My name is Ralph WahomE WawerU, each syllable in the last two names is pronounced (including the Es) and the U at the end of my surname pronounced somewhat like an O. Why this lesson in orthoepy of some weird names you ask? Here's why.
In the land where I was born, and I believe everywhere on the planet where this great species of ours roams, names have meaning. The desire to give meaning to objects was the main reason behind the invention of names. Interestingly in Kenya, there exists a repulsive linguistic phenomenon referred to as "kutweng'". Interesting because it involves the adoption of some funny accents. The pronunciation of words and names when tweng'in is very strange, but sounds so much like English. Back to names, they have to be pronounced correctly in order to convey the authentic meaning they were meant to.
Long story short, I believe each Kenyan has a right to tweng' but for the sake of humanity do not tweng' your name. In doing so, you risk turning yourself into a mass of flesh with a cacophony of consonants and vowels for a name. A name that is meaningless in English and your mama's original language from which you are trying to run. And that, dear reader, is the lowest an individual can sink.
Friday, 16 October 2015
Monday, 4 May 2015
The Origin of Dating
I am an introvert, this means that my greatest moments are spent in solitary walks that have a calming effect to the soul. The events recalled herein occurred to me in one of these solitary wanderings as I searched for a sweet spot to smoke a marijuana cigarette. If you have ever been to the east of Nairobi it will be easier for you to understand that searching for such a spot is tricky as people have a way of squeezing themselves into anywhere, literally. Spot found, I settled to light up and noticed that I was not alone. Settled comfortably, not unlike myself, next to a pile of garbage that was eighty percent plastic bags was a fellow stoner. He was like each one of us, roughed up by life and you could tell by his face that his life had been rougher than that of the average individual. His expression as it was when I first saw him is quite hard to express in words, my mastery in language fails me at this point, but I remember thinking ‘That is probably how sea sickness looks like.’ As we both puffed and the THC levels in our systems rose he turned to me and said ‘Man is an interesting creature,’ ‘How so?’ I asked. He puffed away and settled more comfortably on the rock he was sitting on and asked ‘Ever heard about the first guy to date a woman?’ I replied that I had not and he went on to narrate the following story;
“A few years back, never mind how far back, there was a fellow whose sexual passions were insatiable. He had latent sexual tendencies that reached a point of being classified as nymphomania. Luck, however was not his as he happened to be born in a time when sex was viewed as both holy and evil. He was a religious fellow so he knew of the supposed purpose of coitus and the consequences that followed if one dared engage the act without this sole purpose in mind. As it is always, this fellow had an affection for a woman that began and ended with sex. As was customary he had disclosed his affection to the recipient in the guise of what, even he could not explain and they were positively received and reciprocated in manners that were considered decorous at the time. Like all great men, this fellow whose name is somewhat lost to history, was not satisfied with what society offered and wanted more. He devised a method to satisfy his carnal desires and yet remain an outstanding member of his society. He finally succeeded in ‘knowing’ his lady and to erase guilt from his mind and that of his now deflowered accomplice in crime he convinced her and himself that it was not pre-marital sex but rather an acceptable and totally respectable act that was a result of them “dating”. How he did it, is probably being done today in the same way, because creativity in man is not as frequent as you might think. Little did he know that his efforts would catch on and that ‘dating’ would become a synonym for ‘seen each other naked’ and be something that an individual’s lack of participating would be viewed as strange.”
His story ended and the guy rose, snubbed his joint and mumbled his goodbyes. On my walk home, it finally hit me that the nymphomaniac simply realized there was a way he could beat the system. It was Kirk and Kobayashi Maru in a different setting. In a world that forbade pre-marital sex, the nymphomaniac simply conceived a social construct that would enable him to get laid in his own terms, without trashing the existing mores. No matter what laws are set up to govern this joke that is civilization, someone somewhere will think of a way to legally and morally do what is forbidden. Philosophizing on anything can make that thing acceptable, no matter how far-fetched the idea seems at the time. Sometimes the results are inhuman and far from doing humanity any good and other times they offer us a deep insight into human ingenuity and make us question the premise on which society is built on, enabling us to move forward as a species. Of course some laws are total bullshit and should be done away with, but hey, sometimes making each other miserable seems the only reason we are here.
