WE MISS XFM

I am certain I am not the only person who misses X Fm. The twenty four hour rock station that soothed a lot of us through the ups and downs that is this life. It addressed all the things we loved and cherished. Then sometime last year it was decided that it would be shut down for more mundane options. What was not to love about X FM?

 

Ever since X FM changed their name and playlists to god knows what, I have been lost. I turn on the radio and I can’t listen to a single station for more than five minutes. There hundreds of stations but not one I can listen to. No smooth or indie/alternative or old school rock variety that makes sense. The uninterrupted hours of music that was ideal for study or work was a welcome touch.

Then quarter after laughter. I lived for the humour, especially in the evening after having a very long day. I liked the morning versions too, the fact that you could get a laugh before the grind was energizing. Speaking of mornings, The Rude Awakening and X FM breakfast were a refreshing take from the oversexed radio that was full of negative energy.  It was the station that put a spring in your step as you went to conquer the world.

I also miss connect four at four. This show helped me appreciate the deep knowledge Kenyans had about rock. It was also the perfect wind down music at the end of the day. That and the playlists at seven with amazing countdowns. Just some of the many gems that made X FM amazing.

Why was it shut down? What replaced it? A replica of classic FM, playing the very same music with absolutely no sense for market segmentation or variety. That is the most frustrating thing about Kenyan radio. It is all broken down into 3 broad segments

1.      The shady

Traditional/ vernacular stations that appeal to the “shagsmondo” and tribally inclined. I am not entirely against them because they do help propagate culture to future generations. However, they are also know to push for division and tribal conflict since they are largely unregulated. They have been known to spread hate speech especially during times of political turmoil.  I however do not give them the time of day because I can hardly speak an vernacular. ( shh, I can hear the judgment.)

Also here, are the Swahili stations that will carter to the rural and bottom tear markets. Remember, the bottom of the pyramid is the widest, and as much as Kenyans want to pretend, a lot of them are shady, that’s why a lot of trends appeal to that crowd. It is for this reason that Patanisho is one of the most popular shows on Radio. Before anyone says anything I am not raining on anyone’s parade. Your tests and preferences are your own.

 

 

2.      Old school

Leader of the pack here is/was classic FM. Then the annoying replica that now holds 105.5, and so many other that are only fun to listen to for nostalgias sake. I don’t really mind them. However  there is only so much of old  school music that can be entertaining without getting fatigued. I don’t enjoy these stations so I will not say much about them.

 

3.      Hype stations

Include Kiss, Capital, Homeboys and NRG and a host of other I haven’t been able to enjoy. They are dominated by more talk than music because of marketing goals. Capital has The Fuse, but that is too short a session for people used to 24 hour of beautiful rock music. Not throwing shade at anyone.

 

I only wish that X FM could be put back on air. I wish we, the listeners had an opportunity to guide programmer on what we wished to hear. It suck to be boxed in by both T.V. and radio. When X FM was that reprieve, the world was a much brighter place. That I  know for sure.

RIP to the best station on Kenyan airwaves.

My high school ass whooping

We sat around the table at the bar, drinks on the table, jolly laughs going up in the air,

“Cheers!” Alex shouts

“Cheers!” everyone chimes in.

“You have been lost and haven’t put much meat on these bones,” he shouts, lifting a fat beefy arm and clapping me on the back. It lands a little hard and causes me to choke on the large swig of beer I had been trying to gulp down.

“Damn! You hit harder than Agwambo.”

“HAHAHA! I never will forget how hard that guy could smack you. He was a natural dentist. Knocked out rotten teeth and fillings on the regular”

“The blackest man in blackest East Africa,” Nelly mocks him, standing partially, puffing his chest out and rocking from side to side. “He knocked me out cold, and you guys keep reminding me about that night.”

“Man, Asonga learnt that gravity was optional with Agwambo”

This takes me back. The night I should really have gotten saved. The ass whooping of the decade as I called it.

I know I know everyone went through high school and had a crazy or awesome deputy as they did. It is also a little ironic that I am a teacher writing this. Karma has it in the cards that the kids I teach will pretty much do the same. The already made one meme of me that I know of. (Gives tiny evil laugh)

First act- Tom Stima Agwambo

This guy was dark, and he knew it. He called himself the blackest man in blackest east Africa. He had the build of a very stoic rugby player; tall, thick, heavy set. He looked like he was appointed partly for his physic and partly for his talent in dealing with boys “perpendicularly”. Btw, only Kenyan teachers say this. Mr. Stima would perpendicularly deal with us on the daily, given that it was back when ass-whooping was considered acceptable if not necessary for the moulding of teenage boy.

