Waziri wa afya ya umma Beth Mugo apona kansa.ugonjwa wa kanza ume kuwa tishio hapa nchini Kenya na pia mataifa mengi ya Afrika.

hata hivyo kulingana na waziri beth Mugo ugonjwa huu unaweza kudhibitiwa na kupoona endapo utagunduliwa mapema.

Akizungumza jana baadha ya kuasiri kutoka Marekani ambako amekuewa akipokea matibabu ya kansa, waziri Mugo ametangaza kuwa kenya itafungua kituo cha Kansa nchini ilikuwatibu watu wanaougua ugonjwa huo.

Bi mugo aligunduliwa kuugua kanza ya matiti na kwa bahati nzuri iligunduliwa kabla haijaenea na kwa sasa anasema ako salama salimini.

Pia waziri mugo alionya wakenya kuhakikisha kuwa wanaishi kwenye mazingira safi, kwani uhalibifu wa mazingira hunachangia kuenea kwa ugonjwa hatari wa kansa.

"Hewa safi, mazingira mema na lishe bora ni muhimu kwa kuepa maradhi ya kansa.
Ni jukumu letu kama wakenya kudumisha usafi na pia upanzi wa miti ili kupata hewa safi.Hii itakuwa ni njia moja ya kuepuka maradhi hatari ya kansa.

Hivi majuzi rais Mwai kibaki aliidhinisha mswada wa kansa nchini,hii inapika hatua kupwa ya kukabiliana na ugonjwa huu.

matibabu ya kasa hapa nchini yamekuwa wa changamoto kadha wa kadha; kama vile ukosefu wa vifaa vya ukaguzi wa saratani, kampeni ya kuwafahamisha wananchi madhara na dalili za saratani,ghalama ya juu ya kutibu ugonjwa huu baadhi ya matatizo mengine.

Sadifa ni kuwa waziri wa afya ya umma na mwenzake wa humuda za afya Anyang Nyongo wamekuwa wakiugua saratani lakini wote wamepona, baada ya kupokea matibabu marekani.

Baadhi ya saratani ambayo inaadhiri wa kenya wa kike ni;saratani ya sehemu ya uzazi na ile ya matiti, huku wanaume wakiugua saratani ya koo na ya prostate.

Endapo serikali itachukua jukumu ya kutafuta yamna ya kukomesha kuenea kwa saratani hapa nchini ,itakuwa afueni kwa wananchi ambao gharama ya matibabu imekuwa ni ghali mno hadi wanaamua kutotafuta matibabu.


Baadhi ya wanakenya mashuhuri wanaugua saratani ni aliyekuwa mbunge wa Butere bwana martin shikuku.Tunamuombea afueni ya haraka,

Merry Christmas Project Fame , "Happily go to Hell" Thereafter ...

"We can't sell our music to anyone if we can't sell it at home ... Kenyan music is beautiful," said Valerie Wairimu Kimani, 22. This is the last time we hear her blabber on the airwaves. Goodbye girl and may God bless you for the sake of those you are dear to and those who are dear to you.

Tusker Project Fame was neither history nor did it make history, but after seven weeks, it ended with this message: "Merry Christmas" and "Happy go to hell ... We have achieved what we wanted -- selling our booze."

But it ended hopelessly, just as it started, leaving behind a trail of blood-soaked casualities, including a young girl who will remain just what she was before the Academy, but further deluded in expectations of tales of Tinseltown success, music industry and urban romance, truckloads of new friends and the ultimate lie of success: a Mercedeze Benz that was funded by blood-money of ruined teenagers, traffic smashes, broken families and shattered careers, forget a trail of booze-related ailements.

The Project, which cost East African Breweries Limited (EABL) about 160 million shillings (about 2.9 million dollars) makes Mother Teresa gaga. This cash went down the toilet while the Kenya Red Cross Society (KRCS) was still languishing in need of money to deliver humanitarian supplies to areas hit by floods as a result of unusually heavy rains across the east African nation.

