Kenyan Madness Abroad

• Dubai Debacle

  Posted: October 3, 2007, 7:54 pm by BlackKnutz

  Last winter I decided to escape the brutal cold and hop onto a plane to visit my cousin Stevo who was working at a hotel in Dubai as a chef. He had been there for three years and knew his way around this part of the Emirates so I was eagerly anticipating that he would show me the magnificent city and take me to all the exotic looking places that I see in email forwards.
  
  Little did I know his work visa had expired and he and his chile, who also worked in the same hotel at the front desk, were in the country illegally. In Dubai, this is a very serious crime and if caught, they could both be thrown in jail.
  
  Because of this little quagmire, we traveled mostly at night under the cover of darkness. Additionally, to prevent the authorities from stopping us and asking questions about his status in the country, (and I say this with head bowed in shame whilst tracing an imaginary circle with my big toe), Stevo made us wear buibuis covering us from head to toe whenever we stepped outside. Apparently women in buibuis are revered and do not get harassed. As I draped my buibui over my head and shoulders, I grumbled under my breath but couldnt help but marvel at how ingenious and adroit he was to be taking advantage of a loophole in the law like this. Only Kenyans!
  
  So here we were; two jamaas walking around downtown Dubai taking pictures of the Burj Dubai, Dubai Marina, The Palm etc and shopping at the Ibn Battuta mall in 50 degree heat (it was hot at night too) in our buibuis. For added measure, Stevo's girlfriend had taken the liberty to manicure and pedicure our hands and feet with the expectation of being rewarded with spicy lamb shishkebabs from Ali's Halal around the corner.
  
  Unfortunately I wasn't as comfortable as he was draped in this material and every now and then would stop to either scratch my ankle or relieve myself of a wedgie. Something about this did not seem right to a security guard at the mall who blew his whistle and pointed at us yelling in Arabic, "Shagala bagala haaak ptuuu!" ... ahem... or something like that.
  
  That was Stevo's cue and he did not need to hear a second "Shagala Bagala". He grabbed the lower buibui in one hand and in the other he clutched his shopping bag, yelled to me in a soprano-like shriek "Egry besoraa!" (run! run!), and took off into the darkness in the direction of a distant grove of palm trees. I did not know why he was still insisting on speaking in a feminine tone as clearly the gig was up but I did exactly as told and hauled ass after him.
  
  I could hardly make out his fleeing figure in the pitch darkness so I followed the sounds of the dirhams jingling in his pocket and the little dust clouds his feet kicked up as he tore through the Arabian sands. At this point I was beginning to wonder just what the heck was I doing here swathed in a Muslim woman's regalia and running for dear life towards the desert? Stevo had by now dove into a thicket in the palm grove and I dashed into the same thicket sweating mightily, only to be cursed out "Inta fahamt! Moush kedah! Get lost you will make us get caught! Go get your own tree to hide! Walahi!" I obediently hastened off to the next clump of trees.
  
  The security guards were hot on our trail and were now joined by a platoon of police officers. This was bad. I lay down on the ground prostrate and as still as possible as the sounds of our pursuers came closer and closer. Moments later I heard a commotion in the trees where Stevo was in hiding accompanied by very animated yelling from the police and the guards. Oh no! Stevo was caught! No longer was he speaking in broken soprano-ish Arabic. The real ndurus were now emerging; you know the "wuuuuui's" and the "wooooiiiii sio mimi's". This was followed by the crack of a whip and a yelp. I don't know about you but in moments like this, I suddenly and inexplicably remember there is a Maker up above that loves me and wants to see me grow old and bounce my grandchildren on my lap. I commenced to say a prayer in my head. I prayed they would lead Stevo off in one piece and I could find my way back to the apartment where I would tell his girlfriend what had happened and together we would go look for him at the Dubai Central jail and ...
  
