10 great rules that will help you remain poor all your life by Moses Kiprono and Winny Moimet

Few pointers from my FB friends on how to remains poor all your life and live as an under achiever, got it for the first time from them and I thought I should share them in my blog with my readers;

1.    Never wake up early:

Keep stretching and turning in bed until you get too hungry to continue dozing. If there are no bedbugs, why hurry to get up?

2.    Never plan how to spend your money:

Whenever you get money, start spending it right away and when it is finished, try to count and recall how you spent it.

3.    Don't think of saving until you have real big money:

How can you save when you earn so little? Those telling you to save are not sympathetic to your burning needs.

4.    Don't engage in activities usually reserved for the 'uneducated':

How can you, a graduate, engage in petty trade or home- based production? That is for people who never went to school.

5.    Don't think of starting a business until an angel comes from heaven and gives you capital:

How do they expect you to invest before you get millions of shillings? Even though more than half the businesses in your town were started with a few hundred shillings, you as a smart person can only start with millions.

6.    Complain about everything except your own attitude:

Blame the system, the government and the banks that refuse to lend you money. They are all bad and do not want you to get rich.

7.    Spend more than you earn:

To achieve this, buy consumer products in credit and keep borrowing from friends and employer.

8.    Compete in dressing:

Make sure you wear the latest clothes among all the workers in your office. Whenever your neighbour buys a new phone, get one that is more expensive.

9.    Get yourself a nice second-hand car/mobile/electronic gadget that costs more than three times your gross monthly pay:

That will surely keep you in debt long enough to hinder the implementation of any bad plans that could make you accumulate capital.

10. Give your children/lover everything they ask for since you are such a loving parent/lover:

They should not struggle for anything because you do not want them to suffer. That way, they will grow up lazy and hence poor enough to ensure they cannot help you in your old age.

HOPE THIS HELPS U GUYS.

Travel: Out and deep into the Rift Valley…….By Okoth Oluoch

A lonely man satnding over the Rift Valley, Kenya

‘Welcome home’ Jean Paul Fourier, warmly greets me moment after I had just stepped out of the car and into the neatly mown lawn at the Kerio view point, the pint, any visitor will attest is the best to have a glimpse of the breathtaking Iten landscape.

I couldn’t help but notice that Jean had put a slight stress on the word ‘home’. I had called him a day before and informed him of my interest in having a look at the Iten landscapes, famed for its stunning mountainous scenery and he assured me he was more that ready to show me around.

The short ride from Eldoret town to Iten was uneventful. Either side of the road farmers tilling on the farms, a clear sign that the timeless rhythm of the agricultural life which has been associated with the residents of the ‘bread basket of Kenya’ has not lost a thing.

As we take the final bend and into the valley, a group of athletes on practice zoom past us, a reminder once again that I am at the home of some of the countries best athletes. The driver, following my gaze promptly informs me, his voice filed with both mirth and pride that before me lay the former Jelimo’s and Tergat of this country.

Inside the valley, I take the opportunity to fill my lung with the fresh air, slightly scented with wildflowers but extremely refreshing.

My view inevitably shifts to the valley, which the area has been fro along time famed for. For five second or so I am lost in my own world.

The valley, about 2000 feet away is just breathtaking. From the colorful landscape, golden rock surrounding it and covered by the blue skies, its just fascinating to stand and look at it.

‘I felt the same when I came here, and I still feel the same whenever I see it’ Jean tells me following my gaze, his voice bringing me back as we move towards the edge of the cliff.

Robert’s Rock

Our first stop is at a rock standing just on the edge of the cliff. This rock, he informs me is referred to as the ‘Robert’s Rock.

Robert Creten, he explains to me is a Belgian who used to like reading at the rock when he stayed there in 1997 although he has since gone back to Belgium.

‘Whenever anyone wanted him they only had to come here’ He explains adding that from here, Robert could then watch the agama lizards and the behaviors of monkeys deep inside the forest.

I muster just enough courage to sit on the edge of the rock but flatly decline the request to state down the cliff despite several pleas from the other couple who had just joined us.

On the other side, not too far away a group, definitely braver than me are engrossed into their hiking.

Going by the between the valley, 1300 meters above the sea level to the escarpment forest at 2400 meters and eventually to the cold heights of Cherangani at 3500, I have to admit the area will give any experience hiker a run for his money.

‘People are always coming here to test their hiking and biking abilities’ Jean says adding that given its terrains, its the bets place fro the hikers.

