older-versus-youngerTo some extent I so much envy ladies when it comes to their innovative ways of making extra income. Come to think of how a career as a socialite became acceptable and admirable by legions of ladies. How this career has unashamedly crawled up our knees to pose as a flourishing million dollar industry, right on our noses. Ponder how many Trophy Ladies survive by just holding their sponsors’ arms, smiling at their business partners, booking tickets for holidays, looking pretty, seated next to them when being chauffeured in dark, humongous cars, satisfying their erotic needs and massaging their egos. On the hand, men have no easier ends. It’s getting tougher for us. All we do is stir the shorter end of the stick. It’s time we got our very own Maghufuli at the helm of Maendeleo ya Wanaume. I guy who is super creative and visionary. Maybe we can poach lads who call shots at the enviable Team Subaru fraternity. With that, we will have brought in new blood with machizmo and invigoration to make us think outside the box. I mean, there must be easier ways of making money, surely!

So who is a Trophy Lady? I hope I will be in order to assume ladies who wake up to solely serve this moneyed man, smile 24/7  whenever around him and simply look good and get paid in kind or otherwise for those sort of services, meet the definition. A legal mpango wa kando who has no bones to strain. Think of such a contract. Here’s the thing, this industry is growing in leaps and bounds every single day since men with means are willing to spend on such ladies.

Now, meet this lass;

Call her Anita. A story is told by my friend about how she watched a girl get wasted in a span of 3 years right on her face. Note, WASTED is relative. So how;

One hot afternoon, Anita walked to the office dressing an overwrought face and making some jingling noise from layers of bangles tossed on her slender hands. She had a model-like body. Her hair strolled all the way, dangling the waistline and her pretty, long dress did the honours of flattering her strongholds. She was a beautiful Borana lady, lucky to be educated (No pun intended) and out, hunting for a job. She was holding an A4 envelope, enclosing documents that summarised her background and on that context, had come to seek for employment.

After pensively waiting at the front office area, she was directed to my friend’s boss, had a conversation that dragged for about half an hour and out, she walked. She left her C.V behind and of course her phone number as requested and that was the beginning of her evolution. The boss had fallen for this charming look.  That Anita had come to seek a reception position was a non-issue for now. Three years down the line, that has never seen the light of day. This guy had other plans and so she fell in the subterfuge, predictably.

What followed were a series of sumptuous coffee dates and trips to enviable places for lunch. Her conscience had been compromised. Her naivety gave in to his selfishness.  Having his family live in a distant town, the chicken had come home to roost. Sooner than later, Anita would move to this guy’s digs. Her new lifestyle had tricked her. Her goals in life had now changed. Her J.D was just to satisfy this man, go out for shopping and salon. Life had become so flawless.

Gradually, she was made to believe she was the second wife as long as the genuine wife wouldn’t visit. When the latter popped, she was made to leave for a weekend or so and sort sleep-overs elsewhere. All along the wife had made peace with the fact that this man cheats on her. She had had so many. Her man was so hooked to cheating that it had become normal. In fact, unawares, Anita was one amongst legions of them. Why hers was a special case, was because he caged her. He trapped her future and curved in trajectories that brainwashed her. Meanwhile, for Anita, she forgot about her boyfriend and family. She was in a new lane and the rest didn’t matter.

Slowly, she became aloof and lazy. She started imagining whatever this guy had acquired over the years was equally hers. Overtime she gained so much imaginary power that she could fire a driver or gateman at will. She didn’t even cook or clean the house or at least clear the table after a meal. That was the house servant job. Hers were to watch movies and do plenty of sleeping.

For numerous occasions, the lad relentingly sort jobs for her. But she couldn’t make it past the interview desk. Her laidback attitude robbed her opportunities due to her comfortable lifestyle. Seeking for employment became a forgotten priority. The only skill she acquired after hooking up with this guy, was a mere driving course.

Cleverly, this chap didn’t absorb her in his firm since he was all aware that she would antagonise and crumble down his baby investment within no time. Hers was to accompany this chap when he attended business meetings in Nairobi or Maasai Mara or Coast and sit pretty, wear an infectious smile, cuddle him if need be and be all over him. For a fifty something old guy, dating a lady the age of his daughter somehow does wonders to his testosterone. There is a funny myth among guys that if you sleep with ladies half or less your age, you will remain younger, fresh and vigorous.

