You are black! Said Ofwono Opondo to the Media

Shock gripped Uchumi Supermarket employees recently when they came to work in the morning and found, converging at a meeting; the entire stock of underwear and pens laughing heartily and high fiving. No they weren’t. They were cowering under the shelves because they had read in the news that Ofwono Opondo had attacked journalists. They thought they were next.

You can remember that a couple of years back Ofwono Opondo and as he so aptly describes himself a ‘regular and reliable news source’ went into a then new Uchumi Supermarket and allegedly shoplifted a pen and two(?) pairs of underwear. He was caught. He became a disgrace. His party NRM kept him on in a top position even eventually made him the party spokesman. I wonder how that played out though

-so, we are looking for an individual that will be the mouth piece of the party
-let’s see, we have embezzlers, the corrupt, timber thieves, HIV and Tuberculosis money thieves, power sticklers….
-hmmm, we seem to be in a bit of a pickle here, chimed one as he tried to balance his fat behind on the fat wallet of cash in his back pocket
-the visionary man then looks around the room and then points at a man trying to knick a pen nestled in the cranny between the ear and the hair of his colleague.
-you. Kleptomaniac. You talk for the party.

And that is the story of how Ofwono Opondo was elected NRM Spokesperson and has since been interviewed and quoted as an authority and well, talked to as if the world held him in high esteem.

At the end of last month, Ofwono penned what was a very insightful and quite frankly spot on and a long time coming article about the diminishing integrity of journalism stemming right from the top Editors and seeping right to the overly exploited, poorly paid freelance journalist. He said that at a concluded NRM National Conference journalists attacked NRM officials demanding for cash…

As a journalist who always used to be treated like a common criminal every time I went to the accounts department to ask for a miserly 3,000 transport refund from the company, I can understand why when presented with a brown envelope or wads of little cash, a journalist would quickly jump at it.

Either that or arm chair journalism which I am ashamed to say that for most of the time before I left the journalism field that I loved so much, I turned down assignments that required for me to travel further than the middle of the town to get to a source because at the end of the day, the trouble you went thru to get the refund from accounts coupled with the miserable wages at the end of the month are just not worth it. But at the end of the day, miserable wages or not, it is disgraceful for journalists to ask for and expect monetary and or any other favors in exchange for stories.

Of course corporate companies will go to all lengths to ensure that their stories run at all costs including paying off editors and ‘facilitating’ the journalists that have come to cover these functions. Journalists who are used to this kind of treatment will then always expect that whenever they are invited by a company or organisation to cover a story, it is only given that they are compensated for the time and effort.

So here is the diagnosis. That journalists are underpaid and hence have no qualms about taking and sometimes even demanding for monetary favors from organisations. This Diagnosis however, does not offer any solutions. Dr. House is not going to strut in on the 38th minute, wave his cane at the patient’s toe ring, proclaim that if she were to take it off, the levels of toxins in her brain would decrease and she would be healed forever. No. Perhaps this show will go on longer. First, they will amputate the toe in the 40th minute, snip off the foot at the hour, maybe the leg will soon follow at the 90 minute mark and hopefully by then the gangrene will have been curbed. And the amputated leg will forever be buried with all the editors in chief who have no qualms about selling advertising for editorial favors, who take millions in cash in exchange for ‘killing’ a story about a high profile member of society while they practice double standards to their employees preaching the evil in accepting brown envelopes. And hopefully with intensive treatment, better pay, better working conditions, better medical and other benefits, long after House has ended, we shall find a cure for brown envelope journalism.

Meanwhile, let Ofwono Opondo continue to point his soot covered fingers at the culprits.


And so there’s been two BHHs without a recap from me. I am awful proud of that thank you very much. It demonstrates that I have shed even that little shred of dignity I had as a blogger. I mean if I cannot even make up a bloody BHH re-cap what is the world coming to? I suck.

