Okwonko rescue team please save our lives
The terrorists are killing us
And our leaders are acting like everything is okay
Over and over again,
We lose lives of our loved ones and no one does anything to improve the situation.
Okwonko rescue team please save my voice
I have been singing and escorting waheshimiwas to the Integrity Centre for probing
I don't know if they are innocent
I don't know how their alleged corrupt actions affect me
I don't even know their name
But I know I need my voice to sing for a suspect tomorrow and get something for my hungry kids.
Okwonko rescue team please save our government
Instead of serving and developing the nation wanatafuta kura
Because finders keepers and losers weepers
But not for long, losers will get nominated to the private sectors and help steal money there.
Okwonko rescue team please take me to Kempinski
So that once Evans is done gaining e-fans
We could talk about real issues affecting the city
Okwonko rescue team please save our church
Impostors are taking advantage of the brethen
Jesus loves them Kanyari says, "So?
Only a fee and my bended knee
Will bring you victory."
Okwonko rescue team please save us from the media
Minor Kunguni is on radio each morning telling Classic tales which don't help us us
One of them has been sacked for being corrupt
All he has left is grandpa tales and the one English word he knows, "chronometer."
Okwonko rescue team please okoa my jahazi
So I can hashtag our problems away
If I protest on the streets they'll ask "who gave these children placards?"
I want to troll other people on the internet
Hoping that will make me forget my insecurities
You will most probably take after your father. His calm and polite ways are written all over you. Before him, I dated all types of men. Some were of honour, but others were leading reckless lives. My first boyfriend, Juma, had a scandalous reputation. Women were always fighting over him and even though I knew he was bad news I still could not resist him. I learnt to enjoy his company whenever he was around and not cry when he wasn't. Whenever he wished to see me my door was open and so were my legs.
I often wondered who I would eventually settle down with. I still had that fairytale dream of finding a man who would marry and start a family with me. When Phil came along, I was pretty sure he was the one. We met during a corporate meeting and that's where I discovered that he was a radio presenter. We didn't exchange contacts then but I found myself listening to his show that evening.
I was impressed by what I heard and started touching myself to his voice, my fingers becoming his manhood giving me pleasure. I tuned in to his programme two weeks later and it felt like he was there with me having an actual conversation.
I had put myself in an awkward situation which I had not realized until I bumped into him later on at another gathering. Here is a man I've been infatuated with and he just remembers me as some woman he met at a few months ago. I calculated my words very carefully fearing I might disclose what I have been doing and scare him away. I mentioned that I had become a fan of his show and he said he had noticed my comments on the fan page a few times.
Dating this guy was a confirmation that fairytales do exist. How often do things like this happen to people? But we soon discovered that we had very few things in common. At that point having a fight would have probably been the most exciting thing in the relationship. We soon fell apart and I felt so sorry for myself.
Rina and the neighbour's baby reminded me of your dad and I. The way Rina was always pushing him around and the helpless kid would just smile until it was too much. I was the loud one in the relationship and at times it felt like I was the only one talking and he was just staring at me. It made me look stupid as if I was talking to myself but the few words he said made me fall deeper.
There was something about your father that made me want to stick around him to the end. He was probably not the best man when it came to dressing and at times he smelt of armpit juice but I knew I could work on that. He made me want to work hard and better myself daily.
