Introducing... JayK!

You have to love this man, he writes me comments that are longer than my posts, and I don’t mind.    Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the ever mysterious JayK aka JaybloodyK aka JayfreakingK, he that’s more popular here than I am, and I don’t bloody mind that either.  This was his comment, comment mind you, on my 'man in the mirror (and super chicken)' post, and because it has a questionnaire, and you know how much I love me a good questionnaire, I thought to put it up, so as to make it easier for you to look yourself in his mirror.  Proceed...

FREAKONOMICS - NAIROBI EDITION

As the Nairobi chaterrati go ballistic on social media over the nomination of Ferdinand a.k.a Cliff as governor and Gideon Mbuvi a.k.a Mike Sonko as senator, what all these whining twitter gangsters and facebook thugs overlook is that people are a product of their environment and as such, will vote for the guy they perceive has a similar outlook in life like they (the voters) do. And in our beloved class-stratified Nairobi, there are 2 main environments/strata, regardless of residential or socio-economic status: the mtaa mentality best exemplified by Eastlanders and the bourgeoisie mentality, usually found in those hailing from the more gentrified Westlands-Karen area codes.

Despite the fact that many of us deceive ourselves that we are above such ‘elitist/divisive’ categorization, truth is, we are all products of our environments and our outlook, attitudes, behaviour and voting patterns are influenced by our social backgrounds, upende usipende! So to guide you along in identifying in which area you real primal self belongs, herein is a simple, tongue-in-cheek self-exam to help you know who you truly are at the core. (Note: Key-word here: tongue-in-cheek! No need to go all twirra-&-stone-throwing gangsterific on my ass!)

Why would you want to know this information? Because it will help you understand why you sometimes do the things you do and why those in touch with their inner core vote the way they do. Plus this Knowledge will help you digest the soon-to-be expected unimaginable gut-wrenching heart-stopping election results to expect on March 4th.

Here goes (and please answer honestly. You owe yourself that! As for you Alex, tafadhali wacha kutengeneza mwakenya :-(! It’s just a self-evaluation exam. :-)

A.      SOCIO-CULTURAL OUTLOOK:

1.      Its payday and you have some money to spare and want to upgrade your wardrobe. When deciding on where to go shop, do you:

a)       Head to the ‘glitziest’ shopping mall to buy ‘designer brand-names’

b)      Go to the nearest flee market to look for bargains, regardless of whether the label on the item is Gucci or Guchi?

c)       Head to some ‘exhibition stalls’ to check out the latest designer knock-offs and try to bargain your way to pay less than the item is worth?

2.      There’s a long holiday weekend coming up and you want to entertain yourself with some movies. Do you:

a)       Go to the big Cineplex to get the whole 3-D big screen experience

b)      Visit the local movie guy to get pirated versions of the same movie at 50/-

c)       Buy an unlimited internet bundle or visit a super-fast cyber café or use your office’s super-fast internet connection to download the same movies

3.      Its celebration time e.g. Birthday, graduation, engagement, stag/hen night, baby-shower etc. and you’re hosting. Do you:

a)       Hire out a club/restaurant, with professional catering and an open-bar with the swankiest of spirits on offer

b)      Buy some crates of liquor, get some relatives to offer free cooking services and host the gig at your crib

c)       Fundraise from friends, Hire out some grounds, put up a tent. Have basic catering but no liquor. Make it a BYOB bash.

B.      GOVERNANCE & SECURITY:

1.      You have to transact with ‘gava’ e.g. Acquire ID, Pay taxes, rates, renew DL etc. Knowing how snail-fast the queues are likely to be, do you:

a)       Whine about it on ‘twirra/FB’, then send your driver, messenger, lawyer etc. to do it for you as you are too busy with more important stuff like tweeting?

b)      Factor in an extra  200/- to 500/- for ‘facilitation’ services and once you get to the queue, seek out the nearest ‘facilitator’ e.g. Watchie, office messenger, cleaner etc., ask them to sort you out with the required documentation and in less than 30 minutes after you entered the offices, you’ve been sorted while other hapless fellows are still in the queue despite coming before you?

2.      One night during a black-out, you hear a noise in your neighbour’s backyard yet you know that the family had travelled. On looking, you see some ne’er-do-wells ‘liberating’ your neighbour’s tires from his parked car. Do you:

a)       Close your curtains, duck under the bed and stay silent, hoping that the thugs didn’t spot you. After they leave, that is when you get the ‘courage’ to call the cops. Then the next morning, you go all ‘gangsta’ on FB/Twirra, bemoaning the lack of security in our country and how cops took ‘forever’ to respond?

b)      Raise the alarm, grab some farm tools and with a neighbourhood lynch-mob, proceed to confront the vagrants and possibly dish out some ‘local justice’?

C.      LIFESTYLE:

1.      You have a decent budget & you’re looking for a place to stay. Do you:

a)       Look for a diggz in those respectable neighbourhoods found in the west & north of Nai so as to present an image of success, never mind the fact that you’re paying a high premium just for name only and that you can get a similar sized crib for half the rate in another part of town?

b)      Act rational, get a medium-sized diggz in an affordable part of town and use the savings to pay for something else, even though the water-and-electricity supply in your area is erratic and the security questionable?

c)       Look for a bed-sitter/hostel in a bougie part of town where the rent is killing you financially but hey, at least you can get to say you live in Kile/Lavi/Westlands/South B etc. Plus, as you never ever invite anyone to your diggz, they’ll never actually get to see how niggardly you’re living?

