I started this blog out of boredom but it’s grown in ways that has surprised me. It’s acquired a life of its own. And I love it because nobody edits me here; nobody messes up with my intros , well, except Zacxs (see below). Nobody bleeps the word “shit” here. I ran this shit. See?
Writing a blog is a different ball game though because you largely write for a faceless readership. It’s a lonely expedition, and maybe that’s a good thing. But still I can’t help but to liken writing a blog to a confession where you sit in a box and pour your heart to a faceless priest. But I know that someone is out there reading, someone faceless…a ghost. I, like any blogger, loves stats because stats don’t care for your ego, stats will tell you if you are talking (writing) to yourself. Stats tell me which stories strike a chord. Stats tell me which stories are being pulled out of the archives. But if my stats tell me a bit of the activity on this blog it’s the comments that really bring me a tad closer in interacting with you, dear, reader. It’s the comments that tell me that I’m not talking to myself. That I’m not stuck alone in some island, literary island, sending bottled messages to oblivion.
I don’t know a great deal of people who comment here, I know perhaps a paltry 30%. The rest are people who are only pseudonyms. I have always wondered, just from your comments, who the commenter is; their sex, profession, tastes, marital statuses, habits like whether they would drink beer through a straw or they pee in the swimming pool. Interesting stuff. I mull over this trivia.
This is the 8th month since I started this farce, and through that time I have had the pleasure of getting many new readers, thanks to all your tweets and Facebook referrals (again stats come in handy). But through this short journey there are readers who have always been here, reading and commenting, familiar “faces” if you will. Readers who have been consistent in passing by here even if they were disappointed the last time. People who have faith in me. I know this might start sounding like some saucy Mexican, English miming soap, but I promise it’s not.
I want to pay attribute to some of these people on this particular post. I want to say that I’m grateful. But most importantly I want to profile them; I want to write about what I think of them, what I imagine them to be like. I know I will miss the boat, but I still want to do it because I have to post something darn it.
I won’t be able to profile everyone, but I will the next time I pay tribute. And so here is to you dear commenter. This is my idea of ass kissing!
Sibbie
This is the very first person to comment on my blog when I posted the first piece sometime in Feb. I don’t know her. But I know it’s a chick because on her comment is the picture of the back of her head; very long hair. I suppose she is 5’6’’, chocolate and chirpy. She sounded like a reader. I haven’t seen any of her comments lately, I suspect I bored her. What does a man need to do in this town to keep a woman? Anyway, Sibbie runs this blog www.nzembi.wordpress.com But thing is it’s not for everyone, it’s a protected blog which means she decides who reads it. I’m still on the waiting list.
Assenga
There are cool guys and then there are nice guys. A cool guy wears Issey Miyake, drinks Grey Goose and tells females, “If you aren’t doing anything particular this Saturday you could swing over to mine for some polite drinks and a back rub. Plus I have a killer Youssou N’Dour album that will knock you out cold. But if you are doing something particular, why don’t you cancel them and allow me to make your while?”
A nice guy on the other hand is a guy who believes in animal rights. A guy who will dig you out of a hole. Assenga is a nice guy. Met in campus. He was Tanzanian but he could as well been Kenyan, which is to say he could speak English. Fun loving, funny and very easy. He is in the states now and going from his Facebook updates has found the lord. Chief, what’s going on?
Mrs. Mwiti.
When someone comments on your blog and signs off as Mrs. Mwiti, you take notice. I have never met Mrs. Mwiti, but she sounds very serious. She sounds like someone who reads in bed with her reading glasses hanging from the tip of her nose. It’s readers like Mrs. Mwiti that make me taper down my language here. Out of respect.
Gay Nairobi Man
How do I say this? First off, I’m as straight as a Zulu spear. When I wrote the post “Say Cheese”, this guy crawled out of the woodwork because I wrote something about men wearing skinny jeans and walking their poodles. Now one of my pals who follow my blog called me as soon as his comment hit the blog.
