MY SHUTTLE DIPLOMACY TO KICK OUT A NOISY NEIGHBOUR

Student Welfare Authority couldn't be so naive and lacking in intelligence to pair my academic semester with a sophomore in halls of residence.You see, though this prefabricated partitions are called single, private and confidential, any slight movement that stirs up across the wall, will never escape your 5 senses.

And since our new parlance is shuttle charming your way out of hells like Hague, i went on an all out offensive to dispatch my adolescent neighbor to room downstairs. its called forceful eviction softly.

This sucker you see is a boof baff. or a poor imitation of gangster lifestyle.Lil Wayne blares from his cheap speakers all day long, walks out of the door with his pants on his knees,and has rings on every prickable space of his thick skin.Then his bubble is replica to a fault.

When you toss into that the ladies who mill around his bed, outrageously kiddish they are just unfolding from pampers, whose dress code is like they got kicked off dressing table, buoy, you get nauseated.

They always seem to be relay batonning that room that you get scared they don't attend lectures.

Their chatter is fully anecdoted gibberish that brims with abbreviations, they even abbreviate laughter. shrilly cyclical nonsenses like "hey, i saw im an am like, oh mai GOooooSH, i lOled, an he is like xoxoxo...." crap!!!

I decide like, this dude is hellbent to extend me a maddening tenancy.

I go through Joseph Nye's soft power, some texts by Sun Tzu, and am fully equipped to confront the brainless bugger.

I come out of my side of room packed with both Hard and Soft diplomatic power, and other Nyangori Alitsi tricks should the foremost authority's' advice falter.

I have a towel wrapped around me, long enough to funika the essentials, and brief enough to direct eye attention to my most pruned features.I cough authoritatively and flip open his door blind. All eyes fall on my chest, then slowly they investigate me downwards, then gradually again upwards:trick number one EXCELLENT.

I cough again and beckon my fry to move over. he slides off the packed bed and shuffle forward with the characteristic limp. His eyes inspect my tight chest once more, that, he is sure stopped brief off his chics tits, a flat six pack under, and legs that seem to have been chopped off Lwanda Magere.

Having perfectly scored on the hard part, i now go soft "hey buddy**cough**hey, hey..ope you dont mind my diet, since we neighbours, yu know..not bud acquainting early" i lazily say " and getting to know our biases". The Sahara temperature i had planted in their room rapidly drops as i hear sighs of relief.

Under his bare breath, he is like, dude, fwck off, got nuthin better to stop ma fun??

Leaning on the door, he now affords to glare firingly at me, if only gazes could scorch.

"See bro," i go on despite his disinterest" I am from Nyanza, and ma moma packed a sack of small fish for me", i heave myself slightly and with lots of art to let his eyes fall effortlessly into my room. what his eyes land on, gives him a lurch.

Droplets mysteriously come on his entire face. he is listening now. "Ok!,i go on as matter of factly,I am emotionless, " you see its our staple food, and i wouldn't mind sharing some.a tasty serving" the bitchez in his room are hell stiff scared. One lets forth a filled belch. The dude is flashing me a staggering murderous glare. I can see him shaking. i don't flinch a bit

I proceed with my shuttle diplomacy, to rid myself of this dude.

And since halls officer thought it better to spice my packed important academic schedule with this pack of idles, i will use my summed intelligence to as diplomatically as possible to send my neighbor looking for alternative space.

"By the way, I hope you will not be distressed with the aroma of my deli,it has olfactory healing, so the doctors say" He wants to punch me in the face, i am struggling to hold back a lump of laughter coming up my thorax. He is so helpless he wants to wail.

"coz i was thinking i got a friend second floor who never minds my diet" he now wants to devour me whole, and just to remind him my hard part, i slide in this just in case.."By the way we met before?I am chief goon around this hall too.

A mixture of calm and aggression overwhelms him..He goes through ecstatic moments, like holy grail hunters, in climaxic religious copulation.

His eyes almost pop of the ring infested eye socket.

"You guys could have switched rooms you know, he come up, you go down."

My strategy is scoring ha-tricks every second i see. He guidedly rotates his blinged neck to his acquaintances who are haphazardly arranged in his room, as if to seek some intervention. they are tossed all over the room and they all blankly stare back at him, the ladies seem like they are telling him to jump at my offer..ooooh my gooooooooosh!

Lil Wayne has fizzled off and one of the dudes is numbly caressing a bottle of ZAPPA.

When he brings his neck back to me, i got a killer punch on the  ready.