2.      You have to head into town for some shopping. Do you:

a)       Try and avoid it at all costs and if unable, take a cab and stay only in uptown, viewing anything beyond Stanley hotel as dangerous, crime-infested territory. And when through, call another cab and pay 800/- rather than ‘risk’ going downtown to Tom Mboya street to take a 50/- mat? 

b)      Panda a mat and go bila reservations, seeking for bargains from uptown hadi downtown a.k.a. Luthuli/River Road. When through, you’ll just take a mat home bila worries.

D.      ACADEMICS/EDUCATION:

When selecting where to go for higher education, you & your sponsors opted for:

a)       Prestige / reputation above all else. And none better than those huko ‘majuu’. But if visa/costs were a MINOR hindrance, then a private university was the obvious choice. Public Uni was only good for breeding ruffians and stone-throwers! 

b)      College ni College! That was the dominant line-of-thought. Bora they were accredited by ‘gava’, what mattered was the cost. After all, the name on the certs doesn’t matter as much as the ability of the individual.

c)       A hybrid route where you went to private but one that had an ‘affiliation’ with an ‘international’ university so that you could say that you did an ‘international’ degree but at a local institution.

E.       INCOME GENERATING ACTIVITIES/JOB:

After graduating, it’s time to get a Job/work experience. Do you:

a)       Use your family’s connections to either get a job in the family business or land a nice position in a multi-national company (i.e. Tarmacking to you is a foreign concept)?

b)      Hustle juu chini to get a job in any company, whether big or small. And if unsuccessful, start a ka-small biz to keep you going?

c)       Despite lacking family/friend connections, keep your efforts solely concentrated towards multinational companies as they are more prestigious plus local ones are too stingy pay-wise. And if none is forthcoming, afadhali spend your time at home rather than start a ‘ka-stall’ biashara which is demeaning to your degree?

F.       VOTING PATTERNS:

When selecting a candidate in elections, you look for:

a)       The candidate with a firm grasp of issues, with clear policy proposals on how to tackle the problems. Issues of tribe, race, gender are inconsequential so long as the candidate is able to perform. Plus he/she has a highly distinguished record in the public/private sector and hasn’t been associated with any scandal.

b)      The candidate who looks, walks and talks like you. His/her background mirrors yours. Plus he/she belongs to your preferred tribe, gender, race, religion. As for those allegations of involvement in crime/corruption, so what? Si bora the candidate shared some of the bounty with you through generous harambee donations and sponsorships. Plus, when ‘breaking the law’ via throwing stones and inciting us against that other community, si he/she was doing it for us? Hawa matajiri na ma-barbie waache kutuambia vile tutapiga kura!!!

RESULTS:

If most of your answers were:

a)       Congratulations. You are a bona-fide member of the bourgeoisie hence your disillusionment with everything government-related and your over-whelming, vaguely disguised desire for class-based divisions. For you, uhuruto/Waititu/Sonko’s candidature is a sure sign of hell-on-earth and you wish Mutunga and co. can quickly find some legal technicality for barring their candidature otherwise Kenya’s reputation will sink further than it has.

My advice: smoke a blunt (or in your bougie case, chew a few more weed-muffins-&-cookies and chillax.  Isn’t this the democracy you wankers are always yapping on about?

b)      Wazi Jo! We ni mse wa mtaa, hata kama ulihama ukaenda kuishi ubabini! Hawa wadhii wadosi huwa wanafikiria eti Kenya ni yao na walami wenzao ndio tufuatane na hizo amri zao! Watashangaa! Hao ni wenye nchi lakini sisi ndio wananchi!

My advice: Dude, sio kila mtu ako na pesa ako against you! And just because some goon is leading the fight/stone-throwing/wall-punching against some ‘land-grabbers’ doesn’t mean he has your best interests at heart. Analyze vitu kwanza and make a rational choice kabla kupiga kura!

c)       For the few questions where option c) was your preferred choice, my condolences! You clearly belong to the class of ‘wannabe’s’ – those who want to belong to the bourgeoisie despite having mtaani-type tendencies! Ironically, this is where most of us Nairobians belong, hence our ‘peculiar’ habits! My advice to those of us in this category: pick a bloody side, embrace it and own it! We can all see the hypocrisy in you, so do yourself and society a favour, accept the inner you and COMMIT to it, Dammit!

DISCLAIMER

Please note:

1.      It is not based on where you reside but rather on your mental outlook. You could live in the swankiest of neighbourhoods e.g. Karen-Runda and still have a mtaa mentality. And as rare as it is, you could be in a mtaa area but still ascribe to bougie ideologies.

2.      No side is better/superior than the other. All have their upsides and downsides and no-one chose into which one he/she would be born into.

3.      While this self-test is slightly stereotypical, it is based on observable attitudes from various members of the different socio-economic backgrounds. Besides, stereotypes usually derive from some element of truth don’t they?

