WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD? Jealousy???? Curiosity???Adventure??? Vengeance???!!!

Knock knock… who’s there? 


So out of the blue I asked this young lady who’s very close to me the above query, “why did the chicken cross the road?” Well, she had a dark response to it which didn’t faze me, anyway 😂, I like chickens, I don’t like their meat, I love watching them walk around as I contemplate on their mode of vision and their thinking capacity, story for another day.

Trying to break this riddle I did my research and here’s what the great minds had to say about it. You be the judge. 

My view is at the end.



Plato: For the greater good.

Karl Marx
: It was a historical inevitability.

Machiavelli
: So that its subjects will view it with admiration,as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken’s dominion maintained.


Hippocrates
: Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.

Jacques Derrida
: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!

Thomas de Torquemada
: Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I’ll find out.

Timothy Leary
: Because that’s the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.


Nietzsche
: Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.

Oliver North
: National Security was at stake.

B.F. Skinner
: Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.

Carl Jung
: The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.

Jean-Paul Sartre
: In order to act in good faith and be true to itself,the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Ludwig Wittgenstein
: The possibility of “crossing” was encoded into the objects “chicken” and “road”, and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.

Albert Einstein
: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.


Aristotle
: To actualize its potential.

Buddha
: If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Howard Cosell
: It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurence.

Salvador Dali
: The Fish.

Darwin
: It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.

Emily Dickinson
: Because it could not stop for death.

Epicurus
: For fun.

Ralph Waldo Emerson
: It didn’t cross the road; it transcended it.

Johann von Goethe
: The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Ernest Hemingway
: To die. In the rain.

Werner Heisenberg
: We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.

David Hume
: Out of custom and habit.

Jack Nicholson
: ‘Cause it (censored) wanted to. That’s the (censored) reason.

Pyrrho the Skeptic
: What road?

Ronald Reagan
: I forget.

John Sununu
: The Air Force was only too happy to provide the transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself of the opportunity.

The Sphinx
: You tell me.

Mr. T
: If you saw me coming you’d cross the road too!

Henry David Thoreau
: To live deliberately … and suck all the marrow out of life.

Mark Twain
: The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.

Molly Yard
: It was a hen!

Zeno of Elea
: To prove it could never reach the other side.

Chaucer
: So priketh hem nature in hir corages.

Wordsworth
: To wander lonely as a cloud.
The Godfather: I didn’t want its mother to see it like that.

Keats
: Philosophy will clip a chicken’s wings.

Blake
: To see heaven in a wild fowl.
Othello: Jealousy.

Dr Johnson
: Sir, had you known the Chicken for as long as I have, you would not so readily enquire, but feel rather the Need to resist such a public Display of your own lamentable and incorrigible Ignorance.

Mrs Thatcher
: This chicken’s not for turning.

Supreme Soviet
: There has never been a chicken in this photograph.


Oscar Wilde
: Why, indeed? One’s social engagements whilst in town ought never expose one to such barbarous inconvenience – although, perhaps, if one must cross a road, one may do far worse than to cross it as the chicken in question.

Kafka
: Hardly the most urgent enquiry to make of a low-grade insurance clerk who woke up that morning as a hen.
Swift: It is, of course, inevitable that such a loathsome,filth-ridden and degraded creature as Man should assume to question the actions of one in all respects his superior.

Macbeth
: To have turned back were as tedious as to go o’er.

Whitehead
: Clearly, having fallen victim to the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.

Freud
: An die andere Seite zu kommen. (Much laughter)

Hamlet
: That is not the question.

Donne
: It crosseth for thee.

Pope
: It was mimicking my Lord Hervey.

Constable
: To get a better view.

Don’t deny your own chicken nature. 😂🐥

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Just keep swimming 

It took me a whole year to make a decision on watching this movie,and when I finally did last night I was glued to my screen,no flipping through my phone or any other stuff,just on finding dory, I didn’t really expect all that.Well, I wasn’t intending to watch it in the first place but since I hadn’t make my monthly internet payment it was the only movie on my machine that I could watch offline 🤦‍♂️ .

It happens sometimes. We find things, and things find us. Anyway after watching this movie I noticed there are a lot of things we can learn from it. Most of them might be generic but I think it’s good to be reminded. Because even if we’ve already heard it before, doesn’t mean we already know it.