From the school of public opinion, this lady was doing very well. Having several cars at her disposal and flying across the country and dressing in clothes shopped in exclusive places. When you compared her to her peers, she was doing very well. (Insert sarcasm). Now, the danger with this generation is; we are too selfish. We are people that have no guilt. We are humans who have no problem with dating married men and women. We are super selfish. As long as this guy lives, this lady will have it all having edged the wife from the scene and serving as the aide de camp of this manner-less chap.

She has no plans to settle down, at least not in the near future or get a kid. Mind you, this guy still cheats on her. (Anita). What’s the point? Live a lavish life meanwhile forsake or mislead your family that you are doing very well in life, edge out a whole family, remain financially dependent on a man, acquire no further skill/education and have nothing that you will ever call yours. But that beside the point, sooner or later this guy will get back to his senses or rather get over her. Funny enough, she once called the office demanding for some money to buy airtime meaning this guy deliberately gives her less than enough chumz for upkeep and not sufficient to save or invest. In other words, she lives at his behest; he can trust her with his raunchy body but not his damn money.

As long as you are dating a married man or woman, yours will be a time bomb and lots of guilt now or later. Nobody is wholly righteous but that’s not an excuse to engage in bringing down families and robbing somebody’s children; a daddy or a mummy.

In the end, Karma is alive and watching from a distance, doing press ups and waiting to pounce!

We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them – Kahlil Gibran




Daddy & Mummy.ashxI took close to three decades to utter these four words that had haunted me for the better part of my life; “Mum I love you.” I had to. I was scared of not saying them before Annabelle or Adrian sets in the world (God willing) of Kageshi and I. It happened spontaneously as I conducted vote of thanks after a family function. It still sounded awkward, but I had to say it. Time had come. I was happy and relieved to have conquered that stubborn part of me. I didn’t grow up in an environment where parents said words like “Andrew, I love you”. That’s not how my siblings and I were conditioned.  I don’t blame my parents either. There was no way they’d give what didn’t exist in their lives. They too were not accustomed to that. Just like many others, they were in a transition of struggling to shed off the village way of parenting and embracing contemporary avenues of raising kids. Good or bad, they were wading in the mixed jungle of traditions and 90’s & 2000’s civilizations. Why would they have worried about giving us a goodnight kiss while there was more to deal with; like paying school fees, ensuring we had at least the basics in life and that the cows were dewormed?

Not a single day did they hug us, until it felt queer to be hugged by mum or dad. Childhood was a mixed bag in our lives. We had to discover ourselves along the way and fight for our dreams, to keep them alive. We were also to paddle in the confusion of being in a middle class school and living in the village. There were neither TV, FM radio stations nor electricity. But there was KBC…..John Karani and Charity Karimi of the Kings and Queens Show, from 4pm every weekday. Woooh! That was one huge show, listening to Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre, The Boy Is Mine – Brandy and then Usher happened. Meanwhile Sundowner from 6pm by Catherine Ndonye and the late Nzau Kalulu (RIP legend) were too sensational to miss. Kiss FM came through in 2002 if I’m not wrong. In fact there is one song by Ja rule ft. Ashanti which always reminds me of those years in class 7. It used to play frequently in Kiss. Away from that; we visited the barber once in three months. We engaged in hunting hares and grazing our dad’s cattle. Cutting napier grass that left itches on our arms and getting the right formula of mixing ‘dairy meal portions with molasses’ for the livestock. Waking up early to get ‘weeds’ which served us feeds for our rabbits. We also learnt to milk cows at an early age and ride “adult-bicycles” pretty early.

Fast forward today. That can’t be copy pasted to now. Our kids grow in storey estates or in houses with tiny compounds and a kitchen garden if lucky. Kids of this generation need to be affirmed daily.  They need to be hugged after a family breakfast and dropped at the school gate. And before they chuck out of the car, they expect a high five and be like; “Daddy I love you.” And you nod firmly saying; “I love you too sweet thing.” You have to befriend their teachers and monitor they performance in school. You’ll even insist they become active in co-curricular activities in school. You will read for them bedroom stories before they fall asleep. Other times you will kiss them at the forehead goodnight and chase them to sleep.