4.      To those offended, there will be no apologies coming! Not now, not ever! Simply because: 

                          i.      An apology would be hypocritical of us. Alex & I don’t give an F**K about your sensibilities, plus, we are real to the most important people in our lives: ourselves!

                        ii.      If you truly are offended about this post, then the stick up your ass must be so thick, it constipates you! Cultivate a sense of humour won’t you?

                      iii.      No one forced you to read this blog. You could always close this tab and go back to more important tasks like venting your issues on social media and/or engaging the police in stone-throwing.

                       iv.      Lastly, and more importantly, uta do?! Kama wewe ni msee wa mtaa, chances are you’ve got bigger issues to fry than some raving lunatic’s opinions on the web and if you’re a ‘twirra’ gangster, again me & Alex ask, with all sincerity, UTA DO?

Soundtrack:      Usher – Hush
Patrick Stump ft. Lupe Fiasco – This City

Leonard Cohen – Everybody Knows

This one is about the man in the mirror, smoking tyres and a super chicken!

So these geniuses?  I mean really, there’s silly season, and then there’s party nomination season.  Can you say farce?  Just when I think our politicians can sink no lower, they manage to find the trap door at the bottom of their filthy little worlds.  On the up side though, the anguish they’ve caused is welcome entertainment for cynical bastards like myself, because now I get to say, ‘I told so, but you didn’t listen, did you?  Oh no no no…  You were too busy listening to the bullshit talk of new constitutions and other such like nonsense, thinking that a piece of paper would suffice…’  You should see the grin on my face right now, not even threats of hate speech will make me stop.  ‘And why am I so happy?’ you ask, thrown by my peculiar enthusiasm for politics, today that is.  ‘Let me show you my lovelies,’ she chuckles, evil gleam in her eye…

Ah the glorious ‘middle class’ citizens of Nairobi, useless langas of great repute, legendary whiners and twitteratti of note… they are all, to a man, upset.  Why?  Because a crude, stone-throwing, kanjora-type had the audacity, the audacity I say, to win his party’s nomination for governor of this great City of Nairobi.  Has he no shame???  And it gets worse, he beat an esteemed corporate money man, the kind of man with a face made to be on our money, a serious man.  Serious, I tell you.  (Just to be clear, when I say beat, I am not speaking literally, although if it had come down to it, I suspect the man would have kicked real ass, no?  I’m just saying …)  The audacity (and you must read this part with a snooty English accent), the audacity of this ‘underclass upstart’, the audacity of the man, to think he can do a better job than the man who knows how to sell stocks and shares, such like technical matters?  Audacity!  And then it got even worse, this shameless man then went on to kick another esteemed corporate money man’s ass, on TV.  Gasp!  The ‘middle class’ collectively fainted in distress.  Across the city, hundreds were slumped in front of their flat screens, holding their heads in despair, as the harsh reality dawned on them… that they are well and truly fucked.  Fucked how?  Does that man look like a man who forgives and forgets?  Once he figures out twirra, you best know he’s coming for your ass.  Kileleshwa be afraid, he’s coming…‘Eye of the Tiger’ is now playing in the background…The Gavana is coming! 

I haven’t had this much fun since idiots got themselves worked up over ‘primitive energy’, it’s like Christmas all over again… 

You don’t understand why I’m laughing?  Didn’t I tell you?  I’m laughing at you buggers, not the politicians.  Yes, you, bloody idiots who refused to get your hands dirty.  If you cared so much about the city, you’d have gone out to vote for ‘your man’, but you didn’t, and now I have absolutely no sympathy for you.  None.  Truth be told, I think Waititu is just the man for the job, not because he’s qualified, but because he is the best reflection of this city that we have had in a long time, not since the mayor dude who was ‘chot’ in his ‘end’ (I forget his name, that lovely genius of a man).  Stop frowning, you know it’s true.  We are a bunch of greedy, self-serving, occasionally vicious, law breaking gangsters.  All of us.  We have shit traffic, because we can’t drive for shit.  We have crime, because we’re all out here looking for a quick buck, and are willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to get it.  We are educated, but choose not to use our education to engage in reasoned behaviour, instead preferring the law of the jungle, or just the jungle.  We claim to be against corruption et al, but will quickly drop a note or two at the first sight of a tender, no?  (Guys of ‘sharas just laughed, its how we do, no?)  Face it, the only difference between us and The Gavana is that we hide our filth under shinier suits.  That and the fact that he throws a stone better than your manicured ass ever will. 

Don’t cry… 

Come now, my lovelies, its only 5 years, what’s the worst that can happen?  Insert evil laughter here…

In news of other cities, buggers must stop burning tyres.  No really, just stop.  Do you know what they put in that rubber?  It’s not good for your health, man, inhaling those fumes.  You’ve seen the warning about ciggies and impotence, join the dots…  The smoke is black, for crying out loud, black!  I’m also not entirely clear on the message you’re trying to send, are the powers that be scared of small fires, or molten rubber, or do the flames add dramatic tension…what?  I don’t get it, seems like a lot of effort to go to, just to be ignored.  What’s that?  You don’t actually think a couple of smoking tyres will make those twits see sense, do you?  You do?  You poor deluded creature.  Listen, if you don’t like the idiot who won, well, stole, the nomination, then just vote for the other guy, and there’s always another guy, no?  ‘What about Haki Yetu?’ you wail.  Ptuh!  If we had any real haki’s, we wouldn’t be the buggers out on the street, in the hot sun, choking on fumes (and this while they sit in a small air-conditioned room, making loose decisions to screw us over), would we now?  Either way, burning tyres is bad for your health, so don’t do it.  Why not burn some hyacinth, dreaded weed that it is?  You keep complaining its killing your beloved lake, why not put it to some good use?  Better yet, why not just burn a great big heap of another weed, if you catch my meaning?  You still won’t change anything, but you’ll be much mellower, and therefore less inclined to block roads and what not. 

