Giving “Credit” where its deserved

Giving credit is a key ingredient in being a good human being. It so happens that this is something that I have learned the easy and the hard way. The key is in giving credit it does not necessarily have to be for a good thing. We should also give people “credit” for their bad manners….and this my friends requires (as they say) some jaws of steel and some balls!

Kudos to Caroline; I’m with you on this one here we should all be talking like these to these bunch of so-called politicians… (ReBlogged from the Star)


“FIF” factor of a bucket list

It so happens that…….ooh well it just did, so Kick It!  There is something about bucket lists.

Granted the Movie was and still is one of the best in my view. I just find them ….a little ginene. (Ginene is a rather magical phrase. It can fill the space in a conversation where you can’t just find the right word. It can be something naughty….for the times you’re referring to something of the sexual nature or describing a body part. It it can also be as simple as saying the word “something”) 

I have realized that “F*&^ it” lists are more interesting. Reflecting deeply on this, it so happens (aaah there you go) this was more of what I lived by. Such a handy, refreshing, invigorating, and ginene mantra not just for work but in life. I called it the FIF factor

The FiF factor is inspired by comedy one guy to be specific: Katt Williams…a confession here folks. I looove comedy to bits. Comedians are the angels of this life.  Just think about; if you can’t laugh, what can you do!?

So FIF is F*&^ it Factor,  or just FIF factor. Have you ever had one of those experiences where no matter the effort you put down, either by design, influence or just randomness; things don’t work as they were to be….<okay you can insert the phenomena that is “the Boss” here>.


Or those things that our so called “society” expects you should have done, or achieved by xx age and you are no where close to the vicinity of it..just like the milk in the tea served at funerals. Just FIF!

Katt Williams so rightly puts it….



…….there is a chemical in…..that is called F*&^ it/ and if you could just get that into your system it could change your life

To Katt, there is a context to the FIF.  But trust you me you can always learn and borrow the FIF and live by it, without the need for Katt’s context for the FIF.

What’s the 11th item on your bucket list? Hell there is only one thing. Its more than just a list.. its the FIF factor








Random rumblings in the Here and Now…

12 minutesb

It so happens I am a “Noct”! Actually the word is a nocturnal but it sounds more modern-high-techie said as so. I’m not sure if “Noct” is actually a word. But hey! I always have been, a Noct-I become active at night rather than going to bed. For this I am blaming my design school days where I would “sleep tomorrow and wake up tomorrow”.

This is not uncommon. What am up to is ..errm… not that it is not important. Well lets see

I just stumbled on an interesting DIY website, and there is this link from a online group I belong to that has got me glued to my screen. The wrist-watch search I have been doing for a long while, it is now that I am getting some good hits, and the mosquitoes are on a blood-thirsty frenzy.

Wait…. and there is this radio stationed that I have stumbled on as I started this which is playing some classic African rhumba music. The kind of music that is 12 minutes long. Twelve minutes of soothing , leg thumping and finger snapping from the perfect marriage of guitar strings ad mellow sounds and a bass line so perfect. I feel like I am swimming. 12 whole minutes of nothingness that is not boredom. 12 minutes of music in a language that is unknown to me but I don’t care. The 12 minutes makes me wonder what could I do in the 12 minutes that the song is playing .

Such is the fire to the “Noct” behaviour. More like the wood that keeps a fire at the camp-fire alive and kicking….I digress.

If I had only 12 minutes left what would I do with it? Think of the pretty faces that I missed the chance chat up rather than smile and admire from far? Remember the embarrassing stuff I have done in my yesteryears? Weed out my phone book? Catch up with this book that is now overdue…truthfully am afraid to finish reading it. Could this be that I am delaying gratification? Why did I get internet to the house…it is not helping!?

Well three songs have passed. 3 sets of 12 minutes thinking with my fingers on the keyboard. What did I do with the 12 minutes? I did this; what is here. Words of admitting my nocturnal tendencies.

I am still breathing. My senses still good and for this I give Thanks. Another 12 minute track is about to end, it is coming to the part where you can’t hold it and have to get up and dance.

Enjoy your sets of 12 minutes.

Image courtesy of

In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now


So happens that its been quite a while since I penned something. I guess i let it really go. Sometimes the best way to go back to get back to the beginning of it…

I variation of my name is OTIENO B.C. WHY because I believe names are versions of yourself. I’m told I laugh alot, I smile alot, I’m loud, I’m tall, and if this is what is seen then it’s true. I think I’am shy, but I’ve seen myself overcome it day by day!

I love the outdoors, find humour in people (our behaviour, our words), enjoy ideas from people, and adding value to what is there around me. I am a communicator, who i think as a bridge to what can be and will be.

I’m a collector of sorts, every item, picture, scrap, is connected to some story. In my next life I will probably be the ocean, so that i can travel wherever. In my past life… well this is it. I think I have used the word “think” so many times and will continue to do so till my last breath because thinking and ideas are the greatest asset of my generation..