Monkeys can be heard chattering as we leave the rock and head for the other side of the view. On our way, more athletes are passing by and I ask Jean if they have a training facility at the valley.
High Altitude training.

‘We accommodate a number of athletes here during their training’ he explains adding that the athletes however train by themselves at the valley.

Athletes training in the high altitude in Iten town

The place, I am told has also been frequented by a number of international athletes who are eager to learn the reasons behind Kenyan’s dominance in the middle and long distance running.

The likes of Saed Shaheen, formerly Stephen Cherono who is the former world 1500 meters champion is one of the athletes who have used the facility and I promise to come back late and use it for preparation for my Standard Chattered marathon debut.

We leave and on the way, we pass the Elnino hut, a special place for barbeque on the valley. Set above the steepest cliff on the view, Jean explains to me that it was named Elnino after the rains of 1998 when a digger load machine which was being used to make it slid and stuck on the edged of the cliff.

‘It was quite an incident, very scary’ Robert say, his mind visibly still on the incident which happened about a decade ago. He later informs me the place is mainly used for bird watching and also watching the colobus monkeys below.

A few meters away, a family is having their lunch at a nearby traditional hut while three children are clearly enjoying the swinging game. They invite me and for a second I am tempted to join them before deciding against it; there is still a lot of the Iten to view.

We move to what is referred to as the pajero point, the largest view point in the area.

Down, I can see beaters and hornbills slowly going about their businesses. On top of us are the hovering buzzards and the lanner falcons and Jean informs me that there are occasional high altitude eagles.

As we walk away from the scene, he explains to me why the area was named ‘Pajero point’

‘Unoccupied Pajero once took off from packing and crash-landed here’ He explains adding that the pajero wasn’t damaged and is still on the road.

We pass the monkey house, a barbeque hut with one of the finest views of the valley below and here, another couple is having their meals. True to is name, I can see several monkeys just behind it and he informs me they come to look for fresh fruits and leaves everyday.

On our way to the dining room, Jean decides to show me around the Furier room. A conference room partially underground, the room equipped with a television has got capacity of about thirty people.

Just above the door is a stationed glass which I am informed has got a history dating back to 1939.

‘It was a sign in front of a hardware shop in Belgium’ Jean says in matter-of-fact manner. The shop was owned by Eugene, Jean Paul’s father and his three uncles.

It’s almost time to leave the view as I inform Jean I still have to go over to Tambach. As we settle down for a bottle of cock, Jean makes yet another revelation to me.

Paragliding

A tourist paragliding over Kerio Valley

‘Care to paraglide?’ He inquires. He then goes ahead and explains to me that a number of Para gliders come over to the view each year to have the opportunity of paragliding into the valley and fly over the Kerio view.
‘Most of them are Germans’ He explains and goes head to take me to the room fully equipped with parachutes and other equipments.

‘I wish you could try it. It’s real fun’ He explains after I had decided to put off my maiden paragliding to rush over to Tambach. On our way to the gate, he explains to me the regular patrons they host at the view.

‘Former President Moi was here just last weekend’ he explains adding that Prime Minister Raila Odinga is another visitor they had hoisted recently. He is however quick to add that the view was just to ensure people had the perfect view of the valley.

He bides me a heavily accented ‘Kwa heri’ and soon I am on my way to Tambach, on the other side of the view.

Tambach

On either side of the road lie beautiful hills illuminating the sun, the hills forming steps from the road. Occasionally the driver has to sop to let the cattle cross over and I have to admit the way the road has formed zigzag on the floor of the view is simply amazing.

We are soon in Tambach and I realize that just like Iten, it is on the valley.

‘This is the last frontier at the valley’ the driver Tambach informs me as we walk to the edge of a cliff.
Hundreds of meter below, people are going about their normal businesses as usual although one can hardly make them up from this far.

I decide to ask been, the driver it is true the myth I heard in college that the locals used to bring up old people on top of the cliff and throw them down in time of wars to stop them from being captured.

‘I have heard the same myth, nothing true about it anyway’ He replies laughing as we walk around the stiff cliff. He informs me paragliders also come here but that the place is best known for hiking.

We decide to go down the view and have a feel at what it feels like to be in there. Three or four monkeys quickly disappear from the road when they see us and on our way, three groups of athletes trying to get accustomed to the high altitude passes us.

The air is just fresh. And save for the chattering o the monkeys here and there and bird cries, its dead quiet inside the valley. Both sides are surrounded by hills and for the next one hour, I have my maiden hike, Ben having turned into very able teacher.

It’s getting late and we join a group of ten athletes into a warm up before leaving for Kerio valley.

