THE ESCORT

photo-original

If you live away from the island (Mombasa) you can attest to the fact that the traffic snarl up that’s constantly at the Kibarani cause way is a pain in the patella. A pain in the derriere quite literally because you sit in a matatu for close to an hour or two, a trip that one would ordinarily take one 15-20min drive. Sitting in a matatu until you bum goes numb, you barely feel it. At times the traffic builds up from the Changamwe round about all up to Makupa, a not so pleasant sight, and if you are native here you know all too well that this is the only root allowed to use by public transport. The other is strictly for Port business, unless you’re keen on exporting or importing stuff like the recent Ivory you have no business using that road. Avoid it like a plague.

At first I didn’t give a hoot about it (traffic), so immediately I got at the stage at the end of the day I’d wait for the first matatu that would arrive and leave, but afterwards I digressed, my patience grew thin and I stopped. Because waiting for a matatu during those traffic hours was like waiting for rain in a drought season they became scarce like a hens teeth, one could literally count them. They were not enough to ferry all of us across the border. This was a complete contrast to our Tudor counterparts, their Matatus would come rushing down stage at top speed, blaring loud music and hooting announcing their presence. If you have seen Tudor matatus you can to the fact that these are the crème de la crème. Tudor a matatus are the shiznit, well done. You would look at these matatu and just fancy living in Tudor. All with fancy lights decor crisscrossing the matatu from the outside, well done interior sealing boards with neat LCD screens on each passengers seat. And there seats, seats so posh you’d take along for a date.

So on this one Wednesday evening I arrive at the stage I noticed the traffic was back again, huge crowds still building up. People adamant to get home because of the exorbitant fares. I join in the wait, maneuver my way through the crowd and get to ancient old posta pole. I lean on it and take out my phone and start fiddling through Facebook looking for (at) people. Going through my timeline I stumble a post it reads “European Film Festival” an event that would be going down at Alliance Francaise I presume. I am curious so I fiddle an read on, the event was actually ongoing as we speak and we’ll be running for the next coming weeks, showcasing movies from 7-9 o’clock perfect timing. Without a thought of I tilt my compass back and now I’m headed to Alliance whilst still reading the post reading on I stumble on the entrance fee. It reads FREE in bold, the magic word that spoke “rudisha” to my legs and in no time, I was sitting down at Alliance enjoying a movie.

The movie was nice just like any other movie but I’m not here to talk about the movie. Something happened that night that has left me thinking. What if? After the movie

So I’m heading back to the stage Fontanella I spot small crowd now and I take this deep sigh of relief because I know it’s a sign that God is still on the driver’s seat (no pun) and that the traffic will be over very soon if not now. As I am approaching the crowd out of nowhere a lady covered in snazzy dark purple buibui passes in front of me. She’s covered from head to toe leaving space across her eyes. She has on a pair of reading glasses, she walks past me head tilted to my directions and sniggers. I spot a distant smile behind her buibui covering, and without giving a second thought about it I smile back. Smiles are infectious people; bear with me I had to. She signals me to stop and I do. I look at her and think this is probably damsel in distress. Maybe she mistook this road to the Ferry road and now she’s in conundrum as to why she can’t see the Indian Ocean. Maybe she wanted to go across the border to Mtongwe (just like me). Maybe she wanted to meet one fisherman from Ferry. Maybe just maybe she wanted to take a dip in the Ocean. Maybe she wanted to do all that but from the conversation that ensued after it was clear that she wanted to do something or rather someone, and I was completely daft as a brush to notice that I was being hit on, being hit on by a hooker. Well I’m not going to act all puritan here and

“Uko smart leo!”

Not blowing my trumpet though, but I had on this long sleeved purple shirt of course that made me look dapper.

“Unaenda wapi?” (Where are you going?)

She asked.

“Naend….”

She cut me shot.

“Unaenda Changamwe?” (Are you going to Changamwe?)

She says that and I’m left thinking wait this is must be one of those con-ladies that give you a brief about your entire past and how you should leave your earthly belongings with them and go stand at a pole of their choice (where you don’t see them) and without looking back stamp severally before turning around and you realizing they made away with your earthly belongings too late. My friend Kim should sit you done for that episode, you will die of mirth. Back to

“Ama unakaa kule Magongo?” (Or you stay in Magongo?)

