One of the most offensive comments I’ve ever heard was “he said if we paid £40 extra each, we’ll get into the VIP section”. This was one of my friends in a taxi feeling excited about getting off the phone with an “insider” from the club we were going to. Up to that point, I really hadn’t taken notice of where we were going clubbing, I was more interested with what we were going to eat first because I was hungry.

“£40?!”, I exclaimed in shock, “to get into a pub in South East London? You can get a blowjob for £40”.

“That’s for a VIP pass” the argument followed, “And it’s not a pub, it’s a club”.

I’ll come back to this VIP thing in a bit. It had been a great Saturday that started with us drinking at midday. It’s been a while, but I applied for my overnight visa from er indoors and it was duly granted to allow me to attend a Christmas drink up after a game with my Arsenal supporting friends. Even she knew there was absolutely no chance expecting me back home on Saturday night and promptly granted the visa.

So we sang and made merry, and even thought of opening a book to bet on how many of us would actually make it to the stadium. It didn’t matter that the pub was literally a few minutes’ walk from the Emirates, 5 pm got to us quicker than we could order enough pints. It’s one of those things that always gets you – being in your seat before kick-off is just an elusive bastard.

We quickly got into the cheering rhythm as the first half flew past – with one of my friends who was there for the first time (he supports Liverpool unfortunately) spending most of the time being mesmerized by the magnificence of the Emirates stadium. Seriously, this guy was taking photos of the pitch and the players instead of enjoying the football match. We excused the poor bastard – it was his first time in a proper stadium, one of the best in the world.

The result was disappointing, but I’ll take a point after a European weekday game with our boys coming back with a late equalizer. Everyone was still in a party mood as we headed back to the pub. Those who did not have overnight visas ended up having the traditional ‘one for the road’, and making mental notes for the next time – “make sure your missus sanctions an overnight stay”.

Fast forward a few hours later, and we had been roped into visiting an African club in South East London. When I heard the driver in the taxi being told the address, I said there’s no African club anywhere near that road and it’s a bloody long road with hundreds of nightspots. An African club is not one of them.

So imagine my surprise when they said we need to pay extra for a VIP pass. You see, I have a problem in principle. This whole “VIP status” in clubs or entertainment venues is just taken too far. It makes no business sense whatsoever. Why create second class citizens and try to segregate people in a place that is a shit venue in the first place.

If you’re going to make me a VIP – it better be VIP. Don’t try and entice me with a section of the pub with a few fluffy seats and a huge ugly fuck off bouncer built like a brick shithouse stopping people from entering the fluffy seated area.

I’m still listening to the same dodgy music, still smelling the same sweaty bodies like every other fucker in the pub, fighting like everyone else to get a pint at the bar, using the same dodgy and smelly toilets with the same lollipop selling, chewing gum peddling toilet attendant that’s’ smiling at everyone. If you’re going to make me VIP, make sure you have heated toilet seats, a surround sound system playing jazz fm, a toilet that can wash my ass with soapy water, and blow dry all the cracks and curves that nature endowed on me.

Don’t bloody call a pub a club, and don’t bloody insist that you have a VIP area and tell me that £40 is a discounted price to enter your dodgy VIP area.

True to form, it was exactly the pub I had in mind. And even then, someone was still being nervous about whether we would be let in wearing sneakers.

“It’s a pub for fuck’s sake”, I screamed. I kid you not though, the first bouncer stopped us and told us the dress was smart casual, no sneakers. And our friend instantly took to his phone to try and call his “insider” to bail us out”.

Before he could get his ‘insider’, one of the other bouncers came jumping with joy towards us and crushed me with a huge bear hug which of course shocked everyone at first. Big Ken though, is one of those huge ugly built like a brick shit house bouncers, and it’s understandable why the others were apprehensive. But Big Ken used to work for me in a previous life, hence the joy and excitement from seeing me after nearly 10 years.

“This dude hear tells me I can’t enter your pub” I hurriedly pointed to the offending “you can’t get into my club with those sneakers” bouncer, a huge “fuck you” grin on my face.

