How The French Ruined My Christmas (A Burundi Experience)

When I was younger we used to play a certain game that would require us to muster some skill in grammar or face the humiliation of being laughed at by a bunch annoying know-it-alls that would have gladly been recruited by Hitler in his grammar Nazi army. The choice of words you made would determine whether you would be the coolest kid that day or well… the dumbest. So the game would require us to stand in a circle, then think of an adjective that has the first letter as your name. So there’d be all sorts of cool adjectives like Danger Dave, Atomic Adam even Elegant Esther. My turn would come and I’d say Rey Misterio Ras. Then everyone in the group would pause with blank face except for Humorous H who I think the only humorous thing about him was his name Hanningtone. “You know, Rey Misterio from wrestling…?” I would say, my dignity coiling up in a bunch as everyone burst out in laughter; including Hanningtone.

It was then that I decided to change strategy. They already thought I was dumb and my love for wrestling did nothing to add to my ‘street rep’ so every time it would be my turn I’d say, “Amazing Mengesha!” and with confidence. Everyone would look at me, including Hanningtone and I’d say, “The A is silent….” Even Hanningtone was impressed.

Having said that, I spent last Christmas in the lovely tiny country that is Burundi…and yes it is tiny…okay in a cute at least-we-have-a-chance-to-all-know-each-other way.

 My departure date was a day after the Kampala Coach bombing and I have this philosophy that I feel the need to share with you… If it rains, stay at home. If your annoying friend who talks to you incessantly and keeps slapping your back as punctuation to all his sentences invites you for a date, stay at home, if you are sick, stay at home; if a bomb explodes somewhere remotely close to where you are, stay at home…or very very very far away (from the bomb, not home)! This time I however had to break protocol and go down to the explosion site…I used ‘I’ and ‘Explosion site’ in one sentence… L God save us….

The journey would take two days, with a stopover in Kampala for dinner (at 3 AM!!!). We would leave Kenya; go through Uganda, through Rwanda and finally Bujumbura the lovely capital city of Burundi.

The trip wasn’t as smooth as it looks. Bus companies should not allow people to travel with some things. These include: Small radios, Extremely spicy food (so spicy you can tell what it is by smell), annoyingly loud children, people who put their legs over the front headrest and end up tickling your ears with their disgusting feet and drivers who do not understand the biology of liquids and the human anatomy.

Many hours later and we were in Bujumbura. For a moment I thought I was in Mombasa; palm trees (in some parts), humidity, warm nights, polite people, and beautiful ehh… people … if you love Mombasa, then you will definitely love Bujumbura. Now we are even Burundi. My host was this cool Dj (name withheld because I only know how to pronounce it and that was hard enough) so we’ll call Him Dj. E. He was a cool guy. Flat screen television mounted on his wall, cool box seats only a bachelor would have, a mini fridge for those special nights and the mayonnaise, a 6 by 6 bed…he had goals.



Dj E is too cool to be drawn so I put a picture of Freaknik instead



Bujumbura is a great city to walk around. It’s like Nairobi without the tall buildings. Everything else is just like Nairobi they even have their own Muthurwa (open door market in Nairobi – for y’all reading this in Cyprus and Greece). I spent most of the time in town buying things and roaming idly and then I got arrested. Yes I got arrested…okay I accompanied an officer to the police station because I had broken a law…by definition I was arrested.

Policeman: (Random Kirundi)

Me: I don’t understand you…

Policeman: (Random French)

Me: I am Kenyan…Mimi ni Mkenya. (I am a Kenyan)

Policeman: Unaongea Kiswahili? (Do you speak Swahili?)

Me: Ndio (Yes)

Policeman: Wewe ni musoja…? (Are you a soldier?)

Me: Huh?

Policeman: Wewe ni musoja? (Are you a soldier?)

Me: Hapana. (No)

Policeman: Kwanini umevaa kofia ya musoja? (Why are you wearing a soldier’s hat?)

It was then that I realized I had my army camouflage hat on. I tried pleading with him to let me keep it but apparently it is against the law to have anything army if you are civilian. In my defense the material on the hat was only enough to make an army bandana… not a rebel uniform! So they took it…and that was that.