I nod in agreement and think maybe she wants to send me to someone I know, or one famous lad whose fame spans across the town and surely I must know him.

When she was asking me all these I my mind was just waiting for the sentence “Siunisaidie nifike Ferry” (Could you assist me get to Ferry) but little did I know those words wouldn’t even find their way in the conversations.

“Lakini bado mna jam, hutafika sahiizi.” (But there’s still traffic you won’t get there soon.)

“Twende tukanywe soda nawe kisha baadaye tuangalie mambo mengine” (Lets go get soda and later on (h)look on to other stuff)

These words that could send a phallus-ed fella on heat checking in the next lodging for a night of flesh meeting flesh. Irregardless those words echoed for while in my mind here I am stuck with no sign of Matatus from anywhere and a willing young damsel ready to escort me to her sanctum for a night where we would cajole for an hour or two or the next half. It’s until then that an attack, that flat-lined my obscured vision, put me right back on track. I tell her no, thanks for the offer but I have a car packed just close to Samba Electronics. She looks at me and nods, in agreement I presume.

If only she knew this was just a mere Intern.

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Familiarity breeds…

A friend. One you’ve been acquainted for some years now, not typically the one that you would visit more often, but you know him well enough to say Hi when you spot the old bean walking down the street. You’ve shared some laughs here and there for quite a while and you would joke about things or two.

He approaches you for help.

Seeing you as his one way ticket to his so near yet so far elusive dream of achieving a Degree on his final Semester in Campus, he approaches you for help  . As is the norm for any university student pursuing a Tech course he’s required to submit a working computerized System for him to get that Degree. Amidst all the brains in their institution he comes out and heads for you. An Intern barely out of College with mild experience in life, but filled with butt load of knowledge, Sidika’s can’t compare, on building systems to do this for him.

At first you’re adamant and tell him that you’ll just chip in and help him build it by suggesting platforms that he could build his project quickly hassle free without necessarily starting from scratch. Rapid Application Development if you please 😉 (hehe See, I told you hanging around Techies you learn stuff. See what I just did there. Google is your friend now). He refuses banging on and on about other important commitments to worry about other than sitting down and playing with tags and letters and punctuation marks to build a systems. He Implores you constantly you’re adamant he persists but you don’t budge. Then he mentions the magic word. Cheddar. You’re face lights up.

The idea of having some crispy notes at the end of all this shebang is already too inviting for you to say NO. Plus Pavvy needs some oil change her engine is too weak she runs on KPLC  Life Support. At least now she’ll take a breather and at least the Besotted Sequel, BESOTTED II will soon go up.

SIDE NOTE: –You thought that I had forgotten about it ? Well No. BESOTTED II haunts me and stalks me monthly, weekly and daily like an unpaid bill at Villa Rosa Kempinsk. I promise though it will be up soon.

So you accept the stated amount with much excitement and agree that regardless of the deadline that hovers around like a hangman’s noose, you will try your very best to beat it. The combination of the two, doing something that you love and getting paid for it sets you on a speed not even the Fast and Furious Crew could beat. Its on like a switch you embark on the project pronto, agree to set meetings to showcase the progress of the project and on its success. Smile all the way to the bank.

Days pass everything goes smoothly and he is impressed with the way things are. But still restive for its completion He thinks of you as a genius though because regardless of it not being complete. Its something worth presentable. He says he can now literally smell his degree. You’re happy for him as a friend and no lie for yourself too (Money on my mind). You proceed and 5 days to the deadline “Eureka”. You ace it.

Now anyone whose a Techie would admit to the fact that building things like these. Painstakingly takes a devil of your time. Time in chunks. Even a whole day, plus lots and lots of caffeine to keep the brain alert. Sleepless nights if it goes to the extreme in which such is the case, but the excitement of doing something that you love surpasses any exhaustion. So most of the times you’re adrenaline is on cloud nine. But amidst all this TheIntern gets this done.

