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THE CHICKENS HAVE COME HOME TO ROOST: birds of prey? A group of ravens

A group of ravens is called a congress or an unkindness, it depends on the behaviour of the group at the moment. They can be reffered to as a constable, an unkindness, or a conspiracy. If reffered to as crows they become a murder. These two birds are kith and kin: the ravens in all black everything while the crows don wife-beater vests. They are said to live for hundreds of calender years and in close knit clans although the two cannot co-exist: woe unto the solitary one found in the territory of the other. In folklore they are considered a bad omen, probably because they are scavengers and were/are a common feature in the aftermath of human disasters like a battlefield. A raven is reputed to recognize faces thus if you attack them they will haunt you and even your lookalike offsprings. 


A murder of crows has muscled in into my neighbourhood and their incestant cries are an eyesore but whenever they perch on the trees of my compound the resident native ‘african fly-catcher’ (terpsiphone viridis) swarm around it, pestering it, causing such a fray that the invading offender leaves their viscinity.
Sun tzu in the art of war says that a field not occupied by birds indicates an enemy lies in hiding nearby waiting to ambush. I am not an experienced ornithologist but I am aware Kenya has a large biodiversity, over a 1000 I believe. My most favourite and easy to identify are the butcher-bird and the weaver-bird. I came to know of the former through a snippet in the kids section of the Sunday paper and the latter was in a short story in a reccommended curriculum in for lower primary school kids. In the Aves subgroup of reptiles the males are more beautiful than females; The butcher-bird has a black back and a white under-belly with zebra like stripes demarcarting but the females coat looks faded almost dusty brown: The male weaver-bird is bright yellow with dark markings while the female has a similar but dull brown coat. Even the red robin female is brown. 

A tribe in Papa New Guinea hunts birds solely for their feathers, the man with the most elaborate costume is held in high esteem, sadly this generations old custom spells doom for the islanders.


I happened to pass by Nyayo stadium roundabout when they uprooted the indigenous Acacia tree on it, my heart sunk and I was angry. A number of the same on Uhuru highway and Lusaka were felled living the Marabou stork that perched on them destitute. These lanky fowls maybe considered ugly but they assist in garbage collection especially of metals. In western folklore they are the ones dispatched to deliver human babies.

It is believed that centuries old oak trees are defacto extinct since the seed had to pass through the digestive system of the dodo bird: who hasn’t heard of the adage “as dead as the dodo bird”.

Pablo Escobar is reported to have spent millions of dollars to have white egrets trained to be permanently perched on a tree in his Napoli estate. These flyers are always in a V-formation when migrating, when not in the air they hitch a ride on bovines and have a snack of ticks, bugs and grub from their hosts hide, it is symbiotic since they warn the buffalo of lions sneaking up on them. 
Growing up my parents bought a turkey, my sister and I would tease it. My brother warned us that the tables would turn, true to his word we were soon held captive in the house as it pranced around our domain, my dad opted to give it to my aunt for us to regain our freedom. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, these hissing birds make just as good watchmen as a guard dog. In fortified villages they were kept in cages along the wall and would cause a raucus when an intruder approached.
The continents fit into each other like a jigsaw and it is posited they used to be one land mass but when they separated the ostrich was left on the African continent while its close cousin was marooned on the island continent. Both cannot fly and thus cannot visit one another, to each their own I guess. A chicken has wings like an eagle yet it is grounded like a rock: the former cannot soar like the latter. Its probably because the bones of the birds that can fly are hollow reducing their volume to weight ratio; pro-tip: dye your chicks purple and birds of prey won’t recognize them from the sky and swoop down on them for food.

When JFK was assassinated Malcom X was quoted saying that it was chickens coming home to roost and as a country farm boy that had never made him sad. When I wake up in the morning there are sound that are familiar and help me find my bearing. A change is as good as a rest, but change to often and too quickly can lead to chaos. One of those noises is the cockerel crowing, I’ve been a victim of chicken thieves in the recent past and more than just the loss of property it is the violation of personal space that’s unnerving. The other is rumbling of the muadhin calling muslim faithfuls to prayer, up until recently there was only one mosque as old as the town but now I am in earshot of atleast four and the static crackle before the music is more welcome than the blasts from my fellow pentecosts who knowingly or unknowingly are damaging the ear drums of their flock. Another is the birds chirping which is them being passive aggressive more than anything else.

