8-4-4 SYSTEM SHOULD BE BANNED By Daisy Waitherero Wambua

Being in school for a quarter century has been a skid on ice. Nobody really gets why we do it, who came up with 8-4-4 and why not 3-2-2, why is there no home schooling for this system and generally who came first? The teacher or the Ed.

Do I blame a bunch of ingrate teenagers for sending their schools to hell? No, not really. With the hormonal rush, petrol as an accessory to food, oppressive rules and regulations and minimal understanding from teachers; Heck! Somebody take me back to High School I start my training as an arson. Most people value this system and believe its oxygen to the brain; these people are our parents. They know everything.

But what if they don’t? School is not as crucial as education. Let’s say I spend a minimal of eight hours a day learning about mitochondria and Alkanes and ultimately manage to get an A. Teachers, parents and the principal herself is ecstatic for my brilliance has once again proven immortal. In real sense, Mitochondria and Alkanes couldn’t be more than the dust on my feet. Assuming, my passion is more in line with catering, the science of food, the intricate mixture of flavors and taste yet, I spend quarter of my life span dwelling on square roots and pie charts that won’t put the meal I made on the table. So in the end really, who needs to educate who?

What if oxygen is just a chemical that reduces our lifespan and everybody succumbs to it after eighty to one hundred years? Did Abraham and his squad breathe the same air as the rest of us? Is Raila’s fish and ugali an exact replica of what Jesus fed his people? You only need to train an average of four years to be an epitome of success in your field.  But we spend twenty years learning and focusing on all what is irrelevant but is considered relevant by those from prior years. The mistake we make is we believe them and take their word as gospel truth; in four years or sixteen thousand hours you could be a guru in whatever prospect.

School does not teach us on matters of life; it’s an experiment and we are just lab rats. Can you adhere to rules and how long? Is it possible to retain all information of eight subjects from a mere 300 pages a book? Are you able to jump when ordered to and how high? Repeat the same schedule for four years straight and maintain the same enthusiasm, Do one grand exam that puts all those years of hardwork to the ground or elevates you to a more intense curriculum.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. How many generations have to suffer under this backward system for us to realize that there could be another way of doing things? Do we really need to read for twenty years? Is it a must we have all those irrelevant topics in our curriculum? Who came up with differentiation in Mathematics? And what is wrong with you?

If education is the key then school must the padlock.

BAD WEATHER IS EVERYWHERE by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

Rain. Ancient symbol of man’s primitive fear. It’s the source of life and destruction. The backlash of being single and being homeless. It’s that which promotes cohabitation for the lonely queer ones and bragging rights to the flatulent in terms of partners. It’s an icy 24th June and I hate that I can’t feel the tip of my nose.

I like caffeine. A strong mug of caffeine. The ones written in ‘expensive’ language usually don’t tickle my fancy. Not mentioning names; ‘Oregano’. I’m lured by simple and brief cups; the ones with coffee beans as the only ingredient. Woe unto those in which Dioxides and Phosphates are part and parcel. They are packed like coffee but lack the maturity to attain its adverse mannerisms. In simple terms, they are Yuck!

Taking a French leave from The Home of Champions (Kemboi did us good) to Nairobi was a cup of coffee, oops! I mean tea. Heck! I would opt for Rongaiwood come lava, come tsunami. Eldoret is about negative fifteen degrees, meaning you need twenty five degrees more to actually say it’s cold. Ice tea has become norm although our Luyha brothers….eeerrrr…. It’s so cold that the idea of being part of the five thousand people eating fish and bread is alluring. Last time we had weather this bad was when Mugabe entered office for yet another term. He has served for so long I bet Alexander Bell hotline blinged him.

Naivasha, Limuru, Nakuru are all engulfed in fog resulting in confused traffic on goings. This cold is so bad, the calendar might get frozen in June. However, this weather brought some good; Men have been coerced to embrace being gentlemen. They come home early, warm their own bathing water, occasionally cook, no daily visits from the boys and definitely no leaving the wife at any time, always joined to the hip. There is an amazing upward trajectory in vocabulary; no more Mama Kipla, it’s now ‘honey’ and on desperate occasions it gets to cupcake and ‘have you lost weight’ sentiments. Words like sorry, thank you, I love you and I will do it right now become like confetti.

Slogans such as; If you look at a woman lustfully, you have committed adultery with her thus if you look at water and soap lustfully, you have showered for the week, have become a religion. Two baths a day have been reduced to shower when ‘maji ya matope’ has been splashed on you, it gets worse. After using the bathroom, before eating, after eating ugali, moping the floor by stepping on the rag, being religiously ignorant of all sources of water and can you believe it’s not yet July?

With the bad comes the worst, question is what would Maghufuli do?

