Don’t wait to be loved, love yourself!

Lavenda Amunga

Written, courtesy of #CreativesKenya (new blog alert!)


He bolted. Talk of Usain Bolt sprinting for Jamaica in the 200meters relay, my knight in shining amour of many years also bolted, and never thought to look back. To think that I had a bun in the oven was a predicament he could not decipher. So what he saw best to do, despite the preaching on love he gave that finally made me agree to be his; despite the manifesto he presented to me in the days he claimed he had seen the sole fish in Lake Victoria, he ran. Left me to handle my own pickle as if the sinful deed had been committed by me alone.

Well fellow readers, love is just a fancy word for pain. When an Adonis walks to you and presents his well detailed manifesto -what he will do when you down your tools and let him in- piece of advice, run! Take off and never look back lest you turn into a pillar of salt! Love is an unwanted affair; and sad thing is that this thing called love is quite overrated. Men, when you see that lass who appears to blow your mind away with just one glance, my friend call upon your God and He will answer. Ask him for guidance as you take off like the whirlwind; because love is pain.

A moment of silence for those of us persons that have been lied to; played like mere cards; treated worse than the garbage we trample on every day. As we all take a journey into this amazing world of creativity , let us all remember that it is only us that can make ourselves better people. Life is full of ups and downs; today you are in school, the next day a long unending strike looms! Thus, stay woke and please yourself where you can. For if you do not, nobody will. Just as my colleagues have decided to come up with #CreativesKenya for you, why not try finding yourself in their awesome articles? They are the best!

It is only in #CreativesKenya where when you feel like your whole world is crumbling before your very eyes, you take a breath then sit down to marvel at creativity! CreativesKenya gives you a tip of better days to look forward to. Read through and get a chance to marvel at how pleasing yourself doesn’t have to include doing what you would have done had you been in a those God forbidden relationships, rather, it shows you that it involves an easy activity such as going through entertaining yet informative articles once in a while! About the bun in the oven, well, check out #CampusSnapshots to find out!


Men of the 21st are total emotional retards who need Jesus!


By Benzo & Lavender.A.

One of Kenya’s best columnists – Oyunga Pala, once wrote this about men and emotions. He said “Masculinity means to be stoic, in control and strong, all the time. Femininity means to be emotional, vulnerable and weak.”   We men like to sit and talk among ourselves how our women respect and adore us more because we can take care of business without hinting about how we feel about it. This is something we took pride in, we wore the stoicism like a freaking badge of honor. We all knew that our women will always have something to protest about but never the fact that we are emotionally stable. However, that’s not the case. Not by a long shot. It happens that all efforts to save our women from the sight of hearing us bicker about every single emotion that crosses our mind is misconstrued as emotional retarded-ness . What we consider emotional stability is a sign that we are slowly transforming into robots. And they (Women) do not appreciate that, they want to hear and know what we think when we are staring at the ceiling and how we feel about the neighbor’s housemaid walking around in short skirts. In short, they just want to relate with humans. They are confident they can handle it.  Personally, I think it is a trap. They want to take over everything; they have taken over our hearts, our homes, our children, the movie guys and the gateman. The only two things we still run – barely, is our kinyozi man and our emotions. I think men repressing emotions is good for world peace. But again my judgment is biased since I’m a man. I’ll let our resident feminist Lavender tell you why she thinks we’re a generation of emotionally stunted men. I have to admit her simple, humorous and subtle way she presented the issue almost got me. So men be on the alert, if you start feeling doubt for the course take a minute to breath, maybe catch a cold one then continue. This war we must win.

Lavender, you’re up.

Whatever drove us milennials into a state of emotional retardation, only the man upstairs understands! I am inclined to believe that it is only in this generation where people avoid expressing their emotions openly for fear of being judged and/or are even ignorant to the levels of emotion that they may be faced with.  I further believe that the men within this generation are even more emotionally retarded than us ladies!

You ask why? Well, take a look at this guy who is quite smitten by a lass at school. He has known her for quite a while now, but because he is afraid to concede his true feelings towards her, he convinces himself otherwise. All this is since he is troubled by how she will react when he displays his true affection. Men are identified by a great number as the people who might experience a great loss in their lives yet fail to shed a tear. It is this bunch of milennials that will not know what to do with their girlfriends during an emotional situation and thus see it fit to be on their way. While at a graduation ceremony of an ally of mine last year, I could not help but notice a colleague of hers (a man) nearby, shaking hands with his father as a form of ‘congratulations’! I mean, it is only men that will fail to publicly display their emotions for they believe they will be judged.