Naiberi Campsite

A guest at Naiberi Campsite

The next morning, I decide to spend some time at the Naiberi campsite, just 17 kilometers off Eldoret town and famed for its natural camping sites and serene environment.

On the gate, I am received by Jacky, one of the stewards at the site and I am immediately struck by the silence in the entire site.

‘Anyone home’ I enquire as we make our way through a stone walled tunnel with hanging lanterns on either side, a question which elicits a grin from her. Off course there are people, she explain adding that the site has mainly thrived of the peace and the tranquility it offers.

The tunnel eventually leads to a surprisingly modernized opening; Jacky calls it a ‘modern day cave’. In front are a water fall and about three streams, stone pillars and wooden bridges on top of either of the streams.
Our first stop is at the swimming pool, which I have admit is nothing but impressive.

Surrounded all over with indigenous trees, it’s simply fits into its surrounding. Just on the edged of it are a water fall and a stone carving and on the other side are a beautiful table surrounded by some four seats. She informs me this is for people who would like to enjoy their drinks by the pool side.

The sky blue water is simply inviting and when she asks if I can swim, I momentarily toy with the idea of jumping right in the water.

We then make our way to the disco hall, just in the heart of the site. It’s not crowded but the air is of carnival and I, this time round fall to the temptation to grab the ice cold drinks served here. We settle on a table as she gives me more information on the site.

Naiberi, she explains has be mainly a camping site for cooperate bodies and families interested in having some time out of the busy town life.

‘Its Nature’s own creation’ She explains to me adding that it had been designed to take its guest far back to the stone age with little touch of modern day luxury.

I take a look around the site and I can’t help but marvel at the irony. Here is a place where almost all constrictions are on stone. But the disco hall is truly modern. There is a pool table, darts, a card table for eight, and even a digital satellite television.

She then leads the way to the campsite. From the quietness surrounding it, to the well maintained lush green lawns set aside for the campers to pitch their tents, and the soft sound of the waters of the streams passing by the site, the site simply offers a resting place.

A group is trying to erect their tents at the site and we join them for a moment before passing over to the stone cottages, another feature Naiberi is so well know for.

The cottages, about fifty meter from river Naiberi are all made from thatch stone and precious cedar wood, the same material used in the constriction the disco hall.

We the go through the dormitory o large groups, the cabins before paying visit to the fish pond, also just within the camp.

On our way, she insists that I have to taste the meals at the camp. I just have time for a bite and the meals, she explains are served to the guest’s convenience in the designated dining areas.

It’s getting late and as she escorts me to the gate, two more groups are just getting in for a camp over the weekend. She forces me to promise to come back for a weekend next time, a promise I am honesty keen to fulfill.

Who won’t like to spend a night at Naiberi!

Nick Okoth Oluoch

All photo credits from online

(Okoth Oluoch is a travel blogger and writer with The Standard in Kenya. This post was first published on his blog link: http://nickoluoch.wordpress.com/2011/03/16/out-and-about-and-deep-into-the-rift-valley/ )

Qualifying your Beefs, Haters

“Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even to the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons;

they are vexatious to the spirit.” Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

“Mannu, we need to look for a chance and blaze it out for these guys. I hate the ways these haters are pushing us down” Edu, my fellow internee complained for the n^th time. We were strolling after lunch back to office.

I completely agreed, but my only reservation was how the word hater and beef, common in Nairobi, was thrown in the statement. I have come to think about Edu’s statement at the beginning of our attachment and found myself reciting the lines above from Desiderata.

For my readers outside the Kenya, the words originate from Hip Hop meaning someone hell-bend in stunting your growth in life, business, career or relationship.

The words have got a fad with beefs (quarrels) against haters being an in thing for one to appear cool and focused in life/business/career/relationship etc

In the case above, or rather Edu’s, the beef was that camera and events were being kept away from us though we later successfully skirted through the hurdles by keeping away from obnoxious individuals and gaining trust from helpful ones to learn a lot within a short period of time.

To the gist of this post is trying to look at how one can qualify beefs and haters; that is if there is a need to have any.

First and foremost, just because you think you have a tight business plan, in ‘serious’ relationship, run a popular blog, with a perfect CV etc, etc doesn’t make anyone not interested in your idea a hater. Just go ahead with your plan and not hating people just because they are not reading from the same script with you.

Consider Stephen King’s Skeleton Crew and George Orwell’s Animal Farm the two though rejected by publishers revolutionized paperback books and literature respectively.  The two went ahead with their plan without dwelling on haters.