Aware that Dr. Khadija Abdalla, the medical supretendant of Garissa District Hospital is still in need of vitamin tablets, I wonder what motivated the giant beer-maker to sponsor such a project while it has ignored, the genuine concept of "corporate responsibility." Children have died and in real world ... devoid of real heroes, we have real deaths ... and this is one of them.

The nearest equivalent of the Project is an imputated lad, ambitious that he/she will one day, with help of some unseen forces, play football like Ronaldino and Gary Lineker. I am not sure any of Project Fame's boys and girls even dream to be like Michael Jackson or even John Legend leave alone the motivation of Sukuma Bin Ongalo.

With nothing to talk about in terms of history. It only succeded in playing the tune of crafty brewing behemoth that is blamed for under-age drinking, drunk-driving and other social ills, only covered by a fat pay-cheque to Kenya's chief taxman -- Kenya Revenue Authority.

Kimani allegedly won as the top singer after she selected by a slew of talentless so-called judges, who were on the payroll of EABL. For all the erudite music reviewers, the judges did not have the slighted idea of what music is, or what it is not, except a socialite concept that drive fellows like Paris Hilton and former mafia chief John Gotti.

I am not sure if Joy Mboya, David Muriithi or, and moreso, Ian Mbugua can standup to the test of music ... they judged on the principle of "live and lets live." Then was the voting through SMS .... Or what it democracy.

Then there is Resolution Health, a scruffy insurance outfit that pledged a 10-million health cover to Valerie Kimani. This group has a shady a reputation of not refunding client ... now it is only seeking limelight.

"We cant afford to start talking about one person ... name," said Kimani, another sacrificial lamb of EABL insatiable need to hawk beer. She spoke of "break the walls" that separate us as east Africans. Wait a minute
"I believe it will easy to worl around my last semester, but I could not overlook such a once-in-a-lifetime .... I am a winner and very proud being an east African ... That is what matters now," she said, snidely with a dash of ignorance of the dog-eat-dog society she is happily tossing herself into.

It is mad, sad and bad because Kimani doesn't understand what she is talking about. And maybe she might not get it , even though it does not take rocket science to comprehend. She is like a optical patient who can physically see, bur her brains do not interpret what she saw, or allegedly saw and that is the tragedy is being young.

But here's a word of advice for Kimani, a damsel who, for reason that remain undiscussed, appears to abandon the beauty that her communication course in Daystar University could have offered: Interview with society's movers and shakers, a chance to write and change society among other benefits, only to end up into a "tube" that has lured many into unknown edges of the society.

Just like sex kills, the music industry kills if one does not sustain him/herself without the dashes or romance, high-speed car chase, drugs and sex. MC Hammer and Easy E are the best examples of a sector gone badly mad. I certainly like music, expecially the the timeless Whitney Houston's Where Do Broken Hearts Go?.But what I hate especially in the kind of music we have in the third world where, it tends to point its fingers in everything from gambling houses, to drug trafficking, prostitution, to weapons dealing.

I saw those girls and boys in the Academy perfome and it just reinforced what Dr. Cameroon says in the Fox Series, House.

"Sex can kill you ... Do you know what the human body goes through when you have sex? Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets, respiration becomes rapid and shallow, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere, and secretions spit out of every gland, and the muscles tense and spasm like you're lifting three times your body weight. It's violent, it's ugly and it's messy, and if God hadn't made it unbelievably fun, the human race would have died out eons ago. [pause to breathe deep and stare at each other] Men are lucky they can only have one orgasm. Do you know that women can have an hour long orgasm?"

Replace "sex" with "music" and the sentence sounds like a sewage and that was exactly what it was. I appreciating Tusker Project Fame all for what it was is not, but I must say Valerie Kimani is talented, certainly not in music.

"And one day our friendship will break, and that will just prove (the) theory that relationships (and success) are conditional, and you don't need human connection or deserve it or whatever goes on in that rat-maze of your brain."

