My Dearest and My Most Beloved Friend Doris,

Jaherana, if all that I have said and done and yet to say and do, have not convinced you of the immense love I have for you. If all the letters I have written and all that went unread but I still write… If all these things I endure for the sake of you and I to exist… Then my Doris I have nothing more to offer!

My house help comes twice a week to cook and do the cleaning – That is Wednesdays and Saturdays! I picked those two days because city council water is opened for Madaraka residents on those days! If she would show up on a different day we would run out of water! She comes in at around 8am. On some Wednesdays, she gets there after I have already left for work.

This next part is very important and it is the backbone to this letter!

Normally when this happens, I leave for her wages on top of the microwave and some money to buy food for cooking! Now listen very carefully, if she comes and does not find this money at the usual spot, it has all sorts of major implications on my life! This is one of them:

It is Thursday today… This means she was at my house yesterday! I forgot to leave her money on top of the microwave. Actually, I didn’t forget, I didn’t have it!

She sends me a text, “Wewe pesa?!” I do not respond. She sends another, “Please call me thank you. Join, Save and Stand a chance to win on Fanikisha Na M-Shwari!” I ignore again. I did not know if she wanted me to leave my office, seven roundabouts away and bring her the money because by now she should have already deduced that I didn’t have money on Mpesa either – If I did, I would have suggested I send it!

Long story short, I did not send the money! So she didn’t cook… If she doesn’t cook, I have to go buy myself greedy fast food, but because I work till 11pm, the only fast food open at that time being the chicken choma joint at Nairobi West Mall!

I spot a lot of cops in Nairobi West. Way more than usual. I meet like 6 walking together near National Oil… Then another four up the road… My gut advised me to leave the place and just go home… But my gut was the same hungry idiot! So I march on!

I find 3 Black Marias just outside Nairobi West Mall. I stupidly thought to myself that maybe cops came out to have a drink! Oh Black Marias are those huge lorries cops roll with!

When I was turning into the parking lot, which was almost empty, one of the lorry drivers spat with  terrible sarcasm taste, “Kijana umeona parking hapo!?” I was confused for a second or two because I was actually looking at a free spot when he asked that!

I parked my car on the opposite side of the road on a pavement and went to my kuku choma guy, Obama!

As I waked in, I saw about 12 armed cops walk into the ‘mall’! Trust me, beyond this point, I was sure I needed to leave that place, but I needed new material for Doris, so I stayed on!

“Choma half!” I tell Obama who is visibly shaken!

About 3 minutes later, like 50 guys were led out of the mall… Then about 20 people… This went on until there was absolutely no one! No one except Obama, his assistant and I!

“Maze wamesafisha hata machoo… Kila msee amebebwa!” Obama’s assistant narrated in a whisper! “Wamekam na Cadillac tatu!” (Cadillac, I later learnt, was what he called the Black Marias)

As he spoke two cops were walking right behind us! I was sure we were going to be taken away by these two! My heart was racing! I tried to look like it is only chicken I came for… There is not specific look for, ‘it is only chicken I came for!’ The two cops stood right behind me! I could feel them look at me… But I couldn’t look at them because that is how people get arrested by Kenyan cops sometimes… Staring at the wrong damn time man!

Obama, his assistant and I were completely quiet for a bit… So were the cops… The ground beneath my feet felt cold… I felt a strong urge to urinate my pants! Everything was quiet except the sizzling chicken on the grill! Obama was busy grilling that chicken even though it was so clear it was ready! The thing was burning!

A man shouting, “You cannot arrest me! I am here waiting for a taxi!” Broke the silence! I turned my head to witness the hottest life threatening slap land on the man’s face. The guy was big, way past healthy size! His shirt was untucked and two buttons undone! He wore a pale pink shirt and shiny fray pants that shone in the night… Shiny fabric is cheap fabric! He held his laptop bag with both hands even though it had a sling! He was clearly not ready to leave wherever he was… After he was slapped, he majestically walked to the Black Maria! Like he wasn’t slapped!

The two cops were still behind us…

“Wewe unakaa malaya!” One cop said. His voice was rough like honey had never passed through his larynx his entire life!

Male+Prostitute_ef26b7_3957419Every raised their heads (every being Obama, his assistant and I)! For a split second I was sure the cop was talking to a skimpily dressed female human! His gun was pointed at me!! Nothing made sense for the next few milliseconds until he repeated himself! “Wewe unakaa malaya!” The man pointing right at me! Obama’s assistant couldn’t take it… He burst out laughing!

“Wewe twende!” The same judging cop told him and led him away! Obama and I were left so confused. The chicken he was making was now black and crisp! He removes another one from a bucket and starts over!

The cops leave with three full Cadillacs!

“Mara ya pili this week wame sweep wasee hivyo! Ebu nikumalizia nikwatowe staff wetu!” Obama says!

Driving home, I kept looking at myself, trying to figure out what made that cop think I look like a prostitute! I was completely and decently clothed, my hair was real (if I had any), my nails were not a shade of deep red and neither were my lips and I didn’t raise one leg in the air to show my private parts! I didn’t have on white patent leather boots that rode up to my thighs… And I wasn’t chewing gum disgustingly! I didn’t even have my legs covered in those fish net things!