Secondly, going about looking for and tagging haters is a sure way of killing your dreams and opportunities in life.  The world is filled with people calling themselves open minded/experts/pioneers clouded with their individual proclivities by taking issues with your lifestyle and achievements. Never take chance with someone struggling to pull you down to his level.

The best way is side stepping them to “avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit”

Additionally, taking an angle to shine so as to prove to a hater your worth only reduces one’s effort to being a mascot. You easily deviate from your goals to impress an ego giving a dearth of passion, satisfaction or need of success in life’s dreams and goals.

“We are experienced just take your time to ask and you will be helped” an office worker advised us which confirmed that people we have beef with may sometimes not be haters. Let me digress and explain this in the next two paragraphs.

Once when I was a kid growing up in Mombasa, Kenya we derived pleasure in hitting electric wires and marvel at sparks emitted when they touched. The best time was the midday heat when the wires were lax; we were oblivious of how excess current used to burn up appliances and power transformers.

We went on with our childhood pranks innocently which could have made KPLC tagging us as ‘haters’ laughable. That is exactly when you hold a beef with people who don’t even care if you exist leave alone your feelings.

In life when you are sure of what you do and being in right track then combine dedication, passion and honesty to reach your dreams. With a world full of people looking for scapegoats  in beefs and haters move on and never be bogged down with other’s trivia!

Guest Blogger: UNAIDS: Homosexuality rising HIV prevalence in developed countries by Philip Alambo

New York State, USA just legalised same sex marriage though conservatives are contesting for it's withdrawal in court.

With the increased global socio-economic, political and scientific efforts put in mopping up the dreaded HIV/AIDS, there has been a remarkable breakthrough in curbing the disaster. Studies conducted by the UNAIDS reveal that the rate of infection has fallen by more than 25% between 2001 and 2009.

This is a major milestone ,for the journey of a thousand miles, as the Chinese put it , begins with one step. Yet in Eastern Europe and Central Asia, the war against AIDS is far from victory.

While there has been a notable global reduction of the rate of HIV infection and their subsequent deaths across the globe, in consonance with the UNAIDS report, Eastern Europe and Central Asia do not mirror the pattern. To the shocking dismay of many the findings instead makes it known that the rate of HIV infection in seven countries located in Eastern Europe, Central Asia and North America has been steadily increasing over the last two decades , and by more than 25%.

According to the report a number of factors which are to be faulted for these peculiar occurrences abound. They range from socio-cultural and economic issues, to unnatural sexual intercourses. Also to be blamed is the sharing of needles among drug addicts for injection. But particularly more pronounced and monumental cause is attributed to the massive expansion of the gay population in these countries reflecting the reversal of their erstwhile low prevalence.

Nurture has superceded nature, as men, women and teenagers in Eastern Europe and Central Asia engage in unnatural carnal intercourse. Ironically encouragement by many governments to set up legal frameworks protecting of homosexuals and shying away from arresting bestiality is detrimental to the fight against the deadly virus.

I shall zero in on homosexuality and lesbianism as key in heightening the burdensome economic attempts these regions have allotted in curbing this pandemic. Developed north has been on the record in the past for criticizing Africa’s socio-cultural practices as outdated and retrogressive, and a major deterrent in eradicating AIDS.

These, just to name a few, include wife inheritance and traditional midwifery. Homosexuality is however not indigenous to Africa. Sadly homosexuality which is backed in the West is causing exactly what the world thought to be the main cause of spread of the deadly virus, albeit from the West!

The most enormous retrogressive cultural orientation known by man is the practice of homosexuality, lesbianism and bestiality, often synonymous with the developed world like the legalisation of same sex marriage in New York, US.

Such practices defy conventional wisdom as well as scientific premises and suppositions. This is particularly true to homosexuality, whose practitioners have turned their physiological “entrance into exit” and vice versa. The UNAIDS report testifies.

The Guest Blogger is a student of Communication and Media Technology with IT at Maseno University; Kenya.

Online Newspaper: The Burning Splint Daily, A Week Old and Going Strong

“The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be ignited.” Plutarch

.

Am happy and humbled to announce through this post the week old online newspaper The Burning Splint Daily created using my twitter account on paper.li.

Exactly a week today after it maiden edition the online newspaper is pulling readers which is also directed to this blog.

Using my twitter account @ManuelOdeny, the paper on Monday 11^th July 2011 to glean articles, blog posts, videos and photos shared on Twitter into an online daily edition for ease of access.

