Mombasa Raha

So I was in Mombasa the other weekend and it is hot. Literally.

There seems to be a competition dubbed “Who’s hotter now?” and I happened to be in Mombasa at the peak of the competition, must have been the quarter finals and so the 4 hottest suns were blazing away.

Just like every time I visit this Coastal town, I understand why they are the "Kenyan tourist destination of choice". These guys are just polite. In fact, for me, a born and bred Nairobian, they are too polite for their own good! There I was buying mangoes and since what you see is not always what you get with fruits, the vendor actually cuts 3 mangoes so that I can pick the sweetest one!! How is he going to make his profit? As am embarrassed by all that goodness, he says he has to take of his customers so we came back tomorrow. So I told him that I do not live in Mombasa am only visiting … the guy says, that is ok, now you know where to buy fruits when you get back here.

So, I slapped the guy silly, how can you be so optimistic ...he muttered thanks as I walked away with 5 more mangoes just to make sure he does not forget me!! Do not judge me,I slapped him coz to be that nice and optimistic, he could have been high on drugs and therefore the slapping was lest he had any thoughts on attacking this harmless looking humble gal.

Next stop, was a chemist as I was having a headache. It was either the sun or the slapping of the mango guy but anyway, after buying the drugs, he offers me a choice of water or juice to take the medicine. Well, am a Nairobian and suspicious to the core so I said no thanks. He must have put some juju in it so that I follow him home and beg him to be my husband …. I am a beautiful gal you see. So back to the hotel and took my drugs the old fashioned way …with bottled water that might as well be tap water that has been labeled and being touted as mineral water.

One last thing, actually this a note to a senior so and so friend of mine in the tourism industry who I know reads this blog. So this is a not so subtle hint on something they should consider for the airline industry. It combines 2 issues that are a problem and brings on a solution! Ok, am hoping that this suggestion will get to the Minister of Tourism and I will get some sort of award for the brilliant idea. Cash would be fine thank you seeing that it is the period to make merry, forgetting that January lies around the corner to knock some financial sense into you …but I digress…

First issue, Nairobi seems to always have some form of traffic and so it is easy for travelers to miss their flights due to traffic. Mombasa will soon go that way at the rate they are moving.

Second issue is that pesky airport check that has you removing your belt, shoes, gold teeth, and woe unto you if you have ever had an accident and had a titanium plate insert the darn thing will not let you through!

So how about this, just have airline travelers leave their homes / hotels naked and so they will be easily identifiable in traffic as everyone will let them pass and the cops will see them from afar. Once they are done with the pesky airport checks, they can dress comfortably and no one misses their flight and the queues to the check in area move faster coz travelers are naked already and if anything attracts the metal detector, it is INSIDE and therefore cannot be harmful to anyone during any flight!

Is that not what is referred to as a win-win situation??

Travel safe guys and happy holidays...keep your clothes on if you are going by road though!

Blessings y’all!!

Traffic & Marriage

You must understand I have a fulltime job juggling all my different roles, employee, employer, student, mother and wife so if someone wants me to make it to the gym everyday, am ready to do that if I they can give me 2 more hours in my day! Undeniably, the kilos have piled on … ok, I lie, I woke and my clothes were all 2 sizes smaller, my wardrobe is a magic chamber you see. All this takes its toll on a girl and her self esteem especially when you read and hear the statistics on the state of marriage and how important it is for wifey to keep hubby’s attention at all times.Who says that having a hubby with a pot belly and bald head is good for a girl's image anyway?

A wife needs to be creative on how to hold that attention, of course sneaking up on him and slapping him silly is not a strategy … at least not a long term one.

Well, I live in a part of Nairobi where traffic is so horrid if I stop to breath in between sips of coffee, I will get to the office 2 hours late and hubby will be even later as he has to drop me to the office first.

The pressure, the issues … kilos piling on, no time to go to the gym, grow my business, ensure hubby has eyes only for me ….and then traffic! But wait, when life hands you a lemon, make lemonade … unless you can swap these with your friend who already got the oranges …so I am going to find a way to make traffic work for me.