The most unique is the fact I reside on an international flight path position where they make a salute/turn, the iron bird sound like a whale and I cannot help but watch them descend into JKIA once in awhile. What captain would land their craft into a state that is in turmoil. Just yesterday I saw what I believe to be an american fighter jet, they are currently involved in a renewed offensive against al shabab in Somalia, a quarter century since black hawk down

       

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Ask the Cat Keeper. Life – The Three MusCATeers…

Mufasa, Simba, King, I find this felines when I moved house recently.
Every evening I’d go chill at the backyard with my neighbor. These cats would roam around us rubbing themselves against our legs, by doing this they are marking territories secreting pheromones that only other cats can smell.


This is not a story about Heroes, a little bit of heartbreak, perseverance and staying on your toes in the most trying of times.

Something I’d like to put forward before I continue with this story. If you know someone who has a cat, respect them, cats are known to be the most attention seeking creatures out there and all they want is undivided love. 

King, he’s the white one with brown spots scattered over his body. Simba, completely brown and Mufasa, the brown one with white spots. It’d take me a while to get used to their identity.


King and Simba were the most active and what differentiated them was the latter was super friendly. That sassy bold household cat always by your side, a stranger or not,he’ll walk between your legs, don’t know what he was trying to picture. He’d always be on alert protecting you against imaginary enemies. You couldn’t ignore his catly gesture and if only I could meow or talk cat we’d be having the best of conversations. Sigh.

While Simba was busy trying to fit into our lives, King was busy by the mom’s sides taking notes, learning every survival trick. Always doing what the mom did. Each evening he’d hunt locusts with his mum and you could see day in day out his progress. Simba all this time was in a different world.
What about Mufasa? He was in a twilight zone, just a laid back cat always eating after king and missing out on everything.

I hope you’re following keenly (my sound in your head)

Simba would get out of the compound visit the next, try and learn human and come back in the evening. His curiosity was just on another level 
One evening he never came back. We thought he was adopted by some nice family out there. But he never failed to show up. 

The killer of all cats, Curiosity, is just ruthless, tempts them to their death bed, playing them some nice tunes and tells them about their nine lives (well that’s how I pictured it). Poor Simba, he fell for this trap, two days later our caretaker finds his dead body lying on the side of the busy Links road. . And it’s only that evening that it hit me how important his companionship was, his ever physical presence, his off the edge Yolo attitude. You’re missed Simba.
Mufasa had this sore in his left eye; he’d always be around never leaving the backyard, inept trying to catch what was left behind by King. Realizing he couldn’t hunt we’d carry something small for him to eat. 

Every time Mo jnr would stress, “peleka huyu paka kwa vet, (take this cat to the vet)it won’t cost you a thing.” But I kept saying “kesho“(tomorrow).

This went on for a week and we couldn’t figure his whereabouts… The outcome was just inexorable.
A few days later the next compound neighbor finds him dead under his bed in a curtful condition. 
King all this time has perfected the art of hunting and familiarized himself with us. He has the character of both Simba and Mufasa and knows very well how to manage them.
My neighbor would ensure that he’d never go to bed on an empty stomach, always carrying something for him. (Wish I had a recording of his reaction every time he saw my friend).
King has a new friend now, he tries introducing him to us, but No King! We don’t need another heartbreak buddy.​

This is King right now. The only 🐱 standing.
This is not just about these three felines. It’s about life and how we live through it.

This is how I pictured it.👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼

Simba is that individual who chooses to live his life without limits, the Yolo on the forehead guy. This guy is curious about everything. Driven by adrenaline, always wants to know what’s on the other side. He doesn’t believe in rules set up by society. For him, the grass will always be greener on the other side. Danger motivates him. The thing that gives him life is the same thing that leads to his downfall. He wants the lights – brighter, the music – louder and the audience – huge. He lives for these moments.

Mufasa on the other hand is that reserved individual consumed in a world of his own. He doesn’t open up easily, new challenges never a thing for him. His unwillingness to share his problems is the major source of his downfall. He later crumbles under all this “self-accumulated pressure” and the world never gets to hear his story.

By now you know about our third type of character, King. The equilibrium individual, ready to take risks but knows the outcome and resulting consequences. His movement well planned, knows when to say no, knows where to be, at what time and always has a backup plan. Appreciated by his friends and society, never outstays his invite, learns from those around him and always observing. Believes that this is a “man eats man society”, survival for the fittest, and if you’re not learning you’re not moving.