Averaging about 60 contributors daily are The Economist, CNN, BBC, Times of Undia, Daily Nation, Business Daily, Guardian amongst other newspapers. Journalists and bloggers listed include Sunny Bindra, Aly Khan Satchu, Wamathai, FanyaBizna, Techmtaa and WhiteAfrican along with others.

The list is endless.

The need of sharing information which saw the creation of The Burning Splint Daily was also core in starting this blog about two years ago. With articles and cartoons (see the label on the right) in both soft and hard copy, I started the blog as a means of sharing information.

Now with over 270 posts and 22,000+ readers, the online paper has been aided in traffic flow.

May I take this time to appreciate support of friends and readers globally, both physically and online for this step.

You can join other global readers through:

·         Facebook Group (Burning Splint, The Blog)

·         Twitter Account (The Burning Splint) Or join the conversation by clicking on the right tab.

·         Online Newspaper (The Burning Splint Daily) Or click the tab on right hand side, and share using your Twitter and Facebook Accounts

Nairobi Dating: Shreds of tenderness.....

“Mannu are you gay?”

The questioned only warranted a hearty laugh from me. I just threw back my head, hand in the pocket and laughed. No qualm was felt because the accuser was a friend.

This was the first gay slur of the night, another was on the way. And I took it easy.

Often from lunch together with her or I typing and reciting a poem for her in the quiet office had culminated into the diatribe, and more friendly others. That is why I just shrugged it off lightly like water off a duck’s back.

Mannu, the first time I saw you I thought you were from Turkana (That’s kind, the last one said Kordofan). Dear you are so backwards (I know because am always infront of you). I can never marry you (So you were even contemplating it).

That was how we shared the jabs, and the two gay slurs came about yesterday in a Nairobi dating which we had on a road.

The major ball of contention between us was her always keeping on me to leave the office earlier.  She badly wanted my escort, which was ok. She wanted to evade the high fares, fine with me. And most serious was that her mother wanted he home early, which I didn’t mind.

But after an incessant nagging for me to hurrying up I would be forced to cut short my inveterate internet proclivities to go home with her.  

I would be rushed from the office to the lift, but immediately on ground floor she would change.

“Mannu, there is no need for the hurry let’s just stroll” she curtsied taking my arms tenderly.

And I would feel thoroughly irked; the erstwhile busy girl suddenly had the all time in the world while I had been cut from internet.

“Your mother called and we are going to catch the mercurial fare so let’s roll” I replied waltzing her around the parked cars, human and traffic jam to the bus stop.

The first matatu shouting our route number would be a welcome. Her idea of a little street chit chat (Mannu you are so silent) wasn’t taken lightly. With my arms under her armpits we boarded, not taking any chance with the mercurial Nairobi bus fares.

“Are you ignoring me? You are so silent.” My standard reply was to point at the speakers right above us (They are bursting dear, we won’t communicate).

That was how it was for the past three months of internship, but yester-night to finish her stint she caught me flat footed.

Yesterday I wasn’t hurried out of the office, no. She gave me a free rein on the computer as I enjoyed Def Jam poetry and Maya Angelou reciting her verses on the Youtube.

As we strolled to the bus stop without the customary waltzing my silence infuriated her to the first gay slur?

My laughter was suddenly arrested by her eyes boring into me like red point of a laser before the trigger of a M16 is pulled. Other bystanders looked at my ears curiously for a stud.

“You have ignored me for three months” she accused me coldly. More commuters, now attracted by her fuming looked at my ears Dr. Willy Mutunga style.  She reached into her hand bag for her ‘street shoes’ and bandana to protect her hair against the dust, ignoring everyone.

“We are going for a long walk and we need to talk, no matatu today” she hissed.

Say what! I have the fare girl, I will pay today. C’mon Nairobi girls shouldn’t be walking. It’s 7 o’clock, just look at the watch dear it’s late. Anyway you complain that I always walk too fast for you.

“Follow me” the girl we will call, not her real name, Dorothy commanded.  Hell hath no fury. I obliged knowing I didn’t need nuclear science to know I was in a hot soup.

For philosophical digression; never taunt, because you can’t miss, a missile from a woman. And when the hunter turns the hunted from a wounded prey with a bruised ego, then he won’t go far.

The dearth in my part with Dorothy was her need to bolster her ego since except me, all the men including two fellow internees, had had their heart in her hands. I was not keen to join the queue from a kilometer away.

I survived her with my silence and mature deep furrowed face which made her open up about her office mishaps. You see when you are silent with an ear for conversation you tend to hear more that what you bargained for, but back to last night….