In more serious news, Kenyan scientists have just created…wait for it…a chicken.  A hybrid chicken, to be precise, bred specifically for our harsh climate.  Apparently, those imported mzungu chickens can’t handle the hot African sun, and dodgy chicken food, seems they drop dead at random when subjected to harsh living conditions.  But fret no more, those days are gone.  KARI creates 35,000 super chicken.  Folks, there’s a new chicken in town, and its not just any chicken, it’s a super chicken!  80 more eggs per year?  What!!!  Do you know what we can do with 80 more eggs, per bird, per year?  Do the math, that’s some good money.  And don’t forget the savings made, thanks to the lower costs of rearing said chicken, says one Dr Anne Wachira, “The birds' quiet temperament and excellent feathering also allows it to adapt to the tough conditions, while also growing faster than ordinary birds.”  No, I’m not making this up, it was in the paper and everything.  And no, I’m not being sarcastic either, this is truly some revolutionary shit.  This here is that innovation they were talking about in Vision 20(kendo)30, not that pie in the sky dream of a Silicon Savannah in Masaku.  My friend, this bird is what we’ve been waiting for all our lives.  Chicken farmers of Kenya, rejoice!

Are you a lady? I suspect I'm not...

I was meant to write this post ages ago before I got sidetracked by, well, stuff, but things have started to settle down a bit and I finally have time to have a slightly more serious conversation with you.  For those of you who weren’t here last year, all 3 of you, Aint nothing going on but the rent? was my misguided attempt at tackling the women and money question that seems to have become a national obsession, if the mass media is to be believed, but this one is not about vilifying women for looking out for number one, today I want to know, what is your definition of a lady, and, more importantly, do you consider yourself one? 

Incidentally, this is part follow up and part apology; I’m at Munene’s this week, making a nuisance of myself, such as I do, as I argue in defence of men and their money, not too well I might add.  Now because there’s a random chance that my foot in mouth tendencies shall come back to bite me, here, I thought to put up a slightly more sober post, because the last thing I need is for strangers to find the sewer on my front page.  That’s right people, there’s a BOGOF today, well, BOGTF if you count the sewer tale I’ve posted as well, just because.   

This lady story is always a bit of a sticky topic, seeing as the definition of a lady is, a. highly subjective, and b. highly emotive.  In the traditional sense, lady conjures up images of a demure woman in a floral, ankle-length frock with matching gloves and shoes, and perhaps a little parasol to boot.  Think Downton Abbey, only with black people.  I know, it’s a bit of stretch, but it’s the best I could come up with on a Monday night.  A lady does not shout, or laugh with her mouth open, or eat with her hands, or cross her legs when she sits, or smoke, or drink anything foamy, or walk ahead of her man, or moan when she comes… sorry, the last one was uncalled for.  That myth is peddled by the same people who’ve been shoving the knight in shining armour lie in our face our entire lives, the evil Disney Corporation.  That’s right folks, all those seemingly harmless stories of a pale-faced, 12-inch-waisted damsel in distress and her disproportionately broad shouldered blonde prince charming were all a devious ploy to keep you buying whatever nonsense they were selling.  That you happened to end up thoroughly fucked up for life was just a lucky coincidence. 

I suspect that rant was unnecessary, but what the hell, right?

Part of the reason our fantasy of knights remains so attractive to us is because it also includes a very attractive image of ourselves, all Cinderella’d up and what not, we’re the pretty damsel whose life has just been magically transformed.  Problem is, there are even fewer damsels out here than knights.  Are you that plastic Barbie-esque creature the media keeps thrusting in our faces as the ideal woman, all ‘ladylike’ and shit?  Take the test and find out: Are you a lady?  Just so you know, my score was zero (really, Z.E.R.O.), and I was reliably informed that not only am I not a lady, at all, I am also somewhat crude and in need of urgent lessons in the ladylike graces and what not.  You gotta love the internet, no?  No.  I went off in search of another quiz, and I found one, The Are You A Lady Test, and on this one I scored a whopping 86%, if you can believe it.  Just goes to prove that you should never trust an online test (except that one for IQ’s that said I’m a genius, that one was very accurate, but I digress).  So?  Have you taken the test?  Are you a lady?  Not so much, I’m guessing.  Why then do you insist on subjecting men to similarly unrealistic standards?  Are you, in fact, delusional?  