These writings are what happens at various times in my year if my name was a year. The year OTIENO B.C.

I have never done this before, so here goes……


“Nikusaidiaje Chief” (How can help you chief), asked the watchman; okay security guard; as I just cleared the 2 steps into the building. These guys always amuse me with the things they say and ask. Maybe its a tactic to deter loiters. I imagine to myself that they probably get into  trouble with the coastal women-folk, the buibui clad women who have a mastery of the put-you-in-your-place tongue lash. I can’t help but chuckle under my breath

“Wait do i look like I’m loitering?” I quickly scan myself, “naah, nothing loiter-ish about my appearance today”

“Hapana soja, niko sawa, asante” I assure the soja, probably leaving him wondering why I was smiling to myself from his question. I can feel him staring at my head, and probably thinking he should have scanned me with those metal-detecting things of theirs. “he can sort himself out” I mutter and head on my way.

I head towards the stairs ignoring the now familiar smell of vet drugs and supplies. Its a big room or rather space with shelves stacked with all sorts of items and sacks on the ground. The stairs are actually those cross breed types- like it was to be a spiral stairway but not really and is some what straight, then on ascending you keep curving along the wall. It’s steep steps not making it any better.

On getting to the floor above, it the usual scene; typical of our front-counter shops. Customers lined up on one side trying to catch the eye of the many female attendants who keep zig-zagging across the room on the other side of the counter. Zooming in and out of the shelves lined with boxes and packets of various sizes and shapes.

“By the end of the day I bet they would have walked the equivalent distance of Mombasa to Kilifi or there about” that voice in my head confidently asserts.

At the other end of the table, is a computer work station where they regularly check the  product codes and print out the invoice/receipt and what not. They (the uniformed ladies) tend to crowd there a little longer, I guess its hard to find the letter ‘e’ after the zig-zag dance across the room.

Just before the counter on the left end of the “room” was a low lying (coffee) table and a young lady leaning over it, her small fingers busy writing on an order book, transferring things from a shopping list of some sort.

“Hello! she is new here. Haven’t seen her the last time I was around here”

Her face was as bright and glowy as her bosom. She had a young face, pretty and her bosom too.

“Okay!… enough with the bosom!”.

But I couldn’t help it, even if I wanted I could not not see the bosom. Okay I could, if I closed my eyes and if or when I addressed her, I talked with my eyes closed. Plus my height was giving me an undue ad vantage-point, over the bosom and glowy face .

‘Scribble, scribble, scribble… tear off the page. start another one’ Just like a stage performance she went on.

“Please don’t address me please don’t address…” I kept saying to myself. But you know the way things go, what you wish not to happen, actually happens just to show you who’s boss.

She then looks up slightly and smiles at me, a warm smile that makes the glow even more. She was probably in the lower quintile of her 20s, maybe. Miss Glow will definitely kill many without trying hard, and she will certainly make this very difficult if she comes to be the one to attend to me.

So I do the only sensible thing. I move away. And slowly,  towards the counter while also trying to squeeze a smile so that hers doesn’t go to waste.

“Take one last look at the glow, she knows you saw her glows” Curse! this brain of mine.

Getting to the counter, I don’t bother to hustle to get through to the front , no worries I just wallow in the scent of the pharmaceuticals, paper and money. I’m in no hurry to get the attention of the zig-zagging ladies, nor get to the counter. Why? I don’t know! Probably because I have not yet decided how I will ask what I want to ask.

“Ooh why do I have to be tall?” I avoid eye contact with the female attendants, as I try to look preoccupied as if to recall what brought me here.

Sasa! sema…?

I’m brought back to my senses, only to realize that I’m the one at the counter, and on the other end who but Miss “Glowy”! I’m dazed, I quickly look back wondering when and how did she finish her scribbling and get back to this other side of the room. She smiles at my reaction, probably noticing my confused look. She seems pleased with her self, enjoying my reaction to her flash-Gordon like actions.

“Ooh such pretty hands and tiny fingers she has”  Okay how did I move from recovering from the shock to noticing her hands? Then they say men cannot multi-task!

“Ooh Hi, you’re chap chap” I respond back, gesturing behind me with my left hand.

Another smile.

“Okay, so I would like aaa aah… uummm, where is it..”  I stretch my neck as if trying to see something that had just been brought onto the counter.

aaiiii, haiko” (not there), I respond.

“I would like a dewormer”.

I didn’t notice I had whispered, till I saw her face blank out, she then moved slightly towards me and half way through, seemed to have gotten what I wanted, and leaned back.

“Maybe she also can read lips”…I don’t know, maybe.

She turns around, hesitated for a few seconds. Probably “trying to remember the aisle where my order may be at” …yeah maybe.

And they still glowed, the face and bosom in unison.

It probably would have been easier to buy this