“What do you mean”, Big Ken laughingly responded, and turning to the other bouncer, he calmly said “I still call this guy boss. If T (the owner of the pub) found out you were freezing him, he’d have words”.

“what’s this VIP shit I hear you guys charge for the price of giving head” I asked Big Ken as he led us all inside. “And in a pub though these guys think it’s a club”. Big Ken just let out a hearty laugh saying it’s for the amusement of customers.

So inside we were – and even without paying VIP prices (for the sake of self-respect I insisted on paying the normal cover charge at the door) – of a pub I might add – and I must say, I felt like I’d lost a few years.

I didn’t recognize any of the songs being played except for one Rihanna hit, but that’s because it’s on radio nearly every day. In fact, last time I went to a club proper was nearly 4 years ago when I lost a bet to my younger brother’s 23 year old girlfriend and the punishment was clubbing with her all night in Nairobi.

I thought clubbing would be what it used to be like in my day, but the young girl really punished my body (wipe that smirk off your dirty face – not that kind of punishment) by keeping me on a dance floor all night.

Saturday was getting to be like one of those “what the fuck am I really doing here” kind of nights. But my friend reminded me that overnight visas are rare to come by so I better enjoy myself. And this I promptly started to do as I moved my bits and pieces on the dance floor before one of the DJ’s took pity on me and started playing some good old fashioned old school music. To me it wasn’t old school, I’d say late 80s and early 90s, but to the crowd around, they danced to it like it was the golden oldies.

One of the young girls next to me looked like she was still in nursery school and still getting used to solid food when House Call by Maxi Priest and Shabba was topping the charts in the early 90s, yet she was grooving to it like she had been in the music video.

There as another one across the floor who unleashed a scream of joy when the song came on and started the crouching dancing move as if to prove to everyone how fit she was. To be honest, the only thing you could think of with her face right by the crotch of the guy dancing with er was Biggy in Nasty girl rapping “Whip it out, rubber no doubt” – with the expectation that any second, the dude was going to whip his dick out and slap the girl’s face with it.

Believe it or not, when I was in the clubbing business, I came across crazy things, and it wouldn’t have surprised me one bit. I remember a few years back when talking to one of my customers outside in the club box office area, another customer walked out, calmly said hello with a smile and looked around as if checking if anyone else was about – nonchalantly lifted her dress, pulled out her stockings and panties, folded them neatly, put them in her hand bag and went back straight into the club.

And by the way, ladies, if you’re going to wear a mini-skirt, please do us a favour and wear one that doesn’t ride, especially if you’re going to get tipsy and drop your guard. A good miniskirt can look great and elegant (on the right body I might add), but when it starts riding every few minutes and it becomes difficult to tell whether you’re wearing a skirt or a belt, then you’ve got a problem.

We ended up talking with this particular girl and her group of friends and making small talk with industrial strength speakers determined to fuck up your conversations wasn’t easy at all. At one point when we were sat in the fluffy VIP seats (yes there was a VIP area, she started telling me her life story – hard to keep job, dodgy boyfriend who doesn’t’ value her, ambitions in life, and why the group decided they needed to party hard.

I was also amused when she complained about the challenges of wearing a miniskirt. Especially when she’s had wine, panty removers, beer and all sorts poured onto her thighs by inconsiderate bastards.

“My thighs are so sticky…” she moaned, almost daring and willing me to feel and see how disgusting it really was.

I thought if only there was really a VIP bathroom for the ladies, she could have actually taken a shower.

Some things never change though – like the dodgy mini-cab driver who hang out all night outside the club and want to charge you an arm and a leg to take you home, especially when you’re all going to different addresses. And the one thing that always cracks me up is when they insist you pay them first before they take you – something I always refuse on the grounds that they haven’t taken me anywhere – how do I know they’re not a murderer like the ones you watch on CSI New York.

As far as I know, the only professionals who get away with collecting fees before the job are prostitutes. Why taxi drivers insist on going this direction I don’t know. Besides, if I actually manage to elude a taxi driver in my state after clubbing, they’ve got bigger problems than me not paying them for the fare.

