A Letter to a Gor Fan

Dear Gor Mahia fanatic,

Let us sing the National Anthem

Kogalo, Goooor …….. Gor Mahia… Kogalo, Goooor …….. Gor Mahia… Pinje duto ywakni, Gor… Mahia… Kogalo???? Gor, Gor Mahia… Nyiri duto ywak nu, Gorrr … Gor Mahia… Heii …. Heii Goor Biro, yawne yoo

 
Ber zenu,

It is with deep love for this country and fellow Gor Mahia fans {who are not violent] that I write this letter. I love Gor so much, Gor is my Arsenal. I sleep, talk, eat and breathe Gor. Ever since Gor was started back in ’68, there has never been violence like the ones we currently witness. We act as if we don’t understand football, goddamit! We are civilized people, intelligent and blessed with a great team and very talented players. But our recent actions cover all that beautiful face that the management is trying really hard to show to the other clubs and the world as a whole. We are no longer the role model club that people used to look at back in the days. We have become so hungry for success when we are successful but it seems we want more than the success we have, guys, we are the current holders of this title, we are among the top best club in Africa, our playing tactics and our cheering squads are the main reason why KPL is now KPL, We are the best of the best. Why on earth will we become different with just one defeat? Just one.

Our actions have shaded a different kind of light; actually I see it as darkness, to our club. The fields are no longer full of ‘green army’ uniforms, no zeal, no passion is seen on fans’ faces, no vuvuzelas, no Gor dala songs to cheer up the players, no unity amongst ourselves, nothing we are just flat, like flirt vodka, no matter how much you take, you don’t get drunk. We have become like those clubs back in shags that after every corner, yellow card, red card and penalty, there must be a fight. What I don’t understand is the fact that we got security at the gates of every field but still some of us manage to enter with stones in our backpacks, pockets and also hats. What is the role of security people at those gates if not to protect the fan? Because if a scandal ensues, it’s not only the rival club fans that get hurt, our fans too get hurt every time although we only see the videos of the fans who allegedly started the mishap. Some of us go there with our kids and others come with their sweet dhako, coz watching Gor play is magical, entertaining and it’s a beautiful scene to sit with other likeminded fans enjoying the game.

What I am trying to say is, can we come back to our senses, coz after August 23rd scandal, we are going to be banned…. Again {for the umpteenth time} from attending the Gor Mahia matches. I don’t know for how long but we have to wait the decision of FKF. If we get banned, I beg ooh, let’s go sit our sorry asses down and ask ourselves if really Gor deserves all these problems we are putting them through. Do we want our club to perform poorly throughout the season? Do we want our club to be in the relegation zone? Do we want our number one to be turned upside down? Do we want to lose our best players to our rival clubs? Do we want Gor to lose all those amazing sponsors that we currently boast of? Do we want to lose our spirit, enthusiasm and commitment to the club? Do we want to be taken off the KPL table? Do we? Do we? Do we? Let’s ask ourselves all these questions, coz it really matters to us and also to our amazing club.

I don’t want to get out of my house on Saturday or Sunday to go and watch Wazungus play all the time. It gets boring sometime, you know. But just sitting there watching Gor play even if I am not in the field, makes me proud of being a Gor fan, makes me be proud of being a Kenyan. Gor is the father of Kenyan football, Gor playing style is internationalé , we have supporters all over the world guys. We don’t have to lose all that for a mere defeat. Football as they say is a game of chances, you win some, and you lose some [and draw some]. Even if we lose to a small club, let’s not start mayhem, let’s be calm and pray that the next match we gonna do better than that. My fear is that a club that is forty seven [47] years old could lose its might and fame because of simple stupid defeats; and get banished forever because of hooliganism.

