wanjiku-unlimited

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.

The picture on the front page of the Daily Nation is a shock even to me as a resident of Mombasa. I cross the ferry on occasion but I’ve never been in the vicinity during ferry madness or rush hour. It’s almost now a chorus but it cannot be emphasized enough that the Likoni crossing is a disaster waiting to happen. I avoid going there and so do many other people  including tourists, with the direct result of loss of millions of shillings in revenue for the magnificent beaches and other natural resources to be found in South Coast. Even though not as severely felt as on the Likoni mainland, the madness at the channel is also affecting business on the island.

It’s easy to see why Likoni and it’s environs is so populated. For many it’s their ancestral home. Other than that the cost of living is generally low. Crossing the ferry is free for pedestrians and town is walking distance away, hence doing away with the need for fares for residents going to work. Food and housing are also on the lower side. So no matter how bad the situation gets, not many residents have the ability to up and relocate.

South Coast is a good place for relaxation. For those of us working in town and living Northwards, it’s a good getaway. But the thought of a weekend trip there is immediately clouded by the long hours one expects to wait at the ferry crossing, with the jam sometimes stretching all the way to Aga Khan Hospital - about halfway to the CBD. A jam at the coast is no ordinary jam. It’s sitting and stewing in sweltering heat.

So the new ferries arrive in March. Until they come and cruise, I’m not believing anybody. They’ll be a step forward but they still wont solve the problem. South Coast has over the years been expanding in terms of business and population and even when the ferries are working perfectly, it’s only a matter of time before overcrowding comes back. In any case the channel can only take so many ferries. But then again solving problems full measure is still an alien concept in these parts of the world it seems.

Maybe KFS needs someone who can pull a Brown Ondego (when he headed KPA). And speaking of Brown Ondego, how are we doing down at RVR? When can we expect spanking new bullet trains?

Also See: Traffic Jams Coming To Mombasa.

Saturday I finally found my way to the movies to watch Avatar. First off I’m not a fan of Science Fiction and second I always go easy on movies that shatter box office records to the extent that Avatar did. Therefore, I don’t think I’d have been in any rush to watch it except I was curious about the 3D technology that had come to my backyard at Nyali Cinemax. And the fact that after Titanic,  I have a soft spot for James Cameron. Movies.

I watched about half the movie in 3D - periodically doing away with the damn 3D glasses which I felt were crowding my face. The 3D experience sure is different. It does bring the movie to your space - closer to you. At some angles, it puts you almost face to face with those on the screen - like you could reach out and touch them. All in all it’s a good experience but for having to wear those glasses for 2 hours plus, then I’m also perfectly comfortable watching movies the regular way.

With or without 3D, I must say that even from my point of view as one averse to Sci-Fi, the visual effects in Avatar were spectacular. The unpolluted beauty of the mineral rich Pandora and it’s peoplelings was captured, or should I say simulated to perfection. The display of adventure, the beauty of the forest, the beasts, dragons and plants all was impeccable.

Avatar is a visual delight, but after all the glitz, production time and money invested, I expected more of a story. Then I thought this is James Cameron and he knows a thing or three about making movies.  He probably could have given a deeper story line if he so wished. Maybe he just deliberately avoided a heavy and complicated watch and went more for simple entertainment instead.  A faster paced story with the eyes so busy adjusting to 3D might have ended up being not too good.

I did have a good experience. But no doubt Sci-Fi fans had a better grasp of the behemoth futuristic machines, red beasts and the alien lifestyle. I was not necessarily engrossed by the otherwise very predictable story but I felt a genuine damper when the human race descended on a perfectly organized society out there and tried to destroy it.

From the past and mostly unrelated: Mwalimu King’ang’i.

Yes she’s alive!

Happy new year people!  The absence…. I can explain. I lost my mojo. It’s creeping back though.

And in other events here’s a story that got me amused today.

There was drama in Sotik when hired mourners refused to cry until their balance had been paid. The mourners who were charging 200/- per hour picked the  most inopportune moment to stop crying - when the coffin was being lowered.

I never got to hear the rest of the story. If anyone did please give us the ending. Did they resume wailing at the sight of magic notes? Crazy.

I heard this story on Radio  so I’ve no link.

A post by my friend and fellow blogger Mama on her site got me thinking of the strange things people do when faced with the stigma of HIV/AIDS, and especially in the terminal stages.

A distant relative succumbed to the ravages of AIDS in 2006. On realizing that his case was too far gone, he stocked on food and other household stuff  to last for weeks, then locked himself and his three boys aged between 5 and 12 in the house. He sent one of the boys to lock with a huge padlock from outside, then closed all windows  and drew the curtains.  Radio and telly were either quiet or on low. For all of 2 weeks, all indications were that there was nobody home.

