THE ADVENTURES AND MUSINGS OF A CRAZY PROFESSOR

 Child Labour? Conmanship? or Moral Responsibility  Some things cut many ways. I am sitting in the office when suddenly I begin itching for a walk. My back feels like it’s made of wood. Hard wood. I feel like someone has dexterously wrapped my waist with a ring band of warm water. My smart watch has been telling me to walk around. Each time I told it not to be too smart and to stuff it. In my mind of course. Now I am feeling the heat around my waist as if someone has been warming my innards.  I really must make the move.  Plus this urge is like a divine call that must be obeyed.   Outside, the heat assaults my receding hairline  with a vengeance. It’s times like this  I begin to question the added value of being a Wahome Mūtahi lookalike. My hairline has been receding as if it’s got a deadline to beat. Too fast for my comfort. The sun immediately takes advantage and attacks my forehead with vengeance. It feels like some malevolent force is hell bent on...

July 18, 2017, Kampala Uganda   Today I came face to face with the consequences of poor quality of education. We shall call this guy I encountered a doctor. To us lay men, anyone with a white coat, pair of glasses and stethoscopes hanging in front is a doctor. But the lady who took my details told me the guy is a general physician. Never mind. So I walk into his space. White coat, glasses, stethoscopes and seated behind a cool looking desk. He is young. That does not exactly give me confidence but what the heck, I will try him. What brings you here? He asks. Friendly and confident. That I like.   I thrust my index finger in front of him. This. I say. He looks at it. It reminds you of a She goat pregnant with twins. Why do the kids always seem to occupy one side of the stomach? But it's my finger we are talking about. It's throbbing. Feels like some malicious force is trying to find out how much you can stretch the human skin without bursting it.   What happened? He asks. ...

I am learning not to turn up my nose against other people’s choices, values, religion, philosophies and culinary tastes. Except Trump. I mean, who scorns Denmark because they won’t sell him Greenland? That is a first. Oh yes, I forgot. There is another lot. Immigration security officials outside Africa pretending their choice of who to search is completely random. Ya right. If that be the case all black people outside Africa should play lottery in airports. There would be loads of black Jackpot millionaires.  Other than that I am willing to live and let live. When my Chinese friend therefore invited me for a hotpot experience in GUANZHOU I was more than willing to give it a shot. I expected anything and was ready to push my boundaries to their limits except on two fronts: snakes and dogs. I was therefore a bit disappointed when he started ordering dull things like lamb, beef, fish, and Pork. I expected some frightening sea creatures. Squids, prawns, crabs, octopus, seahorse and the...

  I was nearly recruited into jihadism. Well almost. This story is not for the faint hearted. If you like short quick ones, stop here. Go make yourself a cup of coffee. Or stand outside your balcony and shout hello to your neighbors. The rest of you come along. Let's test your concentration span.  We just had to talk. The man had a Michael Jordan shave. I keenly watched his greying goatee as I tried to figure out his accent. Distinctly not South African. He fitted my stereotypical ideal of an Alqaeda operative or a member of a Zimbabwean cult living in Nairobi. Clean shaven head and a long goatee. We were stuck in a small electronically controlled space regulating entry and exit out of a small local South African Bank . We should have entered the space one person at a time but for some reason we stepped in at the same time and the doors locked. It felt like being in a cattle dip track, doors securely locked behind you and with only one possible direction for movement. He had j...

Lake view Hotel announces itself in bold letters. You only learn later that the lake is artificial and you are hard pressed to find it. Unable to locate the lake in the expansive Peking Univeristy in Beijing China, I decide to take a walk down the street and look for goat head soup or mutura aka African sausage. My Okuyu brains tells me it doesn’t make sense to buy food with fancy names from a 5 star hotel at three times the price opposite the road. Minus the fancy names. And it’s more fun fending for yourself out there among the average folk. The common mwananchi. To experience real life on the ground. I am conscious that i will face linguistic challenges here. The workers at the 5 star hotel hardly speak English. I don’t expect greater competence in the streets.  The first thing that hits me in the streets is bikes. There are bikes everywhere. Scooters. Motorbikes. Motorized bicycles. Tricycles. All kinds. New. Old ones. Some in repair shops. Others in second hand shops. And some...

I have been writing a letter to God to ask why the season of madness in Kenya has arrived    early this time. Nearly two years in advance. It’s the season when reason departs Kenya. Its that time when you wish life had an individual pause button. You would pause yours and let all the idiocy ebb way. Why? This is the season when suddenly even professors experience a mental block.    Cognitive incapacity. They can’t think beyond tribe. Even the clergy are not spared. Pick    any contested political    issue in this season. Randomly! Give me two professors or two members of clergy and don’t let them open their mouths. Just give me their names. I will predict their ethnicity with more than 99% accuracy. That is    not their fault. My next prediction is their fault. I will proceed to predict on which side of the divide they fall vis-a-vis the issue at hand, without hearing a word from them. And I will be 99% accurate. You don’t need to be a s...