You men, who think it’s wise to make gossip a career should respect balls. If you can’t respect your own, don’t rubbish other men’s. There’s just so much to talk about that it baffles me why someone would find fulfillment in eavesdropping on people’s sexual lives.
When the dust settles, you ask yourself what Edgar has solved with that Jalas and the boys’ story. Just another clout chaser. It was bad, it was happening, but having exposed it, how has it helped the victims?
Now the women in those convos are in worse mental state, possibly could be depressed even, so the man who so many people think of as the hero of the mayhem has actually done more harm to them. Look, the photos, the videos, and the chats were in a private group, safe from the public eye until Edgar happened. Now the girls are everywhere, naked, and I hear mofos asking for videos, what makes you any better?
But you also forget that sex is also transactional. Abled buyer, willing seller. And terms of the transactions is only binding to the two parties.
Say what you wanna say, but Edgar, a man who finds pleasure in bringing down people is no fucking hero. Sex happens in all its illicit hues; married man fucked who in the parking lot, she’s fucking with the shamba boy, look at this intern riding her married boss, now Clinton is fucking with Lewinsky…it happens every time.
But riddle me this, would married men cheat if there were no women willing to be cheated with?
Yo, unless it’s rape, violence, pedophilia, or undue influence, let people live their lives, however sexually weird they might be.
Though I find what these boys did juvenile and wrong, It’s appalling that nobody cares about the women in those chats, or maybe, just another collateral damage. Now go back to your tired life. You’re dismissed, mongoose.
Saturday was a good day. I violated my typical schedule and went to watch some art spinning at the Kenya National Theatre. I had anticipated to reach at KNT right on time to see the event begin as the performers as I had seen them before were great. Some of the performers that were doing their stuff on Saturday are my personal friends that I have shared with the same platforms and spat on the same mic. I guess I have written about some of them in the past. I was invited by a friend and a fellow spoken word artiste, Femi Bongo Kaya who to me is an artiste that deserves the title as he has never disappointed his fans. The guy is worshiped by words and rhymes serve him coffee as other stylistic devices take refuge just beneath his tongue. I never think twice about attending his events when invited. I wanted to watch every performance, not to miss a thing from the beginning to the end of the show but even before I reach could the venue I ran into some acrobats who were doing some real mind-boggling stuff. I wonder how these people place fire in their mouths but they aren’t burnt. Ever wondered how they ride those one wheeled bicycles? Do they have real bones?
To cut the crap I reached the venue an hour later after the event had commenced but I was still thrilled to watch my favorite artistes do their art. There was Femi, from what I have said you can just assume that his performance was great as it has always been. Then there was Virusi who also left us asking for more but then came the danger, the struggle sent by the creator to save the Rasta youths! Baba Gurston left us humming some wild reggae tunes. The deepest of roots. Forget about this stuff they call riddim that is full of babes, boobs and pussy lyrics that Vybez Cartel has pioneered. I don’t fall for this crap. This is not reggae. It will never be and I can’t listen to such songs. When I choose to listen to a song I have to draw lessons from it. What can Vybz cartel’s songs teach me? That it’s good to live your life as a gangster having 100 women at your disposal, a pistol on your waist, marijuana in your head and money on your mind? No I want more out of life.
Baba Gurston is an artiste who I have never known but that evening he left me humming to his tune. ‘Twas lovely listening to him pour out his heart with such enthusiasm and mastery. All performances went down well until this guy took stage. To tell the truth he is talented and rapped sense in his lyrics which were very tight but why did he have to show us his butts, what irritates me is that he had a belt but chose to have his trousers on his thighs revealing the sight of his innerwear which was not in good health…he chose not to have it on his waist, why is he adjusting it constantly in our watch? I can’t pay for a performance only to end up watching a man adjusting his pants; I can watch that on you tube! Dear rappers God created your waist for a purpose. I guess it was meant to be where you fasten that trouser and innerwears are not meant for the public that is why they have a prefix inner added to them, please keep it to yourself we don’t care whether it is Gucci, Giorgio Armani or Tommy Hilfiger. Just in case I haven’t known does exposing your pant add some lyrical prowess when you’re on stage? If yes let me know that I may train my eyes to exercise some patience, they are growing tired of seeing all these bruised butts!!!!
