It is defection time, so I did!

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There are ties that bind even in the season of political marriages and formation of alliances. I have had tried to defect from the city to the village without success. Mango County can be interesting especially when the juicy fruit is at its best. You just stretch your hand to acquire one and ownership of the parent trees of mangoes is not given consideration in that season. As soon as the mangoes were over, my defection window was closed and back to the city I came.

Well, away from defection it is time to celebrate a friend. It is rare to find a friend who sticks close even in your time of financial embarrassment. Such friends are rare. If you have such, as many as the fingers of your hand, you are very lucky. I have had such a friend for the last five years-Asha 303. When we signed an MOU we did not foresee the many handles on the way. We did not see the many changes that have come our way since then. Inflation came and went, yet she stuck. Parties were formed and broken, she stuck. There are these seasons when I moved to Acacia to chase some dreams. That was tough for her because of endless intimidation from other counterparts especially those with huge screens. She fought her way and still she stood.

Let me for a moment pamper my ex-phone. Introduced into the Kenyan market in 2012 she was a darling to behold and to have. Who at that time had a 1 gb brain-totally unheard of! Her curvy body made her an easy target for shoppers. Indeed, Asha 303 was among the first to run the now famous Whatsapp application. She is one in a few who combined both QWERTY and touch screen keyboards. Her 3.2 megapixel camera helped me keep the memories through photographs. I have a deficiency of words to describe her!

Life can be funny and how it changes! It came to pass that after the construction of the big road of Thika that other phones were introduced. They posed serious threat to Asha. They had bigger eyes, bigger screens and bigger names too. Age was also catching up with her and as we all know forgetting is the first sign of ageing. She turned moody and choosy too. She would take emergency breaks at the middle of transactions. She was indeed tired. Good enough it was defection time politically hence the window was opened. Since the MOU was between us, we did not need to go to Maanzoni Lodge. Some great people just facilitated the defection. That is how my old friend Asha 303 got her replacement!

ekiriamiti@gmail.com

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Just before you bet…read

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Nothing is new here on earth. Not even the trending fashions in the name of ‘my dress my choice’ which are tailored from handkerchiefs! Not even the sponsors who have filled our mouths and leaving young men wailing. Not even political alliances and decamping which characterize one year before general elections of Kenya’s political cycle. Even the brutality of police-as we call it-because probably it is part of the training is not new. Betrayals and vote of no confidence is no strange thing. Not even betting!

The latter has littered our radios and televisions. We are being told that those behind the betting have received a special call from God to make as many people as possible to be millionaires. In this, I choose to be Thomas. Who in their right mind will be manufacturing a millionaire when he is not one? Betting is not new so it is here to stay. Even if it dies it has a behavior similar to that of a cat. It will surely come back again. My late step grandfather, who incidentally was my father’s age mate, would unleash an incredible lesson to those swimming in the betting craze.

When I was growing up, as I have intimated before, our land was synonymous with famine. On one of the market days (It had to be either Monday or Thursday) my step grandpa took a goat to the market place in order to get some money to feed his family. During those perilous times, unscrupulous buyers lay in wait to buy anything at any mentionable and unmentionable price. A good goat would fetch you two hundred shillings. You are grinning. That was a fortune because a loaf of bread was two shillings and fifty cents. You can count using a calculator how many loaves of bread those were!

After a heated negotiation with the brokers, the she-goat fetched one hundred bob and grandfather proceeded to the busy market. In the market lay another snare. A man called Ngari-translated Leopard lay in wait of his victims. It was rumored he would do a miracle and increase your money if and only if you followed the lucky card to its destination. Many school going girls and boys had fallen victims of this Leopard man during opening days. Women had earned thorough beatings from their husbands after they bet their incomes away. Men had not been spared by the Leopard who day in day out on every market day lay in wait of the otherwise villagers.

It was within my village’s rumor book that no one would beat Ngari at his game.  Some suspected that he was using some remote-controlled powers gained from the coast. Others thought it was sheer genius. He had such a powerful attraction. Some said that for one to triumph against Ngari, he or she had to wear the inner garment inside out. This was not easy because they were not commonly found or worn! Others said that if you stepped on the sole of your shoes, it would reconfigure the magic. Again there were no shoes. In those days walking bare feet was a way of life.

