Porn in Kenyan Campuses?

The other day I wrote a post about Kenyan matatus taking it too far.

Well, the story of porn being made in Kenyan campuses is not new. I first heard it when in my first year. What actually happened is there was this clip going around on J-net. Who remembers those wires? Yeah, I never did praise J-net, did I? It is a good idea, because the LAN enables file sharing, so you can copy movies, music, series, software, viruses and anti-viruses, and porn clips.

Here is some advice, be careful when opening media files that you find hidden in C:\Program Files\Windows instead of D:\Entertainment. Also, be wary of unlabeled CDs and DVDs.

Almost every guy in this campus (not all…I just said most) have a number of porn clips in their computers.

Anyway, there was this clip going round, it was not professional or anything. I actually never did get to watch it, despite my curiosity. See, the girl had no idea the boyfriend was using his phone to tape their coitus activities…then he showed it around and before you can say video, it was circulating wildly on J-net. The lady in question denied it hotly (Is my a** that light? That’s not me…or something like that) but the damage had already been done.

While this was being discussed around campus, the K.U video came up. Apparently, theirs was a complete directed video. I don’t know their distribution rights or to what end…also, video passed me by. I find it hard to sit down with anyone to watch porn. It seems K.U have taken it a notch higher and that is not their only video. Am not sure anyone still has those videos in their computers, people have a habit of formatting their computers every so often.

There was also this incident of a couple that was suspended or expelled from a private university for taping their sessions. I don’t know how their videos were discovered, but the administration said they could not tolerate it and both were sent packing. All I heard was the story, I can’t vouch for it’s accuracy.

The Kenyan industry has not been left behind. Porn is regularly churned out in River Road, there were even some interviews in some paper. The young girls in the video get as little as Kshs. 100 per session. They ask where else can they find a livelihood?

How about Kikuyu porn? This one I actually saw. This friend of mine was scanning his flash disk for viruses, since he had given it out to carry a movie. We decided to check out the movie, getting fascinated it’s actually a local movie in a local language. The first slide was this copyright warning…then all of a sudden, dark bodies grinding, cameras zooming in, dirty language being spewed out…okay, we did not watch an entire minute. We deleted the file.

I don’t even know where am going with this, just thought I’d let it out.


Third First Post

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Blog Changes

I have moved here

Kenya Vs Mozambique, a 2-1 Victory.

Finally, a victory. Three matches left: against Nigeria at home in September, against the Carthage Lions (I think) in Tunisia, and against Mozambique in their country. We stand no chance of qualifying for the world cup next year, but we have our sights on the Africa cup of nations to be played early next year in Angola. Three teams out of a group of four will qualify.

The boys played a beautiful game, except there were many missed chances of scoring, it was almost painful to watch. Whichever way we play, what matters in the end is the goals we score.

The stars scored in the first 10 minutes of the game and the goalkeeper of the Mozambican team was substituted pronto. There was drama when he refused to leave the field, poor sportsmanship, but I felt his pain. He was rudely pushed off the field by his team mates and skulked to the edge of the field Drogba style, accompanied by shouts from Kenyan fans, encouraging him to remain in Kenya after the game. My attention was now on him as he yanked off his shirt and was surrounded by some guys. He was seen being escorted to an ambulance, and again Kenyan fans shouted: “Peleka Mathare.”

Every Mozambican player who went down was booed to get up, and every foul committed against a Kenyan demanded a red card from us fans and a penalty.

The first half ended with no further goals or incidents. Though their (Harambee Stars) kit had no names as usual, this time I could actually make out most of the players.

There is this player whose name I could not catch, something close to Taiwo Otieno. He was half Kenya, half British and then he renounced his British nationality to play for Harambee Stars. Fans were screaming for him to play, he plays in the U.S. and there was no point flying him 20 000 miles to come warm the bench. We finally got to see him in the dying minutes of the game.

Eye candy..this Taiwo.

Eye candy..this Taiwo.

Hey angered us when he removed what I think are the best strikers- Patrick Oboya and Dennis Oliech. There were shouts of “Hey must go”.

In the second half, Mozambique managed to equalize. All energy drained out of me(despite a number of canned sodas)..I could not see us losing. If we lost the match, that would be the end of our hopes of making it to the Africa cup of nations.

The stars woke up and someone scored..but wait, it was disqualified because of the offside rule. Like who understands it, tsk tsk. Fans were now angry, this referee must be from Mozambique. He is favouring them too much.

Someone else was brought down in the box, and we were awarded a penalty. MacDonald Mariga slotted it in and we led 2-1. We played a defensive game afterwards and were relieved when the final whistle blew. Of course, we wanted a more convincing victory, something like a 5-0 thrashing, but a fan can dream.