Oh well… I guess we will never know!


Two hundred shot!

*This is for Pooh*

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Posted by on April 3, 2014 in comedy


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My Doris,

My beautiful Doris, I love you without knowing how I am doing it! I find myself loving you with every myogenic muscle of my heart… I do not know when I am loving you… I have no clue how not loving you feels… I do not fathom how these floods of emotions get to me! Honestly speaking… From the bottom of my heart… I have no clue how not to love you… Come to me and let me smother you with love!

I write to you because I have missed you… With every word I write I imagine the reaction engulfing your face with every word you read… I want you to get more and more excited with every single paragraph… To get excited to the point where you have to stop and catch your breath at some point… But a part of me tells me you didn’t even tear open the envelope!

I was thinking about what to write about this morning… And like most times, I had nothing! Until I remembered BOOTLEGGERS!

Bootleggers is a club in Kisumu. Can you already feel the adrenaline? Ok, maybe not! After driving around Kisumu one Thursday night we decided to try out Bootleggers before we completely gave up on the dead Thursday night scene Kisumu offers! It is quite evident ‘Bendover Thursdays’ didn’t spill out of Nairobi and to the shores of Nam Lolwe…

On that particular night, Kisumu was completely asleep… Except for the random guy riding his bicycle in the dead of the night carrying a large woman who had her hands round him like he had jut promised her the world… I know the woman was very close to the man. Ignoring completely the way she dangerously embraced the man, her left cheek was errorlessly laid upon the rider’s back! Like she was asleep… She finally gets to lay her head on her lover after a long day at the Oile Market! The mud guard of the bicycle written poetically, ‘Mapenzi bila jaso’ The perfect love story.

We get to Bootleggers and it felt like it was on a different time zone! The place was pregnant with human beings uncontrollably pouring out of the tiny entrance… Young slender girls wearing tiny white shorts and knee-high boots and cowboy hats had tequila bottles in holsters around their waists. I see these ones everywhere! Whose idea was this?

We get in and the place was wild…

Let me explain, Nairobi women dance… But Kisumu women GET DOWN!!! And it is alllll of them! It was like walking into a shoal of dancers! A few steps into the club and there, right there, on the floor, was a woman dancing on her hands, being wheelbarrowed by a dreadlocked man in red Timberland boots… Not too far from her was another woman atop the shoulders of another man… I am just trying to say that the place was a zoo…

The DJ was a wide Luo man definitely of Jamaican decent or wished so hard to be… He uttered meaningless words that got the crowd soooo pumped up! He would go like, “Anadi quagmaya, an di dimpling… And di boombooclat rasta… PWOOO PWOOO!” And the crowd would go like, “PWWWOO PWWOOO!”

All of us get a table right in the middle of all the conundrum. Every now and then an ass would hit my head… I wouldn’t complain though!

Totally out of topic: There is a breed of women in wielding big buttocks called ‘Socialites’. If whoever knighted them would by any chance travel to Nyanza, a huge ass percentage would automatically be knighted as such… See what I did there? huge ass percentage? Oh forget it!

Back to my tale!

I notice two women seated at the bar… One large and the other almost half her size. They were extremely conspicuous! Everyone was vigorously dancing, a calm should would stand out like the devil in a cloud of angels!

Let me explain my dilemma… I like big women but the small woman was wayyyy prettier! I am blind, so before I make a move I decide to take a wing-man with me.

We walk to the women and my wingman quickly picks the big girl, which I had no problem with… Let me explain why!

The big girl was ‘big’ which gave her like 44%. But that was it. She wore an avocado green blouse… I hate everything to do with avocados! She was wearing those denim pants with rips across the thighs. And because she was really big, she poured out of them. It didn’t look nice… I like neat and rips do not excite me! Then she could not shut the hell up… For a human being who speaks from the top of her lungs, it was the last trait I expected. Imagine a woman who talks REALLLY LOUD… NON STOP! Then last but definitely not least, she had a mole under her chin that could set off a metal detector!

The tiny one on the other hand was quiet… She wore a white vest and an Ankara pencil skirt… At least some art in her! She covered her shoulders with her black jacket… She hadn’t worn the jacket… She just placed it on her shoulders… So divine! She had her arms crossed which is a terrible sign…

I get her talking. In half an hour, I learn she is a farmer (WHICH WAS TOTAL BOLLOCKS BECAUSE HER EQUITY BANK NAME TAG WAS STILL ROUND HER EFIN NECK) But then again she might have been… She farms strawberries…. (TOTAL EFIN BOLLOCKS) or maybe she did! She is drinking white wine. Drinking white wine like it is Dextrosalt! She had 3 glasses in half an hour… Good thing is I got here laughing! Marilyn Monroe says, “If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything!”, so I go for the total clown… The harder she laughs the closer I am yes?

Maybe this is how the Strawberry Farmer saw me in there!

Maybe this is how the Strawberry Farmer saw me in there!

Wait! Did I mention I had chicken tikka for dinner on that day? And I am totally lactose intolerant? And chicken tikka has like loads of yoghurt? Well, if not then this here is the twist!

My tummy at this moment is rumbling out of control and it was getting hard to differentiate the need to pee and the dire need to shit! That is when you know shits hitting the fan!

