Monthly Archives: October 2016

My Matatu Adventures…. Why You Should Never Ever Wear Jumpsuits When Travelling 

​I’m travelling from Mombasa to Kilifi with this very good friend of mine whom I love so much. She’s just the best travel companion you can ever ask for. And today, she looks exceptionally fine in her jumpsuit(similar to the one pictured) 

with some very nice heels to achieve a fake height. The jumpsuit fits her in all the right places and heads have been turning all day long (I honestly think it’s coz it looks like she has a lodged samosa on her crotch but who cares, it’s fashion!) . 
As we stand waiting for the matatu next in line (her highness has to sit nowhere else but the front seat) , a gentleman walks to us and offers us two Afia drinks. I politely decline but not my friend. She grabs both of them and gulps down the contents while I give her a disapproving stare. 

“Don’t be rude”, she tells me, “you do not know the lengths the man had to go through to get us these drinks.” I roll my eyes as she goes further ahead to tell me that it’s good to rehydrate before a journey blah blah blah. She drones on and on till the journey starts. By the time we approach bombolulu my friend’s legs are intertwined like mangrove roots. One shoe comes off, then the other. Her cute face is all scrunched up and she’s holding her crotch like a woman in labor while shifting her weight every few seconds. 

“Everything good?”, I ask. 

She whispers that she needs to pee that very second. From her urgency, I sense the danger of receiving golden showers if I don’t act quickly. I quickly motion the driver to stop. We are a little past city mall at this point , there is nothing like a bush or tree to shield her. Just freshly manicured grass in front of the Bamburi nature trail wall. That’s when the real dilemma hit me. The jumpsuit! There is no shortcut getting that thing off when one needs to pee. You have to slide it right off from the top. 

“Unzip me! Unzip me!”, she almost cries dancing to the pee tune. As soon as she was free, class was thrown off the window. She took off, wriggling her arms out of the jumpsuit’s sleeves, to a place just a few steps away. Then in full glare of the public, slides the jumpsuit to her knees and pees right there. 

“Masalale!!”, a swahili man in a kanzu exclaims at the back of the vehicle . 

The driver chuckles in amazement and a few other people join him. The conductor is almost dying of laughter. Normally I would laugh at the situation but today I’m too embarrassed. My friend is there, Squatting barefoot in her brassiere, her buns in display for all the world to see. What a sad sight. 

She returns 2 minutes later, adjusting the length and sleeves of her jumpsuit giggling uncontrollably like nothing has just happened. 

“aren’t you at all ashamed?”, I eventually ask her as the matatu picks up pace again. 

“Relax… No one looks at a nude person twice in public”, she confidently says wearing her heels. Words spoken like a true wise lady. I won’t even tell her people actually opened their windows to get unobstructed views. So much for that theory. 

Ps. I’m currently shopping for a new travel buddy, preferably one who dons flared skirts. 


​It has often be said that whatever you do in private will one day come to light, my neighbor being a living testimony of that in an unfortunate incident that happened last week. I have seen neighbours come and go  but this guy is something else. The love he has for his wife is quite admirable… or so people thought. He is especially known for driving his wife almost everywhere but more so for those keshas at church.

 He drives his lady to church early enough and insists that the wife calls immediately after the service so that he can go pick her up. No speck of dust should touch his lady’s feet, he proudly proclaims, mocking our dusty feet when we return home from work.

 The lady on the other hand sings the guy’s praises more than she does Jesus at church. She is the first to provide testimony every Sunday during service … she shares with the world how much her husband loves her. How much he protects her so much that he always wants to know her whereabouts… and although he is not a church goer himself, how much he loves driving her to keshas and how he’ll forfeit his sleep to come get her whenever she needs to return home. 

So it came as a great Surprise to people when this neighbour was caught in his matrimonial bed, nude with another woman last week. The wife fell ill during a church service, got a lift home  and walked right into the active scene. She wailed, cursed and prayed till her voice was hoarse.

 The guy lay blame on the devil and even at one point joined her in prayer to cast out the demon. I couldn’t help but chuckle at that point. The wife wondered where she went wrong and above all wondered what her Facebook friends were going to think of them. She vowed never to get inside his filthy “chariot” of sin ever again. She’d rather walk, she said, like that tall lady in house 1(me). Six months sharing a fence and she still doesn’t know my name!

Another neighbour, a good friend of mine,  texts me. “should we tell her?”, she asks referring to the guy’s well known pathological promiscuity. How he always leaves with the wife and returns with a clande then later leaves with the clande and returns with the wife. We call it the exchange program. But does the wife need to know that we know? Noo.. Just like Jon Snow in GOT, I’ll pretend to know nothing till the end of times

​I’m at work, it’s a typical Wednesday morning. Nothing much going on around here . Back at my house , it’s laundry day. Whenever I leave for work every Wednesday, I leave my laundry basket outside for the laundry mamaa to come do her thing. But little did I know the spawn of evil roam freely amongst us, disguised as friendly neighbours. 