We know that hooliganism is mostly caused by people who wear Gor jerseys and claim to be fans, yet it’s just robbers disguising themselves to tarnish the name of the club. Even if the police arrest some of these guys, you will still see their counterparts in the following matches trying so hard to start a fight. They come to every match and it’s so hard to identify them coz you can’t differentiate between an angel and a devil wearing the same outfit. These are the people who may cause a honest fan to go behind bars while they walk freely doing what they do best, hooliganism. And since we don’t have a Fanometer, a machine that measures how loyal a fan is, it’s very hard to fish out these hooligans among us. The management should sit down and search their heads for a solution to hooliganism or else it’s going to cause some serious ripples, or storms, in the running and maintaining the once majestic Gor Mahia. We love Gor with all our hearts and someone somewhere must do something to keep the club at the top where it deserves to be. It starts with you and me though.

I pen off by saying, let’s pray for our club. It needs these prayers now and also in the future. Because our beautiful club is in a serious condition of crumbling anytime we let go, let’s go to our churches, mosques and temples and pray because I think we need deliverance and divine intervention at this crucial moment. May the good God above bless you, bless Kenya and bless Gor Mahia.

Green Army for Life.

I HAVE SUFFERED – Straight Outta Isiolo

Isiolo, oh my dear Isiolo.
The land of milk and meat.
Come. Let me take you on a short trip.

Growing up in Isiolo County made me a tough kid, or so I can say. I grew up knowing that suffering was a part of me. But as a kid you never understand what life is like, anything goes. Today you could be in your aunt’s house in Nai and the next day you are in shags kwa shosh and both days you were okay with it. You never ever had to worry about isht. In Isiolo we are taught the hard way, no one cared what you did as long as you are okay, it was no ones friggin business. You could go to school with torn, untucked with unkempt hair and a face that looks as if you came fresh from the quarry but no one even bothered to ask you questions, si you are going to school? Who cares? You could hear moms waking up their kids as early as 5 am and sufurias banging each other {Nigga what???}. We had no school buses like these modern day schools, you had to trek all the way to school which was like 2kms away {for me] others came further from the school, they had to wake up when I was finishing my last dream, I think. You had to be in school by 7.00am, no excuse was tolerated. In my school we had this supposed bell; it was a big rim from an old tractor. At exactly 6.45 am, the bell ringer would pick a huge stone and hit this rim bell, you could hear it from Tharaka Nithi. Then there was the teacher on duty at the gate at exactly 6.55am with a cane [damn, I hated caning] waiting for the “late comers’’ to arrive. I was always on this list, never missed. If there was a medal, I would win first price. The caning was intense {Patsy ain’t got nothing on me} it was as if you had stolen a cow from the neighboring Maasai tribe and now you had to say who your accomplices were. The worst part was, ati after all that caning, you had to go around the school with your sore ass collecting litter then after that you are “free” to go to class and meet your friends giggling at your walking style and teary eyes. It was tough, man. And you had to kausha and make a rough face then ask them “sasa ni nini mnaangalia?” {What are you looking at?}. Being in school until 4.10pm and then we were off to home. Tomorrow we had the same routine. Hectic as it was, someone had to study or else no food would be cooked in that house. All the fun came after the exams, because we were free and teachers were busy marking our exams. Then we had this saying before closing date, ati nitafunga na wewe, which simply meant you had to find someone to fight with before school closed. And maaaan did people fight, funny thing is that teachers didn’t give a shit what was happening outside you could kill each other if you wanted. Have you watched the Condemned by Steve Austin? Damn right.

We have a combination of great athletes and footballers in Isiolo who have represented the county schools with all their might, and games time during school days were fun mostly because we didn’t have to study and second because there were girls and well, guys love girls. We would go to the fields where many activities took place and you would cheer here and there with dust rising from every corner of the field, damn I think it’s only in Isiolo where we have experienced rainfall in form of dust. Shit was all over you, until your inner wears were soaked with dust. If you were dark, you looked brown and then sometimes I start wondering why Vera Sidika would waste all that money, where she could just find a shack somewhere known as Uhuru [smh] Primary School and within two hours of dust therapy, walaah! Browner than Chris!! After consuming all that dust you will then go find a supuu to pass the sunny day with: Mostly from your sister school. If you came from a mixed school, the girls from your school on that particular day become your sisters. No strings attached. No lovey dovey shit just plain brother sister relationship. The same girl will be your girl tomorrow in school. Win.

