STRICKEN BY QUARTER-LIFE CRISIS!

So, when I sat up today, I saw my blog had become a deserted place. I thought to write, not to impress anyone but draw a sketch of my mind’s content hoping it will make a difference. Here comes quarter-life-crisis. You know mid-life crisis right? Now, a lot happens to a twenty-one-year-old too.

It’s just that time when I try to sound thirty and look twenty five. Please notice the desperation for a maturity badge in my voice. It is the time when you either turn into a rogue bachelor or a gentleman. For the first time you think of chasing after a girl for more than a month. Speaking of which, I think you should meet Flowzie.

Oh boy! I thought no one was out of my league. Well, that’s till I met her. I fell for her with a steadfast crush into the ground. It isn’t only your mum who will break your heart. Believe you me when you turn out to be less important to her, it will. As in, “I’m busy but I can fix time to meet you.” After a month of knowing her and a failed meeting, I grew up. Suddenly I obsessed over myself, I was very mature. How could I fall like that? I mean, why, when I could be more constructive?

Speaking of which, I later noticed her friend Masibo was just the right experiment between a Bukusu (a sub-tribe of Luhya in Kenya) and an Indian. I mean just put ‘indian’ complexion on a ‘luhya’ physique (do consider looking back when she passes by). They say when you meet two girls, there is the hot one and the friend…..

I took a turn into the business lane. I didn’t know it is a one way street. Once you’re in, it is business only. Other ‘things’ make you lose focus. I finally came to learn that importing anything into Kenya is not a joke. I also learnt to send formal emails while making a purchase order and refrain from the temerities ‘peace’ and ‘bro’’. I also learnt the definition of investment and contracts. Damn! There’s law in business too.

I was hoping that obligations came later in life. As in wake up to chapatti and sausages more often. I received a call from my old man, telling me I will have to begin paying my own rent and feeding my one-pack belly. While talking to him, he casually mentioned me putting a structure of my own outside his compound. I thought staying out of his house was enough, till now.

While I’m still trying to chew up the father-son philosophy, so-and-so says she hasn’t gotten her paycheck and it is end-month. Look here, I haven’t even fathered myself enough, not now please! So there is the back and forth of whether she is keeping it or not. The fights where she says her life is ruined. What will she tell her parents? I don’t know why my feet were freezing cold but my palms and body were very sweaty. Is that the infamous “a cold sweat broke out of his temple”?

By the time I realize I should be back at my ‘house’ – it is more of a single room that functions as a living-room, kitchen, bedroom and a closet. Sometimes you eat at the chair and sit on the table as your bed functions as a couch for guests. Some have a doorless bathrooms while the good ones are self-contained. Your ambitious friends have already began flirting with your woman or bae, is it? Usually because you let them see her melons when she serves coffee.

When I thought my life was just a step away from a freak-show, the semester is halfway done. I have to look for notes and sit for a CAT (Continuous Assessment Test) or write a term paper. Also get used to the lecturer who behaves like she is menstruating at the intervals of five minutes. So I run around like a clueless scholar filled with an education in the place of knowledge and loose morals in the place of wisdom.

With time I develop this addiction for chess. I play so well till so-and-so says I’m depriving her of attention. I then teach her how to play. All I realize is that either I’m the impatient kind or she is very thick. As in good in academics and poor on the board. I resorted to playing NFS Most Wanted. I was in the house for twenty hours, probably in the same spot. Still the noise about attention. Turns out playing snooker (pool) is not easy too. For her!

I wondered to myself, “Who fed this creature the notion that my world should be woven around her?”

I know…. I know, everything is a mess and I won’t deny it. The 29^th who is my birthday visited. It was all ‘fun’ since so-and-so customized it into her big day. Like, the baking and painting my face with icing sugar. In the previous one I drank sufficiently and won my first game in public against a stranger. I was with my best buddy and so-and-so. This time my mama called. My old man has no clue to date. I thought I would taste the savory beloved beer only to be met by this sweet things people buy off supermarkets.