Phrases like; “Andrian, Mum and Dad love you” is too costly to overlook. They’ll grow in an environment where everybody speaks English including the house girl and where everything under the roof is monitored by CCTV camera. Their rooms will even have panic buttons. They will be better at operating your phone than you. They’ll play football within high perimeter walls and do hide and seek in parking yards. In the evening you’ll play chess game together as a family. They will call to ask why you are late to get home on those days your colleagues convince you to pass by the ‘local’. On bad days, while hanging those annoying headphones on their necks, they’ll throw tantrums and slam doors to their bedrooms ‘cursing’ you. You’ll look helpless in body and demeanor as your poor gait will be left staring a closed door. And do nothing about it. You will worry about what they browse on their laptops or what they watch while you are away. You will struggle to teach them about sex education and how that road is a no go zone, at least for now.

You will love these kids so much to devote all your evenings in getting interested on how they do their homework. You will remind yourself about BODMAS and LCM mathematics. Speaking of LCM; you will have wondered why 1/2 + 1/2 is resulting to 2/4 (in your head) only to remember after a whole 30 foolish minutes that there was one damn thing called LCM that Mr. Njeru taught you in class 5. Hahaha. You will also recite that song that helped you recall colours of the rainbow only to learn that it was changed to a new one by this digital generation. You will buy them test papers every week and mark them so diligently. On some days you will sleep late hours as you drive a formula home that Annabelle will probably have failed to comprehend in class; addition of Mixed Fractions and Area of a cylinder. And that Area and Perimeter are two different things. Haki ya nani!! Other times homework will be done in the morning because Mummy and Daddy will have been late in their Masters classes and the kids will have taken that advantage to watch BlackList with the house girl.

You will sacrifice your office work for a Parent’s Day meeting. This will awaken memories of your dad showing up with a newspaper at hand during your times. You will realise how time flies first and how you will have metamorphosed to a daddy. Walking side by side with your young ones to their class teacher will rekindle many nostalgic memories from those good old days. When you received your first letter from a girl named Maureen* (not her real name) that your sisters found in your shirt on that sunny Saturday while cleaning your clothes. They laughed and made fun of you for so long until it started to bother you…….Holding his hand, you will wonder if Andrian has a Maureen* in his life and whether she has jolted a letter to your heir yet! Back to where we were. Sitting pretty and watching those cute, innocent faces recite poems and plays, amid cheers from the parents will make you appreciate how life moves fast. It will feel good to be a parent. It will hit you that you are ageing gracefully. You will find yourself rising up and asking hard questions during the PTAs meetings; like why parents are paying staggering amounts of money for transport yet the school bus keep breaking down, inconveniencing the kids and the parents. Or why parents must buy the so called ‘weekend uniform’ for borders when the pupils have several pairs of P.E kits. Worse still, why uniform have to be bought from the school when it is way cheaper out there.

Being the best daddy has always been your wish and wondering whether you have achieved that so far, will be tough to answer.

El jurado está fuera El jurado! (The jury is out! - Spanish)


bar attendants3The holidays might be done and dusted but you are still stuck in the neck of woods taking stock of a season that literally milked you dry. At least from 21st December, it was a rolling stone; you on a drinking spree from lazy afternoons to cock-crow hours, the next morning. The only songs playing in your ride’s stereo the next morning were like;

Nigga we made it, hey
We made it
Nigga we made it, hey
Damn, we made it
Nigga we made it, hey
We made it, aye
Nigga we made it, hey
We made it.

In actual sense, you woke up at 9 am in the many mornings having made it to the parking yard and falling asleep right in the car. How you drove yourself home and survived the alcoblow guyz is a whole rocket science puzzle your mind is still trying to add up. That was you for an entire fortnight. Your woman threw tantrums from here to Bethlehem and back. The rest of the family were equally unlucky to have a piece of you. You made technical appearances for the family-get-togethers and drove off as soon as dusk settled in.

So who brain washed your Finance Manager brains or rather hired you in entirety? Well, the underestimated world of female bartenders raided your Kingdom and this is what you wrote home about;

Ready! Let’s go!!

