My Slight Mishaps Caused by Technology

The moment somebody says “TECHNOLOGY” most of us rush to think of computers and other computer-related inventions or innovations. We are only partially right if we take this path of thinking. My little Collins English Gem Dictionary ( which must have been published in the 19^th Century because it was used by my uncle in his high school, and besides all the pages are yellow, not to mention that it smells like what the original Bible manuscripts must have smelled when they were found in whichever caves they claim); well, my Gem defines technology as the “application of practical, mechanical sciences to industry [and] commerce”. So technology does not always refer to anything electrical, as everyone of us rushes to think. If you invent a new way to break wind, well, it might be referred to as technology!

Now, everybody is so grateful that the Homo sapiens of these days has used his brain so much and that is why we do not have to part the waters of The Red Sea every time we cross that narrow canal but rather we can use a ship, or plane to fly over the same. Indeed many have blamed Jesus for having had to go through great costs to “perform his miracles” whereas if he was really as great as they say in the good book, they argue, he should have “appli[ied] … practical, mechanical sciences to [his] industry [of preaching]. For instance, they continue to argue, if he could have made a very big oven out of his great might as is told in that good book then he should not have taken away those two fish and five loaves of bread from whoever they rightfully belonged. Neither should he have risked his life walking over waves without a surfboard. Further still, he would not have been crucified quite against his wish (remember he had feared it as is said in that book and that he even had to spend nights praying) but would have had made one Kaleshnikov which would have been enough to scare away those Jews, or those who wanted to stone the adulterous woman – here, Jesus, due to lack of any weapon, bent down and started scribbling on the ground with his finger. But it appears that Jesus was not a fan of technology because he should have been the inventor of so many things. Take the mobile phone for instance. The other day I laughed when somebody joked about the telephone (mobile phone) in Jesus' time – that calls like the following would be made:

JC: Hey, Peter, where are you guys right now?

Peter: We are in Bethlehem.

JC: Bethlehem? What the hell are you doing in Bethlehem?

Peter: Oh, don't you know? We have a bash!

JC: Whose bash?

Peter: Judas' birthday bash.

JC: Oh, that asshole never tells me a thing. I'll be with you in ten minutes.

To leave Jesus alone, for although he was not a technophile he had brains that are unmatched to this day, (it says in the good book), I will go straight ahead to say why I chose to talk about this topic. I, too, love technology but when it beats me I'm so frustrated because I'm just a youth and a lot more should be on its way. My first encounter with a TURNSTILE was in a supermarket in Kampala (the one right inside the Old Taxi Park – I forgot its name). I am neither a yokel nor a townie but when I first approached it I was afraid because it seemed to me just strategically located to knock some very precious cargo that men carry around with them. I hesitated at first until somebody went past it without it inflicting that damage I had so feared. I followed suit and sighed with relief when I realised that the thing was just as harmless as a little girl. I did my window-shopping since belonging to a certain class I was too broke to buy stuff anyway. I must not have noticed any sign saying where we should exit from and besides I was too excited about my little metallic friend and I approached with as less caution as I could afford just so I could show any watcher that I was used to turnstiles and their cousins. I am African, too, and reading signs and instructions are not really part of our cultures. What I had feared so much before I passed through the turnstile happened. I groaned in pain and pretended that it was just an irritation because 'why do they have to make us go all round the shop to get out'? The turnstile did not give in to my feather weight even after trying to push so I decided to show any watcher that I was athletic enough and I did a little skip or high jump of that turnstile which turned to be quite a sight. Whoever watched had a look I haven't understood to date but for which I care naught for.

My second experience was in that great city of Nairobi. I do not know what it is with me and cities and guess what … ? anything that turns or revolves: The REVOLVING DOOR. I had just popped out of a minibank to withdraw money from the ATM. The queue I was in was long and just when my turn came the machine stopped working. I got out of the minibank immediately and left even though there were other queues that I should have joined. I get pissed off quickly and I guess that is why. Not knowing the city quite well I could not find any other ATM easily so I decided to go back to the same ATM. I had not seen a door, at least not a revolving one, when I first entered the minibank and so I pulled the handle of what I saw. It turned out to be a revolving door and that I was pulling it in the wrong direction for another man of a huge disposition was just getting out of the bank. Just as I had stuck my rather not small head inside he pushed the door the other way and nearly broke my neck. I could not help but yelp with pain and make quite a spectacle of myself. He apologised and tried to train me on how to use revolving doors without such mishaps, which pissed me off than when he nearly broke my neck because I at least knew how to use a revolving door. It just wasn't there the first time I had entered! I learned my mistake later: that the minibank was next to its mother bank and so with their sharing logos and colours, it was hard to know where you had first entered. In other words, the mother bank had a revolving door while the minibank didn't. It's just that I had not noticed the mother bank and when they were breaking my neck I was actually supposed to be getting into my minibank!