That was why I did not know how to tell him I could not find Rina. It was hard enough for me to understand that my daughter had been kidnapped. What kind of human being steals another person's child? We had been through a lot and our firstborn had brought so much joy. Thankfully your dad did not fault me knowing very well that I had also been drugged. He asked all the questions to the police, put up posters on the roads and even put word out on social media but there was no sign of my girl.
The worst punishment has to be bearing a child and not knowing where they are. At least if they died you would cry and bury your tears with its body. It would be difficult to move on through the pain but there is closure in death. However, when you have no idea of their whereabouts nothing makes sense and you sit waiting for a text, a demand for ransom, a body, anything. Do I blame myself for taking her to the clinic that day? Maybe if I had a car and drove instead of walking my little princess would still be here with me.
Your sister would have taught you a few tips on how to speak up and air your views. I can tell you're going to be a bit boring just like your father. Rina would have helped with that. She would play with you and on some days she was the only one who vould calm you. Your crying would piss her off and she would start shouting at you. The house would get really quiet with your crying and her shouting but now I would give anything to hear her screams. Now the world has cheated our destiny. What if they use her for those devilish rituals? O God! Take care of my baby.
Historically, men are known to pursue women and not the other way around. Men are referred to as the 'hunters' and women 'the hunted'. This inexperience can be a disadvantage at times when you want to talk to someone but all your pick up lines are whack, "Look up in the sky, oh no, you're superfly," or worse, "I want to do riddim things to you." Initiating the relationship, however, is never a big problem. It's so easy to hook up but it's the issues that come with dating that makes love difficult to find.
Enters Yunior. You probably think that Yunior is some guy from Ukambani right? Wrong. There aren't enough books about Ukambani peeps and I'm too broke to buy the ones that are already in the market. This Yunior is Dominican, the main character on 'The Cheater's Guide to Love" and eight other stories in Junot Diaz' book, "This is How You Lose Her".
The book shows how messed up Yunior's love life is. He grew up seeing his older brother and father living in infidelity all their lives and this shapes how he views women. His struggle to find love despite his unfaithfulness which is persistent. In my opinion, it was all his fault. There's no way you can cheat on your girlfriend with fifty different women. Kwani you were looking for Carmen san Diego?
If he did that to my friend I would pay thugs to beat him up. If he did that to me I would cut out Mickey Mouse shapes from all his clothes, pay thugs to beat him up, clone him then beat up his clone as well.
The author does a very good job with this book. He uses Yunior's story to talk about immigration, cancer, poverty; themes that are not very exciting but are brought out well in this story. The language used has a bit of Spanish which is very expressive. One feels as if you are in a Spanish family gathering and everyone is screaming and shouting. At some point when you're deeply engrossed in this book and someone interrupts you, you will look at them angrily and shout the only Spanish word you know, "El Classico!".
By the end of the book you will get the impression that maybe cheaters are not so horrible after all. They are human beings just like you and me. Infact at the very beginning he defends himself by saying, "I'm not a bad guy...I'm like everybody else; weak, full of mistakes, but basically good." You will even sympathize with him, surely he sounds like he could be your brother, classmate or even boyfriend. Losing a brother to cancer, having to grow up without his dad around and basically having a normal life kills the monster idea of Yunior that his infidelity creates.
Unless you are going to write an excellent book like this one, I'd advise you to stay true to one person. If Yunior with sick lines like "the half-life of love is forever" could not get his woman back how about you whose lover has Kilimani Mums on speed dial?