There was one night, during prep when he was standing outside the window. Have I mention I was a class prefect. HEHEHE! Long story as to how that happened. But yeah so we supposed to be having prep and the hours were going by a little too slow for comfort. So, what to do to burn up a few minutes! I hype up a buddy of mine to find out who is the best dancer. Of course, there was always a fire beats drummer, and a resident rapper. So the vibe is going, busting moves, guys spill from the other classes and it’s a thing.

Lo And behold! Agwambo arrived on the scene. You know that high school teacher that stands outside the window to see you do all your shit before pouncing. That was his nature. We had been going at it for about twelve minutes before one face dashes away from the door. Heads raised, ears alert, eyes darting. The hushed whisper goes around.  A moment of shocked silence, eyes darting

“Stima amecome,” a voice shouts and darts away

“Ghai, Agwambo wasee!, Agwambo!”  Then the kafuffle ensues. Like zebras darting from a lion in the savannah, everyone zooms to their desk or respective class. Silence. Feigned concentration. All heads bowed. None dares look up lest you make eyes contact with the deputy. The consequences were both dire and hilarious. Seconds elapse. The uncertainty start to wane. A nervous giggle creeps across the room as a perceived false alarm is dismissed.

Mike goes up to the door, hoping to dash to the loo before the actual danger arrives. We had caused quite the ruckus believing that we were too far away from any ubiquitous eyes. Just as he peeps to confirm that the coast is clear…

WHAM!

Breath drawn and held…..

Nelson slips to the ground. Dazed, dribble dripping from his lower lip. His body goes limp, eyes rolling in their sockets. Mr. Stima emerges from the darkness.

All our eyes turn to the door in unison. There’s a synchronized dance as necks crane, duck down and palpable concentration. At the door, Mr. Stima stands and his ease quickly scan and eliminate potential prey. Ties get fixed, shirts tucked in, blazers won. All as subtly as possible. After a few long moments, the voice booms.

“Asonga, come here!”

I stand up, filled by the delusion that he has just arrived and I can lie my way out of it. I walk towards Mr.Stima, trying my best to feign courage but the sight of a blacked out Nelson did not help matters. Let it be not that I was (still am) very skinny, and short, Nelson on the other hand was built like a bull. Seeing him felled by one slap was a lot more than a little unnerving.

“Are you the class prefect?” He spoke as he swept the room with a steely gaze. Of course, he knew me well. He even taught me history on a daily basis. Therefore the line of questioning was more for intimidation than any other reason.

“Yes,” I replied.

Bang! Slap number one landed. Shocked at the suddenness, I rubbed my cheek as and stepped back.

“Are you the class prefect?” He asked again, his voice lower, his eyes set on me blazing like a raging fire. I gulped took a quick glance at Nelly and shuffled backwards.

“Yes sir, I am.” I replied meekly

“Where are the noise makers?

I stay silent. Thou shall not incriminate thy self. Kenyan law number one. Rule number two, Thou cannot incriminate others if thou is equally guilty knowing the consequences would quite severe.

“Asonga, you slip of a boy, it is rude to keep quiet. I want the noisemakers names or I deal with you perpendicularly.”

“I don’t have one, sir. I was not in class”

A thin smile crossed his pursed lips. His tell-tale sign that he knew everything. I instantly knew I was doomed. Mr. Stima was now facing me with his hands behind his back. A flurry of slaps was on its way and I couldn’t tell which hand would come first. Instinctively, my arm came up to my lips hoping to fend off as many blows as I possibly could.

“You know I saw everything,” he replied taking a step forward.

When the boys say I learnt that gravity was optional, it is true. The colossal arms got me of the ground and as the multitude of blows came, I was suspended in the air for a full minute. The jolt of electricity that was packed in his name buzzed through me with every hit. By the time I hit the ground, I had to play possum.  That was the last day in school and the last day I saw these fellows until today.

I withdrew from my reverie and joined the laughter as they continued to laugh at the memories that came up.

 

 

 

 

TEDDY

I found a teddy on the ground

Ragged, tattered and torn,

One eye missing,

Stuffing strewn across the ground

Muddy and dirty

In need of love

 

I picked him up, gingerly

Gathered his innards best as I could

Examined his rips and his wounds

Then took him home

To tend his soul

 

I had his tears sewn

Fixed back his eye

Cleaned him up

And dried him out.

Brushed his coat

Then set him down

Set him down lovingly

 

I am the teddy

Fixing myself up

Showing myself love