you have seen them in the awards winning flick ‘Nairobi Half Life’ showing in theatre in town, now come have an experience of the same in the return of KenyanPlayboy II…next week at Alliance Francaise…featuring the best of Kenyan talents on stage…YOU CANT AFFORD TO MISS IT!….
Heartstrings Kenya presents the gut-crusher
“Kenyan Playboy”
2nd OCTOBER 2012
This comedy, Kenyan Playboy, will arguably be the most controversial look at the approach Kenya gives riches and wealth.
A Kenyan will pay 20000/= yearly school fees in painful installments but ironically manage to buy a phone worth 80000/= without blinking.
This gut-crushing comedy will hilariously look at a Kenyan’s journey of Rags to Riches.
It will take us through the journey of a Kenyan pursuit of riches and hilariously so, prove that we do not know what to do with the riches after we get it.
Comedy: “Kenyan Playboy”.
Directed by: Sammy Mwangi and Victor Ber
Dates: 2nd – 7th October 2012
Venue: Alliance Française de Nairobi
Times: 6.30pm weekdays, 3pm & 6.30pm weekends.
Tickets: 500/
Contact: 0721 608 656
LC:Have you ever fallen in love with a fictional character? Tell us about it.
PN:Oh yes! Howard Roark from The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. He was so strong and defiant. But most importantly he was super brilliant at what he did he managed to scare an entire establishment.
LC: What are you extremely good at?
PN: Panicking! No, really. And playing down what I’m really good at 😛
LC:If you died today? How would you like to be remembered?
PN:As a Passionate, Sassy soul sister. Who shared all she had.
LC: What question have you always wanted to be asked? Please ask it and answer it!
Q. What is the hardest lesson you’ve ever learned?
A. Learning to just apologize. Apologize without explaining, excusing, justifying or countering. Just say ‘Sorry’
Founder and Executive Director,Action Network for the Disabled;a national disability organization that empowers young disabled people to lead decent lives.Nairobi,Kenya · http://www.andy.or.ke
By now, majority of Kenyans already know the song by Daddy Owen in collaboration with Denno (who is visually impaired) which has hit the chats in the recent times-Mbona?(see the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMvqSjdSJJw) Directly translated as Why?
This is one song that resonates with majority of persons with disabilities and their tribulations in Kenya and even beyond our borders and talks to the individual soul out there asking the hard question, why they discriminate their fellow Kenyan just because one is using an assistive device to move around i.e. wheelchair, white cane or crutches.
One is led to an illustration where a person on a wheelchair tries to board a bus but when the driver realizes that he is on wheelchair, he speeds-off leaving him at the stage not knowing what to do next yet what he only wanted was to travel from one point to another.
On Friday 21st September 2012, a very typical end of the weekday was not going to be any different, since it had been a busy week and unwinding with a friend wasn`t a bad idea normally at the ‘table of men’
I put a call to one of my close and ideologically radical friend we have grown together since discovering the worth our heads carry, and the agreement was that we meet at a restaurant he introduced me to and I ended up loving it because of its name; Seven Degrees !Isn`t it a cool name?
So it is 5pm and as usual for any Friday, all of us at the office are punctual to leave and from the 16th floor where our office is; we part ways with colleagues on the ground floor as everyone heads their way.
Anyone who sits on the ‘table of men’ will understand that 5pm is too early to begin sitting on this kind of tables!Cleverly,the plan is to buy time by exercising by walking to somewhere opposite Serena Hotel-Nairobi. Those who have know-how in health issues will confirm that this is actually beneficial to someone like me who suffered polio when I was two years old. Walking for some distance provides me the much-needed exercise to keep post-polio effects at bay.
Semi-officially dressed with a designer ‘Jakom’ cap, I set out to cross the busy Uhuru High Way towards the roundabout where it joins the road from Serena Hotel and given that at this time of the day, there was a heavy traffic on both roads made it easier for me to cross from any side of the road.
After looking both sides of the road as a former student of geography in high school, I spot a space between two cars, one of them a white Toyota Vitz. There are only two occupants in this car both seated in front and the driver is a Kenyan while on his left is an occupant of a European descent.
As I approached this car, both of the windows were open and when the driver spotted me advancing towards them to cross; he quickly switched the automatic car window to close but only on the side of the occupant and not his side. This is the moment that hit me as I clearly deciphered what his action meant. The driver had realized that there was a person in crutches passing and perhaps sensed that I would be a bother to his client. I asked myself, why is it this way? And this is when I remembered those tactful advocacy skills one learns through experience. I decided I will approach this particular driver closer to his window just to get an understanding of the action he had done.