While we are at confession, here is more. I had promised myself that since this is my special month, I would blog every day of the week for the whole month. I lied again. That is what happens when you make resolutions at the end of the year. You are too busy trying to keep track of the ones you have not lived up to since the beginning of the year you can hardly take time off to keep a simple one as writing about my crappy life every day.

Now quickly let me make a last confession. That while I was away from here, I fell in love with another hairy man. Facebook. I tell you I tried to stay away but you know how men can be. Always luring you with those big blue eyes and promises of bigger things. But now I am back. I can’t promise that I will stop seeing him or anything but I promise that if you take me back oh dear blogger, I will endeavor to er, nuh, I have no offers. Just take me back with no terms and no conditions

Done confessing. Be back soon. I miss you all.

Bee Etch Etch (Because there are not many other ways to write BHH) Recap: The Facebook edition

I protested having to do this recap because what are people going to think of me; absconding from my blogging duties only to come and do a recap every several months only to disappear again and come back with a recap! Disgraceful! And so that is why I protested. But clearly I am not that good at protesting. Not good at many other things to be honest with you. Take the gym for example. Perfect place to meet nice sweaty guys, smelly sweaty guys, overzealous instructors in short shorts, and well, if you are up to it, perfect for toning up the thighs, butt and of course those flabby arms. So I sucked at that too. But I guess I came here to talk about what went down at BHH so I will delve right into it.

Do you remember how waaaaaaaaaaaay back Baz felt too good for BHH and we’d all gather and pay homage to his awesomeness and get on our knees and pray that one day he’d one day grace us low lives with an appearance? Well, now that BHH has faded, Baz can be found on street corners and at facebook campaigning for people to attend. Oh how the mighty have fallen.
This BHH was basically a facebook convention. Where previously people talked about the most recent posts etc, we were discussing facebook status messages, facebook groups, Golola Moses and whether or not it is ethical to ‘like’ your own status message.
Prettysmilesolomonking says it is tacky to like your own status message, I agreed and two days later, Baz actually liked his own status.

That Mateo’s promotion of buy one get one free I am afraid is still going which is how come I ended up with two Martinis in salt coated glasses. Disgusting. Why would I go to a bar and pay for Oral Rehydration Salts? I also got a wee bit drunk, went to the loo to wash my face and ended up drinking the tap water. That’s what happens when local chics go hanging out.
That loud guy
Spartakus was there. His pseudo dreadlocks also put in an appearance. He took one small glass of those obscenely named cocktails and got plastered. We threw him out of Mateo’s.

Anyway, I am not going to tell you what we all talked about etc. If you wanted to know you should have been there. But here is who turned up. Nevender’s cousin, a newbie called Muhumuza Mark who blogs as I-really-do-not-remember, Ivanmusokesweetheart, StreetSider who is amazingly nicer these days, Solomon King, Jny23, Ruth of dare devil and some other bold chic who said she’d not mind being banged everyday (Insert props here) and other chics who either were not bloggers, or are new bloggers or I did not get their names. Kale bye.

Gym thingies

The other day the buttons on my shirt were fighting to explode off my chest, so I figured I had to do something about my ever expanding width. So i signed up to a gym. I know! A bit much right? why couldn't i just stop eating? here's what i found.

  • My Gym figured out a way to keep business going; there’s a Pastries shop right outside the gym. A friend of mine had this to say about that, Location, Location, Location.

  • Your 11 year old brother’s sneakers are not a good idea unless rotten feet are the new fad in town

  • That laughing should not be your standard reaction to when the instructor spreads your legs wide, whilst he is in a kneeling position between them

  • I should have shaved my armpits

  • I was going to shave that morning but then I remembered that I was going to wear a long sleeved shirt that day, so what’s the rush?

  • Trainer has bad breath

  • I suck at aerobics

  • My hips don’t lie

  • Going to the gym turns a previously humble person into a show off!. I mean here I am barely inside the gym doors and I am writing about it as if I am better than all those lazy un-fat people.
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