My last two reads were Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and John Grisham's The Broker. The coincedence in these books is that they are both about an American who found themselves in Italy and got to sample the food there. One was a divorcee travelling around for spiritual conquest, work and also because she could while the other was an ex-prisoner hiding from certain groups that wanted him dead.
These two writers are very good at vivid description especially when it came to the cuisine part. My mouth watered the whole time and I often took snack breaks. It also got me thinking about my own cooking.
I don't like cooking.
It's not that I can't cook. I know enough to survive. Compared to prison food, I do a pretty good job. It just doesn't excite me at all. However when I read these two books I was sure I wanted to change that. Wanting to eat exciting food meant knowing how exactly to prepare it.
This is where Kaluhi's blog comes in.
I had seen it a few times, tried a few recipes and ogled at most of them but this time I typed kaluhiskitchen.com with envy trying to find out if one day I'll be able to cook just as well. Maybe, I thought she's a catfish and the pics she uses are googled.
There's a joy that comes with cooking food that looks the same as the one pictured on the website. Of course I tried out the easier recipes first but soon I'll escalate to stuff like fritatas. Most of her plans are based on basic ingredients put together to make an excellent meal.
Atleast Kaluhi is a driven writer, someone who contributes to society. Unlike her, the girl who shall not be mentioned is driven by unreasonable factors. As if trolling blue subarus was not enough she is now focused on someone who minds their own business on social media. I couldn't finish that article and to think she was paid to do it. You mean there was an editor who actually approved such an article for a nationwide audience? You Ngara be kidding me!
Anyhu, where was I? Yea...Diana Kaluhi. She was gracious enough to answer some of my questions. Make sure you read and visit her blog later.
FL: Tell me something about yourself.
DK: My name is Diana Kaluhi Adagala. I am the third of five girls. I am a finance major graduate who is crazy about cooking and loves being in the kitchen. I am a girly girl who enjoys good laughs and intelligent conversation. Most importantly, I am a Christian.
FL: When and why did you start food blogging?
DK: I began blogging last year after graduating from university. I had plenty of time on my hands and found myself spending much of it in the kitchen. I would then develop new recipes which my family would love. I wanted to share the same with the rest of the world and found that blogging would be the best platform. I took the plunge and that was the beginning of my journey as a food blogger.
FL: Any handy tips you may have for use in the kitchen?
DK: Try new flavours to add some oomph to your everyday meals. Always make an effort to serve food that has amazing taste and a visual appeal.
FL: What are you reading?
DK: I just finished reading Pride and Prejudice and hoping to get my hands on 'We Need New Names' by Noviolet Bulawayo.
FL: What advise would you give to a large group of people?
DK: Dare to dream and believe that you can achieve beyond what you could ever imagine. Dare to become.
FL: Have you thought of opening a restaurant?
DK: Yes, it is one of my longterm objectives since I've always wanted to be an entrepreneur. Keep my contacts, I shall invite you!
At this point I wanted to say "Actually, you are officially my friend. Please feel free to use me as your kitchen lab rat. Your home-made meals will be accepted as gifts everynow and then."
Kaluhi is doing a great job of showing how to have fun in the kitchen in an inexpensive way. Her recommendations are to die for!
I have a crush on Blinky Bill of Just a Band. He has this really creative mind which I love and even though I don't think he has a lovely voice I most definitely love his music. Last year after one of his shows I walked up to him, hugged him and told him that I loved him. He was talking to a white woman so he wasn't really interested in what a girl half his height who looked a bit under the influence had to say. He responded with the proverbial "I appreciate my fans," which was not what I wanted to hear. Whether the mzungu was offering him a gig in Paris or it was just a casual chat there was no way I was going to compete with that. Besides, I bet he sees girls like me all the time.

