Romance Rheumatism

It is advisable that prior to falling ill, one is supposed to pay a visit to a modern herbalist commonly known as a doctor in the ordinary language of Englishmen. The modern herbalist always advices whenever symptoms of a particular illness persist to look for him/her at a designated place known as the Hospital. That goes for all illnesses including malaria, rioting stomachs that lead to unprecedented visits to the common cubical called the toilet or pleasantly in a civilized courtesy, the restroom. The above illnesses are treatable if you visit a modern herbalist in time. I have been in many incidents a victim of these convectional illnesses but this time around, I was a victim of a common but unique illness. My illness was one unique discomfort that I have baptized Romance Rheumatism. If you prefer identifying illnesses by their scientific name, “Romancilus Rheumatoid” is the preferred identity for this particular fever. I do not know of a single doctor on this planet able to cure Romance Rheumatism. At least none I have met. As far as I am concerned, love sick is an incurable disease. It should be categorized with manageable diseases such as diabetes, cancer and HIV- AIDS. I consider love sick as a disaster that needs to be recognized by the World Health Organization as an epidemic. Managing Romance Rheumatism unlike the above diseases requires the cooperation of either gender who must be suffering from the same fever and finds your illness compatible to hers or his’. Upon determining compatibility to each other, it’s advisable that you combine forces to overcome the monster by forming a hybrid cure. By combining both fevers from either gender and forming a hybrid cure, you survive the illness and blossom into eternal love. Romance Rheumatism therefore, by being converted into eternal love, it stands managed until eternity.

For identifying the illness in case you are infected, let me give you the signs and symptoms. It has to be known that the symptoms differ from individual to individual depending on one’s capability of containing and controlling emotional urges. The symptoms arises after noticing the desired opposite gender that you presumably believe is the type you’ve desired in your entire lifetime. Upon noticing this particular desirable other gender, the symptoms arise instantaneously or gradually considering the ability of one’s emotional madness. The first symptom that may occur is ‘castle building’. Castle building in this circumstance is a brain nostalgia that tells the patient that the only thing lacking in the life of the particular target is you. You believe he or she is the type that needs your type. You tend to imagine things that only occur in other planets and finding both of you in the domicile of these super planets. You tend to relate stars and moon to the brightness that you seek. The second probable symptom is becoming a ‘nocturnal’. Being a nocturnal means the likelihood of you not catching sleep during the night is immense. You become a relative to the bat or a member of the cat family that pretends to sleep during the night while in real sense, preying. If by any chance you afford a wink, then the reality of dreaming about how the target is a beauty or handsome creature is eminent. You see the creature in you and the creature in her/him in a romantic cohabitation. The situation could get worse and embarrassing if you happen to be the kind that speaks while asleep. You become a dream storyteller by narrating the unfolding events in your dream to third parties as you speak aloud throughout the dream.

Lastly but not limited to the aforesaid, the other symptom is ‘stalking’. You tend to translate yourself  to a secret service agent or a private detective by tracking the whereabouts of the intended target in her/his daily movements. The reason for stalking is to establish the likelihood of the desired target being in cohabitation with a person of your own gender. Another reason is to understand the dynamics of your target and the possibility of hope. During this process, heartbreak could be your other disease if it dawns on you that your desired target is engaged and exists in cohabitation by either marriage or circumstance and the little hope that existed in you dwindles. Worse enough, is there being another suitor with obese pockets while yours is deficient and malnourished. An obese pocket translates to the amount of legal tender in one’s pocket giving an indication of what is contained in ones bank account while the malnourished one translate to the opposite of the obese. The obesity and deficiency of ones pocket mostly affects the masculine gender known as males. Calamity would hit harder when the desired target you believed was your type tells you in bold white and black that you do not play in the same league and relegates you to a lower league that he/she believes is your league and ilk. At this point, you aren’t likely to be only heartbroken but also suffer another strain of illness known as depression. In case you already suffer from frail emotion control and can not withstand temptations of Lucifer, the possibility of you buying a rope and tying it around your neck is an option. Other options would be proceeding to the highest level from the ground; preferably, a tree or a skyscraper of a building, overdosing on an insecticide similar to DDT and subsequently declaring you past tense from suicide, is highly achievable.