A tall lean figure (me) and a petit diminutive girl hand-in-hand strolled from Ronald Ngala, past Nairobi River to Kariokor Market past Ngara (With passengers and motorists staring at us). Amid the evening traffic she deftly hanged on my arms all the way to Pangani (where I flatly refused to go any further).

We haggled a truce; I badly wanted to be home (without her) even though she hinted about being this  being her last night before heading back to college.

To glean what we talked about, I let her rumble on about the details of men in a confined office messing up their egos. I wasn’t keen into jumping the bandwagon of her dating history.

The second gay slur came when I told Dorothy she was like a little sister to me. I shrugged it off as I boarded a matatu home. Without an option with my determination she followed me in at the last row seats.

“I had to survive, all those old men beating down on me I just need to be crafty to avoid the dustbin” she said as the matatu pulled out (The office talk was just that, office talk).

 I felt her pain, nothing sucks like amoral incessant of men suffering from mid-life crisis and still watching porn on their phones on a ego trip.

“I had a beautiful siz in you, I treasure the memories” I assured her, which was badly needed.

“I hope you won’t judge me”

“I didn’t, even though I knew what was happening, I won’t start judging you now”

“I will miss you Mannu, am leaving for college tomorrow”

“Good luck dear”

“Good luck”

She gently stroked the hair on my hand as other passengers looked uneasily. We didn’t care.

That was 9.58pm yesterday night, as I and Dorothy went to the estate together for the last time.

But now as I type this on office computer, the wailing sailing emptiness of her absence haunts. This nest has suddenly grown small, fellow internees have grown wings, and Dorothy was the last.

She went with a piece of my heart, in shred of tenderness of Nairobi night dating…. 

How the ghetto rent is broken down in Eastlands, Nairobi

An old congenial man, my land lord is. Upstairs on the flat he floats quietly on the stairs, a very simple man. He rarely talks, but his eyes say a lot. Much more, to a keen observer with a sense of good story.

Paying rent last week I prodded him gently with words from his reclusive cocoon. I was itching for a landlord’s angle on state of housing.

“Hii pesa mwalipa sio yote inaingia kwa mfuko wangu” He said gently. (The rent you pay, not all of it ends in my pocket)

The ensuing chat opened my eyes to how rent is broken down in Eastlands, Nairobi.

To begin the garbage collector gets about Ksh. 200 from every house. This hunched men bending forlornly over bins in dawn hour like things forgotten in Nairobi onward march to civilization play an important role.   

They unclog drainages and man holes aiding the city in chocking to death its water bodies.

They are players in the politics of poverty; the city council is blocked from estates with their taxes which translate to high prices on comodities. (A Ksh. 100 vegetable in Uchumi Supermarket, Aga Khan Walk goes for Ksh. 20 In Eastlands)

This makes the collectors to come in handy where the council is not allowed.

A second person and most interesting is the estate electrician. This is the  jobless guy with a Dip in electrical and has interned with Kenya Power and Lighting Company, KPLC. The crook pockets a cool Ksh. 300-500 per house very end month.

KPLC with their monopolistic obsession places electricity as a privilege. The crook just invests in gadgets and wires, enters a deal with tenants and the electricity bureaucratic doodle is checked.

“It took time to fill the papers at KPLC for electricity” the old man states, before losing hope. Tenants were restless until one month when he came to collect rent to find the flat wired.

“They just tapped it from the pole outside during a blackout” he says.

So next time KPLC announces an increase of rates due to drought an Eastlando is not worried. Anyway he/she is been paying over 50% less on the bills.

The same tactic is used to illegally tap Council’s water and sell in the estate.

The third are the estate hothead having a hand in every fight. They are guest of the state making the OCPD to know them by their three names. You pass this group high on khat discussing football fixtures and wonder where he gets his daily bread.

Partly reformed they keep off muggers and petty misfits. Their services though not seen are a psychological satisfaction to Nairobians obsession of getting mugged. (Offering the same catharsis like an armed guard in up-market Muthaiga)

Lastly in the list is the estate agent next to boards written ‘Vacancy room Avalable.”  This is the type revolutionary rapper Immortal Technique in the song Poverty of Philosophy calls ‘the ghetto bred capitalist trying to escape the ghetto with their ignorant ways’

They are the ghetto classified like online Delfish and Nsoko.

“They know how to corner the defaulters at 10pm and before 5am to get the overdue rent” the old landlord explains passing me my receipt.

And need I add that the bugger gets a 10% discount?