My man went nearer. In deed Ngari had the charm to attract anyone. He was funnily dressed and danced wildly in weird moves. My people resonate with music. On arrival, Ngari could sense money from the depths of its hiding. My grandpa drew nearer the other people cheered on. He watched as one man kept on winning. What he did not know was that this was Leopard’s way of enticing his prey in to the snare of the con game. My man placed his first twenty shilling-note on the table and lo and behold, he won.

The Leopard way of doing things was that you would win twice and by the third round you would be willing to place the entire amount. It came to pass that after winning twice, my grandpa placed his entire fortune. The cards were swiftly swapped and the announcement that followed shocked my grandfather. He had eventually lost. He tried to reverse the results but just like any other betting game, it was not possible. In fact, the game was over and the Leopard shifted to another corner of the market to plunder yet another victim. Never ask me what happened next. I was too young to comprehend the aftermath. Before putting your money where your mouth is absent, you could buy yourself a packet of milk and benefit your body than fattening someone’s account. I rest my case.

Muturi Kiriamiti

ekiriamiti@gmail.com

Tales from the Mango County-Dreams are valid, but….

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Now that the tear gas fumes are subsided from the City, at the command of Baba, let me unleash my village annals for you.

One of our own, from the Lakeside, in the direction where the sun takes its nap has become the talk of town. This is after those people who give others marks for doing well in pretending, gave her number one for pretending to be a twelve years slave or a slave for twelve years or both of the above. She is not little famous now. In fact, she was declared the most beautiful woman in the world after snow white. I do not know what parameters they used because my HM far as I am concerned is far beyond Snow White. Let us leave that discussion because only those who behold beauty are allowed to rate it. My interest is the fact that she said that every dream is valid.

Njaagira is one of the men in my village annals. Definitely you remember I booked myself a space in this all important document of my place of birth after being one who came closest to the metallic fowl. The subject here was not only famous but he became a legend those days of Kaviu son of Nthiga which when interpreted means Knife son of Rabbit. Let us leave Knife alone. Njaagira was famous for dreaming. He seemed to have seen that which Lupita had seen and later said-that all dreams are valid. All said and done, this man’s dream has remained memorable in the village hence its documentation in the village annals.
Njaagira was a goal-getter. He was a true African. Not only due to his color but also because of the number of descendants he had brought forth all courtesy of one HM. As I told you before it was a bad omen to count children in the Mango County simply because they believed it was bad enough to be bad. Njaagira had a bunch full of one score plus five daughters in his sheepfold. In the context of wealth per unit girl this man could have been a competitor of Kamlesh the son of Pattni. Assuming that each was worth twenty domesticated buffaloes, we are talking of roughly three hundred and if you multiply that with thirty thousand then Njaagira was going to have nine million! That is not little money.

My man had only one problem-he did not have an heir. Many days he admired his neighbor who had many boys and Njaagira hated to think of all his girls going to his neighbour and hence becoming his heirs. The other limitation was that his HM was past the bearing limit hence the man was lost for options. My people have a saying that whatever is impossible for men it is turned-you know what I mean? This was not going to be any mountain for Njaagira. Even without Lupita’s inspiration Njaagira began with a desire.

More than often he would not fail to narrate to his HM his desire to have at least one heir who would inherit his estate. His HM would encourage Njaagira to acquire a younger number two but Njaagira would not take any of her suggestions. His faith transcended that of Abraham of the Good Book. He kept on believing that one day of days he would get an heir either through his one and only HM or by himself-surely every dream is valid and this man had a desire not matched by anyone in the near past, not even that of the Moyes Boys topping the Premier League in the land of our former colonizers.

Njaagira kept his candle burning and no amount of pessimism was going to put off his desire for his dream to be fulfilled. He kept on dreaming on and on he kept his spirit alive. He kept on hoping against all hope that one day he would embrace a son. Even without Martin Luther’s speech of “I have a dream”, Njaagira decided to dream on. This man was focused! He even went shopping for baby clothes tailored for a baby boy. He gathered basins and buckets in readiness of receiving an heir. His HM scorned at the idea but Njaagira like the wall builders of the Good Book, he dreamed on. Men can be passionate!