How? Well, stay with me.

I notice that matatus never seem to get stuck in traffic. There is always a scout tout who goes ahead, looks out for the cop and if there is none in sight, signals for the matatu driver to overlap and still not get caught and on and on and the matatu ends up in town in 20 minutes flat within which time we who obeyed traffic rules have moved a combined total of about 4 inches.

Well, Friday morning and hubby thinks that the sports shoes I have donned are part of my dress down Friday but no … I am a girl with a plan.

Immediately we hit a traffic snarl up, I get out and scout the cop for him, whistle (kupiga binja) and hubby overlaps … this goes on and on and yes, we are in town in 15 minutes flat.

As he gives me a kiss when dropping me off in the office, he whispers that "Sweetie you are special." I choose to take that as a compliment, so wipe that smirk off your face.

No other woman has shown him love like I have and the look in his eyes, priceless. I have a spring on my step . . . I got a workout, saved time and fuel and held hubby’s attention all in one … bring it on world!

Now if I could only come up with an excuse to explain to my clients why I am sweating like a pig and it is only 7.15am...

Blessings y’all!

I am not my hair....

Am a simple gal but lately the song in my mind and heart is how can I breathe with no hair...sigh.

So it began quite innocently.

My son would look at my old photos and see my hair before dreadlocks and comment on how nice my hair looked. I would go shopping with my husband and I would see him linger a bit longer near where they sell weaves and he paid more than a passing glance to the wigs.Before long, this was a regular stopover for both my boys when we went shopping.

You see, 2 years 9 months and 24 days ago,I began growing dreadlocks. Yes, it has been that long and as you can see this gal is an elephant when it comes to remembering details!

One thing you have to give credit for all the guys and gals who keep dreadlocks,it is not a fling. It is a commitment. I have a friend who has had dreadlocks for the last 7 years. In fact, I dare say that we nutty heads are not afraid of commitment...just check how long your significant other was faithful to his/her last hairstyle. Visits to the barbershop are still a sign of lack of commitment in my books!

Well, as I was saying ...with my boys lingering affair with the weaves and wigs,I got curious about the wigs/weaves and even started following them albeit reluctantly.The pressure began. It started in small almost unnoticeable ways...I started missing combing my hair. I began looking at combs longingly. I missed perming my hair, never mind that every time I did, I swore I would never do it again. The seed had been planted. It was watered every time I saw some nicely coiffured tresses.

So next time I went shopping with the boys, we stopped and fleetingly glanced at the weaves and wigs. They looked ok. Next time, they looked even better. Third time, they started looking beautiful. By the fifth time, they were whispering my name oh so sweetly. Before I knew it, I was paying them homage. It was not long before security dragged me out of the shop ... I guess they did not like the fact that I had built a shrine and was on the floor lying prostrate in worship adoration of a certain divine weave.

The stage had been set. I started noticing that my dreadlocks did not appreciate me any more. Even when I went to the salon, they would not say thank you. I washed them. Nothing. I treated them. Silence. I colored them. Zero. We never went out at all. They never took me anywhere and I was too tired to even complain. They had become fat, ok long, but you get my drift. We had lost our first love ... they were lingering very close to being cut and thrown as they were neither hot nor cold. Were they not being a fraud?? Or had they just become conceited? You see, everyone kept telling me how beautiful my dreadlocks were. I just thought they were, er, dreadful.

I almost dreaded them.

In the meantime, I would pass by and look at the weave every so often, well, when the guards were busy and I could sneak in to the shop. You see my picture was plastered allover ... MAD WOMAN.Weave (or was it weavel??) Worshipper scribbled with a red pen across my mug shot.

The weave would look at me and bat eyelashes. Then it got bolder and started winking every time I passed. Within no time, I would pass by there every time I left the hairdresser, er, locksmith and heard nothing from my dreadlocks. The weave would wave, smile, bat eyelashes. And then last week, when I was feeling so low, the said weave mouthed those 3 words every woman cannot resist.