In Isiolo, we experience water shortages all the time and it was the duty of us, the kids, to go and fetch water like 5 or so kilometers away from home. There, you would find other kids waiting in line to fetch too. After sitting there for what feels like forever, you decide to skip the line and that’s where trouble brewed. We fought for water, for relief food, for free gifts by wazungus, we fought. We knew that to get anything, you had to fight for it, physically. Peeps from Isiolo are regarded by outsiders as rude. We are. So hard headed in everything we do. We like things done our way, and we want things done now and fast. If you keep us waiting for like an hour, we take off and you won’t see us back in your office or whatever again.

Cussing, damn we cuss so much in Isiolo it’s become a greeting. Like you can’t feel good passing your ninja in the street without throwing a cuss word at him. It was like a daily dose that if you missed it, you would be bedridden for life. Lol. We would cuss you according to your appearance, if you had a big head, small toes, short legs, rihannaish forehead we would tell it like it is. We don’t sugar coat shit like I once read in Biko Zulu Blog he called the feet of this sugar mama who wears ‘Mother’s Union Panties’ ati Geisha Feet. In Isiolo it could fall between mguu za panya and miguu za kuomba. Even little kids cuss but like I said no one gives a finger. I know, I know, it’s bad and someone should discipline them but will we hustle or will we keep disciplining kids? But I am not saying in any way that the kids in Isiolo are indiscipline, actually they are really great kids. They attend Madrassa [Islamic Quran studying classes] at a very young age; they attend Sunday schools where they are taught the difference between right and wrong. So, the kids know better. It’s just that the harsh nature of life in this ‘desert’ hits them before puberty and they start acting an age older than their own. After all is said and done, we all turned out to be responsible and respectful human beings, just a little hard headed and tougher.

Isiolo is growing fast, like really fast, it’s set to become a Resort City, gerrrrarrrahia. I am glad am still here to witness this ‘desert’, as TV people call it, grow into a city. Isiolo City. Developments are visible everywhere, we got street lights, wait, city lights, we got flat tarmac roads, we got skyscrapers, now we got water, we got tight security, we got an airstrip, read airport, we got radio stations [three of them, and counting] and yeah we got jams, damn right, like real car jams like the ones you see in big cities. TV People only get to show the whole world the donkeys, saying it’s the means of transport up here or camels [seriously?]. You know how TV is; they report the exact opposite of the real thing. Just like some TV I know who called Kenya a ‘hotbed of terror’ when we are a hotbed of vibrant culture. The same is reported of Isiolo, it has become that when a guy from Isiolo is mentioned; you wait for a Nigga to appear in a red shuka and spear in his hand singing war chants. We actually see TV people taking videos of malnourished kids with no clothes on and flies all around their faces and telling them to smile for the camera. They show you dusty roads but they can’t show you the flat and beautiful tarmac roads. They tell you how tribal and hating we are towards each other but they won’t show you all the activities we do to create coexistence without caring if one is from a different tribe as you or from a different religion. We try so hard to kick tribalism out of Isiolo; yes it’s still a problem just like corruption is to Kenya. But no one goes around reporting how Kenya is corrupt, ama? Then they tell you, this is Isiolo. And you believe them, and you never come to Isiolo because you are afraid of dust, malnourished kids and flies all over your face. But you really don’t know what you are missing out on.

We are a mixture of different cultures and people, we live peacefully up here. All the news you see on TV are sometimes true, you know, about clans fighting over livestock [did I mention that we fight a lot?] and some people stealing from others. It’s sometimes true, but over exaggerating and adding salt on the whole story is what makes Isiolo, to the world, a ‘hotbed of calamities’ but no, we are a people who live together, Ameru, Boran, Somali and Turkana, e.t.c. [I mean, you]. We love each other and we know better that without peace and co-existence, our beloved county will stick to the desert it was some years back.

There’s so much to write about this county, but let me stop here. You will get turned on by all the goodies in this place and well, I don’t want that to happen you know what happens when people get turned on, right?
Peace. Love. Unity.