I excuse myself… I am in the toilet… I have my projectile pointed at the urinal but I am scared to piss… Because I feel things move inside me withe the slightest release of my bladdular muscles! Taking a piss was risking way too much… So I decide to do it… Take a shit in the club… NEVER TAKE A SHIT IN THE CLUB!!!

I take like 5 minutes immaculately layering tissue paper on the toilet seat because no one knows what diseases lurk on that clay… You might catch a cold… Or worse, a cough!

I am seated doing my thing… Going through Instagram on my phone… My small bro comes to check on me because I told him I had a bad tummy…

Then guess what…

Wait: Did I mention the toilet doesn’t have a lock!? If not then here is a twist…

The door flung open almost sending it off its hinges and there stood The Strawberry Farmer! Looking straight into my innocent eyes… She stood there for a second, which is a second too long for this particular situation… And she got in right in the middle of a good push… My life, as I knew it then, was finished!

The farmer does not even apologise!

I stay food a bit longer… My almost full Heineken is erect next to her glass of wine… I was torn between getting that one and buying a new one…

Life as we know it, is really short… People have to take risks… So I go and take my beer… The farmer wouldn’t even look at me… Like instead of shitting, she coughs strawberries…

I think I really shocked her… But then again, what was she doing in the men’s? Oh shit… Was she a man?

I am sorry about the title. How else would I have gotten your attention?!

P.S: Have you voted for Dear Doris for Blog Awards Kenya today? Dear Doris was nominated for Best Creative Blog & Best Blog of the Year 2014. Please vote for me us here:

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Posted by on March 27, 2014 in near death, women tales


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My Lovely Doris,

Woman, so experts say I have to write to you more often to stand a chance winning this thing at all… Tricky bit is, I have to be riddled with misfortunes to make this happen… I never have flowery stories that are full of love, cars and money and chapati to write…

How are you my love? A little birdy told me you are having pains on our thigh… I hope you are alright now. Why are you having pains on your thigh? Is it another man my love… Do your thighs hurt from the… You know what, forget it… I do not have much to say today, but I will say it either way!

As I write this, two of my colleagues are arguing about man visiting Mars… It is funny!

Because nothing dramatic has happened to me since my last letter, I will have to dig something from the past… And what greater period exists than Barding? If you have been reading this blog you definitely know Barding… This is the high school I went to… A forest and a great hill away from Kogelo… That is far… No water or electricity with bedbugs the size of a medium sized Dell mouse! Ok I am lying about the size of the bedbugs, they might have been a bit bigger! This letter is not about the school though, you can read more under the Barding Tales category.

I think I was in form three and we had just gone for an outing… In the middle of Luo land we called them outings… Not funkees… Did I even spell that right?! An outing was exactly what the name depicts, a day out of the penitentiary! We didn’t have a bus, so the school hired a van… This made more that 20 people leave the school at the same time a bit tricky… The school could afford only one van at a time… UNLESS the team being sent out was extremely promising…

Where was I? Yes, outing!

We had gone to Ng’iya girls, which was absolute heaven really… The smartest girls in the district! Smart and pretty… Naive teenage girls running all over the place in blue skirts and white shirts. Giggling like piglets… Some donning magnificent red sweaters… Whats that bird that shows off its red chest when ready for mating? Yes…

We had gone for a basketball tournament! Not with the girls… With boy schools from the region… Our school was not the best basketball team in the area though… I think we lost every game we played that day! In fact I am sute we lost every game we played! This is not the best for one’s PR, considering one had to mingle after the games… Failure is never good for PR! If you add the fact that back at school, water is scarce and might have skived bathing… Well, you can tell where that is going!


The games are done… I change into uniform (green trousers, blue shirt, green tie, green sweater and black shoes) I think I looked way better in this that lime green basketball jersey with brilliant red stripes on the side!

In my smart casual wear, I scan the grounds for potential candidates… I am looking for light skin (shows dirt easy), big bones (they have big hearts), long hair, short nails, probably holding a book (plus points if it is Abott Physics), donning a wrist watch (a woman who takes her time very seriously), and in sandals (Bata slippers – i like feet. Plus point if they are red to match her sweater! Blue skirt and blue Bata slippers is just too much blue!)

This was taken on the exact day this happened... Can you see Ng'iya girls in blue skirts at the back? Can you see me seated... Stressed? Then can you see the girl on the top right? Soooo funny!

This was taken on the exact day this happened… Can you see Ng’iya girls in blue skirts at the back? Can you see me seated… Stressed? Then can you see the girl on the top right? Soooo funny!

It is near impossible to find all these in a woman… I mean girl… So I end up going for the one with most checked boxes!

