CHA BABA CHA MAMA

Cha baba Cha Mama is your typical child's play where children role-play their family structure. Nyef nyef alert: If your liberal house has two babas and no mama,I can guarantee you NO Kenyan parent will love your child's influence as a playmate. Children's innermost thoughts are revealed when they play.Children are innocently mirror a society,which could be anything from your househelp's accent to those cartoons that Ezekiel Mutua banned;even the gay lions if you are overtly controlling like that. 

Children are so innocently speak their mind,that is ,until they start to see that line of shame and truth. Once in a while, play with them.Pass the baton of these games we had-we, the Facebook generation,are failing terribly at this.Other times let them roam free(even though you have your corner eye on them).Once in a while,designate a playspot within the confines of your watchful eye and enjoy the drama that is Cha Baba cha Mama.

Children's mirrors are their games, counsellor's tap into it and call it play therapy. So children act out parental roles inspired by parents,the babysitters (from the TV that you leave them locked up with or househelps) or the neighbours. If I reflect on my childhood days correctly,Cha Baba Cha Mama offers insight on how I understood the family unit.The queen bee or king lion usually assigned roles.These two would most likely be the parents and take up that role with the authority that comes with it.It's comical watching kids feign arguments, act bossy and play that chauvinism-feminism card,innocently of course.

The next great thing to these roles would be either firstborn/siblings uncle/aunts/house guests(you will have the stage when summoned for a visit).The remaining roles would never be fought for but rather against-the maid,furniture, hawkers, watchman.It basically said,"In this game you are to be seen ocassionally, dangling at the periphery of our worlds." It was like being the donkey in a Christmas play.If children could and still cry about these roles,it makes you wonder what was and is being subtly communicated  by their parents in the latter's interaction with these characters in real life.A friend had me cracked up enough to write this story.Ati they don't own a table in their house because they always played "table" in this Kenyan version of house

Cha baba cha mama was basically a play with stage appearances that were fun as long as you were on stage.Baba had to find a space and partition it into rooms,building cars (out of clay),cars which he would drive to work to return with household items

(recycled trash).Mama had to arrange the house and fend for the children, the latter mimicking baby monkeys.If real-life mom was a gossip or Facebook addict,expect that Cha Mama Mom to do the same.If real-life Dad hid behind newspapers and remotes to avoid his parenting role,please applaud the kids who take after that Cha baba Dad.

As you struggle to remember which role you played,get a laugh out of it.Maybe you attended a wedding of lovebirds who sowed their love at this stage.Just a warning:Get worried when a particular pair of kids always assigns themselves the Mom-Dad role like Daphne & Fred of Scoobydoo sleuths. In today's world,get anxious when Mom-Dad assignees go to a secluded  bedroom.Which reminds me,how do you react when you find two kids innocently in the act?Another story for another day.

THE TALE OF UGALI

Once upon a time,there was a land called Kenya.People loved eating and eating maize at that.They ate maize on the cob(boiled,roasted on a charcoal grill and rubbed red with a lemonhead dipped in achari),maize as popcorns,maize as free seeds mixed with beans etc.But the best kind of maize was that which was ground into flour then systematically worked into a paste under heat.That was not maize,it was ugali. Ugali went well with everything,except the things that did not sit well with ugali.Ugali fish,ugali beef,ugali terere,ugali matumbo-golden rule is to never mix your ugali with another starch form.Some liked it so soft,but never the mashy form cooked down south of Africa.Some liked it so hard that you could be charged with assault for hitting someone with a piece of ugali.

