeks and I think I now have a somewhat wholesome answer.

Up to two three years ago I never wrote anything and never read poetry. Since I started reading I have become amazed at what is out there (here)! Not from the famous poets but from ordinary people living ordinary lives that I can relate to. The amount of talent that is out there is unbelievable. Everyday I am blown away by what my fellow Kenyans feel and how well they put it across. I honestly feel that they have inspired me most. Most of what I read (and really feel) and what I write is based on human emotions. It is therefore correct to say that I am most at ease writing about what I am feeling or have felt. Since most of my poems are sad doesn’t mean that I am sad person. Far from that it- I am one of the happiest fun loving people that I know!! That said, I feel that in terms of memory- sorrow, hurt and pain are the ones remembered longest. Good times come and go, as do sad moments but sorrow is so much deeper and lasts so much longer. We feel it more.

When your relationship is on the brink and you are about to break up with a companion it is the hurt that drives you. Even if you’ve spent years together the happy times will always pale next to the sad ones. I think this is because human beings are sensitive to each other more than to anything else.

As long as we continue to live people will always write about sadness- maybe as an act of trying to warn others of lifes challenges and to pass on the knowledge that no situation is permanent. The knowledge that the sun will always rise tomorrow and there is always hope for joy and laughter no matter how shortlived.

I promised myself that I would try a little harder to write about the things that make me smile everyday and those that make go to bed with a warm feeling every night.



A Cry of Hope?

Today I feel the loss
That I will feel everyday from now on
A cherished friend lost in the woods of words
Out of no fault of our own but in the complexity
Of fears; the unknown loomed larger than life
Extinguishing the flame of promise

There are not enough tears
The heart could not ache worse
As I sit here still watching those letters
Forming words that burn in my mind
Punching holes in the boat that is drifting
Further and further away

It would be easy to point fingers and say
Had it not been for the intensity
Had it not been for the memories of pain
Tomorrow could have become what yesterday falsely promised

Selfishly I feel my hurt is worse than yours
All the emotion canned inside me
Life is coldly unfair; harshly unreasonable
Showing glimpses of dreams then it says no
Isn’t it insane that what is good is not always best?

I choose to whisper through the rain of tears
Calling out your name sure that you long for my voice
Afraid though that I might open old wounds healed by pain
Yet I cling to the hope that I will hear yours
To rekindle that ember that will always glow

I will keep it aglow foolishly in the belief that
A feeling so good cannot be wasted or wrong
Knowing that you feel as I
Both of us whimpering
Moaning for that day
That our twin sparks will ignite another moment
That I miss ohhh so much

Joyous Solitude

The Silence is
Deep, gentle, caressing your spirit
Rinsing away your worries ushering in
Calm like a soft breeze through trees.
Adrift you move feeling freedom in you wings

The peace you feel
Of being alone; at one
With all things beautiful, magical;
You cry that painless tear of joy
Afloat in the ecstasy of serenity

The stability makes
Firm and immovable your soul
Like the centre of a gyroscope
Surrounded by the tossing turning
The turmoil of everyday

The book you read
At your hearts own pace
Sometimes lost in it; at times your mind
Roams away from it; to other things
Not so simple and back to the book
To the solitude that keeps you sane.

Someone,who at this present time shall remain anonymous, asked me to write and post a poem on solitude. I have deep feelings for quiet moments and I hope we can all relate to this.


Them and My Life

There they go again
Telling me I cannot
Will not make those choices that are mine
Pouring scorn thick and hot on me

Peddlers of lost causes prophets of doom
They are no match for my vision
Coordinates locked I will not waver
I will see through that dream
Coz its mine and I don't need anyone else’s

There they go again
Telling me I cannot
Will not make those choices that are mine
Pouring scorn thick and hot on me

They know not what drives me what lights me up
Clueless to how much more throttle
This vehicle of my life has to offer
They think they know me till
I step on the gas leaving them in my dust

There they go again
Telling me I cannot
Will not make those choices that are mine
Pouring scorn thick and hot on me

Cruising through life in my blood red cabriolet
Carefree wind in my face, Tusker between my legs
Waiting for the next curve sure that I will take it
Loving the thrill closing in on my dream

There they go again
Telling me I cannot
Will not make those choices that are mine
Pouring scorn thick and hot on me

Smiling at me the sun always is
Basking me in its rays of hope
Beckoning me to live that dream
How best I know without a care in my mind

This poem feels like a song. I used to listen to Billy Joel way back and i heard his song 'My life' on the radio driving to work.It brought a rush of memories and gave birth to this.


