Miraa Mirrored

HORTICULTURE

FLOWERY MAUA’S MIRAA

 As the semester neared closure and students flocked the library for final touches before the exam, Charles, my friend poked me about where I will spend my long vacation. At first I hesitated. I said I am not one of those guys who rush home as if they were in exile .I would nostalgically stay at Meru and see what it has to offer. Not that I did not miss my folks back home. I did. I said I wanted to go to Nairobi to while away vacation as a kept a finger on the pulse of the job market.

“No, come this way we go to Maua you experience the brisk business of khat. Besides, It is past July and the chill has subsided.” He convinced me.

Rather than rot in the city that is infamous for its stress and suffocation, I took my jumper and suite-case and off we went to Maua.

As we neared the khat plantations, my ignorance blinded me. I saw mid-sized trees with overhanging branches .Succulent twigs, they were.  Some looked like ashes in the trunk, at the edges of the branches were clusters of leaves .I did not ask Charles what those trees were. A man would rather taste than be told it is sweet or bitter. And so, consumed by the flames of adventure, I mischievously slipped from the house and headed directly to a nearby plantation. I cut a branch and bit it. I felt like vomiting. Bitter herb!

I rushed to the house and drunk a mug of water and brushed my teeth. “You ‘eat’ with ball gum, Big G , Cocacola or tea. That way masteam  znakam” , Charles told(read: taught)me. Then his voice lowered to a whisper and he said: Do not go plucking anyone’s green gold. People here are cut hands for stealing miraa. I was frightened by the merciless Merians. But later I came to love them. Contrary to the stereotypes in the media and tribal cocoons, Merians are not ill-tempered, impatient or murderous. No Kenyan woman is as hardworking as a Merian. They are warm and welcoming .They serve you a mountain of food and place the pot at standby for self service.

Miraa is planted by vegetative propagation. Branches are cut and buried in soil to grow. They need alot of water and can wither if they are not constantly supplied with water. However, the best is saved for the last. There is a much deserved fun as the farmer harvests the product. These cash cows enable the planters to erect real estates , pay school fees and save the surplus for the future. No wonder Meru has an influx of commercial banks.

Another amazing thing is the Merians embracing other communities. Somalis freely mix with the Merians in cultivation and harvesting to sale of miraa. Birds of a feather flock together. They have learn each other’s vernacular and are also reliable consumers of own product. Talk of made in Kenya by Kenyans for Kenyans. 

If you though the horticulturalists from Mt. Kenya are myopic, then think again. They package their miraa for both the local and international market.  Often, pick-ups and bodaboda taxis transport this coveted stuff. For the purpose of maintaining the khat’s freshness, polythene bags wrap the moisture around the herbs. The vapour may evaporate therefore making the twigs stale and compromise consumer quality. The” ganja” planters know this only too well and even diversify to eco-friendly banana leaves to cover miraa from sunlight.

Perishables are delicate. They require speedy transport and quick consumption. Next time a pick –up on Meru-Nairobi Highway gives you a close shave count yourself lucky and thank God that you are not six feet under .These ambulances need to get to the market fast. However, this should not be done at the expense of flouting the traffic rules, killing or injuring innocent Kenyans .Moderation is the key.

Matatu drivers claim that they want to relief stress and hangovers and sink into deep addiction. They squander family income in miraas to the chagrin of their poor dependants. Students drop out of school in the false assumption of getting a quick dime .Nothing irks the eye more than a miraa chewer spitting green saliva on the floor or the ground .Given the tooth decay and mouth odour I wonder whether they brush their teeth. If no, don’t they turn off their partners in the name of kissing?

It is debatable whether or not miraa causes impotence. One theory contends that they produce watery and headless sperms that cannot swim and thus unable to fertilise the ovum. Medical researchers need to dig deeper to come up with solid evidence on this controversial issue. But one thing is sure :miraaa causes  insomnia. Your eyes are kept open in the dark night as you struggle  to sleep .If you are not a long distance truck driver or a watchman( Let me be gender sensitive for once, A Chief Security Officer) do not touch miraa for it makes you forever alert and active even when you don’t want to.

After a week of stay I went home. Home sweet home. There’s no place like home.

Ahadi ni Deni

Ahadi ni Deni

“The best was saved for the last. Like wine, Avril was uncorked with flamboyance and glamour. The comrades went gaga. She was clad in black top and equally black jeans- effectively limiting the imaginations of men. They could only feast their eyes on curvaceous hips and nothing else.”