It goes without saying that I do not subscribe to their narrow definitions of a lady, ati a woman who crosses her legs at her ankles and carries the smallest purse possible.  What the…?  In what world is that even logical?  I do agree that being a lady is about carrying yourself with a certain amount of class, but I do not think class is only about deportment.  Class, to my mind, is about integrity, and honesty, and perhaps some basic good manners.  A classy lady, scratch that, a classy woman, is a woman who knows who and what she is, and therefore cannot be bothered wasting time trying to be someone else.  This woman is comfortable in her skin, because she is more than skin deep, no? 

You know what?  To hell with this nonsense.  I’ve decided to discount everything I’ve just read and write my own list of what a lady, make that a classy woman, should be, because I like to write lists, and I don’t like being told to act like I have a stick up my ass, sorry, bum.

1. A class act will put down her fork and knife and grab the bloody chicken wings with her fingers, because she knows that finger food was so named for a very good reason.  She will not, however, lick her fingers clean, unless she’s in her house, because that can get a bit messy if not done right (although I’m not sure that there’s a right way to lick barbeque sauce off your fingers). 

2. A class act does not show up on a date with two of her friends, and proceed to drink the poor bastard, well, poor.  She will also show up with some money in her purse, because she has no issues paying a bill every once in a while. 

3. A class act does not wear a mini skirt she considers too short, and I assume she considers it too short because she keeps tugging it down, all the bloody time.  Note that I didn’t say a class act will not wear a mini skirt, I believe any woman with half decent legs owes it to the world to show them off, although perhaps within reason, and at certain times.  The same applies to half decent boobs, and asses.  Show them off with pride, and comfort, or don’t show them off at all.

4. A class act is mindful of how she talks.  I’m not talking about swearing (although perhaps limiting the curses to the odd ‘shit!’ may be advisable, especially in more polite company), I’m referring to knowing when to talk and when to shut up, because sometimes listening is just as important; how to talk to (all) people with respect, including rude security guards; how to restrain yourself from TMI-ing or hogging the conversation with your self-centred blather; how to conduct (seemingly) intelligent conversations if need be; most important, how to be genuine when you speak, because no one likes to talk to someone who’s trying very hard to sound like someone else. 

5. A class act is proud to earn a living for her own damn self, and does not expect anyone else, man included, to do it for her.  If the only reason you’re with someone, friend or lover, is because they’re your stepping stone to better things, you need to grow up and stop treating people like ladders.

6. A class act does not force a man into marrying her, using an ‘accidental’ child.  Don’t look at me like that, this nonsense of ‘Oops!  Imagine it just happened…’ must end.  Look at it this way, if the man is foolish enough to shag you without protection, and you him, then perhaps yours are not genes to be replicated, no?  Just a thought…

7. A class act does not write me hate mail, or angry comments.  No really, she doesn’t.

That last one is a bit self serving, no?  Ah well… 

For as long as women keep insisting on holding men to ridiculously high standards, making more and more unreasonable demands, then we will have to match them, stride for bloody stride.  You want a man who always looks good, dresses flash, drives the right car and lives in the right neighbourhood?  Right back at you babes.  This means no more weaves and sleeping in head scarves, no more dusty shoes, or flats for that matter, and no more living in the cheaper outskirts of the city where rent is affordable.  Do you insist that your man be of a certain income bracket?  Well how about that… so does he!  And now your broke ass will never date above your current station in life.  You want a man to cater to your every whim?  Sure, no problem, but be prepared to do the same, which means quitting your job to stay at home and raise the ten kids, cooking and cleaning all day, washing his socks and underwear every morning and preparing his bath every night.  Stop cringing, that’s what you asked for, no?  That fantasy nonsense you’re so hung up on, it’s a double edged sword.  

Put differently, be careful what you ask for, you might just get it.

A first time, for everything, and I mean, everything.

Aaaahhh… the thrill of new sex!  It’s the best part about being single, or a langa, isn’t it?  The lovely possibility of another first time.  The first time you kiss someone new, the first time you touch her soft skin, the first time you rub your cheek against his stubble, the first time you see them half naked, the first time you see them all naked, the first time you touch… 

You know where I’m going, don’t you?  As always, fragile love-making souls leave now, lest you get offended by the word sex, or member.  No wait, don’t go, this one will be quite mild as far as sewer tales go.  Or not, I’ll warn you if it’s about to go south, further south that is…  My people, it would appear that in my foolishness I have managed to make a name for myself, such as it is, as the teller of all tales sewer, and any attempt to stray from this role is met with some (vocal) discontent.  Fair enough, there are worse tags to be stuck with, and I do like to talk about sex, but know that even as I do this, I only do it so I can be left to my own devices the rest of the month.  What I’m saying is, if I give you what you want, then you will have to let me do what I want, bila complaints, deal?  I’m talking to you Bwana Mahe, a.k.a. the newly crowned Mayor of The Sewer (crowned purely on account of shards of ice and what not, see ON THE DOWN LOW…), a.k.a. he that demands a shout out.  Moving swiftly along.

