Shock tactic – Where there is heat, there is fire?

Over the weekend was I tinkering with the wires and connections in the house (am I the only person who has more wires interconnecting things in the house than BT?) and realised that I needed an extension cable (anti-surge) for my TV cos the current one was overloaded (don’t you hate those power cables that have big heads and adaptors and shit on them that means they cannot fit on the little slot dedicated to a ‘normal’ sized multi-extention cables… er.. cable?

Well anyway, I go to the bedroom and get one of those – discreetly stolen from the iron – thinking I will nick the one in the kitchen that is long and take it to the bedroom for the iron – told you there are more twists in those cables than in this story).

Now, that was Sunday…

All week I have procrastinated getting the cable from the kitchen, and plugged the iron directly into the wall socket. Nothing wrong with that, but that has meant that I kinda stretch the cord a little more than it would like – and seeing as this iron is old as your grandma’s boots, and it has seen nearly a decade of push and pulls – well, something had to give.

This morning, I am happily ironing a skirt, humming to Crazy by Gnarles Barkley on the radio (which makes my morning), which was on loud – surprisingly in a good mood for someone who hadn’t had enough sleep (damn the very hot nights now) – when I notice a few sparks coming from the wall socket from the corner of my eye. I turn around and think: Shit; switch that off. I step over and before you can say ‘off’ the thing caught fire. LOL I didn’t know what to do, whether it was gonna cut off the electricity all over the flat, short-circuit the whole thing or what.

And then it continues burning, I mean real fire, big fire – plastic vs electricity fire – and me, being the semi-idiot that I am couldn’t think fast enough

I took a sock – not any old sock, my trainer socks. Yes, you know them little ones that just cover your foot and go up to the ankle. Yep, those ones – er.. ONE. Likelihood of an electric shock notwithstanding:D

Talk about taking a pencil to put down an errant bull :D

That was what was supposed to put out an electrical fire in the bedroom – not the towel, not the blanket, not God knows what else you put fire out with – a teenie weenie sock. *Slaps self*

And no my stupidity didn’t end with that – the fact that the thing was actually on fire – as in blazing and burning up the cord and stuff – made me giggle like the loony that I am. Seriously I thought it was funny.

Anyway with the infinitesimal sock, I managed to switch the.. eer.. switch off, and the fire died. I removed the now dead as a log iron and put it down somewhere else. LOL you should have seen me – shaking my head like that was the most bizarre thing to happen to me in the morning. It was, but it wasnt meant to be taken as funny… as.. er.. funny should be taken.

Now, whatever god of electricity there is had triggered the automatic switch off the mains so everything was suddenly very quiet. I went and switched the mains back on (indifferent as you can be) and everything went back to life – and so did I – I just calmly picked my ironed clothes off and scampered to the bathroom – still doubly amused by the turn of events.

I think if there is a god of electrical products, then there is a ghost of electrical products too, and he is currently lodging – without paying, the miser, a ghost, but a misery miser ghost nonetheless – in my flat – first my TV died, then my boiler, and now the iron – all within a space of two months.

I probably need to bring an electrician in to see if there is a problem somewhere.

Needless to say lunchtime today was spent buying another stupid iron.

And, and…

That wasnt the end of my woes, woi woi (And where is Milo again)

I come home tonight and I couldnt get my wireless blasted router to work – I troubleshot, switched on and off and all things till Sunday, and the blasted thing still is not biting. Serves me right, but I blame the Iron.

I was a whole lot miffed that I had to change positions from my usual comfort zone to a more (or less) comfortable position to connect this laptop to the modem directly (I should know by now that connecting things directly isnt exactly the cleverest thing to do) so I could get the contacts for the stupid router’s support online seeing as digging out all the instruction manuals and loads of reading material that comes with electricals didnt yield the supporting support that I needed… *huffily huffing to a huff*

Aside: I do not do (and dont read either) instruction manuals – those things are only useful when you encounter problems, and you then cannot find what you need in them things anyway – a waste of time, in all the different languages they are interpreted in, I say

… and Guess what?