She is easily the lightest girl in the school, tall and pretty. She was a Mwarabu… She was intelligent… How did I know you ask… Well, like I have said before, there is something intelligence does to a face… It can’t be explained but THERE IS SOMETHING! Her Mwarabu hair was long and lustrous, dark brown and played on her back in brilliant curls. She was not big boned though… But who cares?! Her arms were tiny and her body matched. She had a wrist watch and held a novel… Can’t remember the title… She was the candidate! Her toes sat prettily in Bata slippers… SHE WAS DEFINITELY THE POTENTIAL CANDIDATE…

The hour was late and we were almost being called to get into the van back to Barding so your game had to be short and calculated… She had a wrist watch so she should was able to understand how critical time was… Here is how to be short and precise… You have to be extremely disciplined. You have to make her have you on her mind as often as possible… ONE: Introduce yourself (My english has always been impeccable so this part was a walk in the park). TWO: Compliment (Tell her how extremely pretty you think she is… Look into her eyes… Women tend to think you are being honest when you look into their eyes (-: ). THREE: Fast Forward conversation (Tell her how you would have loved to stay and chat for longer… Tell her next time you will make more time… Then pray y’all are called back to the van) If not, FOUR: Make her laugh! When you get to school, write!

I walk up to her and introduce myself, “Ian is my name, what’s yours?” My heart is pounding so hard at this point I am almost swallowing my lungs!

“I know! Khadija!” She says. This is a thorough set back because I have to ask her how she knows, which IS NOT IN MY PLAN!!! *Khadija might or might not be her real name by the way*

“You do? How now? I will totally understand if it’s from all the fame we have gained from losing all our games today?” I say… The next sentence already cooking in my head… She giggles… SHE GIGGLES! Khadija is giggling… I do multiple somersaults in my head… complete with a split!

At this moment, I can see Barding boys running towards the van… Which was good for business…

“You are famous…” she started but she never got to finish her statement… Something made her stop talking… Her Mwarabu big eyes reduced to judging slits!

I notice her eyes dart to my collar then back to my eyes… It was so fast I almost missed it… You know when you are talking to someone and there’s something wrong with a part of their face and your eyes keep darting to that part… EXACTLY! Then she did it again… I caught her line of vision this time…

TO MY FUCKIN’ HORROR! I caught sight of a very courageous bedbug stroll out of the fold of my collar… I tried flicking the thing and missed… Now, bedbugs are very fast even faster when their lives are in danger… The thing scampered with unbelievable speed and got into my shirt through a button hole…

If you are waiting to hear what happened with Khadija then you have no idea how big a bedbug is… I lost myself going for that insect that I didn’t notice Khadija walk away! Fast…

Now, that darn bedbug set me back a few quantums back but I got Khadija… Took like a year!

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10 Reasons Why I Hate Lupita

My Lovely Doris,

I am happy today! Even if you haven’t replied any of my 265 letters that I have sent you since you left… I can’t be bothered by your ill manners… I can’t be bothered at all! But that does not mean I have stopped loving you, even though you have given me every reason to! Mine for you will always be endless love… I will swim the.. I take that back… I will just drive to wherever you are!

Oh, and who hates Lupita… Who could possibly not like her? I might just change my women preference to dark skinned tiny girls with Oscars in Nairobi Blue Dresses. YOU GO Lupita! If by any chance you are reading this, you should audition for Storm in the next Xmen – You would be brilliant flying around emitting lightning from your eyes. Congratulations you beautiful woman!

In less depressing news, I fell from a chair the other day!

I was at my parents house in Kileleshwa for dinner! My parents have a lot of church meetings at the house and I walked right in to one!

Long story short, I end up in the kitchen. If your deduction of situations is of any worth you should have probably guessed there was a lot of food… Visitors and food most of the time go together… Look at funerals and weddings… Both extremes are covered!

I get a plastic chair in the kitchen and after warming 3 chapatis, rice and chicken, I set my buttocks immaculately on the plastic seat! 6 people in the kitchen and not a single one was sitting on it should have been the first sign! I felt one leg struggle to hold my weight… which could pass for no weight at all! I clenched them just a bit… Does that happen to you? When the chair you are sitting on almost gives in to your weight? Like you clench your buttocks just a bit? Does it? It is almost like your brain automatically readies your body for a fall… But that is not my story… I am sure you can find that in a science book… Maybe Abott Physics!

Where was I?

Yes, I set my buttock immaculately on the plastic seat and commenced on through discombobulation of the fowl and grain on my plate!

I had my laptop bag (It is 100 ox leather and it contains a MacBook Pro – Read jaluo!)! I placed this on my lap and my food onto of it… If you are any good in physics, you have probably deduced that my COG (centre of gravity) is on my shoulder! This is terrible for balance!

Whatever happened in the next 3 seconds is a blur! Not a blur really… I remember every micro-second of it… I just felt like the sentence, ‘whatever happened in the next 3 seconds -’ should end with, ‘was a blur’!

One leg gave in to my weight and broke… I clenched my buttocks… My plate was thrown violently into the air! I held half a half eaten chapati on one hand that my brain couldn’t let me let go of! My computer… Where was my computer!?

I saw pieces of fowl get flung into mid-air… Have you watched Gravity? The way Sandra Bullock is thrown into nothingness? Yes… Now just interchange that with chicken thigh and breast!!

I can’t remember hitting the floor, but I can remember being on the floor with rice all over my face!

I couldn’t find my glasses and 3 women and 3 men stood around me! Looking! No one trying to help me up…

The floor was warm… I spotted the fowl’s thigh under the fridge. Rice was all over the floor. My computer was outside its ox bag… I mean my MacBook Pro was outside the bag. But the chapati was still held tight in my grip…

Amos, our Master Chef, wanted to laugh so badly! A few seconds ago he was showering me with praises, saying how great I was and the next I was on the floor with a chapati in my hand and rice on my face!

