The one who got away

Not long ago I broke up with my girlfriend, truth be told she asked some time off and it seems that is going to take forever. Being the man I am I didn’t see any legal obligations to this arrangement so walking away wouldn’t warrant a hefty law suit and if it ever does, I would listen carefully to the proceedings of the court and make a marvelous blog post about it or I would simply make it one of the laced stories over cheap beer. She was an exquisite woman, that much I can confess but every relationship has an ass. Don’t blame me for screwing up the relationship because as much as I tried I couldn’t screw it up. Who breaks the heart of a sweet beautiful girl anyway? (don’t snitch and say assholes because I hate when you are right). Long story short it is over-at least to me- and now I gotta move on.

My friends usually tell me to take some time off after relationships and do some soul searching so this time I took their advice. I looked back to the first barefoot, flat breasted lady I first thought was my girlfriend albeit till she realized I had spread the rumours to the recent almost model like Nyeri woman I had. Something looks loudly amiss, in fact a lot of things do. First, I have no taste in women. I have dated every type, shape, color, age and even size of head. I have said and gotten away with more relationship offenses than my cat has with stealing my omena. I have dated my parents’ friends daughters, my sister’s friends, my friends, my enemies, my schoolmates up to and including my desk mates but with them all I have been as elusive as the last piece of meat on a beggar’s plate. But of all this my favourite has been the church going patriots who after a life time in the oblivion of sin have suddenly ‘seen the light’ and hoped they would meet a perfect God loving man-read me. Woe to those who have ended in this situation because just like them I have perfect outlined principles, I don’t date from church. God only knows what drew this multitude to him.

I however want to single out my most important date. She wasn’t a priest’s daughter, or a palace princess but she was a lot of things to me when women were people to be feared. In my naiveté  I pondered on the difference between men and women and why a smile from Atis felt so good. I wondered why she squatted when she peed while I did it standing up. I asked meself why older ladies had protruding chests and why their voices remained mellow and sweet. I asked myself why this particular girl however, though just like the rest shone a light in my darkness. Then, I had no moves but when I learnt a few player moves I wished I would go back then but if I ever did I wouldn’t want to change a thing.

Atis was a lot of things to me. She was like a sister to me-back then a sister is the only person I knew I would let to play with my weeny even though my elder sis did it while bathing me. Atis had a smile that ensured every favour she asked of me got done. She was my partner in hide and seek and the times we hid nobody ever found us till the next day. She was the apple of my eye, nay now that I know what that means I’ll go with she was the light before my next tunnel. She carried my firewood (those who learnt in places I did understand that we were sent to bring firewood the next day by our teachers). She carried my eggs (literally) and I always preferred the cane so as not to miss the forest camp fire where we roasted our eggs and boiled a few in dirty water. That has always been the beauty of an egg no matter what you cook it in, it’s inside is safe from germs and sweet no less.  Atis made sure I took the cane like a man no matterr how crying felt the better idea. And whenever she found tears in my eyes she would wipe them away. She gave me my first kiss and told me that is what friends do when they like each other, now I know better.


When my friends wrote on sisal stems about our love I would adamantly deny this claims and call her names. She would sulk and I would beg for forgiveness and soothe her temper by sucking her index finger (my grandma told me it sucks the anger away). My nanny was quite the expert, she still is.

If I wrote about Atis I would go on and on and including the times we met when I went grazing the cows and she went to search for firewood how we would compete on who could climb the tallest trees. (She never had pants and my shorts were always torn beneath) Hers was the first female underwear I saw, it was black with white strips, nay it must have been white with black strips, who cares anyway what I saw I saw.

I wish I would meet Atis again even though we never had the chance to understand what we did that, sorry I meant I didn’t understand what we did back then, I would love to have a chance to do it all over again. But even if this chance ever comes along I don’t know how far we would go this time when I have been with all this women.

But whatever happens i pray she comes along, just one more time.


The Graffiti Revolution in Kenya

Anybody walking, driving and for those flying with binoculars pointed on Nairobi roads graffiti are hard to miss. Kenya once a pinnacle of democracy now lounges in the backdrop of post election violence that erupted from the disputed 2007 presidential elections. I wish I knew who won that election anyway, but even though I don’t this much i know; a few spray can wielding citizens of this great African nation are more sick of our politicians than I do. They have resolved to do something, to spread the word in the only way they can-use of graffiti.