I always figured I was in the wrong profession. Not that I’ll even get away with trying to sell my body. A sell-by date doesn’t even apply in my case. I doubt that I’d ever pass any type of screening that would declare me fit for purpose for what seems to be a very lucrative trade in austere times.

Legend has it that there’s only 2 professions in the world that are recession proof. Being an undertaker and prostitution. You’ll never run out of a ready customer base willing to pay the going rate for services rendered.

But of course once in a while someone just takes the piss and redefines their own rules in the market. Take poor old Dawn. She thought she’d hit the jackpot, but didn’t account for her client being a thief. For the record, whoever pays for sex to the tune of £1.7 million in less than 3 years deserves to be locked up in prison and the keys thrown away. That kind of stupidity endangers the human gene pool.

It’s bad enough that the guy steals over £3 million from his employer, but he should have been executed for the manner in which he spent the proceeds of the heist.

The lady argues that her sexual services were value for money and the guy was prepared to pay the market rate – a rate her accountant estimates at about £20,000 a week. Even the judge in this case hard a problem with that appraisal of the defendants market value as a professional provider of horizontal refreshments. Which makes you really ask the question – is any pussy worth circa £3K a day? The law of the land clearly thinks not.

But then again, what price do you put on someone being a platinum idiot and agreeing to pay that amount. The lady is clearly aggrieved that she’s losing the fruits of her loins, literally – but you really can’t argue about a judge clawing back the proceeds of crime. It’s forbidden fruit.

My take – she should have hired a more savvy accountant to keep her hard earned money away from the long arm of the criminal justice system. There’s nothing that’s more of a bastard than thinking you’ve earned £1.7 million for a judge to tell you “actually, sweet heart – you need to pay that shit back”.

Or maybe she should have opted to become an undertaker. There are no grey areas when it comes to splitting hairs over the prices of the services rendered.

So I’ve also joined this twitter thing. I’m told its safer and more sane than MKZ – but what do I know. You can follow me on twitter and find out whether I get the hang of it.

Blame Val for distorting my mind and giving me post ideas to fill my break. I need a break anyway and since it’s been a while up in here – I might as well fess up.

1. Last beverage:
Nice properly ground coffee – always works a treat early in the morning. None of that instant stuff.

2. Last phone call:
My graphic designer in Kenya – I’ve got this habit of insisting that I won’t employ someone in my neighbourhood when there’s a cheaper (not always though) alternative that will give someone a few bob at home to do his or her thing. Don’t ever say I didn’t help with the economy Back home.

3. Is there a number 3?
Val – what’s the conspiracy with this omission?

4. Last song you listened to:
Tabu Ley Rochereau – Muzina. Always in the car – and have my son singing along…

5. Last time you cried:
You’re fucking kidding me, right?

HAVE YOU EVER:

6. Dated someone twice?
No! – but if you mean had sex with an ex-girlfriend for old time sake – Yeah! I wouldn’t go as far as calling it dating again though – it was just a booty call. Why complicate things by letting another relationship get in the way of a perfectly legitimate good old fashioned arse tapping?

7. Been cheated on?
Probably – I’m not one to try and ask questions that have answers I’m not prepared for. Some sleeping dogs are just best left the fuck down.

8. Kissed someone?
Is the Pope Catholic?

9. Lost someone special?
I’m philosophical about this one – and I suppose it depends if they were mine in the first place. But I’ve had break-ups if that’s what you mean.

10. Been depressed?
No, not really – but I suppose if you asked a shrink they’d want to justify the fee and suggest otherwise. There was a time though many years back that I had to start learning how to live my life from scratch because of a life changing experience – but I was probably too busy learning how to start life from scratch again to even be depressed.

11. Been drunk and threw up?
Is this a trick question?

LIST FOUR FAVORITE COLORS:
Would it surprise you if I told you that the concept of colour is one that is foreign to my vocabulary?

