Ladies and gentlemen, my twitter account has been hacked and stolen from me! I can’t login with my password, its been changed. Its a horrible feeling, i tell you. So if you see Wyndago on twitter it won’t be me… sucks!



In Nairobi, that’s arguably everyone you don’t know, but strange is normal, sometimes too much caution is what gets you killed, or kills someone else. Like when a stranger on the streets approaches with a long story about how he’s lost and needs money to get back home before dusk because his mother who is sick needs him but your instincts tell you the desperate idiot brother is nothing but a cheap conman, you know there is a chance that it might be true? What if its true? The poor mother is going to die! Anyway, normal strangers, that’s scary. I mean those who treat you like they would treat a person they knew? Perhaps it’s just me.

This guy at the matatu stage made gestures and yelled out something that I wasn’t trying to hear, I turned to his direction and he looked at me straight in the eye and he says something again so I put my index finger on my chest to be sure if he was talking to me and as a matter of fact he was, he asked “Nairobi?” Yes, Nairobi. I was traveling from Thika. I personally don’t like it when those boys decide for me which matatu I’ll be traveling in but for some reason I followed this one meandering in between other matatus until we reached to the vehicle that was supposedly going to take me to Nairobi. It was cheaper and more comfortable, I hopped in and suddenly I wasn’t comfortable, what was I doing in a personal car?! For all I know this could end up being a case of abduction and people are going to read about it in the Newspapers and hear newscasters read the news about me… I started to get nervous and resorted to asking too many questions like where exactly will you drop me… but the driver, noticing my discomfort, assured me he I’d be fine. Then I remembered this story of kidnappers. I started having this conversation with myself in my head.

“Well, it’s me. God always takes care of me”

“Are you testing God now, putting yourself in potential danger and expecting him to rescue you?”

“But this is not putting myself in danger, I’m simply trying to go home”

“What if something happens to you, like if this driver drives crazy and you crash somewhere. Paps will wonder what the hell got you into a stranger’s car!”

“Okay then, I’ll buckle up”

But on my seat there was no seat belt.

“That’s an excuse, it’s not my fault”

“Are you serious?”

“I need to get this thought out of my head”

I looked over at the passenger seat and in the front and there was a woman, so I stayed. He was with a woman, which means he hadn’t planned anything evil if he had brought a woman. That was my take. another random burly guy was led to the car by the same guy who brought me, that made me relaxed.

So we began our journey, two strangers in the back and another couple in the front. The driver thought he needed pressure on one of the car tyres. Apparently he didn’t know Thika well, but our burly guy did. He helped a big deal, he sounded like he’d driven in Thika for a long time, he knew all the Petrol stations and at exactly what spot the pressure pipes were, if that’s what they are called. By now, I was convinced that everything happened for a reason and that that guy was with us for a reason.

Then the strangest thing among strangers happened. We They started talking. And then…

“My names is Moses”, began the driver, “…and I am born again”

“I am Doctor Jemmima, I am born again and I love Jesus”, said the woman whom I later learned that she teaches Sunday school to little kids at her church.

I can’t remember the burly guy’s name but he was born again too!

“And what about our brother?”, asked the driver

“They call me Wyndago, and umm… *stutter* I’m born again”

I don’t know why I wasn’t confident in saying so but that is another story.

What an evening. In this era, what are the odds of four (or three) born-again people finding themselves alone anywhere? I reckon they are pretty close to nil. I said Halleluhya but I might have said it too soon.

We had arrived in Nairobi, the burly had alighted in the famous Githurai so it was the three of us, when we found a very horrific traffic jam. Matatus started misbehaving, yes they did (we’re used to that), trying to fit into smallest of spaces and they always fit and get through. On second thought, they but sometimes fit because this time one of them brushed on Moses’ side mirror. This made the man of God angry and he began shouting at the matatu driver. Then to both mine and Dr. Jemima’s surprise, our Moses applied hand break and stepped out of the car, ignoring Dr. jemima’s pleas to just ignore the matatu driver. Right then I wondered what happened to Jesus. So now what was the purpose of that happening? I felt like I was at a drive-in, watching a movie through the windscreen. Jemima was so embarassed!

That is when these strangers became perfect to me, by their own imperfections. But I’m heeding my mother’s advice of not speaking to strangers let alone get into their cars next time. You don’t want to know what happened next.


I had a roommate in college who liked the room pitch-black when it was time for him to sleep, he’d force me to bed early. Everybody went to bed early except me, I was up mumbling a bunch of dumb words to keep them entertained so I wont be left all alone sleepless thinking to myself in the dark why the heck she can’t love me, but they came to realize it was a trick and always promptly prohibited me from speaking when that time reached. One after the other they would all say ‘Wyndago, shut up and go to sleep!’ And when I grabbed my phone to at least tweet, the pitch-black crazed roommate complained about the light! Please! I thought, am I in prison? Every night it was the same story, to kill the boredom loneliness I’d walk up and down the room and soon as I begun one of them would go, ‘and thus commences the daily ritual…’ I miss those guys.

So anyway, Tony, the roommate who was obsessed with darkness, was one day covering all the ventilators and spaces that may allow light to pass through with newspapers. That glass thingy above the door was however proving a menace to wrap up, I think the cello-tape he was using was the problem but he didn’t seem to relent. I was watching him closely with so much awe, then I told him. That thing is not going to work you’re wasting your time! Tony got mad. Okay, perhaps I said much more than that and with the wrong tone… but he got mad. Then I had to pull back. I said; Tony, you’re my friend, I love you no, that’s gay. I said; I’m just trying to help you by telling you the truth, this is positive criticism. And I was pretty well answered, that if I wanted to be helpful I should have been up there with him taping old Newspapers on a glass window. Fair. But I didn’t like the idea of a dark room anyway.

I don’t know what it is but I will criticize. I won’t be one of those friends who let their so-called friends go make a fool of themselves before a multitude of people believing they have something going on when they certainly don’t. That’s the price you pay when you become my friend. That is why I would greatly appreciate it to be told if you had a problem with me. Which brings me to Jason, my other former college roommate. This guy kept grudges, not for long but he held on to them instead of confronting the beef. He’d give you the silent treatment, to find out the cause or to just make sure it isn’t you run to facebook ASAP! It will be there.

‘Stupid idiot, I’m not your momma! You came here alone..’

That will be your first clue, you wouldn’t need to be Mr Holmes to figure out the rest. Oh, and I haven’t yet watched that movie… but I digress. See, I remember another incident when I accidentally spilled tea on Jason’s bed, people just didn’t understand the ‘accidentally’ part mostly because I did not realize it until I had to be told hours later what I had done! What I expected from Jason was, ‘you son of a bitch, I’m going to kill ya!’ because everyone I met looked at me funny saying Jason was yearning for my blood. I’m narrating the story now which means I’m alive. If I were Jason I probably would have just laughed it off, I’m easy like that. And that is sometimes a problem.

I have come to learn though, that sometimes it’s better to keep ones mouth shut.Sometime back I wanted to have my 15 seconds minutes of fame and decided to go for a certain audition which I had told not a single soul about until now. I thought then that if I kept it to myself, it wouldn’t be so embarrassing and upsetting if I wasn’t successful. How wrong was I! Now, I wish I’d told someone so they could stop me. I was awful. To tell someone they suck at something they think they are exceptionally good at is so hurtful, regardless who is there or who says it. It bites you inside. It shouldn’t be that bad if a friend told you though, I suppose. So for me, if you’re my friend, tell me. Friends only, please… to avoid misdemeanors.

In other news; I’m told it’s Valentine’s already?