There were no security incidents since FIFA had restricted the number of fans allowed into the stadium, and the Mexican wave could not be pulled off. The turnout was not too bad though, and fans always come carrying these bags full of beer and/or miraa. One in every two male fans was chewing.

As we left, fans appealed to the conspicuously large number of policemen to at least throw one tear gas canister. “Kamoja tu..turushie kamoja tu, afande.” It had been rather too peaceful.

The Gothic Top

This is for intelligensia and other curious minds..

The Damned.

The Damned.

And as a bonus, perhaps you have seen this:
Bad asscat

Friday Night

We check in late. Coming early to a bash, unless you are a close friend of the host, could mean that you are just there for the free alcohol, which is not our intention. We call to ask the venue. Hostess, who is sounding a little tipsy, tells us to find her at the gate. Sure enough, the party has spilled outside, and by the dark patch where the security lights don’t reach, I can see Dude X emptying his bladder. I wonder if there is a bathroom at the venue.

Hostess says hi, and ushers us in. In the tiny kitchen, B is the bartender. He serves us this punch, but he refuses to tell us what is in it. I can tell the passion juice though. Later, actually the following morning, I will be told there was rats (short for muratina-a traditional brew), Kenya King, Safari Cane, Smirnoff Vodka and Passion juice. I know, semi-lethal brews, all mixed up. Holding plastic tumblers, we go our separate ways to check out the party.

Here is KL, I had thought he was on holiday? I smile and chat up with him. His hug is lingering, but am sure not encouraging it. He is already halfway past drunk, as is almost everyone else. This concoction is working wonders. The small two bed roomed apartment is teeming with people. I see very few familiar faces. The music is loud as usual, I wonder how the neighbours are coping. Hostess’ immediate neighbor is a family with school going kids. Time for a refill, so long KL.

B is his usual flirty self. He still isn’t telling me what’s in this yellow juice. He turns to argue with some guys and I wander back into the party. I am one of those people will stand at a corner observing. On the dance floor are these two chicks outdoing each other in shaking “whatcha your momma gave yer”. The dance floor is this area of the sitting room that has been cleared of furniture. The pal I had come with is sitting on a table somewhere. I go to ask her how it’s going.

This guy is seated next to her and has refused to budge, saying “ Nataka kuwa kama sadwish.” He wants to be like a sandwich, LOL. We let him be, and he keeps calling us, “baby you are fine.” It’s making me smile. The chicks on the dance floor are now removing their sweaters, it’s getting hot in here. And am thirsty too, time for another refill.

The playlist is mostly ragga and dancehall. Beanie man with some ass shaking track or other. Some guys have joined the floor and my space on the table is gone. I find some space on the settee after some little jig on the floor, and find myself next to a strange face. Most people here are actually not from this campus, and the few that are; I haven’t seen before. I am chatting up with some girl who is supposed to be studying somewhere, according to her mother. Here she is..she mentions something about J. uh-huh, I had heard J had a new wife. So this is her, hmm…

It’s not getting any cooler in here, so I get my third refill on the way out. I meet J’s brother. He tells me the story of how he quit the grass for good. He says in shagz, the people grow their own grass, and he confirms it’s first rate stuff. And it’s cheap too. So this guy gave them a bundle (Hata ya kukuongeza juu wewe ni customer wagu..) and some additional because they are good customers. So they smoked so much, and it made him so hungry he went home and had three plates of githeri. He then topped it up with 5 ears of corn(check out 3TOC’s story (or should I say 5 maize cobs of ‘young’ boiled maize.) He tells me his stomach has never pained him so.

I talk a little longer with J’s bro. Some guys are leaving now but am staying, it’s still early. My plastic cup is empty again. I get my nth refill and find myself ‘sadwished’ next to this guy and one of the dancer chicks. I say hi and introduce myself.

Dancer chick (D.C) leaves, and I introduce myself to GoodLooker. Reason am calling him GooldLooker (GL) is because I recognize a potential flirt-mate when I see one.

I can tell GL is a smoker. But he has a nice voice, what was his name again? He just introduced himself. I tend to forget names very quickly, in fact most times, immediately they are said. I ask him again anyway, he says he understands. But he hasn’t forgotten mine. D.C is shaking in our faces. The other guy on the right asks me:

“Ngai, hata wewe unasorora?” You can’t be ogling her too?

“Shouldn’t I? Kwani kuna shida?”

“Wewe ni dame.” You are a fellow girl.

I don’t want to get into an argument on whether chicks are supposed to look at fellow chicks dancing, or the definition of ogling and other opinions. I turn my attention back to GL. We are making small talk now, but there is an undercurrent that am immensely enjoying. Of course this is going nowhere, I decided that a long time ago. But I can enjoy the moment just before nowhere arrives.