I got up slowly and walked out of the house using the back door… My brain wasn’t working very well so I answered a fake call… I do not understand why… I think it’s because I hit my head on the freezer!

Amos is telling people I cried… This is also to let the world know that I didn’t cry! Big boys don’t cry!

I finished my chapati by the way!


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Thank You!




Posted by on March 6, 2014 in comedy


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Dear Doris,

Just shut up and listen…

It is Tuesday… The following takes place between Friday 2am and Monday 4pm…

I was driving home a tad tipsy Friday morning at about 2am following every detail I taught you on my letter, HOW TO DRIVE HOME DRUNK. I was driving in the middle of the road and all…

When I got to Madaraka roundabout, I was stopped by cops…

Now you see we had talked about this earlier in the club… If you see cops… Reverse… ESCAPE! This is a tad difficult with 10 cars or so behind you! So I stop..

“Kijana toka toka toka… Leo ni leo… Toka…” A cop sermons me out of the car… You see, I was not drunk… But I was far from sober! I am guided to the bonnet of a cop land rover where a second cop handed me something I was supposed to make sure hadn’t been tampered with… Then he asks me to unwrap it.. It was a nozzle for the alcoblow… He fixes it to the machine and asks me to blow… I hadn’t had much to drink so I was sure I was safe… So I blow…

Let me explain… A reading of 0.35 and below is the legal limit… Before I was even done blowing into the thing, mine was at 0.52… By the time I was done, it was 0.57… I was an aspiring criminal!

Now you see, these people can always be bribed… I think I had 800 bob that I was extremely willing to give these guys… Plus my house was just around the corner… I do not encourage corruption, but if the time is 2am in the morning and there is a possibility you will spend the night in a police cell, the law can be revised a little.

I was held by the back of my pants and thrown into the land rover…

“Boss…. Cheki… nina soo nane!?” I whisper just before he lets go…The man CLEARLY didn’t know the code of secrets… WHISPER!

“Hio weka uongeze 19,200 ufike bail… Unalala ndani…” He shouts back! The arrogance in his voice was above optimum average… This one couldn’t be bought… Which by the way is a good thing… If it is like daytime… IT WAS 2am…

My phone battery at the time was at 12%… That on an android OS means 7 minutes or less…

I call my brother… He doesn’t pick up….

I call a cousin… Doesn’t pick up…

“Boss, usimalize moto… Niko na plan… Pigia hii number… Ni bro wangu… Ni military police…” The guy next to me says… He was completely drunk and couldn’t shut up… He was very stubborn and kept throwing insults at the cops…

“Salary ya 15,000 ndio maana mumejam hivi. Si mungehanda wa Westgate hivi viserious pia!” He muttered!

“Kwani nilinunua pombe na pesa ya nyanyako…” He told one cop who got so pissed that he handcuffed him… TO ME! I was quite silent… Shaking my ass off from cold and extreme fear! Then by some miracle I get to my brother and cousin who both come to where I was…

After about an hour or so, the land rover was bursting with sponges.Every one of them trying to convince the police that they had not taken much! The place reeked of booze… The man next to me kept on tagging on the handcuffs that got tighter by his every stupid move… If he was any smaller, I would have strangled him with the cuffs!

“Tukikojolea hii pingu itatokana…” he suggested!

The last guy to be thrown into the land rover was apparently KDF… He had the temper of a praying mantis! He was fighting everyone… He hit the cops and hit the drunkards… Then a female cop said to him, “Tulia we mlevi…”

He punched her so hard on the face… “Ananiua… Ananiua….” The cop yelped… The KDF guy too was then handcuffed to the bars in the land rover!

I kept on calling my brother and cousin to make sure they were onto of things and I was not going to sleep in a police cell… Their tones were quite convincing so I calmed down and so did my phone… As in it died…

We were driven to Muthaiga Police Station… This fat guy kept on telling people the way his dad could fix the situation and all of us would be set free before we even got to where we were going… I think his dad played quidich!

We were matched into the police station and our names recorded!

Do you know how difficult it is to deal with drunkards??? People kept on giving wrong names… Others got violent… Others broke down!

I needed to take a piss… So I asked the nearest cop… This was not a good idea… I was handcuffed from the back and shown to the latrines…

Now let me explain… Men need both hands to undertake this natural act… If not both, then AT LEAST, one hand… Now, with both my hands cuffed at the back, I couldn’t even get my zipper… So I just stood there for a while then went back inside… My bladder was going to explode…

Everyone was then thrown in a dark room… I could feel the dumpiness of the concrete beneath my feet… Do you know how you can tell piss when you step on it? The viscosity of urine cannot be compared to any liquid… Then the smell… Unless someone poured a considerable amount of ammonia on the floor, I couldn’t be convinced otherwise!

Funny thing is, we were thrown in with all our possessions. Nothing was taken from us… You know how belts and shoe laces should always be taken away?! NOTHING! I mean, someone could have easily carried a knife or a gun… or a dildo! How can you lock 100 men in a dark room and don’t check their pockets… This fact will be useful in a bit!