"Please buy me."
I ignored.
Another 3 words.
"Take me home."
I started to falter.
Finally, I was putty when the sneaky weave whispered.
"I love you."
I do not know what happened but I had a weave in my hands by the time I got home.

And so yesterday I did something about it! No...I did not cut my dreadlocks ... I would take myself to the ICC in Hague for that would be a crime against humanity and yes, I am big and heavy enough to be "humanity" all by myself!

So now am having a holiday fling with a beautiful weave that has spank, attitude and it is great to have big hair. Move aside Dolly Patron, here comes Mama!

As for my dreadlocks, we are in counselling. You see our relationship is not over. I still love you. In fact am still in love. But you need some time off to change your mind. Embrace change. At least say thank you after being washed. After all, I do not hear any body telling you "You have a nice body." Yet all the time, my friends tell me, "You have great locks!" Could you at least er, carry your weight around. Wait, am already carrying your weight.

Hhhmm...now a certain hairstyle is giving me "the look"...


Blessings y'all!

Me Jane, you Tarzan

One item on news last night caught my attention. Some guys in Nyeri town decided that their colleagues had stayed too long without taking a bath and so they decided that this trend had to stop. So they forcefully washed about 20 men. I guess they decided with the new constitution, their brothers could not stay dirty, not during their watch, er, wash.

Well, it would seem that when these group of men is trying to keep as far as possible from being clean, there is another group that is taking men’s cleanliness to dizzying heights.

They are called the metrosexual men. A metrosexual man is simply a man who embraces and accepts his feminine side and takes care in his appearance. Examples include the make-up wearing Johnny Depp or even the British soccer star David Beckham (whose wife is Victoria Adams - a.k.a. Posh Spice) may be the quintessential metrosexual icon, sometimes attired in a sarong and embellishing his nails with colorful polish.

Your boyfriend or husband might take care in his appearance and care about the way he looks, but that does not necessarily mean that he is metrosexual.
There is actually a difference. A man who cares about his appearance is just that. But a man who goes over the top about his appearance, his clothing, and his material possessions is definitely a metrosexual.

Several items that a metrosexual man might own include mantyhose, this is simply defined as the male version of pantyhose. Now, am not even going to understand when he will need to this especially in Nairobi and no, I will not appreciate a growl of hearing a man discovering a run on his mantyhose!

I can only imagine the agony of being married to metrosexual man…the intensity of the discussion on whose face has an oily T-zone, the latest products to cleanse, tone and moisturize. I am ok with my husband thinking cleanse, tone and moisturize your t-zone is something you do to meat before you grill it, thank you very much!

I like to think that in the unfortunate event of a fire, my husband will give priority to rescuing us, our son and me his wife and not his toilet bags and other necessary accessories so that he can be well-groomed for the eventual interview with the television reporter to discuss the fire that gutted his house.

In other words, me Jane, you Tarzan … now swing home and bring with you some form of dead animal and let me not hear a tweet from you about your freshly manicured nails. Capisce??

Blessings y’all!

Nagging Sag

I had an epiphany the other day … small boys of today will grow up to be the young men of tomorrow. Before you start wondering why it took me so long to grasp that or even my grasp on life cycles or grasp on reality… remember it was my epiphany so do not question it!

The first thing that brought this on was an innocent, routine trip to the supermarket. I was with my son and after filling our trolley picking items from the 2 main food groups, chocolate and bread, we were ready to pay and leave. Near the till, there was a young man ahead of me with a trolley full of stuff but his jeans were sagging so low he could hardly walk and push his trolley at the same time…something about men not having the multitasking gene I think. Oh, well, that was not the worrying bit, once we got the till, trauma began. You see his jeans were sagging so low such that each time he bent over to pick an item from his trolley, we all were visually assaulted by his inner wear and it was becoming scary by the minute as the said pair of jeans was threatening to fall and again, he was emptying his trolley so he could not multitask and so the option was what ... I grab the jeans for him should the jeans get tired of hanging dangerously? Did I mention that he was as fat as a toothpick and the said jeans would have been baggy on me ... a full figured African woman??

