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Mr. K’s Arrogance Meets Its Comeuppance

Everyone knew Mr. K was a pain in the wrong place. President Donald Trump would probably have called him out on his bluff with his latest choice word but he’s half the world away. Even so, when the man from Kakamega sexually harassed a cleaner, his chickens had come home to roost.

It is not expected that you’ll get along with everyone in the office. The nature of all work environments is you’ll have to clash with a few colleagues to get your work done. Yet it’s not as simple as that. You have to choose your battles wisely or else some will boomerang on you. Mr. K, in his infinite wisdom, picked battles with everyone and when push came to shove, he was thrown out together with his bath water.

No sooner had he been employed in April 2016 than his stubborn nature reared its ugly head. Having been posted to Homabay to work as an insurance underwriter, he stunned the HR manager by refusing to report to his new work station for no good reason. He said he could only work in Nairobi, Eldoret or Kakamega – his hometown. Like a farmer contemplating the slaughter of a new goat, the company kept him on a short lease at the Nairobi office granting him a stay of execution until when the Kakamega underwriter disappeared with a client’s money thereby creating a vacancy.

Given an inch

If his predecessor had left in a fog of fraud, Mr. K arrived in Kakamega on a tide of arrogance. He immediately set about throwing his weight around to make his presence felt. The company’s reporting structure meant that while he worked under the Branch Manager in Kakamega, his substantial bosses were at the head office in Nairobi. Ever the opportunist, Mr. K took advantage of that lacuna to be his own boss in Kakamega. Given an inch, he took nine and it wasn’t long before he took calls and replied to mail from his seniors in Nairobi at his own pleasure.

Kakamega branch has a high number of young female staff and word on the ground is he had made moves on a number of them with limited success. Seducing female colleagues is par for the course for most men so no surprise in that. However, Mr. K plunged the depths of bad manners when he set his eyes on a cleaner -Ms C-  and hassled her straight up for sex. Cleaning is an outsourced service and the likelihood is such matters are swept under the carpet when reported to protect business interests.

It was brave therefore for the affected cleaner to report the incident to her bosses. The big boys weren’t as brave though. They took a wait and see approach hoping the sex pest would take his lusts elsewhere. He didn’t. Outraged that a cleaner could turn down his sexual advances, he devised a devious plan to have her fired. Usually, the office is cleaned before staff arrive at 8am. Mr. K would wait till 10am and complain to the cleaning supervisors that Ms C had not cleaned the area around his desk. The supervisors saw through his unsubstantiated claims and learned to ignore his outbursts.

Just desserts

Mr. K may have prevailed in boxing all his colleagues into a corner but what he did next was to be his Waterloo. Having sown prejudice and strife, he was to reap his just desserts. He set in motion the wheels of his own demise when he wrote to the HR manager complaining of the poor cleaning at the office. This, he presumed, would hoover up a whirlwind that would sweep Ms. C out of her job.

However, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. What goes round comes around and if Karma is a bitch Mr. K was to run into her armed with a sledgehammer in a dark alley. The HR manager contacted the cleaning company’s bosses who refuted Mr. K’s claims and produced the smoking gun. Apparently, when Ms C reported Mr. K’s sexual advances on her, her bosses had asked her to put it in writing. They produced this dossier which put Mr. K’s complaint in perspective. The denouement was to be quick, fast and stunning.

The HR manager informed the relevant bosses of Mr. K’s misdemeanours. The maelstrom of objectionable sentiment against Mr. K that ensued from all those he had rubbed the wrong way flowed in like a flood and swept him off the premises. When the big boys in his department said they no longer wanted to work with him, his die was cast. A week later, Mr. K was summoned to Nairobi and fired. After picking up his sacking letter at the Human Resource office, he still had the audacity to storm Finance department seeking a reimbursement of the fare he’d spent travelling from Kakamega. He got his money back but the pay back cheque karma had drawn on his account should last him a lifetime.

 

Redemption Story: Five Things I Saw

Christer, Njeri, Wangari and Nelson just before we missed seats at Lavington.

1. The pulling power of music

I have been a small time church hopper in a different life but even with such experience, I had never been to an Adventist youth event as well attended as yesterday’s Redemption Story concert at Lavington. There were people from as far as Ruiru, Athi River, Limuru and…you guessed it, Rongai. While it helped that the concert was held on a Sabbath afternoon and was free of charge, it’s also worth noting that it was held in the rainy season when most people, like chicken, don’t want to go far from their immediate neighbourhoods. There’s also the small matter of Lavington not being exactly in the middle of town so any attendee must have purposed to be there. The flipside to holding an event free of charge at churches like Nairobi Central, New Life or Parklands is you can’t really tell who’s come there for a date, who was just passing by and heard people singing or, in light of current affairs, who is there as a serial witnesser.

In the event, Adventist youth from all over Nairobi flocked to Lavington like moths to a source of light. In a church that can seat upwards of 1500, all seats were taken a minute after doors opened. To say the place was packed to the rafters would be an understatement. I got a spot up near the roof together with my crew and we had to make do with sitting on the floor, thereby losing sight of the pulpit. Listening to the whole concert without catching a glimpse of the singers was like listening to your neighbor watch an action movie through a mabati wall. Others weren’t so lucky having to seat outside the church like cars at a parking lot.

If how fast people leave a concert is a measure of its failure, then the Redemption Story concert was an unqualified success. Sitting on the floor, we eagerly waited for the first wave of people to get bored and vacate their seats for us. In retrospect, we would have done well with the patience of vultures for not until two hours were done did the first few people leave more because it was getting dark than getting bored of proceedings.

2. Why music is such a magnet

The other day Edwin Abuga, a philosopher friend of mine and a member of my kitchen cabinet told me the church disproportionately favours those talented at music at the expense of those with other gifts. “You are more likely to be recognized in church if you sing well either individually or in a group,” he says.