Beastly-Zombies of Tusker.

I am perplexed.

The judges of Tusker Project Fame are slaves of Tusker, if not Tequila. Instead of promoting ambitious singers, some of the judges, if not all, were the loudest mouths seeking the "fame" at the Sunday episode of the show.

They made Paris Hilton and O. J. Simpson look like pillars of virtues as they falteringly tried to trivialize achievements of some of our notable, already established singers.

I am going to dwell on theircharacter, not skills, which was also questionable at best. Unmistakably, during the show, they came out as people keeping alive the traditions of dismembering and torturing the reputation of the umpires – judges -- seat.

With inflated egos, they showed off their inexcusable ignorance while striving to display absent high-street “understanding of music.” They acted like remorseless “mass murderers” of Kenyan artists struggling, against odds, to put a mark on the crowded, talent-starved African art scene.

Even though I am no supporter of the show, I’m inclined to toss around comments about those annoying socialite judges guilty of “product tampering and some sort of organized crime.” On Sunday, they behaved like Tequila-guzzling zombies: the undead equivalent of the migrant workers. Not sexy. Not indestructible. Lacking free-will and impartial judgment and ultimately under-qualified.

Some of made embarrassing comments -- leaving presenters speechless -- that even newcomers in music might think they can Judge God and get away with it.

At the show, heckler-in-chief, Ian Mbugua, behaved like a hapless show-off, eager to over-shadow everybody for some reason that remain undiscussed. Watching his tantrums, one concludes that the moderately-endowed actor should stick to what he thinks he knows better: Cramming theatre lines, thinking he can sneak to the Broadway.

Just like the rest of the judges, Mbugua was the biggest squeaker from the Blues. His unsavoury character, at least at that moment, portrayed what kind of person he is, or thinks he is. An unsavoury bedfellow he is: advancing personal agenda at the behest of the young wannabe “singers.”

He not only succeeded in displaying his “clueless ness, expressionless and unintentional petulance” in his assessments of the performers, but also came out as a man keen on using the platform to pursue a woman. Or girl friend or … He was like an high school drama teacher.

“We are looking for the voice … we are not looking for mediocrity,” Mbugua said snidely, going on to unleash a torrent of inexplicable outbursts, befitting a death-row crook in mitigation before a conservative judge.

But the girls in the House could and did not take crap, not at all. They were up for the task.

They aimed at him, carefully shot their barbs, without missing and the target was subdued. Courtesy of Mbugua, the show degenerated into a tag of war between the questionable judges and the erudite panel of teachers. If fellows like Mbugua have learnt to fly without missing, then girls like Sheila Mwanyigha (presenter), Achieng Abura (teacher) and Regina Re (teacher) as well as Teddy Josiah (producer) have known to aim without missing.

And they did it, with a dash of dignity peppered with a know-how of their stuff. For keen observers, the losers were the judges. Therefore, they should be changed. They are hopeless. Talentless. And they are a pain in the neck lacking the basics of sitting in the panel.

Mwanyigha, herself, a well-endowed singer started the assault on Mbugua, throwing in a carefully-worded rejoinder: You can say something to the students, she said with her usual smile, adding: “… without being crude.”

Like a feminine relay race, Abura took the button on time, mercilessly undressing the bloke. “I think they (students) are working extra-ordinarily hard … Music is not an easy thing. And I can’t wait to see the judges bring their thing on the stage …” This salvo that sent Mbugua sprawling to unknown ground. His ego balloon was deflated.

“We are looking for a star … ” another judge, David, blabbered, like a robot, again unwittingly “… a star of what singing …" Gimmi a break. Does this man know Tinsel town granddaddies Clint Eastwood, the Hollywood big boy who just grabbed the first Oscar recently, despite having directed and featured in several big-budget productions and Jonathan Alterman?I doubt if he knows them beyond reading entertainment rags.

Challenged and apparently petrified at the fury of womanpower, Mbugua, in yet again another medieval tantrum tried to rationalize his “bullshit,” only ending up plunging into another round of bloodletting and recrimination.