My keyboard is an epitome of aridity. With all the consonants I still can’t make up words right enough to describe what I have in mind. And my mind is still not able to fully perceive what the maker of this lovely planet unfolded before my eyes today. How am I going tell this story? Simple, I am going to close my eyes and scribble anything related to this event on a page in any language that my tongue can roll to. That said. Where do I begin?
Africa U Night, the event that had trended (maybe is still trending) on twitter since the week began was finally here. Mavuno church was the destination and if you had never set a foot there like me there was an option-you could miss lunch and begin your search for the venue much earlier lest you miss some of the performances. To be honest, events will come and go but Africa U Night will still remain as a reminiscence of what good poetry is all about. For the first time I saw poetry escape the lips of the talented poets, hover in the room and finally encaving us in some sort of a dome filled with euphoria and bitterness. The event presented by the ARTEAST HUB had much more than just poetry. I tell you the poets deserved the tittle not as common these days when anybody who can create simple rhymes like Embrace and Empress call themselves poets. They had content and nobody had to be told to listen- the words themselves were powerful enough to arrest the attention of the audience and journey with them in that poetic adventure. There was also music. I still can’t compare the vocals of PHY to any other artist. She is the Kenyan Version of Emeli Sande.
Fast forward, the first performer was Le chatelier and it seemed the price of disappointing the audience was too high for him to afford. His comprehension of the Queens language was exemplary. His piece was short and very informative. The MC Poeta equaled the task shooting his sick punch lines in the name of Kujichocha. You just had to pendaa his stuff.
Vanessa Ombura took the stage and froze the audience to a pin drop silence. The words strictly lined with the theme left the audience screaming at the end of the performance. Poeta had to beg the audience to stop screaming such crazy chants like Thitima! Thitima! And allow the next poet to take stage.
L7 Empire is a cohort of Murderers-they killed it
Comprising of four artists: Virusi Mbaya, Cilabies Mgonjwa, Muarab and chief Kaddif, L7 Empire is taking Kenya by storm. Their lyrical prowess is out of this planet added to their sound content and mastery of their pieces-you get a free ticket to wonderland and they are not bragging about it!
They performed two pieces mheshimiwa usinigei doo that spoke of all the ills that we Kenyans are subjected to by the so called waheshimiwa. The other piece: bila madeni mafan wanatudai that spoke of the contributions of artists in fighting the societal ills. L7 empire will continue to rule because of one thing, they speak of the problems we encounter everyday not only in Kenya but in Africa. Their choice of words is excellent they use words so weighty!
The only prince in the ghetto, Ronny proved he is no longer a poet but a prophet. He prophesied that soon Obesity will also be a disease in Turkana. He also echoed the cries of the real Kenyan heroes felled by political bullets: TJ Mboya, Pio pinto, Robert Ouko and JM Kariuki. He prophesied that soon the hunger of these fallen heroes will be over as they will be served justice. Where do people get such creativity? Maybe only prophets like Ronny Prince are able to create such powerful words out of carcass of fallen heroes.
Shanky Abbs and Shikz proved they are not merely pretty but are pretty creative. Forget about the serenity in their dressing that depicted true African women. Their performances took us to a soul hunting mode. You only realize you didn’t carry your hunkies after such a performance. Tears rained and reigned.
The event was one of its like, an event worth every cent and second spent. Even after spending part of my time reporting about this event I still believe I should apologize to all the artists who performed everybody who attended this event and the Arteast Hub for failing to find the appropriate words to tell all about this event. In short the artists frankly lit the room with words. Set it ablaze.
Finally today being siku ya mashujaa I celebrate the following poets as my heroes:
L7 Empire Crew, Shanky Abbz, Ronny Prince, Le Chatelier, Vanessa, Poeta, Femi, Shikz, Vince, Murathe, Kennet B and many more. I celebrate you as my heroes because you have been the light of this society, always rebuking the wrongdoings of our leaders without fear while embracing the efforts made by fellow citizens to rebrand Kenya. May you live long to inspire the next generations.