Don’t read this if you’ve never lost a mobile phone

10 things you realize when you lose your mobile phone


A mobile phone charging booth

 I had to part ways with my mobile phone a week ago due to Nairobi matatu craze. All I knew is that I had the phone while boarding in River road, but on alighting my phone was gone.

I was escorting my cousin heading to Coast province for a work schedule.

Apart from cussing the high crime rate in the capital and your supposed carelessness, I have come to realize 10 things you learn on the loss of your phone.

You don’t have a wrist watch; and a wall clock, that is if you are still a single hustler. I realize this with the numerous times I reached in my pocket for the phone to know the time and hitting a blank.

The culmination was when I reached at the office before 7:15 to be turned away by cleaners (Since the kids were off to school I reasoned I was late for office)

You don’t know your spouse’s number; you might have exchanged steamy messages and late night flirting, and you ignored the number was just there. The category goes with your siblings, parents, friends and colleagues. A lost phone often brings rueful thoughts of lost contacts.

Prior to my ordeal I was to visit my sister and have a prospectus date the next day. Though my sister called, the date sulked for ‘shutting my phone’ on her.

So you had a radio; with a phone radio, internet and memory card with music you suddenly realize an alternative source of entertainment. For me, I had to dust and tinker with an old transistor bought in high school days till it squeaked to life.

Neighbors are the closest relatives; the occasional greetings and a genuine show of concern pays. When in trouble neighbors are the closest and first people to show concern. A little chitchat at the tap with a lady helped have a phone to receive important calls for a half a day while replacing my SIM card.

Additionally, a fellow internee in office helped me with her phone during the day.

You are still the child of the family; no matter how old you are and living in your own house, to the family you are still a child with the umbilical cord intact, to cherish and protect.

After informing my elder brother and cousin on Facebook about my predicament, a phone call through my neighbor aided everyone to pass their wishes. The thought of the family praying for you is most refreshing.

Public phones are obsolete, expensive; the remaining were set ablaze as road blocks during demonstrations with the few still standing being out of order. The Simu ya Jamii (Public phones) monopolized by Safaricom are damn expensive.

A 5 minute call did cost me Ksh. 150 making a 30 min call to be equivalent to the cheapest phone in the black market.

Don’t worry, you are still careful; there is no need to beat yourself on the head over you loss, if you friends claim of losing more expensive gadget and in sheer negligence (like dropping them in alcohol) is anything to go by you are still careful.

You never needed those numbers; it was forced down you phonebook by an acquaintance you met in a workshop and all attempts at calling them was meet with “excuse me who did you say you are.” Now at least you can excuse yourself for losing their numbers and your phone without appearing guilty.

Send an application? Move on they won’t call; you have been sitting on your phone waiting for we will call you mantra or only successful candidates will be contacted. You’ve have lost you phone and nothing has happened, it’s better to try you luck somewhere, as you hope instead of waiting.

Finally, the mobile is an extension of your personality; it was easier to lock yourself away from the world with your earpiece and social media to chat the world away. It is suddenly taken away and you realize you miss a portion of your personality.

Day 2 in Nairobi and am lost in Eastleigh enroute to city center

Eastleigh estate. BBC online

I experienced it first hand; when it pours Nairobians have atavistic tendencies tacked away beneath their skins exposed to all and sundry. Today morning it was worse when the City woke with a down pour.

It was in this wet instigated mad rush that i ended up in Eastleigh by boarding a matatu i thought was heading to the CBD.

The mercurial fare in the capital which was 30 bob more in morning got me duped when the tout accepted the customary 30 bob in the morning rush. it was when the anticipated landmarks delayed that it did hit me that i was heading to Gikomba market and not the CBD.

The feeling of getting lost  started when i realised i was in Easleigh eastate. The Arabian perfumes from new commuters, the bushy and bearded faces, well tendeed shops sellliing carpets, clothes and perfumes, and lastly posters of Kamukunji by election campaigns confirmed the worst.

Though perplexed i dared not ask for obvious reasons.As the shops increased i new i had to think quick.

Quick calculation made me realize that in Gikomba market, a meeting point for Nairobi traders the cacophony of confusion would get me lost further so i alighted and went to board other matatus plying the opposite direction.


And that was when i made the mother of all mistakes when lost in Nairobi. Unlike up country, the matatus plying the opposite lane don't necessarily go back to where you are from!!

You further know you are in a hot soup when you share a street in the morning with street families, winos, lady's night carousers and school kids. So there was i with the rain soaking me to my bones and in the middle of God-knows-best!

I built hope that since where i was was the 'First Avenue Easleigh' then the was a chance of matatus to town. Other matatus passed back to other easates while others took traders to Ngara market next to the CBD (You can figure how many i asked before knowing this fact).

