the game

1st quarter

You are fresh on the team. Its your first time on the court after warming the bench for what seemed like eternity, so you are full of zeal. You will do anything to impress the coach, since to you, he’s God.

You end up doing more than you really should. You play with too much emotion. You let your passion for the game and for your wonderful coach show too soon.

He knows he’s got a loyal player. One he can count on.

2nd Quarter

You are still enjoying the game. And the coach’s attention. He’s showering you with it. Simply because for him, you’re the newest kid and your zeal is more than a little amusing.

His enthusiasm and attentions egg you on. You do even more to show him how much you love and appreciate the game. You’re insatiable.

You start doing him little favors, like fetching his coffee before he asks, and you get it just right. You even surprise him with lunch once in a while!

Your little post- it notes say “thank you” for the opportunity to play in this great team.

You’re in heaven.

He realizes he’s got a worshipper. One he can bench at any time at all, with no reason at all and you wouldn’t complain.

3rd Quarter

He’s getting bored

You’re fascinated by him and everything about him. You see brilliance in every little tip he gives at practice. Only you laugh at his jokes.

You squeal when anyone says anything against him. He rewards you with more time on the court. You’re not playing a full game though because as he says; ‘You’re just not ready yet’. You agree and work even harder.

You call him at home and send him text messages. He picks up your calls and texts back but never calls or texts first.

He realizes now that he’s got a tick! One that will not go away unless its forcibly pulled out.

4th Quarter

He only picks up a quarter of your phone calls. When you text, he doesn’t text back. your smiley faces are starting to really piss him the fuck off!

You visit him at home. He doesn’t ask you in.

Your conversations are getting shorter and losing intensity. you rarely talk about the game or how much you both love it, anymore. More importantly, you rarely play together anymore.

You complain about the lack of special attention. You accuse him of favoritism because he’s letting the newest kid play more time than you. He says you’ve grown into a prima donna without the work and chucks you out of the team.

Your world crumbles.

You don’t know what it is you did wrong.

You are devastated, but helpless and most importantly, clueless.

You start hunting for another team and your criteria is to find a coach with totally different characteristics from your previous one. A coach who will appreciate your “talents” and affections.

Your previous coach had “issues”.

Hopefully the next one wont.

Eventually you DO find another team to play for. The coach seems nice. He pledges his unconditional loyalty to his star player; YOU.

And the cycle starts again…

rate your ex!!!

Ash is single again!

Here we go. Ur gal is sitting @ home “watchin the news” translation: sitting in front of the tv wit headphones on blaring “Just Like Music” or some shit! I like my gory pictures on mute! So instead of being told about more people dying, i’m thinking about my latest unsuccessful attempt at romance. Its pathetic really. I wish they gave you a detailed report card on how you performed on the whole relationshit front. For future reference, u dig? Cuz honestly, how r u supposed to know (n if u can b bothered, work on) ur bad traits if nobody points them out?

Take me for instance. I dont think there’s any female this side of the sahara that’s had more failed relationships than yours truly. What’s worse is, after all these years, I still don’t know why exactly it is I suck at this. See, if we had report cards, this would be very simple. One would be graded in different categories on a relationshit at the beginning, have appraisals as it progresses, and get a final grade at the end!

For instance, females would be graded on;

1) Hotness, on the scale of 1-10, where 1 is “extremely unhot” and ten is well…. “shawty is a 10″

2) Need levels, where 1 is “just needy enough to make a man’s dick feel sufficiently bigger” and 10 is “cant stay away from you long enough to blink”

3) Cool potential. This one says potential cuz apparently, women r only supposed to be cool if they r ur friends. Once i become ur galfriend, blee dat miss cool has left the building! Stil, as the relationship progresses to the point where woman feels she can let down her guard, n be coolISH again… how cool wil she be? On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is “wil scratch the skin off ur face if u even offer anotha chick a light” and 10 is “will suggest a 3some wit one of her hot friends”

4) Maintenance! Lol. Not urs you fool! Hers. This one’s totally superficial. I guess 1 on the scale, wud b “hobbit feet” and 10 “runway model”

5) Libido. Here’s the BIG one! So how does ur ex rate on this one? If she’s a 1, then she suffers from chronic headaches. If she’s a 10, YOU suffer from chronic headaches!

Go ahead and rate your ex. Females, don’t sweat. I’ll do one for niggaz next. Lord knows I’ve got more than enough material for that one!

