Of journalists who shame me

I love my country, make no mistake about that. Soon, I'll be posting reasons why. No that i need any, but i feel i should let the world (read internet) why Kenya is top in my 'I Love' list. Yes, i have such a list. One day, I will let you into my 'lists' world.

I do (not) like journalists a lot. They tells us what is going on around us, highlight issues and such but sometimes they annoy the daylights out of me. We all know that it is good to beat the daylights out of another but to annoy? That is an extreme. (Disclaimer- I use good loosely. very very loosely. In fact, so loose, it has fallen off this blog, leaving you with no proof that i said it is good to beat up people)

So when i saw this headline on one of our newspaper the worst i could do was roll my eyes. And roll them i did as they are still hurting.


Now that he has gone and won the nominations, we claim him as our own. If you ask me (which i bet no (Kenyan) will, the only Kenyan thing about Obama is his name. Those 5 letters are the alpha and omega of his Kenyanship.

Not that I do not like him. Oh, no. It's not like he is this guy.

I'm not even sure why i do not like that guy above. Is he as bad as these two hooligans?

My mother is still angry at me for going off to the beach with them last summer. It's not like they were terrorists! Gee, Mom!

Anyway, congratulations Obama. I wonder what some of his tribesmen would have done had he not won. Maybe they would have flown to New York to show their anger?

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Kenyan Bus Driver - A story of courage and heroism

On the 27th of December 2007, Kenyans went to the polls. The results were hotly contested and, for over a month, Kenya was the world's focus as law and order appeared to break down. On the 5th of January 2008, 9 days after the general election, Paul Karuri, a bus driver working for the Starliner Bus Company, left the Western Kenyan city of Kisumu with 47 passengers aboard for the coastal city of Mombasa.

This is his account of what happened that day, as told to me and my boss, Guy Wilson.

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Kenya Election - One Good Outcome

Desperate times calls for desperate measures, quote loosely used. Like sleeping in a stationary train in Mombasa because we could not travel to Nairobi due to insecurity reasons after the Kenyan General Elections. The Steward thought that rioters just before Voi would try remove the Railway tracks. Why anybody would want to do that is beyond me, but the again, haven't we seen looters getting away with Persian and Turkish carpets and microwaves from supermarkets even though they live in mud huts with cow-dunged floors and no electricity or solar power? Back to the train...I tried so hard to ignore mosquitoes till I couldn't take it anymore. I woke Lars up, and kicked him out of our cabin. It was his fault anyway, he had insisted on leaving the window open claiming it was too hot. Well, it was but anything was preferred, anything but the mosquitoes. Shutting all windows and the door, I declared war. Armed with a towel, I thwarted them, one by one, and watched triumphantly as they fell. All the was missing was a war cry and war paint. At this point, I suddenly have a mental picture of Jack and his army of choirboys in Lord of the Flies. Minutes later, (read 15 minutes less of an hour later), I was done... and victorious, just in time for breakfast anyway. As Lars counted each mosquito bite, with a twinge of pride in his voice, I cursed them. (Image courtesy of Diary of A Mosquito Abatement Man.) Now all you proudly black people out there know how it feels like to talk about mosquito bites that no one can see, only that endless itch to elaborate your agony, while our melanin-deprived brothers and sisters proudly display reddish bumps and get all the sympathy. Unfair I say!

A few more days of forced holiday made sure that our finances took the easiest way out. And final minute get-away-from-trouble decisions took care of the remaining coins. And that's the birth of this Blog.

Now that desperation (for cash) has hit, and hit very hard, have decided to turn back to my old flame - Writing. Writing and I have had a troubled relationship, one marred with infidelity and domestic violence. I'm ashamed to say, that my faithful estranged partner has been the victim. I stand culpable of all charges, and i have nothing to say in my defense. And if Writing ever asked for alimony, I would pay, non-begrudgingly, and maybe even offer to double the amount...As I write this, I'm all apologetic, teary even, at the neglect I have been giving my faithful partner and who has, despite all, stuck with me, always there, even when I was not aware. And I feel really bad that I now remember him (notice it is a he) in time of need, driven by my greed.

I'm reaching deep into my memory, to remember how it felt like to touch, to hold, to be engaged to Writing. How it felt, to run free, hand in hand, thought in thought, in sync with each other, joint at the hip...no, joint in mind. I'm exploring the possibilities of being re-united with my long lost love, my soul mate. It's a pity that I'm getting back to mend our relationship with an ulterior motive - the prospects of making money. It does settle my guilt conscious though knowing that Writing does not mind what I use him for, as long as it not libel or slander.... and plagiarism. In our relationship, those are our Trinity of Evil.

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