Monthly Archives: February 2012

My autobiography: 0-5 years old

This week, I started to remember stuff from my childhood. I think it was sparked off by my Norwegian housemate basically telling me that I am old-school because I approve of spanking kids. She said how she thought my opinion was so 70’s…LOL. I found it really funny that she told me am old-fashioned because she’s mature, and ready to settle down = she’s at the end of her life. LOL. Though I guess a few years will see me on that sinking boat 😦

So, while am still young, I will take a break from my current life, and write a ‘series’ of events from my younger youth. I will try divide them into significant events of different age brackets, so events from 5-10 years, 11-15 years etc.

Back to spanking: Ironically, for a spanking-supporter, I only got spanked 2 times by my parents. The only people that used to beat me (cause that was NOT spanking) were Teacher Christine (pre-unit), Mary (the househelp) and Mr.Njoroge (Mathaymatix teasher).


Teacher Christine (and Amy) are the most vivid memories of my pre-unit 1 and 2. Amy was the love of my life at the time. I still remember the first day of school; me crying after my mum abandoned me and Amy the only kid smiling at me…or maybe she was laughing at me ’cause I was illiterate. SIDENOTE: I met Amy in Psys Westy the night of my uni graduation. I wondered why this hot girl was saying hi to me in slow-motion (sometimes everything slows down when I drink). Anyway, she told me who she was, then suddenly left…but she had a really nice behind, call me Amy!

Teacher Christine had big scary eyes, crazy hair (that blow-dry hard afro look that cucu’s have) and wrinkled hands  covered in veins…I guess she must have been pretty old  but she used to beat us with the teenage spank she had back in 1920.

One day, she beat me worse than usual and I cried…I cried oh-so hard. After the pain and embarrassment of the public humiliation, I strongly felt that I had to seek vengeance and  reclaim my honour among all the distinguished 4 and 5-year-olds, I decided that I was going to kill Teacher Christine, and make sure she never forgot.

I planned her demise with some friends, but right now I only remember one; his name was Ian. 5-year old Ian used to have a neat afro, like the guy that was in that Vaseline hair tonic advertisement. Do you remember that ad? Where the guy wakes up early in the morning, jogs in some farm, comes home and pours like 2 litres of hair tonic into his afro, goes to work and at the end of the day goes on a date with some girl? That’s what Ian’s afro looked like.

This is the Kenyan adaptation of the ad Stolen from Josh's facebook

Strangely, the only memory I have of Ian is that of him helping me plan how to annihilate Teacher Christine. Him and his afro don’t feature in any other single memory. Maybe we became friends that day, 2 men brought together by the need to assassinate our arch-enemy…or maybe I had imaginary friends and don’t know it.

Could Ian be my imaginary friend?

Ian and I didn’t know how to get to Eastleigh to buy a firearm, and none of us could drive there cause we were only 5, and therefore too short. So we decided that we would finish her off with a knife…as the principal killer, I was going to source for the weapon- and stealthily transport it in my lunch box.

The next morning came. But alas, there was a flaw in our master plan – I had forgotten that my mum was the one who packed my break, and she reached for my lunch box after I had packed the weapon to do just that. She asked me why there was a knife in my green tie and dye lunch box (remember them?).  But like any aspiring assassin-child, I was quick on my feet, and told her that I needed the knife  ‘to paka Jam’…little did she know that I was talking about human jam.  She replaced the sharp knife with a blunt bread knife, those heavy stainless steel ones. DAMN!

Ian and I rendezvoused somewhere at the back of the class when we got to school, and there was also some random chick – I guess she liked bad boys. We huddled around my little lunch box, adrenaline pumping through our tiny  veins.  Ian, disappointed by my blunt knife, and afro-assassin that he was  had a surprise – a back-up weapon. It was this round metal solid thing; that he told me he had found in his uncle’s car… [come to think of it, Ian was a freaking devil-child, he hadn’t even been beaten but he was here being my accomplice…at least I was in it to reclaim my honour. ]

So the plan was that I was going to be the first to knife her, and he was going to hit her upside the head with that metal thing… and the random chick was there interrupting our strategic meeting, daring us to do it, taunting us. I guess behind every assassin, there’s an irritating bitch who drove him to do it.

If you don’t remember a headline in the Daily Nation back in 1992, ‘2 5-year olds stab and clobber teacher to death over homework dispute’ I guess we were not psychos.

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I used to live in a place called Zamzama, it’s a high-end commercial area. There are designer shops all around, expensive restaurants, flashy cars and what not. It has a reputation for being very high-end, so I was pretty surprised when I noticed prostitutes as early as 7pm, dressed like this.

If you followed the link I’m just playing. This is how they look…

This woman is NOT a prostitue, but prostitutes also dress like this.

I think what these prostitutes are doing in Pakistan needs to be replicated in all states, bringing decency to the profession and making it acceptable.

