Monthly Archives: October 2011

Me and Code:

I like this Fabo’s song that goes something like “…… sometimes I amaze sometimes I disappoint, sometimes I treat friends like its just some change, like shaq in the  line you probably miss the point but when you take a chance ever wondered where you took it from……..”

I am all sleepy, its 11.08 pm and I havent slept since jana… What have I been up to? well you may think I  was engaging in the usual froty indulgence that saw me photofinish some time in the Am and I had to get my ass back to campo in time for that Numerical Analysis lesson<yes I  have a class on a public holiday>. But no I was coding… I got in the zone around 7pm jana evening and  hevent left my machine since… I must have overdosed on  coffee coz I swear I cant feel my face.

Am listening to Denis Brown as  I write this not because I  have suddenly shfifted to reggae for relaxing but simply coz my playlist has ishad and the last songs I  added were reggae. I love code… the feeling one gets when you type something into an IDE and a living breathing(ok not exactly breathing) piece of software comes out. I guess that’s what God must have felt after creation,looking at the work of his hands and smilling simply to himself. I have been struggling with JSON for sometime… it was posting an error in my application….what application you may ask?

well for my final year am writing an android application that makes realestate mapping very easy, crudely put unaweza tafuta hao very easily… well Several of m beta testers have benn comaplaining that the code was posting some run-time error.  Hii imenikuala akili sana, so I  had to find a way of solving it bila ku re write code yote. Jana afta supper  I  went online. Found several forums about this and that,and started operating on my patient call me doctor James.

I get in the zone most times,plug in my head phones and just forget it all…. get all indulged in the code. At times this facks up alot of things in my life… yes you know that saying that goes that all nerds end up being alone coz half the time they chase away the good things in their life and elope with the code ,well its before i go to sleep, i want to clear the air and talk to one or two readers who happen to be close friends of mine but who i have lengad for some time due to my over indulgence in certain.

Sorry pseudo names will be employed to mask true identity….

I begin with Biquits.. yes i know am a dick at times, i  spend more time with code than i  do with you, its nothing personal, i know you understand.. you the one who encourages me to do this stuff and even when i get syntax errors  i always know you will tell me to keep my head up.

Kabinti...Frothy friday nilikuona but shyt happened, went back to campo and ave been coding since.. i missed a CAT coz i was too tired from the previous night to even soma. I know you good kwenye uko so i will achia hapo..just wanted you to know.

Jean Grey aka the therapist,  If you buy a gun and shoot me then let it be stated in my will that i forgive you, I have not seen or heard from you in ages.. i don’t know if you even read my blog anymore but if it helps i still miss the sessions where i would speak geek and you would Google and try to be all nerd on me. Miss that alot so as soon as my app is done me and you are doing that Coffee at Mug’s


Posted by on October 20, 2011 in 254, campo, code, Humour, JKUAT


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The Blue Volkswagen.

Am in the Reblog mood this week, maybe its because my creative juices have run out, or maybe they have gotten a replacement of froth. Any way i was just reading this blog post by one of my favourite writers one BikoZulu and this post just jumped to me……so avid readers allow me to indulge you in some of his work.

“I swear I don’t miss her. I don’t. I don’t think about her. Her memories have but peeled off the walls of my mind. I haven’t thought about her in the longest time. I don’t wonder what happened to her (well not until I sat down to write this piece, thank you very much, Gang!) Nothing reminds me of her, nothing, not with the possible exception of blue Volkswagen Beetles. But how often do you see blue Volkswagen Beetles in Nairobi? Not when it’s raining Mistsubishi’s and Toyotas. But I’m terribly fascinated by how she left, how she severed herself from my life without a single thought. The brevity. The chutzpah. The cold heartedness. I’m totally enthralled by the finality of her disassociation. One evening she was there and the next she was gone, leaving not a single trace of her behind. Not a footprint. Not a note. Not a word.  Not even a scent. She left me with nothing. A clean break. Poof! Gone with the wind.

Her name was Taffy. That’s her real name by the way. I’m not trying to protect her identify because she has become a ghost in my life and ghosts don’t read blogs. Anyway, when your mommy decides to call you Taffy you got to be a piece of work. You got to be able to make men feed off your palms. A femme fatale. And Taffy was the poster child for all things fetching. She was tall, she had playful eyes, she was chocolate and she was sweet. Back then – in the late 80’s and early 90’s – the sweetest thing was this candy called Toffi, but that’s before you had cast your eyes on Taffy.

They lived in a corner house, six houses from ours. They were the wealthier than the neighborhood. Her mother drove a Mercedes. She and her brother –Junior – went to an expensive school. Her mom was hot (that apple and tree thing) and just about the only mother who constantly wore tight jeans in the neighborhood. I suspect that other mothers prayed for her during their prayer meetings. Taffy was older than me by a good two years, that seems like 10yrs when you are only 13yrs old. Older guys came all the way from other estates to pay homage to her, to see the beauty from across the hill. I could tell she was going to be a complete knock out in her 20’s because even in her mid-teens she had a bright future behind her (if you know what I mean?). I was over my depth but I was crazy about her. I mean totally cuckoo about her.

