Maumivu yakizidi...

Friday 19:05

I am as sick as the proverbial dog!  My nose is running like its last name is Keino, my voice has been reduced to a throaty growl that would be quite sexy if not for the occasional bouts of coughing up phlegm, my body has taken to shivering uncontrollably and at the most inopportune moment, like when I’m trying to steady my hand long enough to finish the sentence at the bottom of the page. 

That’s the only highlight of this homa of mine, I get to spend all day in bed with what has turned out to be a really good book, sipping on juice infused with whiskey (or perhaps whiskey infused with juice?) and nibbling on ham sandwiches (the only thing I can ‘cook’ in this state). 

I’m sick! 

Saturday 16:23

The shakes are gone and I no longer need to wrap myself up in a duvet at all times.  I don’t really have anything to tell you, but I figure if I sit here long enough something will come out.  I have to warn you that I’ve been self medicating with generic cough syrup from India, so I may be a little incoherent, or perhaps the very big, and very talkative, white cat sitting next to me may decide to take over the reins.

I think I should go back to bed.

Saturday 22:47

Or is it Sunday, my head is so fuzzy…  I should have read the contra-indications on that shit, I don’t think I’m supposed to feel like this.

I should get a cat…

Sunday 6:15

And she’s back. 

No seriously, my head is clear, as is my chest/nose/throat, my voice is almost back to normal, I’m good, except for the disturbingly vivid dream inspired by the strange book I’ve been reading lingering in the back of my mind (there was a man with no face who liked to burn things and called himself the devil, very creepy, kinda left a lasting impression…hmmm…I wonder if that’s where the thoughts of the cat came from?). 

You know what? I’m starving.  I’m off in search of pancakes, and something to get this horrible taste out of my mouth, tastes like I spent the night licking a door knob, she says, looking suspiciously at the door knob.  Did I?  Surely not… 

I think I’m done taking non-brand name syrups, I don’t care how (suspiciously) fast acting they are.  Maumivu yakizidi, msimuone pharmacist.

UPDATE
Monday 14:03
So it turns out I was not feeling better when I put the post up, I was back in bed about 1 hour later, and I didn’t get up again till about 19:00, which is probably a good thing in light of the next bit.  On a possibly related note, I may have still been high on my bandia Cofta (that’s the only way I can explain the fact that I have little to no recollection of uploading this shit). 

And the door knob taste is gone, just for the record.

And I can now post from my phone (woohoo!), although not too well apparently.  Apologies if you’re on the feed, hope I’ve cleaned up the mess.  Note to self: add 'don’t blog' to list of things not to do when drunk/otherwise intoxicated.

A friendly break-up? Hmmm...

You can say whatever you like,
As long as we just say goodbye…

This has to be the most amazing break-up song.  None of that ‘woowoowoo, why did you leave me, baayyybeee?’ nonsense that’s typical of R&B, this is a brutally honest description of the end of a relationship that’s gone past its sell by date.  As always with most songs I’ve come to love, I found it completely by accident, through Sheila’s EasyFM midmorning show if you can believe it.  I know, what was I doing listening to MonotonousFM?  What can I say?  Some days I like to listen to the same songs, over and over and over…well, that and the fact that its one of only three stations my decrepit car’s radio can catch at all times, in all parts of the city, but that’s another story.  So there I am, sitting in traffic on Mombasa Road, and along comes this song out of the blue.  What!!!  I tell you, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and be knowing they’re lazy buggers those hairs, they don’t stand up for any old idiot, all I’m saying is when those hairs stand up I sit up and focus.  Its not just Ms Michelle’s absolutely amazing voice that got me, once I started to listen to what she was saying, especially the chorus… 

Blame it on me,
Say it’s my fault,
Say that I left you outside in the cold with a broken heart,
I really don’t care,
I ain’t crying no more,
Say I’m a liar, a cheater, say anything that you want,
As long as it’s over.