We as a society should always be on the watch out for our friends and loved ones. Society is you and me. Today you’re busy laughing with a friend, arguing, holding grudges, tomorrow, they’re gone! Don’t watch a friend go blindly to their grave. Not everyone is King in this world, I know we’re all fighting our own personal battles, this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t provide a helping hand, lend your ear. Don’t wait for them to reach out to you, fine tune your antennae, pick up on minutiae of everyday life; don’t just skate along with little subtleties lest you wish to see a friend suffer. The world needs your gift and only you have been programmed to give it out. I don’t believe that we are created equal; I believe we’re all special in our own ways, one way or another.

So what are you waiting for, wake up talk to that Mufasa, let them open up to you, hear them out, get that burden off them. 

Get hold of that Simba. He’s busy jumping around, talk to him about his energy and how he can put it into good use. Let them know there’s more to life, reprogram their motto, scrub that Yolo off their forehead. 

You’re King; the world has taught you how to handle stuffs, put this gift into good use. You’re not just built to cruise through life and survive these hurdles. You’re meant to be an inspiration, a backbone to these two. You’re not king without Simba and Mufasa; you can’t live without them as life wouldn’t be interesting for you. Use that trick up your sleeve. Light a candle in Mufasa and Simba’s world. 

We’re all in a wide wild world. Survival for the fittest shouldn’t be the order of the day. Erase that file. When the world is too dark for these individuals and full of unhappiness for them to bear, it’s up to you to inform them that the glass is half full and you’re ready to top it off. 

You’re the light, you’re the smile, and you’re the world. 

You’re Simba. You’re Mufasa. You’re King .
                       🙏🏼 Blessings: 🙏🏼

LETTER TO MY UNBORN: 5th generation

      In 1970 a lady named Roe won a landmark case that became a symbol for feminism as regards to womens’ rights when it comes to their bodies. The WADE vs. ROE ruling voided Texas state law that banned arbotion, it then formed jurisprudence for federal law. potus
Ronald Reagan at the same time had initiated a tough on crime ‘war on drugs’ policy, at that time U.S.A had less than 50k inmates in two decades the number quadrupled, due to punitive prison sentences for first time drug offences and even legislated representation through a so called third strike (adapted from baseball) which meant repeat offenders were not allowed to vote even after paying there debt to society.

In Malcom Gladwell’s book ‘Tipping Point‘ he explains factors effecting the maxima or minima of a trend. He posits the reduction in violent crime in the 90s’ america was due to adoption of the abortion ruling across states since the trend was observable in other states according to the sequence they adopted it, while status quo was relevant in states that were not affected by the genesis of pro-life and pro-choice debate. Well, America no longer has a cocaine crisis but an opiod one.

The parents of a child each contribute 23 chromosomes. The male determines sex by donating the Y chromosome but before it is activated the being develops as a female, hence the reason men have nipples. Interestingly the first sperm to reach the ova doesn’t fertilize it rather they soften it for a lucky one in a million. Women are born with a set number of ova, while men will produce trillions of sperm: a way to guarantee survival of the species.

At birth a childs’ brain is said to be Tabula Rasa. Its first experience is a slap on the buttocks while being held upside down to induce breathing. The mother will suck mucus from the orifices, Sigmund Freud has established comprehensive study on the childs development upto their pre-teens. His protoge Carl Jung had his seminal work on the years after discredited for being romantically involved with his subject: cited for lack of objectivity.

At 15 years of age in my culture, one is circumcised and enters an active warrior age set. My paternal great-grand father Kamano ( an Agikuyu dance strictly for elderly men) was a cattle rustler, a noble profession in that era. In the late 19th century he bought land in Mutharakwa( cedar-oak tree), Limuru with 300 goats. Infact my great grandmother was a war bride Maasai from Narok (black), nicknamed Nyabaki for she was bitter like tobbaco and would thrash other women when they went to fetch water. She was the third wife who bore three sons. My grandfather being the eldest and a controversially-educated clergy man who made a fortune from selling timber and cafes at railway stations between Njoro and Molo in Nakuru.