I told Dj. E my ordeal and he said a lot of things in French-Kirundi influenced Swahili loosely translated to, “Don’t worry dude…be coooool them popos be jumping homies all over town….” Of course Dj. E won’t see the joke in that because that is not what he said, but hey, that’s what I heard.

So Christmas came… and for some reason I thought it had left without me. Everyone was happy, kids were dressed up, churches were testing their new sound equipment but not even one person, not even on T.V. said Merry Christmas. I was confused and you cannot blame me. So Dj. E comes looks excited and says to me “Joyauex Noel!” and am like “What?” then he musters all the English he can and says, “Joyous Noel!” and am like, “Oh! I didn’t know your name was Noel, I know that game but it looks like you are not that good at it. So I proudly state, “Amazing Mengesha, the A is silent.” He looks at me blankly, smiles and walks away.

Later am in church and the locals find out am a Kenyan and are all over me (Am sure Dj. E wouldn’t call that snitching…nkt!). This guy walks up to me and says Noeri Nziza! and am like oh Dj. E your namesake. “Ras Mengesha” I say as I give him my hand and ignore the weird look on his face. Another one come and is like “Joyous Noel” and I reply “Amazing Mengesha, the A is silent.” It doesn’t take long before I notice that almost everyone is introducing themselves as Joyous Noel. So either that game we used to play is the in thing in Burundi or something is terribly wrong. A few more people introduce themselves as Noeri Nziza and I finally ask Dj. E how comes so many people are called that. He drops his cool, laughs at me so hard that for a moment I see Hanningtone standing there pointing his index finger at me laughing away.

Moments later he tells me, still laughing, Joyaux Noel is Merry Christmas in French and it is also said Joyous Noel; and as if that wasn’t enough, Noeri Nziza is Merry Christmas in Kirundi! No wonder everyone has been looking at me weirdly! But I don’t blame the fine people of Burundi for my humiliation. It is not their fault that a fine phrase like Merry Christmas doesn’t exist…imagine Santy (that’s what I call Santa Clause) Yelling, “Joyous Noel, Joyous Noel” Imagine how many joy-filled Noels would be like, Yes Santa?! Wassup!!! It’s all your fault France!

BONUS
I really enjoyed writing this post beacause of the many memories that (cliche alert) came flooding my way. It was however a lot of fun filtering them all to come up with a string that would form this story, that I really hope is well written...if not, feel free to book a Kampala Coach bus (on a bomb free day) go down to Bujumbura and see if anything as awesome as this will happen...okay I am going on and on about nothing.

A Mengesha's Colors first: Special shout out to Janet Nyongesa, Rose Odima, Natalie Abondo, Julian Kamau, Sue Abby Neondo, Mercy She, Christine Wanjuhi, Charlo Chiri (thanks for balancing the equation)and the chick who I have honestly forgotten her name and my Burundi family Dj. E, Herve (pronounced something like eghhhve), Claudine, Cynthia, Ninette, Ella, Christoph, Onella, Phinnie, Joel, Dirck and the whole of Hope Ministries.

I know you'll be reading this, so there....

BONUS II
I really had fun in my head drawing this...

Kenya 28 Feb (Form the Patriotic Horse's Mouth)

It is quarter to 1 and I still haven’t come up with an escape plan. I’ve been looking at the clock since noon and for some reason the clock seems to be literally in a hurry. There is no way I am going to miss out on this. I have pictured it for over a month and finally the day has come – February 28^th the day Kenyans unite to sing the national anthem.

I still do not see how my boss will let me go to town just to sing, and singing all by myself, as patriotic as it sounds, seems wanting in glamour and flare and being a sucker for both, I have to be where the action is, Kencom. So I decide to take an early lunch; I will deal with the boss later. Just as I get to the door he pokes his head out of the office and hands me a package to deliver. My destination, the K.I.C.C.

with a deserved detour through Kencom. I literally run all the way from Lusaka Road, Industrial Area to Kencom. Not even the stupid Pro box driver who pulls over unceremoniously almost running me into a ditch can stop me. I give him the eyes and keep running; across the Kenya railways foot-bridge, through the Kenya Polytechnic fly over then I walk between the Times Tower and Central Bank of Kenya (I do not think it’s a good idea to run in some parts of the city…no matter how late you are). I get to Kencom at 1.05 p.m. and my heart breaks.