I happened to catch “Romancilus Rheumatoid” sometime in the past years especially during my teenage. I am therefore qualified through experience to advice you on this matter. When I met the carrier of this fever, I suffered all symptoms but since I wrote this article, I did not go all the way to declaring myself past tense by committing suicide. To fathom the act of suicide is incomprehensible but I do not blame those that have suffered the heartbreaks to that extent. Crimes of passion are a common phenomenon in this day and age and to be sincere, what the society has become I do not believe there even exists genuine love sick. Since my heart reigns on my emotions and my mind chooses when to be emotional, I no longer suffer “Romancilus Rheumatoid” and therefore, I am immune of the aforesaid symptoms. I let nature take its cause. However, I do not discourage anyone from testing the waters and seeking their depths. Find out yourself and tell me.

Compiled by Tickler

Son of ‘The Unquenched’

murungikevin@yahoo.com

Kevin Murungi.          

©Rights Reserved

Merry!

Since time immemorial,

Man’s too immoral,

Adam, Eve and all,

Abate God’s law,

Merry, is liberator for all.

Wrath of God evade,

Cometh, liveth, the averter,

His only son, a liberator,

Cometh, liveth, a rebirth,

Merry, is salvage for all.

Thence was an epoch,

Hour was whence,

O’er two thousand years, eons,

A king was born, solid rock,

Merry, is negotiator for all.

Now sins to atone,

We Him that adore,

Born of a virgin, pure,

Let celebrate our cure,

Behold the savior of masses,

Merry, for us, is Christmas.

Compiled by tickler,

Son of ‘the unquenched’,

Kevin Murungi

murungikevin@yahoo.com

©Rights Reserved

 

A Rioting Stomach and a Smoldering ‘behind’ on Golden Jubilee.

^12th December is supposed to be a day when the entire republic recognizes men and women who fought for our freedom from the Englishmen in form of  mass action coupled with crude armory ranging from ‘rungus’,pangas’,arrows,spears and guns. These men and women went further on this day to grab independence off the Englishman’s torturous, mean hands. It would be important to note that the guns referred to here, that led to attaining this precious end were not automatic rifles but those that depended on the user’s strength to cock them. In my native language we call them ‘kiunandoo’ {guns that break at the middle}.For those that like straight points and who may find my language a bit gibberish, I am talking about celebrating a day my great nation attained self rule by lowering the Union Jack, the so called God save the queen blubbery and in jubilation hoisting the Kenya Flag and a new song altogether, our national Anthem. On this day we honor the Mau Mau veterans too. This is Jamhuri day.

This time, however, we celebrate not just the moment but also the milestones of our journey fifty years on after that memorable moment on 12^th December at 12 midnight of 1963. This year it was our golden jubilee having fought and won independence from the Englishmen through our gallant, brave and daring men and women of the day. That said, my golden jubilee turned epic and drama has never been at higher note than the personal experience I went through while fellow Kenyans celebrated in ululations.

My Jamhuri day was a little bit typical because I had pockets that were demanding. They were demanding pieces of hard spherical metals and sheets of paper that bear a human portrait on them, creating a little distinction from the ordinary paper. They also enjoy the prevailage of being recognized by law as a medium of exchange. Simply, we have baptized the entire lot; money. Facing that scarcity therefore, prevented me from joining other Kenyans at the usual celebration shrine normally referred to as Nyayo stadium. [Oh, point of correction there]. Nyayo Stadium has for decades been our usual shrine of national rituals until the analogue era paved way for digital thus moving the golden jubilee celebration to a new shrine named the Home of Heroes aka Moi Sports Centre Kasarani. I however think both shrines are one and the same thing considering they are all Nyayo’s. I thought of following the proceedings via frequencies that translate themselves into motion pictures in a box that the same Englishmen, who colonized us, call TVs or rather, Televisions. Since these boxes come in handy and considering the fact that not every human can afford one in their living rooms, I decided to walk to Mwaura’s ‘crib’ for an opportunity to catch up with the event via his box. Unfortunately, my much needed neighbor had left; perhaps to wet his throat at Mama Pima’s.