My maternal great grandfather Ritho wa Githinji ( eye, son of giant who slaughters) was involved in the Mau mau as a freedom fighter in Nyeri. An administration police camp was established opposite his homestead on his ancestral land during operation anvil, it still exists to date. My namesake grandfather was a grade 1 mechanic, very proficient that CMC, Nakuru would refer the most technical repairs of land rovers to him even when he was driver to the District commissioner of Loiyangalani (a place of many trees) on lake Turkana. He had immigrated with his wife a descendant of a maasai clan in laikipia, from Nyeri to Njoro in Nakuru. My grandmothers eventually became next door neighbours.

My parents individually made their way to Nairobi, by sheer coincidence their paths crossed and for sometime lived above a nightclub called Rainbow bought in my fathers name overlooking Jeevanjee gardens. In the early 80’s they bought a plot in Kajiado, already with two kids they were blessed with two more. A people with address my dad would say once to me.
I was born in Guru Nanak maternity in Parklands, but raised in Ongata Rongai. I was stopped by cop last year and I identified as myself as a Nairobi citizen but a Kajiado native. Very apt since I was born in the nations’ capital and cut my teeth in its metropolis. Having experienced my ‘return of Saturn’ less than a year ago, I’m eager to combat the next phase of my life, perhaps even get a scion like my good friend moulidy moulidy. As I contemplate the fourth level in Maslows heirarchy of needs maybe I will settle down like my species did when they discovered nyama choma and sing my song as birds of the air do to mark their territory.

                    ++ next patient! ++

Futuristic 254

Two notebooks, a blue and a black one. Both with different stories from extreme ends. 

In my first story I told you about the peace that comes from holding a pen, a link from my world to the universe. You also remember Mo jnr, he puts me to a challenge, “write what the mind doesn’t say”, COVFEFE!!! Haha, that’s the only word I manage, So we decide the mind is everything. 

On my Tron motorcycle cruising through Mombasa’s Old town on a calm Sunday afternoon. The only place that doesn’t change with time. The beast I’m on is attracting all types of glances my way. Outside Fort Jesus I park the baby. Two minutes later a guy appears out of a sleek delivery van, hands me some freshly made shawarma. This I requested ten minutes ahead by sending them a link via Chakula Mlangoni, the must have app that’s a favorite for every foodie. Well, in Mombasa everyone is a foodie and almost everything everywhere is food.

Wait, dont get lost here trying to search this app on your AppStore. Forgive me, this is 2030, not your average 2017 in the 254.

Back to my story, I give my thumbs up on the app and I’m on my way to South coast. 

The bridge linking the Island and the mainland is just revolutionary, the Chinese have done one magnificent job on this hybrid of infrastructure since the SGR days, the train service that changed lives. The bridge is also a public amenity by providing generous seating and deck width across the span for pedestrians to pause and enjoy the views of the Indian ocean. You have the option of the cable cars on the other hand which has been serving the common mwananchi good.


I get a call from my good friend Sir Allan, he’s in town for the Wishful Planners Conference. I had worked with him in the past on various projects and due to his good work he got selected as the Minister for Wishful thinking and attainable dreams vision 2060. We set up a date for the weekend.

My arrival at Southern Palms beach hotel coincides with the arrival of the cruise ship Madaraka 254, hundreds of passengers flock in and the tourist industry is booming, best in Africa as we speak.

At the reception there’s this beautiful dolphin in a magnificent giant of an aquarium just a few meters behind the lady at the desk. You can’t just pass by without enjoying the view for a while. I collect my card and a nice gentleman (an android robot) picks my bag.


Everything is automated, the room temperature and lighting is up to my desired conditions. This I requested upon booking. Using the hotel app on my phone I play some relaxing old throwback songs by the once legendary Nyashinski. I take a warm bath and switch on the news, as usual nothing new, same old politics and complains of switching the Nation’s capital to Mombasa. I’m off to bed.

I’m woken up by a nice breeze,not from the ocean but from an android robot that’s holding my breakfast at the side of the bed. Oh!! I didn’t tell you I’m on a floating bed, they call it the “cloud bed” and I’m surrounded by artificial clouds,the reason I keep coming back to South Coast.

I’m out of the hotel,the order of the day kick one thing off my bucket list. I settle for underwater jet skiing since it’s down there on my list and it’s available at the hotel. Ten minutes later I’m having an experience of a lifetime on this Kenyan built watercraft. I’m literally diving with dolphins and some friendly sharks 😂. And No!!!! Nothing beats this my friend, top of your bucket list, yeah!!!

Back in my hotel room Sir Allan just left me a message, we are meeting at the floating hotel on Mombasa island. I freshen up grab a snack and request an Uber .