For artists, art lovers and others with keen interest in art, the recent increase of number of graffiti in Nairobi streets is a work of art. To the Kenyan voter it is a wake up call and to the entire international community and a number of progressive minded people it is a revolution.

After this story appeared in guardian on 23rd march 2012 i sought to clarify and bring out the unseen, already seen and the neglected. In these pieces politicians are depicted as vultures who are selfish and a tonne of other negative things and the voter is sensitized to use their vote to send these ‘vultures’ from parliament.






The graffiti tend to have one thing in common beauty is employed to depict the beast of our politicians and selfish pursuits.

My favourite Supercars

This is a rather painful list to write. It is even harder to explain why favorites like Bugatti Veyron super sport wont feature here. I know, I know, everybody knows that it is the world’s fastest car which has the amazing, outstanding, unrivaled 1200hp but come on if i include that in this list then i would just make the list change to a top 2 list but I don’t want to do that. For the record were I to put Super sport here it wouldn’t have been in the top 2.

So please bear with me as I unveil my official list of world’s top 3 super cars by all standards.

2013 Koenigsegg Agera R



I have never been with a Swede before and neither has many of us but this car is just remarkable on paper and I won’t fault Koenigsegg because the last time they made a promise on paper and that was in 2011 when they unveiled the breathtaking Koenigsegg Agera R and did they disappoint? No they didn’t in fact the Agera R went ahead and snatched 3 world records from the grasp of Bugatti Veyron Super sport.  Still the official world record holder for  0-300 km/h in 14.53 sec, 300-0 km/h in 6.66 sec, 0-200 mph in 17.68 sec, 200-0 mph in 7.28 sec please here is the awesome 2013 Koenigsegg Agera R; a beauty to behold and with such a sweet voice as well.


It boasts 1140hp and runs on the E85 bio fuel while churning 960hp on the normal petrol. The price tag stays at $1.6m while it is available on both LHD and RHD with a claimed top speed of 273mph( Bugatti are you scared?).  Wait it goes from 0-62mph in 2.9sec just 4sec short of Super Sport’s record.

Everybody likes a lady who knows how to make an entrance.

2013 Pagani Huayra


I love Italians, everything about them is original, unique and just plain outta this world. This babe has a lot to talk about and it is every car lover’s dream. It is what super cars should be like,. No radio system, no air bags and a couple of switches as controls.



 Truth be told it looks like a space ship on the inside. This car is set to debut in US and everybody is waiting.




I know I know u can’t condemn me for this absolute beauty that has a claimed top speed of 230mph and accelerates from 0-62 in 3.3 sec.



If you thought I was over reacting then I hope you look at the pictures again.

2012 Tesla Roadster


Americans are known for their arrogance and this is no different. Hate them or like them they made this beautiful monster that is completely electric while still looks and performs amazingly well. If you asked me ten years ago where I thought such a car would come from I would have said Japan, China or maybe India but I would have been wrong. I apologize.




This car uses a set of batteries and is a single speed car unlike the above 7 speed monsters already mentioned above. She accelerates from 0-60 in 3.7 sec and it covers 245 miles per charge. It is however kinda disappointing with a top speed of 125mph, but who cares most cars have never gone beyond 100mph anyway.  It is a completely silent car, as in there’s no engine noise at all because it is 95% efficient. Remember noise is as a result of some energy being lost in the process of conversion for the less efficient cars.

So what’s your favorite list now that I showed you mine.


Weekend at Shags (The sequel)

I have met a lot of guys and I accept that every individual is unique. George Orwell said, all animals are equal but others are more equal. Still on my trip to the village(shags) I met one of those more equal guys. In case you haven’t read the previous post I won’t help you here.

This guy is an accountant by profession but has stints of teaching in different girls school, He says he only accepts offers from such school that he’s a weakling and can’t survive the wrath of boys. He complains that remembering the student he was he can’t condemn himself to students like him or worse. While in school he was a friend of the law-his words- that because of several clashes he familiarized himself with the law and thus knew its weak points and as such he believes they are friends. So while on his escapades with the law he fondly talks about his teaching years and less about the reasons why he was laid off, he says he resigned and I don’t believe him so I order two bottles of tusker. So the conversation goes on and on and I come to learn that he taught in Mombasa where the weather is hot and the ladies are hotter, the ladies are light and the sun is bright, the nights are warm and the girls need warmth. In his days as a teacher he was a straight forward teacher who never broke the law and slept with his students. He however notes that in situations when a dark guy like him saw the seems of a brown legged woman then whatever followed cannot be classified as misdemeanor, child abuse rather that students used their superior knowledge and skills to put a righteous man to temptation. He concludes that all that is required of the teacher, the school board and parents alike is to be aware of the plight of the schoolteacher in the sea of temptation.