I came through this few points some shared by other users online and they did hit home from my point of view.

Favorite part *•* hank’s role at the end credits*•*and the sea lion scene*•* 😁



When you want something, give something.

The part when Dory got lost was quite depressing. She tried to ask anyone she bumps into for help but nobody even tries. Until he found Marlin. It’s a scene in the prequel Finding Nemo where Marlin was crying for help because his son Nemo was taken. And you know the rest, Dory helps Marlin find Nemo.

So when the time came, Dory wanted to find her parents, and Marlin and Nemo were there to help.

We all want something, but we should remember that life is not all about taking. We may have cried for help before and got nothing. But that shouldn’t stop us from helping others.

“We make a living by what we get but we make a life by what we give” -Winston Churchill



There’s always another way





Dory’s parents may have looked like the simplest parents, but they always taught her the best lessons. This is a combination of persistence and creativity.

Things doesn’t always go the way we plan it, and sometimes it’s just completely different. Taking action itself is a hard work – You want something, you take action, then you fail. It’s just demotivating. But taking action is not just trying or doing one thing. Because there’s always another way.


What would Dory do?





Nemo and Marline were almost on deadend when trying to look for Dory. Until Nemo asked, “What would Dory do?”

As you know, Dory suffers from short-term memory loss. She easily forgets what’s going on. The result – she forgot thinking too much. Instead she focuses on what’s happening, and what can she do about it. No overthinking.

This is something we all need. A lot of times when were about to do something big, we get flooded by what if’s, and deep analization of things. We turn to the past for reference, and to the future for worries. But the best thing is always to turn to the present. What can you do, in this very moment?

“Do you know how we found you? We were having a really hard time until Nemo said, ‘What would Dory do?’” – Marlin


Just keep swimming





This may be the shortest and most generic lesson but it’s something that we should never forget.

We get knocked out, life shits on us – When life gets you down , do you know what you’ve gotta do? Just keep swimming.


Follow your seashells





“I love seashells” – Dory

Dory loved seashells like her mother. Because of her condition, her parents always displayed a path of seashells to their house. So whenever she gets lost, she knows where to go back to.

But the seashells also represents what Dory loved – what she wanted. And it was always what guided her all along. She’s gone to places and has been lost for a long time but it’s what she wanted that helped her find the way. They’re what taught her the lesson that…

“You can do whatever you put your mind to”

–Jenny

Dory suffers from short term memory loss. Wait, did I already tell you that? Did I forget again? Haha!

She might have that condition but, it didn’t stop her from finding her parents. Because everything is just about how you perceive it. It’s you who can decide whether you can do something or not. When you’ve really decided on something, the universe will know; and it’s decided.


If you can count well, that’s just six. Let’s make that seven. 




Joie de vivre… In Thrall of Dreams

I have read books on happiness, listened to songs about happiness, lectured on happiness by friends. Seen those boring clichés inspirational quotes on happiness and the nuggets of wisdoms doing round on social media each and every morning I scroll through my timeline. Everyone is trying to get that positive attitude and manifest it into their life. It’s time to band together and take a stand to find the real cause of happiness. Well they say it’s just a moment but as humans we tend to attach this to things or people, which is not that bad. But when does it get serious? When you don’t have control over your own source of happiness.






Like it’s never easy to let go something we’ve grown accustomed to. Or is it? 

Most of us would agree that there are few things harder than letting go of what we love. And yet, sometimes that’s exactly what we have to do. Sometimes we love things that we can’t have. 
Sometimes we want things that are not good for us. And sometimes we love what the almighty does not love.

To let go of these things is hard. Giving up something the heart adores is one of the hardest battles we ever have to fight. But what if it didn’t have to be such a battle? What if it didn’t have to be so hard? Could there ever be an easy way to let go of an attachment? Yes. There is. 
Find something better. They say you don’t get over someone/something until you find someone or something better. As humans, we don’t deal well with emptiness. Any empty space must be filled. Immediately.

The pain of emptiness is too strong. It compels the victim to fill that place. A single moment with an empty spot causes excruciating pain. That’s why we run from distraction to distraction, and from attachment to attachment. 

