Tuesday, 6 December 2016

The House That Kurji Built

Songs are influenced by events of the day. Nursery rhymes too, although am not sure what inspired the cow to jump over the moon, probably mad cow disease, but I would have laughed too if I was a dog and saw such fun. 

As I passed jukistopia this morning I overheard children Rhyming away this gem (of theirs) while surprised parents commented "Ngai, haki watoto wa siku hizi!"

This Is The House That Kurji Built.

This is the house that Kurji built

This is the

Friday, 2 December 2016

Soi In Rio

“When you live in a glasshouse don’t through stones”. I first heard that from Peter Macintosh. Later I heard that if you sell eggs, you must not start a fight in the market place.

You remember in season one of the series Soi in Rio, the supporting actor, Ben, snitched on Soi, the starring actor in the series. This was by Ben casually mentioning that

Thursday, 1 December 2016

NYS Monkeyshine

Never judge a fight by the noise it generates. I learnt this lesson as fresher in the School of Hard-Knocks, Kawangware.
I was standing at the bus stop, quite pleased with myself for being ghetto savvy. But how much pleased? Perhaps you would understand if I told you I had just bought myself, notwithstanding the condition, a pair of sand-washed wrangler jeans and a denim shirt with an upturned collar.  Now all I needed was to practice a smile and tomorrow I will cut the image of Ray Parkerjr.  That is how I happened to be at the bus stop holding a well stuffed green paper bag (the ones with a calendar printed on the side), and rehearsing a Ray Parker. Well, in Kawangware people are everywhere so I did notice the two ruffians on my paper bag side until they started quarreling among themselves. Rapidly the grumbling turned into a slugfest with quite some noisy blows traded. Soon, the fist fight turned into a melee in spite or because of some more ruffians joining to separate the two. When it finally died down, how uncanny! I was minus my luggage. Then as I prepared to board the bus, I instinctively checked my pockets. My wallet was gone too.
Many years later, this trick is being played on me at a grander, better choreographed and more colourful scale. Picture this, It is more than one year since the “whistle blower” announced that she had spotted a mischievous hand in the NYS cookie jar thus kicking off the greatest monkeyshine of the Jubilee administration. The mischievous hand, she said, had not stolen anything yet, but she had called in the sleuths to check anyway. Since then the clowning has attracted so many characters that it is impossible to identify the original plot or theme of this tragicomedy. Fists are flying without hitting any targets. Mud is being slung around generously but aimlessly. The police arrest the belligerents selectively and plead with them to appear in court.  Meanwhile others, taking good care to keep away, are flinging missiles into the heart of the fight without being invited.

But mark my words. All the heavy blows you are witnessing are all fake. The gloves are stuffed with thick foam and feathers. They are calculated to cause a lot of noisy puff and dust without causing any injury. When the show is over, your money will be long gone and the trail will be so muddled up it will be impossible to follow.