"Uhm, BOSS, sori have taken so much of ya time yu know**cough**let me a minute slide to club 36 for onions" he is like, ya nigga! go and die there."meanwhile neighbour", i make my self sufficiently audible "I will leave my stuff boiling, wont mind if you add water in for me"

The statement quacks him rapturously than a 20.1 Richter scale, like a spinned fork, he swirls all out, scrambling for his wares and his bitchez.Under his breath barely audible, he is shakenly mumbling" show me the room downstairs please.

I pity him, though i cant starve myself a dry silent giggle. i deserve one, and an AFCO gulp to boot.

I help him to clear out, when him and his entourage take the last bend to the staircase, i go hurraaaaaaaay.

You see the dude joining me up now from second floor  is Rotich, is a next to final year, He lived his adolescence while still in high school, hence has matured up. He is rarely in campus so i got self contained to myself. some serenity.

I go back to my Omenas surface spread on a sack on the floor, and repartition them back to repatriate them to my naughty Jang'o friends who came in at my hour of need.

My exited sophomore can roast ears and spoil the peace of the poor lad he finds down there.

Now am ready for a really diplomatic assignment I suppose.am roast and tested. Ocampo next.

PHONEBOOK ETIQUETTE

A long drinking hole friend, I bumped into him at the Goethe corridor. We had lost physical contact since 2009, a small tête-à-tête ensued. catching up on time, what we both had been up to. our mad Nairobi night sprees.bla bla bla...

He told me he was planning to fly to Quebec Canada later in the year, hence had enrolled for classes at Alliance Français to polish his spoken, and written french. He was a doctor, and had realized his potential was being abused by the current employer, and worth of his skills under remunerated.

As the small talk sprinted to an impending halt, I realized either i had his contacts in my phone but couldn't put a trace to the name, i had with previous streak of negligent stupors that characterized my cellphone loses in freshman years;lost his number, or my power of recollection was fast receding.

But i have in my possession a pigeon hole of arsenals that i summon in such desperate instances, when i don't want to hurt your ego, by blatantly asking you to "remind me of your name please"

I figured he will notice i have a new phone. so i fished it out and tried the first trick " You still keep your previous number by the way? You see I am a teetotaler nowadays. so i keep my phones much longer, try calling me i see if i got it on Sim"

I hurry to dictate my number to him, which he obediently feeds into his keypads.

Just before he presses dial, I am scared how to save him should i not be having his names.

So here i go "and by the way, you on facebook by any chance?"

"Yeah, I am on Facebook" That has momentarily cut his attention from the phone.

"You use your real names? or what is the identity i can search you under? I am gonna add you right away"

"Just search Gilbert Menza" I stifle a grin, I am scored.

"You know when you fly to Quebec, maybe before i can get hold of your Canadian contacts, facebook will keep us in touch. Have you dialed by the way? i haven't seen it yet"

He then dials, if he saw the name that fills my screen with his oncoming call, he would strangle me. SHOGA HII PIGA SIMU is how i had saved him.

OUT THERE IN THE COLD, ALONE!

You always get to know how deep the world spares love for you when you really in deep shit. and this is just what police got to know when its website got spanked twice in a row. with the first hack seeming like a dangle foot in water to test the temperature and depth. briefly it was turned into twitter of sorts as different hackers chatted out on it, daring each other's naivety or or prowess in real hacking.
and if the first hack was written off as not being that complicated hence could be carried out by any novice with basic IT skills, the second seemed vicious and daring as it brought down all the pages and replaced them with a single scrawl seeming to lash out at Ocampo, the hague prosecutor, who has gripped kenyans with his pursuit of supposed main actors in the grievous crimes visited upon kenyans after the bungled 2007 elections.
The hack created quite a buzz with online kenyans, as rapidly a trending #policepassword was created and merrymakers plunged into it trying to guess the password as others used the forum to shout their true love for the police.
it was turned into a vilification zone with twitters reminiscing their encounters with cops, or mocking their supposed illiteracy and absence of sophistication. some were just as hilarious as kabbz who posted a line of this nature. "Cop1: " maze chegi hiyo sura " Cop 2: "huyo ni gama Gatherine Gazaburi" Cop 3:" havana yaaani huyo ni kama Kanini" to Annsalye who took the jibe " If you gannot broduce the three gavament toguments yaani IT, Gitambulisho ama dribers licenze... Twende mbele!" mostly mocking the seeming out of place cops are in modern crime prevention where they seem even not to know what they should be looking for. but others took more insulting tone, something that brushed me off offensively since am a cop too, like the comment that seemed to declare with alot of authority that cops dont even know how log into a "gompyuta!"
Their are learned cops out there for anyone who cares to know, and who are very much in step with demands of modern policing, so spare the entire force dressing down and concentrate your vitriol on the few you know with slanted shrubbish accent.

pro box nightmare

Lately i have been musing over my many parallels with Hon Ababu Lwecheche Namwamba, at half life. He was the Chairman of the UoN Kenya Law Students' Society (KLSS) at park lands, I am the Vice chair of Nairobi University Arts students Association (NUARSA), He held a long unelected (i suppose) streak at AUSA as its chair, I am unelected Vice chair of AUSA. But the elected chair AUSA Nairobi chapter. He is an Alumnus of Kolanya, an Alma Mata of M. General (Rd.) Mohammed H. Ali, I share an Alma Mata with a Constitutional Lawyer Yash Pal Ghai, though I guess I know Ali personally.

