Kenyan Mamaz - Why I Still Love 'em ...

Why I still love Kenyan Mamaz ...

Last night, in my customary fourth gear of a keroro induced slumber, I finally understood everything. I was, through telekinesis or some cabalistic power, teleported to the annus mirabilis of human existence, where it all began. That year is 1905. There, I was presented with the “The Special Theory of the Relative Experiences of Kenyan Mamaz.”

The most emotionally discombobulating question/comment a pretty mama can ask/make is:

“Do you know what I have been through?

I have been through a lot …

These kinds of remarks conjure images of majonzi, despair, utter desolation, et cetera. Kumbe!!...I hereby present to you a succinct equation that is the quintessence (tial) embodiment of mundane mama chatter (ly) that should shed a gleam of dawn ... on these experiences ...

E = mc²

Where:

E = Everything (note the capital “E”)

m = magnified
c = complicated

and:

“Everything” and “Magnification” are equivalent and transmutable …

Following are several practical applications of the theory:

“I have had such a bad day” – When a guy utters these words, mamaz please dote on him. Give him a hug, a big wet kiss, and if schedules permit, let him access you horizontally. Why? Because he means exactly that! He might have had an accident on the way to work, missed being hit by a car, was fired from work, or a host of other commensurate tragedies! What about mamaz? Ati the b/f did not call her at lunch time, she overheard a co-worker bitching about her, or more trivially, ati chai ilimwagika kwa jiko in the morning and she had no time to wipe coz she’da been late to work… Ngai fafa …


“He put me through a lot” – When a guy semaz he’s been put through a lot by a chick, it’s some serious dose … like finding out on the wedding day that a chick’s been wekaing other jamaas 4 all this time, or almost getting his “tools” chopped off in an argument … but some mamas … eish … maisha needs to go on … you’ll pata a mama is not eating, is not talking, can’t go to work, is crying all the time … ati coz of memories of a guy who dumped her 2 or 3 months ago … na ukimwuliza ni nini, unaambiwa “It’s that time of the month” … cum on …


With mamas, it’s all relative … small issues are magnified … serious ones are downplayed. I have decided to stop criticizing and start understanding. At the end of the day, after all the relativity is accounted for, there still is nothing like the good Kenyan gal next door … still love ‘em all to bits … be they farmgals or princesses … so I’ll always be relatively ready to relate to your relative experiences if you cum ova to my place …


footnote: Lesson from a village boy … to avoid the “chai related stresses” described in (i) above … spread the tea leaves on the “about to boil” combo of milk and water and koroga with a kichungi … that way … hautamwagiliwa ….

A REAL REASON TO QUIT BEER ...

The Wrath of Grapes ...

Up until yesterday, I always thought that people “put on” alcohol a lot of blame, mostly undeservedly. Chief among them is the notion that beer “kills brain cells.” This has got to be the biggest pile of bull ever assembled. After all, if that were true, is it wholly unreasonable to expect that the brain cells that cajole us to drink beer would have been long dead?

Secondly, is the notion that drinking beer is a sin. In fact, my church back in Kenya so strictly adheres to this doctrine that we use strawberry juice in place of wine during communion. Am not so sure this goes down well in heaven but then again, it’s the faith that counts … Talking about counting, I had this weird fantasy that drinking beer might count as a sin on judgment day.

Given that:

a) Beer consumption predates the discovery of bread...
b) These days approximately 133 billion litres of beer are consumed annually …

I don’t think angels keep a log of individual consumption. So what if a proxy measurement will be used? Let’s say the size of one’s kitambi. I was thinking that Kenyan men will be doomed on this account but after watching an episode of The Sopranos last night, our spot in paradise is secure. Tony and Bobby are in for a roasting. I mean, those are humongous beer bellies …So once again, this is not a good enough reason to quit …

Thirdly, some chicks are very “demanding.” I have heard a lot of chicks say they’d rather not mess around with a guy who has a “pot.” They should be well advised that “All men have six-packs.” It’s just that some men are modest and choose to conceal theirs … But since I know how persistent chicks can be, forewarned is forearmed. There is song that they always play on radio that can’t leave my mind:

Gal I’ll really try to work it out
Am tired of panting...
I hope that you’ll want me
The way I want you
There’s no excuse
I got this nice-bulge where my six-pack used to be …
Am so old, am so old, sooo old …

So once again, this is a flimsy reason to quit …

BUT this last one has sent me scampering to formulate a withdrawal timeline. If I can have, in my retirement, an erection as monstrous as the hangover I just had this past Sunday, I am likely to die a happy man. The irony is that it might be necessary to abstain from this deliciously pleasurable product of Jesus’ first miracle if am to enjoy my 401-K. It has come to my attention that beer, in the long term can reduce one from a stud to a dud. The problem is, the cumulative effects take time, and can kick in just when you settle into that retirement mansion for a lifetime of loving and being loved. Now that, I cannot cope with. I dug up a lot of stuff online, and science seems to unfortunately, corroborate this position. BEWARE KENYAN MEN!!


I have long considered the process of beer drinking, with friends, to be the second most pleasurable activity after [YOU KNOW WHAT]. Soon though, this is going to be a thing of the past in light of this evidence. But first I have to clear the six-pack of Heineken in the fridge and the Southern Comfort before I can quit . Afterall, Kenyans DO NOT throw away alcohol as ACOLYTE so aptly puts it here.