My ride is here and off I go, self driving flying Uber rides are the in thing my friend. A five minute journey to the island.


We meet with the minister, Sir Allan, he’s not in the best of moods, this he tells me is from trying to bring the first unicorn into the country 😂. He’s impressed at how fast county 001 is growing with the rising sun and the fact that it’s beating other counties. What kills him most is the rumors doing rounds that Mombasa is about to be the new capital city. We argue on this matter for a while but the fact that the state of the art parliament is about to be commissioned puts our argument to rest.

Mombasa as I know is about to hold the biggest international food festival on the planet given its love for food. We agree this should be our next meeting and he swears that Mombasa will never be the capital city.

Here’s Sir Alan’s view on Nairobi county👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼

Nairobi has two broad categories: those who came by birth and those who came by bus.100 years ago, it was an inhabited swampy flood plain. Homosapiens evolved to their current species about a million years ago and it has been 6 billion years since the earth was created.

Therefore a 100 years from now Nairobi will be centre of a future continent island with Mombasa sinking to the bottom of the sea like Atlantis, it is already 60% covered in water. Currently there’s a frenzy of human activity in the kenyan capital: skyscrapers popping up in every corner, with the tallest building in Africa set to be in its upperhill district. A new railway cuts across the city, the 1st trip from the coast the ‘Madaraka (self-determination) express has already arrived and is operational. The second phase to the border with Uganda is already initiated, perhaps it will be dubbed the ‘Jamhuri (republic) express, since our neighbours in east africa have to make an independent decision to join our train of thought on the standard gauge railway. As it is the Congo basin as well as Rwanda and Burundi has been pivoting towards us on the ki-swahili coast. The rumour mill has it that a non-stop wagon is envisioned from Kenya to Cameroon. This coast to coast link will link the east african community on the Indian ocean rim to the door-step of ECOWAS on the gulf of Guinea in the Atlantic ocean.

JKIA is prepped to build a second runway, an airport is more than a tower and asaphalt. The current one hasn’t developed in half a century, the new one will last another 50 years. This geopolitical move to make Nairobi the gateway to Africa as a hub: anyone from anywhere in the world will make Kenya its first stop when visiting Africa. Africa is a country: many nations are scrapping visas for fellow Africans to facilitate free movement across colonial era boundaries set by Otto Van Birsmack who came into power by uniting the barbaric tribes of Deutsche-land. They are a controversial lot established between the capitalist west fronted by U.S.A and the leftist east conclaves comprising nostalgic soviet Russians and aggressive communist China. Africa must take the mantle and lead the global south into a new world order; PAX AFRICANA.


President Kibaki had a vision that was sadly stalled when the implementor, minister for environment Michuki passed on. It entailed making the Nairobi river navigable from Chiromo to Kayole; a noble and practical idea that is visible in all major metropolis’ of the world from New york’s Hudson, London’s Thames to Paris’ Seine. Think of the impact of cannals to the way of life in Venice and Amsterdam.

India and Brazil consider the Ganges and Amazon respectively sacred. For several millenia, the Nile has sustained Nubians and pharaohs. The Niger delta lends its name to Nigeria. North of Limpopo and south of Sahara, the deepest darkest heart of the Congo has the largest potential for hydro-electric power production. Ethiopia’s Renaissance gravity dam will be largest hydro electric power plant with an installed capacity of 6 thousand megawatts when it opens for business in July of 2017. Kenya, Tanzania and Zambia have an energy transmission line connected across them, in addition to the road networks linking the east african capital to the largest reserves of copper and a stone’s throw away from the platinum group southern africa states.


The future of the city at the wrist of the knuckle (Ngong means knuckle in maa-sai speak) will depend on its inhabitants being rational as its name suggests in the native tounge, Enkare Nyairobi ( place of cool waters). As the third head of state of the nation posited when commissioning the Thika super highway: it is obvious to anyone with eyes to see what we are constructing. This artery extends to Isiolo a geopolitically favoured rival but as Sun Tzu quotes in his resume to the king, the art of war, ” the stream overcomes the rock not by might but through ambition.” Mesapotamia flourished due to being between two permanent rivers, Euphrates and Tigris, while its capital Babylon exists today as Baghdad. Nairobi is between The Tana and Athi and one enjoys the shade of a tree whose seed took root before they were born.
            