… Haiya!  I was banging on the dashboard like I was at a crusade and she was bloody testifying!  How often is it that you hear a woman singing about leaving, not because her man is a good for nothing, lying, cheating dog of a man, but because she has to leave for her own good?  Rare, isn’t it?  And then came the clincher, Sheila comes on and tells us the song was ‘going out’ to Ms X from Mr Y, ‘he says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to hurt you’.  That was the saddest request I have ever heard on radio…  

Why are you looking at me like that?  I’m not always an unfeeling cow, dammit, I have feelings too you know, they’re not many but still.  I have a weakness, for lack of a better word, for break-up drama, probably from past experience, no?  

That’s right, this one is about breaking up.  Don’t worry, the break-up in question is not mine, I’m just the unwitting (and somewhat unwilling) conduit. 

I got an email that read in part: “So now, Doctor Alex (said in serious jest), I’d like to find out, preferably on the blog, whether friendship after a relationship is blind faith. I still find myself having petty issues with my ex, just like a normal couple, but then I realize I’m treating her as if we are still dating.  Not that I’d want to date her in the immediate, but losing her friendship is out of question.”  He then went on to not so humbly request that I put thoughts to words, forthwith.  Now, when you get to the point that someone writes to you, asking you to write about break-ups, know that your reputation as whiner-in-chief has been cemented.  Yaani, I’ve bitched so much, for so long, that I am now the go-to girl for matters unhappiness?  Ah well… at least I’m not yet the go-to girl for matters sewer, or am I?  Don’t answer that. 

The question at hand today is this.  Can you remain friends with an ex, and should you?

This friend of mine was trying to convince me that because his break-up was amicable, all his break ups have been amicable he says, then maintaining the friendship should not be a problem.  When I read that I thought to myself, perhaps I should go in search of these amicable women he dates, they could teach me a little something, no?  No.  I have been the woman on the other side of an amicable break up, that’s the one where the man sits you down and tells you just why it’s not working out, not just for him but for you too, he reassures you.  Then he proposes a break/break-up, to give ‘us’ time to figure out what ‘we’ want from this relationship, we’re still friends, right?  Wait, I think those are my issues, no?  Ah well.  Although I’ve never had one, I assume that an amicable break up is one where both parties want out, like a no-fault divorce, and the subsequent lack of bile is simply a reflection of these shared goals.  But the quest to be friends thereafter?  I don’t know about that one, I suspect it’s simply an easy way to make an awkward situation better. 

I’ve said this before (Ex'cuses, ex'cuses...), break ups are rarely (if ever) balanced affairs, usually one half is left holding onto more than the other, right?  Even when there’s no drama, there’s often some residual emotion, be it bitterness, despair, perhaps even a smattering of anger, who knows?  If you genuinely cared about someone then you can’t just turn it off, no matter the circumstances.  No matter how rational we try to be, relationships are first and foremost about emotions, and the end of said relationship is an emotional process, echoes, if you will, of emotions now passed.  If you were deceived, or otherwise mistreated, then it’s the gut wrenching anguish of… everything.  If you were hoping it would work out this time, but it didn’t, for whatever reason, then it’s the disappointment of failure, and the regrets that come with it.  And if you’re the one who woke up one day and realised that you had to leave?  Well then, it’s a curious mix of relief and remorse.  Yes, remorse, we assume that the person walking away does so with ease, but any half serious look will show you that is rarely the case. 

Yes I love you but I really got to lose you,

Freedom is where I want to be,
Yes I’ll probably always love you but I’m moving,

I got to do this for me...

In a society that places a premium on being half of a couple, making that decision to leave takes balls.  You’re telling them, ‘you know what?  This shit isn’t working for me, I’m out!’  Hopefully, you’re saying it with more eloquence, but you get the point, choosing to end a relationship, especially on a seemingly flimsy reason like, ‘it wasn’t going anywhere’, or the tried and tested, ‘we wanted different things’, will earn you a distinct lack of sympathy.  Single types will look at you and shake their heads, muttering, ‘Bitch please!  If I had half of what you had I’d be a happy camper,’ thinking no doubt that you’re just being an immature selfish little twit for choosing to put your needs before someone else’s.  Not here.  Here, I salute you for doing what I could never bring myself to do, instead insisting on hanging on to something that no longer existed.  The first time I walked away was with Disappearing Dude, and because I know how to fuck up even the simplest of tasks, I’m still holding my statue as he drifts in and out of my life at will, and only because I don’t have the balls to tell him that I had the balls to leave his ass.  I think I’ve just taken a slight detour, which should be a different post altogether, no?  Apologies, I was saying, it takes balls to look past the often frustrating need for companionship, at any cost, and put yourself first. 