Ash Out!

Haiya! These guys have tricks!

Boss! I’ve just bought a pack of cigarettes on my way home, and guess what? There’s a bigger warning sign, and its in bold black letters on a snow-white background to make sure you don’t miss it! Now, at first glance, I thought “this is a good thing”, seeing as we smokers like to be reminded of our impending death by suffocation. In fact, the bigger the warning sign, the more we consume! But peep this. The sign says “THIS PRODUCT CAN CAUSE GUM DISEASE AND TOOTH LOSS” What?!? Did someone accidentally forget THE BIG ONE? Are they trying to take cancer away from us? In addition, the very tiny and very generic old one on the side of the pack that said “cigarette smoking is harmful to your health…” That’s gone! Wtf? The Ministry of Health is seriously bending over and getting fucked in the ass by BAT; British American Tobacco. Someone’s not doing their job. Heads should start rolling soon. Give us back our lung cancer or leave it generic! Get serious niggaz!

R women really psycho?

I recently heard a scary story about this chica who wuz found with her man’s balls in her purse. Unfortunately, I dont mean this figuratively. Funny that this ish wuznt even on the news! It happened in the island of Malta. This 28yr old woman, whose boyfriend had disappeared off the face of the earth, was found hiding out in a cave. The police found her after the guy didn’t show up at work for a whole week and the neighbors reported a weird lack of noisy sexual activity from their house (this chick had the fake orgasm noises down!) ,.. ok, it was really the funny smell that raised eyebrows! When she was asked why she performed this curious operation, she said, it was because she loved him and wanted to save him from himself! When arrested, she was found tenderly fondling said balls and performing fellatio on the detached dick! Boss!

get a life already!

Surely! This is just the most ridonkulous- to borrow Bol’s word, office I’ve ever worked in! It’s like there’s a rule against having fun, or even DOING anything for that matter! My mother wants to take her kids to Zanzibar for the weekend. Yeah, she’s cool like that. I, however have to work till Friday evening. So, its upon me to find a flight that leaves late on Friday evening seeing as I’m inconveniencing everyone else… I open the KQ website and actually find one for 1900hrs, which is perfect! Just as I’m about to check the ticket prices, my boss calls me in for a status brief so I minimize the page and go off. I’m in the meeting for only five minutes, and by the time I get back to my computer, the KQ website has been blocked! Dude! Doesn’t this I.T guy have anything else to do? He not only blocked Facebook but blogspot and google too! Google? GOOGLE? Jesus Christ! Who the fuck blocks GOOGLE? Get a life nigga!

So, before I leave the office each evening I have to clear my browsing history, lest he discovers wordpress and byroncrawford and xxlmag and blocks those too. At which point, my life will officially be over!

Baadaye!

the weirdness of being kenyan…

First off, there’s a reason ur gal’s been MIA from this hurr joint for a minute. One word. DERAILMENT. There’s people in my life who are dead set on leading me away from my “goals”, a word I borrowed from my good friend who went to rehab and came back sounding like a HOW-TO book! Don’t get it twisted though. B has since gone back to his alcoholic ways. And he doesn’t sound so motivational anymore. Thank God! (Don’t tell him I said that!) Now he just goes… “Gun to your head, who’d you sleep with…” and proceeds to name the most random people… or inanimate objects…. like a bush or a light bulb…. Very weird!

Anyway, I digress. Back to Kenyans and their weirdness. And I’m not referring to the fact that everyone on Safaricom now only calls you after 9! What cheapskates! So I’m on the matatu this morning, heading to work. This child who doesn’t look a day over 7, gets on and tells the kange (conductor, for those of you who might not be familiar with the term) to drop her off at Karen C Primary School. By the time her little voice gets the conductor’s attention again, we have passed said school. So the nice Kange talks to the driver and because its not too far, – just a stage back, they decide to reverse and take her back to her stop. I don’t see no problem with this seeing as the child should not even be taking a matatu alone in the first place! Where the heck is her mother? Goddamnit!

The rest of the passengers shock me even more than this child’s missing mother. They start whining and shouting at the kange! Talkin bout how they are getting late to work and shit! WTF? So it’s better for you to avoid a telling off from your boss for being five minutes late than to avoid an innocent child being run over by a bus trying to cross the road, or getting raped or kidnapped or whatever? Get Serious! Don’t you think we are losing sight of what’s important in life? We are so dead focused on making that paper we can’t even think about a child’s safety?

