Okay, I am back…I have been here, there, everywhere…Just like a dick wondering aimlessly inside a pussy, with just one aim…to vomit cassava. I always ask myself one question; Is the effort in the method really worth it. Do we men have to torture our dicks that much? Hapa, kule, huko, hapo,juu, chini, pande hii, pande ile, bang hapa, bang kule…bang bang bang, … ahahahahaha… But again that is the joy of the game. If you have sex and at the end of it find the beddings in the order in which you had set them, that is not sex. Anyway, while I was away, this is what I came across. And the short stories will run like a dick inside a pussy…in a much disorganized way
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I love the countryside. I love chilling in my rural domicile. There is so much peace back there. The sound of the birds filling the air, the smell of smoke from the kitchen as the women prepare dinner, the bleating of goats as male goats mount the female ones, the mooing of cows as the smell each other, the sound of a drunk as he staggers home… I just love the village. Countryside is just the thing. I love listening to BBC World while back home. It is my lullaby. It sends me to sleep. That is a practice I have developed over the years. My problem is that I can’t tune in 93.9 clearly because of the location. Now I discovered a way I can get a very clear signal. I take a very long wire; attach it to the transistor radio. Now I have to connect the wire to my right toe and stretch it all the way to my balls and tie it there and take it round the dick three times and sleep. And I have to do all that when I am completely naked. When I do that the signal is very clear and I am able to enjoy listening to BBC World. I don’t know what technology that is. If you want, there is an area of research. The problem arises when all of us are in the village. I really really suffer…
PS…Story inspired by one of Mr Bean’s episodes.
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When I am in the village, I do attend church service in the church that brought me up. Thank you church. In December 2014, I was in the village. The drought was too much. No rain for a very long time. And so I attended the church service. Top on the agenda to present to God was ask Him for rain. After the first hymn, a retired civil servant I normally see in the market taking tea and mandazi at Kwa-Makende Hotel was asked to pray; And he started praying; “ Ngai Asa, Ngai Mutheu nituukuvoya. Nitwooka mbee waku tuikuvoya. Wi Ngai, Ngai ula utumwaa KIA kiungama kite ivindi na KITI kineena kite munuka… Vai ungi utonya kwika uu eka we. Ngai nitwaukulya utenenge mbua…..”.("Lord the Father, Lord the Holy one, we come before thee in prayer. We come before thee in prayer. You are God, The God who makes a dick stand erect when it has no bone, the God who makes pussy talk when it has no mouth. There is no other who can do such except you. God we ask you to bring us rain".) He continued. The service was about to come to an end and the last prayer was about to be said so that people could go back to their homes. Suddenly I heard a strong wind blowing outside, followed by a thunderstorm. Small showers started falling and the rains started falling. It stopped for a short while and people who were connected with God at this point knew that God wanted them to go Home. The church broke and people went to their homes. After one hour the rains came in a way the villagers had never seen in the recent past. And then it dawned on me that God will always answer our prayers if we bare our hearts to him. If we mention those wonders he does which are beyond human understanding. Thank you Lord for your kindness. The rains are still falling and when I look at the shambas it is all blessings.
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The other story that was being talked about as I mingled freely with folks in Kaluvu dens back in the village is that of the beatification of Sister Irene Nyaatha Stefani of the Catholic Church. As I sat there listening to the locals interpretation of the event as I sipped a kaluvu from a half calabash, my mind went back to an incident that happened many many years back in Kangundo when Catholicism was beginning to take root in Ukambani. I am not sure you want me to tell you this because it really made me sympathize with that Catholic priest. But anyway let me just tell because I am really pressed to say it. But please don’t share it with anybody. Now Father Alvaro had just come from Italy and was really determined to sow the seed, the seed of the holy word. The villagers had their own way of worshiping and really felt their ways were being tampered with. On a Saturday, Father Alvaro always went visiting the villagers in their homes and preaching to them. He went to one village and found two men who were against what he was telling them. They welcomed him. After the usual pleasantries and some small chitchat, Father Alvaro asked them if they could teach him some basic Kikamba language greetings that he could use the following day. They obliged. Father Alvaro was happy that he had learnt some Kikamba that he could use to connect with his Faithful. The following day, the two men sat at the back of the church to listen to the word from Father Alvaro. Father Alvaro stood up to speak and the two men held their breath.
“Atheu ma Ngai Kinu” (People of the Lord ______ (matusi) Father Alvaro greeted the congregation. There was some dead silence in the church
“Atheu ma Ngai Kinu ingi” (People of the Lord ______(matusi) again.) The silence in the church could almost be cut with a knife. The people in the church looked at each other in disbelief. Father Alvaro thought they were not hearing him properly and he raised his voice, almost shouting;
“Ninamukethya andu ma Ngai Muthiti”, (I greet you people of God _______ (matusi)Now there were murmurs in the church and one elder rose and went to talk to Father Alvaro…….
The two men who had taught Father Alvaro these Kamba greetings burst out of the church rolling down in laughter… From that day Father Alvaro ceased learning Kamba language from men…

PS: This a true story.
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The story of Alvaro enacted itself out when I was admitted to Form 5 in a school in Kisii ‘District’. A form 4 boy by the name Owili became my friend and the next few days he was teaching me Kisii language. I stayed with him for two weeks and by then I knew I had learnt enough Kisii from Owili, not knowing that he himself was not a Kisii but a Luo. One day in the morning hours I met the Deputy Headmaster on my way to the library; “Nyoko embere Mr Momanyi”, ( Your mother's ________ Mr Momanyi) I greeted him. He looked at me and asked me what I was saying and to show him how adept I was now at Kisii language, I repeated, “ Nyoko Embere”.
For one week I could not sit down properly because three teachers worked on my buttocks. From that day, just as Father Alvaro, learnt, I vowed I will never try to learn a language from an uncertified teacher. But my friendship with Owili did not end there because it was fun to just be around him. How he convinced me to sneak in the dead of the night and attend a dance by Collella Mazee and Victoria C Kings at Kisii Teachers Training College, and the aftermath, is a story I will never share with you.
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For translation contact Father @Njung'e...

Haiya Butter wa @maka ni wakwitu......

Okay...mbloo...There it is.

Mbloo kalivu sana!

Hapana Atalaakuu ndio wakwitu

It was dry. ..

I think the dude you are talking about is past tense...

...A sister always on my side...