Thing is, whose interests are you looking out for when you utter the ‘let’s stay friends’ line, are you assuaging your guilty conscience or theirs? 

I’m not sure whether this friend of mine has unresolved issues with his ex, the bit about ‘in the immediate’ got me thinking that perhaps this is more break than break-up, but I’m the idiot still playing possum, so what do I know?  At the beginning I told you I’m an unwilling conduit, unwilling because I clearly struggle to see past my own (perhaps not too good) experiences with break-ups, I don’t think I’m the right person to offer any sort of advice, and if you don’t believe me, take a look at my archive, I have the scars to prove it.  If anyone reading this can throw in their two cents to help this man, and by association his (not so former?) woman, through this episode, I would be very grateful.

Sometimes you can work it out, sometimes you can’t,
Sometimes you’re forced to watch everything fall apart, it’s out of your hands,
Sometimes leaving is easy, sometimes it ain’t,
Sometimes it hurts to know the loving you had was slowly fading away…

I will say this much.  Folks, if you’re hanging around your ex hoping for some great reconciliation, don’t.  Take it from someone with deep seated separation issues and baggage from here to TZ, it never ends well.  What you need to do is simply stay away from each other for a while, months, maybe even years if the split was that acrimonious.  You have to avoid them at least long enough for you to be able to look at them and not feel the need to kiss them, or slap them.  Simply put, as long as you are still getting hysterical over someone’s ass, then you have unfinished business, no exceptions, so stay the fuck away until you calm down and start thinking clearly. 

I know, quoting myself is the height of vanity, but I had to, if only because I’ve run out of things to say at this point, I think I’ve flogged this horse dead and well into the afterlife, and you know what they say about flogging in the afterlife, you might just be the horse…

This one is about a dodgy award, and an even dodgier move to Machakos.

You know how I’m always bitching about the idiot press?  From what I can tell from the stats, not too many of you share my peculiar fixation with the crap these geniuses put in the papers, but this one must surely offend you.  It just has to.  In today’s Nation, there’s an article titled, “Pattni receives 'a gift from God'”.  The article then goes ahead to state, and I must quote:

Paul Kamlesh Pattni has been selected to receive a continental award to recognise his “achievements in humanitarianism”. 

The awards, organised by a West African organisation, The Excellence Awards Foundation (EAF) registered in Ghana, has selected Mr Pattni as the 2012 winner of the “Lifetime Africa Achievement Prize 2012” where he is to be honoured for outstanding “humanitarianism and equity in Africa”.  This year’s awards ceremony, according to documents seen by the Sunday Nation, will be at a Kampala hotel on October 27.

Ambassador Ashim Morton, who has signed Mr Pattni’s citation, says: “This exaltation of character, which is worthy of emulation, has made positive impact on the lives of your people today and will continue to influence them for a better future”.

Now I’m generally sceptical of pretty much everything I read in the papers these days, but this one had me checking the front page to see if maybe someone was punking me with a fake paper or something.  Surely, this cannot possibly be true, can it?  But wait, there’s more.

Respected South African clergyman Desmond Tutu won the 2010 edition of the award on the Eradication of Disease in Africa category while famous Nigerian author Wole Soyinka clinched the honour in the African Cultural and Traditional Preservation category.

My friend, this is a serious award, no?