I walked till the end of the room until I could feel the wall… Then I turned my back agains the wall…

Let me describe the room… The place was so dark I could barely see the human standing next to me. It wasn’t a big room… Bit it was divided into three cubicles… One had criminals… The next DUIs and the third was the shitter… It was from the third room that urine made its way neatly into the other two rooms… Mosquitoes fat with malaria buzzed all over the place… I completely ignored the possibility of bedbugs and lice!

On my way to the end of the room, I felt someone reaching into my pocket… I HOPE IT WAS FOR MY POCKET! So when I got to the wall, I took out my phone and wallet and shoved them into my boxers then crossed my legs!!! This, I now see, was not a great idea.. But it worked…

This was me on TV in court... See the fear in my face?!

This was me (guy in burgandy) on TV in court… See the fear in my face?!

Again, anyone could have carried anything… So two men lit up a blunt and smoked away… Another man lit a cigarette and in no time the whole place was a cloud of cancer! The ventilation was pathetic… Tiny openings near the roof fed the tiny cell with oxygen!

I got really tired of standing with my legs crossed so I decided to sit… This was not a good idea either… Sitting on concrete laminated in urine is not a party… But I needed to sit!

I couldn’t sleep though… The men standing next to me were talking in a language I couldn’t understand… In my head they were saying,”Let me hold him from the front as you take him from the back… The we switch!” I was WIDE AWAKE!

At about 5, four guys were taken out… Maybe for the guillotines, I do not know!

I make friends… Drunkards make cool friends…

I heard my name being called out at about 6:30am… The sun was out and men lay asleep… On fuckin piss!

I was free… With a cash bail of 20,000/- and a court date…


I was ordered to appear before the Chief Magistrate Millimani Court on Monday at 8am!

I called a c few people to check how much the fine was and the process… For everyone I called I got a different answer…

The first person I called was Alexander Muge’s cousin who is some big cop… “The fine will not be anything above 30,000/-. Make sure you go with someone who will pay it for you…”

Second person: “100,000! But I can help you… I could make your case file disappear!”

Third person: “Last week guys paid 60,000/=”

Fourth: “Your cash bail will be used… So 20,000/=”

Fifth: “6 months in prison! I heard they want to teach DUIs a lesson!”

Sixth: “It can be 500 or 100,000… I suggest you get 100,000 to be safe…”

As you can see, this was thoroughly confusing!

So I did my averages and got myself 80,000 and prayed… I was in court by 7am… Like the good citizen I am! We were not let in until 7:30am…

DUIs were to appear in courtroom 9… When I got there, we were told that we were too many and our files were not ready… The man advised us to go for breakfast and come back at 11am… I didn’t leave… I sat there and waited till 11am…

WE WERE MANY! Easily 300 people… The courtroom was full… The smell of sweat was the anthem… The media was present… Cameras flashed light every second… I felt like Lady Gaga for a while…

So because of our numbers, a register was called out… The judge called out every single one on that list… All you had to do was respond, “Present you Honour!” If the judge called out your name twice with no answer, a warranty of arrest was immediately issued…

After everyone was called, the judge asked if we were all guilty to which everyone shouted, “YESSSS YOUR HONOUR!”

Then everyone was given a chance for mitigation… The stories were hilarious…

Story one: “Afande mimi sikukunywa hata mingi… Lakini nakubali mashtaka…Niko na mtoto… Tafadhali nionee huruma!”

Story two: ” I only took two WHite Caps… I have since switched to juice. Si hats lie ya delmonte in aka bombe bombe!!”

Story three: “Your honour, me just tell me today how many bottles of beer I should drink so that next time I am here, I say you gave me permission!”

And many more….

The judge was so amused and decided to fine most of us 20,000/= So our cash bail money was used as fine money… This was a long process…

I left the court of law at 4pm a free man! I went home and bought myself nice things… Like chips and sausages…

Now that I have been in JAIL; I am working on my first rap album!


Posted by on February 4, 2014 in comedy, my car, near death


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Dear Doris,

I am extremely exhausted… It has been a really long week… Wait, why the hell do people say, ‘it has been a long week?’ when we all know every week has 7 days? I mean, if you had two Mondays in yours then you would have ground to say how LOOONG your week was!

I have a really hot story but I am too tired to type it out right now… Maybe in two days! But not now… But fear not… This man, @magungawilliams, asked me if he could write to you… And I said yes… I am here letting another man entertain my woman… That is extremely sad… But I am too tired to care! Plus his handwriting is wayyyyy worse than mine… And I believe I am taller… My spelling is worse though… I have gone through his letter and deliberately messed with the spellings of ten words… I like being at the top…

He says:

Dear Doris,

We have not made each other’s acquaintance, so it would be polite to manage the pleasantries between strangers. My name is Magunga, at least that is how creative my mother can get. I am one foot shy of a standard Mandingo, my mass clocks at 80 kgs when am hungry and people say God spilled milkless coffee on me on creation. But the truth is, Doris, that I was born on a stretcher (a testament to my impatience) and in 1991 Aga Khan Hospital ambulances engines must have been overreved and underserviced. I had a run in with its smoke in 1991, and I have been black ever since. I am a sucker for Coke, Ginger Ale and pretty smiles.