It’s easy to know why. Music gets to everyone regardless of their station in life. It mellows both the elite and the rank and file. It’s the one instrument that can get an engineer, a plumber, a lawyer and a hawker on common ground. Other gifts like teaching only sell to those who are teachable. That’s why if you invited youth to a prophecy seminar only those who have a liking for books will show up.

But a music concert affords most people a relaxing afternoon, can double up as a date and participants can run their own discussions while the concert is running without losing a great deal.

3. Lavington the church

The church building at Lavington is like a beautiful woman in new clothes and heels – she gets your head turning. Located in an upmarket gated estate, the church chimes with its privileged surroundings by being modern and spacious. The building is storied, with an upper tier to take care of an overflow of visitors. It’s a pity they opted for plastic seats as opposed to the good old wooden pews a la Nairobi Central.

Unlike most Adventist church buildings, Lavington is topped off with fine finishing. Those who painted it must have been under the tutelage of Peter Marangi the Dura Coat professional painter. Even the guard rails at the entrance and even in the top tier are of high quality. The slabs on the floor still maintain their hardware luster and they made it easy for those who missed seats to sit down on them.

More than that, the church has a cathedral feel to it. The roof rises to the heavens and the majesty of the space above you would make you want to worship even if you were alone in the building. I also saw strobe lights like the ones you find at discos but it wasn’t immediately clear what their purpose in church was.

4. High school never ends

The way youth turned up for the concert at Lavington is proof that high school really, never ends. As I entered the venue before the doors opened and found people chatting and catching up, I ran into former classmates from high school and I couldn’t help but roll back the years to the time in high school the social aspect of academic congresses superseded their intended import.

There’s no running away from the fact that we go to church as much for worship as it is for social reasons. Humans like to connect and church offers us the platform to meet up with people we can’t set up dates with on a normal day.

Later in the evening as the concert came to an end, the open court just in front of the church was full of dudes and dudettes exchanging numbers, hopefully, for evangelism.

5. Love comes alive in the night time

It is at such events that you know who is loving who. Perched at the top near the roof where I was closer to God, I had a bird’s eye view of how participants came in and sat down. In truth, I couldn’t help but draw parallels with the Bible story of Noah’s ark and how the animals went in in twos, male and female.

In the four things that amazed Solomon, one was the way of a man with a woman he loves. I’m not as wise as Solomon, but I was amazed nonetheless at how two lovebirds will always find space to sit together even where seats and space come at a premium.

Most pairings were expected. I won’t name them but there are guys you meet and you know Ms Right is just around the corner. There were surprise pairings – the ones you wonder how they even start a conversation. And then there were those that pose more questions than answers  – “ So they are still together…I thought they broke up.” “I always see her with another dude…form 34 ni gani hapa?”

While the Bible tells us how the animals went in to Noah’s ark, it’s silent on how they came out. If yesterday’s concert is anything to go by, it’s safe to assume they came out in the evening holding hands. Mo, a member of my crew, wondered why lovebirds don’t come in holding hands but automatically hold each other once the night sets in.

There’s something about darkness that stirs romantic feelings to the surface. Perhaps it’s the sense of cover it affords couples to give up their inhibitions safe in the knowledge nobody is watching. Or the sense of fear that makes two lovers want to protect each other. Whatever it is, holding hands in the dark is a reassuring vote of confidence each party gives the other in the lines of the Jubilee motto, tuko pamoja.

6. Nyemelearing Unavailable Girls

Ever since I announced on the Parklands youth WhatsApp group that I’m keeping tabs on 91 babes, girls don’t look at me the same anymore. No sooner do I start chatting up a babe than she says, “I hope I’m not part of the 91.” Some even fear telling me their names, “I fear ending up in your list of 91 babes,” they say.

Consequently, like a man in a dark room, I’m left with no choice but to hit (on) anything that comes my way. The rate of my misses and near derailing has me reconsidering a withdrawal of my infamous list and going back to the drawing board. The nature of my misses is I seem to only run into girls already taken by church officials no less.

I hit the buffers twice yesterday and would have come off with my tail between my legs were it not for hawk eyed girls who have my back giving me the 411 on particular chicks. “Huyo ni wa (insert senior church official),” they whispered.

I pity church officials with girlfriends at Parklands. When you’re busy working in the Lord’s vineyard some foxes who are none the wiser are busy making attempts at watering your own vineyard. Now I know why church elders never pass up the opportunity to let their wives in the crowd greet the congregation when they serve at the pulpit. It’s their way of marking territory, just in case a fox in the congregation entertains wild thoughts.

 

Youth Sabbath At Laiser Hill: Five Things I Saw

1. My old flame

Laiser Hill was the first big English speaking church I attended when I first came to Nairobi. It sounds like a stretch of the imagination to say a church that’s closer to Ngong Hills than it is to Uhuru Park is in Nairobi but that’s neither here nor there. Laiser is the scene where I’ve listened to the best sermons, seen the prettiest babes and a former class mate of mine found love there too and got married in June. They used to have a Pastor, Joel Okindo, who used to make heaven come down with his sermons. He had a fetching daughter who was a chorister with a foreign accent. If the father made heaven come down, the daughter took me to seventh heaven. I’m not sure if there’s a correlation but ever since Pastor Okindo moved with his family (read daughter), my visits to Laiser went in the general direction Nakumatt is headed.

In September 2016, Oliver Obiayo, then the youth leader at Laiser invited me to their youth Sabbath but the invitation clashed with one from a babe at Kiserian South. Faced with two invitations from a dude and dudette, there was only going to be one winner. Oliver got married in July 2017 and has since disappeared from youth events.

There was a district Sabbath at my new church and never being a fan of such meetings I chose to honour an invite from friends at Laiser for their youth Sabbath. It was like a date with a blast from the past.

 

Lucy, Kevin, Ruth, Nelson and Mercy at Laiser Hill on Saturday.