“I haven’t entered the competition and I will have you know that I can sing!!! (gimmi a break) In Kenya and East Africa, we have so many one-hit wonders … I want you to tell me who has released more than five albums … “ he said, apparently his ego bruised by well-intentioned women.

Another judge called Carol shamelessly blabbered: “You can’t be a star if there is nothing different about you…"All we needed were judges sitting quietly, making their assessments in the privacy of their seats and just make decisions as per the performance, not to try to sneak in their armatures standing and weak setting.

While the show in itself is dirty marketing plot by brewing big-daddy, East African Breweries Limited, the judges who – on first impression or by record appear bright – have done a damage to the reality TV genre in Kenya, by behaving like “unremarkable crackpots” trying to revive their flagging careers of occupations.

Well, I can just conclude that the judges behaved like Marilyn Manson, one of the sickest artist in the mainstream record industry. Or even worse.

Or, is a crime committed by all not a crime or a sin committed by all not a sin... just democracy … over to you judges. The jury is out there.

Wrath of 'Black' Orgasims

A few moments ago, my good and wonderful Anne advised to me to "go easy" when I phoned her, bitterly complaining that South Africa had enacted a law welcoming homosexuality into the mainstream. "As long as it does not affect me .., " she told me. My mouth was left open and I feld disgusted.
Anne disappointed me. Just like the land of venerable Nelson Mandela embarrased itself and embarrases me and straight people like me and you. I now no-longer see South Africa as the model of democracy in Africa, but a mis-model of undemocracy in the moral Africa, the one of our forefathers adored.

For sure, apartheid never ended in that country, but rather is now being replaced from the dormant "Black Only -- White Only Street" across the country, with " D*** Only -- and V*** Only Bedrooms, " all over South Africa.
Imagining the scene: Man on Man. Woman on Woman; both convulsing and caressing around. It is like seeing two donkeys seriously on each other when you are going to a morning church session with your mother and baby sister and you meet a pregnant woman by the sidewalk strolling with a pastor.
For that reason, I can no longer eat meat. Never. And I am afraid that in a decade's time, virginity of African damsels will be fleeced by fags. And that is when we shall be saying in a chorus: "What happened in South Africa is equivalent to rewarding violent anal sex with the reputable covenent of marriage."

I am wondering and crying. What happens to the venerable practise of blow jobs in that country? Is this behaviour sneaking to other African parrliaments, notably in Kenya and Nigeria? Nope, I doubt.

Even in 1949, US federal prosecutors in Plymouth, Massachusettes hauled Mary Hammon and Goodwife Norman to court and charged them for committing "lude behavior upon a bed." Ultimately, Norman was convicted of lesbianism -- the most embarrasing form of homosexuality -- and forced to issue a public confession. The world celebrated. So did my grandmother.

I should remind you also of what happened in 1984 in Hollywood: Vanessa Williams, the first black Miss America and the singer of Save the Best for Last, relinquished her coveted crown after Penthouse magazine announced its plans to publish lesbian-themed photos of her in its September issue. Prior to entering the Miss America contest, Williams had certified having committed no embarrassing acts of "moral turpitude."

Or should we believe revered singer Elton John when he mutters and sputters and annoys us by saying there should be democracy in human sexuality? What? Gimmi a break. Are we moving to a world of the idomatic "Man eat Man Society" to the world of "Man fuck Man Society". Or are we at the threshhold of a society where "every opening that can trigger an orgasm is explored and defended by the law." If so, it is diabolical, pathological and illogical.

But I am inclined to believe the Nigerian primate Peter Akinola, a spokesman for Anglican bishops from Asia, Africa and Latin America, who has repeatedly called for the repetence of homosexuals or they will burn in hell. I think we should trust him.