With all the disappointment written all over my handsome face, it was time to engage my handful piece of brain into useful thoughts pondering on the next move. Although my handful brain has failed me in many occasions especially in school, it does not let me down in times of crisis. It told me that, many Jamhuri days were bound to come but not every day that notes and coins will occupy my pockets. At that point, I decided to go for business. I have this little kiosk that I stock with green leaves originating from my village backyard and some confectionery. Let’s just say that my ‘kangeta’ Base kiosk was loaded with a ‘drug’ that has since been condemned and banned by the same Englishman from entering his country called ‘Miraa’ aka Khat and some sweets. I hoped that I could make some notes and coins to end a spell of drought facing my pockets temporarily.

Within sometime and after engaging my legs in a little bit of exercise by trekking all the way, I was open for business. Customers who have trained their cheeks how to become elastic and to hold a huge ‘load’ of the green leaf, an art they have named 'loading Taxis’, were already streaming in. Business was booming until things started happening that are not biologically accepted for a normal healthy human being. An organ we call the stomach was launching a mission to rescue itself from unwanted intruders, probably arising from too much ingestion of boiled eggs the previous day. I could hear funny sound emanate from that area in protest. It was rumbling!! It is at this instance that I realized things were about to become ugly and extremely embarrassing.

I beseeched for mercy from the Supernatural being in the heavens to proclaim healing upon me but I guess I did that at the wrong time. Probably He was not interested or perhaps was busy throwing a stag with patriotic Kenyans at the shrine. It is at this moment of prayer that things began to turn ‘elephant’. The stomach had already sought audience from its all time ally, the ‘behind’. Signals that were quiet unpleasant for the human respiratory system that could spur the audience of the National environmental management authority were forthcoming. It is at this moment also, that I realized that the rioting stomach was about to create space for itself and quick intervention was required. It meant business and was threatening to evict me from the face of the earth if I did nothing about its business.

I hastily shut down my trade and with feeble legs feeling the wrath of their neighboring organs, walked to the ‘matatu’ terminus with a dream of reaching home where I could rescue my stomach from pressure and in turn deliver myself the apocalypse. May I take this opportunity to intimate to the Governor of Nairobi that he needs to make available more cubicles for such contingent emergencies around the city environs because where I reside there are none and regardless of being miles away from the CBD, I still believe I’m in Nairobi! I boarded a ‘matatu’ plying my route. The worst mistake that I committed was to sit at the back seat because at every pothole and every bump along the way, acted against the sorry situation I was in. My ‘behind’ was smoldering and the entire circumference was literally on fire. Luckily, I managed to hold on the grip until the next terminus where I had to alight. I alighted as astray gas declared doom on my fellow commuters who had their noses complain of oxygen impurity forcing them to direct the organ to the window. I never looked back. I guess it’s a taboo to look back in such decadence of manners emanating from an adult, a grown man.

I got to the house and headed straight to where I was supposed to be at that crucial moment, the toilet. I hardly shut the door, my pants already down and there I was. It was sweet sorrow. Sweet that I felt delivered from a rioting stomach but sorrowful because my golden Jubilee was ruined, not forgetting that pockets were not fully satisfied. I celebrated the golden Jubilee in a toilet.

Compiled by The tickler

Son of 'the unquenched’

Kevin Murungi

murungikevin@yahoo.com

©Rights Reserved

"Akuku Danger"

The modern day human of either gender cannot fathom siring or bearing a dozen of children let alone three of them. This is why I confess to having a lot of respect for one man by the name of “Akuku Danger” who defied all odds and defeated the norm. For those who do not know him, he was Kenyan presumably of a community referred to as Luhya. The more than six feet giant, not only did he sire a dozen of children but more than a hundred of them. Additionally, his physique allowed him to marry as many women as possible to achieve this end. Need I mention that marrying even a single woman if you are the monogamous type requires fulfilling your conjugal and family obligations? Imagine then a scenario where a herd of them is involved. Since I do not hail from his community, I do not know neither how the name came about nor do I know its meaning. Since I have a gift in speculating, I could do so in this instance. If you consider the name Akuku and go further to eliminate the first vowel in the name, you form the name “Kuku” which is Swahili for chicken. I do not therefore need to explain how fowls behave in relationships, sex and marriage if these aspects exist in their cluster. The name “Danger” is self explanatory if you learned some English in school. Thus the name “Akuku Danger”! I am not writing this however; to scrutinize the man “Akuku Danger” and may the Great Supernatural rest his soul in eternal peace. I am here for the character and to qualify what it entails being of “Akuku's” ilk. You may not have the potential or the will and desire to sire hundreds of siblings or marry a herd of women albeit being an “Akuku”.