2. Date gone awry

If going back to Laiser felt like a date with a former flame, the way it unraveled was not in the script. On an admittedly cold day with gloomy, cloudy skies and uninspiring weather, most people in the congregation wore the expression of untipped waiters and could not bring themselves to sing hymns with oomph. AMO and AWM had gone on various missions and left the church in the hands of the youth but the place still lacked vibrancy and you’d have been forgiven if you mistook it for a meeting of those who’d seen better days.

In the event, no youth choir was invited or if they were they gave the meeting a wide berth. One youth leader used the trending word boycott in relation to the shambles and he wasn’t far off the mark. The atmosphere was as grey as the unpainted walls of the unfinished church and the hosts didn’t help it when they looked unprepared and not in uniform. In mitigation, they redeemed their F score in organization by scoring plain As in the speaker they invited and the abundance of food at lunch time.

3. Away with stereotypes

Perhaps I’m growing older faster than I can accept it but of late I’m sick and tired of speakers who raid a youth Sabbath and only speak against premarital sex and immodest dress among our ladies. There’s a systematic pigeon-holing of youth where ladies are known to dress provocatively and men are only after parting young women from their skimpy dresses and tight trousers. I’m not saying the said vices don’t happen but of all available topics that are apt for youth, we’re barely scratching the surface.

So it was with the relief of a weary worn sojourner in the desert coming to an oasis that the day’s speaker chose to slice the bread of life from a different angle. Pastor Wilson Angima preached about the spiritual rebellion that leads men into sin and how Satan is only too happy to deceive us into a state of comfort when the end times and the close of probation is upon us. As it turned out, those of us pining for a change of menu were left wishing we’d not jumped from the frying pan into the fire. I came out feeling like I’m headed to hell in a hand basket and wishing he’d just dwelt on stock topics like the aforementioned premarital sex.

4. We’re living at the end of time

Pastor Angima deplored the current state of slumber affecting most church members. “The world and its comforts have so seduced us into a state we do not like to be told the world is coming to an end. Most of us would rather have the Second Coming postponed so we finish our degrees, get married and build houses,” he said. “But God is clear in his word that we have a work to do and those shirking responsibility will be separated from his remnant church never to come back again.”

He then dwelt on the close of probation and its consequences. “The investigative judgment, which starts in the house of God is almost coming to an end. You don’t know when your file will be opened and closed.” He then read out what he called the most terrible text in scripture, Jeremiah 8:20: “The harvest is over, the summer is ended and we are not saved.”

5. Having a form godliness but denying the power thereof

Pastor Angima also lamented how young people have become lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God. “We’ve let the world suck us up into its practices. When we who have the knowledge of truth are busy becoming more like the world, souls out there are looking out for a standard to look up to and can’t find it because there is a shortage of labourers in the work of God.” He went on to warn that there’s a price to pay, “In the judgment, you’ll be asked to account for souls who came under your jurisdiction but you failed to quench their thirst for the truth.”

Talking of believers who have a form of godliness but denying the power thereof, the pastor warned that nowadays it’s easier to go to church and meet with Satan than God. “There’s a battle fought at every congregation of worship. Just as there is the presence of God at every such meeting, the presence of Satan and his fallen angels cannot be downplayed. We all want to be called Christians yet we oppose any message that asks us to change our character. You see people in church physically but they are busy chatting on WhatsApp with those outside you wonder why they bothered to come. We’ve dropped hard copy bibles for their soft versions but how many read the bible on their apps?”

The avenues to distract Christians from concentrating on what matters grow by the day, “We’ve become a nation of commentators. Everyone has something to say about everything. Some of us are too self-absorbed we live our lives on social media. Yet this is the time to talk less and pray more.”

Later during lunch time, Pastor Angima told us he read in Early Writings of a vision Ellen White was shown of the state of the world in the end times, “she was shown of a train riding very fast to hell. The devil was its driver and the conductors were his fallen angels collecting all who had lost focus and bundling them into the train. A huge majority of humanity ended up on that train.”

But in the same book, he said, “she was shown a vision of a small group going up the narrow way to heaven and she was told that as long as they kept their eyes on Jesus they would not fail. Are you with the majority on the train or have you fixed your eyes on Jesus?”

6. I like you girl in particular

After that see your life moment of trains and narrow paths, there was a short period in which everyone was to identify themselves with the aim of welcoming visitors. I first visited Laiser two years ago but when I realized visitors were to get hugs from locals of the opposite sex, I quickly switched to that innocent-I’m-new-to-this-place look. That the youth leader chose to start the session anti-clockwise played into my strategy of seeing how others behaved and adjusting accordingly. A visitor would stand up, identify themselves and then the leader would pick out a member of the opposite sex from the crowd of locals to bless them with a welcoming hug. All nice and dandy except that I didn’t like the fact you couldn’t choose who to get a hug from.

I was last in line so when the opportunity came to me I milked it for all its worth. I said my name but before the leader could choose a girl for me, I interjected and asked whether I could choose her myself.

There were two girls who stood out for me but they both sat in the same direction away from me. The first one, I’d call her Form 34A was brown, nicely rounded and filled her seat completely. She was topped off with nice dimples on both cheeks when she smiled which was all the time. The second one, call her Form 34B was the colour of a thousand shilling note, lean, lanky and blessed with movie star looks with her eyes twinkling like stars.

The moment I pointed in their direction, everyone thought I’d gone for the girl with movie star looks. They probably recognize her as the prettiest of their bunch. Yet choosing a girl to hug is like shopping for water melon. You go for the biggest and hope for the best. The babe with movie star looks was absolutely fine too but this time I had chosen Form 34A in particular. Sonia, as she told me her name was, didn’t disappoint.

They welcome people warmly at Laiser Hill. Seen here with Sonia.

