After hours of  ‘making‘ out with my computer, i shoot blanks.

For some time now, i have wished to court and slip the ‘handcuffs of life into one uv’em. Currently,  in the marital world of  ‘IT‘, i have none to call my own. I have resulted into constant whoring about…banging on any keyboard that lays itself bare…and my gently prodding take care of the rest. There are times when my fingers are itching, edging me out of my skin just to caress a ‘QWERTY’ or ngwati keyboard at midnight, and maaan…i take it out on my notebook.

It’s a sweet release.

Fruits of crazitivity, these are.

Today, blankets are baying for my blood.  Sleep has eluded my eyelids and waking thoughts are ‘trodding’ as Trojan horses over my poor mind. I am torn between the life i want and the life i live in.

Some things no longer make sense, and now, i find sense in senselessness. Maybe Emily Dickinson was right:

MUCH madness is divinest sense

To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness.

’T is the majority In this, as all, prevails.

Assent, and you are sane; Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous,

And handled with a chain.

So, i walk on, hoping…that the light will shine my way, and i shall find my spot.

Among the stars.

After various ‘revisions’ on my part, I am feeling my stomach tighten.I  am also tempted to break down into a string of whines but i’ve grown to hold that back…pretty much because, i have realized, inasmuch as i tell people my issues, there are others who have worse situations than mine…yeah, you know that equation.

that was a while back. it was also the same time i decided grow some  pair of balls, two tough hairy nuts, that tow/swing/like pendulums) along with me, everywhere i go.

and yes, despite my soft countenance, manhood doth ooze out of this system, gushing….on the few that care to stare.

see, the less i heed my feelings, the more happy i am. the more happy i am, the more pre-disposed i am to sinking into mushy ends and sexting old crushes that stalled, like career accounts clerks.

all this was until last month, when i met a girl. it was about campus. life was pretty much the same to me and as the mid semester slowly gave way to project deadlines, ‘defunct’ groups began to come to life. apparently, a pal of my had actually ‘hooked’ me up with her.

and we met. first on phone, severally texting…and before actually meeting, on email.

on my part, nothing, nothing like in the NGO world, was really going on in my mind. even after we actually met hurriedly to assemble some group work, i recall a sex-y thought crossing my mind- like, how would it feel to do such a girl in? Yeah, she did have a heavy Brit. accent and walks about with some sophisticated swag…or stagger (as i later discovered she be a ganja breed). And i ever the little African Boy, humble unlike his dreams, just wondered…as i disappeared into the night.

Nov. 2, last month, i’ll never forget, the first time our greetings went past the elbow and a super invite rang out and wohooo…everything took place between 8:00pm and 6:00am.

Don’t ask, but…experience did fail me here. I was floating in a different cloud that massaged my naivety and soon, i was  a pothead! I knew i would do pot one day (like all my pals, call it beer/peer pressure) but not until this suave pothead swang my way did this urge to do it then became stronger. My life was changing…i was in another realm…still thinking i was still the same, still got served (dont ask) till weeks later when she stopped dead on her tracks and the ‘we need to talk’ line came screeching inside our stoned room.

By then, i had a list of the guys (pre-decessors, x-files) she had before, and man, that wasn’t exactly an incentive, esp. knowing some of the preeeeeetty well.Funny thing, she din’t care to hide, or assume the good girl-met-bad-boy tag…and there i was, reeling, my camera recording, thinking about how the different timezones haver really messed her up…’stead of opening her world view.

I, on the other hand…yeah, i had lost focus…quite much, i know and she started sending subtle hints (without ‘meaning badly’) lol that she thought i was this focused guy who intimidated her, blah..only to realize that i actually did stuff like smoke, drink…and i said aye! That’s me.

And that, was the beginning of the end.

Yet another migration, but hope this is for…good. Sa hii tumeamua tu kusikika bila masikitiko (whistle).

I don’t know, but i strongly suggest * *  that you should adjust all ya blog-sets/TV Sets to receive fresh stories from boy wa campo…

coz i have moved here!

Meanwhile, i expect to revive my mojo in the interwebs, for the umpteenth time and i hope this, this will work.

footnote: there are matters of the heart/mutters of the hurt disturbing…i need to offload, then shift and engage again.

*sigh*

that feels like the first step to it.

karibu tena to my masscan.

~boywacampo.

Well, those who know me are aware that i rarely do the ‘idiot box’ unless i really really have to do. So when one Jeremy came packing from Big Brother’s House (who-the-hell-is-this-big-brother that they go to every year??)…anyway…yeah..i had a hard time criticizing the guy in a class assignment on this site (yeah, we high tech nowadays we blog for marks, ha!)

Anyway, some buzz is doing around campo and of course, usually, UsGaizofMedia are the first to..pick it up! I’ve never blogged about this guy, but he is campo’s most hated jamaa. From staff, to his sub-ordinates and the list drags on…and he’s simply called, Njuguna. Or Njuguna the security man. Basically speaking, he’s the head of Campo’s security so you expect he’s got to brush shoulder’s who like bending and bedding the rules (especially those of us who do off-campus residences where no-rules-abound-ha).

