2 weeks notice

I have never realised how long two weeks really is. 2 weeks, 14 days, 336 hours, 20160 minutes, 1209600 seconds. A really long time. Long enough for a whole lot of shit to happen.

Let me start from the beginning which happens to be halfway through the story at the end of an already begun but beginning to end story. Are you with me? Good, hang on to your jockstraps and g-strings because this a long story from beginning to end.

Cast of characters

Loco: Me
T-Baby: My sistergurl from another not my mother! Beautiful, intelligent woman. The epitome of thee African Gurl. She is the one of the most responsible people I know, and has that aura of quiet maturity that we women all want to have.
S-Luv: My other sistergul from another not my mother. Intelligent, self-controlled, calm collected and angel faced. (But don't let the cute face fool you, we all know she's crazy as hell.... shhhhhh, that's a secret, hehe!)
Dipshit: T-baby's now ex. The name says it all.
Scarface: Irrelevant vulture skunk scavenger who just happened to fall into the story.

Wednesday 19th November:
S-Luv and I go to T-baby's place to chill for a while. Relax, and just collectively insanify. We notice T-baby is tense and stressed. Sometimes I try to picture the expression on Atlas' face as he shoulders the weight of the world, today I see the very same expression etched on T-baby's face. We ask her what's on her mind. It's a long story she says, she'll tell us over lattes and chocolate indulgence on Friday night. We reassure her that we've got her back no matter what. You see, the three of us are gurlfriends. The rare kind of friendship which very few people get to experience in a lifetime. Three gurls from completely different parts of the world with a connection that binds us. But anyway, I digress (readjusting tangent here)

Around 4am in the morning, after we've each gone our different ways, I'm in bed watching sex and the city season 6 for the umpteenth time and I hear a knock on my bedroom door. *Mumbling and grumbling, can't y'all let a sista be?!!* I go open the door and T-baby is standing there, "I need to watch a movie". There are times when whats not being said echos much louder than what rolls off the tongue. The pain on T-baby's face.....

We get in and sex and the city is immediately pushed aside. "What's wrong T-baby, you know you can tell me anything" T-baby starts talking and releases a world of pain. I hold her as she tells me about how fucked up her past relationships have been. I wipe away the tears of a woman who has seen more than her fair share of messed up men from an early age, and who reacted the only way she knew how. I won't go into details. She had left it all behind to come here and heal.

So anyway, she had finally told Dipshit everything that had happened in her past. Instead of being a relatively supportive boyfriend (at that time) dipshit reacted by graphically explaining how disgusted by her he was.

The thing is T-baby has taken a whole lot of shit for and from Dipshit. His past was gorier and uglier than hers, and his past wasn't exactly the past but was presenting itself in the present. T-baby had taken it all in stride and supported him. When the tables were turned and she need just a wee bit of understanding and support from him.......

Dipshit, in line with his Dipshitness has an agression issue. Agression is normal, many non-dipshits deal with it. However the thing that dipshityfies Dipshit is that he choses to take out said agression on T-baby. I don't give a (flying fuck, rats ass, horse's dick, crying crap... Choose one ) what anyone thinks, in my books, any man who dares to raise a finger to a woman does not deserve to be called a man. When T-baby tells me that TWICE, dipshit has done exactly that, I got livid! Fury I had like hell hath no!!!! But I kept my shit together for T-baby's sake.

T-baby poured her soul out until she was drained. I tucked her in. She was leaving for home in 2 weeks. It would be best if she stayed with me till then.

Thursday 20th November:
We get her stuff from her house, an attempt at a discussion with Dipshit becomes potentially explosive. We walk away from it all. That's not what she needs, she has to centre, and calm the fuck down. We grab some chicken and fajitas (comfort food) and I radio head-quaters for reinforcements. S-Luv comes over to my place. Soon enough the three of us are stuffed, chatting and laughing. S-luv takes over as resident agony aunt. Now S-luv has been through her fair share of bullshit (a story for another day) So she empathises.

