The Odd White Guy

Every time I see a dirty looking white or non African, non Asian dude walking these streets, I think back to Michaek Westen, or that randy dude from Strikeback.

They may not always look so on the outside but, on the off-chance you do make eye-contact with them. You'll notice something. A dead intelligence, an unnatural excitement, a ruthless determination.

So then I think: Michael Westen or the guy that Michael Westen is going to catch in a few days, hours, minutes... who knows?

Thinking of a stranger as a CIA asset or a ruthless criminal seems less cruel and less pitiful than the poor, helpless first-world reject they very well could be.

In Kenya, we don't make movies about poverty because it's so rampant it would be boring to pay to watch something you see everyday.

In America and Europe, they don't make movies about poverty because it's so minimal that it, I imagine has bo real effect. The poor are not as attractive a minority as the cancerous, the terrorists, the impossibly rich or, say, the gay.

I suppose in away that my not wanting to see  poor white dude walking around looking pitiful is as a result of watching films where oppulence is revered and destitution is swept to the corner and an antique flower pot thrust over it.

Syokimau Pt.3

Syokimau Pt.2

On the way to Syokimau

Oh yeah... ;)

ParkingLotGrass New Video Release for Speed Chaser

Watch "Speed Chaser - ParkingLotGrass (Official Video) HD" on YouTube

India to Launch mission to mars

Reuters Science News (@ReutersScience) tweeted at 4:33 PM on Thu, Feb 21, 2013: India to launch mission to Mars this year, says president http://t.co/IwgvrxrACX (https://twitter.com/ReutersScience/status/304584530369605634) Get the official Twitter app at https://twitter.com/download

SAGGING TROUSERS = SHOWING BOOBS

I have a friend.

He's the kind you want to talk to when things get tough because he makes everything look a lot less serious. Can't pay rent? The streets are nice and we've got January weather. Legs aching? He once saw a man with no legs handing it across Thika road. Mother annoying you? He adopted two orphans in 2008 - they watched their mother being hacked to death, like Dexter Morgan did.

A two minute sit-down with him and you realize how problem-less you are.
But when it comes to men who sag their trousers, he is ruthless.

"You know," he says, "I was watching a video of Eddie Griffin [comedian] telling his audience how he cured his son of sagging."

He cringed and frowned, frowned and spat, spat and sneered until he really made it [sagging] sound like a disease. What Griffin had told his son, was that "sagging began in the penitentiary"and that they did it "to advertise they butt crack". The kids in the hood "thought it was sleek" and started sagging as weel

His [my friend's] argument: if women do it to attract men, why the hell else would men do it?

Understanding dawned. 

I thought about all the sagging drawers I'd seen recently and thought "surely this kid had no idea what he was doing, had he?"

While none of us can really condemn a man for wanting to attract another - and don't pretend like you haven't done disgusting things when no one was looking - it's a bit disturbing to know, that along with styling hair femininely and wearing earings, our brothers, friends, boyfriends have turned to advertising their goods a the most unsightly way.

A woman's mounds are something, I understand, men enjoy looking at. But really, a man has none, so why the sag? This is why Griffins' and my friend's theories made sense.

FEELING GOOD

It's a fucking shame that all this time I've been singing along to Michael Buble's version of  Feeling Good, I didn't know that Nina Simone was the original singer. Listening to her just now, I teared up, heart swelled and I swear, I felt as high as I did when I sat next to that blunt-smoking, dreadlocked guy at a reggae concert once.

Ever had one of those experiences that you tried to find an explanation for, then tried to find words to share that explanation through and found that it was impossible? Nina Simone did that to me. 

If people don't discover this on their own, it's very likely that they'll miss that little trip I just had. Now I know how Jimi felt when he was on stage... or high... which could mean the same thing. 
Now that I know Nina exists(ed), don't know how I'm going to not want to buy - illegaly download is the word I'm looking for - everything she's ever sang.

In a miniscule way, I guess we need to thank God for Slavery, for without it, Nina Simone might never have caught my ear. Then where would I be?

THE LUNCH... WITH... THE MEAT

I had a very good lunch with Schwester who is looking, might I add, ever more like the yummy mummy she is. Thank God for the wide, wide world. Without it, we would all have been stuck in the rut of despair, swimming through meat - imagine how 'easy' that would be.

Speaking of meat, we decided, that since it would be just one of those, once-in-a-while type of situations, we would do meats. She had liver and I just had beef on bone. Ossobucco they call it (wonder if they'd still call it that if that joint specialized in human and dog meat.

Anyway, I'd gone through one piece of my Ossobucco and almost all of my rice and herbs before, my extra-large stomach began to protest. Shyly, I asked the waitress to pack it. She did. We then walked slyly out of the restaurant and into another building, stomachs bulging in which we had to take the lift.

Now the Nyama was in my bag, and since my sister's sense of smell is like that of 10 wolves condensed, she could smell it very well in that enclosure. She began to giggle. I began to giggle too. We giggled until the people in the lift thought we were mad. My 'dread' locks didn't help any and neither did the kitambaa she had on her head.

