boyfulani

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.