Second incident was when I was having my hair done by the locksmith (it does have a nice ring to it than hair dresser if you have dreadlocks!) and there these young people also doing their hair. I refer to them as young people as am still not sure if they were boys or girls, the way they dress and do their hair, one cannot always tell.

Well, one of them really wanted to cut his /her hair into a Mohawk and they started talking about how their parents could not understand what a Mohawk was. The annoying bit was when one gave insight into the situation. “You are expecting too much from your parents … they are way over 35 years of age and they cannot get fashion!” By the way, I have taken literacy liberty to translate this as these young ones speak in foreign tongues.

What an insult to you who are over 35 years (am still 25 years as you already know!) …we all saw Mr T while growing up and he had a hairstyle ….it did not have a name then and am not sure weird would suffice but there is no difference with the Mohawk … so can they stop bashing us, er sorry, those in their 30s??

So what makes these young ones think they invented fashion? We were fashionable teenagers …we had taste and our parents were not in touch with things. So do they think that those fashionable, hip (does use of this word betray my age?) and funky (again, betrayal by use of time-warped phrases) teenagers grew up and became the fuddy duddy parents of today?

Well, I for one have a son and his jeans will not be sagging in public if I have any say in the matter. In fact, it is very possible that by the time he becomes a teenager, walking naked will be the in thing and his friends will be laughing at him as his mother will still be making him wear clothes.

Call me a teenage-rights-abuser-in-waiting but I foresee that my house will be very unpopular with teenagers and their parents forced to come see what some strange things that will only be found in my house ...belts. Not only will my son be wearing all his clothes in the right order and yes, I determine what is the right order, but they will be staying in place!

Blessings y’all!

Reality. Really?

If you are like me, many are the times we have mourned about the breakdown of society and how the fibre of the said society has become one tattered rag.

Truth is, many of us do that by sugar coating things …give it a nice sounding name/phrase and it becomes more palatable. For instance, a lady who is on the plump side of life is said to be full-figured. Well-rounded. A real African beauty. Keeping it real. Too blessed to be starved …yes, we even make it spiritual.

I for one think that it all begins with the family. Family teaches you how not to say things.
For instance, the little brat that broke the tv with a hammer to remove the little people dwelling inside there is described as being inquisitive. An engineer in the making. Ahead of his time.
The teenage son who has so many body piercings such that when he walks without his jewellery looks like a sieve is described as artistically creative. Psychologists tell us he is communicating something to the society. Of course he is, the nutritionist in me says he is screaming that he is struggling with an iron deficiency and he needs to be on some supplements.

This sugar coating becomes so addictive and we can no longer tell when to stop. In fact, we do not want it to stop.
For instance, I know my son should not have more than 6 lollipops a day but when I walk into the house, tired and carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and my son hugs me and asks “Mum, is that a new hairstyle?”… I know my head looks like my hairdresser fled town and left no forwarding address but ooh, the warm feelings flood me and he can have all the lollipops he wants ….they do have fruits drawn on the wrapping foil, right?

And yet, I need to teach him that family can be honest with each other and yes, we love you and that is why we correct you …it is for your own good, even if we have to hunt you down, beat you up and then tie you down just get you to listen to our insightful, loving correction. We want you to know that we do it out of love…a deep and dark place in our hearts.

So, how come no family member tells those boys and girls going to audition for Project Fame (and really all other reality shows) that they cannot sing (or dance / model / cook etc) even if their very lives depended on it? That skipping is not a talent unless you are skipping on your head? Have we stooped so low that we get comic relief from watching our brothers and sisters making themselves laughing stock on national tv? Don’t those poor cannot-resist-the-urge-to-be-on-national tv-any-which-way-how-take-a-look-at-me-now kids (and some special adults) on these reality shows have family or even friends who love them? Do they not worry that these auditions are recorded? What will they tell their children? Will they ever be able to get jobs in the real world? Am not even going to wonder what some parents tell their kids they were doing on tv!!! Actually, I want to be in that room when the kids see daddy on tv auditioning and they had no idea he had entered the contest.

