reply to... mjengo story . Yes... those flat chapos with no salt or sugar. Those big hard hands callous and rough. Those sweaty breasts; that money that smells like breasts and God Forbid! ass!!. That dad that was crashed to smithereens when coming drunk and blind from Waragi/Methanol/Ethanol mix. The other dad who died of Cholera and other who just ran to shags, his last words... "fuck it". Those shoes ... sole-less and usually gaping.... and those dusty faces exposed to the unforgiving brunt of the African sun .. Those parched lips... holding those gaps of missing teeth.... Those guys, are what? happy with their lives? Really? This is not just ironic! It is evil. As you caress the Maasai-beaded steering of your old-school limited edition E class and massage your nuts in your Gucci underpants... picking out the bits of nyama choma from Kenyatta market with wooden tooth picks. And as the remaining strands of your balding head dance to the beat of your A/C in that ja