streets – The Diary of a Madwoman

Who impregnated the family cat?

The last time I wrote about the family cat, I was complaining about her feeding habits.

The damn thing had developed a weird appetite for avocados. That was just when I had moved back home in preparation to move to Sweden. This was in March.

I left my father, Kisakwa’s house in April for Sweden and went back to visit in November and guess what, the cat was pregnant.

Full blown pregnancy. Type of pregnancy that gets a cat too lazy to even meow. I can swear I saw a rat play with that cat’s tail and it didn’t even bother to go after it.

Sorry, I can’t handle snow!

The cat getting on to the family way got me wondering:

Who impregnated her?

Do cats have sex?

Do they get married before?

Do they have mother in-laws?

Which reminds me, the last time she gave birth, she ate nine of her kittens and kept one. What type of mother does that? How I’m I supposed to explain to the world that our family cat’s favourite delicacy is not a rodent but her own children and avocado?

Anyway, I got to catch up with Kisang’ule our loyal mongrel. My only worry with Kisang’ule is that he has developed a penchant for rich dogs type of games.A typical village dog should only come close to humans in the evening when he knows he is about to be fed leftovers. But this dog! Where are his manners? He is so disrespectful to a point he wanted to be in all my pictures. It’s like he went on a crash course on how to become a professional photo bomber!

But I love him. Infact, my feelings for this dog came to life when he followed me to the bustop the other day as I was headed to my friends house for a sleep over. He got so confident and though that he could sit in the middle of the road and the vehicles would stop for him. You know, like my dad does all the time?

Guys, I dropped my handbag and dived into the road and sent him home after a thorough spanking. He did not play those rich people games with me for two days. I didn’t care. I had saved his life!

My neighbour’s cat is using me

I’m sorry guys I have not updated the blog recently because I have been busy and generally lacked motivation.

But that does not mean that I escaped the usual daily drama. No, I’m actually contemplating giving the Kardashian a run for their money. I need a reality show. Just scroll down and tell me if you’d watch my reality show…..

I need a pet

The last time I had a pet was in 1997 when my grandpa handed me down his beloved dog Kisang’ule. I might have forgotten to feed him and he moved in with the neighbours or something like that. But recently I have fallen in love with my European neighbours live stock. And when I talk about live stock am referring to their cats and dogs.

The neighbor’s cat has become so friendly to a point he comes to my house to eat. And immediately he is done, he just meows me to let him out of the house after eating my water melon. I feel used and it is for that reason that I will buy my own pet. A hen. I will walk my hen every evening and even recruit it to hen kindergarten. I hope they can vaccinate it so that I can take it in the bus with me. I feel so empowered by such thoughts. I’m a genius!

Excuse me, I’m a robot!

These thoughts come at a time when owning a dog in Kenya is now a status symbol. Do you know how long my family owned dogs? In 1934, my grandpa landed in Ngong, from Kilungu armed with nothing but his dog Kisang’ule. Kisang’ule survived on left overs. In fact, wakati wa kiangazi, that poor dog ate guavas and avocados. And no one bothered to interview him!

Speaking of animals, I see Jaguar and Babu Owino tried to wrestle each other in parliament. Such a shoddy job. Kenyan parliament needs to give us something better than the Ugandans. Put us on the world map. One Ugandan Mp even did a spin on the table while another one blocked a chair that was thrown at him like Bruce Lee. And where did that get them? On Trevor Noah’s show on Comedy Central. You can’t just bite and spit on each other. What are you? Pythons? Shie!

Bomboclat

I don’t like stressing about Kenyan politics drama and that’s why I like spending my spare time in the gym sweating off the anxiety. So committed that the other day I taught a Jamaican to pronounce the word cucumber. I could not take it anymore because every time he spots me we have to discuss bloodclat vegetables, MAUMAU and Bomboclat. I don’t know what most of our conversations are about but I try to keep up. But what is: ‘kakamba?’ It’s cucumber my friend.

See such moment redeem my embarrassing moments from previous gym sessions. Can you believe I recently lost my limbs in that same gym? I was doing my usual set of heavy squats (Lower body is my strength) then some English bloke challenged his friend who was squatting less than a 1/4 of my weights. Ego boost my guy. Then small talk in between sets. Me, narrating how I killed a lion using my mothers cooking spoon, swam with sharks in Tana River and taught a monkey to speak Japanese. I was really feeling myself. At some point, I felt like my dreadlocks had also developed muscle.

Then I finished my set and decided to return the plates. This is where things went downhill. My ego was all over the place so I was even arranging the plates like I’m the only one who can do it in the whole world. I didn’t even realise that the plate holder was too weak until it fell off and all plates were on top of me. Whole gym came to a standstill, even the receptionist came to evacuate me. When I say everyone helped, that includes the guy who was lifting less than me. I don’t know if this gym will renew my membership!

