I’m so tagged there was escaping this one. I hope I’m not late. Stone Cold Steve Austin, Val, Mama, Our Kid, Joyunspeakable, Random Observations, and all you other bloggers here we go.

I’m of mixed parentage. Half Central half Coast.

I joke and laugh a lot. In the right circumstances of course. Don’t be afraid to invite me to your high profile techo-babble cocktail party. I won’t laugh there. When it’s time to get serious I play the part to perfection.

I taste beverages for a living. Then market them based on the reports. Fibrous. Clean. Thick. Highfired. Underfired. Earthy. Brisk. Powdery. Aged. Smoky. True to grade, …... such like stuff. No it’s not a sweet and tasty job. Samples for tasting are not the same as what the consumer gets. They’re brewed differently and are often bitter so we don’t exactly sit and sip them lovingly. No we do not swallow. For those who think that my job can explain this, sorry to burst your bubble. The said beverages are not alcoholic.

The first time I ever seriously took the time to write it was politics on Kumekucha. That was when Kenya was hot. I'm still passionate about politics. But in a country where Simon Mbugua can beat PLO Lumumba, I'm no longer interested in elective politics. Elective is noisy and so it looks like that's what politics is all about. I'm intrigued by the more subtle aspects. Those that can push the country forward without so much hullabaloo.

I’m intrigued by the criminal mind. Not the petty muggers and pick pockets. Not even bank robbers. No. Guys like this one and this one. The ones that kill and dismember victims and stuff their body parts in suit cases. The ones that rape their dead victims or eat their hearts. No I will not try this at home but I’d like to know from them how their minds operate. I’d like to talk to one of those if they could promise not to kill me and make a shirt with my skin. At the height of the obsession, I watched countless programs about them and read countless copies of True Detective Magazines. I’ve read most books by Anne Rule and other numerous authors on the topic. I've read a collection of books on criminal psychology and profiling. At some point I started freaking out even at creaking doors. I’d start at the entry of a loved one into the room. It was time to slow down.

I’ve been car jacked once at gun point. That sound of a cocking gun did not leave me for a long time. I’ve since developed a few smalltime phobias. Fear of tailgaters. Fear of slowing down drivers. Our Kid please give us the scientific names for these if you may.

I come off as no nonsense and stand offish at first glance but nothing could be further from the truth. Of course I don’t like nonsense but standoffish I’m not. Maybe it looks so because I’m not good at small talk. I strongly believe in the positive power of silence.

I’m not very religious. I’m a Christian only as far as the naming, schooling and other formalities are concerned. I went to boarding school at an early age and it was prayers and recitals seemingly every other hour. Even at 6.00 am before porridge. It’s good to talk to the Lord but for me at that age that was too much of a good thing. I could hardly wait to complete school and give a break to all the prayers, recitals and Bible reading. So far it seems it was not just a break but a clean break. That was childhood but even now as an adult I don’t quite buy the beliefs and doctrines of organized religion anyway. Having said that, I have mad respect for other people and their religions of choice and I really don’t bother what deity one worships and how. In return, I also don’t expect to be judged.

I’m so laid back and carefree it hurts. For the unacquainted, it may look like I don’t get a good grasp of the bigness of things. But I do. As much as or maybe even more than the next person depending. I just don’t fret about stuff. I don’t know how to.

I’m very adventurous and sometimes wander into foreign markets asking what is this? How is it made? Give. I’ve discovered some great foods and others that leave me in fits of laughter wondering whether I got the recipe wrong or whether the guy was speaking Gujarati when he said it’s very tasty. To that end, my kitchen is a comedy of sorts. But the strange cooking is a once in a blue moon thing. My normal cooking style is mostly coastal.

I go home at every opportunity. Home upcountry to the farm. Friends often ask me why on earth I keep going to shags half the country away. Well, for one my mum lives there. The fresh air, the endless compound. And these cute calves that are born every other month. The ones my little nephew is always insisting we carry back to Mombasa. Auntie ni kadogo utakaweka kwa nyumba. Eish! The thought!