All this verbosity takes me back to those days when I had decided to love. Here were moments when I could get up and not speak at all to my man. No eye contact, no utterances, just a hunch back, doing my chores, acting as if my one and only never existed in the room. Guess what he would do? Get up, put on some loud music and busy himself with his phone till the time I would decide to speak up! That is exactly what we call emotional retardation! What happened to our men? A bunch of emotionally handicap persons who will only react when you inform them by word of mouth that things are not fine. This is so different from what happens to my parents; chap will know his wife is not fine the moment he enters the home and the house is silent. And he will make sure his soul mate eventually gives him a toothy smile!

What irks me in all this is that this emotionally retarded generation always want things done their way. They want to have their feel and when this does not happen, they become a pack of wild dogs who destroy everything in their way. An emotional retarded chap can cause much harm to those around him when his desires are not met. They fail to explain themselves in a logical way to those around them and this causes more harm rather than good. See, it is only such a person who during his lone time, when the lass beside him decides to pressure that he speaks his mind will he get quite agitated and frantic for having been ‘forced’ to do what he does not want to and will eventually even demand that the relationship come to an end as his lass is very ‘naggy and clingy’.

Clearly, the major thing emotional retardation affects is relations with other people. It is not wrong to keep your emotions to yourself, but once in a while it is good to let it out just so people can help you offload your pain or thoughts. Well, the belief these retards have of people judging them for expressing themselves is actually pathetic; for show me a man who lacks moments in life when he has felt the need to give in to death and I will give you the desires of your heart, ha!

In short, milennials need to reach a point where they will realize expressing their emotions is very normal- in fact, very mature. We ladies need persons in our lives who will be willing to let go; to express their emotions when need be, for after all, we are always going to comprehend. Trust me, if a man wants to truly communicate with a woman, he must enter her world of emotions!





Celebration Of A Life.