15 MINUTES of listening to a whiny American Accented ROBOVOICE(sorry all Yankee doos around, but outside (oh and inside too, LOL) America, that accent grates like a grinder :D (mixed metaphor notwithstanding) – especially when you have to listen to it for 15 MINUTES WITHOUT A REAL HUMAN COMING ON THE PHONE to deal with your query. SHE kept telling me to go onto the website and I would find what I was looking for. ROBOWOMAN, I may not be as techno-savvy as your stupid-assed whiny voice, but do you think if I could get what I needed from you online, I would waste my time, phoneline, sanity and cool to listen to your stupid voice for 15 MINUTES

Well, after the 15 MINUTES of being on hold with HER on about shit that I could happily find without HER whiny voice, I gave up.

And now, I am using ‘wired‘ Internet. Just for the non-geekified readers: Just disconnect one wire from the router and connect it to the laptop and Bob’s your Uncle :D ) Not different, but different (and restricted) locations. Damn, I should just revert to the ‘desktop and chair’ mode, thing has worked for years.

Aside 12 – What is it with the London masses today – is the full moon out (dont answer that)?
Today, I had so many people stop to talk to me, including a woman who had a neck problem who deemed it necessary twelve seconds after clocking eyes on me to tell me her medical history, and a builder who on my way to lunch was talking to a black dude whom he decided was a perfect match for me, and proceeded to impart that wisdom to an unsuspecting me, and on my way back he decided that I was a perfect match to HIS SELF…?

To all and sundry who decided today was the best day to smile happily at me, say hello, comment on the weather, et al.

Leave me alone.

Notice to all Londoners
: – I know its getting rather hot rather fast, but please, maintain status quo!
Stiff upper lips, fake smiles, ignore strangers, downcast eyes, and hands in pockets please!

For me at least.

Is that too much to ask?

Dont create fire where only ‘heat‘ exists :D

After all this ‘I need to lie down’ – (the funniest line I know to use this century) :D

God’s Next Army: Design of the Robopots

(A proper rant, humour me)

I was watching this program on Channel 4 last night (2000hrs GMT – or is it BST?) and although I missed the first 20 minutes, I was left quite queasy and a whole lot worried.

This should definitely have been renamed:

God’s Next Army: The making of the Robopots (Robot Politicians)

Dr Who: Rise of the Bushlets (The bush referring to the human not the woods),

Or according to Darius:

God’s Next Army: The Unintelligent Design’d Humans

(This entry is dedicated to Darius – If he happens by he sure will have a few things to say – albeit with more humour and intelligence than I can muster)

This documentary focused on Patrick Henry College (PHC), set up five years ago in Virginia (pause, read link in Wiki, digest, read on), near Washington DC. It has at least 300 students, who are being‘designed’ to be the America’s Next Top Model – and that has nothing to do with brawn, but more to do with brains. The next President, Lawyer, Policy Makers – essentially the next Washington bigwigs – literally.

These are kids in University who were predominantly schooled at home in their early years, have had little or no contact with the outside world as it were – in the sense that the whole ‘evil evil world’ seems to completely fly over their heads – literally – and are taught everything with the Bible in one hand and the text book in the other (Kinda pseudo-slavery, in my view).

Now, I am (supposed to be) a Christian (brought up Catholic) and have absolutely nothing against religion (in its myriad forms) unless it is being force-fed me, or anyone else for that matter. I don’t profess that these kids were being force-fed Christianity but there were certain points in the whole program that made me feel a little uncomfortable (read that with a straight face and a spadeful of salt, if you will).

First off, all lessons are converted into a Bible study – Imagine learning Politics with a Christian message, Science even – Law – (with song and dance attached, mind) What is that? It was like watching little Bushes run around spewing stuff they never seem to understand but have been shoved down their collective throats so often that they know nothing else. Like peas on your daily platter as a kid (none chewed, swallowed whole, come out the other end different (or same) ‘manure’ (for the uninitiated:Bullshit, or rather ‘Bushit’ if spoken in the ‘right’ accent – with the ‘gag’ effect shoved in :( (How many ‘puns’ not ‘pans’ or ‘pants’ can you read in that?)

