Centipedes in the Woodwork Part 1: Sexual Scandal - An Introduction

"I want to be reincarnated as your tampon."

-Prince Charles to Camilla Parker Bowles

There is an increasing upsurge of democratic independence in this country and all over the world, no doubt. Further precipitating this status quo is the increased use and development of Information Communication Technologies AND further steps being taken in lieu of what can be termed as the New Sexual Revolution that sort of differentiates itself form that of the 60s and 70s where now it is the ‘queer’ that demand their rightful placement in the philosophical atlas of sexual liberation, evident in the homosexuals and Semenyas of our time. This phenomenon is quickly merging into other aspects of society and shakes the very norms that we have long established. Luckily (or unluckily) society has managed to clutch on its last moral cloth and condemn those who seem to violate it. And the wrath is worse for those who are supposed to uphold this moral regime. On the sexual front, this introduces what has been come to be termed as The Sex Scandal - when an individual or an institution by virtue of having some form of public office of appreciation is publicly exposed to have engaged in embarrassing sexual activities. This is usually done in a seemingly spontaneous manner by alternative media and the public is given the feeling that what is uncovered is just “the tip of the iceberg” and the individual in question is left to endure the wrath of society and sometimes leading to their resignations or fall from the erstwhile public appreciation. Examples of this are far and wide, ranging from Kaz’s Nudgate, the K-Street Scandal, various beauty pageant holders’ pictures in the nude being unearthed to the Princess Di – Dodi Fayed Affair to the earth shaking Monica Lewinsky Affair which produced one of the best soundbites in recent history by US President Bill Clinton:

" I did not have sexual relations with that woman,…"

Sex in general and sexual scandals in particular have become all the rage in the recent times gauging from the intense public interest they provoke. The Kaz Scandal came to the fore via viral e-mail messages and discussions on message boards such as Mashada. In fact a blog dedicated to this particular scandal Inside Karen Lucas still receives thousands of hits up to this day despite it being pulled down for review into rights violations. The Commission investigating the Monica Lewinsky Saga spent a cool 65 million US Dollars in uncovering the truth. This is nearly three or four times more than what was spent by the Commission that dealt with the 9/11 terror attacks.

I will attempt to explore the various manifestations The Sexual Scandal has taken in modern times, analyse what this says about the economic and moral undertones prevalent in society today and in the second part, answer some salient issues that arise as regards this issues such as how justified sexual scandals should be exposed and the role of the media both mainstream and alternative.

THE ANATOMY OF A MODERN SEXUAL SCANDAL
The immediate component of this phenomenon would usually be that of a public figure say, a politician or a political leader. However, with the development and increased usage of social networks and high-megapixel cameraphones the standard has quickly sank to that of a next door neighbour where a seemingly unknown individual catapults to celebrity status by virtue of (sometimes circumstantial) evidence of his/her sexual activity. This is proof enough that the line between that public and private sphere is fading fast. The assumption that it is only those in public office that have relinquished their privacy no longer seems to apply. And perhaps this is a good thing as the moral telescope’s magnifying power has narrowed down to the individual and handing them a responsibility of upholding certain sexual(?) norms, from Kibaki with his Two Wife Saga to the next door neighbor to the watchman to two pretty looking male Kenyans in the UK who tied the knot or, according to activist Okia Omutata Okoiti, “were shackled" much to the chagrin of their cucu.

The second feature that could manifest a sexual scandal is the peddling of power.This is more obvious in political sexual scandals. They say that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac so it thus follows that those in positions of power of any sort tend to have convoluted and gargantuan sexual appetites from the Sexually Active Popes to the former French President, Jacques Chirac’s records of conversations with a courtesan about engaging in sexual activity in “the big bed” (a gift from Putin himself). The tendency of clinging on pseudo-absolute power as discouraged by Frank Madison in his Federalist Papers also creates an assumption of sexual domination by individuals who cling on to this power. This has been the norm since Julius Caesar, Cleopatra and Marc Anthony’s time. Along with the political power of these individuals comes sexual power. Their realm is a Sexual State of Nature, if I may use that term and as practice proves perfect I may note that these individuals are VERY good in bed as well. However Sexual Consitutionalism demands Sexual Checks and Balances and those in the lower chain of Command are at hand to enforce this in any good system of sexual power. The secret behind Edgar J. Hoover’s half a decade clutch on the leadership of the FBI was not his administrative skills but rather his neat collection of sexual “dossiers” on sitting presidents such as JFK.

