We don't bite…unless you're into that sort of thing

NimoGee

Up close and personal with… that woman

When I started using public transport on my own about five years ago (digs at my age are not expected or accepted here), I was scared out of my mind. All of a sudden, random men between my house and the stage and in the javs started noticing me and calling me those names that shouldn’t even have been associated with me, the flat-chested, small-boned, hips-less, awkward, just-turned-teenager. Now, though I’m not so flat-chested and I have a hint of hips (I would like to believe, bubble-bursting is not expected or accepted here) and am not so awkward, I still feel uber-uncomfortable being on the receiving end. I also learned, very quickly and unpleasantly, that  personal space is an “I wish”. I also learned never to sit next to the man with a paper bag full of medicines that can fix all your problems from pimples to elephantiasis to arrhythmia for just a promotional price of 100 bob.

Nevertheless, I managed to cope. These days, I look at all the idiotic loudmouths like I don’t understand a word of Swahili and they leave me alone. I try to sit where the fewest people are but I’ve accepted that’s not always an option. And I try to avoid people with paper bags.

Today, though, I was… stunned? I’d just gotten to town and I happily strolled to my next stage because it was such a beautiful day and I like to stroll happily on beautiful days, knowing that it may take a while for any bus I got into to leave town because it had to fill up. The fates smiled big, braces-less smiles upon me though, and I found a Hoppa that was mostly full. On I got, in my little bubble of happiness that I wouldn’t age significantly waiting to leave town and I headed for the back bench which was mostly empty, except for this woman at one end with a ginormous paper bag. Ignoring the paper bag (and silently praying she was a mama mboga or something), I sat.

Aren't my artistic skills positively sooperdooper?

You’ll kinda have to open the picture to see because evidently, my skills do not extend beyond my fantastic art.

Anyslut, there I am sitting in my happy bubble, not sitting at the window as I would usually do because of the sun (see the sun?), minding my own business, waiting patiently for the bus to leave…

Until she decides she doesn’t want to sit there anymore. Which is all well and good… or not. She actually looked like she was going to get off, gathering her paper bag and all but instead, she switches places with the damn thing and plonks herself right on my lap, almost, popping my happy bubble with all her invasion. And she looks straight ahead like this is a perfectly natural thing to do!

And her bag of beetroots gets half the bench. I kid you not, it was crazy huge.

Okay, so politely, I start to inch away, towards the dreaded sun, trying to utilise the space she seemingly failed to comprehend and she interprets this as license to make as much use of this new space as possible. She moves. Again!

I couldn’t even choke out the words to get her to move. I was just so traumatised. Galleria could not appear soon enough. And I got off the bus before her.

And I have decided that for today, and possibly the rest of the week, this is why we are still a third-world country.


Shameless encouragement

.So, MTV Shuga Season 2 is on it’s way and voting is going on right now at mtvshuga.com. Desperate times have led me to plead with yall to head on over there and vote for Wairuga Mutero for the female Shuga Star. Please? I’ll make sure she buys you all flashy Beemers when she’s rich and famous. Thanks 🙂

 


The Championship Game At Cliché High School –> I died XD

Coach: Alright guys, we’re down by six with exactly enough time left on the clock for that crazy trick play I taught you which no one understood at the time but everyone now realizes is perfectly suited for our current situation. Now, I know a lot of you gave up hope for the season after our incredibly talented yet cocky star quarterback got injured during our first game, but through a combination of me alienating my wife by focusing too much on the team and a series of inspirational montages we managed to make it this far, and by God I’m not about to give up now!

Ricky: Hey, did we ever figure out how those montages helped us improve so much? I mean, we never did any exercise for longer than a few seconds. That doesn’t seem like a very effective training method.
Jason: It’s because we did them while listening to “Eye of the Tiger” on repeat.
Ricky: Oh, right.

Coach: Anyway, Bobby, I want you in as wide receiver for our last play.

Bobby: Me? But I’m so much smaller and less aggressive than the rest of the players on the team, symbolized by these glasses I’m wearing! I only started playing this season to try and impress my dad, who has never thought of me as highly as he has of my more athletic and handsome older brother!

Coach: Damn it, Bobby! Now look, I know that ever since budget cuts forced the school to hire me, the unassuming grizzled old janitor, as your coach, a lot of you have questioned my unorthodox training methods. But I thought I proved myself to you at that practice where I threw a perfect 80-yard spiral and opened up about how I used to play in college until injuries forced me to quit. Now answer me this: is your dad here?

Bobby: Yes.

Coach: And your older brother?

Bobby: Yeah.

Coach: And Lisa, the girl who was dating our cocky star quarterback that you’ve had a crush on since freshman year but been too shy to tell?

Bobby: Ye-wait, how did you know that?

Coach: Don’t worry about it. Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me that you can’t make a dramatic last-second catch that will simultaneously win us the game, win you your father’s respect, and make Lisa fall in love with you?