Kiswahili Kitukuzwe!!

Mimi kama Mkenya nimechoshwa na Wabunge wetu wanavokiua Kiswahili katika Bunge. Ningeomba Serikali iwalipie somo hili ili waache kutuaibisha au ikomeshe upeperushaji wa moja kwa moja, au hata wa baadaye wa vipindi ambavyo vinatuaibisha kama nchi. Kenya ni nchi moja ijulikanayo kwa lugha hii tuipendayo lakini ukifika huku nchini unapata asilimia ndogo sana yakijua. Jiulize watu wa nje hujiulizaje wanaposikia Wakenya walivo wataalamu kwa lugha ya Kiingereza wakati lugha yao ya taifa hawaijui. Najua kwamba umuhimu wa mazungumzo au mawasiliano ni kuelewana ('bora tuelewane') lakini angalia jinsi nchi kama Uingereza zinalinda lugha zao. Cha kushangaza ni kuwa Makao ya Bunge yanaonyeshwa moja kwa moja kwenye runinga zetu na Wabunge wasiokijua, Mwenyezi Mungu awasaidie, ndio wanakimbia kukizungumza. Wabunge wetu mwatukera! Kiswahili ni lugha ya taifa nchini Kenya lakini mwajifanya kutokijua, na wengine wenu hamjifanyi kwani hamkijui ng'o! Kunao ambao wanafurahia kukiporomosha Kiingereza ili kuwaacha watazamaji na wabunge wenzao na mshangao lakini kwani hamjui kwamba mwacha mila ni mtumwa? (charity begins at home). Wabunge wanafaa kutozwa faini kubwa wakikosea Kiswahili. Spika Maalim anafaa apelekwe shuleni. Waziri Mkuu pamoja na rais, nyie twawapenda lakini tafadhali acheni kukiua Kiswahili. Rais Kenyatta alikipenda Kiswahili na ndio maana Wakenya wa siku zile hawakuongea jinsi tunavoongea. Wasanii wa siku zile waliimba kwa Kiswahili kitamu. Mtu akifanya kosa katika Kiswahili twacheka sana, ilhali akikosea neno moja tu la Kiingereza twamshangaa kweli. Huu, kama anavouliza Mbotela, ni uungwana? Eti heri kumpenda mtu mliyekutana hivi majuzi, kuliko wa familia yenu. Huu ni upumbavu. Nikirudi kwa Wabunge, wasiokijua Kiswahili wanafaa watimuliwe, na upumbavu wanaouita Sheng unafaa uzikwe katika kaburi la sahau. Kiswahili ni mama na baba. Kiingereza ni jirani tu!

Nina ombi moja tu kwa Wabunge wetu: Kama hamkijui Kiswahili jifunzeni kabla ya kujiabisha mbele yetu. KBC na nyumba zingine za utangazaji zapeperusha duniani kote. Mtakosa kura zetu kwa sababu hiyo tu!

The One-hit Wonder I Used to Be

Back in those days when I was still the same size as our goat and when our cockerel had fallen in love with pecking my little ears after chasing me the whole front and backyard I used to be a clever little boy. I used to be the best in my class. I even set a record where one exam I got eight straight A's in my exams, scoring 800 out of 800 marks. I was good I tell you. I remember those days and wonder if I become a fool as I approach my grave, I really do. I wonder what happened to that magic I used to have. I was known more than Okonkwo was in those nine villages of Umuofia. I was known in our district as the only boy who could get nothing but straight A's if he saw that as necessary. But that, like I said, was a long time ago.

Last week I attended a Closing Day meeting at my little brother's school. He certainly did not follow my footsteps and surely only he knows what he is following. He has been performing so poorly that he has changed schools more than any one of us in our family. So in the meeting, as they called the names of those who had performed best, and the most improved I was carried back to those meetings we usually had in high school. And I remembered just how Mama felt when they were calling the best performed students and I was not among them, like it used to be when I was in primary school. She, my mama, had great hopes in me. What made me recall those days most is the fact that my mama is usually so emotional. You should see her, for instance, watch her favourite soaps. She is usually totally involved. I do not like watching a movie in front of her because half the time I watch her, and I understand what is going on in the screen all the same. This is not to mean that my mother and I share common tastes in movies; soaps are not my type – but that is the way it is. So I used to wonder how she felt as we sat on those pews in the hall and they called the names of those fellows who had decided that books were their everything. Mama used to get the butterflies, if you can get them at such a situation, when a name like mine was mentioned, expecting me to be the most improved or something, no matter the class they were calling. I would steal glances secretly to watch her reactions, which like I said are usually overt, only to find her doing the same after which I would withdraw them faster than a Kenyan can run.

