Public transport and the bully mentality

Today I fought a makanga. I’ve never done that before. Well actually, I have, but that time doesn’t count, because the makanga was fighting my date and he tried to drag my baby into it. Nobody drags my baby into anything!

Today was different. I was trying to get to Ngong, so I decided to use the Karen route. I had budgetted my transport, because it was a one hour errand, so I just carried enough to get to Ngong and back. I didn’t even carry my wallet or ID.

So when the matatu got to Bomas and the makanga suggested that all Karen bound passengers get off, I wasn’t amused. He asked me to pay the full fare, but my hackles went up, so he let me pay half.

The makangas at Bomas then swarmed around me yelling fares and trying to drag me to their cars. They were all charging more than I had, so I stood there fuming while I considered screwing the errand and simply heading back home.

Then this strange creature walked up to me – a polite makanga! It’s like a green headed unicorn or something. He saw the look on my face and asked what was up, so I explained that I didn’t have enough fare because of the first matatu. He offered to get me where I was going on what I had, so I smiled and went to his car.

That’s when the other makanga showed up yelling that I enter his matatu instead, because he had more passengers. The one I was heading towards was empty. I ignored him.

He then got upset and said something that implied I was arrogant and dumb. His exact words were something like, ‘Get in that empty car if you think you’re so smart. You’ll take years to get where you’re going.’ In sheng, of course. ‘Ingia hiyo gari kama unajiona mjanja.’ His tone said a lot more.

Anyone that knows me knows there are three ways to piss me off: lie to me, mess with my child, or insult my intelligence.

I’m not sure what got into me, but I got out of the car, walked back to the makanga, and asked him why he was picking on me. I’d have liked to use a calm Darius Stone approach, but I was pretty pissed, so I ended up in 250-words-a-minute-trembling-arms-and raising-fists-mode instead. I should have kept my mouth shut and knocked his teeth out.

I didn’t notice what a scene I’d caused until I got back into the car and noticed people staring at me. As I sat calming my pulse and waiting for the matatu to fill up, I started thinking. This is why I hate losing my temper. When the anger fades, I’m left with this still sadness, this vacuum of regret. I stared out of the window counting, breathing, and I noticed the furious makanga sneering at me and calling me a … name … as his matatu drove away.

I started to wonder why I had confronted him. I was clearly projecting, it wasn’t really about him. It was about the first makanga who’d dropped me miles from my destination. I never fight with makangas because I don’t think it makes a difference. You yell at them, they call you a name, they go harass someone else. It’s futile. Truth is … I’m afraid of causing a scene, or of what the makanga might do.

But then I realised something. When you yell at them they lash back. And that means you struck a nerve. Logic suggests that if you confront a makanga and he goes quiet or apologises, then you’ve succeeded. But sometimes, if he hits back, and tries to draw other people into the argument, you may have scored more than if he had just stayed quiet.

A bully picks on people because he feels inferior. A makanga imagines that you have deep contempt for him, so he battles his feelings by being a pest, just like a watchman does. Sometimes, this contempt is all in their minds, but many times it’s not.

So when a makanga attacks you, and you hit back, and he retorts, it means you’ve burnt him deep. He has to rally support to prove himself right, so he mouths off to everyone around him, and sneers as he drives away. It’s a parting shot.

Later in the day, I got swarmed by makangas, and tried to defend myself, but they were yelling too  loud for me to be heard, so I ignored them, walked to the far side, and got into one matatu whose makanga seemed reasonable. Until he dumped me at the wrong stage. Again.

I started to protest, this time in a calm, defeated voice. I just couldn’t see the point. I actually considered walking, but another makanga took me home at half price.

Thinking about it now, it seems like so much wasted energy. Twice I confronted bullies, and twice I got nowhere. At least I met two polite makangas who made my day and saved me from two really long walks. And when I got onto a matatu with two rough scary-looking female makangas,  instead of the bile I usually get from women, they were extremely respectful and even called me Madame. I couldn’t help thanking them when I got off.

As for the bully situation, I whined to my better half about it and he said, ‘The result doesn’t matter. You stood up for yourself,  and I’m proud of you.’

Three things.

  1. I have the awesomest better half in the world.
  2. I’m pretty proud of me too.
  3. I still wish I’d knocked that idiot’s teeth out. Oh well. Maybe next time.