Jubilee Mauls NASA

We’ll now have to lie low like envelopes and lick our wounds facing Mount Kenya

To all intents and purposes, this was a whipping, a flogging, a mauling, a shellacking, a trouncing, a downright comprehensive defeat. Only six hours after polls closed, President Uhuru had put Raila to bed without supper we wouldn’t be here if Kenyan media was allowed to call poll results based on preliminary figures. With 96 per cent of polling stations reporting as at Wednesday 6pm, President Uhuru leads Raila by an unassailable margin of 1.4 million votes. It was touted as a race like no other. In truth, the 2013 edition was more closely run.

Like Justin Gatlin, President Uhuru Kenyatta has been accused of doping before but he took it all in stride and rained on a retiring veteran’s parade. Three hours after polls closed, the incumbent was having the career oppositionist for dinner. An hour later and the founding father’s son was mopping the floor of State House with Raila’s six piece suit. If this was WWE they’d be calling for the stretchers.

Technical Knock-Out

If NASA sold this election as our flight to Canaan, we neither lost sight of the Pyramids nor crossed the Nile, leave alone the Red Sea.

If it were boxing, President Uhuru, who in 2013 beat Raila on judge’s decision this time floored him on a technical knock-out in the first round. If it were football, it was like Arsenal conceding three away goals in the first twenty minutes at the Emirates against Bayern Munich in a match that should have gone to the second leg in Munich. As it were, Raila’s corner was banking their hopes on evidence from a dead man having campaigned against the dead rising to influence the result.

NASA claimed this election had been rigged in Dubai during the printing of ballot papers but as results trickled in, it was evident that this time, Jubilee did not win the election in Tharaka Nithi or Kiambu but in Kisii, Nyamira and Bungoma among other perceived NASA strongholds. The election is not down to who prints the ballot papers then but how many voters you can convince to turn up and tick the ballots in your favour.

Wild Goose Chase

In a recap of the 2013 election, the winner was almost likely going to be the party that garnered significant votes in the opponent’s strongholds and swing counties. In the event, Jubilee took half the Kisii vote, made inroads at the coast and nearly swept Bungoma. The ruling party also won Isiolo, Marsabit, Narok, Kajiado, Garissa and Wajir, counties it had lost to the opposition in 2013. NASA’s foray into Meru turned into a wild goose chase. In contrast, NASA has not won a county it’s predecessor CORD  lost in 2013. It was like a team going for the equalizer late in the game only to leave spaces at the back for the opponent to land a sucker punch.

Governor William Ruto promised to deliver 1.2 million votes from South Rift but he couldn’t save himself from the Jubilee juggernaut. Moses Wetangula may have been re-elected to Senate but he would cringe to see how Jubilee ran his boss close in his backyard. Kalonzo Musyoka may be calling for action after rejecting the results but he risks being acted upon by his political foes Charity Ngilu and Alfred Mutua who defied the Wiper wave in Ukambani and got elected governors of Kitui and Machakos respectively.

Chain of Losses

In trying to cycle forward to 2022, NASA have peddled backwards. We have lost the house on the hill, the upper and lower houses of Parliament and when the county assembly results are known we probably would have lost in the basement too, if so to speak. We have lost the city and large parts of the hinterland. We have lost on Form 34A, we have lost in the air, we have lost in the cloud, we have lost at Bomas. If we dare to sue we’ll probably lose at the Supreme Court. Again.

This chain of losses cannot possibly be attributed to hacking of IEBC servers. Raila extends the chain of losses by misreading the mood of the nation and rejecting results before IEBC can announce them. NASA had promised that they had sealed all loopholes to rigging. That our leaders should start crying foul even before the cock crowed is an admission of dereliction of duty on their part. We had more agents on the ground than Jubilee. We were told we had a parallel tallying centre in the cloud. What was our tally? Why did it delay? Where are our Forms 34A?

Seeing Stars

How did we find ourselves sprawled on the floor seeing stars at noon?

President Uhuru cast his vote and went watching the IAAF World Athletic Championships in London. Three hours after polls closed it was clear he was giving Raila a pummeling. An hour later and Kamwana had Agwambo on the ropes. It wasn’t until midnight when half the polling stations had reported when Joshua fell to the canvas. By the time his corner were addressing the nation in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, The Enigma was more in need of smelling salts and a P3 form than fictitious Forms 34A.

The prevailing mood is IEBC have done a terrific job and rejecting the results leaves more egg on Raila’s face. Kenyans want to get back to their daily routines and the call for action promised by Kalonzo Musyoka doesn’t go down well with many. We’ve had too much of politics this year and the least Raila should do is concede defeat. The horse has already bolted and it is inconceivable IEBC or the courts will overturn these results.

The flight to Canaan never took off so we’ll have to lie low like envelopes and lick our wounds facing Mount Kenya.

 

Beryl Weds Oliver: ‘Partners in Crime’ Sentenced to Life

On the last Sunday of the coldest month in Nairobi when most young people question why they are alone, Beryl Ogolla and Peter Oliver Obiayo put that question to bed by answering it in the most emphatic fashion – actually getting married. Coming at a time most Kenyans are postponing major life decisions as they await the outcome of the August 8 General Election, Beryl and and Oliver chose to vote for love. The votes were counted from Rongo to Rongai and when at last all the returning officers congregated at Laiser Hill SDA Church with their Forms 34B, and in front of international election observers from as far as Nigeria, the chairman of the electoral commission declared Oliver and his running mate Beryl the duly elected Newest Couple In Town having garnered more than 50 per cent plus one vote of the ballots counted.

Oliver has never called himself Joshua but the presiding pastor asked him to lead his new wife to Canaan. Reading from Genesis, the pastor reminded the groom that the bride was taken out of his rib. “This means that you are to be the provider. Provide not just the basic needs of food, clothing and shelter but go the extra mile and make Beryl as comfortable as she can be.” The Pastor, who has known Oliver since he was a young boy, reminded the groom that women give back to men what they receive in the first place. It’s called the Posho Mill Theory in some quarters, but I digress.

It’s the Garden of Eden all over again minus the tree in the middle bit.