A good wife knew how to cook your ugali right.It was the litmus test if you were not these borntown boys who abscond the blade by the river for that of the clinician. It has been postulated,though not empirically proven,that the quality of ugali is to blame for marital strife(a quote borrowed and modified to edify the urban pizza hunters & gatherers).
Now ugali spiked the demand for maize so high that it became the staple food of Kenya.To qualify as a breadbasket,acres and acres of Zea mays had to be witnessed.Man(in the strict sense of gender) shall not thrive on rice or cereals at breakfast,he shall thrive on ugali the whole day.Unless you work in a mjengo,ugali at lunchtime is a sedative that renders you unconscious.
Then it happened.People politicised ugali.There was talk of famine,there was talk of drought-silos had no cereals to sell. The price of maize flour scaled to Yego heights and it became unaffordable to cook ugali. Can you imagine serving 3 packets of spaghetti to attain the satisfying value of 1 packet of ugali?People talked and grumbled,it was 2017,an election year in Kenya. The Gvt & opposition ping-ponged the issue,their armies on the ground did likewise.
Then the Gvt subsidised the price and the consumption as well.1 packet per household?Might as well serve tea for dessert too. Sugar and milk prices high too?Eish,they have finished us.The end is here.
If you thought things were worse,brace yourself. Soon there was no maize flour at all...GOK or baller's version. My child we ate chapatis until we developed an allergy. We formed cartels with supermarket attendants,as soon as a new shipment arrived we were in the know before it ran out of stock in 15 mins. Each family member bought their separate packets at 90/= Kshs and we secured enough for the week. Those were hard times that brought out the worst in us. Imagine some supermarkets had funny rules like"spend 500/= to get 1pkt of unga" or "buy 2pkts and we will ship it to you at a cost of 400/=". 
That is the myth of ugali,our long lost friend.

TALITHA KUMI

This July has been mildly cold.Unless you come from Nyahururu where Game of Thrones fans wanted to migrate for the upcoming premier of "Winter is finally here".Thankfully,it was not snow,it was sleet or hailstones.
It is a fact that during the cold we lose more people to the afterlife,especially the old.The names are out there by now. But this cold season we have reversed the order. There is Mama Rosa from West Pokot,the most recent miracle( 22 or 23rd/6/2017)as witnessed by the Repentance & Holiness Ministries. Cheparten village in West Pokot had their Talitha kumi command via texts from the Prophet Owuor but loyal bishops in the locality of the miracle verified the claims,some of whom are doctors.Death took 2hrs of the victim's life and gave her sleepy village fame.
Next comes Mwingi,Mbondoni village(17/6/2017) where a 1-month infant heard her Talitha kumi 3 days after she was thought dead. No prophets this time,just a cough to alert the women dressing her. The death phase had not been confirmed by any medic but the people around rightfully presumed a cold body and no breath signalled death. It was just in time for the child who was minutes away from her burial.
In Gakwegori mortuary(March 2017),there was a failed resurrection when the Eagles Wings Ministry did not soar high enough to Talitha Kumi the pastor's wife. Here was a medically confirmed death from TB treatment that forced congregants to ambush the morticians and lock them out until prayers and and anointing oil yielded nothing. Did they think the similar attempts of
Nakuru's Kingdom Seekers on their departed pastors two years earlier were amateurish?It seems morticians have more to fear outside the morgue than inside when mobs lock them out to tongue-lash death in prayer. Unless you count the case of that failed suicide attempt in Naivasha when the corpse ingested enough insecticide to slow its heartbeat and woke up alive in a morgue (8/1/2014).
What of the presumed dead who show up alive & kicking? I CAN'T,,,,,how do you demand a refund on the emotional turmoil such news can cause. Death is unfair,challenging it is futile unless you are rooted in the eternal God.Rest in peace our beloved,safiri salama.

ONCE I WAS A FEW YEARS OLD

Once I was nursed, washed, weaned and wrapped in diapers with my excreta constantly spewing next to my tout baby epidermis. I could not tell a minute from a second and my communiqué was gurgles, coos, giggles, wails, pouts, drools and wiggles. First there was Mother then Father then people whom I forgot as soon as they left. I crawled then stumbled whereas now I walk.  Once I was a few years old.

