wanjiku-unlimited

Hi there,

Thanks for passing by. I no longer live here. I moved to a different place. Check it out.

Regards - Shiko.

Hi there,

Thanks for passing by.  I no longer live here. I moved to a different place. Check it out.

Regards - Shiko.

It seems there has been a universal case of blogger’s block. And by universal I mean a few blogger friends of mine. My mojo has also taken a walkabout so thanks for taking this journey through the valley of paralyzed brains with me.

I refuse to ask google how to overcome bloggers block. The last thing I need is a lecture. Change your blogging environment. Keep an idea journal.  Read what other bloggers are saying. Start with a need. Flip an idea. Just write. Just *$@#%?! Hello, I’m having The Block remember?

Let me see if I can draw inspiration from some recently unblocked brains.

This blog goes dry for months and when the blogger’s brains are finally up and about what does he come up with? Soft porn. The crazy kid documents his sex life. Or lack thereof. Welcome back to blogosphere.  No thanks. I aint taking that route. But despite all his madness, I still bless him for works like this.

Mamalito’s blog dry spells don’t seem to go on for too long. But they do happen. And the fine lass compensates us with sometimes upto 3 posts a day when brains are in full gear. She has a new apartment. And what better inspiration to blog. Congratulations dynamite. Welcome to the own apartments part of the world.

A most intriguing tip I got from Egichomo. Open a blank word document and stare at the cursor. Wow! Brilliant! Clear and present option. Why didn’t I think of that before?  I stare at the cursor. But for how long? First I start to laugh. Then my eyes begin to wander.  HP. HP again. Mecer. APC. Epson. Panasonic. Turando. How did I end up with a name like Turando on my desk? Sounds like a hurricane. Or a Nissan. Nissan Murano.

Skype is blinking bright orange on the bar. Is it humanly possible to ignore that? Gichomo did not say to first close all other potentially distractive windows. Tea is here. Time is flying. Is that a bunch of papers in my in tray….?  It’s going to be difficult this cursor staring business.

Or I could stare at something else. The keyboard is much bigger, and there’s more to stare at on it than a cursor surely. The writings on half the keys on my keyboard have rubbed off. All the vowels are gone. The left Ctrl key too. So have shift, backspace and enter. A, D, H, L, C, V, B, N and M are barely there. It’s been that way for a while but it does not bother me one inch because unlike this guy, I don’t need to look at it to type. I could get a new keyboard but I like this one. We have a human-keyboard connection issue going on. It understands my poking.

The numeric keypad has not been spared either. Number 1 is gone. Numbers! I’m thinking if some pshycho-analyst came they’d be able to decipher my emotional and phycological wellbeing just from a glance at my keyboard. Typing habits, favourite letters, typing pressure…. the works. Combined with a bit of astrology, they may even predict my future. Astrology. I’m a Capricorn.

Capricorns are hard working, reliable and dull as hell. They’re always on the move headed for their next delusion of grandeur. They’re often good at math, which explains why they’re such pains in the a**. Most politicians are Capricorns, which is why our country is always in the hole. In the event of a nuclear war, only cockroaches and Capricorns would find a way to survive. Most of the people arrested for counterfeiting are Capricorns………. ok I don’t do the whole Astrology thing but who knew insults can get so hilarious!

For those of you who are wondering what this post is all about, I’m not admitting any liability for your confusion. It’s this little tip I got from my friend from the lake side. If you have nothing to write, then write nothing. I was trying to write as much nothing as possible.  But of course there can only be one mental case at a time.

And in other events, wanjiku-unlimited is no more. I know a few characters who found it quite a mouthful and keystrokeful. You’re in good company. That is if you consider my company good. Please say hello to shikomsa.sikika.co.ke. Be nice.