(Ouch, I must be good with words, or I may be turning into a vegetable, peas (gagging not to use the ‘nothwithstanding’ reference) not in the menu LOLOL)

Dislaimer mid-rant: I was ’schooled’ in English for 4yrs by a ‘Certifiably Insane’ human – but, the best teacher I have had my whole life – so bear with me while I rant and rave around and about MY blog

What I saw was mini-adults who are way over their heads in things they are trying really hard to understand, and which they don’t seem to have been given much choice on. They haven’t had much contact with the outside world and when they are praying, you can actually see some of them ‘rebelling’ by not closing their eyes or just looking absolutely bored (same as I did in high school when we were called ‘devil worshippers’ cos we refused to get saved, religious beliefs notwithstanding

The message that came across (to me) was that these kids were being taught:

* The woman’s place is in the home and after marriage, once the kids arrive, that’s your (woman) career gone to the dogs.
* Sex should be confined in marriage, only
* No drugs, smoking, alcohol or any other worldly preasures
* Homosexuality is evil (and all other ways till September you can put this statement (notice the whole ‘same sex marriage is illegal bill’ being sold in the US at the moment)
* Christianity is the foremost (oldest) religion on Earth, all else is unimportant and not ‘according to the bible’ – Hinduism being the oldest religion notwithstanding
* While most of its ‘pre-selected’ students are home schooled, they haven’t had much contact with the ‘outside’ world, in case they are corrupted by the ‘unwashed masses’ – meaning you, me and your little brother (when the kids went to Washington, you could see how bloody scared they were, like they were fish out of water)
* The role of men and women are clearly defined in the bible, and ‘man’ shouldn’t change that.

Politics is not my forté, and neither is religion (I specialise in fast-food blogging and (not always, but meant to be) funny posts, or just yapping away like a little puppy that just needs someone to bark at/to – oh and urging people to donate blood and get on the bone marrow register, but that is neither here nor in Washington) – but I found this an uncomfortable platter to digest when the same nation churning these robopots (Guessaurus 666) by the classroom is the same one that is going into all sorts of wars claiming religions fundamentalism and insulting and defacing Islam all over the place while they are baking the same cookies in their own kitchens.

We will not mention the war (or rather Blair-speak for: we should not mention the Nazis/War, in Germany when we go to the World Cup, and lose – btw Mr. Prime Minister, if I should be so blunt as to point out) – which is starting in June 06 (3 days, to be precise) – and which we (notice the ‘WE’ reference, it is intended, no apologies), but then again, ‘we’ use ‘we’ when ‘we’ mean ‘I’, so do get lost in the translation already) last won in 6’66 – I digress, keeping with the whole 666 theme, although people I will not mention branded me the antichrist – and seeing that ‘we’ have so much in common, well, I am consigning them to the ‘loonie bin‘ – here comes another inmate – add to that Darius and by extension the Devious One. Oh how the commune is growing :)

And also, the whole parentheses business got lost in translation too, so insert same if so inclined.

We will not mention that we are branding nearly all Muslims terrorists, while we are happily spreading the greatness of our religious beliefs (read: Christianity)

We will not mention that you pre-empt strikes on nations who harbour (allegedly or otherwise) Nuclear weapons, while all along our allies (in the first world – who else hates this first and third world business like I do?) are happily baking, or have already baked and are selling in basketfuls, the same

We will not mention that you are mass-producing these radicals in your front yard, while trying to ‘out’ all other radicals all over the world – oh and another while, while we are preaching peace and equality and all that bull.
We will not mention some of the commandments thou has broken while serving office while also citing the Lord as your (insert what he cites him as, I am not mentioning, remember?)