RUBIA RULES R'N'B

SONG REVIEW

SONG: BETTER
ARTIST: JOE RUBIA
RATE: 9/10

Every once in ‘neveruary’ a great artist comes along and wrecks the music scene. Joe Rubia is definitely making waves in the industry and it’s only a matter of time for his second record ‘Better’ to be one of the classics. His first record 'games' in which he featured Andre did not disappoint and definitely set the bar high for his second track. We have seen all the boy band groups winning hearts of everyone. But what if I told you that one man with one mic will string you along a great musical journey? You don’t need a band, you need a voice. Joe Rubia’s voice.

The quality of vocals, instrumentals and pictures in Joe Rubia’s latest feel good jam is definitely commending. He is definitely the Kenyan Trey Songz and is sweeping ladies off their feet, even gentlemen sing along to his song. This artist has successfully mashed Pop, RnB and Hip-hop. He brought his music to the table and we all got served. Being his first single, you can only work up an appetite for his next hit.

The song has a sound that will transport you to some kind of sombre and intoxicating aura which doesn’t rub off. The lyrics seep into your brain and linger there so hard, a tear might sneak up on you. Like any RnB singer, he has managed to relate to his audience as he clearly depicts the struggles we have in terms of love. The artist unquestionably made a great composition and concept of the song. There is a rhythmic flow that triumphs and gives you a flawless, relentless and passionate mood of remorse and hope at the same time. If there were a Kenyan RnB Kendrick Lamar then you guessed it, we are in the running. Its lush, it’s simple, it’s catchy and it’s Joe Rubia.

‘Better’ is about to be your favorite soundtrack of 2016, just watch out. Check out his audio track on this link: https://youtu.be/P6Vi_1KJ2s0 Find this young lad on Instagram as Joe Rubia

FIVE THINGS TO HELP YOU SURVIVE THE COLD IF YOU ARE SINGLE

1. HOT BEVERAGES

Do indulge in all types of liquids that may generate heat. Coffee, tea, drinking chocolate; simply pick your poison. Remember excessive intake of tea might lead to a pot-belly situation and make you a Westerner.  

2. CLOTHES

No one cares about the ‘my dress my choice’ mantra at this stage. Those who do are either socialites or simply lack basic morals that entail self-love. Jackets, hoodies, scarves and even leg warmers are readily accessible, don’t spare yourself. If you are from Moi University, get gumboots too.

3. GYM IS LIFE 

Work out will never pay off as it does during this period. It’s the ultimate heat generator. Increased heart rate always feels like two bodies merged up into one. Plus it comes with great view and assets….cough..cough.. I mean insight. 

4. SLEEPOVERS

This may not be advisable for men as it may come across as gay and cultic but ladies can explore this area. Movie nights, dinner at Tiffany’s and game nights can serve us well. Best friends were sent by the gods, take advantage of them.

5. GET A PARTNER

‘Utaolewa lini?’ stop being stubborn and get hitched. Those with high standards keep on keeping them high and continue buying clothes. Those with low standards, you are in a relationship with ten people; that’s a meeting. Stop playing.

OF GAYS , LESBIANS, BISEXUALS AND TRANSGENDERS by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

Who wouldn’t want to be a woman? Even Levi’s wife looked back to see if her girlfriend was behind her. Pun intended. There is a certain flair attached to womanhood that men would never relate. Well, unless they transition into this formidable species. The LGBT or GLBT community better known as the gay community are taking over the world by fag (*cough* storm). Gay pride is the new black and no one is bleaching it.

“My name is Chris”. First thing I thought was definitely this is a man. Probably my type too. The name has a nice ring to it, something like Nate or Tony. Its rasp is masculine, humble and extremely striking; like chocolate, vanilla and strawberry together. Apparently it was short for Christine, her cues were impeccable. She looked like a man, sounded like a man; how on earth did she have lady parts? Everything about her screamed testosterone; downright to the nitty gritty. Impostor. She would probably have taken me out and I introduce her to my family before knowing her true identity. I am actually blonde but born black.

For some reason people tend to be more comfortable with lesbians than gays. There is something about a man being feminine that makes eyebrows meet the hairline. Being partially trans phobic, borderline conformist and full on homophobic, I am not very willing to actively interact with this particular community. However, after researching and getting to understand their daily lives in this cruel world, I am much more open minded. Hey Caitlyn!

LGBT community are constantly faced with discrimination. It’s almost like being black in 1757 or Lupita in that porn movie. Horrific. Nobody really understands them and nobody wants to. Biblically they are cursed for having fetish for the same sex or cravings of being of a different gender. Socially they are not worth more than a poodle chained to the kennel. There is no such thing as right or wrong; it’s just is what it is. I mean Shakespeare said ‘To be or Not to be’. Who even knows what that means? Yet nobody never questioned that.