So this mamaa calls to politely inform me that unfortunately she could not do my HUSBAND’S several pairs of jeans on this day for some reason I don’t remember as I was in the middle of a mini heart attack at that point. A husband? WTF? Just the thought that I could be harboring a genie husband gives me chills. I probe and dissect, grilling the lady so hard you might think she was in the middle of the chickengate scandal. 

From what I gather, a man’s dirty laundry has been making it’s way in my laundry basket every Wednesday for almost two months now. The lady didn’t question it, in fact she was  elated coz she normally feels that I might be packing a couple of expired ovaries, having been alone for this long. I now get why there are always gaps between my clothes on the hanging line. The culprit must be unhanging his clothes just before I get home. I zero in on a suspect, the only other bachelor on our plot. He’s home unusually early every Wednesday. 

I give him a call and as with any other person caught in a scandal he denies everything. He quickly retracts his statement when I inform him that I’m holding a flame over his clothes at that particular moment. He tell me it was an “accident”, an honest mistake and could we get to some sort of agreement. 

What makes me fume even more is when I remember just yesterday, this neighbour decided to grill some chicken on our shared porch and terrorized me with sweet aromas for what seemed like hours. Even after I spent a better part of my evening making small talk with him, he never gave me a single piece of chicken! Then to find out every Wednesday he has been branding himself my husband! 

“You should have given me that piece of chicken “, I text him. That alone is a threat that will guarantee him having a restless afternoon. Fear of the unknown. I think I’ll mimick the lady in house 7,  whenever she has a disagreement with the husband she sits on the porch and starts sharpening a machete for some reason … grinding the blade against the cold  hard floor for hours. That act is enough to send the guy to his knees begging for forgiveness (women though?). 

To cut the story short, this man will experience my full wrath when I get home today. He stupidly placed hot coals on his head and for that, drama and chaos will be knocking on his door tonight. 

While on it, I think I need to move to a better neighborhood? This one is slowly turning into a mental asylum. 

Why are Most Kenyan Men Slicing off Their Junk? 

Nowadays two weeks cannot go by without the news of men who chopped off their manhoods gracing our screens. They do it for various reasons but most cite hard life (i guess life is pretty rosy living without fear of being kicked in the nuts or sitting on your jewels, yeah? I heard that those  are the two most painful events in a man’s world…I wouldn’t know for sure, I’m not hiding a pair down there. I’m a woman through and through ). I can imagine the man standing there with his knife having thoughts like “oh life is so haaardd… removing these dangly parts will make it soo much easier for me.” 

When you think of it, I think this happens coz it’s way too easy for a man to get rid of his unwanted junk. The operation can be done almost anywhere as long as one is armed with a sharp knife. The process is too simple. Unzip pants, yank it out and by the time one realises what a terrible idea that was, the bloody mess is already lying limp in his hand. 

On the other hand, you don’t hear about ladies taking that route. Could be coz we are the smartest of gender ooor it’s the process that’s a bit too complicated for us. First and foremost,it can’t be done just anywhere. You need to be in a very private and comfortable environment as you have to be completely commando when you do it. Then another crucial step is finding the right position, preferably one leg has to be secured in malindi while the other points to mombasa. Then maybe take a marker pen and outline the areas that need to be artistically carved out .

 By that time you’ll already have talked yourself out of that stupid idea and realised no man or problem is worth losing your beautiful hoo-ha for OR you’ll have decided to cut off your deadbeat husband’s parts instead. Either way it’s a win(win?) situation for the lady. 

Have a crazy-free week friends! 

How My Little Knowledge of Vitendawili Almost Led to My Downfall 

Yesterday I joined a couple of kids playing at the empty lot behind my house. I love hanging around kids, especially since they look up to me to impact them with my “wisdom”. I normally teach them my childhood games to save them from being computer zombies and couch potatoes. (or coz they whoop my behind on computer and phone games) 
As i watch them play, one kid shouts, out of the blue “kitendawili!” (i have a riddle!) 

“tega! “, the other kids shout in unison. 

I rub my hands in excitement, grinning like I just won the jackpot.  This is my chance to shine, THIS is my forte. No one can beat me at this. 

” baba na mama wanakimbizana lakini hawashikani”, the kid poses his riddle. 

My jaw drops to my feet. I’m both embarrassed and shocked. I’m not sure what to make of this as my mind lists a million and one things that are all rated 18+++. My world is closing in on me, I can’t breath nor blink. All the kids eyes are on me, their pillar of knowledge, to provide an answer. I scratch my head nervously, to reboot the brain’s rusty  memory..nothing comes up. 

Lord, you know how merciless kids can be when you make one mistake in front of them. They will laugh and sing, form a circle around you then laugh some more till you die of shame. If I get out of this alive, I’ll stick with people my own age, I plead with the Lord… Silence… I tactfully slap my phone to my ear and begin talking to a non existent person, distancing myself from the kids. My ear hovers behind to listen in on the answer. 

“jibu ni tyre za gari! “, the riddler eventually reveals. 

What! And to think I had almost robbed the kids’ ears of all their innocence!