Thou shall not kill
Thou shall not covet your neighbour’s wife (or property – and NO! Neighbour does not mean Canada)
Though shall not steal
Though shall not use the name of the Lord in vain
Thou shall not lie
Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbour (and that does not mean Canada – although, ok I am getting to be really bad)

6/10 is a sure sign that things aren’t as good as the good Lord would fancy right about now.

What exactly was this post about to begin with?

Oh I remember, them little robopots (LOL the spellchecker thinks that I mean reboots – what are the chances? LOL don’t get me geeky side out to play.

(All geeks go to town on this one – it will be a pleasure)

Points of note:

(Of the 40 or so minutes that I watched)

There were predominantly (blonde blue eyed) white students in school
There were no ‘coloured’ students, and only one ‘Oriental’ looking dude, he may have been anything (might be an ‘Indian American’ but he was on screen for a moment, so I couldn’t tell)
Every ‘male’ was tall – there were no shorties in there
When it came to canvassing and going to ‘firms’ for internships, there were no females in there
There kids seemed to be so out of their league, it was excruciating to watch
The women definitely seemed to defer to the men, although when interviewed, they tittered when giving their answered to same, but skewed towards the whole ‘Male is Superior – what can I do about it’ mode

Even the lecturers seemed to ‘be unsure’ and their voices seemed to ‘shake’ when they had to reference their teachings from the ‘text’ to the Bible.

The one ‘ex-student’ who had ‘backslid’ and come back to the fold, had to ‘testify’ to turning to drinking and smoking – and in turn confessed to losing his footing, his loads of jobs et al .. and he didn’t seem happy and willing to do that either (not sure if it were the vices or the confession, but who am I to judge)

This is like watching ‘Men in Black’ in a reverse kinda way – 10-15years down the line, the rest of the world – starting with America, will be swamped and we will all be checking our calorie count and dress sizes through the Bible

David Kureshi is definitely dancing in and above his grave on this version

Note: This is based on a one hour documentary (40 minutes worth of my time + 3, 3minute commercial breaks, do the math) so feel free to correct, inform, educate, rant, swear at, criticise, fanaticalise (I know it ain’t a word, save from obscure anti-religiousism, Bushism, Politikism, and all other ‘isms that you can find – but do please let me know what you think)

Oh and do the click on the links, all of them – Marvin wouldn’t be pleased if you didn’t.

And another Oh! (read Zero) I realise that this documentary wasn’t made in 60 minutes, so there is enough ‘cuts on the floor’ to give a different picture – literally – so ignore that and take this as is. I am!

Last, I have to stop using words like literally and notwithstanding, most things that are left unsaid notwithstanding, literally

This was literally a rant, disclaimer notwithstanding

Howbeit is also a ‘thesaurused‘ meaning of notwithstandingthesaurused being a made up word notwithstanding!


How Guessaurus is that?


Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia (Fear of No. 666)


(read one wo/man, if you will allow me :( )

As the date 06/06/06 is here – I am somewhat amused by the whole reference to it.

Most people view that number as evil – I am not one of those

Now, let this be the place where you all learnt this first – and/or stayed away/with this blog for good.

Why? You ask!

My favourite number is 6 (and trust me I am pretty lucky, you wouldn’t even begin to imagine – but that is a life for another blog)

* First 6 – or rather 666 – My First name, Middle (given) name, and Surname are all six letters long – the only one in the family, including parents and nephews/nieces.

* Second 6: I am the 6th born (out of 8 ) in my family

* Third 6: I was born on a Saturday – the sixth day of the week (yes, don’t do that Sunday is the first day routine on me, I’m on a roll)

Remember, God rested on the seventh day

I could go on – but I hope I have convinced you

I don’t care for fears of numbers – number 13? What, what?

Friday the 13th? Who cares?

Anyway, I am not the devil’s spawn – and I am not evil, not as far as I know

So judge for yourself and laugh at me or as I would you

Oh and one more thing, Devious over there is my e-twin (and that E is not for Evil.., but then again… )

And now for the clincher – at 0600hrs, my eyes opened – LOL anyone who knows me knows that I have a hard time waking up, takes me till about 0730 to convince my brain that work calls – but today, Noo, I was lying in bed wide awake, laughing at something I remembered – Devious, you wouldnt be amused

And for those shaking their heads going: Oh but its all a concidence! I will ask you this – What the heck has the number 666 got to do with anything?