In the quest to free the heart, we speak a lot about breaking our false dependencies. But then there’s always the question of ‘how?’ Once a false attachment has been developed, how do we break free? Often it feels too hard. We get addicted to things, and can’t seem to let them go. Even when they hurt us. Even when they damage our lives and our bond with the Almighty. Even when they are so unhealthy for us. We just can’t let them go. We are too dependent on them. We love them too much and in the wrong way. They fill something inside of us that we think we need…that we think we can’t live without. And so, even when we struggle to give them up, we often abandon the struggle because it’s too hard. 
Why does that happen? Why do we have so much trouble sacrificing what we love? Why can’t we just let go of things? 

I think we struggle so much with letting go of what we love, because we haven’t found something we love more to replace it. Look at it from this perspective.

When a child falls in love with a toy car, he becomes consumed with that love. But what if he can’t have the car? What if he has to walk by the store every day, and see the toy he can’t have? Every time he walks by, he would feel pain. And he may even struggle not to steal it. Yet, what if the child looks past the store window and sees a Real car? What if he sees the Real Ferrari? Would he still struggle with his desire for the toy? Would he still have to fight the urge to steal it? Or would he be able to walk right past the toy—the disparity in greatness annihilating the struggle? 

We want love. We want money. We want status. We want this life. And like that child, we too become consumed with these loves. So, when we can’t have those things, we are that child in a store, struggling not to steal them. We are struggling not to commit haram for the sake of what we love. We are struggling to let go of the haram relationships, business dealings, actions, dress. We are struggling to let go of the love of this life. We are the stumbling servant struggling to let go of the toy because it’s all we see. 
This whole life and everything in it is like that toy car. We can’t let go of it because we haven’t found something greater. We don’t see the Real thing. The Real version. The Real model. 

The Real version is better in quality and better in quantity. No matter how great what we love in this life is, it will always have some deficiency, in both quality (imperfections) and quantity (temporary). 

This is not to say that we cannot have or even love things of this life. We are told to ask for good in this life and the next. But it is like the toy car and the real car. While we could have or even enjoy the toy car, we realize the difference. The more we can see the Real thing, the easier it becomes to give up the ‘unreal’—when necessary. That does not mean we have to give up the ‘unreal’ completely, or all the time.
If we are asked to refrain from a prohibition that we want, it becomes easier. If we are asked to be firm in a commandment that we don’t want, it becomes easier. We become the matured child who likes to have the toy, but if ever asked to choose between the toy and the Real thing, see a ‘no- brainer’.

So, in letting go, the answer lies in love. Fall in love. Fall in love with something greater. Fall in love with the Real thing. Don’t attach your happiness to things. Each day comes with its blessings. Change your perspective on happiness. Don’t be a slave to your dream that you forget to live in the moment. 

See the Mansion. Only then, will we stop playing in the dollhouse.

(************Quickcook*************)

Divine sorrow : Ask the Sun

“The world isn’t over yet…We’ve still got a chance to place our bets…. Before we lose everything, we have tomorrow…. Can we forget what went wrong yesterday?

This is one of my favorite go to song whenever I’m feeling blue. In my previous post I told you how I deal with these moments.


Today I want to focus on another different subject. Challenges and how we perceive them.
We all face challenges and restraints, reality is that we can’t have everything we want, as human beings we’re inherently imperfect. We should learn to deal with what is at our disposal, calamities can be a blessing in disguise.

Here’s one of my favorite stories that I thought you should read.


Sometimes you’re struck by a calamity and you dont know how to deal with. This calamity might be good for you in the long run.


An old man went to make a report at a police station. He tells his story. He has seven blind kids and he has been looking for means for them to get their eyesight back. 

He is told that there is a skilled doctor in another city but he would need quite an amount of money in order for the operation to be done.
It takes him a while to raise this sum through fundraising and small jobs in the streets.
One morning as he was planning to take his kids for the operation something happens. Leaving the money in a borrowed car, he enters the house to pick up the kids, coming out the car is nowhere to be found. No money no car and worst of it all this means no treatment for the kids. (You can imagine how this felt.)




The officer at the reception tries to offer him some encouraging words, telling him that this moment might be a blessing in disguise, but the old man doesn’t put that much thought into his words and he leaves the station.

A few days later the old man receives a call from the police officer. He has some good news that he wants to share. The old man also has his good news. The officer notifies him that the car was found abandoned in some desert and the money intact. This they found was just taken by some reckless kids who just went for a ride and when the car ran out of fuel they left it behind.