Mysterious headphones

I love music. It’s my drug of choice. That and sugar and I’m pretty much in kite status. So when I finally got a radio phone, I was way above Cloud 69. For days I walked around smiling to myself and dancing on the streets as I sang along. Sheer bliss.

The euphoria didn’t last very long, and I soon got used to having music in my ears. I still get excited when my favourite song plays, and I almost gave some guy a heart attack when I came out of the UoN tunnel singing Woohoo. Priceless. Simply priceless.

[Apparently, it’s actually called Song 2 and is a parody on American grunge. Who knew?]

Anyway, my radio phone earphones are pretty basic, and they started to fall apart quite quickly. I need to ask the DR brothers where they got the sweet pairs that I’ve seen them with. But meanwhile, I walked into a few phone shops to find a replacement.

The guy at the first shop said he was out of stock, and the lady at the second shop referred me to  a third shop. This lady asked me what my price range was, saying she had a pair for 300 …?

[The way she said it implied a question mark, so I responded, ‘300 … and …?’]

She went into a nearby stall and took down two pairs. One pair looked generic, but was beautiful and shiny. The second pair was in a plastic packaging … and I should have read the signs when she ripped the plastic and unpacked it. In my head, I could almost hear Lane’s mother screeching, ‘You break, you buy!”

The unpacked earphones were the new-looking type that have these suction-cup-looking devices. They fit right into your ear, taking the music to the source. They were hot! She tested them for me by plugging them into my phone, changing the station to something with […benga…?] and handing me the earphones. They sounded a little ech0-ey, but I figured it’s because the stall was in the corner of some building and there was a lot of noise outside.

The difference between the basic pair and the pretty pair was just 50 bob, so I bought the pretty pair and left smiling. But once I got outside, I noticed something very strange. You know that effect when someone is talking into a microphone and they suddenly turn their head, so that their voice sounds diluted?

Yes. That’s what my earphones were doing.

If I turned to look at someone, the song would be suddenly louder. If I tripped on a kerb, the tweeters would spike and my rock song would suddenly convert into ‘pss-pss-pss-pss’. When I stopped walking in shock, the tweeters would disappear and all I’d hear was base. Sometimes the instrumentals would die completely and I’d just hear the lyrics is some kind of twisted reverse karaoke.

The annoying part about this is it’s inconsistent. I was riding in a Citi Hoppa, and every turn, bump, or break would create a different result! Aaargh!

Now comes the amusing part. I took out the wiring to examine it, and noticed a shiny silver button at the base of the earphone jack. Apparently, when you press the button, the sound becomes bellisimo. When you stop pressing it, you get the echo sound. So the fluctuations in sound quality occur when the shiny button is accidentally[de]activated. The only way to get good sound is to keep your finger on the button. Or use a really strong rubber band. Or masking tape.

Now here’s the thing. I’m not mad that I bought fake earphones, because everyone that sees them goess all ooh and aaah before I demonstrate. And even if someone had warned me, it’s one of those things that you have to test to believe.

What bugs me is all the vendors that are pressing the shiny button while ‘testing’ just to make a sale. It reminds me of the stash of fake cash on my windowsill. I have a hundred bob note with the corner ripped out, a fifty bob that’s tattered and ripped in two, and a ten bob coin with the middle missing. I didn’t get them from makangas – I actually got them as change from three different supermarkets, all wrapped up in a receipt.

I’ve thought about paying them in a mat and insisting on a 1000 bob note if they refuse, but then I imagine some mean makanga forcing the same note onto some unsuspecting passenger, or worse, insulting them when they won’t accept. I watched one woman in a bus being called names for about 10 minutes because she wouldn’t accept a tattered note for change. male passengers joined in the abuse and it turned into ‘Wanawake was siku hizi wana madharau’ as the men called the woman arrogant and claimed she didn’t know the value of hard work or money. Sigh.

So rather than subject an innocent person to a really bad day, I keep the broken money on my windowsill. It’s a reminder to stay human. Not many people acknowledge such reminders.

So as I look for some duct tape to plug my brand new earphones, I keep thinking of where I will hide it so I can keep the cool factor – because they really are pretty earphones.