Hostess comes back to cut the cake, it’s her birthday bash. We sing at our hoarsest and uncoordinated-most. We munch cake and wash down with the semi-lethal brew.

GL wants to go out for a smoke. I accompany him. At the gate, there are still party goers in various stages of drunken induced acts. Ludacris, a guy with cornrows-what we just call lines, is washing the fence. I confirmed there was a clean bathroom inside and am asking GL just why guys are avoiding using it. He says, “Maybe there is more freedom outside.”

GL and his crew are leaving now. He gives me his number. Am not sure I’ll ever call but I save it all the same. Now that he is gone, am getting bored. I can’t imagine going back inside, and besides, am feeling sleepy. It’s now 3 a.m.

I find the owner of the house outside near the hanging lines chatting with his friends, who are bare feet. They can’t locate their shoes, and I can’t get their explanations of how they came to misplace them. Owner is supposed to be asleep by now since he has to go to work by 8.30, he told me this 3 hours ago when he was locking himself in his bedroom. I ask him how come he is still awake, he tells me he lost the key, I wonder if he’ll make it to work tomorrow. He says he’s fine.
I ask for they key to Hostess’ place and she sets out a place for me. I gratefully sink into sleep.

My alarm goes off at six, and I switch it off. I finally get up around 9. Hostess and the others are stirring. This guy comes staggering in, he says, “Hii ni gauge gani, sijawahi amka ka bado nimelewa!” (What kind of alcohol was that? I’ve never woken up drunk before.) that is when Hostess reveals what was in the mixture, while pulling out some remaining Smirnoff. She asks us if we’ll take good morning shots. Ah, well, what the heck, if it will help me wake up (some logic here?)..

And that is a typical bash in campus for you.

The Nightmare of Withdrawing Over the Counter

I need cash, and instead of a five minute dash to the ATM machine, having no ATM card, I find myself having to make a trip to the main banking hall. Here I am, wearing my pencil jeans, my gothic top and almost-three inch heels. Smile at boda boda guy and hook my leg over the passenger seat. I can feel the bumps on the road…slow down boda guy; can’t you see these pencils are too tight? I am afraid they may bust. The other day J asked me if I have to lubricate myself to wear them. Ludicrous I know, it’s just that he’s an old flame who still flirts with me. You think I should leave him alone? Well…I left him a long time ago, it’s him doing the flirting this time, I swear. Okay, bye, thanks for the (rough) ride…now to take a matatu.

Jeez, where are the mats? Been standing for almost 20 minutes, why did I feel sweet for the matatu that just departed? Please don’t talk to me, fellow waiting passengers, am in no mood to be friendly today, besides I woke up late. You actually talking to me? Yeah, I’ve been here for almost 15 minutes, Dude-with-Shady-Sunglasses-and-Funny-Hairstyle. Don’t worry that am turning and looking at the other side, a sure sign of disinterest. As I explained, am not in a friendly mood, which is why most of what am saying is not coming out loud. But am taking the next matatu that comes along.

Oh, here it is. It’s so full, but the conductor is giving me his seat. I’ll take it, but am regretting a few minutes later because another passenger has just entered and am forced to sit in space, literally. There is this space between the seats in a matatu that acts as a passageway for back seats. Am dangling off one side of the seat and perhaps I should gain a few more pounds so I can sit in the ‘space’ more comfortably. Am hating this ride, can’t wait to be over. Conductor, just take the cash, don’t bother saying something witty, I won’t laugh, I promise you that.

Finally, here we are. Ok, to the inquiry desk. Yes, Reception Guy. I have to sign the activation form for my account, I know, it’s been dormant. Not because of me, I assure you. I am not in charge of putting money into the account you see, only withdrawing it, and for the past six months, the person in charge of putting money into the account has been giving it to me directly. Oh, you have to take this withdrawal slip to be signed by the manager since I have no ID. Fine, I’ll wait.

Five minutes, how will I know it’s been signed? And I can see the manager through the glass window talking to a client? Can’t she just sign my slip…what’s taking her so long? I am not going to pace, just stand and stare. Finally, she is beckoning me…okay, Miss Manager, just so you know, this is the hundredth time am repeating my theft story, so just sign? What? I have to now join the withdrawal queue? Isn’t that the queue that is almost spilling outside? Do I have a choice? ATM card…I am still waiting for that. Okay, thanks anyway.

Oh Mon Dieu, this is the longest queue I have been on since first year when I was paying my school fees. Am glad my-not-so-old-man is doing it now, though that means I can’t lie about how much fees I pay in order to take a few thousands for myself.