              * director yells “cut, it’s a wrap”*

Retrace your steps…… “Read”

So a good friend reached out and requested for a sequel, a brief part on our campus life as I didn’t get the chance to feature it in my first story.

University of Nairobi 2011, fresh from doing my CPA, I join The School of Economics. Here I’d still continue writing whenever I got the chance to, especially during my calculus classes or say when the lecturers were boring which most of the time they were. I’d scribble stuff at the back of my book and at the end of each session tear it out, make a small ball and dunk it away. Anytime I saw a blank page I pictured the opportunity to bring the invisible words to life.

You must be wondering how I made my notes. Well apart from printing out other student’s (which was the norm at any given campus back then),there was this girl who used to take them down on my behalf, she wasn’t from our faculty let alone our class but she’d attend most of the lectures with me. Thanks to her my notes were up to date and I never missed a thing.

Studying for the exams my mind would drift to other areas and so I’d pick up something at the library completely different from what were to be examined on, just to clear my mind or as usual, put life in the unseen.

Along the way in my second year after I change classes, I meet up this guy. He’d always show up late every evening and miss most of the lectures just to read something by himself. The first impression you’d get of him was completely different to the character he portrayed. He always had this big hoodie on,but there was something more to him when he spoke and you chose to hear him out.

In class he never took down notes and if he was not glued to reading something,he was away in a world of his own. At the furthest corner he used to sit, never paid much attention to the lectures, but come the end of each session,his questions would leave the lecturer and the whole class surprised 😳.

Here’s His upshot … ( from Sir Alan’s point )👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼

Awaiting the inevitable which never came, so I found my way to a window seat. Hardly had I sat Bernard continued, did two texts come in blunder being the ringtone was the opening Riff off Pink by Aerosmith. Profile set to general hence loud as a horny donkey as I frantically tried to silence it, I must have pressed a wrong button for the song soldiered on I pulled out the battery like I was shuffling a deck of cards. That is when the inevitable statement came out his mouth “young man retrace your steps“. I quickly apologised to him and class and he let it slide. Class perplexed I presume its the first time he was ever lenient while I had no option but over compensate and pay attention to the orator who was boring and his findings shallow in no time I was staring at lillian towers drifting in and out.

When Bernard finished true to form I was first to raise my hand to ask a question although it was more of a critique on him not distinguishing between colonialism and imperialism, infact he hadn’t touched on the latter. After the class bernard laughed saying he avoided my question knowing he wouldn’t have the answer. Before the end of the class though the proffessor had open q&a session. How could I resist hadn’t planned for it but after staring at the expanded university way for an hour or so I querried him on whether the chinese will have the same impact as indians who came a century before. It pleased him.

Earlier in the month as he was lecturing a knock on the door occurred and a muslim lady entered made her way to you(Moulid), handed you a typed booklet we were to hand in as an assignment then left. He was impressed and said ” young man, I like that!”. The class laughed along.

Still earlier in the semester I was fashionably late as usual infact I hardly used to show up, I met you outside gandhi wing you intimated I shouldn’t bother going to room203 as proffessor Fred wouldn’t allow you in saying the inevitable “young man retrace your steps”. We ended up sitting on a form.

Basking in the sun like lizards(not van dame) staring at the abyss that was the fountain of knowledge monument.

YOUNG MAN RETRACE YOUR STEPS.

If it wasn’t for Ali shote convincing me the teacher and lesson were worth the hassle I would have missed an experience of a lifetime. When our C.A.T papers were given back, I had scored highest and the whole class wanted to and read my dissertation.

This ofcourse wasn’t the first time my think piece was read to the whole class. Back in high school my english teacher recited my essay on being class monitor a rowdy bunch that had topped the school academic ranking and archived it, when I shifted schools my new teacher also reprimanded the class for I was the only one who wrote a report and in the correct formart during an examination. My clique then used to play truant but one time I convinced them to go to the National library at Upperhill.

In primary school I got kicked out of class for reading a book.

The world needs readers just as much as it needs writers.
                                  ××××end××××

Writing is all that’s left….