One night of nights Njaagira had the conviction that the Maker would reward his passion and bring his desires to pass. The people from Mango County say that he that waiteth, shaketh not. My guy shook not. His conviction was strong. He was confident like Dida the teacher who wanted to be the tenant of the House on the Hill and was going to sign a bill of “eat once take water thrice” to raise money to irrigate North Eastern Province so as it becomes the national basket. Well, dreams are valid and Mwalimu can still hang on.

After eating his favorite millet ugali he said goodbye and goodnight to his HM and climbed his abode. He was in a good mood so he decided to sleep and dream on. The heavens opened up and Njaagira saw a baby boy drop from heaven into his belly. My people attest to the fact that they come from heaven cut cut, whatever things these are! For my man, destiny was beckoning and nothing was going to stop his moment of glory. As soon as the boy was deposited in his belly, he heard the instructions, “Push!” and so he did. According to him it had happened.

After that delivery he slept soundly but smiling. At dawn, he summoned his HM with a thunderous call. He ordered her to bring the napkins for behold the moment they had waited for had come. The HM was puzzled but with kingly husbands like Njaagira, his word was like for Baba Moi them days. She hurriedly took the required things, climbing up granary in haste, almost breaking her legs. “Pull the blanket gently lest you kill the baby” rumbled Njaagira. HM followed instructions but what greeted her was the smell. There was no baby but a smelly hill of the byproducts of the millet ugali!

Muturi Kiriamiti

ekiriamiti@gmail.com

 

Dear Demonstrator,

I still wish demonstrators could read this

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Dear Demonstrator,

word pressReceive greetings from one of your own. Yes, one of your own because we indeed share many things in common and only political ideologies separates us. We are one because we belong to the same divide. You and I have to use matatus to and from as we pursue the ever elusive shilling. We are one because we understand the price of a packet of flour from the local shop. We are one because we are the voters and we determine who becomes the leader when. In fact, we are the ones who pay the taxes, my brother indeed, I dare call you.

Let me come to the reason of my writing to you. It has been fuelled by what I saw happen to you. I must confess I feel sorry for you because your troubles. I watched in disbelief as you dared the Boinet’s battalion and as…

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Childhood stories-when bread goes the wrong way

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I am surprised what common a thing bread has become these days. Many brands have come up with different shapes and packages. Wonders shall never cease. There advertisements on large billboards and commercials all to entice the consumers. How this oldest meal may have lost its initial taste! Probably there is too much wheat in Narok that bakers are cooking excess bread or the herbal message of healthy eating has driven us to believing that this yeast-influenced dough is no longer good for our bodies and instead we should eat roots. Again I am surprised that we have been able to quickly believe this than we have believed in the coming of God’s own son back on earth. Wonders are infinite!

My childhood memories are filled with the taste of this wheat product. I remember with unequaled nostalgia how sweet yet exceedingly rare this thing was. There was only two brands all over the country, Broadways and Elliots. You just did not bump on a loaf of bread. There was a day when it was going to be delivered at the shopping centre and only a few people would afford it. Those who had relatives working in the city or urban centers had a chance to remind them of the taste of this coveted commodity once a month depending with how often the city dwellers would visit. Going for school trips on music competitions was informed by the craving for this yeast-influenced commodity. It was commonly served with the product from Coca cola or chicken soup, yes, chicken soup served in large metallic cups.

Once there was a famine in our county called ndukaana imboke  simply meaning “do not depend on me”. The name depicted how hopeless the situation was such that if the father or the mother went out to look for something, it should not be a surprise if he or she turned out with nothing. Men would wander the entire day in the shopping centers in search for opportunities or luck. Many times none of the two would visit so they would creep back to their homes and undetected, they would climb the granary and snore themselves out. Such were common scenarios during this famine. Sometimes when lucky, they would bring a loaf of bread and kale, commonly known as sukuma wiki and submit them for supper. There was only one meal, which was leisure, dinner. Lunch and breakfast were totally historical events!

