crEATive

Mondays are the worst... Christmas Monday, she's a beauty. Dearly Beloved, December came, December is here, I am December's obese child. Actually, more like, if December and April had a love child, I would be it. So I present to you words hoping you will still like me after not being on this side of town for a minute. Praying that you will like me more when I tell you, I shall leave this here seeing as Aunty Wairimu has just arrived from Nyeri with her entire FLEET! Yes, a fleet of children. Or maybe Netflix is lit and I am just a lazy hog with man tits to my knees and a bag of crisps on my layers of stomach. Either way, I like y'all, please still like me back. Oh and Happy Happy Christmas Fam. Get LIT! #BeingAsMillenialAsPossible #ILoveUsingHashtags #YouHaveProbablyAlreadyNoticedItOnMyInstagram. Banana Bread Recipe Ingredients 2 very ripe bananas 2 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon Baking Powder 1 cup white sugar 1 large egg beaten 3/4 cup margarine Vanil

What does a normal individual do on a Saturday morning? Well, hold a solid conversation with his cat of course. Here’s one I had with Patricia the other day. Patricia: (walking at brisk pace) Hello human. Self: Cat. Patricia: (jumps on couch and makes herself comfortable, ready to stew in her own heat) Fine Day isn’t it guv’nah? Self: What person says guv’nah at 10:47 am Saturday morning? Patricia: In case, you haven’t noticed bruh, I am a CAT, Feline, relative of Lions and Cheetahs and all those other barbaric relatives of mine. Self: Well, two shouts for Miss Family Spirit! Patricia: You need to work on your sarcasm bro, I mean, Simba (the neighbours’ dog) has better stuff, than the pathetic lines you try passing off. Self: Did you honestly rouse your fur, walk into the house and share a couch with me just to lower my self-esteem? Patricia: Oh my God, you and moaning! Boo-Hoo, no one cares, hey did I tell you of that time I did a thing on the couch? Self: You mean using

Two things DB, good news and bad news. (DB- Dearly Beloved. Status of our relationship, I can fart in your presence.) So, farts and all, the good news is, I have discovered Facebook filters. Like the Snapchat ones. Bad news, since I am subject to the societal dictation of masculinity, I shan’t share images of myself in the said filters with you. They are for my eyes only, well, mine and the swarm of people seated behind me in a 14 seater matatu, but yeah, you get the drill. These filters dearly beloved have become my favourite pastime. You know how normal people do video games, baking, fornication, Bible Study etc., well mine just happens to be taking self-portraits and enhancing them using these digital era things. Narcissism at its best. I am the embodiment of self-absorption at this point in my existence. Here’s my deal with Facebook. For a long period of time, Facebook has for me been a secret love affair. A clandestine engagement. Done in the bushes, under the cover of darknes

COMING OF AGE By Jenny Kihara: So when Allan asked me to write about how it feels to turn 21 and officially become an adult, I thought, OMG! I am ancient!! Where has the time gone?! But slowly, that changed. Zora Neale Hurston once wrote about a river that was deep in conversation with a nearby brook. The river was telling the brook about a love story that he had witnessed as he passed through the village. Mr River here, (not his real name) told the story, which had happened over a long time. What caught my attention was how the river kept referring to years as man’s way of defining time. The river found it very absurd. Almost funny. How man can call a particular period 40 years. Or 2 minutes, like that. And now, I find myself in agreement with the river. Time cannot be limited, or put into slots. Time is just time. Perpetual sunrises and sunsets. And aging is simply the passage of time. For me, coming of age feels like coming back to who I was, before teenage-hood took over. Ou

Let me set the mood for today's story, a tiny matatu, probably, 11 seater. Plot twist, we are almost 700 in this space, no joke, literally 700 (we are tiny people so we are packed like tins of jam) okay, seriously, we are around 17 of us including the driver. Do I make up part of this excess? OF COURSE! I wouldn't be left behind while others had the time of their lives rubbing bodies and stuff. So, I am the excess on the very back row of seats. In my face, is a sweaty head. This is my substitute for Oxygen ladies and gentlemen. Body excretion is what I am filling my lungs with. Not like my lungs are in tip top shape though. Far from it, I've been blowing chalk dust rings since I was 7, I am the original ' Bad boy kutoka standard 2 ' #NyashinskiReference Sidebar: can I just say how much I loved that song, kwanza the hook, " Usimpe roho yako waza kwanza wapi tofauti yake nao? Sina noma naye wououo!!!!! " Many are the matatu rides when I would fantasize b