12. Black – my car is metallic midnight black – love it.
13. Black – My laptop is black and no, I don’t do Goth.
14. Blue – I was in Batian House in primary school and we wore blue.
15. Beige – don’t know why, it just looks cool.

HAVE YOU:

16. Made new friends:
Yes – I recently met new friends and had a ball. Her of the crazy variety cooked me a platinum dinner of Olympic quality, although FG and M were still eating it as they carried it home the next day, and I was left driving home salivating for the second round…LOL.

17. Fallen out of love?
Now why would I want to complicate my life by contemplating such nebulous questions.

18. Laughed until you cried?
No!

19. Met someone who changed you?
Yes, my son.

20. Found out who your true friends were?
Oh Yes – a very long time ago.

21. Found out someone was talking about you?
Never gone looking but tis a fact of life – and all the more reason not to spend my energy looking.

22. Kissed anyone on your friend’s list?
On FB? Yeah – but that would be telling. Wanajijua wenyewe. →

23. How many people on your friends list do you know in real life?
Define ‘real’ life? I didn’t know the internet was fake. But just for consistency in answering the question, I know everyone on my FB list personally.

24. Again Val, where is No. 24? Is there a conspiracy?

25. Do you have any pets?
No! Now why would I want to live with an animal in my house.

26. Do you want to change your name?
It’s a bit too late for that…LOL

27. What did you do for your last birthday?
Worked during the day, went for dinner in the evening, and the rest would make my wife blush.

28. What time did you wake up today?
5.00 am as I do every weekday.

29. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sleeping.

30. Name something you CANNOT wait for:
For project A to become a reality. It’s stressful being in the ‘sausage factory’ with this one and I’ll be glad to see it through and move on to the next thing.

31. Last time you saw your father?
Is this another trick question? I could say a few months ago, but those who understand will know why I ask if this is a trick question.

32. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life?
Another trick question…LOL! It can’t happen so let’s move right along.

33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom?
Yeah, several.

34. What’s getting on your nerves right now?
The biased, unprofessional, pathetic and criminal media shit stirring being conducted by the western media about Africa. Everything to them about Africa is a cesspit. It really doesn’t help that the Coupe du Mond is being battled for in South Africa starting Friday.

35. Last visited webpage?
Project A. You’ll have to wait for a few weeks to know what I’m visiting out there.

36. What’s your name?
Darius.

37. Nicknames?
Stone Cold.

38. Relationship Status?
Married.

39. Zodiac sign?
Aries

40. Male or female or transgendered?
Go figure.

41. Primary?
Westlands.

42. Middle School?
What is it exactly that folks do here?

43. High school?
Patch

44. Hair color?
Black (when there’s some on my head)

45. Long/medium/short?
I’m clean cut most of the time, or low crop during winter. Nice, simple, no drama – and it brings out the handsome in yours truly.

46. Height?
6 ft and a cigarette butt.

47. Do you have a crush on someone?
LOL! Don’t know what stuff like this feels any more – it used to be easier.

48. What do you like about yourself?
The fact that I’m not vain enough to answer this question. It’s for others to decide.

49. Piercings?
Need some guidance here – does helping someone lose their virginity count? I’m struggling.

50. Tattoos
Hell No!

51. Righty? or lefty?
→ Righty, though I confess, it’s been a while since I wrote anything by hand…

FIRSTS

52. First surgery?
Don’t remember much probably because of the next 7 that followed. But I remember Deborah – she was nice and she took care of me. I remember thinking it must be really good to bang her in her nurses uniform…

53. First piercing
See number 49 above.

54. First best friends
Jamo. Still hang out until now.

55. First sport you joined?
Football of course.

56. First pet?
Please – no animals.

57. First vacation?
Mombasa…stayed at Whitesands hotel…and that was a long long time ago.

58. First concert?
Opening concert for Kasarani Sports Complex before some nutcase named it the Moi International Sports Centre. It was just before the 1987 All Africa games and the headline acts were Jermaine Jackson and Franco and his TPOK Jazz band. Also had my first kiss that night – met the girl there and we hang out the whole time together. I remember she was a year older than I was.

