Dear Beyonce Knowles Zee

Its been a while. In fact, its been ages. Some have pointed to the possibility that my beef with you is because you ended up with Gay Z and not me. That’s not true, I applaud your choice in collaborative partnerships. Others have suggested that I am hating on you because you are bootylicious and I am not. I have ha-ha-d those ones.

The simple fact is, me for me, I think they over gave you props. I liked Kelly better. Even when you tried to tell me mbu work it out, my eyes there for Kelly. Then you did the song bootylicious and I found myself listening. Taking note even. I didn’t like that. I was trying to get you out of my system and then you pulled that move on me. That wasn’t fair.

I won’t even go into the fact that you went and introduced a new word into the English Language. I am cool with that. Granted its not cool that your silly word made it into Oxford’s Big-ass dictionary and our “blogren” only features amongst us. I mean what the hell? Mbu you have money? For us we be here chillin’ with our communist ways, you you go and pay for them to put a word in the dictionary. How did Taata Beyonce take it? Me I know there are no those ones of Win School Fees in your Coca Cola side of life. A guy has to pay through his teeth to get an education for his own individual self and his ka-independent woman of a daughter. Then you go and repay him how, by coming up with some new word. ****! You’re not even funny.

But I let that go because you stopped saying those things in public. Atti, this is why I’m bootylicious ,mbu this is why you are not. Nuh’mean…Cummon, who the hell do you think you are? Have you seen Jessica Alba … as Susan Storm? Chic was invisible but she still got me thinking! Have you seen Angelina Jolie? Bambi, Poor chic is aging. .. But anyway, I was easy…

Then after that you went and did soldier with L’il Wayne, who in my opinion looks like he is trying to deal with constipation. Couldn’t you hire someone to pose as a rapper? Like Britney’s ex or Bobby Brown? You be there mbu hiring L’il Wayne.

Naye, As luck had it, at that time I went and fell HARD for Rihanna. That chic was Pon de replay of my emotions. She told me mbu I don’t mind dem haters, us for us We ride. And she was not a selfish girl, nga doesn’t she ask me, if its loving that I want, oba the music of the sun. But probably because of your influence, the ka poor Good girl’s gone bada, but still, she did Umbrella, N’ella… ella…eh eh, Omwana oli…she could sing Overcoat and I’d still Bring it back…

Now you try to introduce a new word, simanyi Freakum Dress…What the ****!!

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I now pronounce you; broke and confused

It probably started with some poser. Some dude or chic or whatever was sitting there, looked across the table and thought to himself, “self, why don’t I complicate life just a bit…” and suddenly without warning, or if there had in fact been any warning it went unheeded because of suddenness of its very nature, Wedding Meetings were all about the money. . . and the guilt thereafter. Allow me to break it down for you….

Before

In a very malicious move intended to kill the battery that finds solace within your mobile phone, a plethora of texts and calls make their way. The superfluous nature of which never for one second leads you to question the motives. And yet, you should.

The words that are used in the text for one are a tad suspect, “you are kindly invited…” Kindly? Hang on. Someone is doing me a favor? In my experience no good comes out of an invitation that comes my way in the middle of the week. Somehow something awry always occurs.

My brother (I’d like to send a shout out to ma bro!) told me recently that there are no Wedding Meetings held on Mondays. I highly doubt that. It is possible that the wonderful people that organize wedding meetings are yet to discover that there is in fact such a day, and when they do, the messages will read, “You are kindly invited to _______ wedding meeting…and yes, we know its Monday!”

The calls are a little different;

“Hullo, _____, how are you? Man I haven’t seen you since that time back then when it was soooo cold and I sacrificed my jacket / when you were so hungry I gave you the little I had / when you were so horny…. So anyway, I’m getting married….”

During

You find yourself attending the meeting, but somehow you fail to convince yourself that you are here of your own conviction. There’s a nagging feeling in the recesses of your mind that you have been suckered into being here. There’s also a shred of hope that Ashton Kutcher or a member of the Amarula Family will appear out of nowhere and scream “You got PUNKED!”…or “Banange Kiwani!” in the case of the Amarula chap.

That rarely happens, so you’re stuck in a fundraiser of sorts that will last between 2 hours and an eternity.

It would be absolutely alright if the wedding meeting was just that. A gathering of well wishers that are together for the sole purpose of wishing their pals (or blackmailers) well…not a committee that has been put together to recoup the money that was taken during the global fund saga… with extra!