I think art is what holds the world together. I think without art we will be edging dangerously close to the precipice of extinction since most of us would have graves of our spouse, sister/brother, boss and/or land lord in our backyards concealed with a Shakespearean botanical to cover the stench of the rotting carcasses and that of your soul. Me thinks in this age and time where we are being bombarded by litters of sad news from the media, art gives us a chance to escape our own realities and get consumed by the wonders of a good art piece. Art is what stops us from jumping in ships and sailing to Washington to picket outside the white house because Trump called us “shithole countries” – and the gaping financial implications of such a soiree course. Art keeps us sane. Because without art, we lack the much needed avenue for escaping our lives even if only for a minute. We will be forced to adopt homicidal ways of venting like dangling our land lords by their feet from their 10 floor elevator-less buildings or garnishing our bosses’ foods with rat poison just to see their eyes bulge out of their sockets as they scream in anguish. I know what you’re thinking. And yes, you are right. Art keeps us free people out of prisons.
Now, imagine yourself standing at the iconic hall of Musee du louvre, staring at the monalisa trying like many other to decipher whether she is sad or happy or whether she looking here or there. Picture yourself at the Guggenheim Museum at the Bilbao. Imagine how mind blowing it can be sitting in a booth at the Teatro alla Scara in Madrid listening to curvy women with silvery voices in performance of a scintillating libreto that melt your ears and soul with it. Envision yourself seated among the crowds at alliance France watching a group of talented Kenyans act a play that speaks to the very roots of your essence in ways nothing else can. Imagine attending the cake art affair listen to tear drop tear your heart apart with words that echo the realities of life like “Happiness ni kulipia mse bill ya hospitali bila kuipiga picha na kuipost social media kwa sababu unajua wewe haupendi kujigamba” Or sitting at Cinemax with a friend watching the latest motion picture ( that’s “Movie” for you ignorant mortals who do not read credits after the Hero gets the girl, or kills the bad guy). It is only after you stand before the majesty of such great work of art that you realize that life is not all kicks in the sac, sometimes it cuts you a break for the massages and spa treatment.
If you’re wondering “Why the Art Sermon?” here is why; sometime last week I had an ass of a day. It felt like life had a vendetta against me by how roughshod it rode. Getting home, I decided to turn to the magical healing power of ‘Art’. Since my budget is perennially on life support and I could not afford the luxury of jetting off to Moscow to watch the world’s best ballerinas twist on their toes. I settled on watching ‘Billions’. A TV show about a super wealthy Investor and a sadomasochist district attorney going at it. There is this character, Wags, who snorts cocaine like a – well, a cocaine addict, and uses obscenities way too much even when giving his juniors a motivation; I assume it’s because of the relaxed nature of his mind. And to be quite honest I have no idea how he contributes to the plot of the whole show apart from being the leads character’s best friend. In some episode this cat Wags gets into a row with yet another lawyer over a space he wanted to buy for himself for when he kicks it. Apparently, it is something the rich on the extreme right of the bell curve of success do. They buy a small piece of land for millions of shillings preparing for their death. Personally, I think it is dogging yourself with misfortune. You never know who is watching. In a hospital lobby somewhere there are people praying their hearts out for God to spare their loved ones. You on the other hand are preparing your proverbial early grave. Since I was in a depress mood, I could relate why someone would entertain the thought of death let alone prepare for it. Not Wags though. Wags seemed to always having a grand old time while the rest of human kind were slaving to quite their grumbling stomachs. The drug addled man was on to something, I thought. I decided to buy my own piece of land. The land was not for me. I try not to mess with things that I do not understand, and since I do not know the criteria used to decide which person was to die and when. I came to a conclusion not to give the big guy up there ideas that I should be considered for the afterlife selection. So, I decided to get the piece of land for my campus life instead. I’m on my last semester which has been stretched – again, by the lecturers strike. My campus is a Ripley’s believe it or not story. It has nine lives. It has survived scandals, accidents not even natural death can seem to end this darn sucker. It was time to prepare it for its inevitably impending doom anyway. Given that it is a metaphorical life a eulogy seems to be more fitting than a piece of real estate. I wrote a eulogy for my campus’s life funeral. That funeral will not be a sad one. It will be one of those funerals where people get overly drunk and piss in the grave kind of funeral. It will be a funeral where the people will come only to quench their thirst for curiosity of whether it is really dead. It won’t be the funeral where people stand and fawn over the dead. It won’t be the funeral where everyone given a chance to speak says how the dead hang moons or how butter couldn’t melt in their mouths. It won’t be a parade of hypocrites assembled only to find out if the dead left anything worthwhile to squabble over. It will be a funeral of honesty. The eulogy won’t be long. It will be succinct and precise. It will be;
“Today we say goodbye to six years of a life lived long past it’s sell by date. Today we say goodbye to a life that we will all long to forget but we will live to remember because it played a great part – than we’d like to admit- to whom we are today and what we will be in years to come. Today as we gather to mourn the passing of a life that was lived in time of self- indulgence and hedonism. we will strive to remember only the good and not the bad.
The deceased was joined the family of over 1000 a restless dreamer hoping to get a hold of a rung in the ladder of opportunity. In his 6 year of existence. Your passing has unraveled the reality that each of us will have to or has already faced. The reality that it will all come to pass, sooner or later the thin veil of protection we had under the excuse that we are young and wild will come to a screeching halt. That growing up and responsibilities are inevitable.
Your life might have been marred with some bad experiences like losing friends to the gaping hole of death, rejections, failure, brokenness, betrayal by friends, heartbreaks, hangovers, cold nights in the tiles but it also came with a silver lining of experience. In your own lifetime as you created yourself a myth of what any man could achieve, You have thought us that not everybody that smiles at you is a friend; You have thought us that in this age of smokes and mirrors we must learn to live with an ample deficit in trust; You have taught us that not every whiskey shot is meant to be taken; You have taught us that as long as Photoshop and social media exist comparing our lives with those of others will only end up depressing you and spiking your heart rate; You have taught us that expectations are what lead to disappointment therefore we should adjust them to a low minimum if we can’t avoid them all together; You taught us that there is nothing like free lunch unless it is from your mother; you’ve taught as that hate is a slippery slope that only leads to a valley filled with bitterness and distrust and most importantly you have taught us that only a fool does not change his mind.
As we say our goodbyes today with a heavier heart than expected. We only wish to promise you that we’ll take the lesson learnt at heart. We might stray off our paths to perfection and self improvement but with your memory we’ll always find our ways back. He always said to be happy you had to be “The man” in your own life. Indeed, he was ‘The Man” described by William Shakesphere when he wrote:
“His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!”
To a man who had a knack of mixing metaphor I’ll say to you, your passing springs up a new life. I cannot just say goodbye, goodbye means you’re gone forever but you are not, you live in our hearts. However, you were a realist therefore I’ll say – Kwaheri. For the land to which you’ve gone, we must all someday visit”.


Sunday faithfulS

Lavenda Amunga

One thing our parents need to understand is that a Sunday in campus is so different from a Sunday at home! While at home all know that attending church is the rule of the house. Still i wonder if a comrade will still maintain his routine even when at school. All i know is that in campus, there are 5 kinds of people you meet every Sunday:

1. Holy Mary

Parents, if your daughter or son is in this category, then sit down and breath. You are safe. This one will attend church from Monday to Monday. Needless to say, they become so rooted into religion they forget what brought them to school in the first place. Still, who am i to judge? Holy Mary will pray and cast out demons from class to the library to the dining hall and by the time the bell rings Sunday, she’ll have performed all miracles you can think of!

2. The Sunday bell ringer

This one is the one who gets up in the morning, recalls what day it is and prays! Heck! This one can forget his exams, can miss classes, can play truancy for the whole week but lest it reaches Sunday, the man will summon his lost friends to go to church with him. He will give a talk to his lost buddies on the importance of God. Well, i guess it’s better for your son to get a supplementary in his exams and go to heaven, right?