Posho Mill Theory

“Whatever you give a woman, she will receive, nurture, multiply and give back to you,” the Pastor said. “If you see your wife loves to quarrel, it’s because quarrels are all you give her. If you wonder where your wife takes all the money she earns, ask yourself how much of your money she sees in the first place.”

Women have it easier in court than men and Beryl got off lightly when she was reminded that she comes into this union as a helper. She was also reminded that all men including her new husband suffer from the same disease. The disease of roving eyes. “Very soon you’ll be walking with Oliver in town and he’ll turn to look at other women. Bear with him. It’s a disease whose cure we’re still looking for.”

Oliver has an identical twin, Victor, who lives at the Coast. The bride’s first assignment would be differentiating her husband from his brother and it was just as well that the presiding pastor took it up as her first test. He paraded the twins in front of the bride and asked her to pick her man out. It was a simple choice for her on account of their different suits but the feeling persists that on a dark moonless night, she won’t be so accurate.

Word on the street is that Victor dated a girl called Beryl and the initial plan was for both brothers to do a grand wedding on the same day with girls sharing a first name. That it didn’t come to pass is a story for The Nairobian.

The Verdict

After the brief sermon, Oliver and Beryl exchanged vows they’d written themselves. Beryl described the groom as ‘my partner in crime….my person, my love, my life…today and always.” After that admission of guilt, and needing no other evidence, the Pastor wasted no time in sentencing the two criminals to life.

“With the powers vested upon me by the State and the church, I hereby declare Beryl and Oliver as legally wedded man and wife!” Cue ululations.

The newly wed ‘partners in crime’ step out moments after being sentenced to life.

No Panga Attacks

The scene changed from the church to the adjacent Adventist University where the reception was held. The Silver Springs Band regaled visitors with a buffet of rhumba, mugithi as well as Luo, Kisii and Luhya wedding songs. The revelers joyously went round the stage mimicking a train with everyone shaking a limb or two how they knew best. Yet ten days to the election, politics was always going to bubble under. While everyone danced along to mugithi, the band leader set the cat among the pigeons when he declared “tano fresh!” over the PA system only for everyone to stop dancing in protest. Apparently, this was a NASA zone and the band leader read the writing on the wall quickly making amends by placating the crowd with “Tibiim!” upon which everyone picked up from where they left with their dance.

The gift session proved just how much Oliver and Beryl are loved by family and friends alike. By virtue of being a youth leader at Laiser Hill SDA Church, Oliver is almost a household name in Rongai adventist circles. I have known him for the better part of two years now and the biggest assurance I can give to Beryl is no hawker armed with a panga will ever attack their homestead because Oliver is the most peaceable and likeable man south of the Sahara and north of the Limpopo.

Real Friends & Missed Kisses

I have been around the block for quite some time now but Beryl and Oliver’s wedding committee raised the most amount of money I’ve seen such a quickly cobbled up group raise. In a world of virtual friends and followers on social media, Oliver’s wedding opened my eyes to what old fashioned real friends can do.

Beryl can rest assured because Oliver was a man of peace, none of these friends of his will visit her home armed with a panga.

I was with the bride groom at a wedding in Homa Bay in June where he was part of the bridal party. Part of the wedding ceremony involved the groom’s men marching from the front door of the church and collecting the bride’s maids marching in from the rear door. Oliver was first to go in and while he displayed unique styles and tricks, a lady sat next to me observed he made the wrong turn and should not have inserted his arm in the lady’s elbow. It’s the lady who should have done that. At his own wedding last Sunday, Oliver was asked twice to kiss the bride by the presiding pastor but on both occasions he flunked the test of romance chose to kiss Beryl on the forehead instead of the internationally accepted lip on lip action.

For a man who works with Safaricom, those are either three missed calls in a row or three unmistakable signs of an Infinix user running on bundles mwitu. As he begins his life sentence, we can only hope he makes the right turns, knows where to kiss, ditches bundles mwitu, and subscribes to unlimited data to stay online with Beryl for forever and a day.

Mary Weds John: Two Lovebirds from the Bays Officially Become Baes

At the foot of a hill straddled by the highway from  Homa Bay to Mbita and on a patch of land his family donated to set up Nyangore SDA Church next to their homestead, John Odhiambo Amollo of Homa Bay took Mary Adhiambo of Kendu Bay to be his wife, solemnizing a union of two lovebirds from the Bays who officially became Baes.

Nyangore SDA Church overlooks the Lambwe Valley, infamous for its sleep inducing tsetse flies but John and Mary’s wedding roused this sleepy little village from its slumber as Odhiambo and Adhiambo, children born after sunset were enjoined in holy matrimony with the sun at the highest noon.

Usually, the wedding takes place at the bride’s church with the groom transporting his trophy home to arrive just in time before the cows come home. But this was different. The wedding was hosted at the groom’s church which shares a fence with his family’s homestead. Nothing beats playing at home and John’s family and clan were all over the place with the surety of a team who know the match is won before a ball is kicked. Good teams hardly lose at home, do they?

John and Mary step out moments after exchanging vows at Nyangore SDA Church.

The highway to Mbita from Homa Bay is patronized by Toyota Probox cars you’d be forgiven to think they’re manufactured or assembled somewhere between the two towns. In fact, the locals have given them the same name they call cockroaches – olwenda.

Yet there was no cockroach in the bridal party’s entourage. The groom arrived in a black BMW X5 and the bride was brought in by a white Toyota Prado. I was at a wedding in Thika on Madaraka Day and the groom’s and bride’s relatives were referred to as “ashiali cia mwanake” and “ashiali cia mweretu” respectively. But this is Luo land where pride and hyperbole are upheld as virtues.  Relatives from both sides were welcomed with a standing ovation and referred to as diplomats.

The first thing fishermen do when they land at the beach is to weigh their catch.