Anyway, the kange insisted on taking the child back to her stop, and helped her across the road before we went on our way. This dude- Maish, his name is, deserves a fucking medal!

That’s just MY take tho…

Baadaye!

Thinking out loud!

Q: Why do men lie to women?

A: Because they think we give a f*ck!!!

I’m currently really pissed off so I can’t say any more. Plus, I’m writing online and I hate doing that! Maybe I’ll explain this later… Maybe I won’t!

I really want a drink right now but a close friend has just been whisked off to Rehab so I’m kinda scared of touching the stuff. Jeez, I have a headache! Need to git outta here!

Baadaye!

ARTs… wARTs… what?

“The person who cannot hate, who loves or accepts anything, that is the greatest hater of humankind. Such a person has no hope in humanity, no expectations, no standards and therefore expects nothing but depravity”        - Ayn Rand

What it do people, I was trying to get over the hangover I acquired from my bruh’s b/day party on Sunday, where I was bartending, so no one was monitoring my intake! Good Stuff! I decided to listen to the radio. Someone was actually playing Prezzo! I think he is the whackest… no, sorry. Even that is a compliment. One of the whackest rappers on the globe. This got me thinking about the “w ARTs” in this our country and I ended up going into a long mental discourse that honestly, got me very gloomy. So here comes another long post. It’ll be worth it though! At least to all y’all artists out there.  

I wanted to fill this page with thoughts so inspiring they would inspire people to think. Literature so great it would remain in print long after I am dead. Work so real and timeless, “classic” would not describe it. Now, I simply do not care. It will not make a difference to me if I write a “masterpiece” in the eyes of others. It will however give me great satisfaction to create a work that will be a symphony written in the ink of my soul. A piece of work that does not cry out for attention. Does not apologize or make excuses. Does not seek justification. A piece of work that is not a means to fame or fortune or to anything at all but is an end in itself. Something that others will respond to because of its simple purity and truthfulness; the same kind that is inside of them.  

For a long time, I have denied myself the luxury of honesty. Honesty to my ‘self’. I have been too accepting to every, well, almost every new idea, vocation, interest, pastime. I have tried many things and have not completely failed at any of them. In fact, I have done quite well. When I get on to something, I give it my all and leave very little or no room at all for failure. This might be interpreted by many as strength in character. I, on the contrary, think it a weakness. I always have and I suppose I always will. The fear of failure- is that not a kind of weakness? Because, really, what is failure? One fails when they have “performed at standards lower than expected”. This automatically suggests the consideration of other people and their opinions. This desperate need to please others, to conform, to give just what is expected, or more disgustingly so, to give better than expected-  this great need to please, to excel in the eyes of others, is it not a weakness in itself?  

 I have begun to think, lately, that it is important to find, in life, some things, even just one, that you love, adore, are passionate about.  A field of work, a vocation, a calling. One from which you will not accept less than the best. Less than “perfect” even, if such a concept should indeed exist or apply. A pure, unadultered passion. A stubborn commitment to the pursuit of the greatest height. This, for me , is truly the highest notion. Higher than charity, loyalty to others, respect for fellow men, altruism. On the other hand, concepts like perfection, suggest a grading system, which in turn necessitates the consideration of a third party, in this case, you, as the judge, as an authority on the standards to be acknowledged as acceptable. Nothing therefore changes but the dynamics, the power relations in a system that can only be described as vulgar. Worse still, it provides justification for the existence or relevance of that system. For how does one claim the right to judge another’s contribution as either deserving of attention or not? 

Art, specifically is a form of self-expression and anyone who dabbles in it should understand that when an artist creates, he offers himself in his work. An artist therefore communicates his humanness, the basic essence of him, his self, in his creation. One therefore claims that another possesses a lesser brand of humanness when they dismiss their work as substandard. The vice versa is also true. You glorify the humanness of the artist whose work you endorse. Humanity is what it is. One should not even venture at what it ought to be. To be human is to be human. It is the only constant. An individual’s self, in its own pursuit of “greatness”, cannot be faulted for aspiring to be “better”. But only better in its own eyes.