Since when did Africans consider legalising same sex marriages, or even allowing two man -- mikengeles -- to sleep on the same bed and be intimate -- as if they have a right to -- in the name of banishing discrimination from society. I feel I have been discriminated. Abused. Embarrased. Casted to the dogs. And tossed into a pit latrine. I just cannot imagine watching a movie about the opposite of Sharon Stone's Indecent Proposal. Or Can I imagine my sisters staring at the male equivalent of Pamela Anderson.

Read this: "In breaking with our past ... we need to fight and resist all forms of discrimination and prejudice, including homophobia," South African Home Affairs Minister Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula told lawmakers in Cape Town.
"When we attained our democracy, we sought to distinguish ourselves from an unjust painful past, by declaring that never again shall it be that any South African will be discriminated against on the basis of colour, creed, culture and sex," she added.

While I have no political standing to ascent to top of the Times Towers or Empiror State building, it does not alter the fact that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. And from then, Nature ordered Wildred to marry Winfred and not Wilfred. Paul to marry Pauline and not marry Paul. Joseph to marry Josephine and not Joseph.

Even if South Africa decides to change to rules of natural jiggy-jiggy -- even if it is hosting the 2010 World Cup -- it does not change the fact that until men marry, they will continue eating cold pizza and restaurant breakfast in the morning because there are no wives -- or girlfriends -- at home to cook.

I cannot imagine calling up a man -- Three Legged Creature like a stool -- to buy him fried rice and boneless chicken just because a thousand miles start with the first stone. Or the first lunch. Surely, who starts? Who stays up? Who stays down? What could act as the boobs -- Airbags. And finally who cleans the other with tissue paper? I need no answers because I am suprised. I am mad. I am sad.

Without my exemption, men will continue to howl and brawl in drinking dens until past midnight, only surviving on nuts and crisps because either their utensils are dirty or they just do not know gastronomy. They they go home and sleep, listening to unavoidable and heart-consoling rendetions by Pretenders, Coldplay, Oasis and our own wonderful girls.

Now, what triggered this sudden rush of madness in South Africa? Here we go. After the alleged end of apartheid era in 1994, during which black South Africans were denied the vote, a new constitution was drawn up specifically banning discrimination on the grounds of race, gender and sexual orientation. Under pressure, the government was forced to legislate on same sex marriage after the country's highest court ruled in December that existing laws denied gays and lesbians the same constitutional rights as heterosexual couples.

I agree. God has been mocked.
"The ... (bill) justifies immorality and by inference, calls sexual perversion a legitimate alternative lifestyle that should be openly accepted," African Christian Democratic Party (ACDP) leader Kenneth Meshoe said, shortly after the bill was overwhelmingly adopted on Tuesday, according to reports.
"God is not mocked," he said. "This parliament ... is about to cross the line of God's patience with us as a nation."

Now, Thabo make makes Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe and ex-Kenyan President Daniel arap Moi look like "semi-gods." Mugabe has openly dismissed gays as "worse than pigs and dogs." And who disagrees?
Apart from Mugabe, let's sample what other leaders said about this act, worse then bestiality and ass-licking.

"I don't want to see this country to go that way. You know what happened to the Greeks. Homosexuality destroyed them. Sure, Aristotle was a homo, we all know that, so was Socrates. [...] Do you know what happened to the Romans? The last six Roman emperors were fags. [...]," blurted former US president Ronald Reagan.
" You know what happened to the poles? It's all right that popes were laying the nuns. That's been going on for years -- centuries. But when the popes, when the Catholic Church went to hell in -- I don't know, three or four centuries ago -- it was homosexual, and it had to be cleaned out. Now, that's what happened to Britain; it happened earlier to France," he added.

In 1992, on his television show The 700 Club, Pat Robertson declared: "It's one thing to say, 'We have rights to jobs... we have rights to be left alone in out little corner of the world to do our thing.' It's an entirely different thing to say, 'Well, we're not only going to go into the schools and we're going to take your children and your grandchildren and turn them into homosexuals.' Now that's wrong."

