Monthly Archives: May 2006

Teen trauma

Of all the things that traumatized me in my youth, nothing tops the list like going to shaggz. Oh, there was something about being packed like sardines and being whisked away to gishagi for the 3 hellish weeks that just made me get sick to my stomach.

You see shaggz was always our vacation destination and I don’t mean going down at coast-o where at least I would spend my days swimming endlessly. Nope. I mean going to visit some nondescript grandma who lives on some slopes somewhere where the KTN signal did not reach coz, there were too many damn hills.

Yes, you can say it. I am a traitor to my roots and I am damn proud of it! Some people are turned on about going to the country side, but not me. I am a city gal thru and thru.

After years of suffering, I rounded up my siblings and told them that I was going to start a revolt concerning those trips and they had to back me up when the face-off happened. I gathered up courage and tell my parents that we will no longer be joining them on their trips to ‘visit’ grandma for 3 weeks. If she wants to see us, she can come to the city. Let’s ust say a kamkunji was called pronto and elections were called. It was unanimous,the kids won by a landslide:no more going shaggz during the holidays. Ha! And they say being a rebel doesn’t pay.

You see when we used to go to shaggz when we were younger, it was fun coz other cousins would show up and we would have tons and tons of fun. But when we hit the teenage phase (truth be told when I finally landed me a ka-boifi) going to shaagz especially after being in boarding school for like 3 months was putting a damper on my plans of some holiday loving.

Yaani the minute I checked into the diggz with my school box, I was handed my holiday itineary at the gate courtesy of our mboch. “Ati nini?” I would ask her. “Eeehh munaenda ushago Monday.” she would reply grinning. Crap, so you know what that means. I have to only 3 days of being kunjwad before my exile kicks in.

Monday comes faster than I thot. Before long we are packing the car. As we are getting in, I am having an out of body experience: I imagine myself jumping out of the car onto my mom’s flower bed and climbing the wall, oblivious to the cuts I am receiving from the rose bushes and the broken glass on top of the wall. I run to the front door and grab the the buglar-proof and scream out “You are not taking me alive!!!” and while I pass out “Blaze of Glory” by G’n’R is blaring in the air.

Back to reality,I meekly submit to higher authority and know it is going to be a long trip. Mom has carried her Don Moen tapes (yap we were not operating a CD player car back then). Before we even pull out she has put one in and there are 3 more tapes to go and I am having this feeling of wanting to pull out my hair one by one so that by the time we fika cucu’s I am partially bald and bleeding.

I am sitting next to the window so that I can watch my life pass me by and watch the city disappear in the distance while I slowly die inside.

Halfway thru the journey, the issue of masomo pops up. Crap!

Mara we are not studying seriously, mara it’s the fact that school fees is high and money is not going on trees. Then the old tale of how they would rise up everyday at 4 am, collect firewood, fetch water,milk the cows, feed the livestock and walk 100 miles to school bare-foot and still were able to be number one.
Okay so am I suppose to feel like some priviledged kid coz I am not walking bare foot to school or milking cows?

Then the convo turns to my phone habits (cell phone were only for the wealthy then)and the way I am always on the phone everytime I am home for the holidays. “You can tell everytime ‘kelitu’ is in town,” says my dad. “The phone never stops ringing. Ile simu iko hapo ni yangu. Hata hao naokupigia simu, they are using their parents phone and running up their phone bills.” My dad believe that even receiving a phone call ran up your phone bill.

This vibe will go on for about 2 hours…I am this close to opening the car door and jumping out in protest. Don Moen is still singing.

We get to a pit-stop and we are bought for lunch and all the while being told how lucky and grateful we should be coz not everyone is bought for samosaz and sodaz by their parents. It’s a priviledge and that should be enough incentive to make us when we go back to school and read har and become number 1.

Back on the road again and now the topic changes to how we should not have boyfriends/ girlfriends because we might get AIDS and die like mtoto was so and so and die before reaching our potential. Haya shortly it about using drugs and how we should say no to drugs and smoking coz if we dared become addicts, we would be deserted by the side of the road and should never try to find our way back to their house.

Surely by the time we got to the village, we were sooo beaten down spiritually and morally that we were happy just to get out of the car. Grandma as usual is happy to see us and so are we. We ask if our cousins- any of them at this point- are coming down as well.
Nope they ain’t.
Crap! Someone kill me now.
I pick my bag and shown my room. WTH?!
Is that a bat hanging on the corner of the room looking very comfy in the room than I would?
I want to scream out by I can’t.

Here’s to happy vacation.