There is no moral lesson in this story. Just forty five minutes and two joints. Now that I look at it I can’t help but think that it was a complete waste of time, this whole thing could have been told in a 30 second Family Guy cutaway!
“A few years back, never mind how far back, there was a fellow whose sexual passions were insatiable. He had latent sexual tendencies that reached a point of being classified as nymphomania. Luck, however was not his as he happened to be born in a time when sex was viewed as both holy and evil. He was a religious fellow so he knew of the supposed purpose of coitus and the consequences that followed if one dared engage the act without this sole purpose in mind. As it is always, this fellow had an affection for a woman that began and ended with sex. As was customary he had disclosed his affection to the recipient in the guise of what, even he could not explain and they were positively received and reciprocated in manners that were considered decorous at the time. Like all great men, this fellow whose name is somewhat lost to history, was not satisfied with what society offered and wanted more. He devised a method to satisfy his carnal desires and yet remain an outstanding member of his society. He finally succeeded in ‘knowing’ his lady and to erase guilt from his mind and that of his now deflowered accomplice in crime he convinced her and himself that it was not pre-marital sex but rather an acceptable and totally respectable act that was a result of them “dating”. How he did it, is probably being done today in the same way, because creativity in man is not as frequent as you might think. Little did he know that his efforts would catch on and that ‘dating’ would become a synonym for ‘seen each other naked’ and be something that an individual’s lack of participating would be viewed as strange.”
His story ended and the guy rose, snubbed his joint and mumbled his goodbyes. On my walk home, it finally hit me that the nymphomaniac simply realized there was a way he could beat the system. It was Kirk and Kobayashi Maru in a different setting. In a world that forbade pre-marital sex, the nymphomaniac simply conceived a social construct that would enable him to get laid in his own terms, without trashing the existing mores. No matter what laws are set up to govern this joke that is civilization, someone somewhere will think of a way to legally and morally do what is forbidden. Philosophizing on anything can make that thing acceptable, no matter how far-fetched the idea seems at the time. Sometimes the results are inhuman and far from doing humanity any good and other times they offer us a deep insight into human ingenuity and make us question the premise on which society is built on, enabling us to move forward as a species. Of course some laws are total bullshit and should be done away with, but hey, sometimes making each other miserable seems the only reason we are here.
There is no moral lesson in this story. Just forty five minutes and two joints. Now that I look at it I can’t help but think that it was a complete waste of time, this whole thing could have been told in a 30 second Family Guy cutaway!
Monday, 6 April 2015
Cry Havoc!
I have not been here for a while. It’s dusty and a few spiders have filled this place with cobwebs. The reason for my being away has been to try and come to terms with the conflict in my head and how to diplomatically end them. I have been obsessed with trying to make this blog meaningful. An immense amount of time has been dedicated to figure out what to write about. I have tried, albeit in vain, to leash the creature that is now punching away at this keyboard. Taming it has been a Herculean task in which I have failed, and at this moment, April 7, 2015 1:22 AM East African time, I have come to the realization that it is all futile!
I have occasionally thought of applying for Google AdSense, tempted to do so by my analytical imaginary friend. “Write about science or art or politics,” she said “and turn this blog into a cash generating endeavor.” But then it struck me, this would be at the expense of my creative freedom. There are some of us out there who feel restrained by life, socially, intellectually and emotionally and the internet is our only avenue of freedom. I am one of those people. Turning this into a topic oriented blog for economic gain is trading my soul for the proverbial 30 pieces of silver (Easter just ended;). In the short time that I will be alive, very few people will get to know who I am and I want you to be one of them. This has led me to a decision to turn this blog into a journal, throw it out there and hope that someday a kindred spirit will read this and understand.