In a 1993 interview with Molly Ivins, Robertson added: "Just like what Nazi Germany did to the Jews, so liberal America is now doing to the evangelical Christians. It's no different. It is the same thing. It is happening all over again. It is the Democratic Congress, the liberal-based media and the homosexuals who want to destroy the Christians. Wholesale abuse and discrimination and the worst bigotry directed toward any group in America today. More terrible than anything suffered by any minority in history."

In 1993, Robertson declared: "Many of those people involved with Adolf Hitler were Satanists, many of them were Homosexuals -- the two things seem to go together."
In 1995 Robertson said: "[Homosexuals] want to come into churches and disrupt church services and throw blood all around and try to give people AIDS and spit in the face of ministers."

In 1997, San Francisco Chronicle quotes the Dalai Lama as saying: "Homosexuality, whether it is between men or between women, is not improper in itself. What is improper is the use of organs [such as] the mouth and the anus ... already defined as inappropriate for sexual contact."
Now lets see the brief history of Homosexuality.

While homosexuality in a contemporary context is generally regarded as "ass rape" or at least "anal sex", historically and legally the term has had a much broader meaning. Originating in the 11th century, the word sodomy was coined by Saint Peter Damian to replace the earlier term "Sin of Sodom". (Sodom and Gomorrah being those cities in the Bible which were destroyed by God for their unredeemable moral depravity).

Interestingly enough, over the centuries many bible thumpers have forgotten that the "Sin of Sodom" never referred to a singular sin (like ass humping), but rather to a collective of sin The unclean acts that contributed to this cesspool of sin included, but were not limited to: Anal sex, bestiality, oral sex, sex outside wedlock, mutual musturbation and Selling sexual favors in the name of God/Goddesses.

Please, pray for them, hopeless Homosexuals.

Her songlines keeps us on track and in tune ...

It is unbelievable. I rarely listen to music, but somehow I ended up otherwise.
Over the weekend, I was attacked by "brothers in arms", who forcefully shared what I had, including that small gadget we call a cell phone -- I hate it and at the moment, I do not have one.

No regrets though. But when I reached my home "The Palace", I listened to music by several fantastic women to boost my wounded spirits. Outstandingly, I really liked one Kenyan sultry singer Sheila Mwanyigha. The song was Tazama Mbele.

"Surely, her music is the voice of (g)od," I reckoned as I struggled to forget the ordeal I underwent while heading to "The Palace". It was time to concetrate on the motivation of this young girl who is full of life, vitality and power.
Alot has already been said, done and sucked from her music. There are a variety of reasons why lost out during the Channel O Awards in South Africa recently: lack of domestic support and piracy.

Ms. Mwanyigha sounds like she looks: what I occasionally mention when it happens.
She could be one of those attractive, friendly strangers with whom it's easy and fun to strike up a chat in a restaurant or library, usually about the book she's reading or whatever's in the instrument case. From her music, she is engaging and skilled when belting out Swahili ballads -- tales of urban romance and distance love. Just as it is a delight to look at her, it is a delight to listen to her.But, there's some emotional stress -- the failed love in abudance -- in some of her own lyrics, where she clevery and wittingly captures behaviour in the society. When she talks about love, trust and bitterness, it is more or less like a messenger delivering salvation to the youth.

It is easy to compare Mwanyigha with Sandra McCracken's , this Nash-ville women whose songs exude confidence without her ascending the podium to preach on the pillars of ethics and civilization.

"Turn all my rags to white, turn all my words to rhymeTurn all the sorrow to shining facesMake all my dreams satisfied, make all the broken things rightMake all the dead come alive" ('Last Goodbye').

Such longings are expressed in humanist values that don't make a heavy load of the torment, fear and hope some see in a crucifix. She instead appear to admonish the youth about the hopelessness and futility of falling in love without plans, loving and hating pointlessly only to end up in drinking holes with 10-cent booze.