59. First crush?
Not telling, she’s on my FB friends list and probably reads this blog…LOL!

60. Eating?
Nothing, but I had a bacon sandwich earlier.

61. Drinking?
Fizzy water.

62. Already missing?
Arsenal playing twice a week. The world cup is not the same – club football is the bread and butter and lifeline for my Arsenalitis disease.

63. I’m about to?
Go back to what I was doing before I started this crazy list.

64. Listening to?
Nothing. →

65. Thinking about?
The next business activity after Project A is up and running.

66. Waiting for?
The second knock out round of the world cup when the chaff is separated from the wheat and we can start watching football proper.

YOUR FUTURE :

67. Want kids?
Already have one – but will think about more.

68. Want to get married?
LOL! Too late.

69. Careers in mind?
Anything away from the rat race. I love my freedom and flexibility and harmony.

WHICH IS BETTER WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX?

70. Lips or eyes?
Lips for sure – nyonyarable lips like Natalie Imbruglia’s lips. If I was to be honest, I’m a breast man myself….not too big, just nice and supple and easily fits the hand….but I digress…LOL! Lips will have to do. 

71. Hugs or kisses?
This is one of them functional questions that you see how it goes…LOL! But I don’t go around hugging people for the sake of it…its damn hard work.

72. Shorter or taller?
Not fussed.

73. Older or Younger?
Not fussed as I’ve buttered both sides of this slice, Age isn’t an issue believe me.

74. Romantic or spontaneous?
LOL! Wait till you get to my age.

75. Nice stomach or nice arms?
No breasts?

76. Sensitive or loud?
Sensitive rules.

77. Hook-up or relationship?
Are you trying to get me divorced?

78. Trouble maker or hesitant?
Trouble maker…

HAVE YOU EVER :

79. Drank hard liquor?
Is that what it was?

80. Lost glasses/contacts?
Don’t need them.

81. Had sex on 1st date?
Yes. And you know what I don’t get – it’s this “I can’t fuck someone on the first date nonsense”. What’s the point in waiting if you’ve already decided – and believe me, girls already put you in a zone within 5 minutes…LOL! “He’s a no no”, or “Hmm!, he’s got game…let’s see” or “But of course”…

This not doing it on a first date thing to protect my modesty and respect nonsense just amuses me…bang the bastard already.

82. Broken someone’s heart?
Yes. It wasn’t going to work.

83. Had your own heart broken ?
Yes. Should have never got in…LOL! She was poison (not in that nasty way…) – we’re still buddies but she was the ladies equivalent of a ‘bad boy’.

84. Been arrested?
This is arguable and I plead the 5th.

85. Turned someone down?
Yes…I was once proposed to live on an internet forum…very embarrassing considering who else was reading that stuff…LOL Funny that I’ve actually met the girl and we’re good friends.

86. Cried when someone died?
Is this another trick question?

87. Liked a friend that of the same sex?
You’re fucking kidding me, right? DO

YOU BELIEVE IN:

88. Yourself?
If I don’t, who will?

89. Miracles?
Yes.

90. Love at first sight?
No, lust at first sight has some mileage.

91. Heaven
I’ll pass on this one.

92. Santa Clause?
LOL – Hell no.

93. Kiss on the first date?
If you don’t get one on the first date, then it was a really bad day at the office. Otherwise it wasn’t a date.

94. Angels?
Guardian angels are all around us.

95. Is there one person you want to be with right now?
Can I plead the 5th amendment here?

96. Had more than one boyfriend/girlfriend at one time?
That would be telling…

97. Wish you could change things in your past?
Never going to happen, let’s move on.

98. Are you posting this as 100 Truths
99. What, we’ve run out of questions? You still haven’t told me what happened to no. 3 and no. 24.? → Yup!

100. Where are you right now?
In my home-office.

I think it might be a good idea to get back to work now….it was a nice break.

Wonders never cease to amaze.

I guess in business this would be lauded as innovation.