Don’t it feel good babe, don’t it feel good baby,
Cause, it's so brand new babe, it's so brand new baby…

The song is ‘Our First Time’ by Bruno Mars, off his debut album ‘Doo-Wops & Hooligans’.  Now I know that most people my age or thereabouts are frowning at the screen, wondering why I’ve picked a song by the guy who sang that most infuriating anthem from a few years back, ‘Grenade’ (incidentally, if one more girl sings this song at Karaoke, I will burn the damn bar down, I’m not kidding…), but contain your scepticism for a couple of minutes and google this album, its well worth the trouble.  This young man has talent, real talent, hopping from R&B to pop to classic rock to (allegedly) reggae.  That’s right, he’s a bit of a chameleon, which is probably why I have love for the man, that and he claims inspiration from both Michael Jackson and Bob Marley, a very good thing in my book.  In keeping with my (not so) unspoken theme of Reggae for sunny days, today’s track is a simple tune that sounds like the love child of MJ’s ‘Rock With You’ and Aaliyah’s ‘Rock The Boat’, its sexy yet suitably chaste.  If this track doesn’t get you smiling as you sway gently, then I can’t help you.

And now here we are, in this big old empty room,
Staring at each other, who’s gonna make the first move?
Been doing our thing for a minute,
And now both our hearts are in it,
The only place to go, is all the way…

You meet a new man, and he looks like a good man, tasty too.  You begin the dance, the ‘I just want to get to know you better’ dance, all the while surreptitiously checking out his ass, his sexy smile (read very kissable lips), his (bedroom) eyes, his broad shoulders and his long fingers, the ones you cant wait to feel on your neck, back, other…  I’ve argued before that sexual attraction is the underlying factor to all male/female relationships and nowhere is this more evident than when you’re doing the seduction dance.  As much as I may be gripped by your theories on global warming, kind sir, I’m busy thinking about how much I want you to warm up my globe(s).  What?  You’re surprised to hear that women think like men when it comes to sexual attraction?  Don’t be, if you’ve listened to a bunch of women during a girls’ night out, you know that women are not only as crude as men, sometimes we’re worse.  While you’re sitting there trying to woo me with your big…intellect, I’m sitting there thinking of the many ways I plan to use and abuse said…intellect.  What you don’t realise is that once a woman has decided to shag you, irrespective of how she got there, that’s it.  The rest of the time she’s sitting there fantasising about what’s going to happen next.  That’s right, the dazed look she’s giving you is not boredom, its lust.  That is, unless you’re really boring, in which case I can’t help you.

Just go with it, go with it, go with it (and I will go real),
Slow with it, slow with it,
It's our first time…

There’s just something about that first time you shag someone, all your synapses are firing, your senses are heightened, every thing smells, tastes and feels brand new, even you.  It’s a crisp clear dawn by the sea, the first sip of an ice cold coke on a blazing hot day, the first bite of medium rare steak smothered in pepper sauce, the first lick of a soft serve cone (vanilla with chocolate sprinkles), its your first drag on a Cuban, the first whiff of a 18 year old single (malt, not person…or maybe person, depending…).  Folks, the first time with someone new is the shit!  That rush you get is the best thing since, well, since the last rush you got, no?  If you’re truly attracted to someone, and I mean genuinely turned on, mind and body, then despite your opening night nerves and the subsequent, umm, malfunctions, that sometimes pop up as a result of your excitement, that first time is usually pretty fucking amazing.  In retrospect, it isn’t the best sex you have ever had, but it will feel like it at the time, if for no other reason than because at that moment there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.  There’s also the fact that you’re so high on dopamine, and other, possibly, you’re out of your mind, plus you’ve probably been waiting for the moment for a bloody while, no?   

And just so we’re clear, a while can be used to refer to only a few hours, in the case of the idiot funga devotees, who just for the record should have been swayed by my brilliant eloquence by now, no?  No?  Useless buggers…  Don’t worry, I’m not going to get into the sticky politics of when to shag someone for the first time, that’s a discussion better suited to more serious, and perhaps less sewer, blogs, and not mine.  Let’s assume that you have taken what you consider a suitable amount of time to come to the decision to do it, be it one hour, or one year, or your entire life, whatever rocks your boat, or doesn’t, as the case may be.   

Point is, you’re now staring at the object of your desire, anticipation at record highs, mentally speculating on what he or she looks like naked, what their skin will feel like, what their lips will taste like, what their other lips will taste like, whether they lean to the left or the right…  What?  Don’t look at me like that, I know you think about these things too.  You don’t?  Then what the hell are you thinking about?  That anticipation is not perverted thinking, it’s a huge part of the seduction process, it’s your mind preparing you for what’s to come.  Think of it as the lowering of your inhibition drawbridge, welcoming the invader to storm your castle and penetrate your inner sanctum…  Slight detour, I’ve been reading fantasy fiction for the past month, so there will be many more random medieval metaphors coming your way.  See, just when you thought the sewer couldn’t get any worse, I found the dungeon…  I know, it’s brilliant!  Detour over.  I was saying, fantasising about the first time you’ll shag this someone new is simply your mind trying to wrap itself round a new idea, and it’s the first step to working up the balls you need to get naked with a stranger, and by stranger I mean someone who has never seen you naked, not complete stranger as in a funga/fungee, unless that’s how you do (say it with me…useless buggers).

Is that alright?

Is that okay?

Girl, no need to be nervous,

Cause I got you all night,

Don't you worry bout a thing...