86. The number of days left till Christmas. That period we all get excuses to overdo: overeating, overspending, oversharing (Social Media eeeh!), overdressing and my favourite part, there is all the New Year New Me just around the corner. ‘New Year New Me’, I aspire to be that guy who brews for a living. We’ll make 750 ml of a kaStrong one we will call, New Year New Me . We will run ad-campaigns on the Twitters and IGs of this world (who still uses FB anyway?) and we will uses these individuals with smartphones and Wi-Fi, commonly referred to as ‘ Influencers ’, to push our brand with the hashtag # NYNM . The video we shoot for the campaign will be voiced by a heavily accented baritone, because what could be more suave than a heavily accented baritone right? The baritone will say several things in a creepy low voice, the one the Sapiens of these modern era refer to as ‘ bedroom voice’ . Now, you may ask, why on earth would I buy a beverage whose advert features a bedroom voiced bar

I love rainy weather. The gloomy air, the heavy grey clouds, the water. The smell of the earth changing after the rain. In the background, there’s Jay-Z a.k.a Baba Ivy (that’s as far as I will go with that), behind a mic, accompanied by a sultry voiced mama harmonizing his rap. He is singing something about apologizing for the miscarriages he caused because he wasn’t present. That’s deep, ama it’s just a metaphor, either way… in comes Minaj and Mama Ivy talking about women empowerment and ‘feeling themselves’. That’s music on shuffle for you, no mood flow whatsoever. Back to the feeling myself thing, if I were the one using that line, tsk tsk tsk. Imagine it, there I am, in the shower surrounded by all the foam from my bathing soap and then, I break into that line, “I’m feeling myself, I’m feeling myself.” No that just won’t work, at least not in the house I live in. Yes, I do have Nicki and Beyoncé in my music player, gotta problem? I thought so! So it is in this setting that I c

I recently began (and as at Friday August 18, 2017 01:23, completed) watching five episodes of Season 1 of the series going by the name, Lucifer . So, children, wanna hear what it’s all about? So, there’s this guy, he’s the devil, right, he comes to earth on ‘vacation’ and leaves hell without a chief punisher. Hollywood being, well, Hollywood, decided to make our good man here, a punisher on earth. He busts crime with a hot mama with a smashing jaw line and who had at one point in her life appeared in an R-rated movie (at least that’s what I gathered) that involved her taking her top off exposing what they termed as a rather formidable pair of knockers. Now, that was not the highlight of the whole thing, at least for me it wasn’t, the highlight was this: the devil has a brother, I mean all angels are practically brothers, notice the lack of gender equality there, all-male angel choirs, #CueTheFeminists. The brother comes to earth regularly not because he loves the humans sana , no,

I have been on a camel only once in my life, well at least that’s how I remember it. I have probably had myself more than one of those pleasant rides. Here I use the word ‘pleasant’ rather loosely. You see, in my sole memory of camel rides, the experience is ANYTHING but pleasant. The caps are for drama. Here’s what I learnt from that single ride; PEER PRESSURE IS REAL. Peers in this context being my parents and their friends, who also happen to be parents. The irony is, these friends to my parents did not put their own spawn to such a harrowing, scarring, life-threatening (yes, I am exaggerating), depression-inducing experience. “ Oh-my-goodness, Allan, look, a camel! Wouldn’t you want to ride one? Oh I’m sure you do, come let’s ask your dad ,” said Parents’ Friend 1 (a lady) “… Baba Allan, si you just let your son have the time of his life on one of those camels, amesema anataka umlipie, ” she continued. NOTE: All through, nowhere has my input been considered, nowhere did they