The methodology employed is as diverse as it is lethal…phrases intended to coat the whole thing ring out, “ I will pay an extra 20 thousand shillings to see Ivan sing a Norah Jones Song” there’s some silence and if you look around and are the discerning sort, you will notice that there are shocked expressions sitting on people’s faces and they don’t want to leave…so you make amendments, “ I will pay an extra 200 thousand for Ivan to sing Come Away With Me.” Everyone cheers, your wallet/ bank account mourns and Ivan sings…unless of course Ivan is a tycoon, for then, Ivan gets off his seat and opens his mouth…not to sing, no… “I will pay double that to see you do the South African shuffle that has found its way to, among other places, Steak Out’s Rock Night!”

From time to time the mistake of carrying a “date” to these things has been known to occur with some sort of reckless abandon. Said date in all fairness doesn’t know any better and will keep nudging you, nagging even telling you, “Even you bid!!” That you hang out with people that say things like “even you” kind of sucks. Anyway, as a result of this action you will go broke and will suffer a fractured rib.

But as a consequence of your “selfless” giving, cheering and some hilarity ensue, but not enough to convince you that you really should be here. That it’s by some Divine intervention that you got here. That this is in fact the Purpose that drives your Purpose Driven Life.

There is the Christian approach to wedding meetings which seems to work a little better. You know it’s being employed when, after putting his beer down, the chairman says, “we are here to help our dear brother get some money to wed his wonderful (sister?) Sweetheart.” Then said brother also puts his drink down, suppresses a burp then stands (staggers?) up and waves (with a sheepish grin on his face). I usually lose interest around this part because of what some may call hypocrisy, so I don’t know what goes on after that…

After

You lie awake nights on end wondering why you did it. To be sure, you may have owed them your soul, but they preferred you settled in cash. That did kind of mess things up. You take some solace in the fact that they said the absentees would miss out on the cool thing that is a Stag Party… or some such thing. You come to realize that was a ploy as well, for everyone and their kids always turn up for stag parties. At no point is there some heavy set dude…or chic if you will turning people away saying, “you didn’t come for the wedding meeting, now go away!…hey! Hey…you’ve left this one here, this ten year old, mbu he is not ten? Yeah sure, it must be the haircut…Go away, you’ll come for the wedding”

If, on the other hand, you had the foresight to avoid the meeting entirely, you get a new set of calls and texts… “_______ can’t believe you’d do that, now you shall not come for his/her/its wedding. You Pig!”

…Today

I look back at years gone by, then months, then begrudgingly; weeks. And then, when I feel I have overcome the weeks, I look at days gone by. I don’t want to think that things have gradually deteriorated, that life could be better. I don’t want to have any regrets. Life is too short to be wasted on regrets….

I want to believe that today is better than yesterday.

That it brings with it more promise, more hope.

That the war in the North will end today.

I want to believe that the kid with the hole in his heart will receive the money he needs for that operation.

I need to be convinced that that adult will think twice before having his way with that 4 year old.

Why do I think I’m dumb for believing that this time round when funds are released to fight poverty, to fight the spread of diseases, people will have some money, that people will be healthy?

Today (s)he will take the wrap for something (s)he had no control over, something (s)he couldn’t have prevented. Today (s)he may lose her/his job. Yesterday was okay. Yesterday, (s)he went home tired, but hoping for a better day.

Today, a son will be lost, a brother, a father…a nephew, a cousin….it all looked good yesterday. There was no drunk driver yesterday. There was no burglary yesterday. There was no jilted lover, no malicious friend…no jealous person scheming…

Today, for no reason at all, a heart will be broken. It will mend eventually, but that won’t be happening today…

Today… today we will be judged on the basis of what a stack of papers say we are. We shall be weighed on a scale on whose opposite end will be transcripts, degrees, diplomas that shouldn’t really tell us much, but somehow they do, because being successful on the basis of one’s ability, the basis of what you can do and are good at, is so yesterday…

Today, more disappointment will rear its head. It didn’t look like that yesterday, but guess what, that day is gone; this one is still here…

Is it too much to ask that happiness sticks around for a bit? That it lasts. That with each passing day you don’t reach out for a yesterday? But open your eyes and smile knowing that today brings with it the promise of more… guess we do have to wait for tomorrow sometimes.

Today we will attempt to hold on to a shred of hope that everything will be okay. That after all is said and done a lot more will be done and not said. That promises will be kept, that the line that divides actions from words will fade. That when the words, “It will be okay” are uttered, it is actually going to be okay.