See the thing is, despite the way this scene is depicted in movies and songs as some laid back, easy session of passionate ‘love-making’, its always somewhat nerve-wracking to bare yourself to another, literally and figuratively.  Either you’re wondering how you look, or how you smell, if you’re skinny enough, or big enough, or if he can notice your hairy legs, or hairy other(s), such like peculiar nonsense that’s, for the most part (I hope), only in your fretting head.  On the one hand you can’t wait to get busy, but on the other hand you’re trying to figure out how to get busy and make a good impression at the same time, because we all want to make a good impression.  No really, how else will you get laid again if you don’t?  What?  Come now, lets be honest with each other, only marriage, and maybe love, can survive crap sex on the first night, si that’s why they make you wait?  Now some will choose to steady their nerves with booze and other intoxicants, believing that being slightly high makes it easier to get down.  Does it really?  You tell me.  If I’ve engaged in such activity in the past, I cannot recall, conveniently.  Perhaps that’s another good reason to be (slightly?) high, selective amnesia, just in case it doesn’t work out as planned, no?  No?  Ah well…  Others choose a more gung-ho approach, treating it like a fight they have to win, at all costs.  These are the buggers who are looking for a TKO in the first round, so they come at you with all they’ve got, because they figure the best defence is a good offence, but what they’re really doing is keeping the focus off them and entirely on you.  Now that I think about it, that’s not such a bad thing is it?  I’m just saying…   

However you choose to handle your opening night issues, keep in mind that the other party in your bed is just as nervous as you are, so give yourself a break and relax, what’s the worst that can happen?  Don’t think too hard about that.  And for crying out loud, don’t forget to laugh at the occasional fumbles that tend to happen when you haven’t figured out someone else’s rhythm yet.  You just remembered a fumble from your past, and smiled, didn’t you?  That’s what I’m talking about.  At the end of the day, all that matters is that you aim to be GGG (Science proves it: Dan Savage is right), if you do then all will be well.  Well, well enough.

The point to all this?  None whatsoever.  No really, I’m done trying to convince you to enjoy your sex, whatever sex it is you may be having, or not, depending.  This year we’re going to have fun in the sewer, we are going to roll around in the muck and revel in the filth, because if you can’t fuck around here, where the hell else are you going to do it, no? 

Don’t it feel good babe, don’t it feel good baby,
Cause, it's so brand new babe, it's so brand new baby…

Same Shit, Different Year.

The man upstairs has a cruel sense of humour.  I woke up this weekend to the bluest skies I’ve seen in a month, and this as my break was coming to an end.  You know how I keep talking about the December sunshine?  Well it’s finally here and just in time for a long hard month, of January.  Ah well… better late than never, no?  No.  I want my December dammit, she sulks…  I am a complete child of the tropics, the few times I’ve ventured far enough to taste real winter have scarred me for life.  I don’t like cold, I resent having to wear 6 layers of clothing and I detest thermal underwear.  That said, I am finally convinced that harsh weather is key to development, I suspect if Kenya had more extreme weather, we’d be closer to the mythical first world status we pretend to aspire to.  Sub zero temperatures have a way of inspiring innovation, is all I’m saying, but that’s a serious discussion for another day.  Today we celebrate the sunshine and a brand new year, which then means I have to attempt to write something serious, if only to redeem myself after a month in the sewer, no?  Dammit! 

Problem is, every time I kept trying to write a post on the year past and all that jazz, I drew a blank, there is nothing for me to say, and I’ve finally figured out why.  I spent the whole year reflecting.  I don’t need to sit here and tell you what lessons I learnt, you were here with me, hopefully learning as well, or as is more likely laughing at me as I learned what I suspect is common knowledge.  As much as I would so love to write a pithy list on lessons and goals and such like uplifting bullshit, there’s none to be had, looking back will serve no purpose.  Better to look forward, no?  The beginning of a new year is the one time I allow myself to feel mildly optimistic, convinced that the change in date is a signal for the planets to align, everything will finally fall into place.  I hold on to this ridiculous dream despite previous years proving me completely wrong.  Never, ever, has the New Year brought me anything other than more of the same, and why should it?  Its just another day, not a magic spell.  Yet here I am, another year, another dream of better days ahead.  I figure, what’s life without a little blind hope, and mild delusion? 

And so we go to the soundtrack.  Every so often someone, Flani in this case, points me in the direction of new music, sending me down the path of discovery, and it’s absolutely brilliant.  A couple of months back he recommended Curtis Mayfield’s ‘Diamond in the back’, a song so laid back I picture myself cruising down a highway on a sunny day, top down, breeze in my hair, a shandi in one hand with the other resting lightly on the steering.  What?  No, I don’t have a convertible (car or other), and no, my hair cannot flutter in the wind (unless I’ve stuck on what used to be someone else’s hair), and no, I do not drink while driving.  But despite all that, the picture remains, it’s that kind of song, feel good and mellow.  And its seven minutes long.  This song has been sampled by so many rappers, you’ll definitely recognise the tune, but listen to the last four minutes and you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the music, in truth the song is less R&B and more jazz funk.  If you happen to play it, apologies for the quality, my converter thingi is being a bitch so I had to put up a crap copy, if you feel greatly offended, send me a harsh email.  Or not.   