Ahadi ni deni is a Swahili proverb for “A promise is debt” when literally translated. I had promised my readers that there will be a special coverage of the Cultural Week activities in my blog throughout the week of June 24-30. Well I did pen two plays: one featuring the model who ended up being the Miss Chuka Plus and another for my club of Theatre and Arts. You see when Roba approached me with an idea of doing a skit overnight for this gorgeous Brenda to “help her nurture her talent” I was like do I write a skit or study voluminous  notes for the CATs lined up that very same week?

I thank God because I did all that and more. I overachieved. But that joy was short-lived. Brenda did not stage her play neither did we cast fully. We were told the problem was ‘technicalities’.  Technicalities sound a legal jargon. Like it was borrowed from Supreme Court and dropped smack at Chuka University Pavilion Grounds. The damn technicalities hurt me when I recall. Look, there we were on the stage, eyes shooting at us like bazookas and on the sidelines a jealous MC gesturing that the time was up and mind you were not even 10 minutes into the show. What’s more he made sure that we shared faulty mics which were barely enough. The problem is not sharing but caring. Why on earth can someone keep new mics idle and give the actors the outdated, old and inaudible? The disappointment was expected. He was begrudged.

The drama was not because of our actions on stage but because of how we exited the stage. It was one of those commercial break moments when one set of performers left the podium for the others to show what they got. Right between the transitions the MC jumped in and said “clap for them” effectively drowning our voices and evicting us from the stage. We forgot our costumes behind. Is he not a hater?

We laughed at the embarrassment backstage. We looked like a salivating Big Brother Chase evictee begging the camera to take her back. Our plot was crushed. Just like that. It seemed as a death of a youth. Before the destiny is defined, before the peers and the teachers realize what sort of potential the young man had. Before the parents know and taste the fruits of labor of love. Before any of his siblings realize his presence he was gone forever. Eti to pave way for models to strut their stuff on the red carpet.

Doesn’t that sound tired?  Hogging the limelight is not easy. It is even harder for those who think sharing is only limited to Facebook posts and likes and not applicable in real life. That was Friday June 28.

Saturday June 29, 2013. This may as well go down the annals of history as the most expectant afternoon in Chuka. People did homework early.  They had lunch before lunch. They sat and waited. The yester night had seen student leaders confirm rumors that Citizen Crew will grace the occasion plus a loaded entourage of the local industry’s finest.

The event was supposed to start at 2pm if the posters and fb updates were anything to go by. But the infamous habit of Kenyans doubting everything was evident. They did not want to go and sit at the pavilion waiting for artists. Unlike voters who had advertisers reminding them about their sacred democratic right to vote, comrades relied on their instincts.

By 4pm the show had began. Citizen Radio’s Willy M Tuva aka ‘Mzazi’ was around to nurture the upcoming talents. On stage was Refigah of Grandpa Records. He is revered for producing club bangers such as Fimbo and Maswali ya Polisi by DNA. His humor and style made the audience forget for a while that Mzazi, Avril and Big Pin were missing from the action yet they were the main men.

I take issue with Chuka University students. They are a bunch of conservatives. Fundi Frank is busy telling them to piga nduru ikibamba sana or mkono moja weka juu and they are just there staring at him like a statue. They are a let down to the performers. Where did the ululations, screams and insanity go? Some told me it was still day time. They are nocturnal. They like dim lights and dark corners for them to respond unequivocally to the show runners.

But it was not all gloom and doom during the curtain raiser moments. The bold ones took to the podium and stole the show. They gyrated with the guests like they were auditioning for RDX’s ‘Bedover’. Such stuff is what Basra Abdullahi is made of. When I met her at the backstage the eve of the showdown she donned figure-hugging micro complete with dark chic shades. The last time she tried it was pathetic. This was during our photojournalism field assignment and we needed a subject to frame. She offered herself when everyone refused claiming they’d no busts to capture yet take bust shots we must. But there she was daggering with Big Pin! Gosh! That was quite something.

DJ Flash was spinning the wheels of steel and knew only too well that we wanted the best. The moment of moments had arrived. We were taken back in time all the way to 2003. By then I was in Standard Five. I remember singing along ‘Boomba Train’ of E-Sir. When Big Pin eulogized him my heart was broken and of so many others who knew him albeit little. I looked at the 29 year old Pin and wondered how big E-Sir would be if he was alive. He would be a Nail. Then I regretted that he would have come with the Ogopa stable colleagues to thrill his fans. I looked up and I think I saw what many of my peers did not see: E-Sir smiling down at us from open heavens.