Kwani03- PART TWO of THREE

The theme for the launch was the 60s and the music was great. James Browns - Sex Machine, The Jackson Fives- ABC etc. etc. Marvelous stuff. There were a few people dressed appropriately- I wasn’t one of them. A couple of fabulous ladies dressed in large afro wigs, oversized sunglasses and colours that could have shocked any Kamba out of his psychedelic self. We were not out of place as most of the people were either unaware of the theme or didn’t make an effort to participate. I am not sure if, had I known earlier, I would have made a conscious effort to dress up.

So there we are at Simba Saloon, my wife, my cousin and I. My cousin is trying to comprehend why people read or write poetry. He tells us that the last time he read a serious book was back in school and he hated every moment of those years. He says he believes in making money not wasting time reading. I tell him that I agree with him on the importance of making money and succeeding, but insist that reading for oneself is good and growth is infinite and more rewarding than those days back in school. As this line of discussion appears to be quickly deteriorating into an argument that I know I cannot possibly win through intelligent reasoning, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

The place is getting packed quickly and as I leave my seat some dread locked, spaced out kijana comes for the seat. I decide to let my cousin do his macho thing and make sure that my seat is there when I get back. I can almost lip read the exchange of polite obscenities between them and I smile at my wife’s obvious amusement. On the way to the toilets I bump into none other than Binyavanga signing copies of Kwani03. He looks up and I say hello and he asks from where he knows me. I’d never thought that my brother and I resembled each other but Binya was convinced that he knew me. I finally accept this and as I explain that I was Waduma’s brother his face brightened and he tells me that he expects to be in the states during the wedding (Waduma’s) sometime in March next year. He thanks me for supporting Kwani and I tell him that I will be looking out for him a little later so that I can get picture of him and my wife. At this stage I am thinking of how much I will impress Waduma with that photo! An overenthusiastic fan interrupts us and I hurriedly excuse myself for I feel like my bladder is about to burst.

As I weave my way through the human traffic, KJ comes back on stage and is about to start reading Blood and 100% Human Hair by Martin Kimani Mbugua. Damn! I curse. To me this is the highlight because I am proud to know this author personally. I stand against one of the columns willing away my piss and trying to concentrate on KJs booming voice. The story is, as I expected, quite good and most of Simba Saloon is quiet…. transfixed by KJ and transported to Kenyatta Market. I say most people were quiet expect for a table of some 10 people whose appreciation of Kenyan literary works was equal to my understanding of quantum physics. My guess is that they were here by mistake- probably attracted here by the free drinks at the cocktail. Maybe they’d had a few too many there. They played the Kenyan role of overdrinking and lack of concern for others to Oscar standards. They are loud, laughing at some privately shared jokes. They casually ignore all the threatening, demeaning and pathetic looks all the surrounding tables are giving them. I feel I could personally throw the lot out of the Carnivore.

Back to Charles Kiarie (KJ). He is an okay reader; he could have improved on his intonation and clarity in order to bring out the realism of this piece. (When I read the piece later I was even more convinced about that. I could almost smell the nyama choma the hair pomade, burning braids and the trench. I could hear the women clamoring for customers. The fight between Gikuyu and the Luo woman was classic. I could vividly see the alleys cramped with salons, barbershops and boutiques.) KJ finishes and the whole room applauds. The table of the “terrible 10” briefly look to the stage and clap, feigning delight. ‘Brilliant’, they say, ‘Brilliant!’ I run to the toilet pressing myself to keep the piss in and make it to the urinal. There I am, running in place, trying to unzip my trousers to relieve the struggling organ. Finally its out and I feel the sweet release as I throw my head back in pleasure. (Sorry ladies, only men understand this feeling- it’s indescribable!)