Though you may not drive a great big Cadillac,
Gangsta white walls, TV antennas in the back,
You may not have a car at all,
But remember brothers and sisters,
You can still stand tall,
Just be thankful for what you've got…

Do you do the resolution thing?  I do, or at least I used to.  I started writing down my resolutions in ’03, convinced that writing them would make them more real.  Yeah…no, not really.  Back then the resolutions were an elaborate list of do’s and don’ts; do lose x no kilos, don’t get drunk on K2 wine ever again (that stuff was so vile…what???  Pox on your houses for serving me that piss, bastards!  Lakini, it was cheap nicely…  I digress.), do get a better job, don’t get another langa boyfriend… the usual nonsense.  Then around ‘06 it finally hit me that the lists weren’t working (shock on me), and that I kept repeating the same shit, year in and year out.  That’s when I came up with the brilliant idea of themes, as in broader ideas, rather than specific goals.  Stop laughing, it made sense at the time.  By ’07 I’d resigned myself to my unresolved fate, finally realising that random notes made on Jan 2nd were not very helpful in the greater scheme of things.  That year I sat down and drew up plans, plans mind you, not wishy washy goals, I was serious, man!  I had short term plans, and mid term and long term plans, and this to compliment the resolutions.  I know, I’m obsessed with lists, I think I even have a list of my lists.  And I wonder why I’m single?  Moving on swiftly…  Planning was the most depressing thing I’d ever done, the process was so traumatic I had to repeat it a year later, because the first time round it was simply a bunch of unrealistic pipe dreams motivated by the fear of turning 30. 

The resolutions however were still going strong, up until 2010, that was the year I realised I could just roll over the previous year’s crap.  In ’11, I wrote an amendment to said biannual resolutions, resolving to keep rolling them over, because they were so good.  No really, they were, sample the intro from ’09:

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

“LIFE IS TOO SHORT!!!”

“Its all about passion, everything else is secondary!”

“What doesn’t break you makes you stronger!”

Every year I stick in a phrase that I think best summarises my philosophy for the year ahead based on the year just ended.  It’s only now that I’ve realised exactly what that meant in terms of my approach to life in general and the respective challenges I faced each year.  These phrases were my guiding principles, still are.  As I’m sitting here trying to figure out what this year’s slogan is going to be I keep thinking it should be all of the above, I feel like I’ve come full circle. 

“You have to let go to grab on to something else.”

The last year was all about leaving, this year is about moving on.  Its time to go, question is where?

Profound, no?  No, more like cringe-inducing, I have a disturbing fondness for clichés, its a bit embarrassing how many I have stored in the dark recesses of my mind, but we’ll have that discussion another day.  Ignore the overly enthusiastic use of exclamation marks and focus on the thoughts.  At the start of 2009, I was struggling with a fledgling business, dealing with love gone wrong and contemplating a (possibly dramatic) change of address, everything was up in the air.  In as much as that is no longer the situation, thankfully, I keep going back to these thoughts in particular, because I’ve found that I’m at my clearest in times of adversity, probably because problems and hope go hand in hand.  Well, that and the fact that problems have a way of ridding you of unnecessary clutter in the form of useless hangers-on (read bastards looking to use and abuse you), expensive and/or destructive habits (like clubbing all week), illusions of grandeur and delusions of fame.  Hard times force you to be honest with yourself, and my hard times gave me the focus I needed to change what needed to be changed, and finally come to terms with what should never be changed.  I like going back to that time in my life, because it reminds me that the lows are just as useful as the highs, sometimes more so.  Plus I really like a good slogan…

Last year was a strange year for me, on the surface of things I achieved nothing overly dramatic, but I came out of 2012 feeling better than I have in a long time.  The year was hard, no doubt, but it was also the most satisfying creatively (I’m talking about my day job, not this here, umm, exercise in exorcism of demons…) that I’ve had in ages, I felt like bloody Midas, only without the gold in pocket.  I had unnecessary man drama, as always, but I also had pockets of man bliss, and from the unlikeliest of sources.  I ended a couple of toxic friendships, shaking off the purveyors of doom and gloom, but in the subsequent silence I found the space to hear myself.  That’s right, I can now hear my own voice in my head.  What?  Its a good thing, no?  Perhaps not, it could be confirmation of suspected insanity.  Hmmm…

So now I’ve started thinking about what I want, what I really want, the big picture, not what I expect or what’s expected of me.  The question is, what is it I’m working for?  What’s the goal?  Right now it seems to be all about existing, but what is it I’m living for?  A successful career but for what?  A happy relationship with whom and to what end?  What exactly is it that will define fulfilment?

That was the note I added in ’11.  It’s the question I’ve been trying to answer for the last 2 years, and I suspect will keep trying to answer for the foreseeable future.  This of course means that you’re in for more of my endless probing this year, but on the up side it will be less frequent.  I think I need to keep it down to once a week if only to keep myself sane(r).  Don’t worry once a week doesn’t necessarily mean one a week, I hope…

But remember brothers and sisters,
You can still stand tall,
Just be thankful for what you've got,

Though you may not drive a great big Cadillac, 

Diamonds in the back, sunroof top, diggin' the scene with a gangsta lean…

Happy New Year, my lovelies, may this year be kinder to you than the last.