  ... my supplication was interrupted as they led a handcuffed Stevo right by where I lay in hiding. They were celebrating their capture and thankfully they seemed to have forgotten there had been two buibui clad men. Through my slightly opened eye, I saw that they were no more than a few footsteps away! My pulse was racing at 100mph but hardly a breath of air escaped my oesophagus. Just as they passed by, Stevo stopped, turned towards me and said "Dammit! They got us B.K. men ... you can come out now..."
  
  
  
  
  

• Moi Day courtesy of Dolly

  Posted: October 2, 2007, 3:55 pm by BlackKnutz

  I won't say my boy Joram lives in the bunduz but when we went to chill out at his crib on Colombus Day (we chose to celebrate it as Moi Day), we drove past kadhaa signs by the road saying "Goats 4 Sale" and "Merinos 4 ur Merriment". No wonder he was always beating around the bush (literally!) and wouldnt say where he lived when asked. That is, until today. It was one of those places you drove to until you got a backache and small drops of jasho trickled into your ass crack. When we asked him for the directions, they came peppered with landmarks ati "Uki-exit turnpike, u-come, u-come, u-come mpaka uone miti mbili kubwa karibu na Walmart. Ukishapita hiyo miti, anza ku-slow down alafu uchape rait ukiona mawe kwa barabara inakaa kaa nguruwe..." Whatever happened to road signs? Roba who I had ridden with turned to me those ones of ... wtf is going on with our boy? Why is he acting so shao? I shrugged "I dunno".
  
  So finally we get to the place right and we are just chilling having a pint. The Cowboys were playing the Eagles and it was a hyped game. T.O. vs McNabb! This was must-see tv right there. Manze the next thing we hear is the sound of bleating from one of the rooms. "Meehhhh!" The hair on my neck stands up like the magnetic shavings exposed to ermm ... another magnet. Roba spills his beer on himself and jumps up with eyes like he had seen a one-legged ghost. "What the bloody hell was that????"
  
  Joram laughs shyly "Eheeehehe ... that's nothing ... seriously ... chill just watch the game". Watch the game? How can we watch the game when there is something that sounds very much like an animal somewhere in the crib? Again - "Meehhhh!"
  
  "Buy anaa rao; I'll be back in a minute" Jerome says and semi-jogs to the guest room. (Oh thats another thing - no one really knew whether he was called Joram or Jerome. He answered to both). Roba and I are just in shocked silence for a minute before curiosity gets the better of us. We fuatad Jerome to the bedroom and you could have bowled me over with a feather; there was a goat in the room with one leg tied to the bedpost chewing some maize stalks and leaves! And there was our buddy Joram adding some more maize stalks for the goat to eat. As we were mentally processing this scene, Jerome is there with an embarrased look on his face ati "My neighbor Mrs. Robinson left me her goat Dolly for babysitting while she is visiting her son in Florida ..."
  
  Now this right here was the funniest thing I had heard damn near all year (remember this is October) and I fell to the floor laughing in tears. Ati babysitting a goat? Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing?! I mean one of my first jobs was at a local Shoprite Supermarket and during my lunchbreak, I would hurry off to what I called my "second job" - feeding the parrot of a local family that was away on vacation. Americans are very serious when it comes to their pets. Entire supermarket aisles are dedicated to dog, cat, fish, and bird food and toys. I had picked up the ad from the bulletin board at the supermarket and knew this was easy beans (no pun intended). After feeding the parrot some birdseed and changing the newspaper in the cage, I returned right back to my "first job". Don't laugh - that "Does Polly want some crackers?" shit paid for my cable bill. Lakini this right here? This was taking the pet thing to another whole other level. As I stumbled to my feet wiping the tears from my eyes, sure enough the goat had a tag on it's neck with the name "Dolly" emblazoned on it.
  
  By now a few other jamaas were pulling into the driveway bebaring 12 packs of beer and a few mzingas (Yohana Mtembezi and the like). Roba ran out to meet them telling them "Manze you gotta check this shit out. Joram has become a mshamba, wawawa" while clenching his fist infront of his mouth like they way you cover up a cough. The jamaas put the beers down and went to see Dolly the goat and Joram the mshamba. Joram was embarrassed as hell but was trying to put up a brave front. "You guy what would you do? The lady invites me to Thanksgiving, I owe her one...".
  