Oh, in Isiolo, we use social media too; find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Google+
Go to Isiolo County Government Website to witness the growth of a desert city.

Can I leave now?

MY SHORT SKIRT

My short skirt
is not an invitation a provocation an indication that I want it or give it or that I hook.
 

My short skirt is not begging for it it does not want you to rip it off me or pull it up or down.

My short skirt is not a legal reason for raping me although it has been before it will not hold up in the new court.

My short skirt, believe it or not has nothing to do with you.

My short skirt is about discovering the power of my calves about cool autumn air traveling up my inner thighs about allowing everything I see or pass or feel to live inside.

My short skirt is not proof that I am stupid or undecided or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is my defiance I will not let you make me afraid My short skirt is not showing off this is who I am before you made me cover it or tone it down. Get used to it.

My short skirt is happiness I can feel myself on the ground. I am here. I am hot.

My short skirt is a liberation flag in the women’s army I declare these streets, any streets my vagina’s country.

My short skirt is turquoise water with swimming colored fish a summer festival in the starry dark a bird calling a train arriving in a foreign town.

My short skirt is a wild spin a full breath a tango dip.

My short skirt is initiation, appreciation, excitation.

But mainly my short skirt and everything under it is mine, mine, Mine.

—Eve Ensler, I Am An Emotional Creature

 Follow me on Facebook & Twitter or follow my blog http://www.poeticjusticeke.blogspot.com

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NJOKI CHEGE FIRES BACK, OHH SHE’S AWFUL

This lady Njoki Chege should leave Kenyan Men alone.

She took to her blog on Friday last week to lash out on how Kenyan men (most) lack decency. She spoke lot of English some of which I didn’t quiet relate. But she came with a bang to go on and on and on about how filthy some Kenyan men are.

If you own a Subaru Imprezza, you go to Electric Avenue (Boy, I don’t know where that is) and if you have EVER attended any rugby tournament, you are on this list.

Damn!!

She doesn’t have an ass or a face, just a big mouth. I would rather watch Huddah Monroe twerk that skinny ass than listen to this B****

If you missed it, here she goes ………

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“The last one week, I reconnected with two male friends I had not seen for ages. The lingering question was ‘So are you dating?” Or ‘Iko kajamaa kamekufurahisha?” (Is there a young man that has impressed you?).

I am not dating anyone right now, I tell them as I hastily move on to the next topic before they demand answers.

Even my mother, who for as long as I can remember always told me how ‘boys are bad’, is now asking if I am bringing a ‘friend’ this Christmas. Sorry mom, I will be flying solo this Christmas, and the next one too.

I sigh every time a well-meaning person asks me why I am not dating. Mostly, the answers I give skirt around ‘I am too busy with work and school,” or ‘Jesus is the only man in my life’. Okay, maybe the second answer is a lie, there are quite a number of them but that is not the story here. The real answer, ladies and gentlemen, is because there is simply no men my age to date.

GUYS I SHOULD DATE

I am a few weeks shy of 25 years, which means that the guys I should date should be aged around 28-30 years. Maybe 33 years if I am to stretch it.

But the unfortunate thing I have come to realise is that the young men I am supposed to date are far from being men. They are boys. Tall boys with blue Subaru Imprezzas who drink cheap liquor on weekday nights and show up to their workplaces the next morning hangovered, smelling like a brewery.

Now, I lead quite a busy life. Actually, my life is busier than a brothel in a sailor town. (Hahaha, wrong example).

I am either at work or at school or sleeping off the fatigue on weekends. My nights are late, either working or studying. Or maybe binge watching episodes of Scandal and Covert Affairs. This means I am a rare woman to pin down. Which also means that I give you an hour of my time from my busy schedule, then you must have really impressed me.

I am not wasting any more time with this i-Phone wielding 29-year-old jamaaz whose only goal in life is to catch a few drinks at that goddamn strip club on Baricho Road that has very few millionaires.

I cannot have a coherent, meaningful conversation with these young Instagram braggats who feel the need to take photos of every bottle of cheap lager they imbibe. I am way beyond them and their intelligence levels are nowhere near half of mine. We are on different wavelengths.