Now seeing as how I don’t like to be out of loop on such important matters, I turned to google in search of answers, and lo and behold, this is what I found, The Excellence Awards Foundation.  It was the third result of ‘About 7,460,000 results (0.36 seconds)’, and I only point that out to show the ease with which this information was found, by me, an untrained, and some might say highly unskilled, wanna-be investigator cum ranting blogger.  The third result on the page, please keep that in mind as I continue…

The Lifetime Africa Achievement Prize goes to an individual who has selflessly devoted themselves to bring about change in the lives of Africans within the last decade. Change that impacts communities and that significantly enhances the lives of the people for a better future.

After research of over 43 individuals from around the world was conducted, by a group of highly learned citizens of Africa, a distinguished list of persons was selected.

The Lifetime Africa Achievement Prize recipients will be honoured in Ghana on December 4th 2010 at the State Banquet Hall, State House.

This is off said site, on the page helpfully titled, “Lifetime Africa Achievement Prize”.  In a very short write up, short enough for even the laziest amongst us to read and comprehend, they clearly state what the award is, who its given to, and when its given out.  This then took me to a page very clearly titled, “2010 Lifetime Africa Achievement Prize Recipients” listing 10 individuals, none of whom was Brother Paul.  That’s okay, right?  He’s the 2012 recipient, no?  No.  From what I can tell, 2010 was the first time this award was given out, and there is absolutely no indication that it will be given out again anytime before 2015, assuming they keep to their 5-year schedule.  There is no 2012 award. 

This is information that I found in 15 minutes, using a geriatric laptop and dodgy Orange broadband, on a Sunday afternoon when I have what feels like a mild hangi (and thus sluggish of thought).  15 minutes.  How then does what is seemingly a blatant fabrication make its way onto Page 20 what claims to be a serious publication? 

Incidentally, the online version doesn’t include the priceless caption in the print edition.  Again, I must quote: 

CITATION

Preacher hailed for ‘fairness’

The passionately worded citation reads in part:

“Congratulations!  The great continent and all sons and daughters of Africa have seen and value your unwavering pursuit of humanitarianism, fairness, equity and justice for all Kenyans.  And you are in deed an exemplar of morality to Africans; one who the Great Learned Minds of Africa confer with; we honour you.”

The author of this shitty article didn’t read this alleged citation and think to himself, “Hmmm… this sounds a bit suspect, perhaps I should investigate?”  What am I saying?  These buggers seem to think ‘investigate’ is a company that sells gates, or bloody vestiges, whatever the hell vestiges are.  Either the man didnt do his homework, or someone was paid to write (and publish?) this fluffy piece of rubbish propaganda.  What the fuck man? 

I’ll say it again, idiot press! 

In other more entertaining yet equally delusional news, one Alfred is quoted as saying, “The people of Machakos have requested me to be their first Governor because they want someone who is young, corrupt free, energetic, visionary and with the ability to transform the County into an economic and social power house. I have humbly accepted their request.”  That’s right, the man will no longer regale us with tales every Thursday afternoon, he’s off to Masaku.  And I’m going with him. 

I’m moving, people, I’m off to Machakos in February next year, for the elections.  The reason I’m moving?  I have decided to take matters into my own hands this time around, no more hoping that other people will do the right thing and not vote for a genius I don’t care for, no no no, this coming March I am taking a stand.  I’m off to vote AGAINST this one man, the one man who for the longest time I could do nothing about but whine incessantly to anyone who cared to listen, the man who uprooted the lovely rose bushes on Uhuru Highway, this as he attempted to pebble us into Dubai.  I know, the man has said and done far worse, but the stripping of the highway was, to my mind, the scariest thing to happen to this city in a long time.  How is it that someone wakes up and decides to undertake ill-planned and seemingly idiotic public works, at my expense?  Even worse said foolishness is quickly dismissed, after all vegetation has been cleared of course, and the bugger is never held to account, a bugger who has absolutely no business getting involved in the planning, or planting, of said city?  This is our capital by the way, not some rural one kiosk town in the back of beyond.  And he wants to be a governor? 

I’m moving, and if you are currently unsure of whom to throw your (seemingly) useless vote at next year, you’re welcome to join me on my misguided crusade.  Stop laughing, the last time we let buggers decide on their own we ended up with Mututho, and now my local shuts at 11 pm like bloody VoK.  Nkt!