He shaves something between a lost Mohawk and a wide crew cut, I shave BALD. He has never deputized anybody his entire public life, I am scared my first occupation after campus could be subordinate. Unless I form some comical NGO and become its immediate CEO. He has trail blazed at a very nascent age, most of his ardent and obstinate sycophants could easily share age twice with him. At age 33 he was driving a range rover Vogue- I am scared of a pro-box that keep popping up in my dreams, and parking in my yard.

Such a frustrating mountain of a profile to aspire emulating. When at a paltry 33 years of age he was giving Agwambo sleepless nights threatening to constitute an official opposition on the dawn of hastily constituted compromise government, i was still green as to what government really does and a freshman in university.

He spares sometime for his American girlfriend according to an interview he gave sometime back to Sir Ken, I hate girlfriends. But am not gay.

Wait, even at high school was i not always a deputy to somebody? Then if that means in the cause of my parallels am headed for Councillorship, i give up. At age 33, i should be having least a master’s degree too, and some productive national prominence. He went to Washington College University, I am thinking of Cornell. If i don't achieve that, i find myself a beautiful submissive wife who inherited a fortune, and construct a vodoski bar in my house.

Though at times i hate all the wild expectations that are thrust your way when you hit dais. Wild accusations, desirable but impractical expectations are swirled your way. At NUARSA, thank God because of the rock demeanor I wear around, nobody has thought it fit to confront me on the election mood promises. I made quite a wild number of them. But my comrades at the more universal SONU never escape the scrutiny. It goes from blatant propaganda to outright embarrassing exposures that touch on bedroom etiquette with their significant halves. If your constituents get to hate you, you forever become nude I their eyes.

Hon Namwamba for example is expected to divert the waters of Cherangany hills to Lake Turkwel; i expect that of him too. He is supposed to make your child pass KCPE/KCSE despite horrible effort you have put in as a parent. He is expected to grace all funerals, thumb through all CDF monies with shylock’s eye to ensure sparkling transparency. He is supposed to be OMNI PRESENT. That makes me never aspire for that office-if it were not for over 60 million in legitimate salaries, chairing a CDF committee that oversees 300 million, with a likelihood of the figure spiking with compelling evidence of further allocation requirement. The salary alone is enough for me to retire early, start a hedge fund for my heirs and woo Miss Italy with my abhorrible looks.

The CDF committee seems to be staffed with individuals who spot tumors for brains. They seem to be stealing from the kitty without the intellect to match their petty nibblings; I would dismiss them all if i was the MP. Many queries have been raised. Reports have been raised about the CDF misuse in Budalangi, not from gutter press, but authoritative national voices including The Nairobi star and live witnesses on ground. They are catalysts for ruining the credibility and trust of the MP. If you steal, cover it well. Theft will always be there. And all crimes boil down to theft. Inequality in society is what brews zealous attempts at short cutting ones way to the top.

But as much as the CDF committee will unsatisfactory manage the fund, the jury will always be the electorate and the guy in the gallows-box, The MP. The said committee will be observing from the fringes. Just like the grounds men who committed the actual crimes in 2007 were slumped in front of their TVs watching Acampo fry the six omellete.

I also doubt Hon Namwamba puts in his employ any serious spin doctors or constituency advisers, other than the obstinate figureheads who stubbornly and irritatingly thrust their noses on BUDAS making forceful defenses of his tenure. Am quite sure they will turn up on 9th October at Telposta and plant themselves strategically amidst the crowd and drown out any attempts at low hits on Tawfiq.( though the meeting has been vehemently proclaimed as not being politically inclined.)

I doubt the MP even takes much salary home, having confessed to a scribe that most of his parliamentary chums disappear in a week. I can vouch for that. Once we managed to land the one and only cordial meeting with him as AUSA. It was great assumption on our part that him having been once the chair of AUSA, being youthful and within our cultural reach, an alumnus of UoN, de la Crème intellect, accessing him would be walkover. We chased that walkover an entire year till angel Gabriel smiled.