You meet 4 days to the submission date. You show him the system. He looks at you, clearly  gobsmacked never new it was possible but right now he subscribes to what we the Stinson School of thoughts like to call; The Possimpible. Its a thing. Watch.

He goes through it all and acknowledges every nuke and cranny is fixed. So you agree to meet the next day and finalize. The following day he shows up you hand him “his work”. He changes tone now speaks in a hushed tone mumbles something about having half of the amount that he’s been overwhelmed by the Kenyan Economy, “Have you cheked the rate of the shilling against the dollar, give me time I’ll sort you out the other half. Soonest.” You don’t like this but the good in you whispers to your heart. “Let it slide, give him time he’ll come up with the lump some.”

So its settled a gentleman’s agreement he’ll send it to you after he’s lined up issues with the economy.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into a month. You text him and your numerous texts go an unanswered. Then you decide to call. He answers. Begins to rant on and on about being busy and says he hasn’t forgotten the business you discussed he’s sorting you out this week. Excited of the news you don’t take much effort on holding the chit chat for long so you talk briefly and hangup the next few seconds.

The week is finally over, the Saturday sun rises and sets but no message from the Mpesa. You give him time, perhaps the Lord will come through for his loyal servant this Sunday tithe has to be paid right! Alas no Mpesa activities the whole day. Monday morning you make a phone call, phone rings no answer. Tuesday morning you make a phone call. No answer. You text, no answer. Weeks turn into months. You call numerously. No answer. You’re pissed off but the words of one Mr Jameson bring humor to you. “Unapenda kufanya kazi ya Kanisa” 😀

Familiarity breeds. It breeds contempt.

This just me letting off steam. I’m good now.

Kidum

Disclaimer: Most stuff written on this is post is majorly Burundian which I too don’t understand but regardless I still write it as if it were my first language, despite the fact that the little Burundian. I know revolves around the word Urukundo & Ubuhamya (hehe 😀 its already on). If push comes to shove I think you may want to get a Burundian translator just to interpret and break down all this shabang. If you do know of one do help a brother I too am lost in this beautiful yet elusive Burundese language. Right? Yes.

I have listened to many songs. Some that would jolt you from the sofa and into a wiggling frenzy. Some that would require you just sit on the sofa and nod your head to every single beat and appreciate the harmonious tune. Some that would require you to go from a state of calmness to suddenly ratchet and allover the place. In spite of the type of music makes you listen to, a good number of them are quite good for you. Right? Yes. So allow me to recommend a few, Have you listened to Wyre’s collection he’s quite good. Don’t let the Pseudonym “Love Child” fool you, the guy makes mature reggae music (wait is it reggae or raggae. I’m told theirs a difference. Whats the difference? Raggae Reggae? Anyone outhere?) Yea for sure he’s really good.

Its no surprise then that every Damsel from the Caribbean that has happened to visit Kenya for a show, did not leave Kenya without leaving ties with Kenya through Wyre by doing a collabo with Mr Wyre. I’m sure the songs haven’t gone without your notice, if you are not aware of this visit his Youtube Channel. He’s done a lot of things to suffice this, he’s done Big Tings Agwan. Yea no lie this is one Kenyan artiste whose music I have danced to, jiggled, wiggled for as long as I could remember memorizing multiplication tables. He’s the shiznit.

Enter Kidum. A Burundian artist. Whom from the last interview I read about him said he came to Kenya seeking asylum during the Burundian War. Sad, right? But hey look what all that has lead to. His now big name in Kenya.

Before enthroning him to my music playlist, I happened to bump into his music a lot of times when I cleared my O levels and was on the KCSE gestation period for 4 months for my results. That time I remember hearing the name of the then Education minister on television made me quiver with fear because any mention of him was a reminder of the impending results that weren’t released yet but through that, hitherto, One FM station kept me sane the whole time whenever I was still figuring what to do. There is when I bumped into his one master piece track which has stayed with me until now.

Ubuhamya-Kidum

Regardless of the fact I cannot speak enough Burundian to save my life, I could resonate with what he was singing. You know how they say Music is a language that everyone understands? Yea, listen to it and you can tell what its about. Never mind that until now I haven’t quite figured what he sings about  :D. The song just defines itself. Its one of those songs you are okay with not figuring what it means. Darn it, I take that back! Its a beautiful song, someone, anyone outhere its been 5 yrs and I’ve been singing it like a natural Burundian word for word and yet I cannot speak Burndian do translate.