I wore my sandals the other way round: it felt so right. I ran up and down church pews, so confident in my Father’s house. Inside-out, outside-in; what were those? Right, left, back, front, mauve, purple-I did not care for complications and just wanted to be. I ate what was served although I craved the sticky sweet affections of confectionary. I was told when my own stomach was full or when my brain was empty. Once I was a few years old.

I was made ready for everything and everything was made ready for me. The calendar held no meaning for me. I was told its Sunday when Father travelled, Monday when Mother wore her lab coat and Saturday when I slept in. Christmas was heralded by crepe paper everywhere and New Year was a countdown I screamed out. Diwali was a sky-lit horizon and Ramadhan was not a strict fast for me. Easter was a puzzling crucifix that horrified me at the memories of movies behind it. Once I was a few years old.

There were emotions to be felt, understood and later managed. The endless retinue of friends to be made, fights to pick, tantrums to throw, falls to bandage or walk off, songs to sing, words to learn, adults to respect, tears to dry out, chores to do…how did I do it all? I morphed so fast yet so slow that I fail to grasp the twelve years that slipped out of my expected eighty. Once I was a few years old.

Pimples, menarche, pubarche, adrenarche, crushes, rebellion, self-consciousness- juggling all this with school, passage rites and the unclear dawn of adulthood. Was it the allure of make-or-break decisions? Or maybe the daunting dare to finally be all I had imagined or more? Now I was more than a few years old, less than what I needed to regret being my age.

AFRICA YO AFRICA YO YO YO

Ki dir, as they greet in Seychelles Creole. I am searching for one Africa,heir of the vision of Queen Nziga Mbande. I hear you now hold the horizons that she saw as she fought against the beasts that scrambled and pierced our virgin lands. I hear that her greatest treasure was her people,hidden in plain sight of racists as they mined for gold, diamonds and whatever name they have concorted for our minerals. The tongue she is named after, is it Vai or Ethiopic? This Africa is a new one,they tell me. She teems vibrantly beyond the borders carelessly used to wrench her children from each other. This Africa reaches her hand out for friends, to forgive and forge on.

Idhi nade,as East African Luo would ask you how the going is. Would you preen your ears for the knowledge that flowed from Timbuktu? Would you rejuvenate the fountain of literacy like the medu neter hieroglyphics of Egypt, the proto-Saharan of Nubia,the Dogon rock art,the Tamazight tifinagh or the pictorial Nsibidi? These gems might be lost to many of my kinsmen but to the future we aim; our heritage of literacy is the arrowhead adventure and a curator of our past in the future.

Naka nga def,as they say in Gambia. Could I borrow your sight to envision the Pan-Africanist banquet of Nyerere, Nkrumah, Machel,Mandela,Mboya, Sankara and Gaddaffi?That the blood of the pioneers before them may gush through  AU,SADC,EAC,ECOWAS,CENSAD,COMESA or IGAD. May it gush more exuberantly and perpetually than the Nile or Volta,clean the rivers of blood desired by some evil regents. Let her children inherit the vision built on their kinship.

Lumela? U kae? I pass the greetings of Sesotho. Touch the exquisite grain of the rich mural that is woven by our culture. Culture is too daft a word to encompass your dance. Culture is too shallow a term to comprehend the rhythm of your anthems and too bare to cover the breadth of our existence. Dance to the tune of the nyatiti,balafon,makhoyane,daghumma and tbal. 

Wet your palates for the best from Africa's kitchen and grazing fields. Her children have ben toiling in the fields and are eager to entice your tase buds. Shall we state with Feijoada (pork and bean stew) from Sao Tome? Or perhaps sweet Makroudh and Baklava from Tunisia? Please sit for Djibouti's Injera ,Harira or Niter Kibbeh. Snack on the Gajak and Mazavaroo.

Waft the sweat of success, because that is all Africa is about.We may fail but we will make our way through the jungle of life. The scents and stenches are part of our journey so we should not fear. Our noses can never fall off track as we know what we want. Dream and it shall be. Africa is ripe for the winning.