The old man goes on with his part, he tells the officer that a few days after the car incident, one morning all his kids woke up with their sights back.

Now imagine what would have happened if he took the kids to the specialist, the outcome wouldn’t have been the same given that it was a risk and a 50/50 chance for the kids to have their sights back through operation.

This is a true story. All I’m trying to put forward here is that whenever something befalls you, that which you don’t understand, a tough situation, you just have to hold on and believe in his plans.

Hang in there buddy. All will be well, believe in his timing and do you, the best you can. 

*Blessed. The world is yours.*

Read me like a book & someday I’ll keep you….

Can you remember a period in your life when, if you look back on it now, time seemed to stretch on forever? When a week seemed like four, or an hour seemed like it went on for days? What were you doing during that period?Chances are, you were probably doing something (or a whole bunch of somethings) that was brand new to you and demanded your attention. The funny thing is, by focusing on what you were doing, you actually slowed down time (or how your brain perceived that time, anyway).

My week just felt like a month, every second was just worth it.

A small break from everything was needed, from the daily routine and normalcy. The only regret being that I couldn’t hold a pen or let mo jnr do the talking.

I had different plans when I was taking my leave a week earlier; protect my energy, write, write, write and solitude, not even Susan Miller was to be let in.

One of the best things happened. Family and old friends chipped in, unplanned. The best of the plans is those unplanned.

Mama Salma and Mama Nadia were in town. It being the first time for mama Salma, I had to ensure she got the perfect experience. The trips to fort Jesus, getting things off my bucket list on the way as well. I’ve been in Mombasa for three years now but in the ocean only once.

The best I could do for Masalma was to put everything on hold and be with her, it was more of a payback since she’d tease me “wewe unajua nilikuwa nakubeba ukiwa mtoto.” (I used to carry you on my back when you were a kid)

My good friend Shote was also around with his beautiful wife, by now you know nothing cheers me up more than some good nostalgic moments and some depressing music. The way I see it, these songs aren’t about the depression and down times, but more looking at the happier times from a place of darkness. And if you’re in a dark room and someone shines a torch in your eyes it seems pretty frickin’ bright. Shine a torch in your eyes in daylight and you won’t bat an eyelid. For me the same rule applies with this sort of melancholy music. This time it was the nostalgic moments, a good catch up on the crocodile farm, the stupid stuffs we used to do back in high school among other throwback stuffs that I won’t talk about here.

This, I decided should be a regular thing, even to you (you should try it). The crazy part being we spent an entire day in the ocean (sunscreens for who), the sunburns were real my friend. Usually I’d go to the beach just to watch the horizon and dispose all my thoughts there, this time  the horizon was on me, I was a human fish, setting a new record, hoping it will stand for a while.

Fast forward to three days later, the partner in crime Aftarari Mr. calls, he’s in town, we have to catch up, what normally happens when he’s around; milking cows and drinking it straight without boiling. (don’t read in between the lines)

We meet up at 7pm and the first act in “ukora kama kawaida” (same old stuff), again I won’t mention it, Bonaya knows it well. There’s a surprise addition at our table, the beautiful miss Dhirre. The norm, nostalgia, throwback memories. It’s as good as it gets, the ratchetness, an Uber driver story for another day. We decide to link up the next day at our favorite porridge joint. The usual cups of porridge a good talk, I introduce these two to Susan miller (Missus  Miller wasn’t to be allowed in during my short break,can’t just manage to resist her). 

The effect is the same, they are also blown away, we just get in sync with each other, it’s amazing how the simplest of things  being ignored can bring people so close. Well you go and check her out here

They’re finalizing their stay and so we decide to go on a World Cup tour, not your girl’s tour (drakes voice) 

It’s just refreshing, with all this positive energy in such a short period of time and the difference it can make. Surround yourself with like-minded people, and watch your energy blossom.


(This was just a short explanation for not writing since I told you it’s all that’s left. July just kicked on some sky-high note, the new moon and its energies. 

A small apology to you my favorite reader and to my co-pilot Sir Alan Githinji for going dark on you. 

A big thank you to those who reached out asking about the silence.)

*Words go around, the world goes in a round, life goes on and mou rites.*

OF SHIRTS AND SKINS: PIN STRIPED SUITS IN STRIP CLUB SUITES

In the 1994 blockbuster Disney film ‘lion king’ we are introduced to a villian with dark hair and a blind eye named scar.