I went home and played 'Probably for Lovers' a million times that night emphasizing on the "we could be good but you're probably okay" line. How could they write such a song then do the exact same thing to me? If I were crazier I would have found out where he lives and spray painted the lyrics all around his house. But come to think of it, was I expecting him to run into my arms and say "Oh Nyonde, I have been waiting for you and that love you have for me. Here is my heart," and then we ride off into the sunset? Yenyewe, makes sense now.

During that time when I was excessively infatuated with him I realised that he was in KU and I thought to myself, "OMG we have so much in common. Surely this is fate." It was that time when guys were dropping out or changing courses and my mind was in the same place so when I heard Blinky Bill dropped out of school, I was pretty convinced that I should do the same because he's a major inspiration when it comes to doing what you love and making money off it.

My sister is about to join campus. I want her to be a rapper so I can give her some of the lyrics I've been working on, "Wanabonga sana I guess mi ni murmur yao," or "nimeenda kukula-nimeenda kudishi-I've gone to do the dishes." She'll probably do a degree in something different so I'll just have to have kids of my own then pressure them to be rappers. Her situation reminds me of that time when I was joining university.

I had no idea what I wanted to do but Economics and Statistics sounded like a course that would make everyone think that I'm smart. My dad wanted me to do law. He used to sit in his hospital bed and watch Kethi Kilonzo and wished that that could be me someday. I knew I was too lazy to read torts so I dodged that bullet. I know for a fact that whatever I had chosen I'd still be in the same rut I was a few months ago.

After the excitement of having all the freedom in the world dies out you open your eyes and realise Weirraminett! All these people will be competing for the same job. How about the ones who are already unemployed and underemployed? How about the ones who are still in high school and primary school? Then the frustration kicks in. Going to class becomes a struggle not because you know you can skive but because school is not as exciting anymore. It all becomes pointless.

You think everyone is as undermotivated as you until you go to class and see people who have been enthusiastic since the day they stepped into KU. Right now I'm at a better place because I enjoy studying Economics. I am also pursuing other passions because I am Kenyan and 'side hustle' is my middle name.

To my sister joining campus I'd like to tell you that:

1. School is hard
No matter what course you take you will have to struggle to get good grades, attend classes and do assignments.

2. School is important
The education we get and most importantly the exposure in campus is to die for. If you get the chance to study, take it because dropping out is not the best option. Unless you have other options and honestly majority of Kenyans don't so go to school.

3. School is not everything
The little economics I've learnt shows that unemployment is a necessary evil. That means that even though I'll use my knowledge to ensure full employment in Kenya, I'll keep some people out of jobs to keep my job atleast. It's unfortunate that we base our life stages according to school levels; primary, high school etc but we all know we learn most outside the classroom.

Lastly, school is fun. Too much fun.
Kids, for the better part of 2014 and the beginning of 2015 I was a kleptomaniac. Nothing fancy like Bonnie and Clyde. I was a shameless petty thief. My sticky fingers were attracted to chargers, earphones, USB cables and any other wire necessary for the 21st Century life. Not that I didn't have any of my own, believe it or not, I was doing it for my friends. When my dad died I felt like I needed to protect the people around me and their belongings. As an impulse I started collecting people's cables subconsciously to protect them from thiefs. I know it sounds really ironic now but I was doing it out of concern. This was until I had millions of earphones on my bed which I never used because the Luhya in me likes music banging loud from a speaker not whispering selfishly into eardrums. I also started realising that people I hang out with were complaining about their property.

I'm not about that life anymore. These days I only 'borrow' UP magazine copies. I stole this month's issue during an art exhibition at Kuona Trust. That's also how I treated myself to the December issue from my sister's stuff. That issue was about how Blankets and Wine is the best place in Nairobi to meet men and Kuona the best place to meet women.I could have given you my copy but if you're reading this it's too late. I already used it to light a jiko. No need letting it hang around my room till my sister finds out about it. Burn the evidence!

It's a habit I'm trying to quit. It's wrong to look at people's things and think you can have them for yourself just because you have the power to do so. That's how land grabbers and thiefs operate. They snatch people's things with the confidence that no one will fight back. I am well aware of this no- fighting-back game. My tiny body cannot allow me to fight back unless I'm tired of life and I decide I want to meet my Maker asap. I'm too small to even show that I'm not happy with a decision that's been made. Someone can just take me by one hand and throw me into a ditch never to be remembered. Therefore I understand the helplessness of not being able to defend yourself.

I'm reading Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt. The first part of this book shows how difficult their childhood was, languishing in poverty and sadness. I have to admit that my first mental picture was of African kids because it's not everyday you hear about hunger in America. It was quite frustrating reading of how Frankie's three siblings died of sicknesses which had cures and his drunk father whose pride could not let him beg or do certain jobs. So the kids are living from hand to mouth waiting for their dad to get some money from the government hoping he won't spend it all on booze.

Offcourse the theme changes when Frankie grows older but it felt like his early years were a series of "serikali nisaidie." They mainly depended on the state, family members or the church.

I don't want to live like that. I don't like seeing people who live like that. It's a hopeless life when someone does nothing else with their existence than take take take.

