Humor

Some Kenyans are… well, Crazy…

Hello folks,

I have noticed that the minutes of the last meeting haven’t been mailed to folks yet. No need to panic, I have come to the rescue. I have taken a personal…what’s the right word?…privilege…yes! Allow me this privilege to give you my not so humble and unofficial minutes. This is not unprecedented. I mean even the President of the United States,His Highness Barack Obama from K’Ogelo has a constitutional duty under Article II, section 3 of the United States constitution  which in part reads “He shall from time to time give to the Congress information of the State of the Union  and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.” There is nothing necessary or expedient about any of the information am about to give, but I shall from time to time consider you the recipient of my occasional drunken soliloquies. OK now that we have dispensed with the hows and whys, let’s get right down to it, shall we?

I arrived at the meeting a little bit late, as usual, but you aren’t going to hold that against me,right? I am Kenyan prosim te and lateness is a science we have turned into an art…plus my coffee from that morning had yet to kick in,making me all the more sluggish. The place was right next to George’s..just a few blocks to the left,past the broken traffic light, push open a squeaky door and you step into a sparingly lit Mexican restaurant playing soft Mariachi. Some guest we had invited was going on about some project he has going in Kenya when I sauntered in . Everyone sat around a big table,caressing their drink and pretending to pay attention. First thing I noticed was Osweto in a grayish grandfather sweater and a pinkish shirt, complete with his reading glasses. STOP! I am asking for forgiveness here if I got the colors wrong, color is not my forte, I constantly get it mixed up;what with new colors being invented everyday…sijui lillac,garlic and purple. Why did I notice Osweto first? Well, it’s not easy to miss Osweto…HA!

I maneuvered my way between Gilbert and Maurice with Isaac playing backup to our quartet. Maurice is always fun to sit next to, I mean, he is always worried about or protesting against something. This day it was the Ocampo 6. He was losing the argument on every count as the meeting progressed ,but I might come back to that later. The meeting went smoothly, save for some folks getting on Metrine’s nerves by holding their own kamkunjis until she threatened to charge 50czk for noise-making. Well, that put an end to all that.

Now, anyone who has ever attended a meeting will tell you that the most fireworks are reserved in a tiny little bullet-point at the end of the line popularly known as A.O.B. Our A.O.B coincided with food and this is where Maurice comes in. Can I just make a general statement here before I go on? I am not the kind of guy to stand tall on Charles bridge and proclaim that so and so should never do such and such a job, sawa? Lakini if you are planning a house party and there is a vacancy for a food taster, don’t hire Maurice. Let me go back a little. A few weeks ago, the powers that be, I mean the officials, in their infinite wisdom, decided to telegraph their punches. They recognized that Kenya went through promulgation a few months ago which gave birth to this little inconvenience called a constitution and so in that spirit, they decided to give us good folks a chance to choose a place to dine and wine…ok, to just dine. Three choices were presented. Raise your hands if you have ever been to Mexico? I haven’t been, closest being watching “The good, the bad and the Ugly.”. I think that like the rest of you, I know a little bit about it to claim to know a whole lot. Now you know Kenyans with anything elective. We wait till the last-minute, fail to read between the lines,,make a hurried choice and then we complain when we don’t get the result we want. I think that’s the wisdom behind the overwhelming choice of a buffet in a Mexican restaurant. We love buffet. There is just something about putting the word ‘food’ and ‘self service’ in one sentence that has us all giddy like schoolgirls. So the bell was rang and we made a bee-line for food. The pots were opened and then there was a collective gasp from the first folks around. “Hii ni nini?”,Enos asked no-one in particular, poking at the brown roundish piece before him with a fork. Maurice was the first to notify everyone that something was terribly amiss. He took one bite from whatever he had managed to gather on his plate and grimaced. “Majamaa,hii ni noma. Hii food haina hata nyama! Hold on, na hii bana…hii si chapati”. There was a chorus of puzzled rumblings from my left side, I turned around to see folks staring at a pile of brown-greenish stuff sitting pretty on a plate. Someone loudly remarked about what the pile reminded him of!! For those who grew up in the village,you know the way hens normally look at something they disapprove of? They surround it,peck at it and make disapproving noises. Metrine at this time was beside herself with laughter. For all the protests, folks actually ate the food and even went for a second helping. Others were contented with waiting to see if someone actually dies before trying it for themselves. In the end it worked out fine. But you knew that, that was not gonna be the end of it. Coz, we were still in the A.O.B.

Who can guess what the first order of business was during A.O.B? That’s easy. Food. Or more precisely, what we just ate. There were complains about the choice and what not. Gilbert’s suggestion was akin to a merry-go-round. Next meeting could be held at Hilton, where food is better, he nearly said. Some suggested we should just stick to  Budvarka in Dejvicka. “We need to have variety of choice”, Enos cried.”We can’t always go to budvarka”. I tried to bring reason into the debate, talking about the fact that you can’t have it both ways. “It can’t be both cheap and good,” but no one was really listening. Various suggestions were floated around which always almost boiled down to giving folks more choice and more time. Again, I, always the voice of moderation, tried to right the ship of reason in the right direction. Institutional memory is an invaluable commodity in any company and I tried to remind every-one of the time ‘choice’ and ‘time’ was presented to us in a food debate and we wound up with a late afternoon picnic near Sparta that nearly everyone disparaged. Unfortunately, none of those in attendance could relate coz they were busy loosing their milk teeth in 2002. How I missed the presence of George. If you thought this was the end of crazy stuff, you are wrong, coz Osweto was about to step up to the plate.

There is a saying in my village, “Kama ili ema iguonyo”, which loosely translates into,” you scratch where it itches” and Osweto was itching big time. Granted, he started well enough, thanking everyone for showing up, the guests for their attendance and many more pearls of wisdom. You know, the usual stuff. He also once again appealed to everyone to chip in something for his very noble project. Please have a look at http://www.afrikaafrice.cz/. Help a brother. So Osweto was letting everyone know about the project and was in the middle of explaining some intricate financial detail when Gilbert’s arm shot up like an eager kindergartener. He wanted to know more coz now he could, you know, just re-route all that money he normally gives to UNESCO and instead give to Osweto’s project. “You know I give UNESCO money every month”, he announced. He wanted to be given the account number so that he could write a cheque mara that that! Cheque Pap! Ai Omera!

Somewhere between Isaac’s prophecy about the ocampo 6’s date with The Hague and Dr. Mulwa’s  tooth-pulling techniques, Osweto again sought to have a starring role. Remember I said that something was itching Osweto and he wasnt about to let it go? “Who can put me in touch with Mike Sonko?”, he shot up. There was a collective “Who?” from everyone around the table, followed by horror and then suddenly everyone had an opinion, led by Isaac. He wanted to know why Osweto wanted to associate with a dubious character like Sonko and what not. Osweto,surprised by the harsh reaction, defended himself the only way he could, ati ‘he is my MP’.  Osweto is a brilliant guy and I think he has figured out which side his bread is buttered, doesn’t matter if it’s buttered by Sonko. All he wants to do is make sure that the poor kids can learn. I can understand. This is the thing though, I like sausages like every other warm-blooded man or woman out there, but that doesn’t mean I wanna meet the pig. There are some places one shouldn’t be itching to scratch in public. Haha.

DISCLAIMER: The views expressed in this piece are NOT my own,but are a result of whatever mix of beverage I had in my fridge at the time. I take no responsibility whatsoever and if sued, my lawyers are ready to plead temporary insanity.

Have a lovely weekend everybody. I wouldn’t trade any of you for any other company, you guys are hilarious.

By Fred

This post was originally posted on 3rd June,2011