I only came back to that meeting after I realised that I should not have been feeling so bad about my brother whereas I was something like a one-hit wonder. . .

The Kenyan - Compared With Other Beings

Kenyans are a peculiar species of human beings worth talking bout. There are many things that distinguish Kenyans from any other race on earth. Mind you, there are different races in Kenya but they all have the same characteristics. I will discuss a few of those:

The first thing that makes them different from other people of the world is their pride. Kenyans are so proud, prouder than your people, reader, if you are not a Kenyan. If you ever happened to visit any Kenyan blog, you'll see what I am talking about. Their pride starts with their country all the way down to the basest things. Kenyans love their country and if it wasn't for a bunch of monkeys that find their way to Parliament every election, Kenyans have loyalty, pride, love for that country of theirs. If it wasn't for their politicians, you know their characteristics, Kenyans would live in harmony more than any other people do. Every Kenyan who uses the internet does egosurfing, for himself and for his country. It is not uncommon in Kenya to enter a cybercafe and find about ten or more people with their screens full of something Kenyan. You'll find them with goosebumps because of the amazing facts they are reading about Kenya. Never start an argument concerning comparison of countries with a Kenyan. No matter how far from the facts, he always manages to bring his point about how Kenya is doing good compared to others. They get so irrational at times to compare their country with others that are miles and miles ahead. But that's the Kenyan way.

Another thing is Kenyans are disrespectful. Unlike their humble neighbours the Tanzanians, Kenyans generally are not friendly, are not respectful. If a Kenyan enters his favourite restaurant, he had better be served because of his impatience. You would not wish to be a waiter in a Restaurant in Kenya. You will be abused if you take one second more than the Kenyan thinks you should. In Kampala, Uganda, the waiters there are the most peculiar species of Ugandans you will meet. They take their time and you have to constantly remind them that you need to be served. Due to their good upbringing or something of that nature, they always serve according to the order that you entered that place, and they are good at observing. You will be so unlucky to enter a place of eating and expect that since you are in a hurry she will understand you. She won't. If that happens in Kenya, there will be chaos. All who have not been served will start complaining and hurling insults at once and even advise you to get more waiters. That is the Kenyan. He is always in a hurry, and you can tell where that has led them since independence. That country has no major minerals – no iron, gold diamonds, oil, nothing. But Kenyans are always among the top in terms of innovations and trade in Africa. The Kenyan economy is very strong, for a country with no oil, that relies on agriculture and is hit by droughts almost every year.

Kenyans are a hard-working people. I have lived in Kampala and in Nairobi and to tell the truth, the differences are crystal clear. I know you are supposed to set goals way ahead of you but this is not a goal I’m setting, but a comparison I’m making. The average Kampalan wakes up at nine a.m., goes for katogo which he uses an hour to eat and by the time he is ready to work he is feeling dizzy because of the sun and how much he has eaten. Every Kampalan eats katogo, which, lest I should forget to say, is a mixture of anything edible, but mostly cassava, beans, matoke, and at times eggplant.

A Nairobian, on the other hand, wakes up at five a.m., takes a shower despite the cold of Nairobi, prepares for the job, takes tea and a toast as breakfast (very light), and goes to his job. The next meal is usually taken at lunch. If you are observational, you will have observed that at nine, when the average Kampalan is preparing to go and eat katogo, the average Nairobian is sitting hungry at his place of work; not sitting as in doing nothing, but sitting at his place of work working though hungry. This means that Kenyans are generally a hungry people. You will also have noticed that the Kampalan does not take a shower, or a bath, or whatever he needs to take. The average one stinks, and this is not an insult to the Kampalan but the sun is hotter there and they still do not shower.

Another peculiarity of the Kenyans is how they love to move houses at night. May be it's because of how they steal too – almost every Kenyan you meet may rob you. So they move house at night, all of them, the rich probably to hide from thieves who might follow them up to a thousand miles if they discover something valuable; the poor to may be hide their poverty. The middle class have not managed to bring a change to the Kenyan house moving rules. And many of them move at no specific times, but rather as soon as it gets dark enough to move.

I could write all day about Kenyans. However, the last thing I'll say is how they greet using adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, etc. In other words, they have never mastered the art of greeting. When you meet a Kenyan and he says: OTHERWISE? You had better tell him how you have been because like I said before, they are impatient, rude, and are actually greeting you when they say that.

