MISS BELINDA BUTT - THE 'SOCIALITE'.

Hello. My Name is M'mugwika M'raini. And i  have nothing against you. Nothing at all. I am not anyone you'd look at twice. In fact, my background is bananas, nappier grass, cows, stray mongrels and more bananas. First time i saw a sky-scraper, i was twenty. And that was The K.I.C.C, Nairobi, where when looking up, i felt either the clouds were moving a bit too fast or the darn thing was coming down on me. I went to lower primary school barefoot, not because my folks couldn't afford decent footwear, but because shoes were outlawed in my school. My only encounter with a Boeng 747, which is how you travel Business Class to that social function in Singapore, is through the movies. I still don't know how to dine in five star hotels and i've never quite understood why a sane man will abandon the legendary spoon, for the other complicated stuff like chopsticks, folks and knives. I mean, if the idea is to only scoop my food, most of the times all I'd need is my bare hands!.

So you see. I would have no reason to harbor any ill feeling towards you. You are way above my league. But i do have reasons to believe that i own a brain that works pretty well. And save for a few mishaps here and there in my past ( And for which there is a perfect explanation ; one, Muguka , a drug/stimulant grown in my country or two, Senator Keg Beer, a brew that is made of whatever is left after they have made Tusker, i hear), i have not been known to walk around town minus my entire thought unit. And its from that unit, that i derive these few concerns that surround you and people like you. It's not my business, I hear you say, but in response, I'll ask to read on.

The Transformation.

First time they took your picture, and placed it in my weekend newspaper pull-out, i thought you looked beautiful. Your hair was great, even to a naive guy like me. Your teeth looked naturally healthy and that smile real. Even your out fit was stunning, if you ask me. You looked real, even believable. 

Then someone placed on you the tag 'socialite' and you abandoned the outfits for the skimpy wear that only falls short of revealing the unmentionable. But because, as i said, some of us may have functional brains, my imaginations are stirred every time they put your picture on my magazine or when someone uploads your video online, dancing (Funny how you dance..only your waist moves, and your audience plus the one with the camera, sits strictly behind you). But i've been made to understand that stirring our imaginations to near toxic levels is actually the intention here so, i should either shut my unsophisticated mouth or relocate to Mars. To Mars because i hear you've now gone global and there's no hiding from you. 

Even The Arab Royal families now invite you to grace their lavish birthday parties, i hear. And i believe it because, the other day, i saw you playing with a tamed lion in some Riyadh Palace, belonging to a renowned oil tycoon. Yet for all her philanthropic efforts, they never did the same for Mother Theresa. Or for Wangari Maathai, she who put her life on the line to save the planet, for a thankless human race. Its always you and that tall American, who walks like a giraffe with a knee handicap on a catwalk, Naomi Campbell. Yes. That Briton who's now Kenya's official tourism ambassador.

Back in the day, they would take your pictures from the front, just like the rest of us. But now they will only snap away if you turn, to reveal your ever-growing backside. And then you have to look back , or we wouldn't know who it is. Now all our girls have abandoned being photographed from the front, and they all do it while turning around, then looking back as if they forgot something where they are coming from. These things i don't understand. And i'll hold you personally responsible if any of our daughters dislocates her midriff, in an attempt to emulate you.

The Querries.

Many times i've heard people wonder why your skin keeps getting lighter. Or why your backside keeps threatening to break out, increasing in size every six months. And i try to make them understand that its no fault of yours, that for some people, some of their body parts keep growing in size, even after they've hit thirty. While other parts keep changing in complexion, like your skin. It happened to Michael Jackson, now its happening to you. Some conditions are only for the affluent, i guess. That's why to date, no such occurrence has been reported in Turkana, and which explains why the Health Department remains largely un aware of it. But these people keep saying that you actually spend a fortune making the changes yourself. Despicable people! 

But this is where it gets risky and hence my concern. Take a look at Dolly Parton. Am not saying the same is going to happen to you when you hit seventy like she has. Am saying its going to happen to you earlier, like in your thirties, at the exact time you want to make some babies, then and even Matendechere will take quite some convincing to come anywhere near you. So here i'll say this to you; go easy on the knife. If you are not being 'cut',like a true Mumiiru man, then avoid going under all these knives. You may accuse me of poking my nose in other people's affairs hivi hivi. Well, at least, its my nose and i run no immediate risk of having to collect it from the floor like Michael Jackson!.

'The Hators'

Then there are these men (And women) who keep asking what it is that you actually do for a living. They seem to be under the false impression that everyone needs to work, if they are not Paris Hilton. Or if their Dad isn't Charles Cooper, McClarens Team F1 owner. They assert that no one born in rural Msambweni can just have free tickets to every party in the world. Maybe its time you told them what else you do, apart from being a 'socialite'. So they can stop peddling all these lies.