I’ll not pretend that I’ll miss that wanjiku-unlimited monstrosity of a blog name. Ok that sounds really bad. Ahsante ya punda. I think it’s time is up, much as its solely responsible for building my online persona. I had coined it to write politics in another forum. Constitutions, policies, manifestos, corruption……. stuff I can still write even as Naafula-Unlimited.

Congratulations are in order for one Evans Wandogo, a young Kenyan who has been recognized by CNN as a Hero for inventing a way for rural families in Kenya to replace the smoky kerosene lamp with Solar Power. He now joins the likes of Peter Kithene who bagged the same award some time back, Joseph Nthenge who showed us that words can save a country,  and our investigative journalists who have shown us that the story has to be told.

Their stories and many more are a fresh break from the muck that is our local news - coalitions, maize scandals, free primary education, exam cheats, milk down the drain, and people eating cemetery money. Morbid money.

For today forget about all those. In the spirit of celebrating our heroes, both recognized and unrecognised, and in acceptance of the sheer beauty that is our country, SMILE. YOU’RE IN KENYA.

Rejoice all ye with cheating spouses. A fidelity pill may soon be coming to a pharmacy near you. Scientist believe that they’re on the verge of creating a pill that could cure infidelity but are not sure if unfaithful people will willingly swallow the medication.

In the meantime, from the past…. honey please calm down. Let me explain.

Matters infidelity aside, some time back I wondered whether Kenya really needs Naomi Campbel. That was then. She’s mostly been well behaved of late I think. But not any more.

Still in the past, I’ve always believed my readers are somewhat a bunch of nutties, well, some of them anyway. Many of them. Whatever was this!?

Weight weight weight. Seems to crop up everywhere. From overweight people allegedly contributing to global warming to cops being required to cut weight to be able to do their jobs effectively. But that’s not the post today. Neither is it necessarily about the recent saga of Kevin Smith who was removed from a Southwest plane for being overweight. It’s about weight and airlines as a whole since he’s not the first person to have these issues.

From my point of view - blank stare.

From a business point of view - Airlines and other modes of public transport are in it for profits. As much as they’d like all their passengers to be comfortable, unless it makes business sense, like say if a good percentage of their clients were overweight, they will not be in a rush to incur the cost of building bigger seats and longer seat belts.

From the overweight passenger’s point of view - This is pure discrimination. Being overweight does not mean they do not have a life. They do. They have meetings to attend and friends and family to meet and they have to get there somehow. Flights are a public means of transport and airlines and other passengers should be tolerant of everyone.

From a passengers point of view - They’ve paid for their seats and they do not want the inconvenience of the next passenger overflowing into it.

Comments on the net about this issue are many and varied. Sample these two from CNN.com.

“this whole thing has gotten riduculous. Southwest and all the other airlines need to make bigger seats. Kevin Smith and the rest of America has become bigger and bigger, the airlines need to accommodate that”.

“I did the fly-up-on-Monday-fly-home-on-Friday thing for three years straight and nothing struck fear into the hearts of fellow fliers than seeing a ridiculously large person lumbering down the aisle as we were all boarding. Kudos to the airline for standing up for it’s passengers”.

And while we’re at the airlines, British Airways? Really?

Kenya’s leaders say they will create a powerful new witness protection agency following reports of intimidation against those set to testify for the Hague against ring leaders of ethnic violence. Kenyan rights groups say 22 witnesses have reported harassment.

In late January, the chief prosecutor at the International Criminal Court, Luis Moreno-Ocampo, wrote to the Kenyan Government expressing concern over the protection of key witnesses to the post election violence that erupted at the end of 2007.

So this autonomous witness protection agency? It’s state protection of witnesses alright but how workable is the idea in present day Kenya? I’ll admit I’m writing from a position of extreme pessimism and near complete loss of faith in the system. I see a bill passed by fat cats  and executed by a corrupt force.

Whatever name we give the program, we’re still all about government and security officials. And law enforcers. Cops. How much time before a corrupt cop or even family member gives away the identity and whereabouts of a protected witness for a small fee?