After listening to Ms. Mwanyigha, I made a conclusion that entertainment critics and other hapless masketeers who tried/have tried to shoot down her stuff were/are wasting their ammunition and time, and maybe themselves. With a high-degree of honest, since har days as Nikki, the damsel has always told stories in her songs, her own and other people in and outside her life. Though she has truckloads of fans who seem unsure she's of terrestrial origin (no-wonder her beauty), her world is one where the ways of the human heart, intimate behaviour are remarkably well mapped. Lyrics in Tazama Mbele, come from the heart of Ms. Mwanyigha. They tears apart the frustrations in morden relationships, the hopelessness on relying on mortal beings to shape one future and the sad irony of this world and its fake promises of family and happy life thereafter.

"I am singing and writing from my heart now. A lot of things have happened to me and I just want to look ahead without dwelling old memories," Mwanyigha is reported ( by cybermedia) to have told one writer.
From this statement, which if true, potrays a her a a performer of multiple genre, but has lyrically grown out of the slow-burning anger and sudden stabs of an Oyster to a reflective personality, one you are able to sit down and chat the serious music.
There's nothing wrong at all at anger when it's justified and you know how to channel it, but to be "fuelled by anger" as a governing emotion, anger can hide not only resentment and hurt, but the lack of confidence people feel if they're given a perpetual pounding that induces a sense of helplessness.

There is something about Ms. Mwanyigha -- which comes out in Tazama Mbele -- that is appealing. She has developed self-confidence without complacency, a reassuring quality to foster and to appreciate, just like another singer Sharleen Spiteri of the famous Glasgow band Texas.
"When you become confident you can be naturally sexy. Ooze sex and sexiness," Spiteri told an online rag. This but all standards, especially for me, (maybe) a gentleman, is a pithy platitude, perhaps, but only too true to be ingnored. Luckly, I've plenty more time than some people do for singers of both sexes (especially lady-singers) who search their melancholy souls and work the old magic of sharing their bad times and making them easier to bear with the transforming power of music to stretch out a hand to the solitary.

It's reassuring for such sisters to know they are not alone. Apart from God.

In the context of the quote (attributed to Mwanyigha in an earlir paragrapgh), she is like Spiteri who is able to ooze sex and say how not, because she's as pretty as she is, but since she's been through the rough stuff and still can stand up and give orders where soldiers die. (Like General's do).
Spiteri's hit singles on 'White on Blonde' (1997) made the soccer stadiums, titles like 'Insane' and 'Put Your Arms Around Me' ooze powerful emotions but aren't cheerful, 'Careful What You Wish For' 2003) an electronic edge some found experimental, others commercial, which is to say it's mixed up.

"Just be careful what you wish for"

"Just be careful what you hope for,"

"Your wish, it may come true!"

Dissecting the songs of Mwanyiga, one thinks Heather Nova (home) billboard smashing hitsong that not only explains where this Kenyan woman is just a product for Grammy Awards, if only we have an equivalent in Kenya, if only we supported her and if only we bought her music and drop the firewall habit of hiking to River Road.

"(...)'When you let other people tell you what's right"

"When you leave your instinct and your own truth behind" he said.

"That's a virus of the mind.' That's a virus of the mind"

"I guess it's kind of like losing your sight;

"for aSecond you think that they might be right, and it

"Feeds the doubts you have inside, and it

"Almost starts to feel like a crimeTo follow your own rhythm and rhyme (...)

Yeah I'm pretty happy living in my own sweet time I'm pretty happy

"And I don't need your virus of the mind (...)."

Like, Nova, Ms. Mwanyigha has a staggering vocal range -- a little bit confusing for non-music students -- and the emotional reach down into the troughs of our lives -- when love can hurt like hell -- without which we can't know the rolling crests of joy. But with her, and those others, who have taken the time to separate the chaff from the wheat, will surely understand what it means to sing ...