"A couple of loose-screwed women" they must have thought. One of the best laughs I've had in a while. As I prepare to indulge once more - this time on foods of a light and liquid nature - with my brother, I hope I'll be able to laugh and make laugh for this is just one of those days to be happy and ravenously so.

  

THE GOOD BREAKFAST

I just tried to have a 'good' breakfast - not cooked by me - at a place called Farmers. All I got was late for work and high blood pressure. If you're in a hurry, don't go there. If you wait for ten minutes and nothing is ready, don't bother waiting, it's not worth it.

Not looking down on farmers in general or anything but man, that place, all its workers, cooks, blah, blah are nothing short of the rural Kenyan farmer defined. 

They're slow, ill-mannered and do not understand the concept of time. Granted, it is a Monday morning and everyone is still half asleep, a business like that needs to hire people who 'get it'.

"Hakuna Toast..."

"What?"

"Tukupatie mandazi instead ya Toast..."

Flummoxed, I say "fine" then "no".

"Ama tukupatie an extra sausage?"

I like that idea so I say:

"Sawa."

But now that I think about it, how do they stay afloat? it's somewhere I have been before and gotten pretty horrendous service. And for two years, I stayed away. Didn't remember why I'd stayed away all that time until this morning.

"Juice gani? Mango ama Passion?"

"Passion," I say.

For a few minutes, I'm anticipating the taste of passion juice, sausage, eggs and bacon on my tongue. Then she comes?

"Hakuna Passion. Kuna Cocktail, na Mango."

"Ah! You people!" I say. "Leta Mango."

She takes about five steps before I look down at my coffee. So I call her back and say:

"Wachana nayo. How much is this coffee?"

"40 bob," she says.

"Sawa," I give her a hundred bob and tell her to hurry up with my change. I sip the coffee in the meantime, it tastes like dirty water was used to make it. I put it down and think of all the homeless people I'd walked by near the old Globe roundabout brigde. They'd probably not be as choosy as me.

She stands next to me with stained coins. Looks like they've been through a fire. I take my change and don't realize that instead of 60 bob, she's returned 30bob.

I attempt one more gulp of my hot coffee and give up. I'm annoyed, it tastes bad, there's no way I'm going to sit here without breaking something. Some poor fool comes in just as I'm standing to leave. He has no idea. Or maybe he does but does not mind the mediocrity Farmer's offers.

Never mind. I've had enough and I walk out and towards Moi Avenue. I stop next to the magazine stand where that old fuck tried to steal from me once. I look at the 30bob in my hand and head back to the restaurant, ready to call my waitress and bloody thief.

I'm stopped short when they produce a receipt. It's stamped. I take it and walk away saying something about their efficiency and service and how much it sucks. The cashier calls me back and says:

"Take this one, it's not that one."

I take the one she's offering me, and study it. it's exactly the same except, it's not stamped. Just to piss them off. I reject it and pretend to huff off with the one they'd given me first.

Only I'm not pretending, I feel cheated. 70 bob for dishwater-coffee and bad service. Next time, I'll just give my money to the homeless and drink free waiting room coffee. At least there, you always know what to expect.

And thus, my February begins.                      

I DO NOT HAVE PROBLEMS

I have no problems.

And neither do you, if you are reading this. I'm watching a BBC Documentary about the torture of Syrian women in Homs. They were tortured for helping rebel fighter.

One woman, Maya, is 23 years old. She was 19 when they, the Syrian Army, got her. She describes what they did to her but, I can't quite picture it. How can I?

Another, a film maker, talks to children about their lives on the war-ridden city. At one point, they are playing with bullets and one boy says:

"These are the bullets they kill us with."

I have no problems.

All shrunk down...

I consider myself a child today because, while I should have been frolicking in childishness - a right that was denied me - I was busy being the adult I should never have been.

Oh my Bollywood

It's an addiction.

Star Times TV may not be as well favoured as DSTV, or have the American FOX channel but, It's got Bollywood TV.

And I am nothing if not impressed.

Everyone I know who loves movies has something nice to say about Bollywood pictures. They're emotional, they're hilarious, there is always a message in their wake, the camera work is top notch, action scenes in them are as believable as any of the best from Hollywood. And the actors/actresses...oh my! Beautiful doesn't begin to describe them.

And something else.

India is the South Africa of Asia; everyone is born with the dancing gene. "I can't dance" is not something you'd expect to hear from any Indian. Oh the envy. I'm green with it. The best I can do is a side-side step... which is why I avoid clubs.

But...

And there is a but, sometimes, when the story is so sad or so violent, it's a bit of a smack in the head when a character or twelve suddenly break into song. Sometimes, it just doesn't fit.

But not even that can tear me away from my screen once I start watching.

Let me see. What do I remember watching? Ghanjini, Wake Up Sid, Murder2, Chalo Dilli, Son of Saardar(trailer) and English Vinglish(trailer).

There hasn't been a single one that hasn't left me teary-eyed.

Off to get my next fix and pray that Riverwood too, with its Tosh's and Kibinge's will someday be as well loved.