Kidum sings. He sings from the heart. There is more than just one song. But for starters I recommend  Ubuhamya. I recommended him to you and so should you to another, just as I was by Bikozulu. We all need music to keep us in check at times, someone needs Kidum out there. Do share with them.

PS: All the best to one Goon in tonight’s BAKE Awards @magungawilliams may the ghost of Leonardo DiCaprio’s Oscars not hover around this year.

FOR THE LOVE OF FOOD RICE.

There comes a point in an Interns life, when he has to give up on his food. Not generally all foods but his favorite food. His one guilty pleasure. The kind of food you would rather skip lunch, when your woman tells you that is what’s for supper in the evening. Food that you would most definitely have for a week and don’t feel like you need a change of diet or have a stomach upset. Food that you would feel no harm having it for breakfast, brunch, lunch and most definitely supper, heck food you could even have for month. Food you would have dreams about, beautiful haunting dreams. If you have that food, you feel me? Don’t you? Yes?

If you don’t have that food, then there are only two reasons behind that , one you should probably be 4yrs old and haven’t figured your taste buds or two you’re not living my friend you only exist. Get that food my lads, it’s out there somewhere looking for you and you looking for it.

Give me a plate of rice and beans any day and you are one friend that I will keep close, closer than a brother. (Ha! Ugali? Ugali my apps. Ugali is a no, no.) Serve me anything that has rice in it and you’re a friend I’d put in a good word for, we’ll be partners in chyme. Love partly brought about by living in the coastal town for as long as I could learn to sing my ABC’s and also I have loved anything that comes with rice since time immemorial. Mombasa added icing to the cake. I mean you come down here and see how rice gets entangled in a smorgasbord of meals and you’ll left wondering “Should I stick to the normal Ugali skuma?”.  I for one have loved rice to have had dreams about it, beautiful haunting dreams. I have woken up chewing something which I dreamt would be rice. Ya its that good.

Just picture a plate of rice. No wait Biryani has rice in it. Yes. So picture a plate of Biryani.

biryan

I mean that first sight. Oh what a sight for sore eyes. The rice. That fluffy, light green, white and yellow colored rice is food for your eyes, and the banana garnishing saliently placed on the plates side, waiting for the aftermath of Biryani, once you start munching away. And the first bite. Oh what heaven that first bite is. The gravy coated rice and a patty of ground beef resting gently on your tongue, flavors mingling in a seductive pas de deux and then, the Kachumbari; a slice of tomato and onion swirling in your mouth breaking apart and combining again in a fugue of sweets and savories so,,, delightful. Then the sweetest yellow banana from Kisii to climax the meal. My lads this is no mere colored rice, meat gravy and banana? This is God, speaking to us through rice. Ya my love for rice is that serious, but tragically it has to end. Here’s why.

Mr. Jameson and I recently visited the capital for some geek shindigI won’t indulge you in that…. for now. So with it represented an opportunity to visit some relative’s uncles and aunts, to suffice this, the Extended Family. So I was ready for any invite. One came up, and I had the chance to visit a very good Uncle of mine served in the army, guys well built from the last time I saw him, that’s 10yrs ago, I was 10. You know time flies when you can hardly picture his face in your mind ever since the last time you two met. So it’s been eons on end, don’t look at me that way. Life happens.

He among others are the reasons, I’m calling it quits with this long rice food affair. So my aunt welcomes me, I say my hellos and proceed to the couch and take a seat, and the seats, seats so posh you would want to take them out to dinner (this is not about seats lets stick to the topic). I wait for him whilst I fiddle through my phone. So he comes in and looks at me squinting his eyes and exclaims how long it has been since we last met.He stretches out his hand for a handshake. I respond and dish out mine the palms meet and the sound that is made echoes the room. He holds my feeble phalanges firmly I could feel them going numb. He suddenly stops and says “No hiyo bado, Pok Odonjo!” I take a sigh of relief thinking the pleasantries were done with. While dog my cats that was just the beginning, we weren’t even half way their. He says that that’s not a proper greeting the hands didn’t lock, so he stretches his hand out again. I respond, also stretch put my hand. Our palms meet again and the sound made is twice as much as the earlier one. I’m sure anyone in the room would have thought it for a slap, this time I could feel my skin twitching in the inside (he says, “Sawa sawa”) affirmation that the palms have locked well.

