I hit my nose on the door, and I cussed terribly why I had to pick that pen. I like banging stuff, throwing and breaking things when everything goes sideways. I can make a real mess , when annoyed that is. Critics will say its madness, I call it substitution antics in moments of distress.I clenched my teeth and prepared my fist. I wasn’t going to let go, you see I like revenge and its the door that hit me or at least that was how I thought. I felt it , i really did. I had to pass a message that I hate being treated badly. One would rightly put Mohandas “an eye for an eye will only make the world blind,” but justice for a wrong didn’t equate Gandhi’s quote. What I intended was to draw parity. But a question soon came to the fore, who will get hurt anyway? I immediately hated where it came from, I was just being denied justice.  

Then I heard my uncle calling. He wasn’t calling me though. I love it when they address each other by their names, its just amazing. You would love it too, but only when they are in good shape. When they are not , its more or less like an old dirge song ; nothing impressive. Listening to him calling and I had my nose to feel and rub ,just to confirm its existence and spread the uncomfortable feeling , I knew what the week would be like.

The car came unto a slow stop, I alighted and went for the bell. As I stood waiting , I watched with a heavy heart as the driver made a three point turn, waved and zoomed off. I opted for a taxi that day my uncle had gone. I knew my aunt too must have reached home and I was too tired for the push and tug at the bus station, worse, a line that never moved. More frightening were the young guys who saw an opportunity to prey on those waiting for the bus.

I could hear footsteps that stopped shortly then,confirmation of who was at the gate. I was the son they never had, she oppened the gate held it out for me. Gave me a warm evening hug , left me the gate keys and I could see her going to the back an indication she had taken the back door and into the kichen .

My uncle’s home had the very characteristics of a combat zone. The moment you stepped into the compound you could feel the tensions. I took my time closing the gate as I adjusted myself to fit the environment. I wasn’t going to follow my aunt so I gracefully walked towards the front door. I pulled the first grill and into the small veranda . Made a few uncalculated steps, the front door was open, so I lightly held  it outwards then gently pulled it shut. The lights were on and my uncle had his eyes glued to the television. I said hello, and a  little smile and decided to engage him not further. I knew what current affairs meant to him. 

I proceeded to corridor and to the door that led to the stairs, a little peep into the kitchen ,my aunt was busy. I switched the side lights and in a moment I was upstairs. The first door on my left was the study. To my right was my uncle’s bedroom. A little forward to my left was a bathroom and further forward was their daughter’s bedroom; its door shut. She was still young but was ready to take on school life away from home ; something I’m still utterly against. My room was a little inside . I took another small corridor and was at my door. I pressed the handle as it gave way. 

I switched on the lights, took off my jacket ,hang it on a coat rack and placed my bag on the plastic table I had mounted in my room. I crossed the floor to the window, pulled the curtain just to have a clear view of the outside. It had started raining when I got in. The rain was sputtering on the roof and falling on my window somehow. I couldn’t help but wonder how it feels to be in a battlefield. Syria, Iraq, closer home the youngest nation ; South Sudan. Places where you never know when there will be ceremonial spray of bullets, blasts and aerial bombardment.

At least here, there were no ping …ping and boom …boom … there were no dust bellowing, no casualties. I smiled at my little reassurance. But there were blast of rhetorics followed by long silent moments ,days or even weeks. 

It was after a while that I felt my legs numb, standing at my window had been longer than I thought. My head was pounding too from thinking. As I was leaving for my bed for a little rest, i could see the misty fog my breath had already formed on the window sparkle in the orange glare of the courtlamp.

My phone rung and thats when I realised sleep is a very strong ally. The caller was my aunty. Dinner was ready. Although I didn’t feel much with an appetite to eat. Adding insult to injury ; salt was not an option at my end on the negotiating table. Refusing to eat simply would mean ,giving a long testimony on why fasting is accepted in the Bible. 

