I loosely read in American novels or have managed to overhear in those imported trashy/classy shows of things like caffeinated, decaffeinated coffee…or something close to that.

See, i grew up in a coffee plantation and not until i got to the big city did i take my first cup of coffee. Until then, i always thought that mama’s tea was the best thing that happened to my life. For this, i really wondered what really happens to the bags and bags of coffee berries that we transported to a local factory.  For starters, the coffee farm was owned by grandpa, those days when he was still supple and…quite energetic…now he can’t tell the difference between my and my American cousin.

During the harvest season, after we transported the heavy bags (using a rickety wheelbarrow) he would drop a few coins onto my hand and i was to distribute them to my 0ther cousins. With all their wisdom, they bought balloons, biscuits and goody goody.

I preferred Kimuhu’s  hot soup served in a chirped mabati , half-boflo broad…in some shack with houseflies buzzing about and several tough talking old geezers that i found quite interesting. Once their balloons had blown up and they were left with sugary mouths and sticky lips (and a future dentist appointment )…i was ‘full’ (kushiba), and armed with few sage phrases that would send my peers laughing.

Days before this, was the coffee-picking experience, which was the most grueling of this process. Your hands had to mechanically pick out the ripe berries leaving out the green ones, and put them in a tin..for further sorting out. I think i was about 9 when i decide to climb the coffee tree. Grandpa and dad were around too when i came down with a whole branch…never will forget the look on their eyes… as they probably thought: Does this kid have something wrong with his head?

I also once ate the enticing red ripe berries and the end result was not much to talk about either…

Oh. This was also the place where many a village girls had their panties knicked- if they wore any, that is

De-caffeinated thoughts

In myself, i have two kinds of school of thoughts: Weeded and Non-weeded. And there, the sorting them out begin. Thoughts come with them the birth mark that betrays their breeding ground. An apple never falls far from the tree-but Sir New Toad- what does ‘far’ mean to you? Would you still say the same if an apple fell from the tree and rolled down a cliff?

I’m going this stages in my days when i think about thinking…and i’m arriving at strange conclusions. Once i have something definite, like knowing exactly which coffee is which…i shall come out here, clearly.

When the sem kicks off, most of us guys are loaded. And if you are not, there are friends, sufficiently philanthropic to ‘cater’ that bill for you. I was blissfully on the other side: characteristically called the ‘receiving end‘.

Now, last week found some roads ending up in places like JKUAT. And there, the host never let our heels cool off.  It was only the first day there in a long time but i was already familiar with all good and bad watering holes, peddlers and the juicier side of town. Never mind i quit quitting taking the beloved bottle, for shaking sake, but bwoy…how  we ended up at the guys’ ( a  shaggy haired jam with a don’t care swagger/stagger, called E…a friend of a friend) hostel gates at 3. a.m. in the morning is a hangover story.

See, there we were, selfishly caressing takeaway bottles, in the cold…waiting for E to jump over the hostel gate and katia the watchie to let us in. Apparently, there was a curfew from 11pm, and here we strode in at a Satanly hour, very disorderly. The case escalated after we heard harsh words exchanged and somebody rolling down the stairs of the decent hostel. Thinking our pal was in trouble,  Dere (my companion) and i jumped over the blue gate (or was it green?) not exactly landing on our feet..to find the petite Kisii watchie pleading for his life and E shouting the words over again, charging like a bull.

“nitakumada, unaskia?”

(In  a meek defeated voice, hands raised in despair) “ Ku mada ndio nini?

The noise attracted the  hostel’s proprietors who happened to live in the upper floor -  A plump woman with stockings and tens of lessos around her, the Huzzy, in a white stained vest flabs of flesh on his sides…and their son striding down the stairs…asking for calm while shouting us down.

… A belligerent E was calling upon the head of the house who was holding on to some railings…

“Si ushuke hizo stairs ndio tuelewane vizuri?”

He didn’t.

I reported to campus early and it is not a beautiful story. Save for the sight of freshmen who look fly coz they are simply fresh and are reducing like snow caps on Oloibon peak plus endless hours before the computer (i like this) and getting stoned with abandon, there is a lot more not to write home about.

Er, whatever i meant there.

See, after a December, full of decadence and rot, i decided to go clean on New year.This was nothing like a resolution, just a resolve. For this, i decided to teleport my ass down to ocha to ‘cool off my heels’. In the process messed up some of my die hard party pals big time but that’s a story for another day altogether.

Meanwhile at the United States of Ocha, i tried to make the best of my time there with my old older man relaxing where unaware who i be (sight issues,age, world catching up, ha)…and shosh looking like i was her lastborn. Man, i was having a blast. Waking up at 11, hot milk, yams, CNN and a warm sweater with the insitenst drizzle riddled with midday sunshine. the smell of farm freshness- cow dung, oh!…and i thought i was really mooning the world- with all my addictions for…foregone?