I’m very forthright. I say it as it is. It makes life so easy. I try to be sweet about it though.

I'm very loyal to my friends.

I recently stumbled on my high school farewell book and I’m shocked at what my friends remember me for. Tomboy. Cheeky. Mischievous. Punishments. Gosh. Me?!? Come on Kabarians! You got the wrong gal. But I think I'm a tomboy. But then sometimes I'm this lady. I don't know.

I don’t do suits and it has nothing to do with the Mombasa weather. It’s just me. I feel stiff and overdressed. I strut in casual chic mostly. Luckily my job does not require me to be in formal dressing.

Test goth

I have a curious fascination for world cultures and today I’m all Goth. I recently came across an interesting article in the Mailonline site that sent my curiosity into the dark Gothic world. I’ve seen Goths in movies and other programs but never really taken an in-depth look at their fascinating lifestyle. The mailonline story is simple. Boy loves girl and he moves around with her on a lead, like you would a pet dog. Girl is a self confessed human pet and is comfortable with the circumstances. It’s the discrimination that irks the couple.

Goths have mostly received a bad rap. When people think Goth they think black, evil, blood and horror. They’re stereotyped and perceived to be witches, devil worshipers and vampires though that’s not always the case. But like in every other culture and religion, there are some rotten apples that give them a bad name.

I doubt there are any Goths in these parts of the world. Unless we’re thinking of that black nail polish that was the rave some time back. Bit in the unlikely event that you come across some in the streets of Nairobi, Mombasa or any other area, know the following:

They’re not to be feared. Beneath the black clothing, jet black hair, black eyeliner, black nail polish, black lipstick and whatever else they prefer to wear, they’re normal people like you and me. They’re actually nice intelligent people capable of being happy like every one else. They just prefer the darker side of life. In any case they don’t always wear black. They’re not schizophrenics. They don’t suck people’s blood. They’re not Satanists. A Goth can be from any religion. Some, like this writer are Christians.

More on Gothic Teens.

And in unrelated, repeat unrelated topic

Adios Pan Paper. Adios Pollution.

For those who have been following the story of Pan African Paper Mills, it’s closure comes as no surprise. For a long time it has been surviving on cash injections and other known and unknown favours from Treasury.

With a workforce of more than 2,000, Pan Paper is the economic engine of Webuye town. True there are other business ventures that the residents can engage in but many face imminent collapse with the fall of the giant paper manufacturer. We may very well be witnessing the death of the otherwise once vibrant town of Webuye.

Having said that, there is also the bright side to look at. Some residents feel that the closure is good riddance due to the high levels of pollution that the factory is known for. Webuye has the infamous distinction of being one of the most polluted places on the planet. For long term residents, chest and breathing problems are rife among children and adults alike. This is directly attributable to continual inhalation of highly corrosive hydrosulphuric acid and use of contaminated water from Nzoia River which the paper miller has equally polluted.

Pan paper is one company among many that should by now have been sued and made to pay millions in compensation for poor health among residents, poor crop output, sick livestock and the sheer stench that is the hallmark of the town and it’s environs. But then again this is Kenya and they could always talk to the mighty.

Take it from someone who has been there severally, even breathing is difficult in Webuye. The stench, akin to that of rotten eggs comes in sick wave after sick wave and you are constantly aware that every breath you take is laden with chemicals. The factory itself as far as I could see was always enveloped in a sinister plume of smoke. From my web travels for this article, I’ve learnt a few things I did not even know. For example, corrugated iron sheets on roofs are corroded within months. Snowstorms of foam droplets from Pan Paper’s waste ponds cloud the sky and burn the skin.

If ever the giant paper manufacturer re-opens, the first thing they should check is the high levels of pollution. Someone should reinforce the activists and advocates who have been trying to make a case for affected residents. Webuye needs Erin Brockovich.

And that is just one factory.