Personally, i have no beef with him coz i’ve managed to keep my sh*t well covered like a cat. And again, working for the fourth estate (and possessing some good sounding tittle that simply means errand boy, i got to really be a good boy

Grass was green

So anyway, story broke that Man Njugush, has not been up to no good lately. Apparently, now that this school is a vast Savannah, there are unused lands that have with them grass…not weed, er, but with the spurts of short rains, Kao-land cows do not need ngwin-glasses to  see it…and ever the intelligent guy ( i hear he says this a lot) he decided to collude with some boys from the G4S crew and sneak in cattle AT NIGHT in exchange for ca$h!

Well, it hasn’t lasted for long nad as i type thing, my phone is ringing off my pocket for it calls for…AN EVICTION PARTYYYYYYYYYYYY.

~On behalf of all sadist,a toast to that !

Ghettogolfer-word of the day.

This word has been stuck in my mind like the stench of cham. I think i picked up in those random mindless talk that dot the chattering box (Kenyan radio).

So, i pictured myself as this ghetto golfer…and the whole outfits starts fitting on, not perfectly, but just in the awkward way things always look in the Ghetto.

Nothing is ever original. If one has a really gisty phone, so many phony details scream out at you once it rests on your palm. Some day, in one of those drinking session at some random backstreet back in the hood when on Pita chomoad an iphone and all our mouths were like: Whoa…

But later on, we had a reason to laugh out loud over the discovery. Wait, it wasn’t really the kawa fake-ass China iPhone…but as he tried to fiddle it over and make it work, its shortcomings were enough to make you make love to you Kabambe or Mulika mwizi ata bila gloves, ha!

I mean, you know those phones unaombanga beshte yako akuokolee na call alafu anaanza tu zile za:Finya 3 na nguvu…space bar huwa haiwork, ha!

Stori na kwambia!

Anyway, kenye imeni-inspire nichore hii risto ni mshe-fulani tumepatana na yeye this week amenimada kima da ga…wawawa!

Ushaiona roho ya ghettoboy ikobonyeka tu ka andazi ya ashu pale ivi base ya jenga mwili?

Time ka hizi ndo mi huseti tu ki-kolo [mbo] kwa keja, mkono ndani ya chest na-count nywele za chest tu alafu ma-ol’s school bluuz zi-na whisper from my ka-palito..bru ha ha ha…

Hii story bado hai-jasink, bado mie tu nacheki tu ka ita-flow vitamu alafu niwamwagia mtama, au vepe?

Meanwhile, checki checki hizi ma-lyrics za Bishop ujiseti kwa scale…

U know u ghetto (dont be ashamed )
U ghetto
U ghetto ( dont be ashamed )
U ghetto
U know u ghetto

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto when you got rats and roaches
With the fan in the window, front door wide open
U know u ghetto when u say “I aint offended”
Change the channel with some pliers, got a hanger for a antenna
U know u ghetto eatin chicken everyday
With color weave in your hair and you trickin for a pay
Gold teeth in your mouth
Out talkin loud
And the car that you drive cost more than your house
U know u ghetto when your job is illegal
Live in the projects with furniture like rich people
U know u ghetto when you cook with lard
Only credit that you got is your food stamp card
U know u ghetto when you own section 8
Have dues everyday, but you pay your bills late
Understand this song, get your jam on
And yo grandma whip you with whatever she get her hands on

[chorus]
[lil kids (Bishop)]
U know u ghetto ( look at the way you walk)
U ghetto ( c’mon, listen to how you talk)
U ghetto ( look at the clothes you wear)
U ghetto ( haa, look at that style of hair)
U know u ghetto

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto pickin boogers and you flick ‘em
And eat with your hands stead of washin ‘em, you lick ‘em
You dont know your daddy
And your hair nappy
People catch the Holy Ghost in church gettin happy
U know u ghetto call the crib your house
Be at funerals screamin, fightin, then fall out
U know u ghetto sellin clothes that you stole
And when you go out it’s like a fashion show
U know u ghetto with a name like Shaniqua
Pookie, Red, and Peanut puttin codes in your beeper
When you hear stuff, helecopter, city bus
????? straight out of the ice cream truck

[chorus]

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto only shop when there’s a sale
Late everywhere you go with an excuse to tell
U know u ghetto when you pee outside
Catch bronchitis, get ?????? and sleep tight
U know u ghetto when y’all stealin cable
Cussin and DJin on underground radio
Sayin Yo’ Mama jokes
Fightin on talk shows
Matress against the wall
Aint no frame, it’s on the floor
U know u ghetto with dreads, ????, and braids
Weave, colorful nails, afros, ??????, and ?????
U ghetto, wont pay back money that you borrow
And wearin an outfit you gon’ return tomorrow
U know u ghetto bettin on a number
Usin words like “Uhh-huh”, “Naw”, and “Uhh-uhh”
Stead of “Mom” you say “Ma”, stead of “Dad” you say “Da”
You see nickel stores, bar-b-cue stands, and laundromats