I missed it (at least I thought so) there is nobody singing no fists raised, no tears shed. For a moment I am tempted to raise my fist and sing; there is no way I’m going back to the office with this overwhelming feeling of emptiness. Today was all about this one moment, when I would join random people and friends and sing the national anthem, at least the first verse – I would lip-sync the other two verses but still, I would have accomplished my goal. Not being one to give up easily I make my way to the crowd and find some fearless Kenyans singing some zilizopendwa patriotic songs, not even my lip-syncing can help me. I then decide to take photos at least to get a few memories.

Just as my phone was raised taking (very low flying) bird’s eye view photos of the crowd, it started. It got me off my guard and for a moment I thought the music was in my head. “Oh God of all creation, bless this our land and nation…” I had made it. I was singing the National Anthem with random people in the middle of the city, fists raised and all. I sailed through the first verse, mumbled the second and third then did it all again in Swahili.

I must admit I was a bit skeptical as to the effect of this little act of patriotism. It wasn’t much, didn’t cost me much (okay apart from the fact that I ran all the way across the city) but at that moment when I looked around to find the dreadlocked dude standing next to me singing with all his heart and the dude holding the ‘Bunge la Wananchi’ (People’s Parliament) banner who didn’t know the words of the third verse but did a stellar job moving his lips accordingly, it finally came to me…this was it. This was Kenya; an amalgamation of diversity, culture, intellect, physical appearance, (and in this case) voices. We were one. We might have been one 5 minutes before but the realization that came at that moment brought it out so clearly, we are one.

As I took photos of random people and some not so random (I still insist stalker tendencies do not make one a stalker…okay that is debatable)

 I thanked God for that moment, for the old man asking me for a match while still holding his flameless torch as if holding on to his nationality,

 for David Mckenzie and all repoters who hopefully will let the world see this simple act of nationalism, as well as all the cameras, eyes, ears, voices and souls that made it possible for Kenya 28^th Feb to happen. God bless Kenya.

Still I cannot stop asking myself, how will we manage to unite the classes? For while I stood at Kencom singing and praying for my country, people in South B’s Fuata Nyayo slum were looking on in horror as a fire destroyed everything they heard including their hopes for a better Kenya and a better tomorrow.  

BONUS (Just Cause I love Kenya So Much...)
Due to popular demand (we'll call it pressure), I drew an illustration for this post in as much as I didn't intend to. This is for anyone who didn't get a chance to sing or just didn't see the need to. This is how patriotic you would have looked....

Finally Got A Job (and with Lil Wayne)

I finally got a job…okay I finally got an office job and for those who know me, you know office air to me is like garlic bread to a vampire.

For those who do not know me, click here to find out my stand on organizations. I am risking a lot by writing this post in case my boss reads it and goes something like “OMG!!! I hired a psycho!!!” Then he’d call me to the office and I’d be like, “Hi sir, you called?” “So Ras…? ” “Ah, sir?” “You think you are very funny don’t you?” “Sir?” “You think it is hilarious to call your boss a vampire?!” “I think vampires are funny sir. The accent and the hickies...” Of course I’d be standing near the door just in case he turns into a vampire or he fires me; the former is more likely to happen.

Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against my boss and definitely nothing against vampires except for the part where they would be capable of sucking the life out of me and eating me alive as I scream in horror coz…you know, torn limbs aren’t fun. The thing that gets to me is the fact that I think I might be in the same building as a vampire boss. Okay most of you are new to this so I will educate you: a vampire is basically a dead body that comes to life, but is still dead and has no other desire than to turn you into a juice box or at least bite you and turn you into a vampire. A vampire boss is like the commander of vampire armies and is usually either an extremely old and ugly naked man or an extremely hot chick who eventually turns into an ugly-as-heck monster bent on well, killing you. If a vampire boss were to have a baby with a human, the baby would grow to be a black man with a shady early 90s hair cut who carries a sword, unnecessary amount of guns and kicks major vampire butt which explodes into a glittery haze of fireworks and smoke - and of course the blood curling screams (I hope that's the right curling [break] oh, its blood curdling scream...thank you google). You are welcome Wesley Snipes.