3.The social media pagan

When you are a social media pagan, you wait for some Holy Mary to send a scripture on the class whatsapp group on a peaceful Sunday morning, then as soon as they do, you condemn their religion, their lifesytle, their act of unbelievability! How could she send you that scripture? Is she insinuating that you do not know God? You create a war within the group that will occur throughout the morning. Holy Mary and Sunday Bell Ringer have to join hands and defend what they believe in. You make others who still have no stand join your side! By the end of the day even those intending to go to church do not go. I have no idea where this one’s fate lies!

4. Angel of doom

Parents, pray for your children! In case you are this kind, fellow comrade, you are doomed. This one is drank from Monday to Saturday. She sleeps with every Tom, Dick and Harry on campus and uses every drug that is in exsistence. She is the kind that has created cheating in relationships etc. She knows no God but on Sunday, you call her…she will be in church! Seated praising the Lord. Want to know why? Because it is on Sunday morning that she will realize she has ebola, cholera, guinea worm, HIV/AIDSYPHYLLIS, amoeba…. And that is the time she will remember what day it is!

5.The Kanyari christian

This one is aware of God’s exsistence. In fact, he serves in ministry, is involved in the worship team, prays for the class before class begins etc. However, that is on the surface. In the evening you hear him curse at his colleagues, demanding his services be paid for. You meet him durung the week you won’t be sure if he is the CU pastor on Sundays. His doing good comes in shifts. Whilst this sunday he will be prayerful, next week he will beat the crap out of you for calling him to pray with you.

Comrade, be real whether at home or in campus!


An Illiterate Elite

Lavenda Amunga

It is high time the campus student retrieves his primary school notes from whatever pit he must have buried them and review the major cause of the killer disease HIV/AIDS. Quite unfortunate is the fact that this elite group are the ones engaging in unprotected inappropriate sex every single day, not petrified by the number of sexual partners they have.

All this sprouts from the Psychology class most of them have attended that emphasizes on Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs naming sex as a basic need. This reality having dawned on them, they end up spending every leisure time of theirs in bed. Sadly, sex has become a meal for the university comrade, an antidote to an undesirable disease; without it, the guy might go the way of all flesh. The fear of transmission of the disease has long been lost, -thrown back to the researchers who revealed the major causes of transmission – a clear cause of the cursed contraceptive and emergency pills. The closet of a campus girl is now a stocked chemist, filled with more packets of contraceptives than her clothes and shoes combined. Why the campus girl must remain in this mental predicament, no man can decipher.

The rate of sex engagement in campus is alarming; a pack of hungry dogs in love. One has forgotten that in spite of the early pregnancies they should protect against, there is also the diabolic HIV/AIDS. A disease that has finished hundreds of thousands without mercy. Nowadays it seems that sex education should be given not only to the young kids in primary school but also to the ignorant men and women in campus. No one recalls that there is need to use condoms despite being diligent users of contraceptive pills. Even though packets of condoms have been placed in areas where anyone can easily access them within the school e.g. in washrooms, nobody wants to use the analogue materials. After all, it is a digital era.

It appears that the higher these campus students seem to move in school, the more illiterate they become on the important matters in life. Pondering over books has become a thing of the past. Right now, all they are aware of is that, ‘The pleasures of the heart lie in intense sex,’ and surprisingly, a brother can agree to share his girl since all good things come to those that give! They all believe that there is nothing worse than impregnating a 20 year old (and that problem, has already been done away with).

All these forbidden sexual activities have a negative impact on the lives of these youngsters in campus who need to get a grip of their lives. The horror of acquiring the disease is real. It is quite heartbreaking for a parent who has worked tooth and nail to obtain school fees for his only hope to be hit by reality after four years that his daughter dropped out of school two years back thanks to the discovery of suffering from HIV/AIDS. As was not the case in Kenyan campuses before, sleeping with a lecturer all in the name of fighting for your degree is not a disturbing issue. In every office you walk into, an ignorant girl is flirting her way to bed with that 50 year old-almost- retired lecturer seated behind his desk. After all, the chances of you being in a family way is zero.

One wonders what happened to this elite lot. As their performance in their various areas of study is deteriorating, so is the case with their morality. This may be an early warning sign that our leaders of tomorrow need to be taken back to a stage they must have skipped. More so, creation of awareness needs to continue as some of these people are just souls lost in ignorance that need to be saved. More importantly, light needs to be shed on these bunch of people in campus, for they know not what they do. A Barrack Obama is needed to preach the ‘yes we can use condoms’ gospel before it gets too late. By the end of the day, if something is not done, we will be surrounded by a depraved atrocious contaminated society.