We talked it over with T-baby, she wanted to give Dipshit a chance to explain. We have already said all we have to say all that is left is to support whatever decision she makes.

Friday 21st November:
After Kofi Annan like mediation, T-Baby goes back to her house. They decide they'll go home, talk it over with their parents then make the final decision after that.

Monday 24th November:
T-Baby has the sneaky suspicion that dipshit is sleeping with Scarface. female intuition. But she has no evidence and he denies it. She lets it slide. But we all know that female intuition is usually on point like two dots on a line! And in this case, she was righter than rain if ever rain was right!

Wenesday 26th November:
*Nokia tune, its T-baby on the celly*
Loco: Aybaybay, how you doin!
T-baby: Where are you
Loco: I'm still trying to finish up with this work so that I can take it to the printers. We're still on for 6.00pm right?
T-baby: Urm, something has come up, can you meet me now?
Loco: (Looking over at bosslady who is breathing fire because we're pushing a deadline) Where are you?
T-baby: Cyberjaya police station.
Loco: WTF?!! Errr, okay, gimme half an hour I'll be there!

I got there to find her sporting a black-eye so horrific it looked like it had a life of it's own. He had punched the beejezuz out of her. T-baby had finally drew the line. She did not shed a single tear. She had calmly gotten a cab and gone the police report to file a report.

I can't even begin to explain how this has affected all of us personally on so many levels. No woman should have to put up with any shit like this from any man. I respect T-baby's strength, her self-control. I'd like to say that if it was me I'd have killed that piece of shyt dipshit. But after I saw what T-baby went through.....
She still smiles through the pain. " So I finally went and got myself a black eye! Hehe!" Thats what she says.

Soundtrack:
Beautiful flower - India Arie
Shine - India Arie

Bookshelf:
Is that the new moon? (an anthology of female poets) - Wendy cope

Pissed on and pissed off!!

Where the hell does a grown ass_____ (idiot, retard, halfwit, moron, imbecile, cretin, fogothari, kumbaff) - pick one- caveman get off pissing out of a 7th floor window at 3am onto an unsuspecting Loco 2 floors below????!!

Yes Ladies and gents, some (for lack of a better word) idiot, decided that because he can pee standing up he might as well do it out of a window. I was sitted two floors below, in my friends house, innocently working, windows open so that we could enjoy the breeze. I will not bother to explain the laws of gravity, tangent and whatnot.

End result, an absolutely livid Loco and Loco's friend, baying for blood! (Too bad we weren't able to find out who the piss-ant *pun intended* was) lots of disinfectant, rose water, mr clean for windows, dettol and so-forth was used, an epiphany was induced.

To be continued.....

Soundtrack:
I hate you so much right now - Kelis

...and then I exhale

For the past three or so weeks I’ve been suffering really bad insomnia. Really bad. I can’t get any sleep till around 7 or 8 in the morning when the sun is already up, and I am awake by around 10am. It’s not the good insomnia where you get to stay awake finishing up the work you have. By 4am or 5am I’m usually so tired I could go crazy (or crazier depending on how you look at it!) After trying every relaxation technique I could think about (camomile tea, hot showers, warm milk, exercise...) I finally gave up and decided that my issues must be psychological.

Last night, in sheer frustration about my lack of sleep I found myself out walking at 4.00am, listening to Norman Brown and reflecting. Four acquaintances of mine have died in the past two weeks, one was a good friend. Two of my acquaintances are in hospital, one is a good friend.

I’ll start with Saqib. Saqib was a wild card. The kind of guy you could always depend on to do the randomest things. The kind of guy who would give me the tequila shot that tipped me from the edge of tipsy to shit drunk. There was never a dull moment when you were with him. He was the life of the group, any group. Last week Wednesday when I was out celebrating Obama’s victory with my friends, I got a text. Saqib had been in a car accident, him and Muneer (who was on the passenger seat) had died on the spot. The life of the group no more, but the memories they left behind are of good times, of lives well lived, footprints left. Memories I and others will cherish, and lives that will be fondly remembered. R.I.P.