I got to bed at about 5 am this day and that means I never slept a wink on Saturday, So I wasn’t wrong to expect a very boring and tiresome day for a Sunday. I woke up at 9 am and my eyes still deprived of sleep I had to squint to protect them from the venomous rays of the sun that was already up. Breakfast wasn’t any better, having a mkate mkavu (Is this what they call unleavened bread?) with a dilute cup of tea is the last thing you would need for breakfast on a Sunday morning and worse still it was cold-My brother Steve will never find the flask. I couldn’t find a match box to light the stove to heat this beverage and so I had no choice but gulp it down like water. Unfortunately my cup of tea gets empty before I finish my share of the mkate mkavu and that only leaves me with one choice to eat it like some sort of fruit but its dryness proves so torturous to my digestive system it feels like somebody is scrubbing my throat with some sandpaper and so I grab a glass of water to wash it down and a thought strikes me- this is the price you pay for failing to fill gas!
Sundays are always my best days. I don’t work on Sundays. It is a day I give to the creator, beginning my day with a church service is my ideal Sunday after which I spend the rest of the day in the house reading or listening to music but this was not an Ideal Sunday, far from it. As it turned out, it was even worse than any other day of the week. It was a day for thorough cleaning. I don’t even know why it is called so but I tell you I hate it. From dusting off the cupboards to removing the cobwebs to washing the utensils to mopping the floor nothing can be more draining. I was done by noon and I had no energy left to prepare lunch so nilikula njaro (airbags as we named it in college) for lunch.
So bored and lonely I turn to this book I have been reading for the last two months A land of Mirrors by Alfred Coppel for solace. I have only read one paragraph and my intestines are proving too rebellious to let me continue. I wish I was fighting against hunger, maybe I could have won but fighting a rebel from within has never been very easy so I give up on Alfred Coppell and turn my TV on for some music and wow! I couldn’t have made any better choice. It was SOLD OUT on KISS TV and guess which song was playing- Daddy by Emeli Sande. My hunger subsides and my attention is divided between the beauty of this singer and the rich content of her lyrics. Give me any other job but don’t ask me to describe Emeli Sande, I will fail. I can’t find the right word but there is something about her lips that will make you envy the microphone that seemed to be siphoning the radiance from her face and the alluring scent of her breath. Her eyes radiating love yet you can still read vulnerability of a lamb in company of wolves deeply seated in her pupils. Her vocal prowess is a story for another day, neither will I touch her hairstyle no, not now!
I haven’t bought a decoder and my TV is not a Samsung flat screen and so the images at times become rather blurry. This calls for aerial check, I never do this but for Emeli Sande I was ready to break some laws to watch her perform Breaking the law as she did in London recently. In haste I go for the ladder, within no minute I am on the rooftop twisting the aerial in a 360 degrees spin. If you have a TV like mine you will know that you need a second person to be checking whether everything is clear while you are on top of the roof setting the aerial. I was alone, so I had to change the direction the aerial was facing and climb down to check whether the images are clear, Thank God I didn’t have to climb to the rooftop the 11th time. Everything is clear, young man sink in your sofa and watch Emeli Sande.
You won’t find him tryna chase the devil For money, fame, for power, out of greed You won’t ever find him where the rest go You will find him, you’ll find him next to me
Next to me – ooh hooo Next to me – ooh hooo Next to me – ooh hooo You will find him, you’ll find him next to me
The lyrics of this song is tight, I couldn’t just close my mouth and watch in silence so I brought my coarse voice out of its hiding and began singing along. Don’t hate me I was only doing what my mama told me; NEVER stop singing. The microphone was still in its place enjoying its rewards for being humble. These are the women worth catching a grenade for…next to me- oooh my voice is a hell of a treat but the song was getting deeper in my soul replacing boredom and loneliness with euphoria. A once dull Sunday turning lively. I leave my seat to swirl my hands in the air in synchrony and right then the worst happens…..CHEEEEW! electricity! electricity!…I have serious beef with KPLC.