To one of my village mates, Joeli, as he would be called, luck showed up. Though it was not so big a luck, it was still luck. According to him, he landed on a toast. Those days, a sliced loaf of bread was scenery to behold. It was a reserve of the city dwellers. Those days bread was sold in fractions and the symmetrical accuracy of the shopkeeper was the determinant of the size you get on purchase. After thinking like a human being, Joeli reasoned that the small piece would not satisfy his large family and Jesus was in heaven, at least he would have multiplied it. He reported at his statehouse in the evening and went straight to the granary, a favorite residence for many married but elderly men of those days. He waited for the darkness to set in before descending on his prey.

As expected, the darkness came and as the stars revealed their light in the clear sky, Joeli slowly removed his luck and sunk his whole mouth in to the mass. They say in Banana County, hunger is not asked questions!He had no enough saliva and also he was in a hurry lest he is discovered by the already hunger-stricken family. They say the day you walk naked you meet with your father-in-law. The piece in the mouth changed its direction like the Malaysian plane. All science was defied and instead of heading the esophagus way it took the trachea’s avenue, choking the old man. Death was at the neighborhood. He thought of dying before receiving dowry from his daughters. He imagined of missing out the joy of his grand children. He contemplated to shout. The vocal chords were blocked. Oxygen was running out and death beckoning.  In between the struggles, the wife woke up and heard the struggle.

She quickly snatched a beacon and climbed up to see what had attacked the husband. From the look of things, the enemy was within hence the necessary had to be done. A blow at his back sent the enemy spinning to the granary’s floor. The storm was finally over but how was he going to defend his toast story now that he had been caught pants down?

Muturi Kiriamiti

B.A Music-Daystar University

ekiriamiti@gmail.com

Finally…

Finally this semester has come to an end. This has been a real chase. A chase to have that square clothe on my head here at Acacia. Indeed it has been a rough and tough for me as I joined the sons of African gentlemen in the chase. In the course of the chase I missed a few things which I am trying to catch up with. First, it is the fast growing investments in my account. Beauty is really growing big and beautiful. That means I may need to invest in electric fence to wade off unscrupulous bidders. Beks is equally growing tall and intelligent. I have had to explain many things and have a huge data of answers. Lastly Debz is growing beautiful and intelligent too. I need a CCTV around her to keep off any threat.

Having been so busy at Acacia, I missed a few developments here and there in politics. Ida’s husband, the rider of the tractor has been trying to smoke out Hassan from managing my voter’s card. I only wonder why I have not been consulted since the card is mine. Him, Brother Steve and Mose have had tried the triumph entry into Anniversary Towers where the boys of Boinnet’s Battalion have rained the chilly air into their eyes. Once Brother Steve never showed up but after consultations he showed up. This has not been good for this company of comrades as they have had to betray their confidence and involuntarily cried.

The other incident I missed was the Wanjala fiasco. He is the man who for some time thought Jesus had tarried and decided to take a helicopter ride to heaven and make his case of difficult financial moments heard before God. He hiked a heli-ride. He has since clarified that he had mistaken the metallic foul for a matatu! Well since he holds no paper from the school which licenses those who drive metallic birds, he had to come down. He was lucky. This man reminded me of another one who dared his friends over as hundred shillings bob to make them tea as they waited from an elephant’s milk.

He, like Wanjala was lucky to tell the story though in the same place, the hospital bed. I am told he put the water on the jiko and put some Ketepa product and dashed to the nearby fields where a herd of jumbos was grazing. He carried some Ng’ombe jelly to apply on the she –elephant’s udder to ease the assignment. All for a hundred bob! Slowly he bent to start the assignment armed with a two-kilo kasuku tin. Little known to him the endangered creature had seen him but pretended. As soon as he has done a few pulls the mammoth coiled its trunk on him and twisted him and the kasuku, making them one and the same thing. He was deposited on top of an acacia tree. The friends were confused and torn between screaming or rescuing him. Him, just like Wanjala has made lots of news but not money!

Being done with the degree chase, I have to go back home. Home to my HM and catch up with life quickly. I have to be that old man who will have to check Beauty’s assignments since she is headed to standard one. I hope Matiangi’s tablets will find her for she loves such things. I will have to baby sit Debz as usual lest she forgets me. Beks will need me as we learn a few things together. All these I will do as I wait to go back to Acacia many months later to continue with the chase. Meanwhile I will be visiting Baba Ngina so that we can have a chat on the way forward. I will also have to talk to my constituents to see whether my MCA job is viable. For now, it is good to go home.

