fashion police

as far back as i can remember I’ve always wanted to be a gangster. a real gangster. one of the few things i can remember is having admired Ibrahim Akasha and at a tender age being saddened at his assassination. That’s beside what am aiming at.

I’m never going to Moscow anymore more more, there is a big fat policeman at the door door door he will grab you by the collar… i also remember my sister singing that nursery song.

aint no love in the heart of the city.

clothes maketh a man and i’ve always wanted to know how suspicious characters are spotted by police. also how   ” ‘my boys’ exchanged fire and managed to recover a toy pistol happen!”. in this line of action we see wailing women and mistaken identity explanations and counter accusations. i’ve almost been there.

got myself with time to kill as i waited for Aunt Monica in town. I decide to do some shopping. am a shopaholic you know. Hamilton house Italian suits. apparently you don’t ask the prices that’s why there are no price tags.

what follows is rapid fire interrogation along the lines wewe nani? umetoka wapi? how am i supposed to answer that ? this is after i excuse myself to return to my comfort zone. “ati unauliza mimi nani ?” and i had the nerve to chuckle within a few i have the elastic to my boxers exposed as i am searched for concealed weapons. “sisi polisi !”  the fat plainclothes policeman announces. “unafanya nini hapa ?” having ignored the first questions i try to explain myself. i am here to look for a suit for my graduation i say to them. i notice how all this time am as cool as ice but embarrassed and harrassed by the indecent exposure. i have designs to ask the makings of a suspect but i have to lift my jeans to reveal unmatched socks. no sweat. “haya ! “. I turn and leave feeling like Ngugi wa thiong’o at Hotel Vitale; emotionally violated !

like hii pipe jeans/ sahara na bling/ kudunga kangol/ kushukiwa dingo/ kufuli milango/ kufungiwa milango..

i translate loosely ; (i) like these pipe jeans, Safari boots and jewellery donning a kangol hat and am a suspected thief. this will have me face padlocks and doors shut to my face… its called profiling. Einstein said “Common sense is the sum of prejudice upto the age of eighteen”. So, what do you expect when you dress like a gangster ? how do gangsters dress? do i look like a gangster ?

Real gangsters

your gangster is not defined by how low your jeans fall by your waist but more how your genes stand over his expectation. never forget here you come from.

your gangster is not defined by how many rocks are in your watch, but rather how many rocks you move while on your watch

Jay-z’s American Gangster intro

Gangsters make the world go round. Real gangsters do real things. I’ll give you a hint ; George W. Bush 43rd president of the United States of America. we have a couple of them in the August House.  its the ultimate insurance policy ask Godfather the Don Vito Corleone. no they cant sue me; I’ve got nothing (yet). remember this ” i am not a gangster, am a businessman !”

this morning my cousin says to me on a light note that if i stick to jeans i shall see no dough but to get the money i’ve got to get a suit. i think he’s right. some laws of thumb that i have no enthusiasm following. I prefer to make my own laws yet i know ” sitting on paper; am above the law !”;

for a start. i can work with that.

insult me, but not my intelligence. the cop stopped me under suspicion of being a petty criminal. that’s what really pissed me off. still ” forgive them for they know not they do”. Not considering the psychological profile of cops and cons being similar !


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