Of course I'd rather a vampire boss and his army than their evil compadres... the Zombies [insert horror sound effect] (I really should start a video blog...) my encounter with a zombie army here)

Having said that, that here being a load of totally life saving information on vampires, this month has been all about building the nation and all that crap. Gasp! he said crap...yes I did; this is why. Being the patriot I am, there is nothing I'd rather see than this lovely country of mine rising to a world domination status; and for that to happen, we have to work. This means that for some time, my dream of living on an unlimited supply of internet and crisps had to be paused and I had to [pause for effect] get a job [THE HORROR!!!!] While I have no problem getting a job (...at NASA), the waking up early would definitely be a problem and so to make sure I it was easier for me, I made sure I would put on every light in the house, play the music at an unnecessarily high volume, bang doors, then start saying a speech on the importance of getting up early to build the nation, all in an attempt to make my house mate feel guilty for sleeping on the nation instead of building it! 

So after a frustrated ritual involving water and clothing, I head out to work and confirm what people always say and I had never had the chance to experience this - urban legend ... IT IS COLD IN THE MORNING! Don't judge me, my mornings used to start at 15 minutes to noon. That's where the term 'Good Morning' came from, otherwise it's just a morning, cold morning or a blank serial killer face that shows the world that you really do not need any crap this early in the day. So after beating the traffic, which in itself is a totally phenomenal experience, I finally get to the office.

Day one is not all that bad, at least I have some space to work, think and well, at least I can see the sky…literally; there is a window in front of me. Two problems: first, I hate Lil Wayne. Yesterday, I did not care for his music but the first day in the office and all my colleague has been playing the whole morning is his music now I want to talk in retarded slow speech, opening my mouth all funny so that people can see the bleeth (that’s what I call bling on teeth…sounds dumb right? So does bling on teeth).

No offence, I just think you have a problem if Lil Wayne is your favorite artist. Oh look Nicki Minaj and Drake are up next… “Just a moment, I’m almost done with Mr. Wayne.”

Come to think of it, Lil Wayne’s slurry, groan-like voice, his not so appealing looks and the way he tilts his head from side to side as he ‘raps’, wait…I was talking about zombies right? no? oh vampires and this job....  So waking up early, beating traffic that I insist someone needs to make a movie on, I subtly blend into the next problem, I have to be in the office by 7 am everyday. Did I say that right? Okay, I’ll say it again… I HAVE TO BE IN THE OFFICE AT FOLOFOLLING 7!!!! Well what do you know, I invented a word and spell check didn’t correct me: folofolling: (adj) a word to describe a situation or feeling that you can’t quite explain and since you do not want to use offensive vulgar words, folofolling makes perfect sense e.g. I was folofolling scared when my cat said hallo, instead of the usual miaow!) You are welcome.

Okay the second, third and fourth time spell check made a part of me die by drawing the red wavy line of grammatical doom under my new favorite word…I must admit it’s folofolling annoying! Folofol! They did it again!

I get carried away…my apologies.

So a new job and new experiences, I still think my boss is a vampire…I don’t know why but I do; may be it's the big dark extremely carpeted office that reminds me of...a giant (for discretion puposes i will say) box that is placed in the sand in times of great sadness. Lil Wayne… SHUT UP OR I’LL MAKE YOU! My colleague just noticed I’m staring at his desk”

Me: so, you really like Lil Wayne…

Him: Ya, he’s cool…

Me: he’s dumb and you listen to dumb music…

Him: what?

Me: I said, damn that’s some good damn music…

Him: I know right?

Me: shut the folofol up! 

BONUS (For making you wait this long and just because I love you guys...)