Writing just for the hell of it is heaven, and just getting this far, in composing this post has been therapeutic. I will try to find order in the chaos in my head and you, esteemed reader (granted that you will be reading my posts on purpose), will suffer through most of it, be it prose or verse. Consider this blog as a very mediocre and sometimes depressing ‘Diary of a Nobody’ with disjointed thoughts, poorly structured sentences and hollow humor.
So from this day forth, this and any subsequent posts will be random and a reflection of my thoughts no matter how fucked up they might be. Following in the footsteps of The Joker, I am not an individual with a plan, I will JUST write!
Saturday, 3 January 2015
Ye Suck City Girl!
DISCLAIMER: The author is in no way as base as the subject of this blog.
She kicks up a sand dune every time she sits down with her computer and produces what passes for literature this days. Her level of English vocabulary is stiff and inelegant. Her name is Njoki Chege! She is a pro in outraging her audience.
One thing I respect her for is her outspoken and vehement despise for the bourgeoisie. Especially those of a particular age group. That, unfortunately, is the only thing that I find intriguing about her. Everyone who makes an attempt at writing risks falling short of their objective. The worst thing about this is that writing is a mental endeavor and failure is a sign of intellectual ineptitude. This is a risk that the City girl has failed to avoid. Her language is full of big words which betray constant referrals to a dictionary in the course of writing. This makes her articles full of superfluous jargon which entirely drains the pleasure of reading. Don't worry Chege, majority of your readers think the use of big words is proportionate to being smart.
Secondly, it is easy to infer that her attack on the hobbies and socio-economic practices of a particular class of young Kenyans is founded on her being part of the group. She's not rich that much is obvious and her attempts to clinch a rich guy to date her have been fruitless. Her articles clearly indicate the countless hours that the City girl has wasted day dreaming of dinners in posh hotels and Googling exotic destinations. Poor girl! It is hard, nay, impossible not to pity her!
Her recent article dated 2nd January 2014 attacked the use of Instagram by the bourgeoisie. This was all in line with the fake personality that Njoki wishes her readers to believe she has. Within this criticism lies a desperate plea for attention. By attacking practices which she clearly knows majority of her peers are fond or, she successfully draws their attention and wrath. The result is a poor attempt at social criticism.
To make a long story short the next time you make an attempt at satire Njoki, try to read a George Orwell book first.
She kicks up a sand dune every time she sits down with her computer and produces what passes for literature this days. Her level of English vocabulary is stiff and inelegant. Her name is Njoki Chege! She is a pro in outraging her audience.
One thing I respect her for is her outspoken and vehement despise for the bourgeoisie. Especially those of a particular age group. That, unfortunately, is the only thing that I find intriguing about her. Everyone who makes an attempt at writing risks falling short of their objective. The worst thing about this is that writing is a mental endeavor and failure is a sign of intellectual ineptitude. This is a risk that the City girl has failed to avoid. Her language is full of big words which betray constant referrals to a dictionary in the course of writing. This makes her articles full of superfluous jargon which entirely drains the pleasure of reading. Don't worry Chege, majority of your readers think the use of big words is proportionate to being smart.
Secondly, it is easy to infer that her attack on the hobbies and socio-economic practices of a particular class of young Kenyans is founded on her being part of the group. She's not rich that much is obvious and her attempts to clinch a rich guy to date her have been fruitless. Her articles clearly indicate the countless hours that the City girl has wasted day dreaming of dinners in posh hotels and Googling exotic destinations. Poor girl! It is hard, nay, impossible not to pity her!
Her recent article dated 2nd January 2014 attacked the use of Instagram by the bourgeoisie. This was all in line with the fake personality that Njoki wishes her readers to believe she has. Within this criticism lies a desperate plea for attention. By attacking practices which she clearly knows majority of her peers are fond or, she successfully draws their attention and wrath. The result is a poor attempt at social criticism.
To make a long story short the next time you make an attempt at satire Njoki, try to read a George Orwell book first.
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