Now that we have that out of the way, I have only two questions. One; why don’t you ever write back? For a year (or something in that neighbourhood) I have read Ian empty his heart to you, so desperately sometimes that it seems as if he is chasing a figment of his hallucinations. Either you exist, or Mathare inmates must be on long holiday.

Second question; can you shoot pool? Doris? No? Well, it’s a game of balls. Seventeen coloured balls, a long rod that thins its way to the tip, a special white ball and a (mostly green/blue) table. The essence of the game is simple. Each player competes at who would stick his balls first into any of the six available holes on the green table. I really do not know much pool history, but my guess is it a man’s invention. A man who was inspired by a blonde or a cocotte. Google says it was a Frenchman, and I wouldn’t agree more. Here is why; the only way to ‘open the game’ is by inserting money (usually 20 bob) into a slot and the balls come rolling out. Basically the same concept around paying for love; you part with some money and the trollop racks your balls. However he lost me with the notion of balls being stuck in, and the stick remaining out, but then again, my dear Doris, you can never understand these French people and their eccentricities.

At this point I would like to remind you that it is not my intention to talk to you about balls, but about the game.

I love playing pool, Doris. It’s a slow game, but its sluggishness is somewhat exhilarating. Especially when you’re shooting pool for money. I am a campus student, and when the brunt of economic drought coughs its breathe of destitution upon us, we have to do whatever it takes to keep us going until HELB rears its sexy head.

Historically pool was a noble man’s game. They even called it “The Noble Game of Billiards”- can you smell the pomp in that name? When you call it like that, it sounds like a game played by wealthy smug friends on a warm Sunday afternoon over Havana cigars and whiskey; with their wives in the living room shepherding the midday sun into the evening, occasionally sipping on tea and giggling at the hilarity of their own gossip.

Well, where I come from, UoN Parklands Campus, it’s a game of hustlers. This is where broke peeps earn their daily bread.  Personally, I do not play pool for money. True, I have been known to place a bet on the pool table, just the same way I have been known to lose and win some. I play pool for pride. Basically the same reason kamwana plays politics. I play for pride because I am a greenhorn in this game, and I refuse to play in my own league. I play so that when I beat you, I rub it on your face until your face turns green. And when I lose (which is most of the time) I coil my humble tail.

There is this guy called Ayub who coils my tail all the time. He is a sharp shooter, and when he strikes a shot, he does it so hard that I find myself holding my crotch in fear for my own balls. It is an intimidating tactic that is meant to scare you away. It works, because when he hands me the cue stick, I sweat like a virgin on a third date. That is how he wins, through intimidation, and then there is this name he calls me; Kurutu. It means you suck at pool. But you know our God is good and gracious, for in the same measure he blessed him with a talent of sinking balls into a hole, he also took away his eloquence in speech. He is a kuyu you see, so occasionally when playing he goes something like:

Kulutu fungua game, reo (leo) nakutoa frat (flat)!”   

There is this one time we skipped class to shoot pool (this game is like a drug), and on this day, he had vowed that he was going kunitoa frat arafu twende crass. The only mistake he did was that he made that promise in the presence of a lady. Ladies love watching ball games. And like I said, I only play this game for pride.

When he said that, I took it as an affront to my manhood. You see Doris, women inspire vanity in men, at least in luo men like me. So I took him up on his challenge. In fact, I placed money (Ksh. 500) in just to show the fair lady that I meant business, that I had balls too.

I did not know which picture to use for this post... So I went to @magungawilliam's timeline and got this...

I did not know which picture to use for this post… So I went to @magungawilliam’s timeline and got this… I am so tickled! Please be advised though, this is not him :’D

So we began. Focus. He strikes the spotted balls, I sink the ringed ones (ask Ian how to play pool). We went head to head until we were left with the final ball. The black ball.  It is also the number 8 ball. It is my turn. As a principle, this is the ball that is not to be sunk until all others are sunk. If I put it in, I win, if I miss hitting it, I lose. If it sinks into a hole separate from the one I indicate, I lose. I have a lot to lose, because I am also the one with something to prove. The black ball stands stoically against the side of the table.

Ayub taunts me as I take aim. He talks shrubs a lot of trash, but I believe it is because he is squeezing his ass cheeks so hard that shit comes out of his mouth. I look up at the lady. Her T-shirt asks me; “Who needs Brains when you have these?”

“Professor Situma,” I reply in my head.

Since this is a defining moment of this game, I do not have second chances.

“Middle hole” I say.

I have calculated the possible vectors, and the chances of my gamble, and my six months experiences tells me that if I hit the ball against the wall, it would roll back into the middle hole on the left. I stand in aim patiently, like a sniper scouting a kill. I measure the wind direction, the wind velocity, the room temperature, the amount of energy required to hit it. Heck I measure my own heart rate!

I strike.

Just as predicted, the ball comes rolling towards the middle hole. “Kurutu ni wewe!” I jeer at Ayub as the ball comes home to validate my pride.

But then half way through its course, as if it changed its mind, the ball drifts to the left, hits the corner of the middle hole. The impact deflects it towards the corner hole, and it dips in with such enthusiasm.