He’s not done yet.So he then proceeds to shake it (my hands). Shakes it firmly. The firm handshake between gymnasts. Think Indian wrestle. He shakes it with vigor like affirming if I hit the gym (which I don’t). He shakes it expecting me to stand firm, but I don’t. I budge, I shake like a leaf on a branch swaying to the winds direction. I shake, I wobble I try to get my stamina back, but I don’t. I wobble I shake I could feel my feet almost slipping from the tiled floor. He shakes my hand I shake, this went on for 15 seconds until he finally He loosened his grip I regain ground and now I pretentiously shake his. He doesn’t move a muscle. I shake it with all my rice might but like a rooted tree he stands his ground. I try as much he stands there undeterred. He looks at me coughs a laugh, smiles and shouts to my aunt in the kitchen.

“ Kell nyathini Kuon bell.” Bring this man Ugali.

No, I think that wasn’t too bad. Don’t you agree? Yes? I take that back. I think I’ll just stick to rice. It could have been worse.

Love In The Times of Cholera.  

It’s that time of the year again people, when love overthrows hate, when red and pink become the favourite colour, when some pour out all the years love on one day and go throughout the year on a an empty love tank. It’s that time when (CDF Forces) Cupid Defence Forces come out in droves in defence for love. And in the crossfire some innocent people get caught up who will then fall in love and have the short outbursts of love (In the words of Luther cop) like a lions mating session. It’s also that time of the year when the days leading to the big day people become very busy you hardly see them coming to think of it I haven’t heard from you guys for while. This also the month that people will move mountains literally, because at the end of that day after that long dry spell in January that kept you two apart for whatever reasons financially or emotionally this day will rekindle your love and boy oh boy, just like these bricks….

17006

So just to avoid this cross fire with cupid I’m also going to blend in. Not at all move mountains for a date or put on a red garb. No. So In the course of this Saturday which is tomorrow some 2hrs 15min have been dedicated to one cupid film. A  very interesting movie, intrigued by the title itself but that which also I’ve been eluding for the better part of last year since I got it. You know the usual excuse being an Intern is a pain in the Patella. The title itself had me engrossed on the cover before unpacking it. It’s called.

Love in the Times of Cholera

Ya, it’s that simple and yet that much intriguing. An old tale of Love, in times when people had no control of what was going to happen the next minute lest they had stomach aches. I haven’t watched it though so no spoilers here. Just like you my mind is completely blank on this. Yet I’ve been thinking what pushed the director to come up with an interesting title like this? Did it happen during Cholera? Did the cast or was the cast suffering from Cholera.  More so did the director happen to be ill and on seeing the dehydrated and dilapidated lad in bed the damsel took off. Leaving him on that bed hurt broken, and after that him sitting on the bed and the toilet seat, thoughts of her criss-crossing his minds more than he could stomach (pun Intended). Him sitting on the toilet seat, fiddling his letters reading they used to exchange from dawn to dawn until dusk. How he composed poems and ballads writing to her how much he couldn’t sleep he couldn’t eat without her, and now how he couldn’t do all two with Cholera in his system. Or was she the one who cooked stale food for him? All these questions will be answered on that day. Meanwhile whatever you do on this day, may the love that precedes cupid n roses be with you all.

And on that cholera note, I’m out like fart y’all. 😀

Happy Valentines People.

Happy New Year 2015

Hallo there? If your reading this, that means you’re alive. Yes? …Virtual High Five then? How was your Christmas? Good? I apologize for not wishing you a Merry Christmas. I forgot. Blame the food I stuffed in too much, and because that I have vowed not to eat anymore until next year (hehe … see what I did there). Speaking of food. How was the food, your food, sumptuous? Hopefully your fridge being stocked with a lot of food stuffs for Christmas didn’t turn you into a couch potato. Did it? I hope not. Oh I see, is that Pastors Jameson soda please pass it here I need to take a sip as we speak, *sips* it’s to conk add some sprite will you? I think Pastor Jameson forgot he was not the only one partaking this divine… divai. *Sips* that’s much better. Where were we? Oh ya the tête-à-tête.