Don’t ask, don’t tell (part 2). 7 things you should never say to a woman.

1.      Is that your hair?

I bought it, therefore it is mine.  End of story.  Listen, you buggers need to get over this shit once and for all.  For as long as there is a little Chinese man somewhere who can turn horse hair, or what looks like horse hair, into the semblance of a hairstyle, then, my friend, there will always be a woman looking to buy it.  Your best bet is to give her enough money to buy real human hair (it actually comes off someone’s head?  How is that not just the creepiest shit you could ever wear?), that way she won’t be walking around looking like a bloody carpet.    

2.      You look nice.

Nice?  NICE?  I’ve just spent the better part of my Saturday in the salon, getting plucked and pruned to within an inch of my life and all you can say is NICE?  (Incidentally, the words in capitals are being screamed at you at that point.)  Gents, nice is a word women use as a backhanded compliment, as in ‘Hey girl, those jeans are sooo nice…’ which in reality means, ‘Those jeans are the shit, lakini you chick, do you really think you should be wearing skinny jeans with thighs like yours?  I don’t think sooo…’  The next time you feel the need to pay her a compliment, try using words like beautiful, sexy, stunning, exquisite even, such like superlatives that you usually reserve for the likes of Beyonce and Heidi ‘screwing the help’ Klum (slight detour, I must do a post on that saga, it’s too good to pass up, no?). 

3.      Your friend is looking nice today…

Its true, my friend is in fact quite hot, possibly hotter than me.  I know that, she knows that, and we both know that you know that, but actually saying it out loud?  Well that’s just foolish man.  I’ll give you some free advice, shut up and save it for your boys, otherwise every time you’re out with your woman and her hot pal (which is very often, seeing as how the hot pal is always lurking around, looking all hot and what not), you will be in trouble if you so much as blink in that direction.  And, just for the record, if your woman asks you if think her pal is hot?  Do not answer, it’s a trick question.  Say yes and you’re a bastard looking to cheat on her, say no and you’re a lying bastard looking to cheat on her.  Either way you’re screwed, and not in a good way.  Free advice.  May not be all that good, but at least its free.

4.      Can you lend me some money?

You know how they say relationships are partnerships, what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours, blah blah blah?  Not so much, apparently.  Turns out that what’s yours is hers and what’s hers is hers.  The minute you utter these six words to your woman, you have just handed her both your balls, on a silver platter no less.  And she knows it.  Even worse, she’s not afraid to use them against your (newly castrated) ass.  Even if all you needed was 100 bob for the papers, she will not only remember, it will count it as a significant debt for the rest of your living days.  If you want to get money from your woman, simply do not use the words ‘lend’ or ‘borrow’.  I know, she does it all the time, but she’s the one with the vagina, no?  You sir, must use words like ‘give’ and ‘demand’, clear and unambiguous language that makes it clear that you have no intention of ever paying it back (because you don’t, do you?).  

5.      What’s wrong?

Often asked after a day and a half of silent treatment, usually after you’ve done something uniquely foolish (see part 1).  You have to find out what’s going on, but asking this question will never get you an answer, at least not one that makes sense.  Rather than interrogating her, tell her ‘we need to talk’ and then start off with the following, ‘I feel…’  It doesn’t matter what you say next, as long as you say ‘feel…’ and do NOT say ‘…like having sex’ immediately thereafter.  You can thank me later. 

6.      Does size really matter?

Usually asked after her face does NOT light up at the sight of your business end (yaani, you didn’t get the ‘shock and awe’ reception you were hoping for, perhaps only ‘shock’?).  There is only one answer to this question, she will tell you that she doesn’t really care how big you are (not), and then she’ll say something like, ‘its not the size of the tool that matters, its how you use it’.  And here’s the problem.  Option 1: she’s lying to you, stroking your clearly inadequate ego.  You know she’s lying, she knows she’s lying, and her girls will know she’s lying too when she relays the conversation to them, word for bloody word.  But you’ll feel better, so what the hell, right?  Option 2: she really believes that, because she has never shagged anyone bigger, or smaller, than you, which then means you’re average and therefore have absolutely nothing to worry about.  Hang on, was that a pig that just flew past my window?