And when we finally landed the meeting- I suppose he went through our missed calls that were choking his cell phone storage- A pile of Manyala were similarly waiting to gain access. Without appointment of course.

And for good measure due to catching up on good times between alumnus and rookies, what was supposed to be a forty fae minute meet spilled to an hour, then two. And though the time for officially coming in had passed, (statutory we were the last guests in) I realized Nyala were some of the craftiest beings on planet. The groups outside had managed to slither in and were deliberately rubbing on compartmentalized office to signal us that it was supper time in campus. They had also reinforced that with a mischievous prodding on the Personal Assistant about a supposed not soo amusing post that had emanated from within AUSA ranks on the performance of the MP. Either the PA was dump, or non-techy savvy. Because he came in fuming and could hence could not pronounce BUDAS well to Mheshimiwa. He incoherently blurted out something like “ evinte evya budabuda vino evya facebook” I am the only one who knew what he meant. The MP also seemed to be stashed with sagging itinerary to give much attention to gossip talk. The PA’s lamentations were brushed aside to his incensed disappointment. Though I highly suppose if the supposed accusation was real, I was guilty as charged and I would have cost AUSA 10K. I bet once I went into my usual tirades that unfortunately had touched skimpily on Mheshimiwa’s performance. And now the restless “voters” outside were using it as shit sling on us. But I bet it too was a moment changer for me. The MP on that note not being amused at the peddling of lies obtrusively referred to us AUSA, as also being peddlers of lies, and lamented the culture of stomping about half truths without facts being so much entrenched in the constituency. He took us through some of the laborious tasks of a legislator, and what he had managed to scrap despite a film breath time and hawk eye prone from fellow legislators eyeing the scanty budgetary votes. Then took us through the simple meteorological engineering that had failed to be executed by all previous leaderships, and how upon the ingenuity and concern of his tenure, talking of halting rain is both simplistic and smacking of intellectual limitedness. And I trust him. I hate techy stuff, but I could not fail to see the superb intelligence of training meanders that had been overlooked all through.

We came out with a 10K for reinforcing AUSA kitty, but then when i look back at it, i realize i wouldn't give a bugger my salary if i was the MP. Only CDF. That is what is theirs. If all those groups each went home with a similar amount, then i would be a sycophant. That money is untaxed.

We realized too, among the Nyala, story flows pretty fast. I gathered our entire sojourn at Continental house from the streets. The time we got in, the duration we stayed in, how we overstayed to anger of the waiting group, the much we were given. <grin><grin>. When we got out, eventually, the shifty cache waiting was going red with rage. “Abasoriri eng'we Muri nende chikura chinga?/ eeh!! eeeeeeeh!!” I scuttered into the washrooms to spill my splitting laughter into the bowls. “Mwakhalola Okoba, Okado, Alice, Obara, Muhuma Kharo Namwamba. Mudongisie wina???.. “I was afraid they were going to clobber us and take away the 10K, we scurried out. I could only manage a feeble back glimpse as my comrades sought to show me the central figure in the Hon’s campaign. The one who during the constituency go-rounds slung a battery loudspeaker on his shoulder volubly announcing “Omwana mraga mwene mwene mbao abira. Khumhubire Ikura mirimo mikari mno mno mbao kicha. Orie Mno Okhwerumbula……”.Politics looked at a very petty angle of the ballot you got. And that vote i assumed was the sole reason they could access the MP, not policy discussion or candid counsel on what the electorate on ground want done, since practically the MP cannot be in a position to amass ground intelligence, but rely on his trusted henchmen. But were they seeking his attention to do that?

I think i will delay my stab at parliamentary ambitions till all my constituents get empowered economically. Meanwhile I could contribute to policy suggestions towards that empowerment. But am scared too of what will be of me when i make it 33. I want to make national headlines, NOT SPOTTING HANDCUFFS, but making a keynote address with a galaxy of statesmen, business magnates, intelligentsia for audience, and my face protruding above a sea of microphones, swallowed in camera flashes.</grin></grin>

sHOw ME a Lawyer... I will sHoW you a Cautious WiFe

sHOw ME a SoFtwAre DeveLopEr... I will sHoW you a sexually starvEd WiFe

sHOw ME aN inVestmenT BanKer... I will sHoW you a goLd-DigGer

sHOw ME a PoLitIcIan... I will sHoW you a Ferocious WiFe

sHOw ME a pOlice Officer... I will sHoW you a pOOr WiFe

sHOw ME a CeLebriTy ArtisT... I will sHoW you an insecuRE WiFe

sHOw ME a WatcHman... I will sHoW you a phiLandering WiFe

sHOw ME a ........