Need I say more?

Today: The luckiest day of my life – or rather, just another normal day at the office :D

Madaraka Day: Part II – KBW


Google doodle above stolen (shamelessly and with permission, of course) from Kui’s blog – I am only doing this cos I could never duplicate the envy (and jealousy) I am feeling right about now – and I am trying to show off (that I know people (Kenyans) in KBW that can do things like this – 😀 ). LOL When google decideds to sue Kui for infringement of one or two copyright laws, she is by extension naming me and you can all be ready to have banners and placards on your sites with ‘Free MJY and Guess – they are KBW members’ on your blogs. (Thanks MJY)

This is a collective comment to all the blogs that marked this day – just because I didn’t comment on your post doesn’t mean I didn’t read it – I read all of them, with pride. And as one of the bloggers noted today, for the non-bloggers who lurk or comment – go on, get blogging. We love your participation but we also want to participate in your blogs too :(

Today has been a good day, a truly marvellous day if I can be honest. Since I got into work this morning, I have been camped at the Aggregator (and collected four viruses on my work computer for my enthusiams :( – those Northern geeks are going to town on my Internet usage at work, wait till morrow) to read all the new posts about Kenya and Madaraka Day – and to be honest I wasn’t disappointed; on the contrary – I have had my heart swell, palpitate, tears threaten to spill, my patriotic side pulled to the fore, laughed at funny ties, gushed at beautiful voices singing, gone green with envy over a doodled Google logo, seen beautiful pictures of Kenya, listened to a dead man talking to me about the white man not having priority over a black person when they are sick, sang the national anthem (to the Acrobat on the phone – sorry dude, my singing is to be henceforth confined to the bathroom) read the dissenting voices, heard people who aren’t Kenyans praising Kenya, learnt about music and musicians I have never heard of or know about, learnt that running around in this rat race we call life doesn’t make me a rat; but I am still in the race, discovered other displaced Kenyans, smiled mischievously at the mention of lovely Kenyan ‘chicks’, wondered about the ratio of birth to death rate of goats in Kenya (don’t tell me you never wondered about that too) and just laughed and clapped and sang and felt like life was good all over again.

In short, I realised that I am not alone, and went 360 degrees round the bend dancing.

And that was before my 1200hrs lunch break.

(Major digression, give me a minute please)

With my stiff upper lip and downcast eyes, I went to the supermarket (Sainsbury’s local) to get my daily dose of the Guardian, a Lucozade Orange and some chewing gum, while waiting for my friendly Italian deli to make me lunch (those guys are the best, they know me by name, and if I could be broke enough to ask for credit, they wouldn’t bat an eyelid). In my ‘local’ local there are these Black women who work at the cashiers’ desks who always gush at my braids – I always have to explain, on different days to different people, that I had them done in Kenya – and they invariably turn green – not sure if it’s the braids or the fact that they were done in Kenya.

Anyway, one day I get to this lady that asks the same question, and when I tell her that I had them done in Kenya, she goes: Oh I am Kenyan too. And that did it, we chatted a little bit and that was that. During the busy City lunch hour, you don’t have the time to run around reminiscing about home so I always just wave or say hello when she is on duty.

Today, I was behind the dude that went to her register, so I went to the other lady waay over near the back – she (K) had noticed me, smiled and waved. As I left through the back doors, I thought to myself: This is Madaraka day, shouldn’t I go over and say hello and wish her a good day? Isn’t that the spirit of the day?

So I go through the front doors and wait as she serves a customer. She says hello and smiles – give me a second.

So I say: I just wanted to say hello and wish you a Happy Madaraka day – you know, not wanting to intrude but also wanting to just pass the wishes for the day.
In true Kenyan style she goes: Oh my Gosh, I forgot.
The other cashiers on both sides wonder what is going on and look at us frowned and funny, and the lady being served looks a little peeved that I interrupted her paying for whatever she was paying for.