The reason why I did not post this blog earlier was because the internet provider I use (due to legal reasons we shall call them 'YOU' not you as in you the person but YOU, yes that YOU) is slower than a snail drawn cart or our judicial process...whichever comes first (pun definately intended). So numerous attempts to post the blog were thwarted by a still progress bar that never moved until I was politely informed that my session had been timed out. So in the spirit of timing out things, I took some time out and made this lovely ad for YOU and you.

Not Really A Happy New Year...

The new year is finally here! I have to say I am partly glad. One reason would be because I think I have a chronic case of ADD, yes the one that affects your attention span and so normally I would just get bored and look for something else a bit more exciting...or just something else.

The reason I say partly glad is because I now have, hopefully, another whole year to keep this blog running and this of course means I have to explain to people for a whole year, what this blog is all about. It feels like it has been a million years since I started this blog and I still do not know what it is about. A normal conversation would go something like: "So, what do you do?" I never underestimate the power of this question because I finally get a chance to impress the world with my awesomeness and to share with this foolish mere mortal my destiny which involves saving the world from Evil (no specific form of evil...just evil) using my amazing use of diction and semantics. Just before I throw in a lot of hot air about the use of linguistical warfare in attacking the dialectical issue that fuels tribalism and other ills, they go ahead to ask, "What exactly do write about?"

At this point I am slightly irritated by the interruption and the blatant lack of interest in what I do. I did not even get the chance to talk about language and zombies and dinosaurs and voices and robots and skates! No matter how many times this question is asked, I still have not yet come up with a definite answer and so I always try and use the simplest explanation: "It's about humor" I say, and then they give out a skeptical "Really?" And then am like, "Really." "What kind of humor?" "Well, it's hard to explain, because it involves monsters, and craziness, and awesomeness. Am also thinking of adding vampires and werewolves."This of course is what comes out of my mouth; what is in my head is totally different, but true...:

By this time the person am talking to is looking at me like I am something that dropped off a spaceship, landed on a highway and ended up as road kill. I can't exactly tell if the look on his face is from something he ate, or he is either disgusted by me, or not buying the nonsense I am selling. Just to be safe, I suggest to him that he reads the blog so that he can make an informed decision. Just as I start telling him the web address, he arrogantly declares: "Oh, I've read the blog." "WHAT THE...!!! WHY THE...!!! WAS THIS REALLY NECESSARY??!!!!! YOU STUPID IGNORANT ARROGANT GOOD FOR NOTHING HIGH HORSE PIECE OF GOOD FOR NOTHING...AHHH...AHHH...YARN!" I have to admit I am so mad that the worst insult that comes to me is yarn. All this of course happens in my head and all I can say is, "Oh." "So what do you think about it, you like it?" I ask, "Ahh I don't get the humor...." There is no other way to express what happens after he says this and so I will put it this way: MY FREAKING WORLD FALLS APART AND MY HEART FEELS LIKE I INJECTED PIECES OF BROKEN GLASS INTO MY BLOOD SYSTEM AND NOW THEY ARE LODGED IN MY HEART AND I AM NOW GOING TO DIE FROM DISAPPOINTMENT AND HEART BREAK; I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY!!!

I don't realize that for the last few minutes my right eye brow has been violently twitching and I am starting to show the symptoms of a rabid raccoon. I slowly move back just in case my body involuntarily jumps on him and I end up biting off his eye balls and pee on him as he rolls on the ground in pain. I start sweating when he says, "The pictures are cute, but it's lol funny not ha ha funny." I am too angry to ponder on the difference between 'lol funny' and 'ha ha funny'. It is now clear I am behaving weirdly. My body is shaking, my eye brow is twitching, what is left is for me to start foaming from the mouth. As if this is not enough, he asks, "And why don't people comment on the posts?" That's it. I have had enough of this freaking nonsense.

Me: I WILL KILL YOU!
Him: What?
Me: WITH AN ARMY OF WEREWOLVES AND A BLUNT OBJECT!
Him: What?
Me: PREFERABLY A BUTTER KNIFE!
Him: What the heck are you talking about?!
Me: Nothing.

At this point its better off if I just walk away and let him see me for the freak I am. May be he'll read the blog and see what him and many others put me through...and then may be he'll get it!

