Archive for March, 2008


March 28, 2008

Rules: Link to the other person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog.

Share 6 non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. Tag 6 random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Larry, i tried to escape this ‘You got tagged’ stuff, but you caught me dead in my tracks!

  1. My desk is always a mess
  2. I apply the concept of cocktails everywhere n in everything
  3. I forget to look at myself in the mirror
  4. I hate polishing my shoes
  5. I am ‘shy’ in real life
  6. I am a slave to my own words……


  1. Viola Iris
  2. Maisha Yetu
  3. Cindy Ogana
  4. Mtani
  5. Kenyan Vixen
  6. Kenyan Poet

Can’t wait…

My Wood Carving-From ‘Not in jeans collection’

March 17, 2008

My Wood Carving

By Eudiah Kamonjo

You’re my wood carving…….(*)

Carved by my hands and built to last

My African man is no wonder the greatest typhoon

That ever hit the depths

Of my heart, Of my soul

You’re my wood carving(*)

Chiselled with touches

Of purity and fresh inspiration

My African man

Graces the land of gods



He’s my wood carving(*) 

The master piece of my essence(*)

Made from rare wood

And polished with ‘Muthonism’

Yea, i said

The master piece of my essence(*)

Your bow-legged sexiness

Full lips, toned-body and deep voice

Your roaring ruggedy

dark-strong features

they feed my African hunger

…..My wood carving

Dons the spirit of true art

Now rest on my left

Before i am frozen in the time

Of your action-packed gymnastics……

Hip hop adventures-My time with ‘Bring the Noise’

March 13, 2008

My time with ‘Bring the Noise’ 

He says I’m black, she says I’m white

Who do you think you are

They say I’m mixed race

But the only race I know, is the human kind

Before you tell me who I am

I’ll tell you myself,

I’m an African

Born in England with a twist of Jamaican

So you can hate me all you want

I don’t care NO! NO!

Ny’s favourite verse from ‘Bring the Noise’ I hate you song 

I am enslaved to MTV, fashion and jeans

but enslaved by my skin because of my genes

Sometimes I feel enslaved by the African dangerous bush

Other times, enslaved by the politics of a dangerous Bush

MI on slaves 

They place the blacks against the white

The North against the South

Mohammed against the Christ

So, while we fight, they steal our rights

Kunta Ali the incarnation of the freedom fighters

The incarnated combination of the true brothers

Kunta Ali from Mental Slaves 

All this song lyrics are from ‘Bring the Noise’ a group that graced the stage at last months’ WAPI (Words and Pictures) event at the British Council.

I had an absolutely great time during the interview (after their performance) at the FairView Hotel where they were staying and I learnt a lot from each of their experiences as well as the discussions we had on music, politics and the spoken word.

A very inspirational group that is passionate about hip-hop and Africa. 

I have been a hip hop journalist and always will be (though I’m doing other things now) but these guys pleasantly shocked me with the way they combined Hip-hop and African instruments to give hip-hop such a uniquely mystique feel.

I especially loved ‘I hate you’ coz of its expressive nature plus the fact that the theme is universal. Most WAPI attendees i spoke to however liked ‘Chicken Run’, i guess because it was humuorous and creative.

Ny whose real name is Nyomi Gray lives in London and believes her race is misunderstood. She believes she is an African (her dad is a European who lives as a Rasta in Ethiopia). Ny started singing when she was 15 and once walked out of a deal with London-based production company ‘Poly Dorm’ who she claims tried to brand her the UK Ashanti. She is currently working on her album to be released late this year or in Jan 2009. 

Kunta Ali -real name is Bali Armstrong  lives in Cameroon and recently graduated with a BA in Theatre Arts from the University of Yaunde. MI describes Kunta as an artist who is very ‘militant’ about his African ways.

MI whose real name is Jude Aboga lives in Nigeria as a musician and producer and also hosts WAPI in Lagos. 

During the photo shoot after the interview, each of them taught me a bit about pausing. NY showed me how to pause as a fashionista, Kunta showed me how to interlock my fingers the Yaoundé Hip-Hop way (my fingers almost went numb) and MI showed me how to pause without smiling. 

I cannot quite get into more details about why i had a ‘blast’ enough for me to write home about-but i guess just getting to know them as friends over just being there as a journalist is what made all the difference.

The group is part of a 13 member group selected form various African countries for training and a seven month tour. Bring the Noise has toured African countries under the sponsorship of the British Council.

The three were the only ones who were willing to come to Kenya at a time when the political stability was still questionable. 

Hip-hop is an explosion in the dark-MI      


March 12, 2008

He was a 30 year old fitness trainer. Barely six feet tall but he was very attractive and well-toned. Everything was  going alright for him, I mean, he had a job, he could have any woman he wanted (or so he thought) and he was happy.

The only thing he dreaded was the setting of the sun-the night.

He was as afriad of night time as when he was five years old.

No one would believe this; i mean since when did you hear of a 30 year old physically ‘macho man’ who was afraid of the dark?

Lie still

‘By low, my man, lie still and sleep

It grieves me to see you not able to sleep

If you were still, i’d be glad

Your worry makes me so sad’

One of his ladies spoke out when he realised the mans’ weakness.

Jack was a pretty well known dude. Not only by the gym attendants but by everyone who dealt with him at a certain point of his life.

i mean, even kids would ogle at his massive chest and say, “When i grow up, i want to look like you.’ He loved kids and kids loved him.