An artist’s work- presupposing that it is an honest work- will necessarily speak to his audience. By audience I mean only those endowed with the ability to respond to it. Honesty in one’s work, will be possible only if the owner or creator of that work is honest with themselves. An artist who knows himself or herself will simply communicate that self and nothing else. Such will not try to please the public or produce what society wants. It would be a futile attempt anyway, because the public does not know what it wants and to rely on its ever-changing opinions would be defeatist on the artist’s part. It is not the duty of an artist or his creation to seek approval from society. And for society to demand it is cruel.  An artist’s only duty is to himself. To fulfill that duty is to obey. To obey the thing within him that gives him a voice and through which he finds himself, his self in its highest, most honest and purest form. To refuse to care what society will think of his work. To simply communicate his Self, (and its many facets) to humankind. It is preposterous to pursue any other goal.

One might ask: What if the public just does not get it? The answer is simple. Art differs from science. It is not a reaction to necessity but an appeal to sensibility. To the awareness and appreciation of the few that possess the ability to respond to it. A product of science can therefore be appreciated by the simplest of beings because of its practical nature. Anyone can understand the importance of a house. Only a few can recognize and appreciate the importance of a truly great architectural work. This is the fundamental difference between art and science. Science serves all. Art serves a few. For an artist to expect that the product of his work should be loved by all is foolish and egotistical.

This, my friends, is my take. However, it is only a dream because to expect this in a world where artists have neglected their selves and are constantly reproducing other people’s work, is overambitious, if not simply naïve.

Baadaye y’all!

P.S. Let’s hope the Sun shines in my dark, dark head tomorrow! I might even pull out some poetry!

Weekend Ashcapades

What it is cyber-people! What a weekend! Yet another opportunity for Kenyans to drink all the money they don’t have. But such is life in the south of the Sahara. Now, in the spirit of getn drunk and getn stupid, mazee this weekend, I have gotten myself knee- deep in some ish I have not been in in a while! Yaani some teenage ish! Check this out…

FRIDAY NIGHT

I check in to this ‘do’ on Baricho road and immediately, I feel really old. What was I thinking? Everyone looks sixteen. The tu- gals are in various stages of undress. Never mind that it’s expected to rain! The tu- boys are all high on some cheap ish. Niggaz is blackin out and its only 2300! Damn! Then I remember why I’m there. Now, I never go out to these things. I’m very happy drinking my Baridis in the hizouse or at the newest ‘Local’, which is really the front of a certain shop run by a certain lady called Njeri in a certain Esto around Nai. (The MAN had our local closed down! F**k The Man! ) Anyway, I am woman enuf to admit that only one thing ever gets me out of the hood and piercing the night like a leopard on the prowl. A NIGGA! Yep! That’s what’s up!

So anyway, said Nigga is in the building and its all gud. I end up meeting some really interesting characters that I suspect are gonna be featuring in my life in one way or another for a while. Some solid but crazy ass niggaz! At some point in the wee hours, it begins to pour. Now, urrbudy knows what happens when Niggaz is drunk and females is sporting wet T- Shirts! Let’s just say that “Things Come Up!” To cut it short, we move to Nigga’s local cuz now there’s definitely hope of getn sumn sumn! Ur gal does not hesitate! The ride has been called and cancelled, some other etceteras have been taken care of, basically; we are just waiting for the rocket launch! (Pun Intended) Shiet! Bella would be proud! (Btw, ‘said Nigga’ if u ever read this, forgive me but I have to admit, it was all orchestrated)

Fast Forward To:

THE MORNING AFTER

So ur gal wakes up in some strange room (I am always disoriented in the morning) and then I have to get outta there really fast cuz being the easter season, I’ve got some family ish to take care of. Never mind that nobody in said family ever shows up to church! Kenyans! Anyway, Nigga takes me downstairs and just before we walk out the door, who’s standing in the living room? THE MAMA! WTF? Yup, we ended up in mama house. (Another thing reminiscent of those teenage years!) 

Now, I aint got nuthin against Niggaz mamaz. It’s just there’s a look they give you. A series of looks actually. Very disconcerting. At first she’s shocked, then you are embarrassed, then she’s embarrassed cuz you both thinkin the same thing and you both know it! (She’s thinking: Damn, my son just hit that! Ash is thinking: Shit, she can tell her son jus hit it!) You mumble hello and she mumbles hello back and then you run like the wind is chasing you. At some point you expect she’ll call u back n give u a really long lecture and then ask u to please keep ur whoring hands off her ‘good’ boy or some ish like that. God, it’s tiring!  