Don Benzo


Who has ever bothered to find out how the Nazis raised to power. It’s unimaginable that people with such vile hearts can convince the majority of a nation to vote them in as a power then turn on them. Here is the thing, the Nazis never convinced the people, and they were never voted in. in fact, the Nazis took advantage of an economic depression that saw a large chunk of the German population rendered jobless in well under six months. The Nazi party, a small party at the heart of the economic depression. A party on the radical right of the German political spectrum maneuvered its way to power by gaming the system. First, using their most spellbinding and gifted orator at the time Adolf Hitler. The Nazi party tailored their speech to fit their audience. The people having lost their jobs were in great need of a savior. The Nazi party tapped into the anger and the helplessness of their people which then attracted a considerably wide following. The Nazis downplayed the anti-Semitism when talking to the businessmen and emphasized their speeches on anti-communism. While addressing their soldiers, war veterans and other conservatives in the nation the speech angled towards military buildup and restoring their nation to their old glory. The Nazis orchestrated a deadlock in the Reich (Parliament), this lead to the dissolution of the parliament which called for a new election. The president at the time the ageing Field Marshal Paul Von Hindenburg used an article their own constitution that allowed him to rule without parliamentary consent. You can feel a buildup in dictatorship at this stage. After the second election, the majority in the Reichstag once again dissolve their parliament. It’s a long mired political occurrence that ended up with Adolf Hitler being appointed the Chancellor of German. He later used his new found influence and popularity to suffocate the other politicians and consolidate the Nazi dictatorship completely subservient to Hitler’s personal will.

Why I’m I giving you a crash course on the Germany past politics you ask? Here is why. I’ve seen enough similarities between the then political atmosphere in Germany and the one we are experiencing in Kenya. I will be remiss if I don’t say something to caution you on blind and indiscriminate support of our preferred political affiliation. The political ambience of the country has been volatile of late. People have taken sides. Vile and constitutionally questionable comments have been made in rallies. The democracy have been stifled for the benefit of the influential. People have died under suspicious circumstances. We’ve seen human rights violations of enormous magnitudes. Kenyans have been gunned down like animals for exercising their rights to expression. We’ve seen students being dragged from their residence and being whipped to pulp by a Kenyan paramilitary squad. A young girl was shot by a stray bullet during a snaffle between the police and rioters. Fingers were pointed. Names were taken. Investigations were conducted. And typical of Kenya nothing amounted. The independent bodies are being persecuted by politicians. The judiciary system is facing fire from one side, while the electoral commission is being held hostage by the other side. Instead of Kenyans saying enough is enough, we all fall in line behind our favorite candidate and unquestionably follow their lead with caution thrown to the wind. Like the Nazis, the two major political alliances are working the normal Kenyans. They have different speech for a different crowd. With one audience they preach tribal superiority, with other they preach of the economical utopia that they promise to lead us when elected. We’ve been through this before. We have seen Kenya express hate in the worst possible ways just because their beloved candidate didn’t win, and the other side adamant that theirs won. The constitution is being changed overnight to fit the prevailing political interest with no thought of its possible implication in the future. These are quick fixes designed to game the system that easily lead to expansion of constitutional grey space that allows constitutional fluidity that can be fitted to whatever bottle the politician is sipping from at the moment.

This time round let’s show these politicians with charred hearts and over inflated self-interest that we learn from our past mistakes. That we have accumulated past lessons from Germany, USA, and our dear neighbors Uganda and our very own 2007 post-election. Let’s show them that while they have shipped off their families to vacation cities like Maldives, Fiji, and Hawaii while we are pussyfooting our way through the elections with their careless statements threatening to spark another tribal war that we know what they are up to. Let’s show them that we are not going to sacrifice our neighbors to help them get a hold of our public coffer to enable their pilfering endeavors. Let’s show them that we condemn public intoxication by speaking against it whether we are for or against them, that we can blacken the pots as we blacken the kettle. Let’s show them that after all is said and done, there is only one tribe that will suffer: the poor. If you’re not on a plane already heading to Miami for a fortnight sip of mojito you are among the poor. Do not indiscriminately dismiss common sense in support for an ideal you know is wrong. Neither should you relent if whatever you’re fighting for is just. It has taken Kenya over forty years to build this barely democratic country let us not burn all that in a day. Germany may have recovered from the Nazi and Hitler regime but the ghosts of their actions still lingers. May we all have a peaceful election and most important a peaceful after election.

What’s his vice?


