We all have that one friend who went to states and came back after one month with a borrowed accent from Obama. Coincidentally they are all the same; with an unrealistic ambition of becoming Madonna, related to Kenyan natives who preferred the white side of life, probably hailing from the middle class but trying to experience the first class citizen treatment, let’s not even dwell long enough to start on the ‘bragging rights’.
Joyce goes by the name Droopie (the ‘ie’ is used purposely as ‘y’ makes it look shady-her remarks). Bearing my name, I understand how spelling meant Madagascar to her, I cringe anytime someone puts a ‘z’ in my name. However, I never quite got the logic of how Joyce became Droopie with an ie at the end neither was it my core business.
I would probably be forced to eat humble pie after this, a big shout out to my homeboys Mutahi Ngunyi and Ali Hasssan Joho. Whatever happened to freedom of speech and calling people poor? The whites call us poor everyday using camouflaged statements; third world, no basic necessities, plunging economic status, zero to no facilities, we live in the trees and so on so forth yet you don’t see Uhuru campaigning for an apology.
Back to accent diffusion and tonal conformation, Droopie goes to America, specifically Brooklyn. Her great Aunt Kelly who married a white, mainly because of his money and less because he is a kind man has lived there for almost a decade. She spends most of her days bossing the Italian help and taking pictures of herself to send to Droopie who then sends to us. It’s a vicious cycle my people and just like poverty, it’s not voluntary.
It’s been two weeks since her last brag, I guess packing for a month old vacation on the other side of the pacific has become a tad too consuming but who is complaining? That moment when you are grateful for a situation then two seconds later the nightmare begins like you were ungrateful in the first place. That moment is now. Pictures of her in front of statue of liberty, pictures of her in front of Empire State Building, pictures of her with Justin Bieber, pictures of her in Apollo Theatre, the rest were photo-shops of her and key celebrities. I mean in which world would you be spending time with Beyoncé sipping on wine and watching movies in a five feet condominium? I am not a hater but Beyoncé won’t even leave her mansion and her man to simply go buy food, who are you?
A month in America is a week in Kenya, we must be the third world indeed. New closet, new personality (I wish I could say better), new hair, new eyebrows (definitely borrowed from a pencil) and that heavy fake Samburu-English accent straight out of everywhere but America. Droopie no longer went by that name, now she answered to Dru with a ‘U’ at the end. How were we friends? Blame it on our parents. Mothers bring the whole family to their friendships.
She wasn’t even in the UK but she spoke like Clause in episode thirteen of Vampire Diaries, carried herself like his sister Rebecca, her skin was close to being transparent and I refuse to mention her Brazilian hair that could be traced back to slavery in the 1800s. I have never quite understood what is so wrong with being yourself, the need to be somebody else is hunger that could actually kill but you still remain alive. You are alive but just not living. Either way, bless her heart and the millions who think if it isn’t white it isn’t right.