K (the name on her tag) asks me to wait a minute.

The customer leaves and we chatter about this and that – and then she asks me: Why don’t you come by tomorrow, I will give you my number and then we can go out for a drink or something. LOL what is a Kenyan without the obligatory drink with a fellow countryman even though they are complete strangers in a strange land. This lady doesn’t know me from Eve and does not even know my name.

I was in heaven.

Mainly because not only did I make her day, but also she put an extra spring on my step.

/end digression

What am I saying?

When K said she forgot it was Madaraka day, I just smiled – mainly because this time last year, I would have said the exact same thing. I see a date on my phone at work and crack my brain to figure out what the significance is, but draw a blank cos my mind is elsewhere. I have to admit that even when I read about Kenyan activities going on in London, my first and second and third ad infinitum instinct is to just about file them and hastily forget about them.

Doesnt matter that I buy T-shirts and paraphenalia from Kenya with Kenyan flag or words on them, or that my printer has had a Kenyan flag on it since 1999 (flag bought in Atlanta, USA, no less), that I got a Kenyan Tshirt from Msanii, bought from the USA, delivered from a warehouse in the UK for my birthday this year, that I buy Kenyan Tea, actually KTDA tea from my local factory, to give to friends as presents from Kenya, doesnt matter that I feel proud saying that I come from Kenya, and not any other African country, listen to BBC Kenya news online in Swahili just to update myself on the lingo (and fail miserably) – damn, anything that you can associate with Kenya is wrapped up warm with extra central heating and the obligatory blow fan, but that in itself doesnt make me a Kenyan patriot with pride.

Having lived abroad for (insert figure denoted by a donkey) years, I have been desensitised to a lot of things – and most of those are skewed towards national holidays in Kenya. You don’t get to take the day off, watch TV and listen to boring Presidential addresses (hey Ms K), see flags draped around monuments and buildings, listen to great new music heralding our (shamelessly using this) achievements – listen to this song which still brings a big choke to my throat, although I wasn’t born then:

(Making this one up, big time – would appreciate the lyrics if anyone is so inclined)

Ilikuwa December kumi na mbili
Watu wote walisikia Kenyatta ameshikwa
Hakushikwa Kenyatta peke yake
Lakini walikuwa na shujaa (I think)…..

Woi woi woi
Woi tunataka Kenyatta awachiliwe

(PS: Kenyatta was a personal friend of my paternal grandfather; they fought in the wars together, and they died the same year (RIP Guka M), hence the whole star-struck routine)

Moving on..

What I was meant to be saying, and mercilessly failing, is that due to being a blogger and a Member of KBW, I only have thanks to say to anyone and everyone who has lifted the veil of indifference that I have always worn for this and any national day in Kenya. If I weren’t a KBW member, I would have sailed through today without the joy, the appreciation, the pride, the honour, the knowledge, the shame, the laughter, the tears, the added friendship, the heartfelt gratitude, the shared common bond, the kinship, the near heart-attack, the wondrous mountainous information – the sense of belonging, that I got today.

And its still coming in

The Americans use the whole: ‘I’m an American‘ – to just about get the world to roll over and kiss their collective behinds, today was our day

Happy Madaraka Day all

KBW rocks on..

F4′d (Foreign Foreigners Forever F*)

When you are not being treated like a potential terrorist and divested of your shoes, dignity, personal effects and your innards X-rayed, they are taking your picture, fingerprints and asking you the stupidest questions known to man.

And that is just at the airport

Then you get to the other side

You are treated with suspicion, frowned at, avoided and asked the stupidest questions known to man.

Yes, you guessed it, you are a foreigner – or like the other side of the pond likes to call them, an alien.

For years you fight and wrestle and prostrate (and in some cases prostitute) yourself to the system until you are standing on your own two feet; tall, proud and able to show some fruits of your labour.