If the diplomats came in as relatives of either the groom or the bride, I felt slighted not be introduced as a special rapporteur, high commissioner, chief of mission or any big name along those lines considering I know both John and Mary personally. Nevertheless, I’m no Mike Sonko or Orie Rogo Manduli to cause thunder where there’s no lightning so I pardoned the MC and let the matter slide.

I know John from my days at Egerton University, Njoro. We flew in different orbits but Amollo, as he was more widely known, was the type of guy who made dudes and dudettes sit up and take notice by virtue of his keen sense of dress if for nothing else. He had a tall, steely frame, all right angles with his head firmly fixed onto his shoulders you’d think he needed side mirrors to look backwards. In a parallel universe, John would be a boxer, a fisherman or like Atlas in Greek mythology, the Titan condemned to hold up the sky on his shoulders.

Mary’s bridesmaids give her a parting shot.

If a man in a suit is always a hot package, John was sizzling hot all days of the week only breaking into t-shirt and jeans on Sundays. When you’re always in a suit, people link and trust you with money which explains why he was always chosen to chair finance committees and mobilize people for fund raisers at our campus church.

Mary is the queen of understatement and I’ve known her for a few beans short of two years. She’s kind, soft, mild mannered and has this becalming smile it’s a pity she’s not a trained nurse. Trained nurse or not, she’s the one person you want to pay you a visit when you’re unwell in hospital or treat you to home cooked chapati on a lazy Sunday afternoon. While she may not be as loud and boisterous as the average Gor Mahia supporting Luo woman, she’s always smart and colourful nonetheless. And she can keep a secret too! Nobody in her circles saw this wedding coming. Not even her closest relatives!

Grasshoppers gatecrash on the newlyweds’ quiet moment.

The wedding itself was a long drawn out affair, with the bride being accompanied from the back of the church  by her parents to the middle of the church to the rhythm of sweet, slow, march inducing background music. The bride and her parents’ slow march to the centre of the church was synchronized with that of the groom and his parents’ who marched in the opposite direction such that they met at the centre. The parents made a public statement of their approval to the wedding after which John walked Mary down the aisle to the front of the church.

In a sermon that must have made the average young unmarried man uncomfortable, the presiding Pastor asked young women to only get married to established men. “Don’t accept to be married to a man who’ll count you as an extra burden,” the Pastor preached in Luo. “Life is hard enough. Don’t make it harder by getting married to a man who’s not ready to take care of a woman.”

It’s all in a day’s work for the couple and their bridal party.

As he preached, the red roof of John’s new house shimmered in the afternoon sunlight a stone’s throw away from the church, underlining his step up from being a common struggler to a bloke ready to be counted at the table of men.

Yet the caveat to any established man is he almost always has skeletons stuffed somewhere in his closet. The good Pastor warned young women getting married to established men against poking their noses in the man’s history. “Let bygones be bygones. Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.”

Weddings double up as get togethers.

John and Mary opted not to exchange rings but they read out their vows loudly after which the Pastor did the honours finishing with the now legendary, “what God hath put together let no man put asunder.”

The newlyweds were thereafter serenaded by villagers as they were driven the hop, skip and jump distance from the church to the reception which was held at John’s family homestead. There was an abundance of food and the guest choirs sang their hearts out.

As the sun sunk over the hills overlooking the Lambwe Valley, John and Mary had had their moment in the sun and now, like Rihanna sings, it’s time to “put in work, work, work, work, work,” and “learn, learn, learn, learn, learn,” and avoid the “dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt.”

Victoria Weds Wilson in a Fitting Finale to a Five Year Relationship

 On the day Kenya started on her journey to independence, Wilson Kamau Irungu of Murang’a lost his independence when he was eternally yoked to Victoria Waithera of Nakuru. On a sunny Madaraka Day afternoon wedding set on the banks of the Chania, Victoria wed Wilson in a celebration full of love, dance, prayer, mirth and general merry making. The wedding and reception were both hosted at Thika’s Taji Gardens on a grassy patch that sloped off the Thika Superhighway and was surrounded by old hardwood trees that gave the place a constant refreshing breeze.

If trees and grass remind you of Nairobi’s Uhuru Park, the elaborate décor gave me visions of Kempinski. Guests sat on white seats against white tables under white tents all of which were embellished with pink and purple embroidery. Not being hosted in church, the organizers were still creative enough to cobble up an aisle between the seats covered in a white carpet and strewn with rose petals for the bridal party to walk down on.

The garden reminded me of Uhuru Park but the setting gave me visions of Kempinski.

My abiding memory of Wilson in campus was how he carried himself like a cat on hot bricks, never staying in one place long enough to warm the seat. Ever in a hurry to somewhere, his campus life proved to be a metaphor for his wedding. An auditor with KPMG, he was asked to move to the company’s Ghana office for a two year assignment starting later this month. Like a tenant given a notice to vacate the premises, Wilson moved with the speed of a hurricane to put his life in order which included marrying his girlfriend of five years. “Everything was done in May. From visiting parents to paying dowry to planning the wedding, everything was done in one month,” he said with his hands held akimbo displaying the haggard look of a worn out grave digger.

Victoria was also at Egerton, joining in 2010 but Wilson says he knew her in the last month of our last semester. A wedding was long overdue.

The moment Wilson finally put a ring on her.

The wedding itself was a quick and short affair. I arrived at 12:22pm to find ten guests. The bride and groom exchanged vows at 1:40pm witnessed by a crowd of two hundred or thereabouts. The presiding pastor asked the newlyweds to be round and shiny like the rings they had put on each other’s finger. They then signed their marriage certificate to the advice of the pastor, “That certificate gives you the license to work on and for each other.” What does working on each other mean? Your guess is as good as mine. I was greatly limited because I don’t speak Kikuyu but I gathered the pastor who gave the sermon asked the many witnesses to respect the new union and give the couple the privacy they deserve. “If you visit Wilson and Victoria in their new home, don’t go poking your nose in their bedroom. Good visitors sit in the sitting room.”