I sigh. I blame the gods for the humiliation. Ayub jumps around hysterically “Kulutu! Kulutu! Reta pesa!” I hear the lady giggle at my dejection as I reach for my wallet to pay up. I have the option of refusing to pay up, but then I have already showed her that I’m all show and no substance. At least let me show her that I can at least pay my debts.

I reach for my wallet, only to realize that I don’t have it. “Kujia doh kwa room” I beg.

Hakuna! Hauna pesa na unaringa hapa” he cajoles. Ayub is having a field day. “Huyu, he says to the girl, huyu hana kitu. Ni kulutu!”

She walks away, convinced that my arrogance is worth a song. I wish she noticed the watch. I watch her go, and her ass follows.

My ego shrinks.


This guy clearly writes longer letters… Woi! I really hope you do not like long letters… Please do not like long letters Doris… For me…

Read more of his work here:


Posted by on January 24, 2014 in comedy, guest posts


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My Lovely Doris,

Happy new year my love. I had planned to write to you yesterday night but I almost lost a finger when I slammed the door on it, a fact you have to keep in mind for I will bring it up later on… I am finding it extremely hard to type this because of this. But My Doris, what pain can’t I go through to talk to you… What mountain cant I climb to be with you…. What river cant I swim Doris… What keyboard cant I type on with a busted finger???

Nothing can keep me away from you…


The pants I ripped at the dancing competition!

Oh, and I won a fridge at a dancing competition at a New Years Party :) I tore my pants during the process…

Because it is really hard for me to type, I beg you to please forgive me, for this will be a short letter…

I was at my parents house in Kileleshwa yesterday for dinner at about 4pm… That is where I slammed the door on my finger. This was so painful that I went straight to sleep. I got up at about 7pm to eat. But this is not the story!

I couldn’t open my car door now that it does not have those fancy things on the key holder people press on to give a funny whistle and open doors… My door is old school… You have to not only twist the keys but TWIST  REALLY HARD! With my woiye finger, this was impossible, so he watchman helped open the door… Valet nini nini!

Driving home, my brother calls and asks me to get him cigarettes on my way home… So I stop at Amazon to buy a pack.

Now listen very carefully…

When coming out of the car I locked the door from inside forgetting I could not unlock it by myself… So after getting the cigarettes, I stood next to my car feeling a bit stupid…. I had to ask for help… The only people in sight at the time were: The guard at the ATM machines, The Kula Korna attendant (who was inside the store) and a random prostitute… The prostitute was closest to me and in very many ways, the most appropriate candidate. So…

“Excuse me… Please come help me open my door… I hurt my hand…” Like I was raised…. I ASKED POLITELY…

The guard at the ATM machines heard what I said and started walking towards us…

Now before I explain to you all the drama that ensued, I need you to know something… What I just did was the perfect way to abduct a prostitute… You ask her to open the door for you and once they do, you push them inside and drive off… Apparently, I am the only person in that area at that particular time that did not know this fact… The guard explained in a raised voice.

“Huyu fala anataka kunibaka nini, wadhani mi dush nini?” The prostitute shouts…

She was very light-skinned… The prostitute that is… Her hair was nothing beyond an inch and was greasy and curly! She had on a white vest and a terrible jean skirt that only covered her pelvis area… The skirt was so short it could pass for a belt! Her thighs were not as light as her face… And her face was lighter than her hands… She looked like a collage! A human made from different human beings…. SHe had green heels that had shinny studs on them… You know the new design with spikes? She had a red shiny clutch purse that was held tightly under her arm-pit! Coming to think of it, she was dressed in the Kenyan flag colours…

Be advised that prostitutes really know how to start drama… The watchman was right next to her saying… “Tumewaona wengi boss…. Tumewaona wengi! Tunawajua nyinyi!”

NOTE: My Swahili is terrible and everything I write in the same  is not too accurate.

This is today in a bus to work... The struggle is real!

This is today in a bus to work… The struggle is real!

These two human beings had made the whole fuel station come to a stand still… And do you know the painful thing, I COULD NOT GET INTO MY FUCKIN CAR!!!!  I dropped my keys twice fumbling with the lock…. I gave up and just stood there…

The prostitute was now hitting my car calling me ‘rapist’… “You rapist… You rapist!” she went on and on… I could tell she was Kikuyu because the more she said ‘rapist’ the more the ‘R’ got lost… No offence… I am already a rapist, I do not want to be a tribalist as ell….

There was a small crowd that had surrounded me at this point… But no one was willing to listen to what I had to say…

A relatively smartly dressed man got to where we were and asked to see this finger I was talking about. He was a short man so he was not very intimidating as he thought he was. He had black pants, a white shirt and a red tie. His stomach had exceeded his shirt… Diamond shaped spaces formed in between his shirt buttons… One of his legs was shorter than the other one, this was evident from his limp. His glasses sat on his nose with no symmetry whatsoever. He was definitely in charge. He took me inside the wine store where there was a bit of light. Luckily, my finger was a bit black and it was a bit clear that I was not well.

So because of all the drama I caused, I was told never to go back there. The strange man walked me to my car, opened my door and said, “Please never come back here again…


I have just heard someone say a woman should MATTER… That is, Have weight and occupy space :D I have died many small deaths!


My next post will be ‘What To Wear On Your First Date: A Manual For Women



Posted by on January 7, 2014 in matatu tales, my car


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