Another dimension of this phenomenon is that of the casting couch, an industrial term reffering to the trading of sexual favours across organizational ranks usually between subordinates or prospective employees and their superiors with the aim of advancement in one’s careers or employment. It cuts across all sectors of the economy and it can even be said to have its own unwritten rules regarding such things as “sexual qualifications” that can be handed in alongside one’s CV for example. It has been experienced everywhere from the “sex-for-hire” casting agencies, having been the ispiration of many “reality” pornography producers to straight up white collar organizations such as the shocking Sex Scandal at Nation Media Group that is yet to be conclusive, rumoured to be due to the alleged firing of the staff said to be behind the allegations. It even trickles down to educational institutions where the term “sex-for-grades” is commonplace. In short sexual activity is being clothed with educational or qualitative skill value that is vital for the success of an essentially economic organization whose aim is to receive fiscal profits and not orgasms. It clothes a perfectly natural activity with some academic value of sorts that justifies E grades in Equity or Civil Procedure and gives power to the alteration of these grades in the interest of a “greater talent”. If in doubt, y’all should listen to Kanye’s verse in Poke Her Face.

The last dimension is that of moral repugnance, a factor that used to motivate the exposing of sexual activity that was perceived as unhealthy for society. It is this that informed the element of “scandal” in the entire thing. However, the use of “scandal” in recent times has been extended to what can be termed as private activity not worthy of placing in the public domain. This means some sex scandals are not scandals in the strict sense of the word but a way of making the public at keep talking, a way of entertaining the public. Father Kizito fondling boys he’s supposed to be assisting, now that is repugnant… but, but, but, what was so wrong about Paris Hilton’s orgy that we had to see it? What’s wrong if two people who are dating decide to engage in coitus – am talking to Kim Kardashian and Ray J? What makes it a scandal and what makes it porn? In fact the quickest way of getting a following as a celebrity apart from twitter is releasing your sex tapes and collecting huge royalties from the agency you leak it to? Our stars are becoming inverted pornstars…perhaps that is all there is to the “scandal” bit. *yawn* It is statements such as this text message by Detroit Mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick sent within working hours to his assistant-cum-mistress that carry with it the moral repuganace that we have long abandoned in search for entertainment:

"You were kind of wet last night, inside and out. LOL"

The Times They Are A-Changin: So You Think You Can Dance??

There's a new dance show in the mix already after we got insanely bored by the KCSE style judging and CU vote factor in the previous one whose only bright side was the cyphers by Joey. Sakata is not that bad although for the first two weeks thay couldn't spell the word PRIZE and kept talking of a 1 million shilling PRICE. One thing I am sure of is that our mothers and fathers shake their heads as they watch these shows with us and wonder why they say its a dance compe yet nobody dances throughout the show. Their best recollection of dancing was when a nervous bow-tied fellow approached an equally nervous sista in a full pleated skirt and asked "May I have this dance?" and it proceeded in a respectful fashion, the only person allowed to overutilize the pelvic area being none other than Elvis.



Well, and if things got out of hand, if you had taken a little more brandy than your systems could carry, people would call up Daudi Kabaka and do what is called the twist. Twas a really a soberizing dance, I've been told with all that gyration. Thank goodness for whoever came up with soul music, without it the lads would never have gotten closer than a long ruler to women's butts on the dance floor. And of course there was the bump , the unattainable MJ's moonwalk and break beat dancing for early discoverers of hip hop and related genres. I remember going to my pals house as a kid to watch his sister and her pals slide in a Koffi Olomide tape into the VCR and proceed to simulate various strains of the Ndombolo dance...mighty hilarious.