One such man that I believe is an “Akuku” is my friend Nyakundi alias Nyash, the accounting wizard who finds mathematics interesting and satisfying. Despite the fact that he is caught up by lapse of time appropriate to form a coalition with a woman in holy matrimony if not traditionally, Nyash continues to ride in his pride as a successful senior bachelor. He should be marking his forty fifth birthday in a couple of months yet he believes he has a lot of time at his disposal to run around with young women suitable as his own children. He says he isn't ready to marry at least not now, but in future. Future?!. At forty five years of age, I am perturbed and curious to see the future he refers to. Nyash suffers from sex withdrawal disorder if not a disease. He says lack of sex makes him feel similar to how he feels if he failed to drown his throat with beer cocktails over the weekends. He is married to beer!

He buys sex just like he buys beer over the counter. His typical weekend is characterized by sex, beer, and a sound of “mugithi”. For the sake of foreigners, “mugithi” is a type of music that emanates from the sound of a guitar, strummed by the singer while spitting comical lyrics which at times could be strictly suitable for adults due to their lewd nature. In most occasions, it is enjoyed by beer revelers. While under the influence of “mugithi” and clenching a bottle of beer in his hand, Nyash shops around the dance floor for suitable and consenting sex vendors. While going around in his window shopping, he spanks women's bottoms and touches unpleasantly in all forbidden quarters thus explaining why on Mondays his face appears swollen and dented from the slaps he receives from unwilling victims. He calls the process testing waters.

I have seen women of all sizes, ages, shapes, and appearances emanate from Nyash' house in the wee hours at break of dawn every Monday morning after he leaves for work. I do not rule out the possibility of them being his relatives. However, I have tried building up a family chain to relate them to my friend and I couldn't come up with a decisive family tree suitable in an ordinary family setting. I have therefore confirmed they are sex vendors. If they are family, then surely, Nyash has a peculiar one comprised of females only, of all ages, sizes and shapes. I therefore tend to predict how my good friend, neighbor is likely to die. I can figure out three ways. One of them is contracting a sexually transmitted infection probably a “kaswede” or “kamdudu”. I can assure you that, at the rate at which Nyash gets sexually involved and variety that comes with the indulgence, if he caught a sexually transmitted infection it wouldn't auger well with him. He is likely to acquire for himself a hybrid drug resistant “kaswede” or a hybrid drug resistant “kamdudu” if not both hybrids. Furthermore he likens condoms to socks and never imagines using them.

The other possible cause of his death could be an accident. He is likely to overturn his vehicle that he ironically uses over the weekends and die with it, while driving under the influence of “kanyuaji” alias beer coupled with distractions originating from the perk of women that he carries in it in doing the business of sex vending since intense haggling is involved along the way. The most interesting of all accidents that could occur to him is being knocked to death by a moving vehicle or falling off a footbridge while crossing the road. This is because of his uncouth behavior of staring and drooling at women. It is impossible of him to walk past a 'suggestively' dressed woman without twisting his neck as he turns his head to stare if not halting halfway across the road. He then whistles and nods before walking away in disbelief and utter greed. He knocks other pedestrians, poles and walls if not falling into a ditch or climbing city council trash bins and pavements.

Sexually transmitted infections and accidents notwithstanding, the wrath of an angry mob could possibly descend and perch on him anytime. The mob could emanate from the public, sex vendors or other sex buyers, his competitors in the business of buying and hawking sex. The public is likely to vent anger upon him by accusing him of spoiling their daughters and setting a bad example to children in the community. Worse could be indulging with school girls under the legal age. Since Nyash is an accountant and a keen manager of figures, his stinginess for money insights him to refuse settling debts that accrue from services rendered by his sex vendors. They are likely to be aggrieved and form a lobby union against their employer and collectively descend on him and send him straight to the grave. If he survives their wrath, he wouldn't suppress the venom of bitter rivals whom he has in many occasions snatched their women out of their possession. They are likely to descend upon his bald head with bottles of beer and spill his brains out and about. Either of these ways, Nyash' brains could soon be doing accounting mathematics in another planet, probably hell or paradise if the Great Supernatural finds in his mercy to pardon him. He is “Akuku” in a different skin!

Compiled by tickler

Son of the Unquenched

Kevin Murungi

murungikevin@yahoo.com

©Rights Reserved