You can guess, he was actually denying that he had done nothing but was only stuck in the traffic; this is when I took the responsibility of informing him what he had just done and what it meant. It was only fair that I give him my piece of mind to deter a repeat of the same in future. Even though I had rage in me of how belittling his action meant, I composed myself to speak with authority.
It was my turn to educate him that, not any person on crutches is a beggar or looking for alms. There was no way I was just going to be another ‘smart beggar’ in the eyes of this Vitz-driving man.Mr.why do you think that I am a beggar yet I have just come from my office where I manage a total of 12 staff?’ The environment Was actually ripe to pull one of those ‘you should know-people’ stance on his nose, but it was my choice to be civil so that he would respect me and have an opportunity to reflect on my words when he finally goes back to his family at night.
After delivering an advocacy package to this Vitz-driving mid-30`s guy, I decided that I would leave him with a parting shot just before the traffic cleared up. ‘It is wrong for you to think of me in that negative way, even without giving me any benefit of doubt. Remember I did not apply to be the way I am and here you are driving, how sure are you to reach home without an accident? If it happens to you, how will you feel if everyone sees you and thinks you are a beggar?’ This was my last pitch and I was damn sure, it was going to haunt him in the evening.
Yes, the traffic cleared and there he went and I also got into a car that took me to Seven Degrees! As we were negotiating traffic, another flashback resurfaced where five years ago, a watchman attempted to deny me entry to Simmers Restaurant on the account that I was going to beg while on this fateful evening, we had agreed with two of my female friends to meet at the restaurant for business discussions and I was the one in-charge of buying drinks for this particular meet-up. The watchman would hear none of this until I called them to my rescue; he later apologized after sensing that I was determined to notify the management.
In both of this incidents, one can imagine the kind of negative notions our society has against persons with disabilities; we are condemned without any hearing every other day while truly speaking and if one bothered to ask, I have the capacity of employing those in question or giving them freebies without feeling anything yet they are the lot that thought I was just another beggar who is smartly dressed.
It is high time we stopped generalizing that any person who is differently-abled is a beggar, having a disability doesn’t mean we are not capable of being productive members of the society. The last time I checked, there are no application forms so be very careful how you treat a person who is differently-abled, you can ask the person who confessed on TV that he never used to carry any person on a wheelchair when he was driving a PSV vehicle until he got an accident and lost the use of his limbs and was confined to a wheelchair himself.
If you are a Kenyan and you watch prime time news(or soap operas), then you must have come across this advert from GSK on their product ‘Parodontax’ for ‘Those who spit blood when they brush’.
See the image below;
I am all too familiar with shock advertising…meant to startle and offend its audience by violating norms for social values and personal ideals. Why else would such an advert be brought at tines when families are probably having their dinner? For those with vivid imaginations, the image of a person brushing their teeth, foaming and eventually spitting blood is all too vivid whenever this phrase is used!
The marketing manager or advertising manager has certainly made us aware of the the product and the blood-spitters are happy that they have a place to call home.
She asked me ‘how can you change the past?’ I looked at her coffee brown eyes. She had her hands folded across her chest. Her hair was neatly braided. She had a brown sweater on. I could see her belly: firm and round, almost bulging. I looked into the horizon and held my breath. She was standing before me. She was beautiful and her voice mellow. The wind carried her voice away. She talked about the truth. She talked about ‘us.’ She talked about the good times. I listened to her even though my back was facing her. I stood there ready to turn. She asked ‘what happened to all that?’ Then I saw her. Have you ever seen Death? I mean looked into her eyes and known that no matter what you said she’d got you good. I say death is a woman; because only she can be beautiful and determined. Only a woman can bring a man to his knees. I loved Anna. I still do. But how can I change the past? You change it by reliving it. I drove to Kisumu that evening. She was standing there waiting for an answer. I walked out on her. That was the biggest mistake of my life. But like my Father used to say, a real man knows when to walk away. She is Mrs. Anna Otieno now. She is my brother’s wife. He is the other twin. I am happy for her; I am not happy for him. Things were good back then. I was happy and so was she. I am a Farmer now.