It later hit me that a year ago, I had set goals. You know; have a running business, focus on studies, have a stable relationship, be happy? The many others I have forgotten. I began thinking of those I had disappointed. The moments I never lived to expectation. The many times I broke my own principles. The many more I cared less and hurt someone. The girl I gave up on. The times I wasn’t a good friend. Most importantly, the goals I set and haven’t achieved let alone given a try.

Sadly, I sat there playing. Whenever I’m sad I win a lot. I don’t know why.

A STUPID THINGS QUALIFY THAT ME AS FELLOW THE.

I dedicate this article to my childhood friend Eddy Arnold Ogolla. I lost you to cancer, I know you’re right here in my heart all the time. We did a lot together for us to grow up. The hill was the best adventure with you.

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When I was little I thought beautiful women never went to the toilet. Simply, they were too pretty to do that.

As of now….

Most folk term it as “gaining weight”, I just want to be fat with thick little fingers. You know, like a lump of jelly, obese from sitting for 14 hours and sleeping the other eight hours. Walking and showering – an hour and making little “Ians” for the rest of the day.

Such a life would be a dream come true but for now how about I tell you the things that qualify me as a stupid fellow.

How many attempts did you make? On the title.

My mama told me that I loved ripe bananas very much. Especially Ugandan ones by the name mbogoya. I would climb into the wall-unit, steal and eat the bananas in that piece of furniture. Finally, I would fall asleep in there, most probably on my swollen belly with my little feet sticking out of the wall-unit.

I cannot believe I was dumb even before I attained the age of reason.

When I got to the age of reason, I watched Chuck Norris and Van-dame. I should have known such do not mix well with imagination. Especially when it comes to parachutes. So I climbed a tree with a paper-bag in hand. Got to a branch and held tightly onto the two handles. Off I flew. All I recall was hitting the very bottom of my spine on the freshly dug soil. To emphasize what I felt, I mean the area just above the anus.

Later on, I got smarter and customized the parachute to my liking. I found a horizontal branch tied the paper-bag handles on it then stood in it and swung while holding the branch. When I got tired, I made holes for each leg on either side then sat and drifted in thought. It looked like a giant underwear.

 I recall other times when I broke the bed. I prepared the-carpenter’s-food which was; styling gel – it was bluish and sweet – accompanied with stolen sugar and water. So I chewed lots of BIG –G, enough to fix the bed.

I often imagined that if I went to where the sun sleeps, I would play some more. On a weekend, my newly-made friend Eddy Arnold, my younger brother Lee and I set out for the hills. Even though I was happy to discover quarries and pick rocks, I was hurt that the sun slept even further that day. I thought there were blessed people whose children kept the sun when I was forced to sleep.

So when the teacher said the sun rises on the East and sets West, I asked how does it go back to the East?  

Eddy, Lee and I once blocked the water down the shallow stream with chunks of soil and swam in the brown water. We only kept the innerwear. Some called them sambu/ sambusa/ samosa and later isosceles since it had two similar triangles. I can only imagine my ribs sticking out as I jumped into the water, marking out the shape of a giant frog in mid-air. There was no need for towels, the sun acted as one.

As a trio, we played hide-and-seek. I hid behind a gate by opening it. The game was such a thrill till we realized I had let a thousand chicken into the compound. When Eddy’s mama asked who it was, I denied being the one. I was used to lying but not on this one. I had already forgotten I was the one.

I was also thrilled by being chased around by a cock, I mean the ‘male’ bird. Eddy owned a wild one that fought humans too. Trust me I got cornered once and I had to fight a bird!

I guess time went by and schooling caught up too. Sometimes I dropped lines like, “I have forgotten my Mathematics homework book at home.” I was caned.