We’re talking lifetime protection here. How sure can a witness be that he/she will not be started off on the program only to be left to his/her defences after all the funds allocated to the program have been squandered? And where is this that witnesses will be hidden anyway?

If we have not yet settled all our IDPs, if we have not yet formed an incorruptible agency to vanquish drug peddling, porous borders, arms deals, illegal militia and organized crime, how sure are we that a witness protection agency will execute?

And in other matters, did I hear that the TJRC is plagued with claims of misappropriation of funds?

Every day on my way to work I pass by a group of Askaris from a local security firm dressing up on the roadside near their office. Usually there’s traffic at that time so it’s not just a fleeting peek and I can’t help feeling that this is just wrong wrong wrong!

They dont strip to their underwear obviously but still there’s something disturbing about seeing a full grown man pulling up his trousers, tucking in and zipping up. Make that a group. On the roadside. Must be humiliating for them except they don’t have a choice. This is the only company I’ve seen but I’m told that is the order of the day for a lot of Askaris.

Surely if not on humanitarian grounds then Security Firms should by law or some statute be required to designate a place for their Askaris to get into and out of their uniforms. Whatever additional costs they would incur by having a changing room in their offices, I think it’s well worth for the image of the company if not so much for the well being of the workers.

I got a stress management link from my friend and fellow blogger here. Let’s see how I fare:

• Go to bed thirty minutes earlier than usual. Every day?

• Get up twenty minutes earlier than usual. Make that thirty.

• Before you sleep, prepare for the morning. Tick.

• Bring a hat and an umbrella. No thanks.

• Dont wear tight cloths or uncomfortable shoes. Oh. loose jeans now huh?

• Make a list. Depends on what list we’re talking about.

• Listen to a favourite song. Tick.

• Keep extra cash in the house. Does that huge bowl full of obsolete one bobs count?

• Be polite and fair. Tick. But no walkover.

• Laugh out loud. Laugh tick. Loud not very.

• Have a good book to read. Always. Some not so good.

• Keep an extra set of keys. Tick.

• Always keep your passport in the same place. Tick tick. Been lying in a drawer for some time.

• Throw something away. Trash yes. Otherwise eerr… give something away.

• Don’t say mean things about other people. Tick. Who has the time?

• Put a Bandaid in your wallet. Will do. Promise.

• Keep gas in the car. But of course. That’s the only way it can move. Ok I know what you mean.

• Pay attention to someone else. Tick.

• Make your bed. Tick.

Last but not least do not blog under the influence. Ok, I made that up.

Folks - Shiko’s been a naughty girl so she’s been tied up, literally. For now, you’re stuck with me, but you can check on Shiko at Stone Cold Haven, where she normally hangs out with me when she’s not here. Indulge!

I’ve always said that if I wanted to be a successful politician, the fastest way into high office would be to form a guild or union for house-helps and maids around the country. There’s no point in wasting campaign money chasing shadows. Pump all that money into education and membership recruitment for the National House-help’s Guild.

Let’s face it, as a society, we’re the most unappreciative and abusive employers when it comes to our maids, houseboys and shamba boys. For many, we don’t even recognize the cycle of physical and emotional anguish that we unleash on house-helps, pretty much consigning them to second class citizen status. The reason why I would focus all my political resources on fighting for the rights of the forgotten house-help is simple.

If all the maids, houseboys or child minders went on strike for even one single day to protest about all manner of grievances from being overworked and underpaid to physical and sexual abuse – the entire country would come to a complete standstill. The impact of such a move would surpass any industrial action that matatu operators, teachers or nurses would take. And for a politician who has the interests of the forgotten backbone of Kenya’s economy, and the pulse and sweat that keeps hundreds of thousands of households ticking – what better way than to have the power and influence over the working heartbeat of the country.