But Jack slept with his bedroom lights on every single night. Monday to Sunday. He made sure his boys did not find out. But they eventually did and said,

“Now what is this, i ask thee tell

It is the peak of male weakness?

Where monsters under the bed seem real

Or is it perhaps guilt of sin?

And possibilities of demons and angels

or is it just you Jack and your tight ass dark secrets”

Anyway, not many people knew about Jacks’ darkness issue; he was basically a loner.

it was a month ago that Jack wrote in his journal.

‘As usual i had come home last night around 8pm. I ate and slept leaving the lights on in the bathroom such that i did not feel like i was in total darkness.

There are times i have problems getting some sleep but usually i am very tired by the time i get home. This night however, i get home, eat and get into bed. but i am horny like a bunny-i mean-a rabbit. So i masturbate until sleep overrides me. My entire body drains, even my fingernails are not spared.

I was deep asleep when a shattering sound awoke me. I wake up-totally startled. The house looks pretty much as i left it. I must have been dreaming then. 

I was sure i had heard some noise; you know-like a piece of glass had fallen down and shattered. What kind of dream was that, if at all?

What did it mean? As i was preparing to go back to bed, i looked at the wall-clock and realised it was missing. what was this? Some kind of joke? i thought i was going bonkers until i saw my black and white wall-clock now in pieces on the floor.

that must have been it. Phews!!! I thought!

No need to worry then. But when i looked at the time, my heart skipped a beat. It was 3 am. ‘Unbeleivable’  I thought! It couldn’t be a coincidence, it was just impossible. 3 am is an hour i dread. I would never like to be cuaght awake at 3am. 3am was the hour of pure evil. A time when evil works best, i think… Before i could figure out what this meant the lights went off. It seemed the electricity just disappeared -almost with my conscience.

My heart was beating so fast, i couldn’t move. I started fumbling with some prayers. I thought they’d finally come for me-who?

I finally managed to grab a candle and a match box and i lit my house again. Still , i was trembling and sweating profusely.

What was going on here??

I grabbed the nearest book from my bedside table and buried myself in it.

It was the classic novel by Leo Tolstoy ‘War and Peace’.

But my heart seemed like it threatened to leave the very essense of my body. My mind was clogged and my soul distrurbed. I couldn’t understand  a single word though i started reading the bulky volume like two weeks ago.

I was straining my eyes reading with a candle but thats the only way my sanity would’ve remained. My heart did not stabilise until 15 minutes later when the lights voluntarily came back. Still, that night, i did not manage catch any sleep until 5 O’clock. I had a pretty bad night’

He concluded.

Jack was only open about his isses to one of the lady. Her name was Nini. He doubted that he loved her though (Love? Love was a name he barely understood’)

Anyhow, Nini was the one person Jack could share his ounces or madness with.

Nini was a media consultant and every single detail of life seemed believable to her. She told her friends ‘Anything is possible in this life. Tell me Elijah will come back to earth in a motorbike instead of a charriot and i will believe it,” Her friends thought she was mad.

She liked to think she was too and believed that every aspect of really amazing creativity originated from a bit of madness.

So that evening they had dinner with Jack at Mai Loan restaurant in Westlands. She was besides herself with joy-i mean-not that she was glad that a man like Jack would get his heart into his mouth over a 3am incident.  That was most likely a coincidence. No! It was the possbility of the words that were running around in the mind. The words craving to be wriiten down. Soon as she got home, she flowed:

Chills and Thrills

In the spirit of the night

When the sun is hidding in a desperate fight

a fight of its own, against all thats dark and might

he prays dear me, let everything soon be right

A man in his stead

wishes the same is bred

And prays that the sun should always shine even in bed

And that night never existed

“What is the purpose of night, dear God’

he asked

“By thy strength of me, let it not be night’

Chills run down my spine

as he wishes his wishes came true

Even though he wasn’t with God fine

Shadows arise and it is dark once more

Its a thrill and a chill

To see him so still

why can’t he see the beauty of night that fills

Trains and trains of stars at will

And her great gift of sleep still?”

Anything for that front page story…

March 10, 2008

Its shocking isn’t it-when we hear about the levels journalists go to make that front page story. Is being heartless an attribute that comes with success in the trade?

Are there honest journalists out there who haven’t ever recieved any form of T.K.K. for that story…or given T.K.K themselves for them to recieve that leakage? 


March 6, 2008


By Eudiah Kamonjo


Don’t tell me …….

Don’t tell me about JUSTICE

When my heart is raging with worry

About my next meal

About my sisters’ education

About my worries of tomorrow

You tell me to CELEBRATE your political marriage

For a better tomorrow

Yet my grandmas place is flooding

With my nephews and nieces from Molo

You tell me to seek democracy

Yet you suck my very blood

With your greedy needs

Don’t tell me about PEACE

When my world has no more strawberries and cream

When my world is like that of

A zombie walking on the Holy African soil


Dont tell me

About justice and equality

Yet you insight my husbands’ clan into

Chasing me away

And leaving me barren to the hunger of sex wolves

Leaving me naked to the suns’ scotching heat

To feed on my hurting wounds

Take my hand and let me lead you

To a place thats’ equal for all

And its not just handed on a silver platter

You shall work for it!!!

You shall toll!!!!!

and until you are at the same level

You shall enter!!!


Dont tell me about PEACE

In the midst of an unbalanced search

Tell me about togetherness

And the gift of being an African

Tell me about TOUCH

And the gift of honest equality

Tell me about LOVE

 And the believability of the untold truth

Tell me this………….

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