There was something with my aunt though. She made me love cooking. It was an art she had learnt and mastered. I could feel the sweet smelling delicacies immediately I walked out of my door. The smell had taken hostage the whole house. 

On the table , was a beautiful shiny stainless deep bowl of brown chicken stew. In the middle, a rather dull bowl of well prepared pearl pishori rice. Not forgeting, small clear plastic bowls of carefully chopped pawpaw and pineapple. It looked a spooky sophisticated dinner in an elegant evening home. 

She called me son, a pat on the back purging me to serve myself. Sitting there, our eyes on our plates you could feel something in the air. Something that could not explicitly be defined. It was that silent dinner that reminded me the days my sister , mom and I dined together. We could laugh at simple and silly things. I remember asking my sister about her escapades. She would smile, a quick glance at my mom who then would be pretending to be a little serious with what’s in her plate. Then shoot me a look that said it all,” you know I will kill you.” But then she never meant it. My sister was a little older than me ,but she had a way of filling me in on her life. I missed her.

We cleared the table ten minutes to 9:00 p.m. and I passed the remaining bowl through the kitchen window. ‘Bottom line Africa’ was almost so i took a seat at a corner. At least I needed to know one or two happening in Africa and Kenya. The part I waited the most was Business Africa. As soon as that was done, I said my goodnight and I was gone. 

I had revised my sleeping timetable. Sleeping late had become a priority. It extended my time for planning and thinking. My social circle is a little  limited,that means little less time chatting on Whatsapp. Facebook, twitter and instagram is a little tricky. Being on social media is somewhat like having a monkey on my back that won’t shut up but like deep fried butter ; not good for health but you won’t resist .So I made a decision to institute a higher co-operation with myself ; a little moderation.

My best moments are when I talk to my sister and especially with our web cams on. We talk about everything and anything. I remember when she asked about my friend. I bluntly put the question back to her, “what friend?” She gave me a name and i just laughed, she surely doesnt forget anything.

During my normal days I attend classes ,sometimes as a formality. And at times with intent. There are couple of days I see someone who thinks he can always dissect what’s in my mind. And come out with solutions to what I think and don’t say. I think it’s stupid but I always wish him well all the time,though he’s never been anywhere near the truth.

At least a weekend in a month I visit the lake side city. I always wonder why I have to ,then 1963 Kenya’s independence comes to mind . I think I like the idea. In the end I always find myself in my uncle’s castle. 

A mystery I’m yet to understand is why, two incredibly brilliant people be so awkward at relating with each other in varying circumstances. Anyway, sad as it may I will never alter my epistemic selective landscape in my evolutionary direction of understanding, to look for possible answers that might perhaps illuminate the whole mystery.My Uncle’s Castle 

Be A Rainbow For Somebody’s Cloud.

As I lie down on my bed ,under a mosquito net in the dark silent room. I stared into the ceiling for what seemed to be three hours. “This isn’t paradise,” I thought . There are things in this world that would stifle your joy, things that would make you bite your lip, eat your nails and in the end look quizzically at everything and nothing in specific.

Clearly ,sleep had taken a vacation and as my eyes kept flickering registering nothingness, I slipt into the past. 