“Boss, what the f%$#! Who is that?”
“A gay guy, I suppose.” I said.
“I know it’s a gay guy, but do you know him?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What are you gonna do with that comment?”
“Why? It’s not a gay comment is it? It just happens to have been written by a gay guy.”
“Jeeesus… I don’t know man.” Nervous laughter, “Gay guys read ya blog now…maaan!”
“Do you think I should be worried that politicians will soon join in?”
Here is the thing. I know only one gay guy. He doesn’t know I know he is gay, but this is Nairobi, word goes round. We don’t meet for drinks because to be honest with you I don’t think I can keep a straight face at the skinny jeans he wears and how girlie he laughs. But once in a while when he is online on Facebook we chat because he is outrageous and vain plus I like to look at his album and ogle at all those hot, very hot chicks he hangs out with, chicks he tells me he showers with. Bastard. But this guy who commented is not him. But so what if a gay guy liked my blog, it’s not like he commented on my ass!
Tets
Another reader I haven’t met. It’s amazing, I wrote a story about a guy leaping over a fire in Lewa and she happened to be there! Tets sounds like someone who knows many Indians. Or should I say Asians to be politically correct? Tets sounds like someone who drinks Smirnoff Ice and dates a guy who works in a bank. I’m just saying.
Style
Another reader I haven’t met. Style sounds chatty. Style reckons my stories are too long which means Style doesn’t have much time on her hands. I think Style works those graveyard shifts and the only time she has is for sleeping, watching the tube or reading stuff…short stuff.
Carolyne
We used to work together in Gigiri a long time ago. Back then she thought I was a self suffering snob. But I bought her a drink and changed her mind; she now thinks I’m an insufferable snob. I recently- after like 3yrs – ran into her at the ATM machine in ABC place. “You have lost some weight Biko, the paunch went.” she teased. “Well,” I told her “weight is not the only thing I lost honey; I also lost my job.” She laughed hard (people will always laugh at you when you lose your job) She told me she was now working in Sudan and she looked happier not because she is now engaged but because she is at a good place. Her man stepped out the ATM booth and as she introduced us and this guy nearly crushed every bone in my hand. He shook my hand in a way that said, “Don’t even think about it buddy!”
Red Velvet
Never met Red Velvet. I know she is a chick because she uses a lot of smiley in her comments, that plus she writes, and I quote, “…very funny, just cleared my morning blues. What would I do without Biko’s blog? J” Anybody who loves my blog is a friend of mine.
James Murua.
I was writing for a men’s magazine. I was doing a story on strip clubs which was really about getting wasted while sampling the strip joints in Nairobi, getting lap dances and looking at half naked women writhe and gyrate, all these on the tab of the magazine (you still wonder why I’m sore the magazine closed down?). I met James Murua for the first time in some real seedy strip club down town called Apple Bees (yes, I’m telling James). I was interviewing the owner of the club when he stopped by our table. He was writing for The Star (still is), running a column about Nairobi living (check it out: http://nairobiliving.com/ ) After that meeting I kept running into him at cocktail shindigs, this guy was everywhere. We became friends, brought together by voyeurism and booze.
Cold Turkey
Never met this Turkey before. But I read her blog once in a while. She is a mother, she loves travelling, photography and life. One of her blog stories stand out, a touching love story on how she met her husband (a writer) and how he ended up in jail. Beautifully written. I loved that story so much that I bookmarked her blog. Check out her blog: http://koldturkey.wordpress.com/
Karuu
This is the missus’s best friend. My lil’ girl’s godmother. I can’t make fun of Karuu simply because I know which side of my toast is buttered. Karuu being the kuyu that she is, is down in Kigali chasing the penny. She tried getting a few Rwandese to read my blog but they didn’t get it…well neither do I. But thanks Karuu.
August
I know August. A media girl. Insists on calling me Jackson even though I hate it. She is one of my biggest fans but the other day she called me and said, “I didn’t feel your latest post abandoned, I didn’t love it, neither did I hate it.”