THIS IS MY WORTH

 

Now we are in very perilous times. Baba Ngina has decided to slay the dragon called corruption. Since Ida’s sweet heart has been complaining a certain Anne whose hand he claimed had eaten a very big cake or many cookies of NYS, things have changed. Maggie’s sweetheart has declared a titan fight against those whose hands cannot leave the national tin of cookies. Anne has quit since then. Her medicine man had prophesied that Rao’s noise was not a good recipe for her health. She preferred a less noisy position. She preferred to be devolved rather than dissolve in the heat of the hit song, Waiguru must go.

Since Baba Ngina announced his willingness to kill the giant of corruption few things have happened. First, several of his ground soldiers were sent home as new ones were hired. I missed the latter. Secondly was the revelation about a certain Moses who had puffed some smoke from the tobacco products. Moses was to help them some how to reach the Promised Land. That journey has become like the famous drill. The story has smoked Moh from his slumber and he has denied vehemently his involvement in the smoky affair. How the hunter can turn hunted and haunted!

Thirdly, it is the announcement of worth. This is why I must pen this down to show solidarity with Baba Jomo. First was the builder of the expected city of Machakos. The brainchild of Maendeleo chap chap. He declared his wealth though he did not get a lot of nod. After him Bob the owner of the Green Company has spoken of his worth. His salary is ten million per month besides owning a few things here and there. He does not own a HM, a wealth to own and behold. Who would hate Bobby for a son in law? Leave that to the man whose name suggests what we should always do, calling more! For this reason, I decided to declare my worth. This is because besides being a retired bishop of Acacia Diocese, I am also the most sought after dowry negotiator in my village. I am a prospective MCA hence the need to say my worth.

First, it is my H M. She is priceless. The most valuable of people I do own.  She is the mother of my three other investments namely Beauty the First, Becks the Great and Beauty the Second. My HM is the chief executive officer of my company. While I am doing the degree chase at Acacia the territory of the good doctor, H M does all the audits of our investments. This to me is the greatest investment and the most incredible priceless of them all. Then, comes Beauty the First. I am still talking to valuers to see her worth in the current exchange rates. She is an epitome of beauty and brains. A few prospective bidders have been trying to see me but I am not just about to give in.

Becks the Great is my other investment. This boy is creative. His configuration of hardware and software are out of this world. Bob would covet to have him in the Green Company. A few prospective in laws have had tried their bonds on me but I have declined. I cannot make choices for him on what type of HM he wishes to have. That is his choice. Finally, it is Beauty the Second. This is the latest of my missiles in the arsenal of beauty. This, my investment is the acting last born and the committee of privilege has given her a lot of the same. Her market value is still at large!

Back at The Mango County where I hail from, I have three goats. The mother, the son and the daughter. With the Christmas price, they are worth fifteen thousand Kenya Shillings. Do not joke! In the land where Maghufuli reigns, that would be 0.3 million Tanzania shillings and in  Museveni’s territory I would be valued at 0.45 million Uganda shillings!  There has been sabotage by the mother goat of planning her family in the name of supporting the government to control population. This has denied me the opportunity of being a millionaire. She has ignored every of the he goat who has tabled that proposal a strategy that the daughter goat has equally adopted. This I have learned has been done by conspiracy of my political enemies. However, I cannot be outsmarted by these domesticated antelopes. I am googling and contemplating changing their diet so as to overturn the current stand of.

I also own a few acres of land. In the Mango County, you are bound by an oath never to disclose how big your land is. This is because the departed can be woken up from their sleep by that disclosure and may come with dire consequences. I also own several mango trees. Again I cannot count. This is because that may interfere with their possibility of producing the juicy fruit. Well, that is my worth for now. I hope to update you as soon as I add more. I challenge my friends like Mike Sonko, Racheal’s hubby, Baba Ngina to follow suit. Let’s announce our worth.

ephantusmkiriamiti@daystar.ac.ke

B.a Music

 

 

 

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