There is nothing wrong with being who you are. If it feels right then it is right. Never live your life within the confines of other people’s version of reality. If you are gay then you are gay. Just don’t tell my mum and a billion of other people who might end up stoning you. Stop homophobia, after all we all living this life for the first time; there was no handout

CONFESSIONS OF A GARISSA ATTACK VICTIM

It wasn’t what he said that scared me, it was how he said it. The rapture of his voice could send a vampire back to its grave, his tone was not that of trauma. It had something hazy, some sort of hidden fear marinated with great strength. He saved himself from the jaws of death in the land of paradise he says. He never wanted to leave Garissa. It was his Canaan. The militants egyptified it.

There were rounds of ammunition fired, really loud bangs then grave silence like something bad was about to happen. Two minutes after that a pandemonium escaped; chaos everywhere. I was in my room when it all happened. The militants ordered students to come out of their rooms and lie face down on the school grounds. Some did, others couldn’t live up to the task.

I couldn’t leave my room, my friends and I were frightened and knew Hell’s gates were flooded. We hid in the last room of the dormitory side. Thank God our room looked more like a storage facility from the outside; something which always bothered us but who knew it would be our ticket out of the heist.

After realizing that some students were still hiding in the halls of residence, they set out for them. Each room was ransacked and those found were made to kneel outside along with the rest. I didn’t know it was about to blow up. We only thought they were out to scare us or send a message that Garissa has gone back to its ancestral ways. But we were wrong.

The militants were targeting Christians. It was definite, they conversed in Arabic but addressed in Swahili. Being a Christian, I was certain I would not see another day if I stepped out of that room. It was my safe haven. Luckily I had Muslim friends who dressed me in a Kanzu just in case. A few students were saved by the Kenyan Defense Forces but those who remained were not as fortunate. Another round of shots was heard. It did not seem like they had killed two people.

We quickly hid under the bed and covered our ears. There was a lot of screaming and I could smell death from round the corner. The militants then told the girls to separate from the boys. Some few boys pretended to be female thinking that they would be pardoned. They thought wrong. The radicals shot every single one of them in cold blood in front of the others.

Earsplitting wails could be heard once more but they were ordered to calm down or they suffer the same. By this time I was no longer scared. I had accepted my fate. I had lost hope. I no longer froze at the thought of death. I just lay on that floor waiting for it to come find me and be done with.

I lost friends, classmates even enemies I might say. I was not ready to give them up, they were taken from me and from their families. I only have memories now, there is no point of memories if you can’t remake them with those who you loved.

Moi University Garissa branch was an amazing place after it was reckoned. The sun was always up, the community was united and commodities there were accessible and cheap. Anyone would have fallen in love with it after a few days; it was paradise to most of us. I guess nothing good last forever. I want to pay a tribute to all those who passed away and many condolences to the family.

-The above is a former student of Moi University Garissa branch and a survivor of the second deadliest attack made on Kenyan soil.

A moment of silence for the 148 students we lost.

KENYANS DONT READ, THEY INSTAGRAM by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

I realized I was born in the wrong continent when I had a five shilling coin transformed into a note then back to a coin. If you didn’t go through the twenty shilling note and five hundred shilling Moi note, it is illegal for you to be perusing my blog. You should get out of those diapers and get some big girl panties or big boy pants (non-existent). Many escapades passed that confirmed my doubts about this country’s prospects. Only one sets me off till this date; writing is a janitorial work.

The only people who consider writing as a source of income are writers themselves and landlords. They are the two lots who get paid through writing. I saw your warning Bwana Chela (landlord). The rest of the population dismisses it as gum stuck under their shoe. Writing is considered uncool almost placed on the same level as reading. Thank God the odds are over and not draw. (See what I did there). Most people would rather watch a dog chase its tail in demented circles than hold a book.

Kenyans don’t read; they Instagram, they Tweet, they Snapchat and occasionally visit my blog. Typical. Everything we do involves reading or writing which is a tad too ironic. Using hashtags, setting locations, putting down captions, setting statuses, updating quotes; come on people. Then after all that; you’ll hear Njoki WA Wairimu saying in that fake Briton accent; “I don’t like reading”. Ms Wambua and several other writers pull the trigger one after the other, others also willingly go to flooded areas; sorry Huruma.

The worst feeling a writer has is to write a five hundred word article only to achieve five views. This is the number one cause of suicides among the artists behind the words. Worse still is to write a whole novel and no one shows up at your book signing apart from your mom and siblings. A book only a mother could love is averagely not a very good book. It gets worse when you forward your friends links to your work then get asked what are these stuff you keep on sending. It’s worse than onions next to your pupils.

Being a writer has so much encompassed but very few know the struggle that comes along with it, most don’t give a damn. Well, we also don’t give a damn. You readers are selfish and the worst human beings on earth. I should probably take that back before my page views become ancestral.

Reading is not limited even socialites read; remember Huddah Monroe realized it was Prince who died? We read for the most part of our lives and it makes us better people, more interesting and diverse; try it, it won’t kill. As for my fellow writers, we may not be Biko Zulu or my personal favorite Oyunga Pala but who wants to be them anyway?