But hey! This NGO charity thing seems to be the new thing on the block. Let’s all get out there and help the poor helpless Africans…

Maybe I’m just getting too old.

So a few weeks ago while relaxing with some friends, I was asked to consider talking some sense into a dead beat dad – who for all intents and purposes, had left a poor girl at the traffic lights, literally holding the baby.

I guess I was only asked when it turned out that I actually went to high school with the said dead beat dad. You’ll be surprised how 6 degrees of separation can make the world smaller than it really seems.

I think we were talking about how kids change people’s lives – and one conversation too many ended up with the story of my former schoolmate. The said girl abandoned at the traffic lights is his ex-missus, so you can just picture where this conversation went short of wishing that she had actually been with us at the time.

I’ll plead the 5th amendment right here on going into the specific story of this couple for the simple reason that there’s a very high possibility that they will be directed to read this post.

I don’t consider myself a marriage counsellor, but for what it’s worth, I thought that this once, I’d provide a public service based on my experience and that of my peers. If it helps even one girl to make better choices in men – or convinces even one other guy to take care of responsibilities, then the post is most definitely worth my time.

It’s certainly easier than sitting down to talk sense to – you know who.

Girls, here’s 5 Stone Cold sure fire ways to identify a dead beat dad from a mile off.

1. Follow your instincts

God gave you instinct to protect you from the evil in this world. Use the damn instincts and save yourself from the world.

The best advice you can ever get is not to get yourself into certain situations especially when all your faculties are telling you that it’s plain madness. Your body is wired to be selective and to use any stimuli it can to detect what is inherently dangerous for you.

You have signs all over that only you choose to ignore – habits, what he says, what he does, the choices he makes, the risks he takes – even his scent gives you an indication about how dangerous the proposition is.

Let’s get one thing out of the way – you’re not going to totally avoid danger. There’s no such thing as zero risk. Everything you do is risky.

Even for a guy, looking at a girl’s ass is risky because it presents options not previously available. For a girl, the risks are different. I’m just saying listen to your instincts and minimize that risk.

2. Follow your instincts again (ground hog day, huh?)

Of course we live in a world where warm blooded males and females have raging sexual hormones so it’s inevitable that you’re going to get laid.

Having made that choice, you still need to exercise a level of ruthlessness that will put Jack Bauer to shame.

Simply put – unless you’re totally convinced that the man you’re shagging is material for being a decent father – never let him anywhere near an ejaculation. It’s his right to blow his load, but it doesn’t have to be inside you.

There’s a very big difference between boys that you want to get jiggy with and satisfy your sexual desires, and daddy material. For the former, you can pick up any rough neck from wherever.

But unless you’re sure the dude is made of daddy stuff – bullet proof yourself from conception even if you have to use a cocktail of birth control methods at the same time.

My point here is that the choice of who you have unprotected sex with is not for legislation. Just make sure if anything goes wrong, he’s someone who you can take home to your parents with a modicum of self respect and explain yourself.

3. Love is over-rated

When it comes to bringing up kids, there’s absolutely no place for romance. Your relationship with your man has little or nothing to do with the day to day responsibilities of raising and caring for a child.

It’s a full time job 24-7. Contrary to folklore – love will not conquer.

Bringing up children will test you in all the ways you can think of. It will make you scream, it will make you cry, it will make you curse. They focus on the fact that it’ll make you happy and provide you with something to live for yada yada yada.

Let’s get one thing straight – even your mother can’t prepare you for the drama your children will unleash on you. You’re mother has already had her share with you and your siblings and if anything, she’ll be laughing because of all them times you gave her grief.

There’s a lot you can already tell about how your man will cope with the responsibilities of bringing up a child. Does he have selfish habits? Does he still think you can both go gallivanting around town and hanging with the boys and stuff? Does he look at you with that ”how do I change this diaper” face? Does he roll over and fall asleep oblivious of the sleepless nights the kids are unleashing on you? Does he find it strange that being a father involves things like – giving the baby a bath and reading to them?

Love has a place in relationships, but this isn’t one of them.

