Kenyan Idiot

  The residents of Qwale broke out the champagne/Mnazi (palm wine) earlier in the week-or they would have if they drank-as their long fought for goal was attained when the ban that had been placed on the group illegalizing it was finally lifted by the courts in Mombasa. The party members then proceed to loudly celebrate their ‘victory’ on the steps of the Mombasa law courts. The three high court judges who struck out the gazette notice that termed the group illegal said they were doing so because there was no evidence that group had participated in acts of violence and instead implored the members to form themselves into a political party or a social one from whence they can push for their agenda peacefully. The now legitimized group’s euphoria was too early in coming as the judges cautioned the group that any sort of violence would not be tolerated and that hate speech and propaganda would also be unacceptable. It seemed that the group whose primary motivation is to secede and-...

If you like me are a fan of the affordable yet tasty snacks peddled on almost every Kenyan street corner and love nothing more than grabbing a quick bite to eat while on the go then both you hunger and fond view of these often sweet or savoury snacks will be heavily dented if not completely vanish by the last word on this post – if not you have a stronger stomach and nerve than I. Raphael Mrefu yesterday felt the definition of mob justice when he was set upon with sticks and blows of fury by a disgusted mob at Kongowea market in Mombasa when he slaughtered a cat that was scavenging the markets bins for a bite to eat. 31 year old Mr. Mrefu was caught in the act and promptly frog marched to the Dos office where he said that he was paid a peanut- esque pittance of 10 shilling by someone who he didn’t know, he also denied having knowledge of what the mystery man wanted to do with the feline’s meat. This is gross enough except that it’s not the kicker that came when residents of the...

It is in our human nature to complain, we do it about the weather, we moan about the miles long traffic jams in the CBD, we may even complain about our jobs, co-workers or (gasp) even the boss. But earlier in the week I watched in amazement as residents in East Pokot who despite all having mobile phones do not have the network to support them. In this our increasingly modern day the mobile phone has become an essential third arm and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone- financial state not withstanding- without the palm size devises. But in Baringo county modern times seem to have missed the bus and the numerous network service providers seem to have skipped them all together as they’re forced to go to outrageous lengths just to make or return a call, this includes walking miles and miles, climbing trees and hills and unfinished buildings are also a good option just for a few moments of contact with the outside world, you’d best forget the internet, as the roads are deplorable they ...

This past weekend was a rather eye opening one for me and undoubtedly many more around the country as we sat riveted in front of our televisions impatiently waiting for the next instalment in the unfolding tale of Apostle Michael Njoroge and his now infamous Fire Gospel church where as we were to find out last night even more goes on than meets the eye. As I sat in expectation I was told that seeds were planted here, 1000 shilling seeds to be exact now ‘seed’ planting is nothing new as most of us would consider this to be our tithe – the 10% of all earnings made that month that one voluntarily gives back to the almighty- here it is a mandatory thousand bob which is placed in white envelopes that will appear brought to you by a polite – I assume- usher, that poor soul who chose to on this particular Sunday do this small task for God- then be collected and disappear-snugly pressed into the back of so and so’s pocket- once you plant this seed all you want will begin to be put into effect...

On this as any other Sunday I and many other worshipers rose and went with a rather more sceptical outlook to the glorious well built hallowed walls of that sanctum where ordinary man goes with his sins for his chance to feel his spirit stirred, motivated and moved, to get a slice of joy to his otherwise bleak week. With open minds and hearts we heard the word form that leather bound book we may not have read during the long and hard week gone by, we sat in patient prayer until –at least for me- it came to that time in the service where the pastor clad in his pristine white robe called for however needed prayers or healing to leap to our feat and walk to the alter to receive the desires of their ailing weary hearts. I stayed rooted to the wooden pew having during the weekend seen the expose that centred around a man of the cloth ‘Apostle’- yes that’s what he calls himself, to which any real ones would be awakened and rolling around in the centuries old Jerusalem tombs- Michael Njoroge...