Zain was in the car with Saqib. He broke two ribs, punctured a lung, broke a finger, cut his head and was immediately rushed into the operating room. He is stable and recovering. He still has no idea that Saqib and Muneer are dead. No one has the heart to tell him as he recovers from his injuries.

Life is fickle. Way too fickle for me. I should be grateful for the insomnia, that I get extra 2 or 3 hours to savour living.

After I came back from the walk I fell asleep immediately, for 8 hours. Insomnia cured. But then again, it’s some minutes past 5am now, I’m still awake and I see no signs of me falling asleep anytime soon.

Soundtrack:
Dark days - Fat Freddy drops
I believe in love - Aaron 'Krucial' Rimbua
Breathe - telepopmusik

Coitus (non)interruptus

Inspired by Savvy and A son of his mother, I have decided not to be left behind by the erotica bandwagon, so I jump on by throwing in this piece of eroticaesque lame poetry. I don’t know which is worse the poetry or the content. Here’s to hoping that some myopic, holier-than-thou human will attempt to chastise this entry. I won’t even put a disclaimer; Loco is spoiling for a fight.

Spicy
Like freshly ground pepper
Heat blazing
Thawing, melting
Icy heart to river
Wet, soaked
Flames Licking
Cataclysmic
Frantic tugging
Stretching, filling
Tension
Like a tightly drawn string
Approaching nirvana
Floodgates open
Screams
Explosive
Like Hiroshima gone ballistic
All inside
Tremors
6.2 Richter scale
Twitch
Sigh
Cigarette lit

Soundtrack:
Fever - Ray Charles ft Natalie cole

Dear Music,

Dear music,

Am pissed off! I know you like India Arie, but you could always be in my head too, there’s lots of space here. Seriously, there’s a huge comfy vacuum you could occupy, I’ve been in told it has something to do with the brain or shortage thereof!

Cry and smile and dance with me, like you did with Judith Sephuma. Help me ascend, just like Maxwell did. Am searching for ndawo yami, the place you took Zamajobe, because these glitches that afflicted the Roots seem to be contagious.

Or if that’s too much to ask, could you at least show me where to get some sexual healing, it seemed to do Marvin Gaye a lot of good. You see, I am looking for my lover man, just like Billie Holiday. And if I find him, maybe he could help me count the steps to heaven, I’m not sure they’re seven as Miles Davis insinuates.

Now am flashbacking like Fat Freddy Drops. Ohh, the joys of back in the day. Hehe, Erykah Badu wasn’t the only one who used to hope that the dogs wouldn’t bark when she got home. Yes, things back then were laid back, Najee style, it was pure Norman Brownesque west cost coolin! It felt almost like being in love. I wonder if that’s how Nat King Cole felt. I’m sure that even Raul Midon would confess that that was truly a beautiful state of mind.

But those days are gone. I won’t wallow in the memories of yesterday like Frank Sinatra, even though it’s tough these days, not just for Ayo, but for me too. I won’t look back, I have to move forward, mambo ni Twende. Urm, Eric Wainaina, could you please give me the map you used? You know I like the way you move.... foward... reminiscent of earth, wind and fire.

Anyway, music my love, I have to get going now. I feel floetic headache coming on, and I can hear Urban Knights’ South African jam beckoning me. I just wanted you to know that Dwele isn’t the only one who gets a kick out of you. I do too, despite the fact that I’m a village girl, Valerie Kimani’s neighbour.

Don’t be a stranger, feel free to Jaguar Wright me a dear john anytime. Next time you come to visit, we’ll take a long walk around the park after dark, yes, me, you (music) and the night, Chet Baker will be jealous. I might even invite Jill Scott to come along, and we can imitate George Benson and Al Jarreau’s Breezin’.

Yours with more respect than Aretha Franklin,
Twenty Something Year old (Just like Jamie Cullum),
Child of the earth (I think am related to Hugh Masakhela in some way)
Dee.

PS: Do send my love to your cousin Theatre, tell him that I shall write to him soon.