…uncalled and unasked for, the memory of yesterday beckons glowing bright and because today looks bleak and dull, I hold my hands out with the hope that somewhere out there, I will find a brighter tomorrow…

So I’m Grabbin’ My Hair And Tearin’ It Out

What she wore was blue,

It matched the mood,

A lump formed in a throat,

No emotion expressed,

But they knew…

ReinBo Flaffi Bani

And now a tale about my visit to the barber over the weekend… It goes without saying that no pictures will be posted.

Ever felt that your hair is getting unruly? That try as you might it just won’t look “kempt”? It takes on an appearance like there’s clusters on your head. I suppose this shouldn’t be a bad thing, but the society we live in seems to be big on hair. So I went to my barber; a guy that always makes me feel like I have forced him to postpone an appearance in a music video.

He dresses up like one of those hip hop types and fortunately doesn’t grow his nails to levels that suggest he may be one of those touchy types… you know the kind, long nails, a hint of a lisp and behaviour some may construe as gay…just some, you realize. In some parts of the world, its absolutely normal for a man to…. actually at some point even in some churches… moving right along.

So we get into some conversation over soccer. I’d like to state that there are some discussions you do not get into with people holding sharp objects to whom you have entrusted your “looks”. Soccer discussions happen to be at the top of the list. The other things usually pale in comparison. I was fortunate that he did not take offense to my suggestion (appalling in its very nature I now realize) that he was a Chelsea supporter.

Then the electricity went away. No one knows for sure where it goes during such occurrences, for you see, the power company justifies this action by telling us that people in other areas have been given our electricity for a bit, whereas said people claim to have absolutely no recollection of having seen our, or anybody else’s power in their locales.

Thanks to the miracle that is technology, power can be derived from a box. Not large amounts of power, just a little…enough to get an electric device going. The barber’s box however, a generator if you will, seemed to have a certain shyness about it at first. One I suspect it derived from suddenly being yanked out from under a seat. However after adapting to its new environs ( right in the middle of the path to the bathroom) it gained a new lease on life and roared some.

In hindsight, it appears, that’s what it did best, for it barely produced power. So little was the electricity, it couldn’t spark a conversation. However, I reckon it was just enough to power up the radio, where I’m sure the Barber keeps sound bytes if barber-y equipment in action. I came to this conclusion at that moment when he was attempting to trim my moustache and all I heard was the sound but experienced no cottage of follicles.

Without warning, the electricity returned from its stroll, and my haircut was concluded.

I glanced at myself and realized I was in dire need of something to get rid of razor bumps. I asked him for a recommendation and he said something that sounded like Bum patrol. Given that he had no long nails or a trace of a lisp, I can only assume that it was in fact Bump Patrol. That anyone would name a product thus makes no sense, then again nothing ever does…this piece serving as proof of that.

* SPOILER * This piece barely makes sense. Happy reading. * END Of SPOILER*

Dear Guy That Does The Budget Reading Thing

First off, do you have an Official Title? See, I want to type and all that, but it gets a little monotonous if I have to keep calling you Guy That Does The Budget Reading Thing. I’ll just call you “Dude”. Don’t get used to it though.

So anyway, what the hell is your problem? Keeping that silly airtime tax in there. Your predecessor threw it in there as some sick joke, and we have since given up hope on a sensible punch line. It’s just not funny.

The rationale at the time, assuming we can call it that, was that people seem to have fun “talking on their phones” hence he figured he “just had to tax that”. Are you kidding me?

Because of that s*** my thumb seems to have become a permanent fixture on the End Call Button. The one time I made a call with no qualms was…its so far back I can’t recall. And even then, I think I did it because I got high…

If you’re going to tax people, tax Roadside Preachers. They seem to be having the time of their lives. Seriously, I haven’t seen such dedication anywhere. Just the other day, the other hot sunny day, I saw one shouting away like there was no tomorrow. Which might have actually been the premise of his shouting…and sweating. Profusely… Like someone forgot to turn off the tap… I guess the leather jacket didn’t help….

Tax local artistes with bad songs. Nay, with bad music videos. Some of the stuff that is shown on our screens is so bad I want to pull my eyes out and then insert them in my palm and go out hanging and say Hi 5! Its nasty, I am sure if you asked them, they’d say something like, “But I need the money”… I don’t care. Dude, these artistes should come to you and show you their videos. If they make you gag, even a little, they should be taxed heavily before screening…and the artiste should be thrown into a cell some where.

Tax the dude that flips the switch at the power company. He is so adept at it, I’m certain he has a blast whilst doing it. Probably smirks and goes like, I has made takeoff, I has made comeback! The nature of his activities lead me to suspect that he doesn’t have time to pursue other interests… or work on his grammar.