THE MATATU SERVICE DELIVERY CHARTER

1. Heshimu kazi yangu ndio ufike kwa yako( Respect my job in order to make it to your job)

2. Dawa ya jam ni kutembea.( To beat the jam, walk it off)

3. Ungetaka kufika mapema, ungelala stage.(If you wanted to arrive in time, you should have slept at the bus-stage)

4. Hakuna stage inaitwa "hapo dere" lakini kunayo inaitwa "mwisho". (The stop point must have a name unless the conductor decides it is the end of the ride.

5. Hatusemi wewe ni mnono au ati hatupendi watoto, lakini ukikalia viti viwili lipa.(If your body mass extends beyond two seats, pay double the fare)

6. Ukitaka kiti ya mbele, ng'oa ya nyuma uje nayo mbele au ubebe kiti yako next time. (If you want a front seat, carry your own or pick one from the back of the matatu)

7. Tupendane tafadhali,gari haijawahi pata ajali juu ya kujaa.(An extra seat can always be made by squeezing together in love and harmony)
                           

8. Kutafuta change ni kazi, ukiona yako inakawia next time ubebe loose.(Finding loose change is hard, next time carry your own loose change.)

9.Tuko kazi wengi, chunga mali yako.(Code to alert passengers that some suspicious characters on board may be thieves.)

10. Gari kujaa ni abiria.(If you insist on boarding a vehicle that is full, wasn't it passengers like you who filled that one when it was empty like mine?)

11. Utamu wa gari ni kurushwa rushwa.(Enjoy being thrown about while aboard the vehicle, especially backbenchers)

12. Kupanda nayo utabembelezwa lakini kulipa,pesa mkononi(We will cajole you to board the bus but not to pay.)

THE P’S AND Q’S OF SM

SM is social media; everybody needs to grow up here. A seventy-year old quickly regresses when they have to poke, tweet or double-tap. A ten-year old never matures beyond likes or lack thereof. These are the unsaid rules of social media etiquette:

• ·         Do not mix your circles if you have split-personality.

Case in point: I am a leader in the mosque but a good dancer at my friend’s bridal shower-clash! Can you imagine when my workmates catch photos of me partying when I had called in sick, even if it was a surprise party thrown for me?

• ·         Spare us the tell-all

Case in point: Ever met someone you know in detail but have never physically interacted with? Have you heard of kidnap cases where assailants tracked the victims through their Facebook posts? Have you been part of relationships, fights, dates, parties that should have been left out of the virtual space? Do not fall prey to the fake lifestyles of taking photos beside people’s cars.

• ·         Photo credits

Case in point: The Bow-Wow Challenge, Morgan Heritage with their fake crowds; these are just a few examples to note. Be ready to get a call asking you to pull down the pics or else have a brawl over baby mommas asserting parentage rights over baby photos. Some people need permission before you post their photos while some may specify when the photos should be posted….

• ·         Mind your language

This is for the Khoikhoi (xaxa, xtian) and those irritating words devised to make text-reading a pain. Swiping is a talent and denies the excuse for wasting your school fees on non-universal abbreviations like ikr, h r u, GOAT. One cannot tell if it is typos or a baby playing with your keyboard-ask my spellchecker.

• ·         Take time to read, look and listen

We are too eager to tell stories rather than listen. We hold out of therapeutic conversations, at times as a form of emotional blackmail. We forward job alerts, jokes, memes, religious texts without reading to verify the intended message.

Case in point: Pressing send can feel like a room where everyone tries to shout the loudest but no one listens. If the noise is too loud, shut it off and focus on dialogues or discussions. It is okay to meet an opposing opinion as long as no freedoms are infringed. Nonetheless, do not depend on comments or emojis to validate popularity or to substitute real-time interaction.

• ·         No matter how modern we get

Posting nudes (full, semi or quadri) will never be girl-power or a mark of feminism. Leaking sex tapes…I cannot even go there. Good and bad still exist in the real world, so do not ignore them in the virtual space.