With such talent, it is awful what a revolting industry that is growing in Kenya is doing. Like others musicians, obviously, Ms. Mwanyigha has agents, record labels and ... "bodyguards" all of whom I do not know and do want to know. Such people are obviously there both to promote and to protect them. But what sickens -- or sometimes make me puke -- is the character of some of this agents "of doom" who are to blame for the downward spiral of the industry. Please save me the fraud in Tusker Project Fame... (that is only keen on selling booze the fragile teenagers ... at the behest of promoting local talent.)

Like in Tinseltown, these outlandish parasites earn a living by compiling lists of the direct contacts you can't always reach and then selling them! It's fair enough to protect musicians from mountains of fan or hate mail. That's what forums are for.
But the downside is odious profiteering when the business overdoes it so people with a job to do need to pay go-betweens to reach the go-betweens. I won't. Next time I wanna speak to Ms. Mwanyigha or any other singer -- who manages to sneak into my tiny list of serious talents, I will call them and not depend on this sewage tunnels.
So folks, when you want somebody around who's simply good, generous and gentle on the ear, Ms. Mwanyigha is that kind of woman.

Man was not born to love alone ...

Anne-belle and Ali-belle are the most amazing women I have ever met in Nairobi.
They are very ambitions and very capable. And maybe, that all they will be. They are fine women.

Since our separate meetings that was by default, I realised -- and they have failed to -- we are very susceptible to useless mood swings and childish emotions in the exercise of our judgement, maybe unaware of the way we can be swayed by such forces unless other people tell us or until we lose it or survival faculties.

In a few occasion we chatted heartly in the Graveyard, they were articulate women who packed punches in their voices and slipped kicks in theiy lyrics I can hardly forget. All tailored to speak the truth like Angelina Jolie in "Mr. and Mrs. Smith."
Their lines of thought, often thoughtful, ambition, often ambitious and dreams, often dreaming, but have helped me stay on track and in tune and eventually see another day in this world where survival is based on the fakest and not on the fittest.

God bless them for the sake of those they are dear to or who are those dear to them or both.
Generally speaking, they are fine ladies but mysterious of sorts because nobody knows whom they sleep with. Who they sleep with. How they sleep. When they sleep. And they like it that way. And thus they have 100 percent of female power intact, ready to manouver a free lunch, beer and taxi home, Monday through Friday.

What an unfair world! They seem to fail to understand that and maybe they may never get it before el - Nino comes.
"It keeps people guessing and wanting to know more," a woman told me, justifying why she likes being, or attempts to be mysterious in an era where being mysterious seems to be the best way to live.
Months earlier, Ali-belle had asked me what my plans, if any, were in this world. I had no answer at that moment because life seem to move on a lopsided part, rewarding those who do not work. My colleague, whom I had mistakenly invited to one night-out confidently answered her: "Sex." "Women are there for sex and procreation, after all, if not, why should people marry." My opinion remains undiscussed, for now.

Guessing? Well, Anne-belle might be right, but she confirms what many people fear to speak out, but agree that sometimes we live in the most pothological and horribly cynical world -- a world that is as awful as Arabian nights where majority hoplessly. "I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of a 6 year-old again," a woman blogged recently. The belles can now understand.

Or as Pauline, my other friend, says: "We might go to the moon, mars and the Ivy League. We might have shitloads of cash and a line-up of sexy women within a phone call away. We might get a cure for AIDS, cancer and Hepatites. But we will never get happiness in this world unless we get way of reliving the primitive life that our forefathers lived."

Quite honestly, much has happened since I last met them -- and subsequently made desparate attempts to meet again, but in vain -- but mostly deep inside me. Several times I spoke to them about the realities of this cruel world reflected this private quest, but all this blogging and frequent visit to the Graveyard with some of my colleagues have really been about walking my way free of forgotten events, uncertain future and the an unavoidable present.

This two women need to be confronted as one day, very soon, their own denial will bubble to the surface like lava in a volcano -- Mount Nyiragongo in Goma -- than a corpse returning to the surface after nature snuffed life off it.
I am looking forward for another foray with the belles, if any, or a drink with John Michael.