Later I learned how to talk to girls. Had my first crush (Bannette Odembo) at the age of eleven and had a girlfriend at twelve (Patricia Akinyi). You should see them now; utavunja shingo. (You won’t stop staring.)

 I was caught by surprise to learn that TBT means Throw Back Thursday few days ago. I often wondered; whose name has such abbreviations? Is he a celebrity to be mentioned so often?

THE MOST HIGH.

If you met him this weekend, you would be chocking. Later you would possibly feel like you were riding on a cloud.

Ben stares at his friend. Denno has this idiotic look sagging his face. Matto is on the roof. Naked to his pair of boxers, singing circumcision songs.

How he got there, is a tale on its own. Ben followed Sam’s advice. A short guy from Mombasa with a beefy handshake. Sam is a very wise man.

“I have a problem with my girl, we’ve broken up because my side-chic called her and threw tantrums.”

“We ni nini hii? Piga weedi yako freshi, halafu utulie kejani. Utapata solution.” (What is it with you? Smoke your weed then relax in your house. You will get a solution.)

With the ‘wise’ counsel, he walked to a cigarettes joint.

Some slender guy in an oversized t-shirt moves over on the bench. He passes him a cigarette. Ben shakes his head. Some guy is rocking forth and back continuously. For once you could think he is a mental case. There are other three, with their heads bent very close to their knees.

“You don’t really look like a guy who would come to ‘meditate’ here.” His English is very polished. Unlike his shaggy hair and a very tight pair of denim. Or jeans, is it?

Ben nods, slowly.

“Neither do you say much.”

 He nods again, slowly.

“How can I be of assistance to you?”

Ben gestures the smoking sign. The guy shifts his gaze towards the back of a pub across the road. He looks at Ben and gestures with his head, they walk to the back almost simultaneously.

In a narrow corridor, Ben jumps over a puddle of urine. The air is densely humid. You can feel it as it hits the back of your throat. They stand next to a toppled rubbish bin. Some bony dogs look up then continue digging the dirt with little concern.

“How much do you have?”

Ben fishes out a five-hundred-shilling note. A transparent polythene bag full of rolled up ‘blunts’ appears from under his large t-shirt. Ben’s eyes widen. The guy gives him a black polythene bag which he uses to carry the goods. On his way back, he buys kales worth twenty shillings which he has no use for.

His steps are quick with this awkward smile which is half nervous. He can feel his palms sweat.

Ben looks at his blunt, smoke can be beautiful at times. A slender wavy line rises from his fingers. The way it coils upwards is very amazing. The abstract image it creates is a piece of wonder. He takes a good puff after another while his friends throw cheap jokes at him. Each concluding with, “There are many more ladies around.”

Matto and Denno begin a slapping contest. None of them seems to feel a thing as they smack each other’s faces. Somehow Matto figured it was very hot, he began peeling his clothes off. With a smile he says, “The higher you go, the cooler it becomes.” He scales the wall and somehow finds himself on the roof.

I can explain how all this happened.

 This is the Chinese character for weed. I mean Cannabis Sativa. Specifically hemp, which is a type of bhang which was cultivated as early as 3000 years ago in Taiwan. Bhang was also found in Egyptian pyramids dating to 950 BC. If this plant had been used in Kenya that early, then we would have a ‘tripped’ nation. Traces of this plant were found in pipes dug from Shakespeare’s garden.

‘Weed’ grows in different forms. There is even the one that won’t have an effect on you. The hemp is used to make fiber. In other words, you can smoke a sack and feel nothing, literally. How people get high or stupefied is a different matter altogether.

THC (tetrahydrocannabinol) chemical is responsible for most psychological effects. It attaches itself to Cannabinoid receptors in the brain then activates them. When this happens thinking, concentration, memory, movement, speech, time perception, pleasure and coordination are affected. The strain Cannabis Indica has a high concentration of CBD (cannabidiol) which blocks the effects of THC thus having a sedative effect. “Inatuliza kiupuzi” as my friend once put it. (It relaxes you in a stupefying manner).