[chorus]

[Bishop]
U know u ghetto punchin aint playin house right
Your kids bare foot playin outside
Eat food of the ground, say “God, bless the church”
Let your kids drink beer talkin bout “It gives ‘em worms”
U know u ghetto borrowin your friends clothes
Ran out of water supplies from people next door
U know u ghetto heat the house with the oven
And anybody famous from the hood your cousin
U know u ghetto cussin out your teacer
And when somethin happen your mama screamin “Lord Jesus!”
When you use street knowledge
Graduate from school and go to jail instead of college
U know u ghetto bar-b-cuein every holiday
Pizza man wont even deliver around your way
Whjere the gang hang out, cornerstore hang out
Mom’s at the gas station beggin for some change now

Let me honestly state that i once had it, but now: phtuh! It seems to have been blown away like powder.

I feel empty about it and i so have much nostalgia about the days when i used to blog and people identify with my stuff. Now, i am an alien in my own spaces, haunted by a once promising past thatencroaching on me jeery faces…

and bang!

I jolt myself back to reality…only to realize i am at the same spot, staring at the shells of a blog.

But largely, this has to do with my life.

Stories have never dried from the well, and even though i may have grown a lil’ bit…i’m still the same.

I’ve been bit by the same bug that put me up there in the blogosphere…and this time, the disease of silence and withholding information….

but honestly, i don’t know what’s happening to me.

i am just trying to be…all those things i am now, and still remain, boyfulani.

or perhaps, evolve…

and blog again.

Joyfully, i settle to write. No pen can take the strain of this.
Reckless letters are careering over the paper, the words echo in my soul.
Sentenced into solitary confinement inside my own skin, i dare into the heavy shadows.
A jolly stream of thought warms up to me, like chocolate on tongue and together, we flow in one unstoppable direction; the paper is screaming for it,heaving and seething with every stroke, the tip of the nib is hitting high crescendos, the friction beats fiction out of my story…then; there is a rustle at the door.
I envision the sonnet, fish for my spear…and shake as i pray to the Pale Galilean, for indeed, ”The hour is nigh, when my creditors will prove to be my predators’

*re-posted from my archives today. Was feeling like ‘it’!

I once joked to someone that i schooled in Machakos Technical School. Since then, the name has stuck in my head like mshuto ya duck-billed platypus!
Maaaaaaaaan!
It makes me laugh even as i like to hate on my days here sand-witched between rocks, rock hyraxes and multi-colored geckos. Talk about going to a campus under a Municipal called Mavoko..er, wait.. you think i am hating?
Dad’s actually a joker. And a hater while at it. Looking back at the school’s he has had me enrolled, i think this trend is too coinciding to ignore. In high school, our tap water supply came from slopes of Killimanjaro, just before Loitoktok township. We were a cool 100km (approx.) away. The ‘fun’ part came when the plastic pipe burst and rich as Olkejuado County Council was (noticed a trend here???) it took two months to repair them – how many constituency/municipals have a heli-pad, save a helicopter…to fly over and find, fix the leak?
Thanks God we were a complete parade of…well, boys!
Otherwise, remember the stench that they say stinks heaven high? (I am not pointing fingers)
So, basically, i don’t need a red Mau-Alert from Mau-kind (Kenyans) to conserve water: nilijua ku-survive na chupa ya 1.5 Litres ya maji kufanyia yafuatayo: kupiga passport (eyes,ears, only), ku-brush meno,kunyunyizia hankie alafu unajigusa makwapa nayo..kiaasi tu, kufua colla ya shati pekee, kuoshea plate….sare tu.

Hapa in Masaku Tekniko the highlight of my days was when i sat next to woman with a bunch of hens on those Masaku buses and the resistance to look sideways was overcomed by, well, curiosity…and right there squarely on my nose was the warm, wet chicken’s..er, behind!

~Mind-less.

When i was fresh off Fourth Form and the words of my ‘former’ teachers suddenly started to re-sound true a new world  was opening up.

Not in the sexy way you imagine your dream girl undressing her perky package: NAH!

You’ve all been there done that, i know, and i am not about to repeat it…not again, tsk.

But see, i miss my days in Eden.

I miss the days when all was naked and no Hehe-cum-Majimaji ‘uprisings’ ever took place. The days when the nanny would tell me to undress and i would strip-hip-hop naked without.

I mean, what happened to the innocence? Was it lost forever like the virginity of many girls i know?

Is it retrievable?

I was going through my junk when i came across this passport photo taken when i was about to join High School.

I had only one conclusion: in all the necessary orifices, life has really done me in!