• ·         Doom and gloom comes with a sign

Case in point: You come across an accident scene and you upload a photo. Nothing wrong, you think, I am just sharing a bad thing with the world. What if 3 years down the line you get a photo of a corpse of a loved one, in the same spirit of sharing? Graphic images should not be shared without captioning a warning, request or consent to alert members.

• ·         Crowd manners

In groups, things can get haywire. We should be aware that conversations are between people not walls or timelines.  How about a greeting before talking? Or limiting dialogues unless you want to chip in? Or settling private matters in public? If it gets heated, leave the group silently before starting any fights. Cyberbullying is saying mean things to people that you would be too cowardly to say upfront.

• ·          The hinting

I know some people think God made social media to vent but it will never replace prayer. When it comes to tackling tiffs, these are best combated the old-fashioned way-straight up.

Case in point: I bet you know households where people are arguing by virtue of their posts. There are religious texts quoted, blog articles shared, photos with captions or songs with strong messages where people are tagged. If you are unlucky, you come across those with no filters. They name and shame, tsk tsk.

ALL GROWN UP

1. Amua. You decide what you want to do with your life. Ye, you are still hangover from your parents’ expectations and those castles you built in the air. For most of us, this is the last chance to dream.Remember that if we bend to the wind very easily, the wind will one day be gone.

4. Dance. You are dancing to the tune of a beat but with beginner’s steps. Move it fast enough to earn your place on the floor, to get noticed, to have fun, to make money, to beat time and to enjoy the beat. Seems like a lot to do but don’t worry-you have the energy and zeal to get it done. But most importantly, dance to have fun. These are after all the youthful days of your life. They have an expiry date.

21. Unleash. Plans are just very good dreams until you get the wheel rolling. This is what sets you apart from the rest. If you begin to do, you begin to see other ways of how and how not to. The thing with this step is not to always get it right instantaneously. This is what sets the giants apart from the dwarfs-picking oneself up when you fall. Being a good student now makes all the difference later, you shall find out.

12. Look back. Where you are from, my friend, is not worth forgetting. Constant evaluation helps reset your goals and gets you in the mood to count your blessings. Do not do it for the heartbreak-do it for the blessings you want to count now. Enjoy and live in the moment makes sense if you’ve gauged the past and find reason worth celebration there.

20. Team. Every captain needs a team to get through. You know one sheds off friends along primary, high school and college. Think of it as refining your team. You get friends who believe in you and will be around long enough to ensure you get on that road. You meet that other half of your heart and chase after it like nothing else will ever matter. You form a team without which you lose your compass.

IF WE DID NOT HAVE PAPA. WE WOULD :
1. Never open cans and jars.

2. Always have repairmen at the house for changing bulbs,fixing TV signals etc
3. Be broke because who would pay for our treats and family days out.
4. Always have to ward off the hyenas at our fence.
5. Always be beaten by Mama without a fair hearing.
6. Never have Mama relaxed because the six of us were a handful for 1 parent.
7. Never attend school or learn how to do Math problems.
8. Not have 15 heads of cattle at our boma when the men came to "borrow" my sister.
9. Not own our family land in the ancestral village where we call home.

10. Always be ripped off because our super-bargainer would be gone.
11. Not understand obedience,fear,respect and pass on the same to our children.We would be errant children who have mugshoots all over the place.
12. Hate rhumba and old school soul music.
13. Never have photographs of ourselves in nappies.
14. Never aspire to be more than an "average" student- who settles for an A or first degree/diploma if your father has his way?
15. Be nyef-nyef or weak children who cry at the smallest injury, not the strong adults we are.
16. Know how to speak only the white man's language.
17. Not understand why God is a Father and why man was made first.
18. Lack standards for the next generation of men to aspire to.
19. Have no idea what kind of men we want to be married to.
20. Not have brothers,significant others,bosses, colleagues,brothers and the many giants that have shaped our societies.