Surprise! Bhang has a lower physical harm and dependence levels as compared to tobacco.  Given chance I would spoil you with all the scientific details. Since I am no scientist, I would appreciate if you got the joke in the last paragraph.

Either way, if people smoked weed in church, would they be appreciating the most high?

By Sad Poet.

THE THING ABOUT TWENTY-YEAR-OLDS.

I squint into the screen, YAWN, feel my stiff neck then close my big mouth. I chew nothing, if you know what I mean. I have been seated in the same spot for the last five hours; it comes with a shifting manner into different positions for a change. How about we talk of age mates?

You might walk by without notice but you won’t if he flashes the smile. He has the irritating-joker’s-intellectual face. He is 22, Ezekiel. I like opinionated individuals, he is one. He once said, “Being a twenty-year-old is a phase of self-discovery. We find ourselves only to lose ourselves to another. ” Last time I checked, I was lost myself.

Ezekiel keeps a tidy place; the kind that a lady can appreciate while it is still comfortable for a guy. There are fellows that keep an extremely neat place till it gets spooky. One that you silently ask, “Are you the one who cleans?” Many a times I have been in his company and we often sound like a debating club. If not that, a movie or music plays as I wander off in thought.

Severally, I have asked myself; when is the right time to pull the I-love-you card? For two decades of life, love seems real. Some play I-am-no-longer-a-teen while others deal with love-doesn’t-exist. With that dimpled blank face plus the hoaxing eyes, my friend dropped this one, “Most people of our age do not know what love is. They are simply in love with the idea of falling in love.”

“Have you felt love yourself?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Is she your woman now?”

“No. I haven’t found someone worth falling for here.”

Unlike the Richter scale; what scale is used to measure worth, surely, at this age? Do achievements to your name really count? I mean the academic ones? What about keeping a steady relationship? An older financially stable guy will do for most girls just as a faithful age mate settles a guy. Or is it principality and has to do with character to be judged by? Might it be having the kind of money to impress an adult on a pay-roll? Well those definitely won’t be answered today.

In my quest to answer the vital question; I am past twenty now, what next? I found myself sounding like a 39-year-old bachelor to my age mates. I sounded like an over-ambitious kid to a 46-year-old mother. I believed it is not yet time to take liquor alone at my place till I began writing. I only found clubbing irritating a girl walked into my face and kissed me. The problem was the brandy in her breath, a stranger for that matter. I am even afraid I possibly began dressing like a responsible married man.

Someone finds that boring, they have the right to do so.

My friend has an untouchable sense of balance. He has one too many accounts of spiritual adventure. You know the scary-prayer-warrior stuff though I have met several ladies who were quite taken by his charm. The devil’s nectar doesn’t feature among the fluids that go down his throat though. He never lacks an answer to anything, only, how girls do not know what they want, beats Guru Ezekiel hands down.  

I believe there is no proper way to carry out your age. It would really help if a random fellow came up with the formulae of being twenty. I strictly advise the non-involvement of parents in this competition because it often ends up with Wepukhulu wishing he had had a better childhood.

I would be wrong to hold a do-what-you-want rally. All I know is, in defining such persons the following things matter; FRIENDS, FUN, INDEPENDENCE, RESPONSIBILITY, CHANGE and GOD. Whatever you consider God to be. I guess I won’t be wrong to ask you to identify yourself. Not what I expect you to be.

My watch has a suggestive V, it reads 4.00 AM.  What were you thinking?

Sad Poet.

Anything read in this text is purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual situations or persons dead or alive is purely coincidental.

Especially you Eunice Bonita.

Bitch.

MEN AND OGLING.

If you’re a man and like staring too much you are in the right place. If you have been caught in the same act, still in the right place. Now, I won’t ask you to stop (I am not the bad guy) but I will teach you how not to get caught.