Years spent missing out on your family, missing home like crazy, going through all life’s wrangles alone have gone by – and then you have had enough (and made enough) to make that pilgrimage back home to see the folks. Pictures on the Internet, phone calls, text messages, emails and stories from others have made you so homesick that you can’t wait any longer.

Years of running around like the rat you are, singing to a tune you don’t really understand, bending over backwards to fit in. Smiling the plastic smiles, ignoring your neighbours and avoiding the police (and maybe the Immigration Service), learning the ropes and speaking the lingo has taken a toll on your life.

Years learning that not only are you black, but you are BLACK – and that means something not even your Geography/History/Biology/Ethics teacher in primary school knew, leave alone knew to teach you. They think you are lucky, they marvel at your success, but deep down, where no one sees but you, you envy the simplistic life that they lead – and that is why you are undertaking this prodigal son routine.

When you are not being treated like a potential terrorist and divested of your shoes, dignity, personal effects and your innards X-rayed, they are taking your picture, fingerprints and asking you the stupidest questions known to man.

And that is just at the airport

Then you get to the other side

You are treated with suspicion, frowned at, avoided and asked the stupidest questions known to man.

Yes, you just got back home, where you are now a foreigner.

Cries of: ‘You have changed’ echo everywhere – like somehow living away from home puts one in a bubble where time doesn’t exist.

Given, you speak differently, your outlook on life is forever changed, you have dealt with life without the support of family and familiar friends, you have conquered molehills, made mountains out of protuberances, dipped your beak into the anthill, and come out of it scathed, but alive – and jolly glad to be back

Your mother treats you with kid gloves; your old friends treat you with suspicion, your extended family worry that you don’t remember them, strangers point at you and whisper among themselves, everyone is asking whether you still understand your mother tongue.

Now you are definitely an alien

To you, you may have changed, but you are still the same person – and would rather not be treated differently

To everyone else, you have changed, and definitely need to be treated differently.

You hunt for the old familiar grounds, old familiar friends, old familiar parents, old familiar life – but things have moved on, so has the people.

You are a stranger, in a strange land, but you are home.

You want things to be the same, but you want them to be different from what you are used to, although you secretly crave that which you left behind. You are frustrated that you can’t have the things you left behind, although you didn’t expect that, you hoped, wished and prayed.

But is that not why you came back?

You want people to be the same, but they are different from when you left home – hence why you are uncomfortable to be back

But comfort, like happiness, is a state of mind
And who are you to dictate that to others?
When you are still trying to mould that for yourself?
You can teach as much as you know
But you cannot know as much as you need to learn
We all know as much as we know
But not enough, not more to learn, or to unlearn

You want to be treated the same as before, but you have changed from the kid you were then – hence why things cant stay the same for you waiting for you to come back.

But back you came, because this is home.


The motherland – literally and figuratively.

You are still a foreigner, an alien, but you are home

They may treat you differently
Things may have turned out differently
Life, as you know it, is different
But you are home.
You are Kenyan
Do not let no one, and I mean no one
Tell you differently
They are your family
They are your people
You have every right to be here

There aren’t any people more Kenyan than others
There aren’t people more patriotic, because they live in Kenya
We may be aliens where we are because we come from Kenya
But we will not let anyone treat us like foreigners cos we don’t live in Kenya
Have you never had a parent/sibling who works out of town (or in town)?
And they come ‘home’ every other week/month/quarter cos they couldn’t commute?
Did you treat them less of the family cos they didn’t have dinner with you every night?
We are boarding school students, long distance workers, married siblings etc
Same difference

Home (Kenya), Home (your adopted home) and Foreign lands thereafter, you are Forever a Foreign Foreigner!!

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
Its a very very, mad world, mad world

And that is my story, and I am sticking to it
Cos Guess what, I was born in Kenya
My parents, my love and my family are Kenyan and live in Kenya
My home is in Kenya; Tommy (my dog: don’t ask, I didn’t name him) lives in Kenya
And not even the Queen of England can take that away from me