Once Victoria slipped their marriage certificate in Wilson’s breast pocket, the bridal party left the venue to a cacophony of ululations, celebratory music and dance. Food was served by outside caterers and there was enough left to fill twelve baskets after everyone had had their fill.

The newlyweds savour the moment shortly after exchanging marital vows. Wilson is probably thinking of the small text at the bottom of hardware receipts, “Goods once sold…” Vicky is probably thinking of what they write at hotels once you get in, “Food and drinks from outside (no longer) allowed.”

As if they were right on cue, the bridal party made their way back to the venue just as guests had cleared their plates precipitating an outpouring of noise and a break out of a dancing virus among the guests. Coming a day after the standard gauge railway was opened, the guests got behind the newlyweds in one long train and danced to famous Kikuyu songs about love and marriage. Kikuyus may not be known for being romantic but I bet the farm they have the best traditional love songs. Victoria, who looked a little shy when they exchanged vows let it all out and wowed the crowd with her chini kwa chini dance moves. Dancing is not Wilson’s strongest suit but he gave it a good go. Now Vicky has some work to do to bring her husband up to speed.

Vicky wows the clan with her dance moves as it dawns on Wilson he got more than he bargained for.

Wilson’s mum gets a feel of what her son brought home.

It wasn’t long before the man of the moment took matters into his own hands.

Wilson’s colleagues came to confirm he’d crossed the bridge. Now he can get that paternity leave when it comes around.

 

The gifts session was conspicuous at least to me for the lack of beds, cupboards, basins, refrigerators, cookers, sufurias etc that are common to weddings of people from Western Kenya. Apparently, envelopes are legal tender this side of the Rift Valley.

When the dust had settled and guests had shaken their limbs sore, I got to meet Minnie Kinyanjui, Carol Njeri and Dan Muya. Sam Muchoki, Wilson’s business partner back in the day was also present with his wife Grace and their one year old kid but like a good family man, he left before the cows came home. Carol, now a mother of two, is still tall and yellow like a ripe banana while Minnie, a mother of one, is still big in her smallness like a nduma that grew by the Chania. Dan, a father of none, has visited Sao Paulo more than he’s been to Nyandarua in the last year. A keen observer and interpreter of people and events, Dan has given thought to joining politics or supporting a politician. Methinks he should support another monkey up the tree and set a big basket under it to collect the fruit. To want to eat the sacrament of politics when he’s not been baptized in the waters of scandal may be akin to putting the horse before the cart.

We finally got a hold of the man of the moment and had a Kodak moment. Minnie asked him where they’d be going for honeymoon. “Wait for the pictures,” Wilson told her. Wherever that will be, we can be sure of one thing. The honeymoon is bound to be enjoyed in a hurry. Wilson and his new wife have two weeks to leave for Ghana.

VJ At 23

 

The Quintessential VJ

Virginia Catherine Nyauma is a 22 going on 23 years young lady from Kitengela who susbsists on the nexus between maths, science and art. Maths because it’s her bread and butter, science because it’s a cousin of maths and art because she makes looking good an art form.

A trained mathematician, VJ West, as she likes to call herself, is a high spec, algebrised laptop sized butterfly with a taste for good things and an air of excellence about her.

She’s got Catherine for a middle name but I’d call her Immaculate instead. She’s got this everlasting polished look, always prim and proper, spick and span with everything set in its place like a well arranged cupboard. If she were an animal she’d be a cat, licking herself every so often to ensure no furs are out of place. From her hair to her nails, her perpetually glossy lips to her choice of dress, she gets everything right down to the T and I bet she’s one of the few people who’ll walk through a dump site and come out smelling of roses.

I’d pay to take her out on a run in the dusty backwaters of Kitengela if only to see her sweat and her feathers unruffled. A human being can’t be so put together unless she’s on TV, can she?

VJ is blessed with a unique, whirry, high pitched voice that you can easily pick out in Muthurwa. Her voice is also studded, for lack of a better word. It rubs you somewhere. The nice kind of rubbing.

The first time I talked to her I realized she was too fast for me I asked her to slow it down. She’d probably be a rapper in a different life. She sounds a little sweeter speaking English than she does speaking Kiswahili. She knows no other language.

VJ has amazing clarity of thought. She doesn’t stammer or choke on her words with those silly fillers like uummm, uhhh etc etc. Once she begins speaking, it’s smooth sailing till she’s done.

She claims she hasn’t got lots of friends and is comfortable with that. I’ve observed that she’s the most confident shy person I’ve ever met. Her confidence shines through when she’s around familiar places and with trusted friends. However, she looks like a little girl lost in town when she’s out of her comfort zone.

VJ is a dreamer of biblical Joseph proportions and you get the sense she has hitched her wagon to a star. Bearing the hallmarks of a go-getter, she’s a well spring of positive energy and her optimism is inspiring, contagious and reassuring. In one of our first conversations she told me she would one day ride in a Range Rover. Make no mistake, it’s the people who make such bold declarations that eventually achieve them.

What Makes VJ Tick

Perhaps the biggest compliment I can pay VJ is she’s sharper than I first thought. Unlike most people, VJ is a good listener and a keen observer of people and events. She’s so succinct in her descriptions of people and things she amazes me at how she captures the most details in the least number of words. I’ve asked her to write a book before but she wasn’t enthused.

A trained mathematician with a legal mind, one plus one will always equal two in her world. No ifs, no buts. She also subscribes to the scientific method where cause leads to effect and one thing leads to another. Perhaps that’s why she’s so good at predicting trend and behavior. Being the good listener and observer  she is, she invariably questions the facts of a story and gives her verdict like a magistrate.

On her day, VJ is interesting, compelling and engaging. You can love her or hate her. But you’re not being indifferent. She’s got a good sense of humour too, sniffing a good joke from miles off and hitting back with no little amount of sarcasm. Which means she can make you laugh.