True, some real talent is discovered and polished but then some real clowns are also unveiled. Is that what they call win-win, they get their talent and I get my clowns?

I so can see it now, my son brings home a date and I think she looks familiar but only a few hours before their wedding, it hits me, I saw her on a reality show and she is talented all right …good thing is she is a millionaire, she won, “How Unclean is Your House!”

Ok, gotta check and make sure I get a proper recording of these auditions …they provide such great comic relief and at least for now I know that it is not any of my offspring on stage ….yet.

Blessings y’all.

Herb all of us lost it?

So I have been unwell for the last couple of weeks and it has been really depressing ... I tried conventional medicine and had some challenges with that and since am not one to be left behind by fads, herbal concoctions were pushed down my throat.

It is not that I do not trust doctors ...it is their receptionists I have a problem with. Last time I tried to visit a doctor, we had a ...er, misunderstanding as you will see.

I arrived at the clinic feeling a little under the weather. Ok, that right there is a problem "under the weather???" So when you are feeling fine, what are you, over the weather? above the weather? on the weather? in the weather? or simply the weather? But I digress...

Anyway, back at the clinic and after walking up the flight of stairs and I wondered, why the stairs? just to make sure you really are unwell by the time you see a doctor? Could you change your mind on the stairs? Or are they to make you more sick ... like a value added service kind of favor from the doctors' union?

Oh well, finally made it to the receptionist who was busy on phone ... she was instructing someone exactly how she wanted her dinner prepared.

ME:Good morning (I gasped! those stairs!)
RECEPTIONIST FROM HELL: Yes (wondering why am interrupting her call)
ME: I would like to see a doctor please
RFH: That is what people do here (she finally tells the person preparing dinner not to put salt in her food ...it seems last night's dinner had too much salt and it made her not sleep well, she had to keep going for a short call after every 45 minutes all night long... yes, I really needed to know that)
ME: Could I please see a doctor? (thoughts of strangling her flash in my mind)
RFH: We have different doctors, a cardiologist, chiropractor,colonist, dermatologist,gynecologist,hematologist, neurologist, psychologist, psychiatrist, pediatrician,internist, ophthalmologist,cosmetic surgeon. a pathologist in case you need an autopsy and yes, we also have a vet. So, which doctor?
ME: (mind reeling from that list and wondering how long it took for her to cram all that?)What do you mean witch doctor?
RFH: Yes, which doctor?
ME: (why is she shouting?) Witch doctor? You have one?
RFH: WHICH DOCTOR? (standing up now and really showing me what shouting is)
ME: Witch doctor? Really? (surprised)
RFH: WHICH DOCTOR? (shouting, hands flailing and now jumping up and down on her desk menacingly trying to reach my neck)
ME: Witch doctor? Since when? (calmly)
RTH: SECURITY!! SECURITY!!

I did not wait to see who or what "security" was ... I ran down the stairs and started shouting " Am healed!! It is a miracle! I could not walk up the stairs but now am running!!"

Well, after I caught my breath I was still unwell but no, I was not going to see another doctor. They all have receptionists.

So I turned to the next best thing to get my diagnosis .... the wierd wide web. Listed all my symptoms and viola ... I have ebola!

I then posted the same symptoms on Dr Facebook and in no time at all, I had friends telling me all sorts of recipes for herbal concoctions to take to cure me.

Yes, I am feeling better now, thanks for asking.

I have also learnt that if I boil a teaspoonful of ginger, a pinch of rosemary, 3 tablespoonfuls of lemon juice, a dash of cayenne pepper and a sprinkling of toe nail clippings .... my grand children will be healthy, wealthy and strong!

Now everything I use is herbal, I even had to buy a herbal laptop ... it is an apple you know.

Herb a grate day.

God bless y'all!

Jeans...er, genes

So I have been spending sometime with my niece and her friends who are all twenteen …yes, for all you middle agers out there, yes this is an age group and you can google it ….or get friends in that age group!

