Zimbabwe is famous for a few things: Mugabe, the Victoria Falls, naming people after days and holidays and now Mboro.
That’s Pastor Prophet Paseka Motsoeneng Mboro to you. You see, you only call him Mboro when he has his fingers(or his foot) in your biscuit. And by ‘biscuit’, I mean ‘lady parts’.
That’s right, this pastor heals worshippers and releases their demons by sticking his digits in their…biscuits.
I apologize in advance because I will quote the large bulk of this article; it’s pure gold.
“As he was praying for her she collapsed. Motsoeneng then told the teenager, who was lying on her back, to open her legs, which she did.
He then plunged his fingers into her private parts and started moving his fingers inside her vagina.
As he was busy with his “healing process”, Motsoeneng ordered her to call him by his nickname, Mboro.
“Say Mboro,” he ordered her.
“Mboro” she said, with a stifled cry.
He was interrupted by a female congregant who brought him a glassful of what looked like ice-cream, which she spoon fed him. He was still sitting on the woman’s lap.”
This post is dedicated to Kenyan Christians, especially those who continue to make a reasonable living out of their fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, by praying for them and rendering other ‘Godly’ services that would otherwise be considered free.
It is also dedicated to the Christians who have put all their faith and trust in their church leaders, never questioning their cheerleader’s actions and faithfully following their teachings like blind sheep (by Jove! Could that be where the word ‘flock’ comes from?)
But it is also dedicated to you who’s having a hard time choosing a church where you can worship, as if God suffers Multiple Personality Disorder. Like really, what part of ‘the same yesterday, today and forever’ do you not understand? Continue reading →
So “the church” is against the proposed constitution with religious leaders rallying masses to reject the same. While I am up to date with all “the church’s” campaigns (the good, bad and ugly), I am quite angered by a number of things:
I worship (not belong to or subscribe to) a certain “church,” by virtue of my relationship with God and will proudly vote YES in support of the proposed constitutions. Question is do I stop being a part of “the church” because “the church” is against the new document?
Who gave “the church” moral/religious/constitutional authority to represent my views regarding the draft?
Who gave “the church” the right to interpret the proposed constitutions for me?
Why should I care that that “the church” has read the said document?
When did “the church” decide to take up my decision making right (the very essence of my liberty) without my consent?
And lastly, who the fuck is “the church?” and who does he/she/ it/ think they are? Continue reading →
Nothing beats a Soul Nite at Carni, especially a Super Soul Nite. This past one was even better since the boyz were celebrating Pete’s new promotion. He’s now on 300k a month, which is not bad for a dude under 30 in Nai. He tells us that he now wants to settle down and start a family (he’s moving up in da office, his business ventures are looking up and his crib is now fully stacked up). This is a big moment since we’ve all been hitting the scene hard since around ’99 and Pete’s been the biggest P.I.M.P in the crew. He then adds that he’s gonna start looking for a mama from church (how many times have we heard dude’s in da club make this statement?) as we all nod in agreement as we scope some of the talent on show.
I leave the convo and start chatting up some ‘yellow-yellow’ at the bar. She’s got all the right (physical) features but she’s drinking Sprite, off the bottle (this is Carni, at 1 a.m…). The convo is a bit icy…she’s a 3rd year BCom student at N**** University and she’s telling me how busy she’d been all day in church-she’s a church (youth) leader at that funky, happening church in South C… Clearly this is not funga material so before I bounce I try a longshot and ask her if she wants to dance. She says no, she’s too tired. That’s usually my signal to leave but before I head off I point out that her Sprite is almost over and offer to buy her another ‘round’ (surely, how much can a sprite cost?-even in Carni, plus it’s jus after end month so I can still make it rain). She say’s yes and orders a triple Vodka and Red Bull??? (Typical Nai chips chicks behaviour) I give the bartender like a K 2 soc and continue the convo with the mama but she spends most of it guzzling that proportion of my salo (I’ve never seen a triple vodo n red b downed so fast…). As soon as she’s done with the drink she’s eager to dance (clearly Red Bull gives you wings) I still wish she had told me before hand that a dance costs like a K, sometimes I wish that I had the balls to deal with professional langaz-at least they’re more direct i.e:pay this much if you want a dance, a ** will cost u an extra …. On the dancefloor she pulls some Crazy ASS moves that were a Blessing to me. After that we took the stroll to Kichaka and got to know each other better. Now that’s what I call money well spent, 1,200/=…that’s even cheaper than K Street, I think. I quickly say goodbye n rejoin the boyz…
There was a time when clubbing was a 4-day weekly occurrence for some of us. This was when we were noticeably younger.
On Wednesday we stumbled into Rock Night at Carnivore early enough to catch the “BOGOF”(Buy one, get one free) and drown in Tusker. Thursday night, we’d complain about the entrance fee and yet still wind up at Sikiliza with those USIU folks. Friday we were somewhere in Westlands being sponges of cheap alcohol. We drank like properly drained sinks, smoked like buildings on fire and occasionally stopped to bite something before continuing with the boozing, huffing and shooting pool. On Saturday however, we would club hop. No dedication whatsoever. Go from K1 to Pavement to Crooked Q’s, to whatever else anybody mentioned when we were near the entrance or exit of a club or bar after our mandatory 25 minute stopover.
And then at 6:30am, we’d go get food. How we always succeeded to find an eatery at such obscene hours was always beyond me. This was before Nakumatt was 24Hours and generally, you’d have to eat Nyama Choma and Ugali behind some random kiosk on Wayaki Way or somewhere in Nairobi West or South B. Either way, we’d dine and sober up slightly, sharing war stories and conquests, recounting tales of the nights past. Sometimes we’d go for Soul at K2 on Sunday night, but most times we spent the day watching basketball, playing video games, resting and recovering.
One day, at about 8am on Sunday, we were eating at YMCA when someone proposed that we should go to church. Alas, it was indeed the Lord’s day, and we were dressed…well, we looked decent enough. At the time it seemed like a good idea.
So it was that 4 very hungover heathens made their way to St. Paul’s Catholic Church, Continue reading →