7.      Did you come?

If you have to ask, then you don’t want to know.  Take that as you will…  

Don’t ask, don’t tell. 7 questions you should never ask a man.

1.      Do I look good?

This is a no brainer.  If you want to know if you look good, ask your girlfriend, or a gay man.  If you want to know if your man likes how you look, check his face for a (leering) smile or a frown of disapproval, that’s pretty much as good as it gets.  If you want him to gush over you the way he did when you first met and all he kept saying was ‘shoree… you’re so hot!’, dream on, he was only saying that to get you into his bed and/or kitchen.  He did mean it though.  Really, he did.

2.      What was she like?

Usually asked after he mistakenly called out her name in his sleep, or in a moment of drunken…conversation?  You know how they say ‘know thine enemy’?  Bullshit!  The less you know about the ex the better, the last thing you need in your head is how she used to make the fluffiest ugali and give the best head ever, that’s the shit that sticks in your head and torments your waking moments.  If the ex is a relevant detail, odds are he’ll bring her up himself so sit back and wait, but if you really must know about her, ask his boys, those langas are easily mined for information, with the right amount of cheap inducements that is.

3.      Why did you do that?

Sometimes the man will do something uniquely foolish, seeing as how he is a man and therefore prone to acts of great foolishness.  I’m not talking about serious life changing decisions like quitting a job or buying a house, I’m referring to the impulse decisions more often than not spurred by an unfortunate encounter with the right end of a bottle, like buying vegetables in a bar (who does that?).  He goes shopping for unga and comes back with a 40 pack of toilet paper?  Don’t ask.  He goes out for nyama on Saturday afternoon and the next thing you know its 4 am and he’s in another province all together?  Do you really want to know the thought processes involved in a loose plan made at midnight to see the sunrise over a lake?  Some questions you don’t ask, not because you won’t get an answer, but because the answer you get will inevitably be useless.

4.      Where were you, and who were you with?

Unless he has missed a crucial appointment with you, like the birth of your first child, or your wedding, or your 2 week anniversary, such like serious stuff, this is not a question you want to ask.  Its not that you don’t need, or simply want, to know, but asking will make you look and sound clingy (apparently a bad thing) and it will leave you feeling like his mother (apparently not a good thing).  As with all things relationship, some things may be best left unsaid.

5.      Why didn’t you call me back?

This question cannot be answered, it’s a damned if you do and damned if you don’t scenario.  Option 1: he tells you he didn’t call you because he was busy, in a meeting, otherwise engaged, for four days.  You know he’s lying, he knows he’s lying, and the idiot sitting next to him in the bar as he concocts this tale also knows he’s lying.  Option 2: he tells you he didn’t call you because he didn’t want to.  He’s being honest, but you’ll be deeply saddened, or infuriated to the point of inflicting bodily harm on his honest ass.  It’s a lose/lose proposition.

6.      What do you want?

This also goes under the guise of ‘we need to talk’.  All the jamaas reading this just involuntarily clenched their butt muscles.  You did, didn’t you?  I know us mamas we like to talk shit out, but this one question is guaranteed to have a man stammering and sweating like it’s the Spanish Inquisition and you have a glistening spike in your hand.  I figure, rather than try to pry the words out of him, read his actions instead, because the truth is, you wouldn’t be asking this question if his deeds had already given you the answer you want, no?  Asking this question is simply a quest for verbal confirmation of what your subconscious is screaming at you, and whatever answer he gives you will not shut that inner voice up because she has a very, very accurate bullshitometer.  I’m just saying… 

7.      Do you love me?

If you have to ask, then you don’t want to know.  Take that as you will…

And just so you know, I have been known to ask 3 of these questions regularly, and with limited success (well, none actually, but let’s not split hairs).  Don’t ask me which ones, I’m not telling…