Don Benzo
“Do not trust a man without a vice(s)”. That was my two cents to a young lady who thought it was a good idea to ask me for relationship advice. The truth is I’m terrible at relationships and everything that comes with it including advice. The problem is this young lady holds me in high regards and I would hate to be tipped off that pedestal simply for the reason that I could not give out a few tokens of wisdom on how to know one of my own is relationship worthy. I know this house of card will come crashing down some day when she realizes that I’m all glib and no real insight but I’m prepared to stretch this out for as long as I can. That’s why when she asked me what I meant for that I told her that I’ll “app” her that’s what we cool kids call what’s app this days. So while sitting in my room summoning all gods of bullshitting I started to really think about it and it hit me, what’s a man without a vice? Really? Okay, I’ll tell you ladies exactly what I told her.
Every man has a vice, it is important to know the type of depravities your man like engaging in. some its alcohol, some it’s gambling since gambling is the new black, some it’s wandering eyes, some it’s rigid principalities, some it’s hanging out with the boys, some it’s games either watching or playing, some it’s susceptibility to peer pressure, some sycophancy et al. The point is, every man has this thing that will always get your goat. If you see a man without a vice, chances are his vice is the ability to hide his vices. My advice is to avoid such men at all cost. You do not want to be two, three or four years into relationship and then you finally realize that your man’s vice is smelling your dirty panty while you’re in the shower, or he’s into cross dressing, or he suddenly gets this high libido every time he sees that old mama basking on the rooftop, or say someday while experiencing some form of hormonal imbalance you say something curt and he suddenly slaps the living crap out of you kumbe the man was a true son of the soil but you didn’t notice because you decided to practice ostrich politics and live in a bubble of blissful ignorance, or even worse you guys are together for over a year and find out he’s an Arsenal fan then you start wondering if the relationship is really working or he’s just there stoically because years and years of being an Arsenal fan has eroded his perception of relationship trajectory and functionality.
To all those who practice indiscriminate optimism with no caution and would rather live in a bubble of blissful ignorance than march straight to the kitchen and see how the sausage is made, knowing very well that it can spoil their appetite you’re the kind of people any man would like to meet and take full advantage of. However, if you’re one of those aware of the fickle nature of an African man and believes some deficit I trust is good for the soul then here is an counsel for you lady. On the first date do not go asking what is the man’s thought on the recent supreme court decision to nullify the elections result or what is the best wine to pair with a vegetarian four course meal, instead ask him what is his vice, conscious or unconscious. I would have given the same advice to the gentlemen reading this but I’m sure you all have this ladies figured out. If not ask one of them, Lavender, can help you on that front.
Here is the thing though, I’m terrible at relationships. I’m so wet behind my ears about this matter it’s appalling. The few relationships I have been in I adopted the laissez faire policy, therefore it goes without saying that they were relatively short-lived and some ended up quite ugly. While reading it I will greatly urge you to take these opinions with a grain of salt but perhaps just a little bit for the hassle of finding these nuggets of wisdom from a pile of manure you can just give it a little thought. And with these very many words “Cupid” Don wishes to bid you adieu.