Let’s just say ur gal aint getting busy unless its in my own hizouse! No more creepin out of Nigga’s mama house in the morning like some burglar! Damn! Aint a teenager no more; Thank God!

Baadaye people!!!

Stickin to what I know!

Powerful people will never educate powerless people on what it means to take the power away from them. The aim of powerful people is to stay powerful, by any means necessary.   – John Henrik Clark

So, late last year, I am to walk into some sort of Oriental restaurant in Westlands for a Production meeting with some tricks that were producing some musical in December. I’d spoke to a lady called J*, (who kept coughing, but I thought it would be rude to ask if she was ok coz she’s virtually a stranger. I’ve never quite figured out how to deal with these odieros.) So anyway, it was about a job as stage manager and she told me to show up for a production meeting at 1300hrs. I don’t even know yet if they are planning to pay me at all, because she thanked me- at the end of our phone conversation- for volunteering! WTF!

I decide to show anyway.  The security guard stops me at the gate, and his look clearly says that my kind does not usually just walk in here. Now, I am looking okay. Not overdressed or even dressed to impress but OK. The Watchie looks me up and down and decides to let me in but not before a ka- subtle warning that they only serve drinks with meals. He clearly suspects I might not be able to afford a meal. I let it slide and walk in. This place is so full of odieros; it looks like the Republican National Convention! One of the stewards (I guess that is what they call them in a place like this) ushers me to a table and he’s quite nice actually- in his off-handish way. I ask for a pack of cigarettes and before he brings it, he informs me that if I don’t order any food then I will have to pay a cover charge of 400 bob! (In my mind, I am calculating how many Pilis that is!). He adds though, that he could charge it to another table and then I would not have to pay the cover charge. (I think he figures I am not one of the usual crowd.)So I give him color for the fags and he walks off. I am half an hour early. I like being very early especially if it is a place I have never been to. To keep myself busy, I pull out my laptop and decide to jot this ish down, cuz I know it’s the beginning of a really weird experience.

The steward, (let’s call him Mutua cuz he has to be a Kao the way he is kissing odiero ass) comes back after a few minutes with the menu and it is huge. Now, you know me, I love my chicken. It totally applies to me what they say about black people and chicken! So, I quickly flip til I get to the Kuku section. I am baffled!!!

These niggaz cook like 65 different chicken dishes. I am NOT shitting you. I counted. Eh! Surely…  Me, I’m a Kenyan. If its not chicken made at home the usual stewed way, (which I don’t necessarily like but simply tolerate. Kinda like missionary. Hehehe! ), then its Kuku Porno (my favorite thang in the world, second only to Pilli Baridi!)

This menu has some chicken cooked with nuts and shit! Damn! So I tell my Self, let’s try this nuts shit. I’m hoping its some good shit cuz its definitely putting a dent in the Pilli Baridi Budget. By now, its One O’Çlock n I’m beginning to wonder what kind of weirdos I’m meeting. You know how I am with time! I ask at the desk if any reservations were made in any of the names of these people I’m meeting. Nuttin! My food finally arrives and to tell you the truth, it was not worth what it cost! Kuku Porno for LIFE! Plus, they serve it with brown rice! WTF? I almost throw a b!tch fit! Who the f**k eats that ish? It tastes like underarms! Well, not that I’ve tasted underarms, but that is surely how they must taste after a long day at the construction site!

I’m done with the god- awful meal by about 1345h. (Hasn’t anyone ever thought it was rude to J.C’s dad to say God- awful?) Anyway, I pack up my laptop and start smoking furiously. Okay, this is going really badly. I have made a million and one calls to try and find these clowns but no one seems to be answering their phone. F**k this ish! I’m outta here.

As I walk out, Mutua smiles and says “Have a good day”. I am exhausted and in a very foul mood! As I am walking out of the gate, this Odiero man is wanking or ish in his car cuz he’s blocking the exit. I think “Move b!atch!” and then there’s a weird silence all over. That’s when I realize I’d said this out loud! Thank God I have locks now so those mofos wouldn’t recognize me if I wanted to go back to the bleedin place! I doubt I’ll be doin that tho, I’m MAD Kuku Porno from now on! And a certain special somebody has recently introduced me to ‘Sonford’. Those fries are Sinful!

Baadaye!