A lot of people who’ve watched the flick claim to never have forgiven him for killing the father of the hero protagonist scion Simba. I however have a different perspective, in the lion king-dom the darker the mane the more dominant an individual. Scar is always in the shadows, even conspiring with hyenas: a being not afraid to confront his demons. One never misses that which they never had otherwise it is just lust. Mufasa is a lovable character but he is too trusting. Sadly these type of individuals don’t last long; they either become hardened of heart like the rest or killed by the rest. There are no saints in the animal kingdom but Mufasa goes on to tell his heir flesh and blood about a fictional circle of life including the stars in the sky as their ancestors. When Simba regains his throne or usurps it ( facts only), he banishes Scars allies to the badlands: a PR. exercise hoping they would starve to death. The exiled faction actually thrives given the circumstance and Kovu an adopted son even revenges his familys’ disgrace with honour. Ofcourse it’s a fairytale hence the happy ending, although there are many youtube channels that expose sexual innuendos that ruin your childhood.

The year is 97′ its christmas eve and my family had a portrait taken. It is the official last one we are photo-ed as a nuclear unit. The framed picture is in my parents living room, my siblings and I don’t live in their house anymore although culturaly the lastborn son rarely moves out of the homestead, less than a year later before puberty I became an uncle. The thing is if fate would have it, this would have been last memorial of us with our patriarch. Due to nature of his work and national politics of the 80’s and 90’s, my dad and many other of his tribesmen were defacto in separation from their marriages and by extension their families. Well, that year was supposed to be last calender my father would be cut off from us but the powers that be won’t let us have it. On his way to his new posting, he was involved in a car accident. The right side of his skull was shattered and neither skin nor meat was left on it, his right shoulder and forearm all the way to his knuckle. Doctors on duty at Kenyatta refferal had proposed to amputate, fortunately he was transfered to Aga Khan hospital. On arrival there all doctors were summoned and told that they would never see such injuries on a live person let alone a conscious one. In a cruel twist of fate our wish to be re-united was granted, perhaps it was just mine and maybe his.

I have scars of my own, the superficial ones that left an indelible mark seem to be mostly on my right side and all are stupid juvenile mistakes; three stitches on my middle finger knuckle after I punched a window pane, a fissure on my Tibula just below my knee when I fell off a two storey high cliff face, a club or spade shaped burn near my ankle from melted plastic, faint lines where I slit my forearm from wrist to elbow. on my left palm I got one slaughtering a chicken; odd thing though I’ve never located the one for immunization: woe unto me should it be the only criterion for proof of nationality. Ofcourse there’s the circumcission ones. Then the inevitable ones on your knees because we didn’t listen to instructions. There loads of others that have healed completely or I simply don’t notice them.

The skin is the largest organ but the brain is most complex, there are many scars here but I won’t dwell there I’ll just ask you to be kind to everyone you meet for you don’t know what battles they’re fighting.

SIDENOTE: as a child i’d throw tantrums by literally banging my head on the wall luckily they were of plywood. Once in an altercation with my sister I threw a pesticide spray can hitting her forehead, our father was shocked didn’t even punish us, years later her husband just held his head with both hand when we narrated the ordeal. Along the way as time passed by I came to learn what is acceptable behaviour: I have an injury on my thigh that ended up on my abdomen, can’t seem to locate the scar, probably because majority of the dust in your house is dead skin cells. That’s the marvel of the human body, some parts heal faster like mouth and tounge: others are similar like elbow and scrotum.

   

This is getting self absorbed and probably why it’s not polite to stare let alone ask others about such matters of a personal nature.

    { “omar! omar! omar! omar! ”


  ~grass-hoppers in THE WIRE. }

Tattoos with a better story 

Most of us have two lives, the life we live and the unlived life within us. I’ll concentrate on the former. Sir Alan picked a theme, scars from the past and we both agreed it’d be a tricky one, but remember nothing sets your soul free than putting your words on a piece of paper for the universe to read.

I’m a believer that one should write something worth reading about and if not do something or live a life worth writing about. 

Scars, I decide to go with physical scars, the one I never got the chance to talk about or let the world know. 

By now you all know about my Harry Porter scar, that lord Voldemort’s signature spread through my forehead. No Sorcerer’s stone here. 