I have a confession to make. I know that every family has secrets, but there’s nothing as bad as each member having their own secrets too. My Brother, Robert, says ‘this is Kenya; everyone has secrets, what counts is who takes his to the grave.’ He is right, but Robert is my twin. He is the guy who can pass as me. What tells us apart is a scar, a black patch on my back-and who can see my back when I have clothes? My Mother knows us from our voice. She says one speaks from the soul the other from his mouth. I am honored to admit that I am the former. How stupid of me to be taking credit! It is the only thing that stops me from admitting that I was hurt by my brother. Sure enough, it is easy to write, but to say? To face Robert and tell him he hurt me, is another thing. I walked away and he stood up for Anna. I am honored to be the man who will stand by his brother and affirm his love for the woman we both know I love. I bet now you are thinking, ‘being a man is tough!’ It sure is, and it gets worse when all you have to do is smile and act as though everything is fine. It is worst if the man that pulls the trigger is your blood brother, the one whom you’d still take that bullet for. So now you know my poison, I will tell you about my pleasure. I used to be a cook. I hear they call some chefs now. I still cook, but back then it was what I lived for. I cooked in a simple restaurant in town. I made the dishes and got paid. My shift started from 6:00am to 10:00pm. I would then cross the road to Gill House and board a matatu heading to BuruBuru. It’d take me twenty minutes to get home at night, but I loved the thrill. My Father used to tell us that love is like madness; only the mad know what it means to love. I loved cooking so much that I had to watch The Food Channel before I slept. I never made supper because I took my meal at the restaurant before leaving. It was always that simple.
No one in the family understood why I settled for less, yet I was the best. Truth is I didn’t settle I was just getting started. Robert on the other hand became a lawyer. Father was so proud the day he got sworn in as an Advocate of the High Court of Kenya that he offered him a cheque of twenty thousand shillings! Mom was overcome with joy we thought her cheeks would bulge. Father never gave you more than three thousand shillings. We all toasted to Robert’s success. I was the one who cooked all the meals we had that afternoon. Robert joked that he might marry me if he never found a woman. So, that’s how it began. When Robert started making more money than me, my Father kept pushing me to work harder or get a good job. I listened to what he said, but also acknowledged what he left unsaid. In his mind Robert was better than me. In his heart- he wanted sons who made more money. Mom never said much, but in her own way, she’d often say ‘your Father is right, you are a better cook than your old Mother, why don’t you apply for a job at a bigger restaurant or a five-star hotel that’d pay you more?’ I listened to her too, but with time I decided to stay put. I worked hard at the restaurant because I loved being there. I never told them that I had opened three cake shops in: Buruburu, Donholm, and Embakasi.
I never told them that from these shops I made more money than they could ever imagine. The only man that inspired me was my Grandfather. He knew my Father was tough on us. He also knew that we were smarter than him and of a different generation. So, one time he called me and said he wanted to bless me before he died. Anyone who gets such a call knows that you dash home lest you be cursed by the dying! I did just that. He was smoking a cigarette and telling the shepherd to take the cows down to the Lake. He hated cows, because they couldn’t stop chewing. He’d look at the cows and say, ‘cows are just like women! They never know when to let go, look at that ugly black cow, it reminds me of the days when women actually obeyed their men-those were the days, that was love, not this endless chewing, aargh!’ I walked up to him and he smiled. He spat out “so you’ve come to say good bye eh…well, I have bad news for you, that Angel- the one that made Zachariah blind, that Angel…eeh what’s the name of that fool? Eh…eh…”
“Gabriel and it was God that made Zachariah blind Grandfather.”
“Yes, that one-wait, is it him? Well, that fool, he showed up this morning when I was trying to shut my eyes and said that the Angel of Death is still held up in Iraq. He will be here when he can, and that might take a while.”
“I am glad to hear that Grandfather.”
“Stop being nice! Have you been castrated? Call me Tito!”
“Yes Tito and I brought you three packs of cigarettes. I know Embassy Lights are your favorite.”
“Three? The child, where is your Mother I piss on her head? How can you bring shame to this home? I smoke a pack every day and you dare bring only three! Better go back to that kitchen of yours and heat your brains!”
“I also brought you that jacket you wanted and a crate of beer is that still shameful?”