Well it’s been a while since we talked. I mean I talked, and you listened. I apologize; it’s the trouble that comes with being an Intern, there’s no Christmas for you. Especially these times in the holidays, a lot of people skive job for an early break.I tell you being an Intern is a tad pain in the patella. Most of the workload falls on you, regardless of whether you’re getting paid or not (well, all depending at the place of where your interning. I hear some Interns get paid a butt load of money, while some us of do what interns refer to us “kazi ya kanisa” ). You barely have time to for yourself well all this, is in the pursuit of getting that Experience column in your resume filled, so that it can be a major contributor to you saying goodbye to the Internship world and get that very elusive job that people keep searching for. But enough of that Internship part I know I owe people a Besotted II, which has been pending ever since, not to worry ardent readers the post will be coming up soon, I know that’s lame to say considering guys requested for it and I said the exact thing but this time I promise it will be up, as an assurance it will be part of my 2015 new year’s resolution, because there’s nothing as true in this world as taxes, death and a new year’s resolution. Right? Yes? …Cheers then. *Clink*

2014 has been a grateful year for The Intern. Yes, regardless of whether these internship leaves my bank account echoing at the sound of the wind. 2014 has been great. Why you ask? Well this was the year that people graduated and it’s exciting, we had a fair share of becoming Christmas trees even before Christmas and now we embark to a long journey in search of more wisdom. Besides that as soon as I got interning from as far as the Birthday Conundrum, I did my best to report to work and juggle between holding two Internships both here and @MombasaTech . Remember when I told you Technology flows deep. Yea I was an Intern for some time there and it was indeed a great opportunity that I will savor for the better part of my Internship. Trouble was, in a bid to trying to juggle this two Internship one Internship didn’t get my attention for say 3 months and for that I say it with an *Indian accent* 1000 apologies. No for real, my apologies. I know it’s not good manners, to invite people over for a party and have them make merry on empty stomachs. That doesn’t and won’t go too well with anyone, even me especially in these times.

Here is to new beginnings, a new leaf to be turned at the stroke of midnight and new beginnings to be embarked on and unraveled in the coming year for the Intern and many of you. So I don’t want to promise an exciting ride, or a chocolate my porcine pal; seeing as much that the binging will still go on. No I don’t, because you see the thing with promises. They are like children, you’ll have fun making them but in the end you’ll find hard keeping them. Not that children are a bore or that I don’t want to take responsibility or anything like that, but,,,, you get my point there right?

2015 looks promising and it is indeed promising for the optimists. Mine is to wish you all the best in the coming year that is… 2015… and to tell you to go forth in the directions of your dreams and achieve them… for as the new adage goes… Your Dreams are valid.

And just as the two journalist clowns of the offside show in NTV love to end their show with a Yoruba/ Luo saying I also leave you with mine… Kenyan saying

Just as the Geography of the worldwide web has made as neighbors,

The History made here at The Intern has made us friends

The Kenyan Economy has made as partners and

And as Necessities has made as Allies

“Those Whom God has joined to together …. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

And with the finality of those words, I hope to see you in 2015.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

intern

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Memoirs from 21st September.

Life is fickle; as cliche as that statement sounds; it still is the most horrible of truths that we find difficult to accept. So for that reason some try to come up with phrases like YOLO, that tend to keep morbid thoughts at bay, and also to challenge us to “Just do it” while we still can, and make us treasure life with each passing day because Hey who would wish for death anyway? Even though we see people who prepare their graveyard; dig to make it sure its six feet deep, get the best and the most comfiest of caskets, to make sure when they fall in their deep sleep, not even the strongest of earthquakes or the typhoons ever jolts them out of their slumber. Unless it’s the heavenly trumpet signaling Armageddon or maybe, just maybe Mutiso never paid his debt. Continue reading