The live show turned out to be an anniversary of sorts. Big Pin tore into our consciences further by invoking that we too should remember fallen artists. A decade later, I reconstructed how Wicky Moshi and K-Rupt looked like. They are the soldiers who walked this path before Avril and many others.

Then Fundi Frank reminded us about a very fundamental fact: That Nameless and Wahu are graduates who chose microphones against papers. So those who think that books alone are enough better ask the parents of Tumiso. I am not saying that you leave your degree half done and hit the studio. No. Discover your talent early and nurture it.

Amid the jigs, waving, screams and the sweating the bigger picture did not depart us. Why were we here? Why now? We could not be reminded in a better way than by playing the ‘Najivunia Kuwa Mkenya’ theme song. This track evoked patriotic passions. It underlined the need to celebrate diverse cultures. It read the minds of the organizers of Cultural Week. It was not supposed to be a lip service or a PR engagement for the cameras and when the spotlight is turned off we return to negative ethnicity. It was a sincere vow that the 50 years of Kenyan State should teach us one thing: appreciation of one another.

Mzazi lived up to his name. He is a caregiver. A dad for the celebrities and an uncle for the wannabes. Himself a big name, he doesn’t tire from recruiting new talent from around East Africa. His radio and TV shows are international and integral in integrating the EAC bloc. He has discovered many youths. To prove that, he unveiled Kimani (Stage name is Key- Money). This dude is a wordsmith, a master of

the art of the spoken word. He spit like a cobra. His mistari about Hiphop and Rap are just wow! He’d to return to the stage due to public demand. He did not disappoint. He left comrades begging for more. A poet he is.

The best was saved for the last. Like wine, Avril was uncorked with flamboyance and glamour. The comrades went gaga. She was clad in black top and equally black jeans- effectively limiting the imaginations of men. They could only feast their eyes on curvaceous hips and nothing else.

Her renowned hit song, Chokoza attracted three little girls who I was afraid they were learning “bad manners” too early. She took the cue by being ethical. She gestured DJ Flash to pull off the track. The vinyl spinner played a decent song by Avril and the girls danced quite well. She saw them off with a hug after enjoying the limelight.

Darkness had now engulfed us. Salsa and 254 dance groups had the privilege to share the podium with Kenya’s greats. Avril acknowledged that the two dance troupes were quite something. M Tuva said that they can be baked for better quality. The local artists had their recorded labels taken by Mzazi and Refigah as samples for follow up.

Into the anticlimax now. There was a blend of Ragga and Reggae music with Lingala fusion. It was a take-away session. Models and dancers outdanced one another to please the comrades and get away with free T-Shirts. Dancing was not enough. The verdict lay with the comrades who judged the best of the best by approval and disapproval. Frank, the incoming Mr. Chuka could not hide his joy as he was dressed by Avril to sport a new Mseto Campus Tour T-shirt. She hugged him. The other model clanged tight on M Tuva’s chest as if she was saying “please don’t go”. The marked the end of high –octane performance by Team Citizen.

In the vote of thanks section one voice rose above the din. It was Geraldine Ndila the CUSA Organizing Secretary. During her campaign pledges she said she would invite Mseto East Africa. “I have all the connections”, she bragged. I now believe. My vote did not go to waste. Indeed ahadi ni deni.

Clash of Civilizations

CLASH OF CIVILIZATIONS

Special Edition: Cultural Week. Starring guest appearances by Chuka University Model Brenda Njeri

Historians contend that the most monumental discovery ever in the evolution of man is the invention of fire. Save for domestication, man has redefined the art of cooking by use of fire. There before he used to eat raw meat, drink blood and plenty of water. Cave life is it? Is it not? This skit centers on Hillary who is caught up in the fierce clash of civilizations- the old and new cultures of eating.

Skit by Musyoka Ngui

(Linda, Hillary’s mother teaches her how to prepare traditional food. How to winnow, sift and sort millet all the way to the end product: porridge.)

Hillary: Nimeleta maji mama.

Linda: Sawa. Sasa nenda ukachote kilo mbili za mawele kwa gunia ulete nikuonyeshe. ( Hillary does so)

Linda: You see now these small stones are put under bigger one. You kneel down and crash the millet into small particles. Then you repeat the process until the powder is fine.

