Remnants of yesterday

Oprah once featured super gifted children on her show. One of them said that an adult is just an overgrown child. Perhaps he was right. There are habits from my childhood that have remained with me to this day and I have refused to shake them off despite advice to the contrary. I thoroughly enjoy kicking a maize cob along whatever path I happen to find one. Never mind that I have been told repeatedly that it is childish to do so, it almost seems unfair to leave a cob in peace. I still do the balancing act on the edge of pavements, trying to make sure I don't fall off, to this day.

The other day on a busy walkway, I caught myself aiming for the spaces between the spikes of a barbed wire fence. I used to get a kick out of deftly avoiding the barbs with my fingers and tapping the plain wire. Still do! Sucking all the air out of my cup (thus creating a vacuum like effect) with the brim of the cup covering and entirely suspended by my lips is another occasional indulgence of mine. I also make prints on the floor using the treads on the soles of my shoes whenever there is spilled water. Playing with large grains of salt or sugar in restaurants is also rather gratifying.

The last habit I haven't completely dropped (and it is happening as we speak) is saving the best for last. As a child, I would always eat my fries first, then relish the sausage last. At other times, I'd quickly be done with the rice, ugali or maize, just so that I could happily concentrate on the beans, peas or meat at the end. The unfortunate bit about saving the best for last at this point in my life is that friends out to teach me a lesson on the importance of 'kujibebea' often steal my patiently saved sausage, piece of chicken or other yummy stuff. Boo hoo!

The perfect little girl

Sugar, spice, all things nice and chemical x is what it takes to make the perfect little girls*. The Kenyan equivalent in the early 90s would be:

• Nguo ya gorofa or Nguo ya Net: purchased at Garissa lodge for Christmas
  
• Socks za net: ankle length
  
• Pumps or Bubblegummers (Pink)
  
• Goggles: From the Nairobi Show
  
• Punk hairstyle: push-back and lift at the front
  
• Mum's lipstick
• Single dot of wanja on the right cheek
• Plastic jewelery set: birthday gift
  

Ah... 'tis the wonder of childhood. You cannot say the same for the current fashion for kids now can you?
*Professor Utonium et al

U

Remember the ad for 'U' that used to go something like:

guy: Hey you, what's new?
chick: U's what's new.
guy: Meeeeeeee?
chick: No, UUUUUUUUUUUUUU?
guy: Ohh, UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.........

Found it rather redundant the way they kep throwing the word 'u' around, but looks like it worked because I still remember it.

Home Science

Were it not for Home Science, most of us would never know what a back stitch, hemming stitch, overcasting or herringbone stitch are. Where would boys and girls voluntarily knit booties in the absence of this crucial subject? In addition, where would the essential skills of making a lap bag, pin cushion or fringed mat have come from? I never got round to finishing my shorts though.

I remember the way Tois in class 4 and 5 would psyche up for standard 6 Home Science after a sneak preview of the textbook revealed that 'Adole' would be featuring prominently in the curriculum. Among the worst things someone could say to you was that 'Unasumbuliwa na Adole'. Anyhow, through it all, we learned that hips broaden, voice deepens and wet dreams start.

Shamuka

Them days when KBC ruled, Music Time was the show to watch for local and international hits. From the earliest I can remember, Music Time was hosted by Fred Obachi Machokaa, calling himself 'The blackest man in black Africa'. Then came a few lady presenters here and there, but the absolute show stopper was Shadrack Musyoka wa Kaleli or 'Shamuka' as he preferred to call himself. He'd appear on the screen carrying a basket which supposedly contained all the hits for the day's show. I'll never forget the day he said 'Na sasa tunakuletea yule kipusa Ndolly Parton, akitusukumia kizinga - She's an Engo!'.

Rare Watts should have won

You remember the Rare Watts from the days of the 'Win a Car Dance Competition' back in 1990, the three well-built, Maasai-shuka clad guys who could really boogie. I totally loved the way the got down to 'Dirty Cash', 'I've been thinking about you' and Black Box's 'Ride on Time'. The was a way they just ran away with it, or so I thought. Apparently, the judges felt that Jam City in their super-shiny outfits did a better job. Nonetheless, the Rare Watts are indelible in the memories of many Kenyans.

All for Ramayan

When I was in class 4 or 5 Ramayan had hit ile mbaya. In school we would talk about Ram's progress in rescuing Sita from Lanka or argue about who was more handsome, Ram or Lakshman. We would even reenact the battle scenes, with imaginary maces and cries of 'Jai Sri Ram' never mind we had no clue what it meant. The music was beautiful, Hanuman was busy flying around and in short, Ramayan was unmissable.

The only problem was that it used to air on Sunday at around 5pm, the same time I was supposed to go the salon to have my hair braided in readiness for school on Monday.
Just when the signature tune would begin playing (Sita Ram mujareepa kasi baaa baaan...), mathe would ask me to go to the salon. It was unbearable to miss an episode and I had to think fast. I told mathe that I wanted to concentrate on studying and keeping long hair was wasting my time because I had to keep going to the salon. So I suggested getting my hair shaved. Amazed at my love for study, mathe obliged. From then on, I was able to enjoy every episode of Ramayan undisturbed. Unfortunately, the thing wound up all too soon and I was stuck with trying to grow my hair back for a long long time.

You got mail!

In primo, kids were very creative in addressing envelopes for etters and notes to friends. You may remember seeing ''boombasticate it to:' sprawled diagonally across the envelope, followed by the recipient's name. 'Open With a Smile' was pretty common, as was 'Kiss before you open'. I still recall the time when best friends would send each other hand-drawn cards, with 'UR2sweet2B4go10' written on the envelope. The 'sweet' part wasn't written, it was actually a hand-drawing of a sweet and you had to figure it out the code (high tech ha?).

In some primos, TAs would open tois' mail just to make sure it wasn't from 'suitors' lurking somewhere beyond the school walls. If a chick was busted for getting mail from a boy, the TA would read the letter out loud to the whole class. The letter would typically be in blue biro with salient points written in red biro. Teacher So and So would punctuate her reading of sentences such as 'You are the only button on my shirt' with a msomo to the busted girl and bemused class on 'the dangers of relationships', before moving on to 'When I see you my heart goes paragasha!' At the end, busted toi would get a good whipping plus a chat with Headi, mum and dad the next day, all because of a strange boy seated somewhere with a blue and red pen.

Somewhere to begin

I suppose the day my mum brought home a TV is not a bad place to begin. It was a 14 inch black and white Samsung. I mentioned to her that it was a nice TV, despite the fact that children in those days commonly received responses such as 'Kwani ulikuwa unataka ile mbaya?' for making unnecessary observations. If you asked 'Ilikuwa pesa ngapi?', a not so unlikely response would be 'Unirudishie pesa?'. Perhaps parents of that time were an angry lot. Anyway, mum didn't mind.

I proceeded to sit through two hours of what I would now call agonising viewing, in the form of 'Habari' then 'Utabiri wa hali ya hewa' with Nguatah Francis (you remember him), 'Professional View' followed by 'Press Conference' , news, maombi and kufungwa kwa kituo. I would later see these shows as an absolute bore, but for that day I was enthralled.

The next day, I asked mum to switch on the TV at about noon. She explained that there was nothing to watch, since the station in those days 'opened' at 4pm. I was confused and told her that Nguatah Francis had said there would be 'vipindi vya jua kesho mchana'. It was mchana and I wanted to watch vipindi vya jua now. Mum went to explain that 'vipindi vya jua' did not mean 'TV programs about the sun' but ' sunny intervals'. I guess puns have been chasing me ever since.