The Loyalty Pledge

Didn't we all mumble the lines at assembly whenever Mrs. so and so in her shrill voice called out, 'The loyalty pledge...':

"I pledge my loyalty to the President and Nation of Kenya
My readiness and duty to defend the flag of our Republic
My life, strength and service in the task of nation building
In the living spirit embodied in our National motto 'Harambee'
and perpetuated in the Nyayo philosophy of Peace, Love and Unity."

I thought that this stuff had been scrapped by now, for obvious reasons, but it turns out that the 'loyalty pledge' is alive and well in Primary Schools to this day.

Nyanyako Star

Disgraceful as it may be, grandmothers were a necessary and very effective ingredient in childhood taunts. Innocent grandmothers found themselves at the heart of barbs such as 'Nyanyako kibogoyo lakini kwa kukula mifupa mwachie' and 'Nyanyako kaguru lakini kwa kudandia lorry mwachie'. The very best was a song composed specifically to jeer at friends and foes whenever the need arose, and you guessed it, granny was its subject. It went like this:

Nyanyako star! Star!
Anakula fish! Fish!
Uji na koo! Koo!
Ananyamba tiririiiiiii riii riiii riiiii
Ghostbusters!

Inathoa madoadoa yothe!

I dare say no OMO advert is as memorable as the 'Inatoa madoadoa yote' campaign. Well, that was just one advert. If you remember correctly, there were about four ladies in different ads for the same campaign. I'll paraphrase the bits and pieces I can remember:

The winner: I call her so because she was the most memorable and melodramatic. By the way she had this wide-eyed look and a thousand Watt smile. What an actress. Unforgettable!
'OMO withi powerfoam is the best! Ndio itakupathia, wath you are looking for. Apenji! Uyu niguo thafuni! This is the dethergent. OMO withi powerfoam. Thry ith.'

Bi Gladys Wakesho alikuwa na haya ya kusema: (Was that Nimrod Tabu's Voice?)
'Kwanza ninalowa nguo zangu na OMO iliyo na powerfoam, kisha ninazifua pole poooole kwa makiiiiiini, kisha zote zinakua safi. Ziwe ni za manjano au nyeupe, zote zinatakaa. Ukitaka kujua uhondo wa ngoma, ni uingie ucheze, hivyo anayetaka kujua uhondo wa powerfoam, atumie!

Rachel:
'Even the neighbour asked! Were looking at them and saying "wooow!". They said "Rachel! What did you use?". I said "Wooow! OMOOOO! Withi Powerfoam.".'
Announcer: Yes. OMO with powerfoam is the strongest washing powder for the cleanest wash.

Fishmonger:
'Unajua kwa hii biashara, lazima uoge... ung'are... ndio utapata customer. Sio mtu akipita, (wringing her nose) mapua!!... mapua!!...'

I think that campaign would make it into Kenya's (nonexistent) Advertising Hall of Fame.

Johni Kibogoyo

There was no better way to silence an opponent in a competitive game (or to wind up an argument you were clearly losing) than to whip out Johni Kibogoyo. The only modification needed was to substitute 'Johni' with the other kids name.

Johni Kibogogyo, alihara kwa mkebe
Akasema ni wageni
Wageni wakasema
Ni Johni Kibogoyo!

I imagine that it created such vivid imagery in the victim's mind that they just couldn't help seeing themselves doing something nasty in a tin. Worked every time!

The normal playing curve

When I was growing up (assuming I have finished), most games began with a suggestion like 'tucheze kati', followed by screams of 'fao' seco' 'thirdo' and so on. As it usually happened, two of us would shout 'seco' at the very same instant and after some intense bickering, we would resort to the time honoured solution to such disputes: 'Iiiii exe exe exe kala kabonding socks' or the remix 'iiie exe exe exe exe darling slipping kala kabonding socks'. If everyone's palms came out facing down and yours came up, you were 'fao' and vice versa, on and on until we got to 'lanyo'. If some kid tried to come into the game much later or we just didn't like him, we would shoo him away with the 'no more no less' policy and he would have no choice but to sit and watch.

After about 15 minutes of happy playing, someone would start 'vumaing' the ball or tightening the skipping rope or unfairly claiming that 'umevunja nyungu' only to make you 'ban' (or is it 'bant'?) quickly. Then the lamentations of 'hii game ni ya harare' would start, followed by lofty proclamations of 'harare hailalangi'. The 'harare' would invariably get personal and one kid would invite the other to solve it with a fight. 'Kujaa... kujaa... unadhani mi nakuogopa?'. If the opponent backed off, we would all taunt them with 'kamehori eh eh! kamehori eh eh!' until we made them cry or agree to fight. Unfortunately, somebody would get hurt and the fear of 'mama so and so' would befall us. To guarantee our absolution from any wrongdoing, we would quickly fix the blame with 'Haishaaa makanjo! Ameeepiiiga! Mtoto wa wenyewe! Haisha! Haishaaa makanjo!'. Or we would simply get bored with the hassle of it all. You could simply shout 'Kila mtu kwao kwao, kila mtu kwao kwao' and gleefully watch the kids from other estates or courts slinking away, knowing full well that you wer firmly planted on home soil.