So much fascination of the West. Are there no loafers, vagabonds and street sweepers? And is it not a fact that almost everybody who goes there are menial workers.
These are the people who are ready to be called ‘Black monkeys’ while stooping low to boot lick the whites and when they come back to Africa they want to be treated as demigods.
They come back with aura of snobbishness spiced up with haughty eyes. So it is no surprise when westernized Africans say; “it’s very hard to help an African….” This comes after their hard earned money has been overtaxed from jobs with no (or least) security like nursing.
Have you ever wondered what could happen if US borders were to be free for just a day? Just imagine those poor blacks dying to Spain could have a heyday; the visa line at American Embassy could be relieved.
I imagine banks doing a booming business loaning out fares, but above all Africa and Kenya in particular could be empty. I would not forget to pity the Americans because the millions of shillings they get from visas will dry up, my pity will too go to third world countries which receive this donor shillings in loans-just talk of giving with one and stealing from the other.
It is just absurd how Kenyans are west-crazy. Have you ever come across anybody with a relative in the west (a relation attached by cello tape): “Oh! My relative (or unseen pen pal) ananifanyia mipango….. Blah! Blah! Blah! (Plus a lot of daydreaming) these are guys living in a cocoon of fantasy and find it hard to embrace reality.
Kenya is a thousand miles south of Sahara and do you know what that means? It means we are in the part of the world wrenched with poverty, civil strife, high child mortality and a cool HIV/AIDS infection rate. So the thought of comparing your fellow Kenyans with westerns is very inconsiderate.
Anyway away from the West and direct to our capital Nairobi. I just wonder why villagers have got a passion for the capital and not any other big towns. Problem always catch up with us villagers during holidays when the Nairobians carry all their households back. It is funny that all these Nairobians are always from Lavington, Runda and other crème-de-crème estates, I am yet to meet a Korogocho and Mathare Valley guy.
The problem gets murkier when they have electronic gadgets; they will assault any poor guy willing to listen in ‘Ahujarized’ voice about the manual, but please do not ask what an electronic cooker is doing in a grass thatched-mud-and-wattle house in the heart of a remote village where rural electrification is a myth.
You see my village mind always get confused with those city girls a.k.a chicks- I always wonder if their boyfriends are cocks.
Can somebody please enlighten a villager to why a fully grown female specie of Homo sapiens with a bunch of kids likes the name chick but not a hen? These chicks or hens will always insist on Fanta and Chippo in the heart of a Githeri zone.
Needless to say they have always deleted their sir name to have a bizarre combination of two English names to hide their tribes therefore a Mary Nyang’inya will be Mary Anne or a Sipporah Nyakerario Atieno will be a Zippy Night.
So it wasn’t a shock when I saw an ‘enlightened’ fellow who told us was a manager being buttoned by city askaris in the daily paper. The other who was helping his long distance uncle to run a chain of hotels or hovels was caught begging on the streets.