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Showing posts from August, 2012

Fighting for my right to be wrong.

I feel as if our relationship has been progressing at an admirable rate... progressing enough for me not to just assume that someone somewhere is reading this, but to hope that this is so. Today has been a Monday, true to form. Murphy s law through and through. Anything that  could go wrong DID go wrong...but I don't want to bore you with the gory details. I do need to mention, though, that I was diagnosed with alarmingly high levels of typhoid fever. To be frank, I didn't feel THAT ill. I was simply mildly sick with a stomach ache and a head ache but the pharmacist wouldn't give me any meds until he had run some tests.Even after the diagnosis I still felt pretty amazing considering the shocked expression on the lab tech's face as he tries to make me understand how 'grave' my situation was. Dad wasn't as flippant about it as I was (His own face-to-face encounter with typhoid had confined him to bed for a week and he couldn't believe that my body was

Nairobi 2024

I suppose it’s a bit late for me to give my two-cents worth on the Olympics. So I have chosen to look into the future. Probably due to the ‘A Million Reasons to Believe in Africa’, His eminence the Prime Minister has found one major reason to believe in Kenya…its untapped potential to be the 2024 Olympics host. No matter that we are nowhere near the level of infrastructural development needed to host Olympics now, let alone in 12 years time when much more will be required of us. We could just borrow like the Greeks and plunge ourselves into debt. It would be worth it, that fortnight of fame and wonder. Let’s not be cynical here. It can be done! In fact, my limited imagination can almost picture it. We would have to hold it in Moi Sports Centre, Kasarani (You didn’t actually believe we would build an Olympic stadium, did you?) That would also give us a chance to show the world that we could also ‘gerrit’, what with Thika Superhighway and all… High ranking officials would be hosted

Home, sweet home

Njeri_Kamande  ‏ @ Lindakamande I   had   to   take   2   mats,   cross   a   river   (on   foot)   and   get   a   mkokoteni   ride to   get   home   tonight.   Yes,   I   still   live   in   Nairobi. That tweet cracked me up, but I couldn’t laugh too hard. When you live where I do, even Rongai jokes lose their ‘oomph’. Let’s just say that if Rongai haters discovered the enchanting haven I call home, they would have a field day. I may not have to take a mkokoteni to get home but I do HAVE to cross a river (it’s seasonal and has been dry for all of the past 4 years but I am allowed to get theatrical here.) And yes, I still live in Nairobi. Politically speaking, I could even claim to be from Embakasi. Geographically, not so much. If I were to give directions to my place I would use the words to that Sprite ad that goes something like: 'Take a step. Go further. Now go too far' I know two ways to get to my place, Kamulu:  Weave your way through Muthurwa and board a

Of Doing Milk and Staying Young

Boredom inspires/ drives me to do the unthinkable... like texting him to say how I couldn’t stand pretending that I didn’t like him...or drinking a glass of milk. I do not DO milk. And no, I am not lactose intolerant. As Max in ‘2 Broke Girls’ aptly points out, “Poor people don’t just run out to buy anti-biotics. You man up, grow a pair, and stare germs in the face...booyah!” I may not be poor but I am definitely not rich. People in my economic bracket don’t get fancy diseases like eczema. We get rashes, and if you want to get all fancy then you will have to do with ‘allergies’. So, no, I am not lactose intolerant. Where I come from it’s just a plain, simple ‘I don’t drink milk.’ But here I am, with a now half empty glass of milk. (I hope you can detect the pessimism there or else my pun will have gone to waste) I suppose the ‘Do Milk, Stay Young’ campaign hasn’t gone to waste. All that sexual objectification of infants wasn’t in vain. “Sexual objectification?” you ask. Yes,

Wonders, miracles, unicorns and seahorses

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles ...But of all God’s miracles, large and small, The most miraculous of all Is that out of a worthless lump of clay, God has made man today. (An excerpt of 'Wonder of Wonders' from the greatest musical 'Fiddler on the Roof') I almost didn’t write this post. Halfway through the Muse just stopped smiling and though I boast that I don’t need that bitch her, when it’s barely 15 ° C I can use all the inspiration I can get.  But I figured that it would be unfair if this truth went untold... and if I don’t tell it, then who will? Since I am writing this on a very cold Monday night and you will be reading it at an equally cold time, I will try to be as bearable as possible. Life is dull enough as it is. I witnessed a miracle yesterday morning.  Not a full blown rise-up-and-walk miracle (those I treat just as cautiously as belief in Santa Claus or the tooth fairy. One wrong word and you may just have broken a poor child’