As a self-confessed middle-ager, it was quite a shocker to learn what they talk about these days at that age. After spending a whole 2 minutes discussing the stock market, Robert Mugabe’s human rights record and the ecological impact of the BP oil leak, we quickly moved on to more important issues … how many pairs of jeans does a girl need.

They first began by tearing up into their mums’ wardrobes and I was mostly quiet because there was too much similarity with my own wardrobe and yet am ashamed to confess that I did not say anything in defense of those mums.

Then they went a notch higher and laughed about the efforts they had seen their mums make to beat the battle of the bulge, once again, I am ashamed to report I kept quiet because you see I have tried all those methods. We start small, by sipping hot water after meals before graduating to the big leagues, by the way, who began this theory of hot water after meals?? I have gone jogging in the morning only to quite after 2 weeks because the weather was not right...I have a weak chest you know. Then I tried skipping but my knees began aching and do not even get me started on diets … I have tried them all, cabbage soup, protein only, counting carbohydrates, no a bite after 6pm but they all left me jaded. So now am on a see food diet, when I see food, I forget my diet!

Finally, they talked about the pairs of jeans they own. I kid you not, the average twenteen girl owns at least 25 pairs of jeans. Some good ones for attending lectures, some cool ones for going out to hot parties, some really exclusive ones for first time dates, some ordinary pairs for the upcountry visits, some black loose fitting formal pair to wear to funerals and such sober occasions like job interviews, some for wearing when you are just hanging with the girls, some smashing ones in case you get invited as a guest to a function which will appear on TV and finally, a white pair for going to church.

Well, I represented middle-agers alright, I own all of 5 pairs. One that makes my legs look longer, one that makes my butt look smaller, one that gives my butt some lift, one that makes my tummy look flat and finally one that will still fit when all these aforementioned body parts refuse to co-operate.

Gotta run now, I have to shop for 21 new pairs of jeans … not sure what I will do with them or even when I will wear them but I will own them and am not going down without a fight!!

Blessing y’all!

Here goes....

So I have finally began blogging and it’s been along time coming. I have friends who have been blogging for a while and they told me to try it and it would be fun. So here I am.
And yet, as I enter my first posting today, I cannot help notice the similarity between blogging and falling in love ala 5 year old boy.
Kicking the object of your admiration and leaving her crying seemed like such a good idea at the planning stage but now that it has been implemented … all I want to do is run away screaming, it wasn’t me!
So today is a historic day as Kenyans went to the polls to have their say on the constitution and am so proud of how peaceful the process has been.
I have never quite believed that the problem with Kenya has been diversity, we are said to be 42 tribes (has anyone ever actually confirmed that number?), we need to explore that diversity further and exploit it.
Of late it seems like each tribe has a radio station and there have even been calls for banning them as they fan tribal fires … I beg to differ.
Let me explain, I am from the Eastern part of the country and nothing amuses me like listening to someone from another end of the country and I try to translate what they are saying into my Eastern ears. Take for instance a brother from the lakeside in deep prayer to his maker will say “Baba, miya ng’ima (Father, give me life) loosely twisted to my Eastern ears, that person is saying Father, eat the ugali.
A woman from the slopes of Mount Kenya is mutumia and yet if I addressed my Eastern womenfolk like that, they would be offended as I have called all of them men and yes, it will be an insult and not a compliment.
Do not even get me started as to how much fun you can have with the names from different parts of the country….
In fact, me thinks that if you look around you in traffic and you see a couple where the man is driving and the woman is reading the newspaper, most probably poring through the orbituary (why that morbid obsession with that page early in the morning??) their radio is tuned into a radio station in a language they understand but if you see that rare couple laughing and high-fiving each other, that could be my and my hubby, products of the Eastern province tuned into Ramogi fm, from the lakeside and having a a ball!
As we say from the East, tinda nesa (good day) ….of course if you are from Ekegusii that means enjoy your drink!
Blessings to you all.