Things to do in Canaan….

Campaign season in Kenya is a very interesting. Politicians and their supporters coin up the most interesting catch phrases.

For instance, this year opposition leader Raila Odinga has been christened Joshua which led to claims by his supporters that if he wins the elections, he will deliver the country from what they believe is oppression by the incumbent government.

So we are moving to the biblical promised land. We are going to Canaan.

If we were really moving to Canaan these are some of the activities we should prepare ourselves for….

Rent out the country.

Kenyans don’t waste an opportunity if they can make money out of it. By now there should be deals by various real estate companies offering foreigners property deals.

Facebook groups would be created for efficient social media advertising for these properties.

This is just an example of how Facebook updates would read: “We are renting out our country(Kenya) and moving to Canaan from August 9. Not sure how long we will be away but inbox me if you are interested. Jokers stay away from this post!”

No plan

“We are renting out our beloved country and moving to Canaan. Most of us don’t have don’t know how we will get there, where we will sleep and how we will survive but we still go. Kwani iko nini?” That would be carefree statement from a typical Kenyan blue Subaru driver.

Trade your eyebrows for data

He would probably abandon his blue Subaru and hitch a ride to Canaan with his Landrover driving friend. Of course, he will bring his own alcohol and find out from friends who are already in Canaan if there are enough women.

Develop a Canaan accent

Kenyans adapt very fast in new surroundings. Even I have a Swedish accent and I have only been here three months. Let’s not get into details about that but to fit in Canaan they would most definitely drop their ‘r’ and ‘l’. better still why not bring the fake American and Bree-ish accent with them?

Buy Credo…..

Kenyans love each other. If you want to confirm, as a foreigner, just try to insult one. The whole country will come for you. So, when we get there we will buy new sim-cards and try to trace each other on social media and find out where everyone lives. Is there empty house nearby and how big are they? Do they have balconies? How close are they to the road?

Celebrate the transition…

Once we settle in Canaan a festival will be organised just to celebrate the transition. The government will declare a specific day a national holiday. Those who love celebrating in the comfort of their homes will go to the Nakumatt in Canaan and shop as much alcohol as they can afford. Goats and chicken will not be spared. Kenyans love to party.

Editor’s Note: Vote wisely. Tupendane!

Sweetheart not so sweet!

It’s three months now since I relocated to Sweden. And a lot has happened to me. So much that I feel like I have lived here for a decade. Infact, these activities are the main reason I began blogging again.

Most of it has been laughable but there are two incidences that have left me in shock.

Towards the end my first month here a man harassed me at the bus stop. I had a meeting that went on to almost 9.30pm and on my way home I decide to pass through a store to get a few supplies. Some guy followed me out and asked if I wanted to go home with him to drink some vodka. I politely declined thinking he was part the notorious A-laget (Swedish alcoholics).

Ambushed by a gypsy!

He was persistent and declared he was from Italy. I could clearly see he was an Arab from looks and accent. I’m not sure why he would lie about that either. Not unless it’s cool to be followed home by an Italian. I walked faster towards the bus stop which by now was clearly empty. He followed me, inquiring whether my bum and boobs were real or if it had some silicon in it. Then he declared that he was willing to even pay me to go home with him so that I could ‘please him’.

I was very pissed off and was about to beat the hell out of him then I remembered that I was in Sweden where shouting someone’s name in the streets is already frowned upon (I have been insulted for laughing out loud. Ok, fine! I laughed too much and frankly that could have annoyed even the wildest animal.) Where were we, guy followed me to the bus stop, tried to corner me but I swung my gym bag and walked away very fast to the nearest crowd. He shouted ‘Goodbye Sweetheart. I will call you’.

I had forgotten about that until recently while walking to the bus stop from the gym. It was at 10am, on a public holiday, when a black Mercedes slowed down beside me. A middle-aged Arab guy waves and I look away thinking he was waving at someone else; perhaps two blonde girls walking towards me.

He then sped off and parked right ahead of the store that I was clearly walking towards.

He pulled down his window and shouts: “C’mon sweetheart, let’s come inside. Let’s talk.” 10 am?

Where do people get these guts?

I thought moving to a first world country meant that I was taking a break from sexual harassment. I was like phewks! No more cat calling and risking being undressed for a while but no. It got worse!

And the worst part is that I still don’t know how to deal with this. Normally in Kenya, I would have faced the man and gave him a piece of my mind. But now I’m in a new country dealing with people from different backgrounds. I have to be careful how I address some issues lest I’m tagged racist or violent!

DISCLAIMER: This post is just meant to highlight what happened to me. I mean no harm towards any race. We are all equal!