Ricky: That seems like a tall order for one catch.

Bobby: Well Coach, if you and the rest of this team, who at first rejected me due to my penchant for nerdy pursuits such as comic books and math but came to accept me after I was able to apply those interests to football somehow, really believe in me, then yeah, I can do it!

Coach: Well then let’s get out there and win this game for our economically devastated old-fashioned rural small town whose pride over their high school football team is all they have left!

(The team cheers and rushes out onto the field, where Bobby makes a dramatic game-winning catch despite running in slow-motion the entire time. The losing team, however, is not too upset, as, after fielding the first racially integrated team in their school’s history, they have learned that sometimes overcoming prejudices is more important than winning football games.)


Why I am home-schooling my kid(s)

Disclaimer:

While the following may raise questions about mental capacity. I refuse to acknowledge that the child is to blame. She is intelligent. I know this because we are related.

Moving on…

Yesterday, there took place a couple of events that seriously made me question our education system. Am I roight, am I roight? Judge for yourself… :DD

So my aunt picked my brother and I from school yesterday. It’s usually a routine thing: pick us, pick her seven year old daughter from her school then pick her older sister from her school. So after she picked us, we went to the little girl’s school. As she was getting into the car, we saw two sweet little pointi kids trying to escape from the playground into the parking through the fence. Because they were so plotless, they were obviously busted (something my aunt took great joy in) and the following conversation ensued:

Aunt: Jay, who are those girls?

Jay: They’re new in school. And they speak British!

Aunt and I: They speak WHAT???

Jay: British!

Me: British????

Jay: *nods violently*

Aunt: Tebu speak to us in British

Jay: I can’t…

Jay: I don’t know!

Aunt: Even just one word?

Jay: Muuum, I don’t know! Me my teacher just told me that they speak British!

I should be worried, neh?

As if this wasn’t enough, when we went to pick her sister, we had to wait for a few minutes for her. And so Jay rises in her seat aaand:

Jay: Muuum, is Em here? I mean, is she here in school today?

Aunt: No, Jay. I just decided that since we come here and park everyday and wait for her, today shouldn’t be any different, si ndio?

Jay: Mmmmm

*silence*

So is Em in school today?

Me: *chokes on the mouthful of water I had just taken*

Now, if the first conversation had NOT taken place, I might, just MIGHT have decided that Jay was having a slow day. But seriously???? O.o What are they teaching in schools these days??

In other, somewhat related, news:

American guy: Oh my gosh, you’re from England??! Do you, like, have tea with the queen?!

British guy: Well, you’re American! Do you, like, go to McDonalds with Obama??! -_-

Well, you can’t always blame the education system for stupidity minimal intelligence.


The Difference

“Who is she?” you ask in wonder and amazement. And even if you don’t, tough luck, I’m gunna tell ya :p

Semekeko y’all!!! 🙂

I am The Difference! You could call me The. Or Difference. Or Diff for short. Or, you know, NimoGee will be just fine. The point I’m trying to make on this here first blog post that belongs to me (The, Difference, NimoGee, just reminding you) is that I really AM the difference. No capitalization.

See all those claims to sanity and sound mind in all the other posts. They. Are. FALSE!!! Honestly, can you see the name they decided on for the blog? (Yes, I had no part in picking it out. Except for the voting part. And I swear I voted for the most normal one.)

I mean even my NAME is normal. What gets any saner(?) than Nimo? Except maybe Fred. Unless his full name is something like Frederico or Fredora, then I retract my previous statement.

Last night, I took the time to delve into the dark and unexplored crevice of their minds armed with nothing but a torch, Hubba Bubba, a .45 Smith & Wesson’s Semi-auto Chief’s Special, a bullhorn and a rungu.

Yaani, I read their blogs.

Zeus Almighty they are mad O.o

So, I’m the salvation of this here blog 🙂 I’m the one that will occasionally give you hope that there is a chance that these bloggers could be fed (if you are wearing two pairs of chainsaw gloves, wielding a mallet and feeding them with a long-handled spade). But me, you could feed me any day 🙂 I like Salt && Vinegar Pringles.

I am not the one who sings karaoke on campus at 2 a.m or gets my (not-so-real) license taken by the cops or rummages in Canada street dustbins for food because I spent all my money on (pretty cool) boots. Disregard the fact that I don’t have a campus to sing on and I am not old enough to have a license and I live in Nairobi :p

The point is, ignore all claims to sound mind on this blog. There are NONE! Except mine 🙂

Tommy is shaking his head vehemently in the corner where I’ve tied and gagged him up because he says that this whole post is a lie. Honestly, the things imaginary friends do for attention these days.

I haven’t yet worked out how my History notes are gunna be transferred to my head without me actually opening a book so I take my leave. I shall be offline for the rest of the night (<<<— that is a lie).

Kwaheri 🙂