It’s 4:15 am, I hit the snooze button hard for the third time,procrastination seems to be my first action of the day, I’m up, it’s sahoor, well, I don’t feel like eating but since it’s sunnah I drag myself to the kitchen make a hot cup of tea(half glass to be precise). With my homemade mandazi from mama, I’m good with four pieces.It’s time for a new routine, cardio exercise for 20minutes,thanks to the internet I don’t have to join the gym to stay fit

I can’t sleep now that fajr prayer is an hour away, what to do with this extra time?; pick up a pen and put my thoughts into words?, watch a movie to clear my mind?, I stick to the latter and being my nostalgic self, I go for basketball ball diaries,not a bad choice with Leonardo DiCaprio and Mark Wahlberg as the lead cast.Few minutes into the movie and my mind isn’t there, I pick up my phone,scroll through different apps, Instagram-boring, mail online-gone through every article, Snapchat-no no, WhatsApp-no one is online, Facebook-no way, then I opt for Tumblr which has been dormant for a year or two, I scroll down to my old posts,Primal PrimaAbracadabra !!, It hits me!!! My peace comes from writing, should I get back into this? How about people bringing their own stuff into it, well, “let’s do this mou !!!”, a little voice shouts in my head.

Since there’s an app for everything,I decide to download some grammar app, bet I won’t  use it, haha, we laugh with the small voice. That should be my first step. At this point I’m making progress, “Moulid you have to take this seriously”, the little voice whispers again.

Midway through, I pause the app download then hit resume then pause,this goes on for a few seconds, “why should you mind about your lingua?!”, the small voice asks again, just save it for another day I convince myself.

So my mind runs back in time,what’s in writing and calming my anxieties?, the jitters and butterflies that comes from it,being alive?, frankly,when all that’s left is writing, is writing all that’s left??

Here’s a small reason why I surrendered and decided to go into writing,a small journey 

Midway and not my starting point,

It’s June 2007, half past eight on a Monday night,it’s dead silent in the room,bodies like zombies with their heads lowered studying hard. I can’t focus on my books, I look around to see if the teacher on duty might be stalking us behind the windows, but my eyes fall on this interesting lizard on the wall busy hunting houseflies, after watching its slick moves and tactics for a while, I decide to give it a name, van dame with a single ‘m’ out of respect for the greatest actor of all time. I flip to the middle of my excise book put down what I’ve just observed.

It’s 10 minutes before the night prep ends, I’m at the front desk and the zombies all  shuffle to face me, I’m a bit hesitant at first but what’s there to lose? let me entertain this bunch of dead souls and bring them back to life. One page down,the class is alive loving every word, there’s a new sheriff in town and everyone is laughing at the end of my second page.They now take note of the lizard, a new addition to our notorious class, they want more so I promise it’d be a regular thing, even the class prefect chips in, who would have guessed given that he was my biggest foe 😂 

This goes on and by word of mouth van dame’s story is spread to the other classes, few of the students from those streams join us for the last ten minutes of each prep every night, some on the window just to be entertained.Two weeks later on a Monday morning the famous reptile is lying dead on the front desk, it’s head smashed. There’s silence and a gloomy atmosphere in the classroom throughout the day,even the class teacher is notified. The killer gets away with the murder but van dame is a hero now even more than ever.

Fast forward to a year later I win Mr. Kangaru contest,equivalent to the school captain. Thanks to one Mr.Okwacho,My duties – attend every school function for any given club, write anything that goes on and the story be read to the whole school during assemblies every given Friday morning. The feeling is just out of this world, the popularity that comes with the title, the joy seeing smile and laughter on students and teachers faces. My audience has just increased!!!. This goes on for a while and they still cant get enough…..

Out in the wild world, my first job, every evening after work,put down my thoughts on a piece of paper,everything encountered. I share some on social media, the selected few with some close friends. I start a personal blog but they never tell you how hard it is trying to write for these  audience, with everyone being a critic out there, it doesn’t stop me anyway, “stick to the illusion” the little voice hasn’t left me.With a good Instagram following I share the stories but it’s hectic keeping up.I decide to shift to the new trend, making memes and vines but the latter is time consuming so I remove it from my list to focus more on my work.

June 2nd 2017, Friday morning, I realize my purpose is here,connecting the world through writing. “There’s an audience out there that needs a smile everyday, why not make the world your classroom audience?what are you waiting for?, pick up that pen , put everything down”, the small voice is back but this time with much optimism and a stance. I have no option but to listen to it. I give the small voice a name, he’s ok with “mo jr“. 

Writing, I realize gives me life. Its like I’m breathing,watching the sun set, or the unending pleasant smell of soil after it rains hitting me. Well, you get the picture…..

You’ll be hearing from us often 🙏🏼