Up to this point, the development of modern dance in Kenya was a representation of the times, a reflection of the mood of society our identity was still ingrained in it, somehow... Then enter the iPod generation. We lost the plot somewhere in between a few facebook wallposts and an episode of Str8up. What happens nowadays is that we SING ALONG TO A DANCE instead of DANCE ALONG TO A SONG. The music industry is forcefully raping the dance industry and taking over its function yet ab initio these two are meant to be seperate. The music industry makes the songs, then the dance industry comes along to find an appropriate dance to accompany the songs. The line between dance and song has become sooooooo thin that some dancers who can't raise an octave think they can sing, look at SUPERLITO (who has his own talent show coming up) for instance...its sad, quite sad.



Quick example is the Crank Dat wave that hit the entire globe. Absolutely no content but the dance was so catchy we forgot all about that. I was a victim myself...I confess to have tried all the crank dat styles that have existed on YouTube- Superman, Batman, Lion King, Robocop, Aquaman, Homeless Man, Rocket etc etc. What does "crankin dat" mean anyway? If you didn't do the Shawty-Lo Hello They Know Running Man and you call yourself a drink dancer, just grab a .45 and kill yourself..twas mighty fun too with the correct amount of alcohol in the system.



Well there came cooler versions in the form of the Stanky Legg - basically pretending one of your legs is criplle and making clockwise-anticlockwise sweeps with the said leg, prolly inspired by a gangsta in the Bronx trying to escape from the police after being shot in the leg - and the Jerk - this one is hard to describe, I just have to show you. Something about a nigga trying to be white or something, a marraige of the races, skinny jeans nerdy looks and all that.



It would also be easy to pick out them pious types on the dance floor courtesy of the CU dance style popularized by MOG and the Mukorino fella remind me of his name please? And of course there is the sweep and gully creeper from our cousins in the Carribean Islands. Yeah, even these are hard to explain in themselves. I will not fail of course to big up my bwoys for trying to diversify with a few homegrown dance styles; the sgelemba, Usain Bolt and Cocaine...



What I am trying to ask myself from a universal point of view is if we are loosing the whole point of music production by simply basing them on a dance or is this just the evolution of creativity? Should I release and album based on Sgelemba featuring Mr. Rural Swag from Big Brother? What happened to the fat lady who couldn't do nothing but sing a song? Yeah, maybe this blog post has no point at all, just sayin hello LOL...We kids are just funny! Questions and comments always welcome. Dont forget to watch Malkia wa Chakacha on KBC every Sato night. You will wonder who is winning if alll the judges say to each and everyone is, "Umecheza Vizuri".

Pass Me The Salt, S'il Vous Plaît?

Often, I am inspired to turn back and stare right into the heart of Sodom and Gomorrah right into the lovely filth of it all, at the shopkeeper of lopsided weights, at a top official of KEBS deep under the covers with a female colleague, perhaps testing the veracity of Hot condoms, I don’t know; and against the current, sometimes I choose to stand and turn back and admire it all, the panoramic view…of civil rights activists chaining themselves to police stations, women with testes breaking world athletic records (Isn’t it amazing nowdays that women have the gall to tell men to suck their imaginary dicks? Phallus envy is at an all time high currently – Freud would have had multiple orgasms if he was alive. Oh the pleasures that Death snatches from us!). Like fireworks or shooting stars, I gaze up at the sight of Kenyans calling other Safaricom subscribers on the top floor, nay, the helipad of KICC all in the name of Supa Ongea… Yes, keep talking. Oh “Yes We Créu!” That’s the shrink’s secret weapon. Keep you engaged in endless banter about useless trivia on Zain Africa Challenge and twitter trending topics surrounding your feelings about Tyra’s new hairdo, long enough to forget your collective socio-economic wounds going by the collective name of Vain Africa’s Challenges… long enough to forget that you are better dead than alive… long enough to get you not to resolve to the most sensible thing - to slit your throat or take a double dose of Viagra… They are ever alert. When you drift back into the uncomfortable silence that brings back suicidal tendencies, Dr. Phil will swarm you with hypnotic sounds to engage your mind with enough phonetic weight to squash down your 1200cc brain, cut it down to Neanderthal size because you are thinking too smart for your own safety:

“Ringera MUST go! Ringera must go, even if it means cutting my balls off, Ringera must go!”