First of all, to make you feel better, you ought to get assured. Women ogle just as much, possibly more than men do. Whatever makes you think – rather assume – they don’t, is the fact that you haven’t caught them. Feel free to stick around and learn from me, Mr. Sad.

Here is a case study. I somewhat subjected some of my lady friends to long, hard suggestive glances. 

I got a smile. I got a frown then a smile. I also got the shy-look-away smile. Lorna, a girl from my class, has a life-changing ‘insurance-policy’ - if you know what I mean. Let me paint a complete picture; long hair, fairly dark complexion, a naive-and-teasing smile, long gorgeous legs and a figure to be insecure for. I couldn't overcome that mid-thigh-dress-temptation.

Whenever I asked my subject of experimentation what she felt, she smiled often, later calling me a pervert. In the light of decency, I certainly believe there is no word to describe a male slut. The good and the bad are alike. Lorna thinks I am a ‘man-whore’ – I don’t even know what it means.

A less hot couple meets a hot couple. They both stare at each other. The guys get caught. Usually the hot girl ‘bitches’ on her man. The hot guy has to apologize because women always win. If you win against your woman, you need to check your testosterone levels. On the other hand, the less hot woman gives her man a sharp scornful glance which speaks volumes. She doesn’t talk about it, she does nothing. Possibly because he is all she has.

Let me explain.

In the early civilizations, women and men had clear-cut roles. The man was to hunt and the woman was to gather. After the man brought the boar home, they roasted it and women supplemented it with apples, bananas and even guavas. As a result of these roles the man’s physique and psychology adjusted to hardships. The brain of the man trained his eye to lock onto a moving target. They developed a tunnel vision that picks on specifics. The women who were to take care of the caves and children, their minds trained their eyes to watch over a wide scope. You know, watch out for danger, keep an eye on the kids and pick as many fruits as possible in a short time.

Let’s bring it closer home. It takes longer for a man to pick jam out of the fridge than a woman. Reason being; the man looks for the word J-A-M on a specific container. The woman on the other hand, she knows all the blues might be milk, blue-band or butter. All the browns might be nuts, bread or cake. All the reds might be sauce, jam or pepper. The matching mechanism makes it easier to find jam among the items stacked fridge.

Back to ogling.

Women look in the general direction of their target. They pick out the colours and anything conspicuous. Later, by few seconds, the move in for details; height, chest, shoulders, face and arms. While all this happens, they keep an eye on their men so that they don’t follow their gaze. Men hardly notice this because they often are focused on something else. While walking, they possibly have a fifty-meter gaze towards the destination. While driving, maybe a cyclist, the yellow line or pedestrian.

The man will notice a woman they want to stare at in close range. They have to drop their gaze to that face, curve, rack or booty. Immediately they do this, the woman notices because of two reasons. One she is looking at her man or she was looking at the lady then checked her man’s gaze. By the time the guy focuses enough to appreciate a fine piece of the lady, he has been caught.

Now, that I know you won’t stop ogling, learn something from this article.  To the women, ogling is like a dog barking at a car, no matter how fast it chases, when the car stops it won’t do a thing. By all means, let him.

Greatness.

Dear brethren,

We are gathered here,

To commemorate the death of,

Thomas Joseph Odhiambo Mboya.

He was a great man, tell me how great?

Is being born of black skin in a sisal plantation great?

Does going to a missionary school make you great?

Is negotiating the independence of your country at the age of 31 great?

So what, it was out on the streets of Nairobi,

So what, he went to the pharmacy that afternoon,

So what, he never knew his day had come,

So what, he never even made it home?

If I come to praise Mboya, will I not mourn him?

Tell me why he died, tell me how young?

He died for another to rise, is that true?

Why not be a threat, like medicine to a sick authority?

If my freedom is limited by the proximity of a bullet in public,

I want to be great.

I want the BIG MAN to come after me,

For then I will know, I am great.

By Sad Poet.