Only one of the boys occasionally sneaked out through a window to go and buy fresh produce and Lord only knows what warnings he had been given not to disclose the conditions back home. Thankfully a neighbour noticed something was fishy and traced his relatives.

Frantic efforts to run tests to determine the extent of his condition and whether he could start therapy flopped as he categorically refused to go to hospital or give any blood. He passed on within days of the intervention.

I cannot begin to imagine what was going through the young kids’ minds having to wake up and spend every day indoors with their dying father.  Or what was going through the father’s mind having lost his wife to AIDS a few years earlier and now facing his end with three little children looking up to him.  Sometimes I suspect that were it not for relatives coming in when they did, his plan was to take them all with him.

The boys are safe living with relatives.

Elsewhere, I wonder what became of the Indonesian proposal to tag HIV Positive people with Microchips so as monitor their sexual activities.

Be safe people. Take care.

I’ve no objection to the conservation of the Mau Complex and the environment as a whole. But for this article that is the furthest I’ll go. I’ll not get into the issue of the unfolding humanitarian crisis and the animosity we may be incubating with the emotive issue of land.

For now I’m all about the people leaving the Mau. It’s the easier part to scare peasant farmers with the presence of security personnel and hound then out of the Mau and into IDP status.  After that we shall see whether we’ll have bulldozers descend on the complex to bring down multi million investments like Kiptagich Tea Estates, a well known former first family interest. When such come down then the message will be louder and clearer that the Mau issue is no joke.

One would argue that the estate is a Million Dollar investment and tea bushes are not exactly as detrimental to the environment as regular farming. In fact bushes may act as a deterrent to other more invasive forms of encroachement. One may further argue that the factory is a means of livelihood to hundreds probably thousands of people, both in terms of employment and as market for their teas.

But from some angle, the estates and factory is more about belling the cat than anything else. Otherwise if the ides is to free all of Mau, then it’s a no brainer that the factory and any other such interests should come down.

Or maybe not?

I’m sure I’m not the only one puzzled by the recent coziness between Dr. Honorouble Bishop Margaret Wanjiru and Maina Njenga. Whether it be for political expediency or a genuine desire to lead some big ticket sheep to the Lord, I don’t see this alliance doing Wanjiru any good in the long run. I’m hopeful though for the rebirth of the brutal murderers. That can only be a plus for Kenya. To that effect I imagine the rebirth means confessing past sins and accepting appropriate punishment for them.

As for Njenga, the sight of him dancing for the Lord will not automatically make Kenyans forgive and forget the mayhem they believe he and his battalions have brought about so far.  I’m not surprised if he’s being trailed by some knowns and unknowns.  Trailed? Guess what, people have faced more than trailed. People have had their sons beheaded and their grandfathers slaughtered. Whether he and his followers masterminded the rape, slaughter, skinning and beheading of fellow Kenyans, his status or lack thereof in society cannot afford him the freedom to walk around freely like the rest of the citizenry.

I shall stop now. I have only one neck.

Elsewhere, this post here has enough hatred towards Africans to last us all our collective lifetimes. Be warned, it’s unbelievably annoying especially some comments.

The other month, inside every True Love Magazine was a free condom.  I get my magazines delivered to the office and feeling the sachet like package inside, I got some hot water ready to drink what could only be a sample beverage. Only to open it and haiya! there was a condom on my desk! In the office! I slipped it in my wallet and promptly forgot about it.

No it did not resurface at an inopportune moment. No the Mr. did not find it and say ‘at least you used protection’. No it did not fall out of the wallet while frisking for coins. Lord forbid it did not fall onto someone’s counter while I was pulling out a card. Nothing untoward happened with my gift.

But all the same, depending on individual circumstances, a single condom or Condom Number 3 if you like may or may not be the best thing to have. Some dubious statistics suggest that the average pair uses 2 condoms on an average randy session.  That leaves Condom Number 3, a perfect dilemma for people who have things to hide because it could be construed as damning evidence of use of the other two.

If you’re both hiding something, options for Number 3 are limited.  You can’t just bin a perfectly unused potential life saver. It could save you money next time. And time. And a desperate trip to the late night pharmacy.  Neither of you can carry it home. You may not want to walk around in the wallet. You never know. Depending on your frequency of use, you might not want to keep it in the car. Other than someone finding it there, there’s the science of rubber deteriorating in heat. And cars do get hot.

What to do? No idea. You tell me.

If the worst comes to the worst and you get caught, I’m told that the only way out is to deny deny deny. No it wasn’t you.  Even if he/she finds an empty wrapping in your shoe let alone an unused single condom. Someone must have put it there. It must have been among those bank notes that slipped out of the ATM. Something. Whatever. It just wasn’t you.