by bantuh

Here is my year on a strangled page.

Kim got married.

Justice is still married, congrats mate.

Tee is cavorting like a peacock.

We lost Tony Onyango, a member of Britton 1(fucking crackpots those ones) a Jambazi, a father, a husband and a lad with a good head on his shoulders.

Kakamega Primary lost 13 of her own younglings.

Brenda Akedi lost her old man, as did Zippie and Purity, poleni sana.

I lost Mr Abu, my G.H.C teacher and it fucking broke me. Death doesn’t usually faze me because we are bosom buddies and so I figure Mr. Abu must have quite meant the world to me.

The only successful Luhya Coalition is Sauti Sol, the rest is bad comedy, nothing worth your money or time.

Khaligraph Jones got into a tiff with some nondescript nitwit in Nigeria, served him his ass on a platter and then went for another in Sierra Leonne who was smart enough not to make a fuss about it. We are currently taking undeserved hits from Tanzania and fucking Somalia and me thinks he would do a better job as CS of defense than the muppet holding that seat.

Museveni had Bobi Wine locked up as soon as he had handed over his presidential nomination papers and all Bobi could do was whine about it because Africa is a ruthless kleptocracy and a comic set. We are the clowns.

I lost my job. There was some mumble about funding and all but me thinks that chaps over the other side had had enough of my theatrics. I am a gay lad, one of those chaps you really can’t fire without feeling like a dick and so I got off with an unrenewed contract, a gift voucher which I used to buy a bomb ass blender to remind me that nothing is permanent, especially not employment.

A man without a job in Nairobi might as well be a eunuch shooting a porn flick. Save for a heartbreak, unemployment breaks your spirit, poverty shatters your esteem and you question your worth in ways unimaginable. I never understood why men take their lives but I understand now lads. Live and let live. Nairobi is an unwanted gangbang

I realized that fathers are permanent, especially the deadbeats. They are smeared on the very essence of your life and to ignore them is perilous. The sins of your father are more or less like demons you really can’t exorcise or flee from without making peace with yourself. They owe you nothing but you owe yourself the right to live away from the shadow of their sins.

That I miss my mother and my grandmother and I can’t do shit about it. I can’t even cry because they have been gone for eons and I am a man. Men don’t cry. They tell you that men should cry but that is for aesthetics, no one really gives a flying fuck about a mans tears. Maybe your mother…

Sanaipei Tande is a dynamite stick in a petrol station. She is everything fine with this country and then some more. She needs to work with Cedo for one hit, another with OG and one more with Sauti Sol. She is a reprieve in more ways than you want to know. Tell her I said it.

Hart the Band is overwhelmingly underrated.

Booze does a better hand-job for your spirit than sitting with another man and prattling about your shit in a therapy session. You get the kicks at least. People are meant to die with their problems.

I have probably been a functional alcoholic. I have lived through the last part of the year more in a daze than with clarity. I have a mean liver but for how long I cannot tell.

I lost love (the slithering bastard is a bloody ruse) a couple of times over and my heart has been calcified. I found love again in places unexpected and my life is a luxury cruise ship. Fuck the Titanic.

Eunniah doesn’t want to tell me where she lives in Kakamega. It’s a girl thing I figure, they don’t repeat things and also I have a feel she thinks I will show up on her old mans foyer with a herd of cows and a proposal. Tell me where you live Murasta, I forgot!!!

Your drinking mates are shite. Which means your family should always come first because the lads you share a pint with don’t owe you shit. The days when our fathers would cut deals in pubs and seedy taverns are gone with the wind. We are now left with millennials with maturity levels that can compactly be housed on a teaspoon, it is a sin to expect of a person to give more than they can offer. Style up.

I met Eddy and the rest is a cliché. You know Maina, he hates clichés. Chuckle.

My old man is getting older and he is my heart of hearts. He is my mothers father and my own too. If there is ever a lesson he has taught me, it is that I am not a beggar and no one owes me shit which simply means that I know my worth and I will never blame anyone for my shortfalls. My name is buck, and it starts and stops with me.

I also made a friend out of Maria Gaichiri, a young widow who probably inspires me more than she will ever know. Know the poem phenomenal woman? Maya Angelou probably had her in mind.

What Humphrey Chivini doesn’t know is that I never make bets I am not sure of winning and based on Arsenals performance compared to Spurs, I should add that it is by far and large the easiest money I will ever make in my entire life. My mother would have been proud.

None of us is getting out of here alive. Probably Elijah would have had but he took a hike on a fiery chariot. The rest of us have to wait out on celestial midnight happenings to nick our way out of this rathole (hi SDA’s).

Everyone should listen to Shofar Kenya, they have some beautiful set of pipes, again largely underrated.

Olla Merge, I would give my kidney for each and everyone of you but I have only two( I think) so the rest of you chaps will have to stay content with other body organs.

Sinde is a brother and a tool while at it. He needs someone that is hardly forthcoming and frankly, the village is desperate for something, anything, anyone. Please…

Kenya hasn’t gone to the dogs. We are dogs. We are led by greedy bastards without a conscience and it would have been good to stop here but I won’t. We are a lost cause. We are the fools because we handed power to fools and expected them to make smart decisions for us. So no, Kenya hasn’t gone to the dogs, Kenya is a mongrel kennel. We can’t even afford hybrids, fuck us.

I promised to cuss less on my social media handles but I didn’t make any promises about my blog, so here is to fuck to the winds hahaha.

Happy Holidays…

Photo by Parvez AzarQaderi on Unsplash


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Michael December 21, 2020 - 11:31 am

Above and beyond

Fred December 21, 2020 - 11:55 am

Happy holidays lad, and Sauti Sol should just make a go for it… who knows!?! 😂

Ess December 21, 2020 - 12:09 pm

Such a lovely read😊😊

Kimathi Makini December 22, 2020 - 10:21 am

Happyy holidays urban villager. Your blog is like a busaa den. Keep brewing and serving us

Vyto December 23, 2020 - 11:01 am

We are now left with millennials with maturity levels that can compactly be housed on a teaspoon, it is a sin to expect of a person to give more than they can offer. Style up.


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