See, I’ve been thinking, your job is quite thankless. I mean, how does it play out. Do you pull straws? Did you get the short straw? Were you like, er, Excuse me Mr. President. Only to have him say, sorry sucker. Ich Bin invite to Deutschland, ja!! I can’t see why on earth anyone in their right mind would deliver such bad news. Its at par with telling your headmaster he just stepped in dog s**t…. well no, not quite, but you see where I’m going yeah? You got a raw deal. If I were you, I wouldn’t take that stuff lying down…I’d be getting a move on every time they mentioned the word budget. And yet, year after year, you keep a straight face through it all like its some sort of ability.

because i got high

I’d like to state the obvious. I’m high. Which would mean, it’s understandable that some idiot went like, How High are you instead of Hi, how are you? This actually makes sense when you say it out loud instead of just reading it. Its one of those puns we look back upon and feel embarrassed we actually used in our posts.

Anywho, just got back from Rock Night which was fun, as you can imagine. There was an instance of some dude screaming at some point where Avril Lavigne was talking or singing about some jilted girlfriend. It was declared the gayest moment of the night, but we moved on.

Its been an incredible night nonetheless. And this is where I get cryptic. There’s about four or so bloggers that will pick up on this, not so much because they are incredibly adept at discerning things, but because I’ve gushed quite a bit. This is me saying I’ve had an incredible two weeks and if it was in me to name names, I’d be more specific. It might be the alcohol, if its not, this post will remain, if it is, well I’ll delete it.

Cheers and thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Thing about blogging, you say stuff and everybody wants to discern what you’re going on about. As luck would have it, save for the few that know. The one that counts knows what I’m talking about when I say cheers _ _ _tums! You rock more than I care to give you credit for… and the only reason I’m using that name you hate so much is to try to underscore just how much I like you.

I has made comeback

I have been dreading this. The return to the Blogosphere.I really wish I had a great excuse for the absence. I do, actually. And as far as excuses go, this one is great. Won’t get into it though, not really my style.

While I was away, Ernest introduced me to Lolcats. Its, by his definition, this phenom that has swept the states like a craze involving pix of cats and silly captions…and very bad grammar. In fact, that is one of the reasons I have abstained from blogging for a bit. I was actually afraid that my grammar had been tainted…

Joshi is bringing back his Askari tales, and how awesome is that? There’s some inspiration in there somewhat. I want to make money so bad; I am without a fitting idiom. That’s just how bad it’s gotten.

There is an advert that’s been running in the press lately. It’s a loan thingy from Barclays and then there’s a lingering question, “What would you do with it?”. I’m sorry Barclays, but I cannot tell you that. Why don’t you just give me the money without the questions? I imagine the transaction will go thus;

Me: I saw your ad in the paper.
They: So you want a loan? Of 20 million? Like in our advert?
Me: Uh, yes. Actually. I just want money. It doesn’t need to be 20 million. I just want to “be around”
They: Of course. Now sign here and answer me this….What will you do with it?
Me: Huh?
They: But surely, you musta seen it coming. Its in the advert.
Me: I just thought it was part of the creative process.
They: Creative what? Anyway, what do you want to be around for?
Me: I just want to have some money on me, you know, so when my friends are buying airtime I can also pull out my money and say “Boy, bring me airtime of 100,000/= also.” I want to be able to pay for my fare in the taxi. I’m tired of that deal I have to make with the taxi conductor where I sit on him and I don’t have to pay…
They: You…you sit on the conductor?
Me: Times are hard…

The other day I picked up Grey’s Anatomy which we all know is a chic series…which is why I didn’t pick it up for myself. So, she borrows it, yeah, and then she says that its 24. That was funny on very many levels. I hate 24. Then again, I reasoned, as I have been known to, that it was Grey’s 24 Hour Anatomy. Then I was asked to shut up.

Bought a new housing for my phone. It gives the false impression that I have in fact purchased a new phone. Until the battery bars drop dramatically from full to zilch. I suspect they move to someone else’s phone, because everyone else seems to have full batteries. And they say shit like, “ That’s odd, I could have sworn I had no more battery “power”…Ivan, is your phone still donating battery?”
I have network though, loads of it. In fact, I am tempted to think that my battery never is charged but what I see is in fact the network bars as they are touring the edges of my screen.

Speaking of screens, this paragraph has been added in an attempt to pass time. I was tired of looking at the screen and then it hit me. This is not going anywhere. The page is still loading. Taking its sweet time, the page is.

I have come to accept that life is too short to wallow in self pity and all. Rather, look back, smile as you remember the good stuff. And if numbers make sense….here’s looking at you.