4. It’s all around you – don’t ignore it

The bachelor pad tells you a million things a guy will never tell you. Everything from how clean the toilet is to what he has in the fridge is a message.

There’s something wrong with someone who’s driving a luxury car with all the trimmings, yet he doesn’t have enough toilet roll in the house or the stuff in his fridge expired 4 months ago but he hasn’t noticed. The car seats are more comfortable than his sofa, and the walls are overdue a lick of paint.

You can tell a lot from how often dude changes his sheets, to the extent and immaculate way (or not) he has wired his surround system in his bachelor pad.

Kids cost money – don’t let anyone lie to you and you can tell a lot about how a guy can cope with the financial responsibility by observing how he spends his money.

The point here is that the signs that a child will throw a monkey wrench into dude’s whole programme are there to be seen.

5. If he says he doesn’t want a child – listen to the bastard

I couldn’t be any blunter if I tried. He’s not ready so just move right along and find yourself another guy.

The years and time invested so far with him can never justify the heartache you’ll put an unwanted child in.

Cut your losses and run taking comfort from the fact that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have spent your whole life masturbating. It could be worse – believe me.

And guys, don’t worry – I have my own personal tips about how to totally avoid the dodgy broody girls you have to stay miles away from.

Unfortunately, they don’t come with signs written ’Certified Psycho’. Fatal attraction is nothing compared to what these girls will do to make your life hell.

When chatting to a good friend on new year’s day, I asked how her daughter was, and at first, it seemed that the question had dampened her spirits.

“Darius, she’s in secondary school now”, was the subdued answer and it was quickly followed by a resigned “Dude – it’s official, we’re old”.

But even after we both cracked out laughing, the thought lingered and you begin to take stock. I guess that the main change in my life over the last several years is that some things have become more important than others and you tend to prioritize better and focus on what’s important. What hasn’t changed though is the ability for nostalgia to hit you hard enough to make you home sick especially with the sub zero temperatures and snow storms that box you in the house and makes you ask that dreaded “what am I really doing here” question.

It made me think of the good old days growing up and enjoying some of the simplest and most cherishable moments life will ever present.

Don’t know about some readers up in here, but there were times when 5 bob could take you a long long way back in the day. My dad used to give us 5 bob a day and that would cover bus fare to and from school, a soda and a snack of some sort (usually quarter bread bandika) for lunch, and you’d still have left over change to buy roast maize with pili pili or patcos to carry you through the evening.

Long before the advent of satellite TV with over 20 exclusive movie channels, local entertainment back then was fronted by public service open air movie services like Tazama Mobile Cinema pitched up in an open field once a month to bring to you the blockbuster of the day. They had this strange habit though, of commentating the movie as it went on in a manner that was as equally funny as it was annoying.

Speaking of entertainment, there were classic shows that would definitely be in my DVD collection right now – From Vioja Mahakamani and the comical antics of the residents of Matopeni, to Vitimbi and the real celebrities like Othorong’ong’o and Masanduku (forget all these latter day celebs who think they’re celebs because…well, anything makes you a celeb these days). There were shows like Tushauriane that were banned outright because they showed a couple embracing and the chap started unblousing the girl. Or even the days when we didn’t have mobile phones and you had to walk a kilometre to the nearest phone box where there was a massive queue of all manner of people – and you’d be mad when your ‘girlfriend to be’ plays hard to get and pulls that stunt of asking you to call later because she’s watching No One But You or The Rich Also Cry. The ungrateful heifer – after all those hours you’ve waited in line to make that call….LOL!

And how was it that folks could actually watch such shows. The acting was so bad and the love scenes so predictable and drossy. Maybe I just hate them coz’ they cost me many a date.

Thinking about dates, I miss those day time dates where you save up the whole term and during the holidays you can take the young lady to a respectable restaurant in town followed by a movie. The only down side is that she has to leave by 4.30 pm so that she can get back home in time before her dad and mum arrive from work. It was such little time you didn’t even get the space to express yourself and give yourself a chance to get into her panties. The strategy was always to buy time and charm her enough to warrant the next date – and perhaps you might get the chance to start early enough in the day.