Hilllary: But mom si mikono yangu itakauka sana. Nitakuwa na blisters. Tena that stone is too heavy for me. Kitambo nimalize nitakuwa na back pains, shoulder pains, neck pains and chest pains.

Linda: But my daughter you have to do this. Soon you are going to get married. Who will cook for your husband? Is it the house help?

Hillary: I’ll be working class and afford to buy ready food. Siku hizi we eat in the hotels. No. It is not the hotels but 5 Star restaurants. Where you eat ambience, appetizers and by the time you touch the main meal you are full.

Linda: So you cannot drink the porridge?

Hillary: Zi, si hivyo . I mean our eating habits and yours are completely different. Excuse me mom, I was to see my suitor in the next hour. If you don’t mind I will check in later for more culinary lessons.

( One hour later. Harry, Hillary’s suitor is seated at the VIP section of Serene Hotel. He is impatient. He checks his watch, picks his phone, fidgets and clasps his car keys between his fingers. He scratches his head.)

Harry: Will she ever come or I was duped. Two whole hours of waiting and no one shows up. Surely! I will cancel this date ( Bangs the table unconsciously in a fit of rage. Hillary has been observing him all this time and sneaks in , approaches him from behind and close his eyes with her hands.)

Hillary: Guess ni nani?

Harry: Aw oh ah!

Hillary: Ati ni nani?

Harry: That must be Hillary. I know her perfume and her tender hands. That I am cocksure.

Hillary: You got it. I thought you would say someone else. Another girl….

Harry: Si you know you are the only one… anyway welcome and let’s enjoy ourselves. (The waiter approaches them to take their orders.)

Waiter: Hi! Mnakula nini?

Harry: Kwanza leta maji ya matunda. Delmonte. (To Hillary) Baby utakula nini?

Hillary: Chips

Waiter: Hiyo hatuna.

Hillary: Na sossi?

Waiter; Hata hiyo haiko.

Hillary: Leta na kadhalika basi. Nkt! Kwani what is wrong with your menu?

Waiter: We cook such foods on special orders. Fast foods are perishable and they don’t stay at the fringe for long. They wither fast like flowers losing their cute smell in the process and replacing it with poignant poison. Heck! That is hell.

Harry: Waiter, what you will do is just go away for a while we shall call you when we decide. (Waiter does as asked.)

Hillary: Honey, aki this waiter is so down. Kwani what does she cook? Gosh! She makes me lose my appetite.

Harry: Don’t mind her. Utakula chapatti kuku we order that one?

Hillary: Yeah. Because you have suggested it I won’t object.

Harry: They say love is about similarities: uniformity even when dining (Hurriedly, the waiter takes the orders and returns with the food)

Hillary: Baby can I use the ladies?

Harry: It is OK. But hold on! You are so gorgeous when you stand. That dress is like it was created with you. (Hillary laughs)

Hillary: Thank you. Lakini ukisema hivyo about provisional results only na stronghold ikileta votes zake utasemaje? Let me go I will be back shortly. But remember strongholds bado. Bado Tharaka Nithi haijaleta matokeo Bomas. ( Hillary turns to face towards the loo. She goes marching majestically like a queen)

Harry: Wow! This woman was created by God after lunch. So proportionate, symmetrical and balanced. Watu wengine (Points at the waiter using his tongue) waliumbwa na changarawe: ugly and unsightly. (To waiter) Boss, leta maji na chumvi na uache kuzumbaa ivo. (Harry continues fantasizing)

Harry:( Thinking out loud) The contours, the curves, cleavage and figure 8 is just what I‘d asked for. Look at the dashboard. Mbele iko sawa. Hata haihitaji wiper. Na sitting allowance nayo jo! Round and tight. ( Audience  applauds as Hillary returns from the restroom. Harry removes Hillary’s photo from his breast pocket and hugs it. Sings.)

Ukilala lala salama,

Kumbatia picha yangu,

Matatizo chuki na wahma,

Vumilia mpenzi wangu,

Kumbatai picha yangu*2

Hillary: Who is sleeping? I thought we were eating. Let’s eat first. Mambo ya vote tallying ni baadaye Bomas si KICC this time round. Na ukicheza certificate iende nitangaze mshindi after swearing in.  But if you play by the rules of the game be assured that you will get full official results of all your imaginations.

Harry: Ati what?

Hillary: You heard me.

Harry: Your words are so sweet. Repeat pls. I cannot trust my ears and mouth lest I misquote you.

(To be continued)

(Curtain)