“Son, your system is contaminated and I doubt you’ll be clean again.” Words and words but not just words ; words that left you hanging and gasping for air. He had the face and the hands that seemed ready to point an accusing finger. Listening to him and seeing the only lady who trusted in me ,believed in me. The only person who swore  that she would bring the same person I was to this earth, again and again given enough chances, silent. I knew things were on fire and the only thing that was not to be seen was smoke. 
I could feel my hands, legs and my whole body cold and weak and I hated that which I had done. It was the moment I dreaded the most, and that which he relished, hoped and definitely prayed for. 
I recounted days ,weeks and months ,the things that ensued. Decisions that were made without me uttering a single word. 
Most vividly of all,sitting on the rail of a bridge, deep into the forest. Everything was different ,the air,the place and trees. The waters wounding gently and without any apparent haste. On either side of the bridge were trees that seemed ready and happy to keep enjoying that which the area soil was still willing and ready to offer. The air was cold and refreshing. I watched the birds flapping their wings and once or twice perching on the tree branches. I felt so alone but incredibly peaceful, and the longing to keep sitting there grew thick and strong.  
I slipped my phone from my pocket. Lo and behold ,it was 12:30 P.M. I had spent half an hour thinking. At least thinking is a lot more different from worrying.  The temperature was well about 17 degrees and the day was Sunday , the month of  November year 2014. I knew it was quieter where my mom was for it was winter. The forest was quiet too but, i could still hear the warbling of the birds. How I wish I could just say sorry mom. 
Then I thought of my sister and a sharp piercing pain swept through my spine. I could feel a long line of tear falling from my eyes and onto my cheek. 

I had always flaunt with astonishing swag my idealistic nature. All that had fleet to air vanished like the mildew. 
I felt devoid on the inside and the idea of not having them around, stroke me with a deafening thud. I had failed them, and i resented myself for that. I was a junk , an idiot and a good for nothing.
I was awaken from my thoughts when my phone beeped, it was a message from someone I call with strong conviction, a friend. A friend I treat, respect and rever. Someone who has taught me to at least value what my social classes teaches. That we humans are social species and we rely on each other to survive even the most basic. Earlier I had learnt from the same person that,you don’t have to know someone to be good or concerned and that we should always offer our unrelenting support to those in need. 
Momentarily I looked at my phone surprised that my friend was still awake, but then checking on me ; for reasons beyond my immediate grasp, filled me with extraordinary joy. A flicker of hope. 
Indeed there exist marked disparity between humans and in the sense , I have assumed the role of an advocate. And perhaps the greatest testament to what I think is my writing. 

There comes a time when we must relate somehow the good and the bad and let the good prevail. Finding myself in that time ,I feel its adequate to state that there are Angels out there. People who do care . Tears work wonders ,they can melt solid hearts ,alleviate internal pain change other peoples mindset and even initiate a thaw into a relationship. 

A structural engineer will tell you, an eighty-five-mile per-hour wind blowing for sixteen minutes from the north-west might pose less of a threat to a particular building than an eighty-mile per-hour wind blowing for fourteen minutes from the south-west. What’s the moral of the story ; simple things matter small things are important. Just a little twist in the normal is significant.

There are people out there who need you, those who are hoping that someone would see them through a difficulty. Hoping that someone would come for their aid.

Its easy to say, “I don’t really care,” and that, its not your problem. But I tell you what, a simple phrase like everything will be okay, is enough to change someone’s perspective . Possibly prevent them from doing the unthinkable.
I used to hold a different idea about people. I knew that people were a source of dissatisfaction and discomfort or at least if they sometimes did not ,they often did. The idea of knowing people was very strange to me. All that came with it was a dreary aspect.
I still remember rubbing shoulders with social enthusiasts, when I expressed my displeasure  about social interactions . Today I hold a different perspective. Different ideology, one which has evolved dramatically with the arising necessities. 
Before ,I surely did not give a swimming monkey what another person was thinking. I would execute with ingenuity, a water tight exit plan when caught up in a situation that compelled me to jerk with a stranger two bottles down the line. 
I treated people as though they were some strange mutations that had absolutely no relevance to me. I made no effort to hide my impatience with people who wanted to know my views either. In essence people didn’t matter to me. 
I am an avid reader and fault me not for that if you ain’t. And that has fashioned greatly the way I think today. Reading ‘The Last Pamphlet’ was the greatest turning point in the way I think about people. 
The fact that an old woman was saved by a little boy, whose dad really did not approve him walking in the falling rain drops. That was an awful lot that I could not ignore and push down the drain.