Speaking of duct tape versus masking tape, I had to sit a test today to qualify for a writing job. It was a 40 question multiple choice exam on the differences between British and American English. I always thought it was basic things like lift vs elevator, ground floor vs first floor and colour vs colour. Apparently, there’s a whole lot more involved. Like, for example, the British say dicTAte while Americans say DICtate. Who knew? And there’s the whole Dear sir [comma] vs Dear Sir [colon] thing.

I scored 80% – mostly through guesswork and inky-pinky-ponkey – so I got the job. But that was one super stressful 40 minutes!

In other news, did you know you can get a bugging device that looks like an extension cable? It comes with a sim card in it, and when you dial the sim card, instead of ringing, it transmits all the voices and sounds around the bug. I s**t you not. Scary, yes?

And finally, congratulations to My Love on getting his first novel published.

I am SO proud of you Sailor. You rock!!

♫ Song 2 ♫ Blur ♫

Inception and Alejandro

First, Alejandro. I don’t much care for [or against] Lady Gaga. She has no effect on me. Her songs are pretty catchy, and that video she did with Beyoncé left me disturbed for days, but beyond that, I have no opinion.

So when I heard there was this new video called Alejandro, I was like yeah, ok. For the next few days, anytime I saw something vaguely weird on TV, I’d ask if it was Alejandro. I’d heard the video described as pornographic, so I was wary…

Yesterday, I bumped into it on Kiss TV. At first I saw  a set that looked like Go West by Pet Shop Boys meets Equilibrium, except it was in black and white. The dancers looked pretty gay, and there was a mouth that looked a lot like Madonna’s. Then I heard some weird monologue and saw what looked like a nun in red leather-slash-spandex. Ooookaaaaaaay.

The tune of the song is pretty catchy, so even as I watched the video, I kept singing ♫ Ale-Ale-jandro-Ale-Ale-jandro ♫ I couldn’t figure out what the song was about, because in the chorus, she mentions three or four different guys’ names, so unless the dude in the funny hat is called Alejandro Fernando Roberto Ricardo, then that’s some really bad rhyming.

I don’t know why there was a red nun in a coffin, or why she was swallowing a crucifix, or why the other nun was being ravaged by gay guys in Beatles wigs, or even why skinny people in tan underwear were dry humping while chained to hospital beds. Weeeeiiiirrrrrddd!

The most disturbing part for me was the nun dressed in white with red splotches marking her … beauty spots. Erasing that image may require some therapy.

After a while, I figure the Madonna-like mouth wasn’t accidental. This video actually looks like a mash-up of Madonna’s videos for Like a Prayer and Vogue. There was even some Frozen in there somewhere. Wow! All I can say is …

♫ You know that I love you boy ♫

♫ Hot like Mexico, rejoice ♫

♫ Ale-Ale-jandro-Ale-Ale-jandro ♫

Now, to less insane matters. Inception. Sigh. This movie should have been really, really good. It’s got this amazing concept and the potential to totally fry my brains, but somehow, it just didn’t. I’ve done a more detailed review over on DR, so here, I’ll only explain.

I thought that after watching a movie like that, I’d be seriously mind-f****d. I’m big on dreams, and this morning I woke up feeling upset because I’d had a spell of nightmares. In my dreams, I’m sometimes aware that I’m dreaming. In one particular nightmare, I even got on my knees and prayed so I could wake up [after pinching myself and splashing water on my face – all didn’t work, and I did all this in my sleep mind you].

When we were little and had nightmares, my mum would have us kneel by the bed, say a prayer, place a Gideon’s Bible under our pillows and wear a Holy Water cross to keep bad dreams away. That’s why I was trying to kneel. I kept screaming, ‘Wake up, your dreaming!’ But the dream was populated my alien demons, so invisible hands kept pulling me to my feet when I knelt down to pray, and I therefore, I couldn’t wake up.

I’ve done a lot more … embarrassing things in my sleep, so with a background like that, the whole dream within a dream concept is easy for me to get. A movie about people stealing and planting ideas while you sleep should be just the thing for me. In my dream last night, I was aware of being asleep, and kept trying to twist my dream into a happy ending. Instead, each mental turn I took ended up making things worse. I know, I know, signs of stress. I need some rice ice cream.

So after a night like that, Inception seemed like the perfect thing. My brain was numb and brittle, just prime for some classic brainwashing. But after 2 hours and 10 minutes, I feel zero, zip, nadda. I’m not even afraid of going to sleep tonight. Now Poltergeist on the other hand