“Safaricom Board of Governors is pleased to award our esteemed shareholders with a 10 cent per share dividend!”

“Beyonce had the best video of all time!! I’m just sayin’!”

“We are sorry to announce a 3 month power rationing programme effected in your best interests just so that you can get more alone time with your wives and salvage the disastrous divorce rate in this country…erm and yes Kibaki has only one wife.”

“Patricia must go! Patricia, that slut must go…Kwani she thinks we don’t have croaky voices to sing for our husbands and boyfriends when they get back from work? Burn that bitch for chucking that old-geezer-who-cant-sing-a-Nameless-song-even-with-a-double-shot-of-cocaine, Debarl!”

And they engage us. And they entertain us, they keep us busy so that we don’t think of things that are ‘dangerous’ for us. ..What choice have we? Without food to eat, water to drink, electricity to think up new ideas and condoms to eject the stress away…who are we to speak righteously about democracy or to think up a new laws of physics and science…who are you, niggertrash? Eat what you can chew, chew what you can swallow, swallow what you can shit, shit what you can flush. Anything outside the province of that is the anachronistic dash for the edge of the cliff…

But I still choose slow down, turn around and look back at the filth and become part of the completness of the city's ruins. I doesn’t matter that I will transform into a pillar of salt, for salt is the universal symbol of satisfaction of need. Salt is the master of food, says Prophet Muhammad. Without salt, the food you eat won’t taste that good will it? I choose to be the spice of life. For you to pass around the dinner table and enjoy your ugali managu or Thanksgiving turkey, so that y’all can be qualitatively nourished, sufficiently nourished to be sufficiently philanthropic to think outside the boxes containing the instruction manuals that control us and, if push comes to shove, get rid of the box itself.

I choose to be cheap.

I choose to be hard.

So that, maybe you sprinkle me atop your wounds…

And hopefully pinch and lick me when it starts to hurt.

Keep Walking

Below are random thoughts inspired by the adrenaline rush and hot sweaty flushes normarly associated with post-nightmare stress. I have been having my fair share of those currently. Very graphic ones to be exact but nothing close to T.G.I.F . In fact, any dream-to-movie adaptation enthusiast with links to Quentin Tarantino or Neill Blomkamp should hook us up immediately to work on a sequel to District 9 or something.

Nightmares. That's what they call bad, terrfying dreams. It doesn't matter whether it happens during the day or night, maybe due to the fact that one voluntarily engulfs him or herself in a darkness otherwise known as sleep before being a victim of one's own lucid imagination. It is the dead of the night, the darkness, the black hue essentially that is associated with all things crudely evil and sinister. And thus, is the same perception of night. A point in time when Death feels most at home to wander about. When the filth of the world desperately attempt to redem their egos by slashing throats and robbing the weak of their innocence.

However, the close-minded masses fail to realise that darkness in itself could at times represent the beginning of rebirth. A position or state of complete ignorance that affords the opportunity of a more fulfilling education than he who thinks he knows something. Without it, we can't have that proverbial light bulb moment, can we? This talk of the darkest hour being before dawn isn't just gum flapping. Perhaps, this line of thought would give a more positive significance of the 3pm darkness during Jesus' crucifixion. Death, the ugliest manifestation of darkness, bringing forth a New Realisation of eternal life.

Now let us narrow our point of interest to this Life-Death phenomenon as the best representatives of Light and Darkness. Again, few will notice the lack of significant difference between Life and Death. Somehow, it seems the more we die, the more we tend to live and vice versa. Take the death of MJ and more recently Patrick Swayze. What was the world's reaction? We flooded all the social networks with endless (sometimes pointless) blabber. Hasn't it been quite a while since we witnessed such an "outburst of life". Only we tend to forget that this weird demonstration of life as it were almost led to the demise of Google.