Like when they say that if all you do to make the big bucks, is show up at some party graced by oil tycoons's children, then there is a name for that profession and its not nursing. That the profession is not even studied in any college in the world, even American ones, where kids will get a Distinction in English, then rush in droves to google, for the meaning of the word 'stamina', when it shows up in their presidential debates. 

But these are unpolished men and women who don't understand basic civilization principles, like outlawing ogling by men at women, then turning around and legalizing gay marriages...make it as hard as possible for a man to show interest to a woman, while only falling short of endorsing 'gayism', as the new normal. So maybe you should dismiss them with that word you use on all who fail to agree with your choice of weave ( Or is it wig ) - 'Hators'.  Not that i know who those are, no. Its just that you seem to throw that word around everything and everyone that doesn't toe your line. I liked the way you used it on those who were asking what University in this planet you went to, and who saw you there, apart from God and yourself. As if one can't attend university in outer space, if they have the means.

But here, i agree with some of their sentiments. I know nothing goes for free in this world. I know that no man gives a girl a free ride to Monaco to watch the Grand Prix (Something she knows nothing about, but will cheer every time their 'Beau' does so) in his 30-Meter yacht, expecting nothing in return. There has to be a way through which you pay for all those treats. And it can't be money, because these guys have more money than Djibouti's entire running budget for the next millenium. I may be from the bush, but still a man nevertheless and i know how our minds are wired. Even the Pastor is no exception if he is human. Its just that he's learnt not to do what his carnal male mind is instructs him to do. 

But you see, the problem with paying these playboys that way (We both know which way), is if a girl with a bigger butt and lighter skin shows up, that's your cue to move. To Malawi. Because to them, you are a memento, a souvenir, part of a collection of sorts. You've been objectified, you are in a chess game and you don't even know the rules. The only way they win accolades from their peers is if they keep nailing the latest, the least used, the newest in their circles. That's why i chose Malawi for you, because that's the same place they are growing lots of tobacco and once they are through with you, you'll need it to, at least, roll your own cigars, a complete departure from the Cuban ones you held just a few years back.

So, Miss. Here's my unsolicited advice....get out while you still can. Quit 'while still on top', as they say. I know its hard but it can be done. If Size 8 ditched chanting lewd phrases on stage, which passed for music, for the pulpit, then surely nothing is impossible for a determined soul. Quit, because all humans hate slavery and that's what you've become. A light-skinned slave, with a Rolex watch. But you'll say, that's better than being free and having none.And you will do with your body as you please and those who have a problem with that 'can go hang'. (See?.I know all your phrases!). I disagree. At the risk of sounding all 'churchy'(Gosh!.He's going God on me!.Who does that anymore!?), your body is actually worth every honor and respect that God bestowed upon it. You are simply the custodian of it, it doesn't belong to you. 

He loved you, so He gave you the honor of seeing to it that its well taken care of. Do it and all shall be well. Ignore, and you'll have an expiry date, just like all consumable goods on the shelf. And the one who sees things about you which no one else does, the one from whom you can't hide all your pain and tears, which you privately shed in that gold-themed apartment in Burj Khalifa's 160th floor, will guide you home, gently, with his loving eye. He'll welcome you home with a smile, erase your past in a flash and usher you to a place, a level,where all the lies and the 'smoke-screens' will only appear as a tiny, little dot, in the far horizon.

Good Luck, Ma'am.

YET ANOTHER DAY GONE- KENYAN YOUTHS WAY.

Its a beautiful sunny day. Days like these had better be well spent. If you let these kind of days pass you by, you might just remember them later with regret. But i'm the smart type, so i know what to do. I'll put on my best clothes, and head to town. That Man United jersey always impresses. Once in town, i'll get down to 'hustling'. Hustling means, getting Muguka on credit from Mwas, and some cigarettes from Kiaba, also on credit. How i'll pay them back, i don't know. A real hustler never wastes time worrying about small, small debts. Besides, mwanaume ni madeni. In fact, once this herb kicks in, i've got solutions for the global warming, The Brexit debacle and The Corona vaccine issue. Its as simple as that. So you worry if you feel like, am not joining you down that road.

Building Castles In The Air.

Am now seated by the road side, my Muguka neatly arranged and things are beginning to change right before my eyes. Its now noon, but i would care less about time, if this feeling is anything to go by. All the issues that were troubling me before, begin to evaporate, as i imbibe more on this wonder-drug from Mbeere. I'm beginning to wonder why i was so worried about this month's house rent, yet i'm now a landlord, with houses in every town of Kenya. Hell, i even have a mansion in Brazil, where they held the Olympics the other day. What i don't understand is why i never made the trip there, so i could watch Bolt bolting and obliterating the field in nine seconds flat. Or so i could house the Kenyan robbers in blue suits, masquerading as the athletics team officials, then knock the NOCK out of them by charging exorbitantly.