“Bless you my Grandson, I kept telling your Mother that you were the only Man of that house, not that one that cannot keep quiet, here sit down and tell me all about your wicked Father and the many times he’s tried to kill my favorite Grandson.” That is how our relationship was sealed. Tito, my Paternal Grandfather, always had answers for everything. He never minced his words. When he died he left his farm and thirty five cattle to me. No one objected to this because he had called a clan meeting and made his wishes clear. Father hated farming and he didn’t mind. His other siblings were busy with their lives to worry about cattle. The only thing he asked for was that I be the one to inherit all his wealth. Of course being a twenty seven year old with my career set in Nairobi this came as a shock. It was even worse that he died three days after I had visited him. So, three months after his funeral I relocated home. I had enough money to renovate his house and demolish some unused structures. It also gave me the chance to learn about cows and why he hated them so much. He also left behind a plot in Kisumu for Robert. Robert sold this plot of land to me of course and that’s where my Cake Shop is. I make my cakes and deliver them to Kisumu and its environs then drive home. At times I sleep in the shop especially when schools are closed and people want more cookies and cakes. Back at home, life was tough at first, but people welcomed me. Mama Nyabose taught me how to make ghee and it has helped my business. I always bake loaves for sale and this has the shepherd making extra money every day as he delivers to the homes. The shopkeepers hate me for this, but I learned that if you can’t play the game, you’d better quit! So, I am home. I watch the sun set from the place my Grandfather, Tito, used to sit and smile. At times I recall what he used to tell us, ‘if you can’t keep your head up, then you’d better chop it off.’ Other times he would make some rude comments about women that made us cringe, and then he’d laugh at how stupid we were. Father said he became bitter when our Grandmother died, who knew death could change people that much?
Every one has a story. Some tell their stories but others never master the courage to do that. In the end, it’s just a world full of stories. Tito knew what was happening between me and Robert. He saw it from our childhood. He’d often say that we were nations at war, and the war would end when one killed the other. I don’t believe him. We are brothers and I would rather die than fight Robert. I realized this when I walked away from Anna that evening. I am a coward because part of me knows that the old man was right and doesn’t want to accept it. I love Robert that is why I can take anything he throws at me. He called me last night. The phone rang at 11:30pm. I have often believed that any call received past 10:30pm bears bad news. I was right too. He was calling from the office to tell me some good news. They were getting married. Anna had finally said ‘yes.’ He was too happy to keep quiet with the news. Of course Anna wanted to tell me, but she’s been so busy with the preparations that he had to break the news. I congratulated him and told him if he needed anything he knew I had his back.
He laughed and said they’d be coming home over the weekend. He wanted to know if I could make it to our parents’ house in Kisumu. I laughed at this and told him it was only an hour away. He got into the farming life and asked me if I needed any seeds or fertilizer from Nairobi. I needed some for spring onions, but I told him I was fine. He wished me a good night and hung up. My day just began after that I hung up. I have never baked from midnight till dawn. I did just that and only stepped out at 6:00am when the shepherd was coming into the house for the milk jug. He didn’t ask me what was wrong. He only said ‘you are worse than my Mom, Richard, why would you wake up at midnight to cook?’
I smiled at him and joined him in the shed. He started milking the fussy white cow while I went for the grey one. I couldn’t stop thinking about Anna. If I were to tell you how we met, you’d probably think of me as a fool for having walked away. You would be right. So, that was how my day started. It was a Friday and I knew I had to be at my parents’ house the next day. I would wait for them to hear the news then go on. I did not want another comparison talk because it felt as though my Father had a son in Robert and a retard in me. My Mom had sons one was fast the other was sweet. I happened to be the sweet one. She’d often mock me by saying I reeked of cow dung! Father would only look up from his newspaper and ask, ‘did you bring me a slice of my favorite cake?’ I would hand it to him and he’d praise me till he finished it. When he was done, he’d go back to his old self. He would ask me if any woman would want to marry a Farmer. One evening he told me, “Richard, do you know what breaks my heart about you? I bet you don’t, but the thing is, you gave up too soon. It’s like you just decided to live a life of ‘let come, what may,’ and nothing ever gets to you, unlike Robert who strives for something-you just sit there and wait, and sad thing is I don’t know what you are waiting for.” You know, if you even checked me up on Facebook, you’ll see that I have said I am an enigma even to myself. I don’t blame my Father for saying that. He calls it as he sees it. I keep my secrets because I have my goals too. I don’t want to tell the world about them. I don’t want to be answerable to anyone but me, that’s why some things I’d rather have them unknown. Like Tito used to say, ‘it takes a man to know when to keep his mouth shut.’
I know I will have to face Anna. I know that she’ll look at me and wonder why I gave up on ‘us.’ Just like I said, some secrets are taken to the grave, because that’s where they belong. I am glad she’s with Robert now. I know she will raise their child to be a better man than his Father. So, she asked me, “How can one change the past?”
My answer to her is “by letting it stay there…in the past.”
1. On the day that you slap the big L on your back and front window, every man you meet from your colleagues at work, to pedestrians, to the watchman at the gate at work and at home, all who have never set foot on an accelerator will automatically assume they can drive better than you, until you stop one in their tracks and ask them;
Then you will say: “There you go, then. I am a licensed driver. So perhaps you better leave the driving to me and I will leave other matters to you.Sawa?”