Out of the toilet and back to the show. I stop by the bar to buy a pack of cigarettes and I find Judy Kibinge talking to a gentleman at the counter. I love her eyes. I pull out my camera so as to get a photo to send to Waduma (my excuse) and it doesn’t come out very well but at least I got it. She hurries off to the stage before I have the chance to say hello and remind her of who I am. It is upsetting being the elder brother and having to introduce yourself, ‘Hey how you been? Remember me I am the Kenyankukekamba -brother to Waduma?’ ‘We had drinks with you, Kima and Waduma at Chez L’ami a couple of months ago?’ Anyway I didn’t have the chance. A gentleman is reading us his poem on Pattni in a coy Indian accent. Excellent stuff. Next Judy is on stage and is preparing us for the David Munyakei Clip. We all give a fitting applause to David- Kenyas own unsung hero in the Goldenberg Scandal. She reads as the clip rolls. Its amazing and I cant find words to express it. One needs to see the clip to appreciate what this man has done for our country and is still suffering for it. WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR DAVID.

End of Part TWO………

Part THREE may follow.


Kwani? An explosion of Kenyan Works


I am in Nairobi. I had not heard a thing about the Kwani 111 launch. Don’t get me wrong I read the papers, watch my average share of television and listen to the radio on my way to work. On occasion I attend the recitals and readings that Kwani holds at Kengeles on a Tuesday every month. For some reason the launch at Simba Saloon passed me. On Wednesday morning my brother, Wanduma, who also posts on this blog and happens to be a couple of thousand kilometres away in Washington or New York (he moves quite a bit) sends me an invite for the launch and cocktail. I am once again impressed with the way he maintains contact with friends here at home. Having a few of my own friends who always complain that we Kenyans don't read and write, I called a few to find out what their plans were for a cold Thursday evening. Most had other plans or were planning on staying indoors- keep warm spend some quality time with the family- you know the kind of excuses!

By the end of the day I have resigned myself to the fact that only my dear wife will accompany me to the launch. This is of course if I can somehow manage to convince, cajole or bribe her to change her routine that she follows religiously:1. Arrive home at about 6pm shower. 2. Have tea and watch news. 3. Supper and small talk with hubby and girls. 4. Stretch out on the sofa and relax 5. In bed by 10pm. 6. Asleep by 11pm. My evenings are more or less the same except for those days that I indulge myself in a few 'double famous'.

So I get home Wednesday and engage in a mixture of pleading asking and demanding for my wife’s company to the launch. I have been married 15 years so I do not hesitate to say that I have mastered the technique of getting my way. Although sometimes I wonder whether knows before hand and just plays with me, enjoying her moment of strength. Anyway, she finally agrees to accompany me but not before I have promised to by her a perfume called SENSI or some name like that. I am relieved for I feel I got off easy on this one.


I spend most of the day in government offices trying to cut through the usual red tape. From the clerks to the big boys, everyone is asking: “si ununue ka chai ama lunch”? It most frustrating trying to explain to them that as a matter of principle I do not pay people, who are already salaried, to do their jobs. The clerks think that I am arrogant and their bosses think I must know someone more senior than them. How else can my aloofness and attitude be explained? Eventually I get what I want and leave the offices in a huff.

On my way to where I have parked my car I run into my cousin Kibati. I ask him in passing to join me for the Kwani launch later in the evening. He stares at me awkwardly and laughs. Poetry and readings? “Who the hell listens to such”? Trying not to hurt my feelings he agrees to meet me there.

I arrive at the carnivore, wife in tow - I am sure that sounds crude but yes wife in tow and tons of excitement and expectation on my part. My cousin is already there and has secured a table positioned very wisely close enough to the stage and far enough from the speakers. He introduces the Pilsner in front of him as his date and offers us seats. In the back the cocktail is going on. I sneak a look into the tent and spot the large imposing frame of Binyavanga Wainaina in his trademark dreadlocks and a golden yellow African outfit. The only other person I have met is Judy Kibinge who I have always thought to have dreamy eyes and an enchanting laugh.

I rejoin my team and the wife proceeds to order dinner for herself. My cousin and I decline, as we are more interested in the wine list than the menu. There are about 25 people in the Simba Saloon and probably another 20 in the cocktail tent. At about 9 pm it starts to fill quite quickly, people are coming in from tent and others are paying the 300 shillings entrance and soon we have about a hundred people maybe two hundred.

The drums roll and the show begins. A single man in front of a set of Bongo drums introduces the first poet. It’s a great poem and the words “This poem is a dance” are captivating. A dancer joins him on stage and together they rhythm and dance. The person reciting the poem is offstage and his voice is strong and powerful. I am not sure but I think it was KJ- he of Red Korna and Redycullus (sp). The whole house enjoyed that tremendously.

This is part One if you have found it interesting please comment and I may post part Two. Encouragement needed.