The Kind of Wife I'd Like

What happens when men start earning a little money? I will tell you. As soon as a few dollars, pesos, shillings start flowing into a man's pocket constantly, he stupidly thinks of somebody on whom to spend that money. He becomes charitable or some kind of philanthropist. This is not a philanthropist in the sense of having pity, mercy and all that for the poor, but a philanthropist to the female species. Of course nowadays that has changed. I have nothing against gay people but I wonder and I can tell you that I only stop at that. So, a man starts thinking that the money he is earning is too much for a man alone, and he starts saying that if God wanted man to spend his time, money etc. alone He would have created him alone.

Now, I am no exception to the above. I hate that fact, but there is one thing that is making me happy. The fact that I seem not to get the kind of girl I want. I am not mean. I believe I am quite a philanthropist, with the little that comes my way, and money is not even the question. There are many things, shall we call them hurdles? that my wife has to overcome. I wish to let this out so I do not get the wrong woman for a wife. Marriage is a long thing; a serious one takes an average of 35 years if anyone does not die along the way. I would not like to spend two years with the wrong person.

The kind of wife I need should not fart, or to be politically correct, should not break wind, anyhow. Should she see a reason to defy this rule then I have to be miles away from home. There is nothing as annoying as a farting woman. All the beautiful women you know out there, just imagine how it is like when they fart. The new royalty Kate, if she farts I think she loses all her beauty. Imagine Cassie doing that. Imagine the look on the face of Mariah when she takes a ****. Any beautiful woman that farts makes a man imagine where those gases are from and the man starts degrading her all at once. He starts saying, she isn't that cute after all. You know what, I feel the same thing.

The woman I want should be careful how she uses the bathroom. I do not need a wife who visits the bathroom about all the time, and when she does, she should make sure I do not know because imagine your wife doing the ****. It is quite disgusting. I shall also not be tempted to use the bathroom after her because nothing kills a lady's appeal than the smell of her ****.

The woman I want shall also not give me that look they give as if you have just said 'our neighbour's wife is getting cute' when all you said was, 'honey, I’m home'.

My Wife's Turned Devil

When both my parents were murdered that December night and me being the only child, I was scared to death. There were just two shots through the living room window from a silencer about a hundred metres away. Whatever the cause for their murder I did not know, and I haven't to this day. We were fairly rich, if there is such a class, but no money was demanded or suddenly lost from their bank accounts. After their cremation I asked my ex-girlfriend to come stay with me and she did and we got along quite well, except that we are no longer two but three; the third being a little boy who looks something like his mother and a lot like his father.

Lately though, Annet has become quite a burden, an addition to Junior. She has suddenly started having a craving for things we should have done in our youths, things that just do not go with me. These are some of the things that made us break up the first time. In addition, she has become quite a devil in all senses of the word and I am starting to get scared. About a week ago I went to the bathroom at around midnight and on returning I almost screamed because just as I opened the door to get back into the room, she was standing a few feet from it, her eyes a cat's exact and with a smile the devil himself would buy at an auction. As I stood glued midstroke at the doorway and she still looking at me in a way that would scare away any Old Testament prophet, Junior who could barely walk, woke up from the cot, stretched like any adult would and literally walked to his mother's side. This was too much and I am not a coward but I have reason to believe that I fainted because I remember nothing else after that, except waking up early in the morning and wondering what dream I had had.

I cannot help asking myself who else my wife could be and I’m sure I need answers quite soon. I have also noticed a diction change in her. Her choice of words is just not what I have known of her and she will talk of cults when the subject at hand does not. She mentions blood quite often and I am beginning to fear for my neck lest it becomes the source for it. I have tried lying on the bed and pretending to be asleep and when she is breathing the hardest I turn only to look at her wide eyes open. I have tried talking to her but I still do not know what to start with, now that Junior crawls at day and walks at night, like a mini-man.

I have heard that such things do not end without somebody losing their lives and I am worried. The way she looks at me whenever she is holding a kitchen knife is worrying and I need help soon. Please help me!!!

The Lady Not Taken

I have a certain fondness for Robert Frost and especially his "The Road Not Taken" and "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening". It has influenced me a lot, this poem (The Road Not Taken), and Frost has done so a lot in my life. I want to be like Frost. How do you like the parody?

Two ladies I met at the club Yellow Wood,

Too bad I could not take 'em home both

And remain one man, long I stood

And looked at one much as I could

Till I felt hard in the 'undergrowth'.

Then looked the other, just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because she was classy toes to her hair;

Though as for the wear

Had made them look about the same.

And both that evening equally smiled

Lips Jesus himself would not ignore.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how ladies are crazy,

And doubting if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

That two ladies I had met, and I

I took the one less 'traveled' by,

And that is why I'm still negative.