Be about something, kids. No need,living a life where the only entertainment you can afford is sex. Contribute to the society you live in. Maybe you could discover something new. One needs to live without being a victim of circumstances.




A concentration camp of girls where religious fanatism, heightened dryspells and the usual struggles of teenagehood were a must-find. That was high school for you. I went to Moi Girls School Nairobi also known as Quabbz. We found some crazy traditions and names and we did our best to preserve them although most are now non-existant. I have here a sneak peek of those words.

1. Mapenzi Gardens
Maybe there were teachers or students or a teacher and a student who used to have romantic dates there. I was probably writing wahenga na wahenguzi inshas when the garden was named. I can remember, however, a call booth (payphone? Whatever they were called) with a timetable showing the class that could use the phone on a particular day. Ours was Wednesday afternoon and I'll never forget how Quinter used to run after preps to call home only to find a Form Four student using the phone. Fourth formers never followed any timetable. They'd just walk up, call their boyfriends and hand over to their classmates who would take another three hours talking to God knows who. Miserable Form ones would miss supper waiting for their turn. When the booth was removed, Mapenzi Gardens became a parking space for Mrs. Mwai's cars. A secondary school teacher with a Freelander 2, a Navara,a mini-morris and the rest. Eighth wonder of the world.

2. Agugu lessons
They used to happen at the Shrine (Chemistry lab 6) hosted by Mr. A. A. Not Alcoholics Anonymous but Andrew Agolla, the master. If you're lucky he would tell you about how he was in the CID using a bicycle to chase bad guys who were speeding away in a Mercedes. He believed that every time was Chemistry time. Whether you have just opened school, come from a funkie, come from an English lesson or having an English lesson, everytime is Chemistry time. His life is the true meaning of dedication and although I dozed off during most of his lessons, I was sure I'd pass.

3. Fear Street
It's really annoying that we went through these things and when it was our turn some angel finally realised that the traditions were wrong. Smh. Karma is not a bitch after all. I repeat Karma is not a bitch. It is a government official sleeping on their job.

They named it Fear Street for the slow ones who needed to be reminded that they should not be seen on that side of the school. For the even slower ones there were bumps showing where a Form One could reach. If they ever crossed the bump to a senior class or even breathe the air that belongs to a senior student they would be shouted at and stuff like eggshells, banana peels and other nasty stuff would be thrown at them. It was a pretty embarassing scene. Until offcourse they decided that everyone was equal which is nice but they should have done that when I was a victim not when I was on the other side of Fear Street.

4. Kaudi
The best part of a Saturday evening. Heck, back in the day kaudi would come on public holidays or any night people decided they didn't want to read. It was a jam session where students would dance, scream, do anything to relieve stress. It happened before a movie when Form Ones were still carrying chairs to the hall. Once they're done 'pumping' they'd place their chairs on top of tables because it's difficult to see when you're at the back of the hall and the tables gave them a boost. They would 'pump' chairs back to their respective classes the next morning. As you can see being a Form One was a career.

5. Kurouge na kubomboch
Right now we are all sophisticated BCBG ladies doing exploits in whichever fields we find ourselves in but nothing could separate a Quabberian from her food, not even a fellow Quabberian. Kurouge was basically applying rugby skills to acquire basic commodities like evening tea or coffee, milk, avocadoes and crust -the first and last slices of bread. Offcourse there were civil ways like waiting in line and having a timetable but a hungry Quabberian is an angry Quabberian is a rugby Quabberian.

Kubomboch was enterring or leaving a place illegally using the back door or in most cases the back fence. So you don't have twenty bob for the Saturday movie? You can bomboch into the hall using a window. Did you sleep in and want to avoid a punishment from the matron? Bomboch from the hostels. Want to go for a gig at Carnivore Gardens? Just Bomboch as long as you bomboch back in before anyone notices.

6. Vampsugarlumps
No. No, this one will remain an inside joke. I don't want nightmares.