Social drinkers are patrons mostly middle class men and women who imbibe not necessarily because they have an urge within them to do so but do it anyway, to enjoy the great feeling that comes with an awesome company complemented by an epic location. They are choosy urbanite generation, who are suckers for the fine things their pockets (read bank loans) can afford. Unlike alcoholics, they meet in trendy ‘locals’ to catch up, network and to have a good time. In the process they make new friends or strike new deals. All under the watchful eyes of women who serve them endless drinks all night long. These women in many a time will have dressed seductively and will have bodies worth the drooling. The problem with serving beer to a man for 6 solid hours definitely triggers chemistry if it’s not more. Now, if this happens 3 times a week, that is like 12 times in a month or 14 days during December holidays, there will be more than meets the eye. Ladies, if your man is a heavy drinker, there is something to worry about. There is even more to worry if he visits this particular entertainment joint come rain or sunshine. Nowadays patrons have the right to demand to be served by specific bartenders. The customer is always right and should have his/her way, you know!

Of course not all female bartenders have any ‘ill motives’. We have professional ones who work diligently to make a living and in the process manage to ignore any advancement from whatever quarters be it from the Management or the lusty patrons. That does not include some that hover around your table from 6pm to 5:05 am, always stealing glances at you. Some will rub their all-popping-chests around your back pretending to be serving from your backs. Others will grab the next available seat around you and purport to be taking a short ‘commercial break’ as they dangle their bottle openers towards your arm. Some will cling on your friend’s lap (A Mr.Njoroge – IT geek) and afford to show no qualms. Why this particular bartender will be so cosy in that position will be out of manipulating Njoroge’s courteous demeanor.  Isn’t that s***** harassment?

I came up with five major categories of female bartenders that will serve as a heads -up or a way of discerning the wheat from the chaff, the next time your beer and you are robbed the much acclaimed bliss by these class of humans;

Single Mothers

Actually you will never notice they are already young mothers until they throw it when you least expect. This always has a way of leaving a dull taste in your beer. Usually, they depict maturity in their conversations and a lot of soberness in life matters. They are mostly fit, intelligent, beautiful and armed with decades-old skills that bring out the soft and vulnerable side of you. They cut into size hot-tempered men including them that pull emotionless attitudes out there. They never speak loudly or laugh anyhow. They grin and chuckle when it’s necessary and in a decent way. The danger comes from the fact that they are always in the hunt for soul mates. Many men fall in this shit as they struggle to balance a no strings attached sort of friendship and being trapped in the webs of ‘love’.

Moody & Snitchy

Normally dated by Senior Supervisors/Managers or real ‘sponsors’. They Waiguru and topple anybody who dares to step on their toes. They are untouchables, authoritative and own millions of insecurities in their bank of life. Being moody is part of their norm and can easily get their colleagues fired. If they decide to dislike you as a patron, your peace in that entertainment joint will forever be wanting.

Humble & ‘Harmless’ 

These are college drop-outs or 20 year old lasses who didn’t make to college due to financial woes. Normally, they are nonchalant earthlings trying to make ends meet the hard way out of desperate situations. How they find themselves working in a bar is a whole 10 episode Devious Maid-like series that will leave you teary and emotional. Their stories are boggling, making you appreciate how God has been generous to you. Working in a bar is a very short term thing for them.

Spoilt Ratchets

Talk of bad girls of this game. Bold and brave in every word, deed and dressing. They are the caliber that finds joy in breaking rules. Basically, they stand out for all the wrong reasons. They wear shorter skirts than their colleagues, sport heavily padded bras that unleash kilos of drooping cleavage and pull all sort of weird hairstyles from crazy mo-hawks to side shaves that steal all the attention and make statement in the process.

Husband Snatchers

They find thrill in poaching married men and ‘domesticating’ them as long as they would wish. To them it’s all about fulfilling one’s fantasy. From houses fully furnished effortlessly to businesses set up by these cornered men, theirs is to identify, chase and cage these vulnerable humans. To them, there is never a hurry to get married when they are already living larger than life lifestyles without breaking a sweat. They live a connived life shadowed with a guiltless comportment.


Now you know……!

Have a sober January.

Ta vare! (Take care in Norwegian).


thank youOn 30th December 2015 as routine, I received an email from WordPress (my blog’s domain) highlighting on my last year’s performance. They cracked statistics on my posts viewership, the popular sites used to access my blog and countries where the viewers were based at that time.  I was exceptionally excited for the reason that I outdid myself in 2015 vis a vis 2014 by 2.5 rate margin. That’s double and plus, increase in viewership. To me, that was sincerely rewarding, overwhelming and humbling. You that is reading this post today was part of that great work that resulted in those impressive numbers. I’m delighted to write an appreciation post for you that read my articles religiously, you that shared it across social media platforms and you that formed a conversation with your friends borne out of my posts.

