Act 1, Scene 1

 

Our battle-of-the-sexes feature at the newspaper I work in is called He Say She Say. I know that is not exactly precisely what He Say She Say means—he say she say refers to gossip and idle rumours, but it fits: when the man writes, we have a logo that reads He Say, and when the woman writes, we have a logo that says She Say.
It might change soon. But not to He Says and She Says, because of what happens when you play loose with the grammar of slang.
Carlton: “What’s the four hundred and eleven, houseboy?”
Will: “You mean ‘What’s the four one one, homeboy.’”
Carlton: “Yeah. What’s the schedule?”
Will: “You mean proggie?”
Carlton: “I mean, where is the party in?”
Will:  “It’s ‘Where’s the party AT, man!”
Carlton: “I just want to know where we will be suspended this Friday night.”
Will: “If you want to know where we’ll be hanging, I’ll tell you, I’m not hanging with you until you stop being local.”
Carlton: “You want me to be foreign, oba what? Listen I am just trying to be pelvic.”
Will: “Pelvic?”
Carlton: “You know (Points at his hip) Pelvic.”

 

The battle-of-the-sexes feature at the newspaper I work in is called He Say She Say. I know that is not exactly precisely what “He Say She Say” means—the phrase refers to gossip and idle rumours, but in this case, it fits: when the man writes, we have a logo that reads “He Say”, and when the woman writes, we have a logo that says “She Say”.

It might change soon. But not to “He Says and She Says” as has been recommended, because of what happens when you play loose with the grammar of slang.

carlton4

 

Carlton: “What’s the four hundred and eleven, houseboy?”

Will: “You mean ‘What’s the four one one, homeboy.’”

Carlton: “Yeah. What’s the schedule?”

Will: “You mean proggie?”

Carlton: “I mean, where is the party in?”

Will:  “It’s ‘Where’s the party at, man!”

Carlton: “I just want to know where we will be suspended this Friday night.”

Will: “If you want to know where we’ll be hanging, I’ll tell you, I’m not hanging with you until you stop being local.”

Carlton: “You want me to be foreign, oba what? Listen: I am just trying to be pelvic.”

Will: “Pelvic?”

Carlton: “You know (Points at his hip) Pelvic.”

 

 

Okay. Time for weekend.

Verbatim Vs Verbatim special Afrika Day Edition

 

Amandla, my brother!
How many times do I have to tell you, Lizzie, I am not your brother. I know we are not sure who your father is, but my dad was in Nairobi the year…
I meant brother in the sense that we are all Children of Mother Africa Baz. It is Africa Day today, a day when we renew our commitment to the Pan-African cause.  
We have a commitment to the Pan Africanist cause? We?
Are you one of those brainwashed neocolonialist pawns who does not care about the future of the motherland?
I think so.
Well, it’s a good thing I showed up then, isn’t it? Let me open your eyes which have been blinded by the oppressor. Let me unlock the shackles that have imprisoned your mind.
Um, Lizzie…
By the way, on this day I refuse to answer to that colonialist imperialist English name. Please use my African name.
What is your African name?
I have chosen Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti.
Um, Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nevertiti …
Yes?
Get the hell off my lap. 
Oops. Sorry, Baz. I forgot that you have this “thing” about personal space. But you don’t have to get cross about me sitting on your lap. I am an infant. That’s what we do. We sit on people’s laps and knees.
Not on mine, you don’t, Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti. Where the hell did that come from anyway?
Thandiwe was the mother of the Great Chaka Zulu, mighty Warrior Emperor of Afrika. Nefertiti was the Queen of the Ancient Afrikan Civlisisation of Misri.
I thought she was like the Queen of Egypt or something.
You’re playing with me, aren’t you? You seem to think this is a joke.
You’re the one who has decided to call herself Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti. I swear Mama Chaka sounds like a chocolate bar. I would eat a Mama Chaka. 
Why are you unwilling to embrace the glory of your heritage? Why don’t you desire to search the footsteps of your ancestors, the noble warriors of Afrika, the cradle of civilization and learning? Did you know that Afrika invented mathematics?
Really? When?
In 700BC, when the white man was still in caves!
How many years ago was that?
It was … you know what? Fuck you, Baz.
Hah hah! You haven’t learnt how to add and subtract in school yet, have you, Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti? Hah hah. If Africans invented maths while Europeans were still in caves, you are still on the UK system! Hah hah! Whooo!
You think Africa is a laughing matter, Baz?
No, Lizzie… I mean, TMCN, I think you’re a laughing matter. Look, no matter what you call yourself, no matter where you go, you will always be who you are: an African. You don’t have to take on a fancy name, or wear a towering headdress. You and I are, and always will be, Africans. 
Really? Is that true, Baz? I guess I have learnt something today. That we should always be ourselves no matter where we come from. Because we are all special.
Yes, I am.
In unison: Happy Africa Day everybody! 
It was in that spirit that I decided I will not answer to my. You cannot call me Lizzie.
That’s ridiculous.
What’s ridiculous about it? Baz, are  you are brainwashed neocolonialist pawn?
It’s ridiculous because last week you told me your father was doing kyeyo. The week before that you told me he was in Studying. 
People do Kyeyo, Baz. Even Armymen do kyeyo. And people DO study sometimes.
The week before that you said he was , Lizzie I know we are not sure who your father is, but I’m not your brother. We are not kin.
Sigh. I don’t need your sympathy. Anyway, you can’t call me Lizzie today.
Our hero was sitting on his verandah yesterday when up toddled the four-year-old from next door. She was dressed in a heavily starched kitenge with a long high headwrap.
  • Amandla, my brother!
  • How many times do I have to tell you, Lizzie, I am not your brother. I know we are not sure who your father is, but my dad was in Nairobi the year…
  • I meant brother in the sense that we are all Children of Mother Africa, Baz. It is Africa Day today, a day when we renew our commitment to the Pan-African cause.  
  • We have a commitment to the Pan Africanist cause? We?
  • Are you one of those brainwashed neocolonialist pawns who does not care about the future of the motherland?
  • I think so.
  • Well, it’s a good thing I showed up then, isn’t it? Let me open your eyes which have been blinded by the oppressor. Let me unlock the shackles that have imprisoned your mind.
  • Um, Lizzie…
  • By the way, on this day I refuse to answer to that colonialist imperialist English name. Please use my African name.
  • What is your African name?
  • I have chosen Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti.
  • Um, Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nevertiti …
  • Yes?
  • Get the hell off my lap. 
  • Oops. Sorry, Baz. I forgot that you have this “thing” about personal space. But you don’t have to get cross about me sitting on your lap. I am an infant. That’s what we do. We sit on people’s laps and knees.
  • Not on mine, you don’t, Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti. Where the hell did that come from anyway?
  • Thandiwe was the mother of the Great Chaka Zulu, mighty Warrior Emperor of Afrika. Nefertiti was the Queen of the Ancient Afrikan Civlisisation of Misri.
  • I thought she was like the Queen of Egypt or something.
  • You’re playing with me, aren’t you? You seem to think this is a joke.
  • You’re the one who has decided to call herself Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti. I swear Mama Chaka sounds like a chocolate bar. I would eat a Mama Chaka. 
  • Why are you unwilling to embrace the glory of your heritage? Why don’t you desire to search the footsteps of your ancestors, the noble warriors of Afrika, the cradle of civilization and learning? Did you know that Afrika invented mathematics?
  • Really? When?
  • In 700BC, when the white man was still in caves!
  • How many years ago was that?
  • It was … you know what? Fuck you, Baz.
  • Hah hah! You haven’t learnt how to add and subtract in school yet, have you, Thandiwe Mama Chaka Nefertiti? Hah hah. If Africans invented maths while Europeans were still in caves, you are still on the UK system! Hah hah! Whooo!
  • You think Africa is a laughing matter, Baz?
  • No, Lizzie… I mean, TMCN, I think you’re a laughing matter. Look, no matter what you call yourself, no matter where you go, you will always be who you are: an African. You don’t have to take on a fancy name, or wear a towering headdress. You and I are, and always will be, Africans. 
  • Really? Is that true, Baz? I guess I have learnt something today. That we should always be ourselves no matter where we come from. Because we are all special.
  • Yes, I am.
  • In unison: Happy Africa Day everybody! 