Let’s see, where is the tail of this multiple S queue? Behind the Quiet-Personality Guy(Q.P)? Squeezing through the ATM queue now…here I am, Q.P Guy. I wish I had my phone, I’d be on twitter right now, or facebook. Am so bored, how will I get through it? I wish I had even carried my novel…that psychological thriller by someone Kellerman.

I guess am going to have to look for some way to amuse myself for the one hour or so that I’ll be standing on this line. It’s hot in this hall, Jesus, where is the air conditioning? Hey, who is this guy? Is he cutting the queue? Squeezing past me now, so unapologetic…oh, the pungent whiff of tobacco, he’s a smoker. He seems to find his place in the queue, I get it now. He had gone out for a smoke. Smart move, not just because smoking is prohibited, but because the room might bust into spontaneous flames…it’s that hot. I have to remove this sweater.

Mr. Tall Man…you seem to be the only tall one around. It’s like the world is shorter or something. Everyone here is as short as me, or just a little taller. Oh no, don’t look at me…no, not even my bust. I know, I know, it’s conspicuous. Am wearing one of those modern bras that push your high chest even higher into your face. Yes, I can breathe, I just can’t see my toes without bending into an acrobatic angle. Ah, I see…now your interest has shifted your attention from what’s beneath my top to what’s drawn on it.

Let me explain why it’s goth. On it are these two nude chicks…sitting at some angle so no exposed vital parts, but both have wings. One has a halo over her head, the other a pair of horns. They are seated on a skull…I wish I still had my Chinese phone, I would have put up a photo. Anyway, below the depiction is the caption DAMNED. Did I mention it’s a glow in the dark kind of thing? I love this top…I even refused to give it to Cliffo Small as a souvenir. Maybe when I finish campus, though I doubt it will fit him. He’s pretty muscular, you know. No, that’s not how I know…I just hug him every time we meet so I know.

Second guy from front, what are you doing? Am sooo irritated, yet I stare in horrid fascination. Why are you picking at a clean beard? Wait a minute…it’s a miniature pimple that you are turning into a monster one…stop it! Now! Before I say it out loud. Look away? I just can’t…don’t know why. Could you be an obsessive compulsive guy? I can see your fingernails are bitten short…do you swallow your nails when you chew them? Fine, I can’t stand your pickings any more, I have to look away. Straight into the mirror.

Am confronted my browning wild hair. I combed it this morning, it does have a habit of sticking out. My mum says I have inherited that from my father, well, she knew him back when he used to have an afro. I remember how my bro has been refusing to shave his hair…and his defense is that my dad had an afro at his age, why can’t my brother have one? Needless to say, he shaved it in the end…my dad is still boss. Bro is not yet in campus so he can’t do anything he wants.

Finally, I’ve turned a corner…thirty minutes gone? My thoughts are killing me. So far, I haven’t said a word out loud. Where are the young people in this hall? It’s like am the only one, at least the only one under 25 with a dress code of jeans. Oh, there you are Young Dude. Really, eye contact? Am not interested. Where is your hand going? Hmm….you are trying to impress me by ‘chomoaing’ that phone…don’t bother, I can tell it’s Chinese. I am experienced, my brother, besides mine actually looked almost authentic. I see you have turned another bend in the queue and out of my line of vision. Good riddance.

At least now there are some 20 people behind me. Lady in Pink, tsk, tsk….I know the decency debate, but you can wear fitting clothes. You are practically floating in yours, but it is your call anyway. Aren’t you in your early thirties? Take it easy. Oh, I see, you are studying me now. Disapproval oozes from you, I can feel it. Don’t mind me smiling out loud…these pencil jeans are in fashion. Besides, if it makes you feel better, the heels are killing me.

Why is everyone here wearing a weave? Including Matronly-Woman-In-Purple-with-Green-Plastic-Basket. She reminds me of a primary school teacher on her way to retirement with a farm and some cows. Yes you, what’s in the basket? Can’t see from this angle, besides, you have covered it with one of those ‘vitambaas.’ Looking closely, I can now see it’s a wig, not a weave. A good thing am a distance away, I am sorely tempted to yank it from your head. Not unkindly though….it’s the restlessness that comes from being in a queue.

Finally, just one more bend…Guy-From-Deposit-Queue-Opposite, you are not my type, so please, quit staring at me. I swear, I don’t like attention…I can assure you when am in campus I don’t stand out. I have seen outrageous dressing. A good thing your queue is short, and moving rapidly. Still haven’t given up? How can you be looking sideways like that, you might have neck-ache later.

At last, am facing the cashier. It’s been almost an hour. I have spent it composing this blog post, which is true, by all accounts, I can assure you.