I was easing into teenage, escorted by the idealism that defined that time; music. New-age jam to be precise. Mint Condition. Color me Bad, New Edition. Brandy. Raphael Sadique. Shai. And somehow music brought us together with Taffy. She loved Salt N Pepa and to prove it she always wore checked shirts and tied the front in a small knot. And if you looked closely you could see her navel through the knot and you can’t image how many days that sight would take me. It flamed my dreams.

She knew I liked her and she used me to get her “dubbed” tapes. But I know she didn’t feel shit for me; I wrote her letters on expensive stationary but she only replied a few of those. But I didn’t care that she wasn’t mad about me, I was only too happy to go over to their house during holidays and breathe the same air she did.

Then one day without warning she took away my virginity. Yes. It happened at their backyard in one of her dad’s un-used blue Volkswagen Beetles. It was a KDF something 7 something, I think. The whole ordeal lasted 2 minutes but I think I lasted a little over 30secs. The rest was spent by me fumbling with her knickers like an idiot, me trying to find room for my long legs, me wondering where her long legs would go and most embarrassingly me asking –over the noise of my thudding heart – the dumbest question of all time; “Are you sure you want to do this?” Damned Volkswagen Beetle crumbed my style (literally and figuratively hehehe)

We became a bit closer after that. But we never had any more happy endings after that, I think partly because I didn’t know how to ask but I suspect because she didn’t offer again. She replied to my letters more though. And we kissed a few times. And when she was feeling philanthropic she allowed me to feel her bum. Those days were as rare as Christmas though.

One morning I pressed their gate buzzer. Pressed the damned sucker so many times and nobody answered. Their neighbor later came out and told me they had moved out the previous night (when growing up people moved out at night, it was fashionable) I was like hell no, the previous evening I chatted her briefly outside their gate and she didn’t mention anything about moving out. But turned out they had moved out. I was horrified! It was mysterious and hurtful. My mom later told me that her father had taken a second wife and her mother had decided to pack it in and leave him. So she took her and Junior away to a place nobody knew.

That was 18years ago. I have never met her since. I have never heard of her. It’s like she never existed, a phantom who initiated me into “adulthood.” She should be 35yrs old now. Maybe she is in the states (she always was fascinated by Uncle Sam), maybe she moved to Abuja where she runs a curio shop. Maybe she is a teacher in Jakarta. Maybe she is a community health worker in Laos living on rice and good intentions. Maybe she is married with three kids who are not privy of their mother’s colorful history with Volkswagens. Maybe she lives 20mins away from my house. If she is in Nairobi I’m certain that, unbeknownst to us, we have shared a pub. I don’t know if I would recognize her if I met her. I don’t know if I would want to. But if I’m ever to meet her I will ask her one question; “Why the hell didn’t you say goodbye, Taffy?” “

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Posted by on October 19, 2011 in 254



Muturi & Nicole Booty call.

Am not going to talk mob about that call rather i will just re blog what IddSalim wrote on his blog about the possible source of the Audio leak : So here is a snippert of what he had to say:

“………………The question the few Kenyans with a brain are asking is this. “Hiyo simu waliiskiza aje?”. The question the few coders/security analysts are asking is this. “Have phone-call interception equipment finally come to Kenya? Do we, FINALLY, have hackers who can do what Salim has been talking about, akatukanwa? Are our worst fears finally here? Should we be worried?”. So, I decided to demystify the source of the clip…………

I tried looking at the Audio file in MP3 using Nyquist-Shannon sampling theorem and other audio analysis models and the results were outstanding. The recording came out as a perfectly flowing person-to-person convo. The convo took place and could not have been cooked. And so, I came up with these scenarios.

1 – A telco employee did it

As stated above, it is POSSIBLE and IT HAPPENS that phone call and SMS records can be sold. The question becomes, how comes it was ONLY this call that got out. How idle would a telco employee be, to sift through ALL the GBs of data to get this ONE call? Still, idlers exist. And there is something called luck.

2 – Muturi did it

Using a Smart or Smart-Enuff phone, one can record a phone call. Muturi might have recorded the call (knowingly or just automatically), found it funny as f*u*ck, and decided to share. Nicole would not have shared this. Stupid female pride would not have let her. Muturi would. Stupid male ego would not let him not share. “Muone vile madem hunikufia”.

3 – It was a studio-born viral prank call

High probability too. A ‘real’ phone call can be, unfortunately, manufactured. At the last few seconds of the call, we hear the credit/airtime beep. If a studio call, then this is a specially crafted section to add to LEGITIMACY. Stupid Kenyans must have been heard saying: “Si hata uliskia credit ikikatika. Ni ya ukweli.” How would someone willing to pay a cab and pika nyama not have more than KSHS 16.8 of credit?………….”

You can read his whole thought train here >>>> Or you can click here>>>> to listen to it


In my personal opinion,and speaking as a guy i think Muturi must have recorded it on his phone, you dont even need a smart phone to do that,even an Ideot can pull that one,then to prove a point to his boys/pub mates/ex clandes,leaked it and waited for it to go viral and judging by how desparado nicole sounded, Muturi must have tapped that and moved along.


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