Well, every morn, i had to travel a village up to the nearest shop for my morn puff. On one of these trips, i met one of my lost Cuzos and life took another turn. No longer was village life its cliche-self. Though not as ‘evolved’, i realised that this was a Cosmo all by its own. I was particlarly disturbed by the scenes and people that i encountered.

First, there was the brew which was a mixture of all cheap spirits on earth which was then packed and sold in 20bob and 40bob plastic bottles (formerly of Kane Extra, Kenya King, Amazon, Monalisa…funny brands). I didn’t touch that. Then the old mzees i would call dad, all drunk, disorderly, many teeth missing hassling my for a ‘ka-loosta’ was a bit too much for the conservative in me to handle. The guys who i grew up with, those who we stole sugarcane pamoja all looked trodden and not that i am better..but if i really had not rocketed out, yours truly would still be zero grazing. Altogether, nothing withstanding, i was still able to have fun, talk and exchange ideas (don’t ask which) though my vernacular is getting rusty.

Before long, the cycle, like that of bar stool tales, it grew stale on me and i had to escape…

Into other dimensions- places less frequented, like valley with a river flowing and a  bridge in the form of huge water pipes (Chania Water- which supply the whole of Nairobi, i hear) where u could stay on and watch the big river roar by.

Ultimate, escape!

With my reefer, notebook, cigs and sunglasses, time just stood still…or moved too fast.

With the next post, i’ll begin with the hot milk and weeded cake tale, mad, i tell ya!

listening to Drake’s music was what ended my 09 with higher spirits. Now this is spilling over to 2k and ten and i am not hating it. i listen to various genres of music, provided it speaks to my soul - ranging from Rock, pop, hip hop, R&B…depending on the poetic weight of the lyrics.
But now, i am high like on Dope with Drake. His album So Far Gone, i am not sure whether it was his first or something is something of a defining moment for this relatively new artiste- or has recently hit the limelight.
He comes off as your kawa guy, struggles, dreams, fears, hopes and attitude and listening to him, i feel him from the soul to the socks.
I could go dissect on every song on the album (and the collaboes) but then, i leave it out to the moment when i feel sufficiently philanthropic to share my hearts content!
Right now, i am swinging in this small-time office chair, precariously balancing this ka-Mac air on my lap and nodding my head to ‘i just wonna be successful..
get the money, money and the cars, cars and the clothes, clothes and the whore….wo hooooooooo!

It’s just a reflection of what i want and has nothing to do with any ‘hidden groupie love’, yeah.

BoywaCampo.

I wonder why they keep on writing such lines behind Kenyan lorries and Canters that: Here’s another one from Crater Auto….well, this does not help matters especially if ‘uko kwa jam unakam - you are seated on the from seat of a mat/personal car, its hot and sunny and your eyes are looking out for something ‘inspiration’.

Never mind the fuss.

Anyway, i have been having issues with settling here and hopefully his will be sorted by those responsible this year. Mambo isikuwe ka last year. Meanwhile, i will keep it localized here.

I know your Dec must have been awesome. Mine was a killer, but i am great-fully alive, intact, although i may have lost this and that (not teeth, ha). The new year resolution shit doesn’t work for me, but it wouldn’t hurt to reflect…but reflect on what now?
Hakuna rehearsal hii life…I am here, soldiering on with school, still carrying on the vices (and virtues)  that have kept me tagged to sanity (or insanity for that matter, ha!)

All the same, i would like to get back into the interwebs, write, be read as well read other blogs. It’s been so long.

See ya around.

BoywaCampo

so, that could probley explain why am here, wallowing in the shadows of loneliness(did i say that?) whereas some nigga is having it good elsewhere…

….my chemical romances have since been stunted and aborted n all am left with is smoke smoldering outta my love life shell, like an abandoned experiment room in Chernobyl…smoke is jus’ billowing slowly , like a great chinese dragon…n u dont wonna know what is happenin inside..
where there is smoke?…there is a smoker on the other end

but still, i miss nothing…
a**es no longer amuse me, heavenly busts do take my attention, but pretty faces are just another thing on a woman…like say, her handbag or sexy stilletos…or an artistical logo that ignites thinking…like, the bluetooth logo, Dyer&Blair…yah..,or aint a pretty woman like a melody that haunts you after the song is over?
hell, mad rubs and love jerks aint me fantasy n it seems someone just ripped off that page outta my dic…tionary….jeez…what happened to the fire of the loins?!
hata lugha yangu ime-rust na last time nili-approach m-she…nili-end up looking like a square triangle, rude n too rough…
yaani, (as per kawa) i see no point of beating around the bush chasing skunks(or skirts)…i simply went up to the pretty mama, upfront n burped ..