 

african doll1

The commercial value of sounding stupid

MisaCampo2

  Ola! It’s me, hot chick Misa Campo, the reason Erique’s jawline is scraping against the ground right now. That is to say, my hotness has caused his mouth to hang open. I have a thurrogit for you. Look, here it is.   THURROGIT: Hot 100 FM deejays are rich. I mean, how much do you think a person have to be paid to sound as stupid as they do?

Listen kko to this: hawanhanre

 

Also rich? Herbie Kay of Record TV. Cos no one can be paid less that sh20 million to let everyone hear this: download Herbie K here

Mr Bazanye gives up. Abandons blog. Leaves hot chick in charge

Misa Campo Blog Caretaker
Misa Campo Blog Caretaker.

Ola! Mr Bazanye is on blogging hiatus until June 2. Until then, I, Misa Campo, will take care of this blog, occasionally placing a random thurrogit here alongside pictures of me, a hot chick.

To sustain Pinky’s interest, I will be deputised by Colin Farell. Mr Bazanye says that if I alienate Pinky he will send me straight back to the pig farms of Guatemala where he found me.

He said, “Don’t test me on this.”

He apologises deeply, and leaves hugs for everyone. He has left to visit world-renown blogcks (bloggers’s block) specialist Sven Löfgrenssenn in Geneva for therapy.

June 2nd.

Sentences that didn’t make it into the paper

 

Sentences that didn’t make it into the paper.
Some background. This is from a story about a Stand Up Uganda comedian who performed while wearing blue contact lenses: 
“He walked the floor while running his arms through his blues eye lids.”
Now, you might think it is unfair of me to publish other writers mbogos up here like this, but I see no injustice. If he didn’t want anyone to read it, he wouldn’t have written it in the first place, and he certainly wouldn’t have submitted it to the editor for publication in the secon
Some background. This is from a story about a Stand Up Uganda comedian who performed while wearing blue contact lenses: 
“He walked the floor while running his arms through his blues eye lids.”
Now, you might think it is unfair of me to publish other writers mbogos up here like this, but I see no injustice. If he didn’t want anyone to read it, he wouldn’t have written it in the first place, and he certainly wouldn’t have submitted it to the editor for publication in the second.

Stating the obvious

This blog is empty. Of course. You may have noticed. The reasons for this untoward vacancy are simple. I cannot think of things to write. 

This is the worst blog post I have ever written. Okay. I’ll style up by Friday. Trust me. Don’t dump me yet. Friday.