I’ve been recently thinking about the experiences of Kenyans who’ve left the country to seek employment in Saudi Arabia as maids and house-helps. It’s hard enough in the first place to leave your loved ones because you have to hustle for jobs across the world to feed them. It’s not even funny when your employer then throws you out of a 3rd floor window like a missile, and if it wasn’t the fact that you landed in their swimming pool – you’d be travelling back home as cargo in a pressurized casket as opposed to a living passenger sat on an aisle seat upstairs.

Others have had no choice but to eat dog food because their employers won’t feed them and it doesn’t stop there. Reports suggest that there’s at least 100 Kenyan women living on the streets of Jeddah because they’ve been kicked out by their Saudi employers and don’t have anywhere to turn to.

The thing is this though – The Saudi’s don’t hold the monopoly on mistreating their maids. We do a pretty good job at that. In fact, the same treatment is meted out to any of our employees seen as ‘lowly’.

A few years ago, my wife and I were in Sarit Centre with some friends and were having a snack when she pointed open mouthed in both shock and amazement at a sight we sometimes take for granted. There was a maid, dressed in a uniform that could easily pass for the Sunday regalia at the local women’s prison, briskly trotting after an Indian couple clearly carrying their shopping wares.

You see, my wife didn’t grow up in Kenya and some things about Kenya that she hasn’t experienced pretty much excite her. In this case, she wouldn’t have been mistaken about the fact that the maid she was pointing at looked like a slave for all intents and purposes. To this day, she still can’t fathom how people are allowed to treat other human beings like that.

It’s not uncommon to find the maid who has slaved over the stove on top of working unacceptable hours being relegated to the dog house to have their meal when the rest of the family are enjoying the fruits of her labour in the dining room. And it’s a vicious cycle for when our kids see the way we treat the house-help, they’re bound to consider it normal practice and continue with the same trend.

It’s not just the long hours, the insecurity about not being paid properly or regularly, or the beatings some of them get from their employers (female employers are the worst at this), or the often unrealistic expectations placed on them. The humiliation and emotional anguish unleashed on a sizeable proportion of house-helps goes unchecked in a culture that is sometimes so brazen to suggest that ”well, if you leave someone else will take your job”.

Cross country bus services are filled by hopeful girls and boys barely into their teens being fedexed by their kin in the countryside to seek employment in the city as maids so as to send money back to the reserve to keep the family afloat. I kid you not, spend an hour examining the arrivals at a local bus terminus with services from up country and you’ll see the odd 13 or 14 year old travelling alone and looking as clueless as someone waiting to be picked up by their new employer in the city. It’s also not unusual to find that some families actually use younger relatives from upcountry under the guise of ‘giving them a better life’ – but the bottom line is that they are regulation mboches.

Sexual exploitation is also not a foreign concept and if ever there were any reputable statistics, the country will be shocked at the prevalence of the sexual abuse faced by house-helps, sometimes from multiple male members of the same family. They are souls who suffer in silence with the risk that talking about their plight would get them fired or thrown out of a window as the case would be across the Arabian peninsula.

Some of them however, do cross from the other side of the rail tracks and carry out a coup d’état by dislodging the lady of the house from the marital bed. It’s a simple illustration of Darwin’s theory of the survival of the fittest. Look at it from their point of view, They spend more waking hours than some wives do cooking and caring for the husband and the children of the household. The only leverage the wife has is that she is in control of the family jewels and has exclusive rights to conjugal matters in the household.

But when a wayward husband crosses the line for whatever reason and adds sexual activities to the roles and responsibilities of the maid, it then becomes a dog fight for the lady of the house to claim exclusivity of the only factor she had leverage on. Once she loses this leverage, so goes the marriage.

From time immemorial, men have under-estimated the mystical power of the vagina. Mighty men from Samson to Bill Clinton have fallen foul of its persuasive power. Considering that in some households, the maid takes on the de facto alpha female role (for lack of a better description), what chance does the lady of the house have when the last frontier is ambushed?

You can find Darius at Stone Cold Haven.