They seem to feed one another, Life and Death, like shipwrecked cannibals too ignorant to draw lots and chose who should consume who first. Holding one another in false friend bear hugs, fearing that when the decide to let go, each may not be fast enough to draw a weapon against the other. Could this be the reason why teenagers with bloated bellies suck the life out of the DNA inside them? To LIVE how they want to live, right? The same reason why great composers and artists of our lifetime have to die young yet the men who have been treacherously snatching purses and raping our ideals live on to near blindness? It reaches a point whereby it makes little diference calling Death Life and Life Death.

Quite a depressing picture. Perhaps too depressing without a supreme beings. . .gods to salve the wounds caused by the flux of unanswered questions in our heads and a place to which we can draw a nexus between our own suffering and to where we have the hopes of taking a divine vacation when we finally "die". Never mind that most of us are born dead and a good many more born dying. A heaven. Somewhere with the incentive to make us stuff ourselves with enough C4 to bring down KICC and blow ourselves into tiny bits that will hopefully be reassembled, at least the penile parts for without a hard ons, our 72 virgins will be in vain. I wonder if there are 72 sexual positions. . .hmm. We need to make ourselves believe that there is a greater experience out there than the Life/Death we purport to "live".

The way things are at the moment, Life, Death or whatever it is we are going through is like an endless trek in the Sahara Desert much like the 19th century slavery scenarios. There we are walking naked in the sands of time, shackled to each other, our fitness and will for MANuFACture tested to the utmost limit. Life whipping us mercilessly from the back while Death tugs at our shackles at the front. Its all about motion. The weak and limp who can't keep up are left behind and buried in the Hammatarn dirt. Pregnant women give birth and miscarry on the go. You have to piss on the one in front of you and defacate at the feet of the one behind.

The main aim in all this is similar to that which you have when being led by unkown assailants at knife point or to a mass grave in Rwanda or Mount Elgon with a gun poking your ribs - KEEP WALKING. . .

Keep Walking. . .

Just Keep Walking. . .

Man on Fire Free.Rhyme

A lil somethin' somethin' for all my peeps who digg guns coz am feeling a bit VIOLENT today:

Am pimped and quipped like a HK 36

Army of two, me and my She Wolf
Love how she bark when the street gets hot
Who am I? Am the Professor, Cheif Agressor
Not literate much, but I read magazines
And collect the clips after spreadin some education
Yes, book a lesson with my Smith & Wesson
Am bluffin its Pulp Fiction, just hire me
Wire me, only a bullet can retire me
Is love why I keep firing?
if it is then I hope Cupid's hirin

SNATCH:

Bullet Tooth Tony: So, you are obviously the big dick. The men on the side of ya are your balls. Now there are two types of balls. There are big brave balls, and there are little mincey faggot balls.

Vinny: These are your last words, so make them a prayer.

Bullet Tooth Tony: Now, dicks have drive and clarity of vision, but they are not clever. They smell pussy and they want a piece of the action. And you thought you smelled some good old pussy, and have brought your two little mincey faggot balls along for a good old time. But you've got your parties muddled up. There's no pussy here, just a dose that'll make you wish you were born a woman. Like a prick, you are having second thoughts. You are shrinking, and your two little balls are shrinking with you. And the fact that you've got "Replica" written down the side of your guns...

[Zoom in on the side of Sol's gun, which indeed has "REPLICA" etched on the side; zoom out, as they sneak peeks at the sides of their guns]

Bullet Tooth Tony: And the fact that I've got "Desert Eagle point five O" ... [Withdraws his gun and puts it on the table]

Bullet Tooth Tony: Written down the side of mine... [They look, zoom in on the side of his gun, which indeed has "DESERT EAGLE .50" etched on the side] Bullet Tooth Tony: Should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence. Now... Fuck off!