  Now a funny thing about Kenyans is when they gather at a place for beer and sports, there has to be nyam chom ama your joint wasn't popping. I once hosted a Superbowl party and set some crackers and cheese, carrots and dip, chips and salsa on the table and they were looking at me with blank stares like I had two heads popping out of my neck. "Saa hizi mboga ni za? Bana acha mchezo, iko wapi nyama?" Another time, my pal Timo was changing the cd in his Lincoln Towncar that he drove as a limo and hit a deer that dashed across the road. The poor animal was lying there dead as he got out of his car cursing; "What the fwaaack is this bloody nyangau animal doing on the motherfwaaackin' highway???". Then after inspecting the front grill, "Oh phewks, not that much damage at least". He was about to get back into the car and drive off when he noticed it had been a healthy looking animal, and well-fed too. "Hmmm ... it dint die a long time ago". A rope was quickly unleashed from the trunk of his car and the deer was hoisted onto the hood for the mile and a half trip to his refrigerator. KENYANS LOVE THEIR MEAT (domesticated or wild)!
  
  Back at Joram's house, the peeps now started to whisper in low tones and one of them pulled Joram aside to clue him in. Whatever he was told elicited the following response; "No, no, no way man, we can't do that! Dolly is not mine, she's a pet!" A few shots later, and after being egged on by these carnivorous chaps, Joram was singing a different tune. "Bring it on - nyama ni nyama"! Within minutes Dolly was in the bathroom bleating to high heaven with five or six Kenyans around the tub pulling a leg, holding a tail or a horn. No one really knew what they were doing but I think the ancestors of the forests had taken over. One of the guys, Kevo, took a knife and not to be too graphic, put Dolly's maize stalk chewing days to an end. Had the people of PETA seen this sight, we would all be sharing a cell with Michael Vick. Animals (yes, and that includes goats too, Kenyans) need to be treated humanely and be chinjwad at a reputable place by a licensed professional. There was nothing professional about the blood splattered G-Unit jeans and Sean John t-shirt clad beshtes shoving for elbow room around the bath tub.
  
  After congratulatory hi-5s were passed all around, the roasters in the crew now took over. This was one role that had no shortage of skills. If there is one thing these East African transplants know how to do well is barbeque. They will hear there is a barbeque going on in Alabama and people will drive all the way from Atlanta, 6 people to a car, muffler bouncing off the asphalt. By half-time, (yes there still was a football game to be watched) there was an assortment of sausages, matumbo, ribs and thighs to be selected from. Moi Day was officially on! The beer was flowing and I don't think anyone even knew what the score was but we were having a damn good time. Roba was licking his fingers saying "Asalala! kanyama kamepanda kiasi!"
  
  The doorbell rang and this was no surprise as some of our fellow countrymen are known to show up for a kid's birthday party at midnight. You open the door to find them wiping off their shoes on the doormat saying "Are we too late?" The "we" are the three or four smiling, uninvited people standing behind him that you have never seen in your life. No time is too late; just make sure each person shows up with a six pack and you are in. Infact the host will look at the beer and grab it while saying "Come in" without taking his eyes off it. The guests are left wondering if they are also invited ama just the barley is.
  
  Joram was now high as a kite. He had a keroro in one hand and a thigh bone in the other. There was oil on his face from the fatty meat as he ambled over to answer the door while cheerleading "Nyama, nyama, nyama! nyama, nyama, nyama! Ya kuku? Ya nyoka? Ya Dolly?" He opened the door and Mrs. Robinson was standing there. "Oh hello Joram, sorry to bother you so late but my trip to Florida was cut short because of the hurricane. I am here for Dolly, how is she? I see you have some friends over, are you having a party?"
  
  
  
  
  

Blah blah blah

Fish cakes

Alas a fish cake.

Yet more fish cakes

Guess what ... yeah ... fish cakes.

The end of the fish cakes