FOR THE MAN THAT IS PAPA

Happy Father's Day!
I will make this short so that I can run off to the kitchen and make your tilapia stew  just the way you like it: thick and rich with carrot and tomatoes, no flavorings added. I am happy to call you Father because:
1. You gave me my first birthday.You held Mama's hand through nine months to usher your legacy on this Earth.
2. You were my first warrior-protecting this boma of ours, laying the groundwork & creating memories.
3. You were my waiter,costume designer, housekeper,nurse,chauffer,accountant,babysitter,disciplinarian, dreamchaser, accountant...I do not think we have enough space to detail your portfolio here.
4.You were Lwanda Magere- catch you dead crying.As you read this post,I know you will grunt in reply.That is code for "I love it, what next?"
5. You were the gateway to Our Father who art in heaven.The zeal with which you insisted we attend Sunay school was flattering to say the least.
6.You set the bar on the kind of prince that should marry your princess and fit the Gideon boots of the King before.
7. You wrote the Guide book on "How to live life Big as My Child". You set no limits for me, even in my dreams.
8. You were the head of the Family, the star from the East, our sense of direction before we knew we needed it.

THE BOOK AND THE BIBLE

I have this image of my ancestors duelling leopards and riding ostriches when the missionaries arrived. The Book and the Bible,two weapons wielded in an attempt to modernise the African and blind them to the colonists' robbery. The Lutherans,Catholics,Anglicans,Baptists,Quackers,Adventists carved out the Kenyan territory for spiritual conquest to preach water while their colonists drank wine. Maybe I too will board a Boeing in the future to show them how to fill up their fast emptying cathedrals;ad-dress their half-nakedness by sewing their ripped jeans,crop tops,beach shorts,bikinis etc.I could teach them how to dance and ban those lewd dances in their videos.😯
Look to the book and the Bible.As a pharmacist,I occasionally get promotional freebies as sationery or dinners.I have more brands in my bag than a shop shelf and if you met my relatives who share in my rewards,it won't take you long to guess they have a doc in the house. With the strain that is medical work, my thick skin sheds off fast and I run the risk off seeming unempathetic.When work pressures seem too much and my name is not on the Sunday rotor,I vent to God in church .My book for the notes and my Bible for the quotes.
One fine Sunday I picked the nearest notebook in a hurry and went to church. When the Minister of the word stepped on the podium- our vicar is a she, might I add- I positioned my book and Bible.My vicar is new to our parish so she has this fire to change things.She calls people out and has been seen to halt the service when the praise and worship team drags the tune.Once she gave a refresher course for all communicants who had just partaken in the communion because they were doing it all wrong. She is not some old matron with issues,just a woman who likes to keep the fire burning.

Here I am fervently penning the vicar's interpretation when I see her cough nervously.Did she just look at me?Noo, we are too many in this crowd.She carries on and I am equally penning.Then she stops. Wololo!I know that pause and what follows it.Somebody is about to get it.

"Christians, when we come to church we should watch how we carry ourselves." Let me see...I came on time, wore my maxi.Not for me."Some of the things we do during the week stick with us when we think we have left them behind." Poor fellow.Then I see the little kids in front of me, those who play about the pews and have the courage of a thousand people in church.They giggle and one of them whispers,"Tabia mbaya(bad manners)." Ah, ah...something is wrong here.Before I can follow their gaze, their guardian comes to drag them back to her seat.But not before I catch her gape as she stares in my direction.Now what! I pretend to look at my phone when in reality I am using it as a mirror. No wardrobe or makeup blunders.The kids giggle behind me and one them runs up to the aisle to my seat. "Ndio hii kitabu ya tabia mbaya Auntie(This is the book with bad manners Auntie!)," I am finished!She is pointing to me and I realise that my notebook is the cause for drama.Just at the same time as everyone can read the caption in the photo below.It was a product for erectile dysfunction.In another audience it would have been a great question. It has been two weeks of no book with Bible.I ask myself every Sunday,"How long should self-imposed exile last?"