BROKE MAN

Who has time for a man whose idea of fun is Masaku sevens and “NaxVegas’. Not me! How, pray do tell, do I get into a relationship with a young man whose only achievement is that cut-rate Toyota Mark X whose car loan he is struggling to pay? Are you telling me that I will stoop so low as to be with a man who gets broke on the fifteenth of every month and his is the only mouth that he feeds? How is he supposed to take care of a family?

I am sick and tired of going out with these young men who drink themselves silly, mixing low-end lagers and counterfeit whiskey only to black out on me. I am a highly respectable woman in this society, not your mother.

A lot of girls my age would be impressed by a jamaa who buys them shots of fake tequila on Electric Avenue and take them for Masaku sevens on weekends, but not me. First, I don’t drink alcohol and secondly, I don’t do cheap gigs. So try harder, young fella, it takes more than liquor, lines and lies to impress me.

Because I cannot stand these little boys who hate on strong-opinionated women like me on Twitter from the discomfort of their poorly finished one bedroom apartments in Kinoo, Roysambu and South B, I go for the refined older men who add value to that precious one hour off my busy schedule.

Who wants to chat on WhatsApp with a guy juggling his limited data bundles between Instagram, Twitter and chatting four other girls on WhatsApp, Viber and Skype?

REFINED MEN

The refined men, on the other hand, are a slice of heaven. They are critical thinkers. They are gentlemen of chivalry. They are experienced. They are well groomed. They have class. They can manage their alcohol. They are independent. They are not like these little 29-year-old sexually frustrated emotional leeches I avoid.

They don’t brag and they drive cars worth Sh3 million. You drive a Subaru Imprezza worth Sh850,000 and I won’t hear the last of it. Some of these older men are not even on Twitter. Unfortunately, all the gentlemen that tickle my fancy are all married! Nothing could be more heartbreaking than this.

Every night, I ask the Lord, why, oh Lord why, are all the good men in this world married? Why are all the Instagram Braggats and Twitter Idiots still alive?

I am yet to meet my ideal kind of man. Not that I have a list. Okay, maybe I need him to be no shorter than six foot two inches, no younger than 34 years, can manage his alcohol and those who are financially blessed are encouraged to apply.

If we can have an intelligent conversation, even better. Are you the man for me?”

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Did she just ask that last question?? She got balls.

Some fans on social media reacted to her bull crap.

Boniface Gitau ™ ‏@iGitz

Just read Njoki Chege‘s blog & my reply to her is that that Kenyan man aged 28 with a 3.5M car & stuff can only be found in mars.

Jüst Å Fëllå ‏@Muthoga_Jay

Then you see a ninja cc Njoki Chege in that tweet and you finally understand why vetting is done before following back some accounts

Mass Mess ‏@murchismo

But honestly Njoki Chege has a point .We are all trapped in the rat race to see that point .she just brought it out like a hoe though

Masaku ‏@masaku_

How to trap Njoki Chege

Kamakil ‏@Kamakil 

Me in my one bedroom apartment after reading Njoki Chege‘s article.

Edwin Midimo

· Nairobi ·

‪#‎NjokiChege‬, has space in the paper and the best she can write about is her sorry love life!! Overrating your ass wont get you the perfect man you want or better still don’t tell us the kind of man you will or wont date…Its your bullshit. We all have dream women and trust she aint you….Soldiers are destroying homes in Kapedo, That is a better story worthier of the space you wasted writing this: Why I’m not dating and won’t tie the knot soon

Cj Gicheru

Sit up and take note!

Ever heard the saying that goes; ‘Your networks determine your net worth’? Well, if you are not dating a man who plays golf on Tuesday afternoons with CEOs then you are doing badly. If you are dating a man who is not ‘boyz’ with top litigators in this country, then sit at the corner and take a lesson from a sister. A man with powerful friends will not only expose you to the crème of society, but also connect you with the right people in your profession. Your man should know people!
‪#‎NjokiChege‬

There you have it!!

ADESH_K