What Twitter Taught Me

Warning, if you don’t get sarcasm please stop reading and continue tweeting. Thank you. Now that we have that out-of-the-way, I’d like to share a few things this addiction that is also known as Twitter has taught me.

1. Twitter taught me that High school never ends. We have the cool kids, the Goth kids, the blonde I will flash my boobs to become popular kids, the geek kids, the invisible kids and the ones that sound like they have cooties. Still wondering which cool kid to give it up to so that I can become famous.

2.Twitter taught me that you should not say a prayer before you eat, rather twitpic the food and send it to all your followers first, then maybe you can tweet a prayer about which fancy restaurant you’ve visited in the name of food, AMEN!

3.Twitter taught me it is cool to prevent prostate cancer. How you wonder? Well if I post a semi-naked picture of myself and a guy faps to it, I have saved someone’s balls. Plus, what could be more romantic than a random maybe creepy (but who cares) guy jizzes while looking at my photo?

4.Twitter taught me if you don’t have it, fake it until you sound like you’ve made it. You know, like (please insert a Blonde cheerleader’s accent here)OMG I’m so like cool, I have like an iPhone that’s so like 5 not 4s, and I like so don’t know Kaswahili, I’m like so raised in the suburbs. But they probably don’t know I get so broke trying to look rich though!

5.Twitter taught me to be an expert at playing the monkey see monkey do game.” Oh lookie! Here’s a random person I don’t know but since I want to be buddies with the cool kids, let me join them in insulting this person I hardly know.”This game is so fun!

6.Twitter taught me the best therapy to get over my insecurities is find a victim on the social network, tell them how ugly they are, or how fat they are and hide behind my computer and phone. See how macho I’ve become? I CAPSLOCKED them and showed them who runs this. I don’t need you Dr. Phil!

7.Twitter taught me to be very religious when I’m out in the real world having conversations with real people. I just bow my head as if I’m praying while I’m busy tweeting and caressing my phone’s keypad like it’s a rosary. It also taught me it’s ok to tweet Bible verses on Sundays and have nasty I want the D tweets during the rest of the week.

8.Twitter taught me that travelling by bus is not a means of transportation and being poor is a bad disease. Like who does that? You can’t afford a flight to Mombasa, Kisumu or Rongai? Euww that is so disgusting!

9.Twitter taught me that you don’t need a church to be a preacher. Just shout like you are in a bus station telling people how they should act and behave. Give them tips on how you are such an expert after all your online degree reading Bible verses course was so hard for others to comprehend.

10.Most importantly Twitter taught me to act like a Facebook girl and think like a Twitter woman (the movie will be out soon, I’m just looking for extras).

That’s what Twitter has taught me, what has it taught you?

Peace and blessings,
Vionna

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Hair Raising Experience

Painkillers. Check! Phone battery full to listen to music and tweet the pain away. Check! Mentally and physically prepared. Check! Well, you might be wondering what I’m going on and on about ,aye? It’s the torture every woman who braids her hair goes through most of the time. Getting one’s hair did is really not a fun experience and braiding takes a whole lot of time, and if you are not the patient type like me, you prefer to have your hair braided in one of those markets that do it in a record three hours tops. I will stop yapping much and help you picture the scenario.

Scene 1: Alights from the stage at Kenyatta Market with my big afro and suddenly from nowhere a battalion of women bombard me each one calling me, aunty, mrembo and the guilt breaker mtoto wangu.
Me:”Hapana niko sawa sitaki kushukwa” (for my foreign readers it means, no I’m ok I don’t want my hair braided)
Women’s Army:“ Tutafanya kazi smart utakuwa mrembo sana. Sema tu uko na pesa ngapi hatuwezi kosana bei.” (ok I’m really tired of translating now, but it means the women then try to convince me saying how they’ll work wonders to my hair and I should not worry about the price we will come to some sort agreement)

Pretends to make a phone call while walking so fast like a killer with a saw is behind me waiting to cut me up. They finally get the hint and leave me alone. Sighs in relief, I can finally concentrate on who I was going to visit in hospital without thinking I’m about to be hijacked and held hostage with combs and braids on my afro. Poor lil afro all traumatized now.

Scene 2: Decides to finally get my hair braided and wakes up early on a Saturday to go to a different hair braiding market. Remembered to take my painkillers beforehand for the pain that I was about to go through. Alights at the Umoja Market Stage and before I can even blink, one woman jumps in fronts of me (tempted to show her my Ninja moves) another one grabs my hand all of them calling me aunty (ok why the hell do they insist on that name) manages to yank away from their grip and focus on who I was sent to get my hair did. I don’t know how she looks like, her phone is not going through and my selective amnesia forgot which stall no. she owns. Thank God for small mercies, I recognize that voice shouting; Aunty! Aunty! Kuja tukushuke. I ask her if she’s*censored* she says yes and I finally feel relieved as the women staring at my afro like they are lions and were just about to pounce on this powerless antelope(my afro not me)And the drama unfolds:

Miss Afro:” Nimetumwa na nani, kushukwa hapa since mlimshuka vizuri” (I’ve been sent by so and so to get my hair braided since you did her hair so well)
Braiding Lady:“Karibu sana, unataka za ngapi? Kuna za 5,6,7,8 na thao sema ile size umependa.”(wait am I choosing the braids I want as if I’m shopping for a dress? Oh my bad! For those who don’t understand Swahili, braiding lady asks me which size of braids I want and for how much since they come in different prices)
Miss Afro:“Nataka za 8. Na niko na haraka kidogo, kama mnaeza harakisha itakuwa vizuri.” (I’m in a hurry so if you can do a quick job, I would appreciate) Here I am thinking to myself that she is the one doing my hair, apparently she’s like an apprentice and her job is to scout for interns to do her work for her while she does a touch and go on your hair while gossiping.
I sit outside my braids snatched away from me, a towel thrown on my lap with braids smeared in Vaseline and I’m asked to divide for another braiding lady. Drat! There goes my tweeting away, and I can’t listen to music either because of the loud annoying station that acts like they have a 4gb flash disk worth of music also known as Kiss 100 on full blast. “Shoot me now!”I mutter to myself. I’m given an old Parent’s magazine that should be archived, to read. Finally braiding lady outsources two other braiding ladies and they are on top of my head, gossiping while forgetting it’s your hair they are pulling when they start hi-5ing each other. Suddenly, they get hungry and start eating chapatis on top of your head(this women can eat!)they then call for help to help with the finishing. Now I have four women on top of my head! Wait, scratch that, I have two women and four thighs on my face. You see, when it comes to twisting, the quickest way to finish them is by one woman applying Vaseline on her thighs, and rolling the braids on it. Mind you, it’s your hair being pulled like that to be able to reach one’s thigh. The braiding lady then demands;”Panua miguu” Ok, this now starts sounding like I’m auditioning for a softcore porn movie! My legs are spread in such a way her body can fit, and one of the finishers thigh can be up in my face, with a stench from her vajayjay that makes you want to pass out. There’s always a welding shop nearby, and the noise starts driving you insane, the gossiping and laughing on top of your head, the pulling and forced to do some Kama Sutra flexing muscles stunts is just too much. Once done in a record 3 hours, they pull your hair back, and dab a hot towel on your scalp. You leave there with your eyes looking all Chinese from the pulling, your hairline slowly fading and you want to kill someone.
Braiding Lady:Finally she comes back just to take the cash and says;” Na uko smart, utarudi lini tena nikushuke?”
Miss Afro now tightly braided: “I’ll call you.” As I leave there in so much pain and about to overdose on painkillers, vowing never to braid my hair again. Four weeks later, phones braiding lady again to make an appointment.

Peace and blessings always, Vionna.

Dear 2011 Perks and Flaws

As the year draws to an end, I still can’t quite come to terms with it. I mean it was just January the other day and now the month of debauchery, summer love, acting silly and such like things also known as December is here upon us. Since I’m in my happy place, Mombasa and I haven’t blogged in quite a while for losing my mojo reasons, I thought I would do one last post for the dramatic year that was 2011 and write her a letter.

Dear January, you started off so well, I thought for once we had quite a good thing going on, only for you to turn around and do what you do best. It wasn’t enough that I was recovering from the 2010 December debauchery with an empty wallet that now had cobwebs, you just had to add insult to injury and play the prank you played on me. But you taught me a lesson, I had made my bed with silly mistakes, I had to sleep on it and pay for the consequences.

Along came your sister February, you were not as harsh as your big sister January. We got along just fine like Sonko and stupidity. You came up with solutions that your sister Jan had caused and finally I could smile again. The one thing that you made me realize was that I wasn’t perfect. I made mistakes, I paid for them dearly and I either had to wallow in self-pity, pick myself up or move on.

March, April and May the three brothers that had my back. You really came through for me just when I thought all hope was lost. We had some fun times, we went out on holiday, rejuvenated and got back on track and left the past where it needed to remain. You taught me everything always works out in the end, it’s the middle that’s always the hardest to get through but once I did all was well.

My favorite twins June and July. This time around you were so full of surprises. You opened up two new chapters in my life that brought me so much joy and you managed to take something away from me that once brought happiness in my life. So bittersweet you were, but what I picked from you two, life is precious, I learned to forgive more, value the loved ones in my life and live each day without regrets.

August, the month of love you turned out to be, forget February you had it going on with weddings and romances I couldn’t keep up with you. Thank you for the eat, pray, love endeavor I went through with you. It was life changing. I became a better person thanks to you.

September, the black sheep of the year. Like Greenday, I just wanted to wake up when your month was up. You really lived up to your black sheep title. But lessons learned from August really came in handy while dealing with you. You were not so bad though, I learned something from you, losers are just afraid of doing what winners do, and I’m no loser!

October and November, you two turned out to be so witty, thanks for the gifts of wisdom you showed me, and teaching me to have a positive attitude regardless of trying situations around me.

December, the month that I turned sixteen again. The last born month that’s always so spoilt, bratty and fun. Well this time around, no more debauchery. You had to remind me that age has finally caught up with me, so I will behave and see what your firstborn sister January has in store for me.
Sincerely,
Vionna

PS: Next year please don’t snatch away so many people from us. Steve Jobs, Wangari Maathai, Heavy D, and all other fallen soldiers (well apart from the dictators you pulled a Mortein doom on)will be dearly missed.
Happy Holidays, bloggers and readers alike!
Peace and Blessings always, Vionna