Every person I meet would stare at it for a while and curiously ask about it. I’d ignore some and to the persistent ones put them off with “it’s a long story buddy.”

 

Here’s the long story made short

 The year is 2003, I can’t recall the exact dates, something that disturbs me up to this day. On our way home from Madrassa, we usually walked home in pairs and in a straight line; not allowed to greet strangers and if you did, or break the line, Maalim (religious teacher) would be notified first thing at 5:30am the following morning during our next session. You’d choose someone to cane you, that’s if Maalim wasn’t in the mood, we’d always rush to someone who we thought would have mercy on us but he(Maalim) would always pick another person to do the work, but this story is not about those scars left by the canes.


 

At this diversion, we parted ways with our cousins and it was Yassin (my younger sibling) and I who were last since our home was further than the rest.

Screams all around us, turning around I see Yass diving away and out of the blue like a matador who has given up; this giant bull with much ferocity lifts me up with its blunt horns and throws me to the ground, tramples on my chest and forehead just above my eye socket. 

That was fast. I wake up but everything around me is spinning at an alarming rate, I’m back on the ground, phantosmia kicks in but the smell of the fresh soil balances this awful odor. 

My mind is distracted by the clear blue sky and two tiny clouds above my head. They are nearer than usual. Someone interrupts this moment lifts me and puts me under a shade. I’m surrounded by women screaming and crying, people doing nothing just staring at me, all this time I’m in a world of my own, busy smiling. 

Next thing I know this guy makes his way into the middle of the crowd, removes his imama (turban), ties it tightly on my open wound and carries me on his shoulder, he’s off running with me asking me to hold on tight. I recognize that voice.

The two tiny clouds are still above my head, following us. Still smiling my vision is getting blurry, the same voice is back, “mosh amka baba (wake up dad).” There’s a fear in that voice that I never felt before.

We get to the hospital, the surgeon is nowhere to be found, fifteen minutes later he appears. There are no stitching materials (Kenyan government hospitals for you). He sends for a nurse.

I can’t forget his bald face and his worried look telling me that I’ll be fine. I’m told he did fourteen stitches on my wound. 

On my way to the ward, hundreds of people are out there at the hospital corridor, some crying knowing that I’m dead, calling out my name. Five hours later I’m taken home.

At our compound there’s a huge gathering, I can’t see everyone clearly but they all want to catch a glimpse of me. I can hear my momma crying and chanting some prayers. 

Everything goes black. But the voices are much clearer now. I hear them talking about it being a miracle that I’m still alive; that the bull had been chased down and has been held captive, that the foot it stepped on my forehead was its limping one. I hear the owner of the bull agree to the elder statesmen demand, to deliver a goat every week until I recover fully.

Students from my Madrassa would arrive each morning to do dua(prayers) for me. This we usually did to every ailing soul out there upon request. Kid’s dua are readily accepted and we were a special bunch of kids back then, well that’s what the community usually used to say. This time round I was the one getting this special favor. They would surround me and everyone would place their right hand on a part of my body and do the dua. It felt good. 

I couldn’t see their faces but I knew each and every tone of my nineteen classmates. I couldn’t hold back my tears. This went on for a while and I was getting better with each dua session. 

All this time Yassin would be by my side, having every goodie that I turned down, as kids, falling sick would guarantee you anything you ever wanted. I wish this was the same right now. 

The only thing I enjoyed and still enjoy up to this day is Koche/ oodkac (special dried and fried meat). This I wouldn’t share with anyone. 


Two months later I was up, ready to go to school but against the doctor’s will. My parents were also against it. I was back in class with my huge bandage on.

On my way home, I’d pass the same spot and looking up I’d smile knowing that I cheated on death.


Fifteen years later, I’m still afraid of cows, I’ll take a different path if I see it coming my way. The scar is still going down my face as the doctor predicted, waiting for it to disappear into my mouth. But hey it’s here for a good memory. Wear your scar with pride.

So next time you meet me and you want to know about my Harry Porter scar, I’ll just copy this story’s link on your forehead. 

Oh, and the guy with the turban who picked me up that day was my hero, he still is up to now. The soldier I told you whose beat I only march to.  

 

*Happy Father’s Day to you poppa, and to all the fathers out there. *

 

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

       

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! ++