By Smitta
DJ CK is a fresh guy ka cologne ya Don Corleone.
I met him o’er tha weekend at the FCC, n I waz chattin’ with two fresh colle chicas — Philly Yambo of Goethe Inst. N Eva Ogumbe of KIMC; n the beauty luvin Don immediately goes like "Smitta, y have ya thrown me away."
N I’m like "Sir, I haven’t" —but wazz tha point, dude wazn’t e-en lookin at me, macho were on the colle dudettes. Eventually, after chit-chat, his glitzy shiny black Merc rolled up; n the equally glitzyly clad DJ CK rolled off, sayin’ ‘I waz hopin’ the Sana Sana fest was here.’ Uh?
I got a biz plan 4 DJ CK – a reality show deal. He shd put 2gether a reality show ‘The Senior Bachelor’, get a dozen colle gals n kick off one per week. At the end, the winner gets ta be his chiqdee all o’ twente ten — n go World Cup wit him. N wazz in it 4 me? Other than good cheddar, I getta be the show host n hang around all dem damsels, tehe.
Nxt day, I rolled there –— n twasn’t at FCCC, or Museum Hill like de otha years, twas in the mtaa of Ngara.
‘Sawa Sawa’ where Ghetto radio now is usedta be Shan cinema or sumthin, thn it became an STD clinic — n as I dropped off theya, I could hear the ghosts of groaning victims of gono, against tha backdrop of old bellow-dramatique Bollywood muzik as the muhindi chiqdee prepares to fall, while wailing a song, over a cliff in Agh-Bangalore.
Three Happy Dreads
Instead watt I met was the artista greats Taabu n Makadem, eatin Macademian nuts outside the Sawa Sawa show-house.
That warrior-artist Githuka Mwangi was the first pal I met inside the Sawa show joint, n after been joined by dat odda rasta-man Tosh, we three Haffi Happy dreads made our way upstairs area where we coulda better see the showa — n de krowd.
Nice krowd at the festival. Artsy afro-miros like Berta Kiangoi, hippy honkies like the odiero she be wit, n the local curious Ngara muhindis happy to juzz be in de mix.
A cucumber calld Emmanuel Mutua Muhinda wanted ta knw y I no longer always perform at MC Cindy Ogana’s Kwani toosdays; n I tole him da truth. "A grizzly lit gangsta like me shdn’t be stealin’ limes-lite 4rm up n comers like young uns Robin Njenga or fab Felix Mind."
There was a corromotion. Twas bronze Presenter ‘Drogba’ Koome in the house wit a trio of chickas — one short n stout like a tea-pot, one medium-okay, n a big ooglie one, all fawnin over his highness. Tis like me brother Papa Ahmed ‘Hammer’ always slammers: ‘ Y is it dat a fine sista always has gotta get summa uglie as sin mamsilla as a bez friend?’
After watchin Carol Atemi’s flawless performance, n chatting with tha greatest pub-n — resto manager in Kinya, Wasanii’s Job (yu rock, man!), I slid like a Taliban past members of the Al Qaeda dance fammo ta outside ta talk LIVE ter Capitol’s Jazz maestro, Jack Ojiambo.
Honestly, I knw only kapuka n rock, n jazz is juzz razzmatazz to thissss papz. Was wishin’ CEO was deya coz he de one who know dat guanta-jazz, lakini the dude was off watchin rooj-by somewhere in Kili. Yaani wen soccer season is over, CEO becomes a langa of all tha sports — cricket, F1, darts n even omena-anglin’ off the shore of Migingos. But those are other storos.
Outdoor caterers
After chat with Jack O, he introd me to me best friend of the aftie –— a guy who is like totally cool, n whom we spend away the aftie sayin’ cool stuff like: "Hey dude, trend is ya best friend," even as paps like Bob Doule, George Kama n the grippy girlie o Grape-Vine flowed by like dry wine.
I spotted a nearby Ngara bar called ‘The DRC — under new management’ n thought — juzz like the orijinal Zaire, whose fashion style one Mike Owuor simply adores.
Sarakasi trust outdoor caterers gave us free mshikakis ta go wid de one sock brown bottez, e’en as one rooj fanatic Edward Kiru waxed ecstatic abt ‘our lads’ like Collo Injera.
Here came spin doctor Albertski Josiah, all vest, shaggy beards n scary tattoos; n me ole high school mate Oliver Odhis. Olly was wid a dresser hair at ‘Touch n Glo’ called Flash Gordon (I knoow, like duh?) who eyed my marabou stork nest dreads, n almost kuff-d. 4 nxt season, I think I’ll juzz get a Didier drogba gerry-curl. 1984, here I come!
Man G-Wiji gemme his latest (gospo) CD while Eric Wainaina, the wonderful, seemd perplexed dat if we was to hitch de Sha in a year (she waz in TZ-dee), we’d’a been gauged just two n half years. Fta all, Erik n Sheba Hirst were engag’d for seven n a half years. T break deya record, babes, lez hook up in twente fifteen, yaaayyy.
Delphine, de poetess, shewed me ta where Lupita Nyongo, da superb film lassita was at, n I sed we coffee out at Nakumatt Lifestyle. "I ne’er been there," she said frankly, all smiles, brilliance n face piercings. She a young Joy Mboya, I tell-cha.
Lately, I been meetin’ folk I only known afore in FB — n leavin Sawa Sawa with rocker boy Ronje (drummer in ‘The awakening’), I met anna one —Siteiya Tabbs Sunshine.
She waz smaller dan I thoth, prettier, but juzz as sarkastik off line, as we rode a DvD n neon numero nine ma3 to tao calld ‘The Limbo.’ The ryde kumbushed me of me high skool years, wen we chilangad for hot javes, n calld bootylicious chilez "manyangas."
Funny funny FB-er
At Furahidayz in tao, met a good man called Davie Sang, a fine young lawyer wid cool swagger. Also nutha FB fabby nucca Phoebe Archie (swell as sayin’ ‘hello’ to da lolippopicious Nayomi Mwendski) b4 rockin to Ka-Choi where funny funny FB-er n rocker Sandie Mullux waz; but more importantly, de coolest club manager in Nai BEN is back at Choi.
Wit King Jack ruling from decks-tops with songs like ‘Seven Days of Thunder’ n ‘ I’m Going Under,’ our rock pentagon of medi-piloter James Kigotho, Rock Doc, Ronje, Godfather Mike n mwa ruled dat dance floor like devils.
At dawn, as I staggered to a cab n it spun me home in de sunrise past Nyayo stady ( brrr, Saa Mbilli saa hii ni Saa Silly), I coulda sworn I swore our award-winnin bro Bonnie Mwangi scalin’ the walls o Nyayo to go heckle the o’Rezzo. Bonnie M got balls, (er, lez juzz say ‘guts’ instd coz afta dat squeezin’ of scrotski by the Spesho branchski).
Njox aside, Bonnie is ryte. We need change. The Baks callin’ poor miros ‘pumbaffs who shd go do their siasa huko mitaa’ sounded like he got contempt for commoners (watu wa mitaa). N we ain’t yet forgotten watt his first ladie thinks of the good citizens of Korogocho. E’en chokoras are Kinyans, n it makes this show-biz kitty feel waru wen I see the Obamas bailin’ out their jamas; while the O’Baks n even Tinga-tings sumtymes juzz look like wana-tu-enjoy tu tuu too sana.