At the conversational level, VJ is lively, easy to talk to and refreshingly spontaneous. You don’t have to think of what you’ll say. You just need two fish and five loaves of bread. Trust her to feed you with 5000 words.

VJ is a master of the deadpan. That witty one liner that ends a debate on the spot. I don’t like being on the receiving end but she’s served them to me nonetheless. Like there’s this time I complained of the hassle of getting to Kitengela in time. “What’s the fastest way to get to Kitengela?” I asked. “Drive your own car,” she deadpanned as she looked me straight in the face like a doctor wanting to know whether an injection really got in.

She’s also a very intuitive and perceptive person. If you give her an inch she’ll make nine. She makes the bold claim that she can deduce someone’s character the first time she meets them adding that she inherited this trait from her mama.

VJ is a high spec, algebrised butterfly with an everlasting polished look.

The Man in VJ

The first born in an all girl family, VJ may look as harmless as a dove but she’s actually as hard as nails. She hates the feeling of being taken advantage of, of being taken for a ride or being sold down the river so she’s learned to fight her corner. Never lacking an opinion, she’s a got an underlying nasty streak to her and is the last person you want to mess up with. Now, there are people who can swallow an insult and retreat back to their shells. She’s not one of them. She’ll put a flea in your ear and give you a proper rollicking on the spot. Even the men in her church fear her. I once asked her to write about them and they unanimously apologized like a choir even  before she’d read my message.

Women are known to be highly emotional people, making decisions based on what they feel but VJ bucks that trend by binning her emotions and working purely on facts and logic. Something has to make sense to her otherwise it won’t fly. It’s probably because she’s a sucker for facts and logic that she likes to be trusted and hates to be lied to. She hates to be doubted and one of her favourite lines is “trust me.” Yet you should trust her precisely because she also makes the lofty claim that she doesn’t lie..”as humanly as possible.”

Yet as much as she’s got lots of manly behavior, some female traits are universal to all skirt wearers. Like moods. When VJ is happy, she’s awesome but when she’s sad, she’s awful.

VJ The Photogenic  Cutie

VJ takes very nice photos of herself. It’s probably because she’s got a high end phone camera but it’s also not for nothing she was voted 2016 KAYO Group Cutie of the Year. She’s a good camera (wo)man too with an innate understanding of angles, background and lighting. I always entrust her with camera duties when I’m in Kitengela and she never disappoints.

Unlike most girls, VJ does not have many picture poses in her repertoire. You won’t find her turning, bending, twisting her legs, throwing her arms or most other acrobatics girls are wont to. But the one pose she’s got? She milks it for all it’s worth. She knows where she sells and has set up her stall accordingly.

A closer look at her photos reveals she takes 90 per cent of her photos (selfies) with her right arm raised at an acute angle slightly above her head. A great majority focus on her bust upwards with her signature end to end, dimple embellished smile being the cake as well as the cherry on top. VJ’s dimples are the litmus test of her happiness. Most times you won’t see them but when you do, you know her joy is overflowing.

VJ’s dimple embellished, end to end smile is the cake as well as the cherry on top.

Get VJ

Seducing VJ is like frying omena. You turn the heat up to maximum, spare no oil, keep an eye on the frying pan, don’t leave the kitchen and serve while hot. That’s why the odds are in favour of Luo men. Luo men are good dressers. Just like VJ. They have a taste for good things. Just like VJ. They always go for the best. VJ doesn’t do average. They talk big. VJ dreams big too. Basically, it’s written in the stars.

In my capacity as the first man to understand women in 6000 years, I always advise men to go in slowly but VJ is the exception that proves the rule. For her, you’ve got to be intense. You move in like a whirlwind and shake her up like a tornado. VJ is a hard nut to crack when she’s sober so the reason you move in like a hard wind is to destabilize her senses. To set the cat among her pigeons. You jump in on her like a whale in the sea and splash out all frogs from the water.

Most women don’t like men who brag but in VJ’s case you have to sell her a dream provided it adds up. And you can’t do that without bragging. Again, like Luo men do.

That’s purely theoretical  so don’t bank on it. What’s more practical however is to know that VJ is one of the sweetest girls when she’s happy. So if you can find a way of keeping her happy seven days a week, you’ll be home and hosed.

VJ on the romantic scales

If you’ve been keen with the foregoing, you’ll know VJ is not the most romantic of girls. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d give her a 3. Actually, when I think of it, I suspect she’s the type of girl who’d kiss you with her eyes wide open. If for nothing else, to confirm it’s only her you’re thinking about.

To all intents and purposes, a girl has to swallow some basic lies for her to be romantic. VJ neither tells nor condones lies. Again, a romantic girl has to be in tune with her feelings. VJ is methodical so that too is dead in the water.

But I’ve asked her about this before an she claims she’s actually very romantic and thoughtful but only to special people. Which basically means if you haven’t seen it it’s because your name is not on the invites list. Anyone got wet wipes or tissue in here?

VJ On Men

For a girl of such considerable beauty, it’s a pity to note that she takes men with a pinch of salt. She gives the impression that she could do without a man and be just as happy. Perhaps she’s run into bad people before but I’d check to see if these symptoms persist when she’s 29. Her biggest complaint is “men are only out to screw girls.” Mind the imagery. “And some are outright clueless on how to seduce a woman. You meet a guy today and the next week he’s like “kuja kwangu.” Worse still, some even don’t care to disguise their intentions, unashamedly coming at you with “nipee vitu.”

The most controversial theory she holds is the need for a back up. “You need to have that one person you know will love you come rain or high water. They may not be top on your list but just the fact they are there in the background gives you assurance that even if all the men you hanker for disappoint you he’ll be your fall back plan.” She then adds matter of factly, “everyone you meet has a back up,” before finishing with her typical pouty lipped, cold eyed stare. She likes having the last word and she’ll usually unleash that look when she wants a point to sink in and is in no mood for further debate.