He talks of the major projects he wants to undertake in his gichagi, how adorable ladies find him and his stints with women from all over the world. He likes Italian women and mentions names like cruchpa, Krishapa and shiku as his favorite blend of Italians. He isn’t a smart guy, that he admits, but believes that sayings like gentlemen don’t kiss and tell is a phrase used by men who fear the knowledge of knowing the escapades of their friends, relatives, colleagues or generally the alcoholic who’s sharing your bar table. He says a lot of women have proposed to him and he has had to turn them down because he’s an explorer and needs more places to hoist his flag. Generally he badmouths himself, his community, his work, his life and generally his bored dumass life. After an eternity of talks he finally says something that really makes sense.

Sundu: Mr. you don’t talk too much do you?

Me: Actually I do (I almost add ….but I keep it all within my head)

Sundu: and why is that? Are u scared or something?

Me: no. Actually experience has taught me enough.

Sundu: enough of what?

Me: The more a man talks the more he puts up a show.

I then carefully walk out and take a matatu to my grandmas place. She’s one fond woman but as well the most dangerous of them all. If Gadhafi was a dictator it’s cos he might have read a how to book by my nanny. She doesn’t take shit, I mean she has never taken shit from nobody not even by granddad, I suppose. She literally rules with an iron hand, fist and from her generosity with foul mouth and cane she might not have a heart down below the ribs. Surprisingly, she’s one hospitable host who will shower you with food, lots of it and sweet compliments besides witty stories but that is as long as she still sees you as a guest.

In her home nobody is special. She cares not when you sleep but everybody must be up by 6. This rule has got no exemptions and it becomes more strict suppose you pretend you are sick where you are woken up every hour to check on you, I guess to find if you haven’t died yet and to bring a glass of mwarubaine, and believe you me foul taste is not enough description to this drug. Men in her home eat like men( read a plate of Ugali for every two) and most importantly work like men. She goes to the farm from six to six, no meals or rests in between and tomorrow repeats the process all over again. Her word is final and in case you have a conversation like this:

Me: Mathe, christine’s mum got cancer?

Nanny: haha is that what you call it these days?

Me: call what?

Nanny: Aids.

Me: cancer and Aids are different.

Nanny: Mzungu has lied to you my grandchild.

Me: No they are different.

Nanny: haha you think am stupid?

And you an guess where that conversation leads and she might end up asking your mum to cane you often that you have been brainwashed by the internet( Yeah she knows the internet only that she doesn’t know how it is used, what it actually is and where it exists). Other times you might accidentally trip and a drop of hot water from the sufuria drop on her feet and she will ask you to bring her a cup, then she would fill the cup with hot water and pour it all on you. And if you cry she’l say,” When you did that to me did I cry?” and we would all join in to defend our brother, sister or cousin and she’ll say laugh it off saying, “ What is done is done and by the way you all are at my place so shut up!” The dog will bark on her harsh tone and scary away to safety so will our complaints.