So how do you tell if they are prostitutes? They usually walk in pairs, one dressed in burqa and the other in regular clothes, and when you stop your car or slow down, they will come to you.

In other instances, they will call out as you walk past ‘ Up and Rising? ‘ 😀 hahahaha


There are so many she-males on the streets, that you get used to them. They beg during the day, and at night  some of them prostitute themselves…which tells you a lot about the number of gay people there are living here.

-10 if you thought this was a woman


I.      There is no suspicion greater than that of a Pakistani girl. My rule is don’t speak until you are spoken to, and even then, proceed with caution lest someone thinks you are a budding rapist.

II.      For some reason, these girls have some huge feet, HUGE!!


In my time here, I have encountered hashish around every other corner. Hashish is like weed, but stinks a whole lot more, and is treated with some chemicals (citation needed). It’s a really common habit to smoke-up, so every other person does it.

But I have also seen people shoot up horse tranquilizer and others high on ecstasy…yes horse tranquilizer…do you know how strong a horse is, and you want to try the stuff that can put it down?!

The horseshit stuff

There is also some substance that is completely legal in the UAE (even saw people using it at the airport).  I forget its name, but it comes in a tiny little bottle or cylinder, and you smoke it in a tiny little tiny pipe. Apparently it slows down everything for a few seconds, including your heart…crazy Arabs.

5.      ON WEATHER

I left all my warm clothes in Nairobi, December came and I froze to death. Winter is as cold as Nairobi in July. Summer though, is going to get to 45 degrees, not looking forward to that.

And up North in Pakistan, it actually snows in winter. This is my plan for June 2012 btw, it actually looks like this, saw it in my friend’s album from his honeymoon. FEEL KIWARU!

6.       ON AKON

I can safely conclude that Akon is the most famous black man in Pakistan. That’s probably because he did this song, and its AKON so off course it was a collaboration.

Oh, and now that there is a shortage of black foreigners in Pakistan, excited Pakistanis say to us, especially my Ugandan pal because he is pretty dark ‘You look like AKON…’ Yesterday we were both with a couple of friends at a concert, and ended up taking maybe 20 photos with complete strangers who kept interrupting our conversation on how to take over the workd to ask us to pose with them.


I tried to use this once, in those laterines that use water…the ones that in home science were called Indian laterines. water-latrines. I had to take off my pants, cause really, I didn’t know what else to do, and I was trying to embrace the culture. I spent half an hour in the toilet, HALF AN HOUR!

For best results, don't wipe, wash it away: ps, the scar is from a gun, gangsta! 😀

I have since been converted to using these things, cause seriously, your ass will be so much cleaner. TMI possibly, I know.


I.      If there is 1 seat, and both you and a Pakistani are standing, let him sit.  Expect him to refuse your invitation and ask you to sit instead. So then, engage him in a rather forceful argument, and even try push him into the chair. The more forceful your politeness, the better. Eventually, you will both remain standing until someone brings a chair.

II.      If someone offers to pay for something you want to pay for, act offended and even insult them.

Always be polite

III.      Never EVER forget to shake hands. I met a couple of my friend’s pals one morning on our way to fish.

( I caught one fish after an hour, everyone else caught 4 and over…woiye )

Anyway, so one of the guys was on his phone when we got there, so naturally, I didn’t say hi. He sulked at me the whole morning; I should have said hi even if he was on the phone…which is why when you call someone; you will hear them stop to talk to other people as you are put on hold.

9.       ON ACCENTS

These guys, in another life must have been Kenyan. The number of accents I have heard here. From British, to American to sijui Anglosaxophonepiano. Even though I suspect I am joining the fray, at least I can claim it’s only because I need to  be understood; these brand of Pakistanis, I don’t know what they are doing, I just don’t gerrit. 😀

10.   ON ISLAM

 An interesting story in Islam, told very simply because I can’t  remember the details.

Once upon a time in history, the Muslims were being persecuted; and one of their prophets/ Allah told them to go to Africa- He told them that they would find a black Christian king, and that he would save them. So they did as they were told, and when they found the black king, they explained their faith and their situation to him. The king listened to them, and when they were done,  he drew a line in the sand with his finger. He then declared that the difference between Islam and Christianity was as thin as that line and with that granted them refuge from their persecutors.

Still on the black king, it has been foretold that this will happen again, i.e. that Muslims will be persecuted, and they will be saved again by a black king…now that this guy is dead, maybe this is the king to watch…if so, pole sana.



Late at night, you might hear a guy on the street with these metal clangers, jingling them so that you know he is there. Apparently, he is a traditional massage-dude, so you can call him into your house or go out on the street for him to massage you.

You also see them on street corners at night, sitting at the traffic signals with litte bottles of massage oil, their trademark sign. Why this activity is done mostly at night, I will never understand..but I hear some touch some nerve at the back of your neck then you black out and they rob you CLEAN. LOL!!

I walked in on a massage-dude doing his thing in some grass outside a friend's house, it was quite awkward.

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