…if looks were bullets…ahhum..

now iz me iz go back to drawing board…i don’t know to do wot exactly…but i know its where all ladders start, down on the bone shop , the rag of the heart…
(

I’m sitted in the library enjoying wireless awesomeness. I have  a whole 1,500+ words to type and a 3-5 minutes video to upload…and here i is, still finding bearing on where to start.

At least, i have my interviews in place the only thing remaining is the flow.

And then, there is this calabash in my heart that is really messing me up. It try to keep sunk, but for skunk it is, it keeps on floating again. Ever since i stopped leaving this icebox of a heart (it has since thawed) on my bedside table, things have been really BAD.

But i don’t regret it..though, tossing and turning, reeling in unreal team…in the wake-fool-ness of a heartbreak, words are hard to come by. It’s funny how i find it hard to write when i am going through dark patches in my life. I pen dark tales when i am really having fun. Weird, you may say, but i think i have a strange sense of disclosure. I think i am an ‘introverted extrovert’. Getting trapped in between these extremes, i emerge a complicated nucca, drunk with inconsistency.

I have never gotten used to it.

Now, i just watch myself navigate through the jungles of relationships, career and schoolwork which i can say, are not at their best now.

But its all bad>why do we say its all good, when its not?

I’m not fine, what the heck, lol.

I think i have chased the chill but not really managed to unload what is weighing on me.

Time will…and it will all be, fallen leaves.

~BwC.

listening to Fallen leaves>Billy Talent

Yeah, Campus life can suck sometimes. Yeah, its ‘cool’ to laugh at other people when they fall, falter or just shuck up their lives, but when the same happens to you, things are not really the same.

well, this isn’t really a whine post. its sort of celebratory in an unusual way.

see, we meet and interact with people about campus and sometimes, life is never the same again. one look at my gang tells it all. i knew them when they were fresh-faced, innocent and tended to quote the Bible. Now, over spliff, K.K. and Goks (mogoka) they curse and keep on deliberating on vain philosophies.

For me, yeah, i won’t: what is a life’s worth if you don’t try out stuff…ha ha ha. (distraction)Today i shared some funny joke  on how people act when they are under the influence. From tired third years who have probley seen it all, the came the usual exasperation…before one Man Kihoronjes (ok, never mind the name, ha) quiped:

‘ni poa kuchizi ki-plan ma-time…”

“eeh, u-fly high over the rainbow…” added one clearly hangovered Biggies.

“Inaeza kuwa blanda ka unaeza enda in-sane ukose kurudi!”

Now, that was quite serious but the thought of  it conjured up a laughable image.

Well, the semester is almost drawing to a close and i am reluctantly taking stock. And to be plain honest, i have really ff-ed up.

A lot.

I should spare you the detials, but the good thing is that…i am, really not doing well but i hope to rise up again, and focus.

i am just going through changes…

Well, those who know me are aware that i rarely do the ‘idiot box’ unless i really really have to do. So when one Jeremy came packing from Big Brother’s House (who-the-hell-is-this-big-brother that they go to every year??)…anyway…yeah..i had a hard time criticizing the guy in a class assignment on this site (yeah, we high tech nowadays we blog for marks, ha!)

Anyway, some buzz is doing around campo and of course, usually, UsGaizofMedia are the first to..pick it up! I’ve never blogged about this guy, but he is campo’s most hated jamaa. From staff, to his sub-ordinates and the list drags on…and he’s simply called, Njuguna. Or Njuguna the security man. Basically speaking, he’s the head of Campo’s security so you expect he’s got to brush shoulder’s who like bending and bedding the rules (especially those of us who do off-campus residences where no-rules-abound-ha).

Personally, i have no beef with him coz i’ve managed to keep my sh*t well covered like a cat. And again, working for the fourth estate (and possessing some good sounding tittle that simply means errand boy, i got to really be a good boy

Grass was green

So anyway, story broke that Man Njugush, has not been up to no good lately. Apparently, now that this school is a vast Savannah, there are unused lands that have with them grass…not weed, er, but with the spurts of short rains, Kao-land cows do not need ngwin-glasses to  see it…and ever the intelligent guy ( i hear he says this a lot) he decided to collude with some boys from the G4S crew and sneak in cattle AT NIGHT in exchange for ca$h!

Well, it hasn’t lasted for long nad as i type thing, my phone is ringing off my pocket for it calls for…AN EVICTION PARTYYYYYYYYYYYY.

~On behalf of all sadist,a toast to that :D!

Ghettogolfer-word of the day.

This word has been stuck in my mind like the stench of cham. I think i picked up in those random mindless talk that dot the chattering box (Kenyan radio).