So just imagine what you can do in daylight. Imagine a life you can save. Imagine that one person you can make happy even for a minute.
In my parallel universe ,I was too arrogant to believe in sympathy ; too ambitious to restrain my purpose with the ideas of oneness. Well that has somewhat drastically changed.

Change is gradual, and I sit pretty shaking my head as I remember with an air of being glad, that some of the things my mind raced through that night have since been squelched by a friend unknowingly.
I channel my admiration and respect for those who have chanced, investing in the well being of others.Be a rainbow for somebody’s cloud. 


​I was standing in the kitchen, when i heard this sweet sounding music coming from the outside.

I ripped in smiles and dance as I dragged and pushed the eggs from the edges towards the centre of the pan. The smell of it, rich and unceasing.”What is life,” I asked myself. is just what it is, be happy!“The condition that distinguishes you and me, and any other organism living, from object matter ; stone for that fact. And the process of increasing in size, production of offsprings, either by asexual or bisexual and becoming different somewhat before death.”
Looking out the kitchen window I could see the nodding trees and the clear sky beyond. It was a mystic beauty. For the first time the sight before me did not answer my expectations, I had formed a totally different idea of what the world was. The world presented breathtaking illustrious wonder. “How doest it feel being a tree,” i thought. There are things we cannot control, I could not help but marvel at what I could see. Its then, that I realised I was thinking about a different kind of life. Being happy and always exhibiting the exuberance that the good things have brought in someone’s real existence. And if there’s any bad, wave it off and keep up the spirit. 

Life maybe twofold as well, depending on how you see it ,winners and losers. And we are lucky as to know that. But life does not depend on us,neither does it depend on our hearts. Those who win have a name. Call them champions. Losers is a collective name as well. I think everyone is a champion. We all have the ability to rise from a fall,dust ourselves and keep going. 

Of course there are times when there is existential mess. Everything in chaos. Several twist and turns and from a glance it might seem,the dark wounding paths are never ending. Just dont forget, its the failures ; the many times we fall,that makes us stronger and impenetrable. It might be energy sucking and heart wrenching and anxiety packed. Trust me dear, the sensation of getting there is an equivalent of stepping onto the moon. Even so,lets imagine everything is really impossible,do we give up? 
My friends in the philosophical realm hold the position that, the past cannot in fact exist or at least if it exists, then only in the form of “the past.” Everything that can possibly exist can only exist in the current state.
The same applies to life ,its only now and thus should be filled with admirable scenes, those that are of a kind. Remember we can all win. Even if we do lose, we should fill our hearts with joy. Sometimes losing can be honourable ,and we really don’t have to go through life suffering what you can or cannot do. I understand that losing brings with it people who can make ones life an unholy misery. Don’t get startled by that though, its kinda a reality. Its pretty much not possible to alter reality,but we can always toy with the circumstances surrounding a reality and that might paradoxically alter any such reality. 

If you are beginning to pause your reading or maybe your fork lifting or better yet,glass sipping wondering really, what life I am talking about. I just want you to live joyfully and willingly renounce those moments that limit or ration the very air you and I breathe.
Live and enjoy today ,tomorrow is like your clothes in the closet, you are never too sure which one you will pick when the sun is up.

First Post!!

​I’m human and at least nothing can really change that . But i have this to admit.

I’m not entirely against it but i generally stay away. Not unless there’s something substantive,something special and highly about it . 

You see, I hold the view that I practically have to dissociate myself from the compact majority.

There is more to being a free thinker, and the whole idea of not having to shout a “yes” in unison; translates to a higher form of expression.
And there’s a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that, what you know – they know that they don’t know and that they know that you know that. They can only know that which you know when you so decide that it should be known. 

Anyway all perspective hold some truth, none of them hold the complete truth.Embrace the freedom ,see the difference and tell it as you deem fit.

In simplicity , set yourself free from thinking about anything that has to do with what another thinks. 
Let’s all keep the standards at a level.