So this being a new year, I have decided no more explaining what this blog is about; it is safer if you just read it yourself.

How I Learnt To Skate

 

Every time I set out to write a new post, it always turns out to be as much fun as startling a porcupine. 

Trying to write something becomes almost impossible since the pressure to write something better gets to me leaving me an emotional wreck fighting a possible case of low self esteem and hopelessness. To add to this cesspool of low self esteem induced writer’s block, I usually have to fight certain influences in my life that if left unchecked would ruin my life as I know it. Being the self proclaimed writer I am, I prefer writing letters to these influences, hoping that in some way I will maintain control over my already twisted life. I have to admit, some of these letters are a bit unnecessary. 

Others are a bit weird.

And others are, well, necessary.

So to make sure that I find something to write, I have been forced to seek alternative forms of inspiration (something that doesn’t involve sniffing glue). This time I was however, lucky. It seems inspiration was bored and decided to look for something interesting and found me (yes, I am cool like that).

I had decided to go visit a friend and talk about…well, nothing just talk and somewhere between awkward silence and habitual clock checking, my friend’s small sister, as if noticing my state of despair asked me a question that would forever change my life, dreams and aspirations. While I prefer to hide behind my pen and write about (read make fun of) what other people do, the excitement got the best of me and I found myself doing something I wouldn’t imagine myself doing even if Jessica Alba walked out of the ocean in her blue bikini and whispered in my ear (that was weirdly specific), did I say Jessica Alba? I meant girlfriend.

Anyway, my friend’s sister comes to me and asks, “You want to go outside and skate?” “Skate? Did she just say skate? As in S.K.A.T.E. skate?” I was so excited that I forgot the fact that I had never touched a pair of skates in my life, let alone skate. It was just like Jessica Alba had walked out of the ocean in her blue bikini, held me by the hand and asked me to play Call of Duty on PlayStation 3 with her (Do not make that face, the only thing better than  Jessica Alba is Jessica Alba playing video games with me)…again, I meant girlfriend.

At this point I was falling into a bottomless pit of childlike excitement. In less than 45 seconds I had pictured myself in the Olympics, beating all the racers, forget the fact that they had skated professionally probably since they were toddlers while I had skated  for months (at least in my head I had) winning medals and becoming the greatest skater of all time.

A few moments later I was brought back to earth by an eleven year old girl who could not understand why this adult was behaving like a monkey on steroids at the sight of skates. After putting on her skates, she helped me put mine on amid my unnecessary attempts to “help”. I think one of the reasons why skates excited me so much was because the looked like Robocop’s boots, and touching the robot cop’s shoes was like touching an angel’s wings. She then helped me get on my feet and this is where my dreams came crashing down into a million shards of disappointment forming a loathing for skating and all things on wheels. For the first several minutes I could not move. I looked like a dinosaur giving piggy back rides.

“Form a ‘V’ with your feet and walk towards me.” She said. “How about I take this evil contraptions off and walk away from you?!” “What?” she asks, “nothing” I say as I try and walk towards her like a duck at a Texas show down. All of a sudden I can’t move since my brain is clogged with rumblings coming from my mouth, which I think were prayers. It finally hits me; the only thing between me and death is 6 tiny wheels. “I am going to die!” “I am going to die!”  “I am going to die!” the constant recital of the fact that I think I am going to die increasingly frustrates my pre-teen tutor. “Shut up and walk towards me!!!” she says, her voice sounding like a demon possessed can opener.

By the time she's frustrated I've moved from being bald to an afro

Okay, one leg at a time, just like walking and…I was walking!!! “You see, you can skate.” She says as she glides around me like a freaking dandelion in the freaking wind. 

“Soon you’ll be skating like me…” No, soon you’ll be standing next to my hospital bed with doctors debating on how to put a cast on my broken butt!

A few tries later and I’m almost skating. My tutor looks pleased but I am pretty sure there’s a difference between skating and removing gum from the soles of my shoes. A few minutes later another friend comes and I am more than glad to take off the skates. I hand them over to him. No sooner does he put them on than I start yelling… “Form a ‘V’ with your feet and walk towards me.”