2. If you happen to drive on the roads that matatus also drive on, be prepared for drivers and touts that can smell fear of the Nairobi roads from 50kms away. They will scratch you and bump into you and say:
“Ni Learner Tu. Kwanza ata ni mwanamke! Twende!”
You will probably gasp in shock and a little annoyance but you will focus your eyes on the road…
3. On the day of your first accident, you will probably lock yourself up in the car and make frantic calls to your mechanic and your taxi driver. The policeman at the accident scene will smell fear and naivety through the window screen and start slapping charges like: “Overspeeding,Careless Driving,Mansluaghter,Resisting Arrest.” On you even though no-one is hurt in the accident!
4. If you enter the wrong lane in a roundabout, the experienced female driver whose lane you entered will roll down her window and shout:
“Rudi driving school wewe!”
5. If you give a male colleague a lift to town, he will constantly tell you (at all the roundabouts and junctions).
“Wacha Uwoga,enda tu!enda!”
6. Your new mechanic will introduce to you parts of the car that you previously had not heard of whenever there is a “funny noise” from the car. He will then charge you for “consultation” and the “bits and parts that I am getting you “at a cheaper price”.(You will thenquickly run to cry on the shoulders of AA Kenya)
Against your better judgment, you push the trolley towards the milk section and there, before your very eyes, is the enemy number one you have been trying really hard to keep off. He sits there attractively, hands folded (well not exactly); frozen, cold and alone. The only brown in the section of pink and white. Begging for you to run to his rescue.
The alarm in your head goes off, you know you have to walk away, but your parents’ lessons in loyalty are fresh in your mind.
You pick the brown tub of dark chocolate and resins ice cream, move swiftly to the counter and pay for it .You promise yourself that you will take just a couple of scoops and keep the rest for your skinny daughter. She likes it so much.
You reach home and pull the large shopping paper bag into the house, shut the door and collapse onto the seat.
You drown the last drop off the coca cola bottle you had left half empty on the table and close your eyes as you drown the soft drink.
You remove the shoes that are too uncomfortable, throw the seat cushions to the smaller sofa and lie down.
Your mind goes back to the shopping routine; it had been fun back then, before the kids came. You could spend all the money you wanted to.
Now, it’s a routine you don’t enjoy so much. With the tough economic times and a couple of kids, you have to save every penny. That alone, gets the fun out of shopping.
Your mind glides to the tub of chocolate ice-cream in your shopping bag. You are quick to forget that you are on a mission to eat healthy and keep fit. Only last month, you gave up the midmorning and evening tea, this means less sugar. You have been doing really well fighting cravings and indulgences, whatever made you buy the ice-cream?
You open the tub, and begin devouring the ice cream, beginning with the chocolate and saving the raisins for last. You let the sweetness linger in your mouth as the melting cold syrup makes up for all those months you’ve kept off sweet things.
Suddenly, you hear loud laughter and they are staring at you.
What a fool you are? Their unfriendly eyes say.
Goodness all that ice-cream? Shame on you.
What a nerve you’ve got, eating all that? Now you will have to live with the consequences of that. Whatever happened to the self discipline you once had?
You couldn’t possibly ever face my husband again, no not ever. You are the worst human being ever. And you call yourself a wife. Maybe you should go sleep and never wake up. Because when you wake up you will have added a hundred Kilograms and your husband will never look at you again. He is very likely to divorce you. If anything, your clothes will be too small for your new giant self. What about your children, did you think of them when you were carelessly eating your happiness away? Will you ever be able to go to their school again? They love their mother not Bambino the baby elephant.
The best thing to do would be to run away and never come back. Just allow your dear husband to get a nice sweet woman who wouldn’t indulge in careless behavior like overeating ice-cream. One who feeds on lettuce and salads and nothing more. Just go kiss the photos of your dear babies’ goodbye (I know you will probably leave thick marks of lipstick on them) grab your purse and get walking.
Walk straight to Kenya Cinema, take the lift to fourth floor, there is a nice ice cream joint there. Order all the ice cream you want and eat it. When your money has run out, begin paying via e- banking and m-pesa from your phone. Just keep eating.
You will grow so big and unable to move. Then the Kenya Wildlife Service rangers will come and put a large fencing around you. Children will be picking at you and throwing candy at you. You will be a free zoo.
‘’Ooh no, no it can’t possibly be that bad,’’ you speak out loud eating the remaining ice-cream to clear it. Things can’t so that bad, you loosen up some and vow never to beat yourself up that hard again.
Literary Chronicles 