It was a veiled lady wearing an hijab who pointed to an accident further up the road that had diverted the matatus to town to another lane. I tried to look purposeful as i followed  her directions, but before reaching the destination a tout called out that a matatu was headed to town though the number wasn't 9/6 for Easich.

After a few meters and almost out of the Somali Ndogo (AS Esich is called) the tout realized there was more passengers to Ngara than Town and dumped us at a bus-stop rudely.

Sarakasi Dome and Ngara
Just ahead a group of Somalis hurdled together in cold, i walked to them and started a chat with an old Somali man about the general weather. I got relived when other passengers, mostly of Somali origin, joined in and complained of the increased fare to the CBD. Need i say i was relived!

So when the next Matatu pulled by with the tout screaming his lungs out "Tao! Tao! 80!" i was the first one in the hiked fare not withstanding. The other commuters remained behind ganging against the tout, while i stayed put.

With no respite the other passengers joined in before the old man shouted at the tout in the effect of Kikuyu's and their money. In a counter measure the tout joined by his driver went into a diatribe about terrorism, Osama's death, drug abuse and gays (the last two being thorny to Muslims especially with the Coast province vice)

Suddenly the argument turned bellicose and truculent with the rain and the hiked fare forming a perfect cocktail for a soar mood. Curse words were traded with mother's nether organs thrown about carelessly.

I slithered deep in my seat and thought ruefully of a bad day already getting worse.

To beat the traffic the driver took a panya (mouse) route to Ngara post office down the Sarakasi Dome sharing a fence with Ngara Girls before entering the Ngara market. (To digress, i couldnt stop imagining the student in prep with the Dome disco)

My first entry in the famous market and the place was muddy and trades milling about like peasant lost in the city's concrete jungle. We were further delayed with trucks haphazardly parked while off loading their products.

A matatu

This compounded the mood further with some Somali women yelling like a pack of rabid dogs called the tout and his driver morons. In anger the last duos dumped us at the fire station in Tom Mboya street opposite the Old Nation in a foul mood.

With about two and a half hours wasted, i walked the remaining distance crest fallen. I was late for scheduled attachment appointed which i had wrestled from an irate secretary.

Take it from me: No matter how smartly dressed you are, with polished shoes, smart mind and perfect attitude you would still appear stupid and dumb when rained on in Nairobi!

With a light touch: 36 reasons why I love to be a man (And am not a chauvinist)

In the constant barrage of men by gender activists and feminists which is constantly making men to seem to apologize for being men, I come to think about being a man. I have come to realize that we men (without necessarily appearing as chauvinists or sexist) are very simple and uncluttered creatures which makes us a happy lot.

The following 36 reasons has made me realize why male readers of The Burning Splint need to be happy;

1.       Your last name will stay put even in marriage

2.       The garage is all yours and you’re the king there without interruptions

3.       Wedding plans often take care of themselves

4.       Chocolates is just another snack

5.       You can be the president

6.       You can never be pregnant

7.       You can wear a T-shit to a party and a swimming pool

8.       You can also wear  no T-shirt to a swimming pool

9.       Car mechanics tell you the truth

10.   The all world is your urinal

11.   You don’t have to drive all the way to another petrol station toilet because this ones are just too dirty

12.   Same work, more pay

13.   Wrinkles add character

14.   People never stare at your chest when you talk to them

15.   Occasional well rendered belch is practically expected

16.   New shoes don’t cut, blister, or mangle your feet

17.   You have one mood all the time

18.   Phone conversations are over in 30 sec flat

19.   A 5 day vocation requires only one suitcase

20.   You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness

21.   If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend

22.   Your underwear is Ksh 200 and they come in 5 pack

23.   Three pairs of shoes are more than enough

24.   You have strap problems in public

25.   You just never see wrinkles in your clothes

26.   Everything on your face stays in its original color

27.   The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades and cost only Ksh 20.

28.   You only have to shave your face and neck, and still have freedom of choice concerning growing a moustache

29.   You can play with toys all your life

30.   Your belly usually hide and never pronounce your big thighs

31.   You only need one wallet and a pair of shoes

32.   You want only one color for all seasons

33.   You can wear shorts no matter why your legs look like

34.   A pocket knife is enough to ‘do’ your nails

35.   You can do Christmas shopping for 25 members of the family on December 24 in 25 m,inutes flat

36.   Lastly, you don’t freak out when you go to the party and see another man wearing the same shirt, instead you become buddies