I hung up on her.
Ok, I didn’t. I appreciated her honest; it takes a big person to tell you they don’t like something about you. Thanks August, I hope you sleep better now.
Passiona
I have never met her before. Our friendship is the new kind of friendship; Facebook friends. Like submarine she pops up online once in a while, and teaches me a new lingo. Best bit of all she pushes my blog like its’ cocaine. I’m grateful.
Janet
When some readers were expressing their disgust at the Knicker post, when they had their daggers out and were coming for my jugular, she stood up for me. She told them that every woman loves her knickers being taken off; she told them to chill out. Janet, I owe you more than a drink, I owe you two strong drinks.
Making appearances
First time I saw this guy was in a political science class in Uni. He walked in late, shirt tails hanging out, a stubble on his chin and an arrogant smirk on his face. He sat at the back of the lecture hall. He always sat at the back. He liked long winded debates because he was well conversed in the politics of the world. He got a kick from being obstinate. How do I say this; Kagame was a first class prick. Still is. He didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone and he would throw you under the bus without a thought.
He thrived in controversy but he was an excellent writer and together we edited the campus rag and had a swell time doing it. One day, in our second year, Kagame gave me a book to read, Mario Puzo’s Fools Die, a book defined our friendship because it spoke acutely to our lives. I have read it three times. We got along like a house in fire because we were both hungry and there was little we wouldn’t do to stay afloat. Ethics was a luxury in our neck of woods. This is one guy who knows where all the bodies are buried.
After campus he went back home in Rwanda, before long he was in Arusha. Last time I saw him he was passing through Nairobi with a tall British girl who obviously thought he was a small god. A year later I received an email from him saying he was in Canary, Canada. True to the script he had bullshited his way there and I remember smiling to myself and saying, “Atta boy!”
Check out his blog: http://georgekagame.blogspot.com/
Kbaab
A name so delicious you wonna reach for Ketchup. Never met her before but I know she is a poet, and what’s there not to like about a poet? Check out her blog: http://kbaab.wordpress.com/
Anonymous
There are readers who dock here and read something and feel compelled to write a comment without leaving a name or address because they are afraid I will stalk them through their emails. They are people who are on the run, people who are scared of their shadows and (ironically) prefer to remain in the shadows.
Shiro
Here is the thing with TV reporters, they demand attention. They imagine everybody knows them and if you don’t know them then you are shady. Not Shiro. Shiro is all right. We met in the deep moldy, cold woods of Kakamega forest where we were both sniffing for stories. Next day in Eldoret, as the clock chimed midnight we –together with a bunch of other hounds – knocked back tequilas in a club and shot pool. She won, constantly. A ferocious reader and witty as Whoopi Goldberg- but much prettier of course. By the way, happy belated birthday Shiro.
Zaxs
A new reader of my blog. Zaxs makes this cut because Zaxs commented that he had a problem with how I write. He said I repeat my words, that my words are clumped together like sardines. In essence he said he wanted me to let my sentences breath. He was also kind enough to re-write one of my intros. “This is how it should have read,” he said. And I listened. I took notes. Zaxs, I love your chutzpah and for that I shall invite you to be my co-author.
Richter scale 8.0
I like this pseudonym because it’s confident. Confidence is sexy. But going by the comments I want to imagine that this reader is a chick and not some guy feeling like Blair Underwood over here.
Martin Keino.
Allow me to name drop just this once. I interviewed the legendary Kipchoge Keino for a piece I was writing in 2006. He was gracious and he was deep. A year later, I interviewed his son, Martin, an athlete himself. Recently I ran into him at Galileo lounge at 1am (Martin, not Kipchoge). I was sort of knackered so I might have mentioned my blog to him. I might have mentioned my cousin in jail. I might have mentioned my grandpa who fought in world war. Look, it was 1am, anything goes.