Posted by on May 26, 2006 in Uncategorized



Finally, finally finally. Tyra Banks got it right. After last year’s uproar, i am glad she chose to over look D’s ‘accent’ and instead focus on her potential.


Posted by on May 20, 2006 in Uncategorized




Posted by on May 15, 2006 in Uncategorized


Ist Encounter

I have decided to blog on the first time I got slayed.


Please do looked shocked and clutch your pearls at the same time. What a mess it was!

So my guy at the time, after dating for a while was huku bragging to me the way he wants to slay me proper. Ati once I have him I will never go back. So after being told time and time again on how I am missing out on serious strokes, chickdee decided why not.
P/S: Kijana was too sawa with the oral stuff. Yaani my toes would curl and my nappy roots would straiten. He was t-h-a-t good.

So one day I stuad him and out of the blue I told him I want strokes all the way. Okay so I should have known by the uso wa mshangao he gave me that the slay my not be up to per. But what did I know, I was a naive girl from the slopes of Shimba hills.

I knew I was going to his crib a ka-innocent chick and coming out a full-fledged mama. Don’t blame me. I had read all those Mills& Boon, Harlequins and Ecstacy Supremes, and the way those female characters were changed after strokage.Which mama doesn’t want all that? Hell and it was about time coz I had heard that Jesus was coming back when the clock struck midnite in 1999…

After serious rubs, coz the dude was working me like a stripper on a pole on a Friday night. I was good, moist and ready.
I had brought my own supply of condoms,coz I was not about to get preggers after the 1st tryout.(Shout out to the pharmacy in Corner House ground floor. You still there?! One of the pharmacist there knew me on a face to face basis.Aki he knew even my favorite brand LOL!).

Brother puts on the rubber and proceeds to breaking and entering. I began to freak-out and hyper-ventilating. We had kadhaa false starts coz I was to busy babbling to even relax:

“Wait, wait. Let me catch my breath.”
“Haya wait I exhale again.”
“My leg is cramping, I can’t feel my leg.”
“Are you sure that condom is on right?”
“No I am not trying another position. I want it missionary. The way God made it to be.”
“Ouch, ouch, could you be more gentle that that?”
“Ouch I did not say you get out. Work with me here.”
“Okay if you take off that condom, i will slap you with it.”
“Oh my God. I’m choking.”

The guy was more calm that i am.

So now that strokes are about to begin. I am hoping that the following strokage effects will occur:
3)The rapture

Instead, it was this:

…Crickets chirping…

The room was quiet and i wasn’t about to break that monotony with some weird sound that sounded like a moan…hapana!
I am sooo feeling shy. Can’t look at his face. I have connected with his shoulders and silently praying that this will be over soon. In the middle of strokes i go like “Could we please move to the middle of the bed coz you are banging my head aganist the wall.” We silently slither to the middle of the bed.

After a few minutes, he suggests that we switch-up position.
Now I am on top.
So very awkward.
What am I going to connect with? The wall? This South-coast finest ain’t about to ride this guy like a pony- unless his was Ginuwine. So i lay on him and tell him the motion is all on him.

5 Minutes later.

I get off and head over to the other side of the bed…in a daze.

Few minutes of silence pass.

He turns to me and says: “Si we go for another rao?”

I am silently dying inside and cringing…

“No thanks. I would like to get home before it’s dark.”
“Why what’s wrong? Did you not enjoy it? Did you come?”

This is what i should have shouted at him.” Oh Hell Naw!! What in the name of strokage was that?!!”

But i said this:” No.I just want to go home.”

Actually i wanted to go home and douse myself in Jik.

He asks if i want to shower with him.
I decline.(The sooner i get outta here the better).
He walks me home.
I live on the other side of the estate.

He apologizes for not satisfying me.
I say it’s okay: Beginners miss-luck

He offers for another try for next sato.
My eyes are rolling internally.
Saying to self:” How can i dump this guy? I love him, he is my bofie. The sex sucks. What to do?”

He gets me home.
Pecks me on the cheek.
Says bye.
I half-walk, half-run to the showers.
I am using anthing i can find: dettol, lifebouy, protex.

Called my guy-buddy and ranted like a mad mama.

What a thrill that was!!


Posted by on May 7, 2006 in Uncategorized



Yaani i can’t blog…mathe is breathing down my neck wanting to know what i am writing on the comp, (i was going with the updating resume, lakini now she is asking why i am updating it every other day).

I got this statement from a pal..

P/S: Take it lightly

And…Men are like fine wine.
They start out as grapes, and it’s up to women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.


Posted by on May 4, 2006 in Uncategorized