Weekend at Shags Part one

Over the weekend I went to shags and when I say shags I don’t mean those back of the den places where electricity passes over the town and people huddle over 14 inch battery powered TVs to watch Man u play Arsenal, after all they know the premier league has those two teams alone. Ok, excuse my verbosity but my shags is the place one could take for an affluent suburb of a big city; shocker, it’s not. It’s just a place whose residents are majorly conservative with a few progressive components and that is what makes all the difference. Huge investments occur alright but most never go past near completion. Everybody sticks their noses in everybody’s business. This is a place where as much as you might think every child is yours the man, nay and woman 500 meters away know the factuality of that statement. They know whose son paiged (ask a 20 yr old what that means) whose daughter. They even know why you will never get the job promotion you have been hoping for. If that is not enough they even know how much milk your cow produces and how much water you add to the milk yet they will never cease to shower your cow with praise. This is a place where nobody claims to be related to Obama and people silently and in hushed tones discuss the atrocities and the betrayal of Uhuru and Ruto and they never cared whether the court said no to that. Here the court consists of a few elders, most of who didn’t go to school yet speak quite a number of English big-words. The old men who don’t care about the job you hold, what car you drive or the mansion you recently constructed in their village and you can’t bribe them either, at least not in public and not with alcohol because they don’t drink. They speak the language of Jesus and they quote verses in dialects of your mother tongue that only them understand.
Too much about my village so I took one of those buses that when they drop you in shags people don’t think you suffer in the city or that you’re doing well either. Interesting things happen when one travels with a lot of strangers and this trip was no different. In Narok we took the traditional 15 minute break that involves taking a piss, eating and for those who aren’t lucky enough just stand outside the bus until it honks to announce the resumption of the journey. Weird enough, I always start with taking a piss where I found the urinals so crowded that you had to line behind those who were already taking a leak and wait for your turn. While am anxiously waiting for my turn a guy whose spot has just opened courteously offers me the opportunity much to my relief until am halfway leaking when I remember he said, ladies first. Am a guy with a huge ego and that is not funny in fact it’s an insult even if it comes from the glamorous Jessica Alba whose attention I’ve been seeking for the last 5 years. Story for another time, right then am still searching for the idiot who had the audacity to call me a lady and as I face search my junk switches latitude and leaks on the shoes of the guy next to me; thank God he looks to the Heavens when the takes a leak. It’s only while am counting my minutes before he looks at his feet to see the mess I’ve made that I look direct into his face and realize that all this time he’s been checking at my junk. Dude, I shout and the water stops leaking like I his stare just pressed the pause button, I didn’t know I had that button either. Long story short this is definitely the first time I never slept on a night bus and am haunted and I keep looking over my shoulder hoping nobody would recognize me from that night.
Too bad, I already hit 600 words so I guess I would clear the story in part two coming this Friday.

Being a man the only way it should be

For some time I have been questioning my ability to write, as in am I lousy or just lazy? Truth be told I started this blog to be famous but currently the only infamous thing is that this is the idlest blog on WordPress. I cannot lie I do not have a million reasons to explain why I have been idle for this long. First, I was dating a Nyeri woman and you know how those women can make a man busy as in maintenance and all. Next, my dog wouldn’t bark anymore so I was on a mission to make it bark again and not just bark but do so fiercely; you know the bark that sends more fear into the owner than the unwelcome and occasionally welcome visitor. Besides, I was making up my mind on when I should make up my mind on whether to continue posting on this blog and the frequency with which that should happen. As usual, I was dealing with myself, finding me a drink that will make women look at me lustfully and men jealously.

That done, let’s get to today’s post.

You know generally am a very unattractive man and I labour to change that by doing all sorts of things and acquiring myself all sorts of gizmos reading self awareness and assurance books notwithstanding. All this still makes me hate the guy I see in the mirror, however much I change my mirrors. I mean he’s not that bad off and he’s not that good off either, he’s the kind of guy that generaly requires being told “you are wonderfully and fearfully made” to get the push to leave the house or adopt I a self-assurance gait. I have done this for the past forever and yet this guy hasn’t changed a bit. When that seems to fail I go down on my knees and ask God to teach me how to smile, a little light never fails to light up the room especially if the room is as dark as I have been told. I have drunk a lot of water, hot water and 6 glasses of them every day. I have showered with avocados, unsuccessfully avoided alcohol, chosen my women but nothing changes the face of a man. I have attended conferences that tell me that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder (the speakers themselves look a lot better than me). I have given myself nicknames- fabulous nicknames like man toro, blacky dockey, machunga anyodha but a name can only hold so much.

I have been a gentleman and a bad boy, arrogant and kind, hasty and patient and sometimes been plain me. I have chosen my friends and let them chose me but nothing doing. At times I have thought that my obsession with appearance is gay and I know that is what you think right now and forgotten about my look for sometime only to come back to where I left off.

As you can see I have done a lot of things and learnt my lessons. I believe nothing teaches a man better than personal pursuits for triviality and thus I have come out the wiser. I can’t brag that I am wise (we all know am bright alright) but I can share the lessons I have learnt, and right now only one is applicable

“A man who’s obsessed with how he looks is Gay”

Come ‘ on men are Walkers they walk no matter what comes along and one thing they always do is become men and that translates to being Rambos you know those guys who move from sewage into bright suits after splashing water on themselves. Men have beards, bushy beards and if you lack that then you are a little girl, one who squeals. And that is not bad anyway it just makes you a girl and not a man. A man stands by his decisions when they are right and deny them when they are wrong. A man is not a mother’s boy and worse a daddy’s boy; a man is best as himself and rarely blows his own trumpet both metaphorically and literally. And finally a man wakes up and touches his junk not to confirm if it still exists but to find out how hard it is.