A bus from Mombasa is speeding past. I wonder how much they have made today. See, its time i caught my bus's crew in the act. I've always suspected they steal a fortune from me. From my ten buses, plying the Mombasa-Meru route, i wonder how i could only manage 50 million in a whole year!. It has to be more. Time i switched to Choppers, if this keeps going on. Because a chopper doesn't need a road to reach its destination. Besides, i can always build an airstrip in Timau, where i own a hundred acres of land. Not that my choppers will need the airstrip. No. Its the Cessnas am worried about. Two, i've already acquired, three are on the way coming. By the end of the week, the proud owner of five Cessna aircraft. I can literally see the clear Baite Air Travel writing on their tails. Which reminds me...

See this very morning, my wife was going on and on about some cash she needed. I had nothing on me, so i sulked, took my jumper and walked out. But now looking back, i don't understand how i could have been so blind. Because, all i have to do, come tomorrow, is walk into the nearest bank, ask for money, then walk out. Hivo tu. I now believe that all banks will want to lend me some money. Sometimes they'll even forget to get it back. Everybody wants to do business with a high end businessman like me. All i have to do is make up my mind on the amount and voilaa!,its done. But i couldn't have thought of that genius of a solution in the morning, because i had just woken up and was as sober as a judge.(Judges are sober and they still haven't nailed that Asian,three decades since the maverick leech milked the country's coffers dry?). See, it takes one 'bag' to get my mind running, two to move it into full throttle mode. Then, and only then, will everything just fall into place.

What i don't understand is why with each passing day, i seem to be getting poorer. I've built Malibus in Miami, alongside Maina Kageni's. I've bought and sold apartments in high rise skyscrapers in Chicago. I've cleared squatters from my thousand acre ranch in South Africa and sold it to the government, so they could build a soccer stadium. The state of the art Soccer City, to be precise, where Iniesta scored that goal that sunk the then fancied Dutch, and won Spain the world cup in 2010.Whether the rumors doing rounds, that all those stadiums S.A built for the tourney have now turned to white elephants, is none of my business. A real business mogul sells, forgets instantly and takes off the next day. I've banked proceeds from my secret Congo gold-trade in a Swiss Account that the best money laundering sniffers wouldn't sniff if they took all year sniffing. All that as i sat by the roadside, chewing this wonder drug, muguka. So i don't understand why with each passing day, instead of the Gucci shoes am supposed to own, my left shoe keeps looking like my right one. And vice versa. Now even the big toe is threatening to break out and it doesn't seem to be joking. I can't figure out where all the deals i make disappear to, on the onset of dawn. Or why in the morning, all i seem to have is my matchbox, with a stubbed-out cigarette inside. This is puzzling and i better get to the bottom of it, before it gets to the bottom of me.

The Reality Blues.

Its been a while since this habit kicked in. A decade, to be precise. Give or take. I have better things to do, than to keep counting my own mistakes. And rather than listen to all the hot-air being peddled by politicians left, right and center, i imbibe on this stuff and then i can make my own promises, get my own stuff done in record time and with my own kind of precision. They all come trooping back, the politicians, to the village after every five years with more promises to the youth .Frustrated, some of my age mates headed east, to fight their own country, hooded like sore thumps. Some came back, some never did. Those who came back, now roam the shopping centres like zombies, directionless. And the cops take them in for kicks or when bored. And hope, for them, is gone,s ame way the zeal to live did.  Though i didn't head East like they did, i did something similar;- i tore my voters card to shreds, mixed it with my herb, then chewed it. That's how i keep getting certified crooks for leaders, having eaten my only remaining weapon.

Time to head back home is nigh. And because i've spent the whole day doing nothing, i'm headed home with nothing. The crushing feeling of reality is gradually creeping in. Its the most fearsome feeling ever. It attacks you from all corners, leaving you feeling empty and worthless in its wake. I hate this feeling, i hate the truth. But its here, and Mwas can't be of any help now. Its time to face myself, time to soak all the lies in. There has to be a better life than this, but i don't know where to find it. And as i lie in bed, counting the iron sheets above and, in my mind, painting them in the process for the millionth time this year, i realize the bitter truth. Its all a sham. Its a hoax, made real by some twigs. Its the adversary's way of keeping you rooted at the exact same spot, year in, year out. Time i ditched the adversary. Time i switched sides. Time i joined the winning side, God's side, if He'll have me.

But for now, i turn to the wall,s wallow hard and shut my blood-shot eyes. Because for me, this, is yet another day gone.