Holiday Chronicles #2

Don Benzo
Just got home from the longest semester in campus. You know, after the lecturers decided that the almighty shilling was more important than nourishing the minds of the future generation and went on that long ass strike that saw us having two more months added to our already lengthy semester. Getting home for the holiday came as a relief. It also presented that particular opportunity to eat something else other than ‘chapati ndengu’ or rice and beans. Since I was home and being the pretender that I am, I had to quit some bad habits. So I figured, since I was kicking the likes of weekend partying, idleness and he once in a while dogogio bender to the curb, there was room for a new habit. I chose the iron mill. If you ever wanted to hit the gym, tone your muscles, burn the extra fat, finally get the New Year resolution 6pack there is no better time like the holidays. Why you ask. The work out comes with no baggage attached. That extra baggage like one; the extra money for food. Two, the money for extra food and three; the money for the campus extra judicial activities. At home all this extra expenses are transferred to the peroz (long live mum).
So the next day I hit the tracks looking for a well-equipped gym to start. I found this cool gym at our casual business district (CBD). Here at “the city of champions” we don’t have a central business district.
Not with all this people walking around town rocking suits and trainers. The weather at Eldoret is so moody, you never know what it has in store for you. One second the sun is roasting you so hard till your toes sweat the next second it’s raining dogs. The people here have given up predicting it. Nobody gets surprised anymore when he sees some chap walking around in 88 degrees of sunlight dressed like an Eskimo complete with gumboots.
I stray.
The gym cost an arm and a leg but it was worth it. I wanted the taste of the good life too. Who knows with all this important people dying I might be the one pushing daisies next. So I registered for membership. The gym was an ample hall with organized, clean and well-polished facilities. The instructors well groomed and courteous. And the air, oooh!! The air purged of mild strawberry, lavender and opulence. Unlike the gyms I was used to that reeked of sweat, vanity and hustle. The members are mostly married couples and mid-twenties ladies in for yoga and pilates, considering how sore the body gets during work out routines, I was glad there was a sight for the eyes. They men had their gym tracks and trainers, the ladies with their training bras and yoga pants (told it was a sight). Now that I was going to Rome, I had to drop all my crass behavior. I got myself the necessary gym apparel’s, the next day I hit I joined the gym.
It was like a five star hotel that place. You sign in at the reception, you’re given a colored tag with a color that signifies the trainer you get. I get red. Despite the bad reputation of the color red, the trainer was quite remarkable. As it was my first day he suggest we just do a full body to kick start he muscle. He suggests we take it slow. No straining. I almost yell him. Does he know I used almost all my savings on this darn gym? But I restrain myself. He was a chit chat and the 2hours passes by seamlessly. He says you can leave now, or wait for the yogis to finish in half an hour and join them for stretches. I choose to
wait. I pick a bench at a covert corner and start watching the yogis do their thing. These people can bend over backwards. Literally. I marveled at how far the body parts can stretch when well-motivated. The women have the art down. The men on the other hand, apart from a few seem forced to be here. They kept falling and groaning during the whole thing. It was a sad sad sight to watch. I decide to pay no mind at the men. I’m telling you, very few things can match the joy of watching ladies do yoga. Completely
consumed in my new creepy hobby, I hear a voice from my back. A woman’s voice
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.
I turn back to meet this poised woman. Garbed in white sneakers, black yoga pants and a zipped up jacket. She had an unusually appealing round face, harsh hazel eyes, slim and of medium height. It was impossible to tell her age. She was as beautiful as any other woman in the room but she had something about her that captures your attention. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She was casual, casual almost in a way that screamed “I’m hiding from attention” except the screaming instead drew attention to her. I struggle to maintain my composure.
“Not really, it is court mandated” I reply cheekily. She chortles.
“I’m Beryl” she states.
“Hi, Beryl, wanna join me in this voyeurism, it is a great pastime” I say.
She sits at the bench directly in line of view. I want to whine but I decide against it. We start talking and laughing. She can repartee like no one I know. We become so consumed in our chit chat I forget about the stretches the next thing I hear is voices of relieved men and self-congratulating women leaving the hall.
“I’m on this shift” she gabbles.
“I was on this shift” I say pointing at the group leaving.
“Why are you here really?” she asks taking my phone from my hand, handed it back a few seconds later and said “text me” I shrugged.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?” she asks.
“God’s honest?” I ask trying to come up with something clever to say.
“Is there any other kind” she quips.
“Okay since you insisted. I am the in house EMT in case someone pulls a muscle” I reply.
“You’re impossible” she resigns. Laughing heading for the group of yogis readying themselves. I text her a day later.
“Nothing is impossible” I text. Two or three hours later my phone beeps.
“Sorry!! Who is this?” she asked.
“The court mandated/EMT guy from the gym” I send.
“oh! You. Have you tried licking your elbow? That should adjust your perspective about impossibilities” she sends back.
“Such a defeatist attitude” I reply.

Casual chats turned into late night schmoozes and early morning phone calls. Our arcane frivolous talks turn to coquetry. One night we arrange to rendezvous the next day. She pulls over an hour and half late, rolls down the window and asked.
“Have you waited for long” as she motions that I go around and hop in.
Of course I had waited long. Can’t she tell from my shining forehead? I make a personal decision not

Holiday chronicles #1

Don Benzo

She pressed a blue button immediately below the steering wheel and the gate obsequiously rolled to the side and paved way for the Pajero to pass. She lived 45 minutes from Eldoret town. Calling it an estate will be apt but not quite. It is more like a village seasoned with modernity. The houses were far apart. When I say far I mean far like 4 kilometers apart far. I think every homestead owned a minimum of like 20 to 30 acres of land. As the gate rolled over, I could see the gate man peep through the window and back to his business. No salutes, no pleasantries, nothing. Three other cars were parked outside the mansion. We got off the car, she picked something from her handbag and threw it at the back of the car then locked it. All the while, I was standing their amazed by how beautiful the compound was. The bushes in front of the house were neatly trimmed to the shape of a heart. The grass was green and flowed to the world yonder effortlessly. The facade of the house was decorated with shiny marbles that trickled down to the porch with such grace it broke you’re your heart. I followed her into the house. It was unlocked so we just entered. Her living room was beautiful, with leather sofas, an oval shaped glass table with books under it mostly Shakespeare’s.

“Make yourself at home, let me go change into something casual” she said. “You can help yourself with anything in the fridge’.

Her voice seemed to have changed since we last spoke. Which was 45min ago when she asked me if I had waited for long. We drove in an ominous silence for the whole 45 minutes. No small talk or chit chat of any kind. A few minutes later she came down the stairs wearing a white t-shirt and a blue silk short. She had washed off all the make up on her face and unhooked her hair. I caught myself staring just in time to save myself from drooling. I was seating on an accent chair. She came straight to where I was, bent down and whispered to my ear, “not even thirsty?” I felt the whisper in my pants.