Humanly, not all posts that I write are exciting as such. It’s human nature. As many of my friends would ask what drives my passion to try and write every single week; I have no clear answer. In any case it is very difficult to write every week, from my perspective. It’s even harder when your readers expect something more juicy and entertaining every subsequent week. Things are made worse by my 8 – 6 career. It’s demanding and sometimes maddening. Some weeks are crazy and involving. Meaning I get little time to think rationally and to trigger creativity. But all in all, I find myself trying to make short paragraphs that later evolve to an article.

Interestingly, some friends share some personal stuff with me and end up warning me not to write about them in my blog. I find that very interesting. Anyway, them being friends, I respect their opinion and adhere to that. On the other hand some don’t care a thing. Actually some Whatsapp me pleading I write on particular subjects. In such a situation I critically assess my writing style, targeted social spectrum and my degree of ownership on that given story. If I struggle with either; I drop it. But that does not mean I never appreciate my readers feedback. In fact, it’s what I live for. Getting to hear from you on particular posts, grows me as a writer in my formative stages of writing.

It’s on that note that I wish to clarify on some articles that perhaps you as a reader didn’t necessarily agree with. It’s okay not to agree with whatever I write. Some of my posts have been dubbed controversial or condescending to certain quarters. I have no feud with that. Contrary to your imagination, I get very happy when I get phone calls and messages of you readers registering your disapproval with some of my posts. The thing is; it’s never personal. As may be to some writers, I never use my blog to settle scores, perpetuate hatred and violence or vices that aggravate evil. This blog has never and will never be a platform to perpetuate gossip, to ridicule either gender, be part of any political affiliation or antagonise religious beliefs. I’m very consistent with what I believe in. No one post contradicts the other. I uphold my self-made principles and ethics. I try as much to live to the expectations of my conscious. If it doesn’t agree with my conscious, I won’t approve it.

Now, to all my readers scattered across the world, thank you very much. You might be small in number compared to other mainstream blogs. Don’t be dwarfed by that fact. Knowingly or unknowingly you joined to be part of my discovery. You have played a major role in helping me go through my self-realisation. As a matter of fact, writing has made me understand whom I am. It has curved out my identity and what my legacy stands for. Writing has quietly announced my passions and the creative part in me. It has also made me appreciate it’s possible for dreams to be actualised with hard work, consistency and remaining hungry to do more to mould them. More importantly, writing remains to be a therapy that heals my emotional wounds. Writing is tough. Maintaining readers is even tougher.

Sometimes I write drafts, reread them several times and read them loud like a 4 year old reading a story book, only for me to disqualify them or shelve them for God knows how long! One thing I have learnt over the years in my writing journey is that; write whenever and all the time, however little. It might not seem captivating now but not after some weeks or months. Some of my greatest articles were initially, drafts that gathered dust in the draft box. The truth is, to an extent, a writer is judged by the size of his/her draft box. A draft box epitomizes creativity and wealth of a writer. It’s a tool box or a training ground before a major combat. Epic articles are sculpted as they wander in the dull world of a draft box. A draft box is like Iten Highlands to Kenya Athletes.

Back to where I begun. WordPress shared with me a chronology of countries whose citizens sampled my blog at one time or another in 2015. Top on the list were my main men and women – Kenya. Thank you Kenya for showing some love to your son. Kenya had about 33% viewership followed closely by European Union with a combined percentage of 31. Norway, US, UK, S.A, Russia & Australia shared the spoils respectively, with 73 other countries registering some life to my blog too. Thank you readers from whichever part of the globe, miles away breathing life to my dream. God willing when I get kids, you will be part of the story I will share to them. How about that! I pay particular attention to the few dozen readers from Papua Guinea. I’m sure you’ve read TheManWhoMadeTheRestOfUsLookBad/  . I naively hope you took part in helping Alphose Kambu be a better human being.

Dear readers keep reading and sharing my articles. To you and you and you who inbox, Whatsapp or call to ask me when the next article is; keep harassing me. Sometimes I need that push. While at it, form conversations with me regarding my topics and feel free to share your suggestions.

Finally, have a very blessed year 2016 to you and all your loved ones. Promise to be a better human being and dare to read more. Merci (Thank you – French)





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