So, i pictured myself as this ghetto golfer…and the whole outfits starts fitting on, not perfectly, but just in the awkward way things always look in the Ghetto.

Nothing is ever original. If one has a really gisty phone, so many phony details scream out at you once it rests on your palm. Some day, in one of those drinking session at some random backstreet back in the hood when on Pita chomoad an iphone and all our mouths were like: Whoa…

But later on, we had a reason to laugh out loud over the discovery. Wait, it wasn’t really the kawa fake-ass China iPhone…but as he tried to fiddle it over and make it work, its shortcomings were enough to make you make love to you Kabambe or Mulika mwizi ata bila gloves, ha!

I mean, you know those phones unaombanga beshte yako akuokolee na call alafu anaanza tu zile za:Finya 3 na nguvu…space bar huwa haiwork, ha!

Stori na kwambia!

Anyway, kenye imeni-inspire nichore hii risto ni mshe-fulani tumepatana na yeye this week amenimada kima da ga…wawawa!

Ushaiona roho ya ghettoboy ikobonyeka tu ka andazi ya ashu pale ivi base ya jenga mwili?

Time ka hizi ndo mi huseti tu ki-kolo [mbo] kwa keja, mkono ndani ya chest na-count nywele za chest tu alafu ma-ol’s school bluuz zi-na whisper from my ka-palito..bru ha ha ha…

Hii story bado hai-jasink, bado mie tu nacheki tu ka ita-flow vitamu alafu niwamwagia mtama, au vepe?

Meanwhile, checki checki hizi ma-lyrics za Bishop ujiseti kwa scale…

U know u ghetto (dont be ashamed )
U ghetto
U ghetto ( dont be ashamed )
U ghetto
U know u ghetto

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto when you got rats and roaches
With the fan in the window, front door wide open
U know u ghetto when u say “I aint offended”
Change the channel with some pliers, got a hanger for a antenna
U know u ghetto eatin chicken everyday
With color weave in your hair and you trickin for a pay
Gold teeth in your mouth
Out talkin loud
And the car that you drive cost more than your house
U know u ghetto when your job is illegal
Live in the projects with furniture like rich people
U know u ghetto when you cook with lard
Only credit that you got is your food stamp card
U know u ghetto when you own section 8
Have dues everyday, but you pay your bills late
Understand this song, get your jam on
And yo grandma whip you with whatever she get her hands on

[chorus]
[lil kids (Bishop)]
U know u ghetto ( look at the way you walk)
U ghetto ( c’mon, listen to how you talk)
U ghetto ( look at the clothes you wear)
U ghetto ( haa, look at that style of hair)
U know u ghetto

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto pickin boogers and you flick ‘em
And eat with your hands stead of washin ‘em, you lick ‘em
You dont know your daddy
And your hair nappy
People catch the Holy Ghost in church gettin happy
U know u ghetto call the crib your house
Be at funerals screamin, fightin, then fall out
U know u ghetto sellin clothes that you stole
And when you go out it’s like a fashion show
U know u ghetto with a name like Shaniqua
Pookie, Red, and Peanut puttin codes in your beeper
When you hear stuff, helecopter, city bus
????? straight out of the ice cream truck

[chorus]

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto only shop when there’s a sale
Late everywhere you go with an excuse to tell
U know u ghetto when you pee outside
Catch bronchitis, get ?????? and sleep tight
U know u ghetto when y’all stealin cable
Cussin and DJin on underground radio
Sayin Yo’ Mama jokes
Fightin on talk shows
Matress against the wall
Aint no frame, it’s on the floor
U know u ghetto with dreads, ????, and braids
Weave, colorful nails, afros, ??????, and ?????
U ghetto, wont pay back money that you borrow
And wearin an outfit you gon’ return tomorrow
U know u ghetto bettin on a number
Usin words like “Uhh-huh”, “Naw”, and “Uhh-uhh”
Stead of “Mom” you say “Ma”, stead of “Dad” you say “Da”
You see nickel stores, bar-b-cue stands, and laundromats

[chorus]

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto punchin aint playin house right
Your kids bare foot playin outside
Eat food of the ground, say “God, bless the church”
Let your kids drink beer talkin bout “It gives ‘em worms”
U know u ghetto borrowin your friends clothes
Ran out of water supplies from people next door
U know u ghetto heat the house with the oven
And anybody famous from the hood your cousin
U know u ghetto cussin out your teacer
And when somethin happen your mama screamin “Lord Jesus!”
When you use street knowledge
Graduate from school and go to jail instead of college
U know u ghetto bar-b-cuein every holiday
Pizza man wont even deliver around your way
Whjere the gang hang out, cornerstore hang out
Mom’s at the gas station beggin for some change now