“I’m famished, I’ll go make us something to eat” she said. “Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen” she added sashaying off to the kitchen without waiting for my response. Everything about this woman was mysterious. Which kinda gave me the creeps. I had not seen anybody in the compound apart from the watchman with some serious work ethics. The place didn’t clean itself. The bushes didn’t trim themselves. And from how she looked, she did not seem like a person who will pick up the sheers and start trimming her own front yard. So after a few minutes in the kitchen I decided to break the ice.

“Your place is quite neat, do you do all this all by yourself” I asked.

“No, I have help” she answered.

“Where are they?” I inquired.

“Gave them the day off, don’t want any witnesses when I chop you into pieces and cook you for dinner” she said, stone faced while spinning the knife holders.

I stared at her mouth open. I’m sure I wanted to say something but words didn’t come out. If I were to guess what I wanted to say it was probably some weak plea for my life. You know, plead with her humanity by telling her how my siblings depended on me. But I just stood there, unable to do anything. Suddenly I heard a burst of laughter. She was laughing so hysterically her eyes watered.

“Relax” she said, “they all leave at 4 p.m.”

I love a dark sense of humor but this is the first time I have been a victim to one. I have to say this. I didn’t like it one bit. Was it not that my bladder was strong and the timely laugh this could have been a story of how a grown ass man pissed himself. She started beating the eggs.

“How do you like your eggs” she asked.

“Unbeaten and in my pants” I answered tongue in cheek. She chuckled.

“Is it hot in here or what?” she asked after a few minutes of awkward silence. Looking at me, she took off her t-shirt and remained in her bra. (The story is going to get a little risqué from here on, so all those prudes you can call it a day). She moved close to me and kissed me. I didn’t balk. I have to say, for a woman her age, she had a flat tummy, perky tits and her kissing game was on fire. Oh!! Did I forget to tell you that her name is Beryl, 36 years old and I’m not yet sure about this but I think I just got myself a sponsor or is it “sponsor-ress”

The rest of what happened and how we met to be continued next time.

Telltales of an idle mind

Don Benzo

The other day I was holding court with the boys at one of the campus hostels, I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about but I am sure it was about  chillez because it is the university and men cannot leave on bread alone but on every knickers that he sheds. In campus as men we are not judged by the  content of our character or by the color of our skin (maybe a little by the color), we are judged by the number of our conquest and the depth of your pocket. I know, vanity will be our downfall.

Okay back to my story.

One of the guy retorted, “Maze, hizi vitu sisi huita umama zinakuaga form, kama udaku na lollipop”.  Thinking about it now, he was right. Men love gossip just as much as the ladies. If not more. Yeah men, I said it. You can get your knickers in a twist all you want but you all know it’s true. You want to get the grapevine of who is the hottest girl, who has hit what, which girl has a sponsor, which two jamaas are unknowingly tilling the same land. Which student leader is pillaging the most from the union’s coffers, which lecturer is sexually inducing degrees et al. just pitch tent in one of those campus men clicks and count to ten. The stories are usually so catchy and comprehensive you cannot get yourself to leave. I like listening to these stories. I can follow strangers to their homes just to get to hear how the story ends. I know. I’m an embarrassment to the male gender just by virtue of admitting it. I get points for honesty though, no?

Here is one fresh from the creeper. A friend of mine was giving it to me about this girl currently on the conveyor belt. The conveyor belt is the term used when describing a girl being subtly passed from a guy to another. This chiq was passed to him from his friend and apparently she became to clingy and wanted more than he could give (read relationship) so this cat decided the whole situation was getting out of hand. He did what any other gentleman would do, forwarded her to another friend of his. You know what the saddest part is, she never learnt. She is still making her rotation. I don’t care how this girl decide to experience her sex life. I’m just assuming she is a big believer of variety being the spice of life. But I got to ask is this girl just dumb or is she being deliberately obtuse.

By the way if you are waiting for this story to connect to how men love gossip just stop. It already has I’m gossiping right now. What bees my bonnet is the fact that men define machismo by such things.  My point is, I have no point I’m just a bored person with a colorless life looking for some information to peddle. Word of advice though, not all the gossip are worth listening. Like this one afternoon we were chilling, shooting breeze and cracking wise with the boys talking football girls and whatnot. Then this cat joined in and out of nowhere started volunteering information on how he and his girlfriend like doing the nasty. It was so painful to listen it felt like swimming in a sewer line. It really sucks when someone interrupts my quality talk with their below par gossip. I don’t know what the measuring scale for exciting gossip is but if you stick around the talk doesn’t seem to improve on your boredom, walk away and do something constructive with your time like say read a novel or just sleep.