The most affordable place seemed to be Wimpy on Kenyatta Avenue where you had to contend with their Indian manager always shouting orders at waiters like ”upstairs-downstairs”. But the funny part was the red and blue Bata rubber shoes that they used to wear as part of their uniform. On occasion, some of them would be allowed to wear North stars – but you catch my drift…LOL

But on the entertainment – I miss shows like This is it whatever happened to Sam Madoka the presenter of the coolest music video show at the time); or Family Affairs that had Mambo and Riziki and their troubled family. On radio, there always seemed to be the same 3 or 4 folks sending salaams on shows like Yours for the Asking. I think there was Robbie Reuben Robbie and Agnetta Machinga who would never miss a shout out on radio. And of course Sundowner with legendary DJ’s like Ike Mulembo.
And what
Happened to Kenya’s best known (now he is a celebrity for sure) radio news reader Agao Patrobas. I used to think he was called A gang of robbers. But Patrobas used to front every news bulletin on radio until he became a household name. Legend has it that the reason why he was too good on radio and wasn’t seen on TV was that he was too ugly – but I honestly don’t think so. But a gang of robbers had the mojo for radio.

There were times that it was so boring during the day in the estates, my best friend and I would wear our Sunday best suits and head for town and just walk around. We would carry them brief case type portfolios and fill them with newspapers and Malkiat Singh text books just to give them substance. If we met someone we knew, they’d be impressed about how sharp and on the ball we were even though we were barely out of school. We’d try to say something intelligent to give our cover story some credence.

Speaking of Malkiat Singh, that dude had to be my best author during that time. He was either a mega multi-talented factual author of text books on every subject including Christianity, or he was the biggest conman in town. Either way, he trousered millions of shillings from unsuspecting Kenyan students.

But despite being in town, we would always end up at Jivanjee gardens at lunch time. It was the place to be. If you were lucky, you’d have a few bob to buy some chips and sausage at the only Kenchic in town at the time. Watching those naked chickens rotate on that machine was bad enough knowing you were never going to afford them – but what made Jivanjee gardens interesting is that most if not all of the folks hanging out there were broke like nobody’s business and they all came to pass time and listening to them loud lunch time preachers. But if you looked into the eyes of most of the people, they couldn’t disguise that hunger that oozed out and screamed ”I could murder a bandika and cold Fanta right now”.

We eventually figured out a way to survive being broke during meal times. We would go to Burma market by City Stadium and in the market, there is a long row of restaurants that do nyama choma. The idea was to pop into every restaurant and ask for a sample which would come on a very small plate. After you had the sample, just respectfully decline the offer of a meal and move on to the next restaurant. By the time you hit 8 or so restaurants, you’d have had a whole meal and all you have to do is ask for a glass of water to drink. It wasn’t glamorous but it worked for sure.

Down town Nairobi was a very interesting place though. I always thought the funniest part was whenever there was a fracas of some sort, people would just explode and run away in one direction. But if you even asked someone why they were running, they’d scratch their heads and say “I don’t know – people were running”. I never did figure this one out.

And who can forget the lunch time kiosks along the route to the railway station. I had a friend who used to work with mum and set out to start his own food kiosk called Aluta Continua. The thing was this though, Johnny used to give my best friend and I free meals and once in a while, he’d ask us to run him some errands – collect stock, heavy lifting, that sort of stuff. Sometimes when we got pressurised by girls who were only interested in being taken out for dates in expensive restaurants, we’d get them all dressed up and eventually weave our way to Johnny’s kiosk. There was a bonus for us of course and it’s not just the free meal. If we brought a pretty face it enhanced the equity of the kiosk and was the envy of many others around it – so Johnny would throw in a Fanta madiaba for good measure. Some chicks couldn’t cope and considered it humiliating – LOL, but some took to it like water off a ducks back. You can’t beat fried matumbo and chapos even if you were dressed for a lunch date at Trattoria.