Posted in My Tales

we are done

break-up

Relationships are so complicated. They bring pain and joy and a lot of mess along with it. I know this how? Well back in kindergarten, I had a girlfriend and we were seriously going steady. I was the cool guy in school who wielded power and so it made sense for me to have princess (no her name, I never really got around to knowing her name, being in one class and all, I might have known it at some point but forgot it. Her dad used to call her princess just after dropping her to school so everybody got on board with the princess business.) Did I mention I was so powerful I decided who went on the swing and who didn’t?(I know I don’t look like it right now but…) and I also had a pencil with an eraser on the other end which was a big deal back then.

Princess was a tiny little pretty girl with the cutest teeth gap ever and dimples to go with it. Dimples are magic! She knew English more than the rest of us, considering she was the richest kid in school and her dad was white. She had a smooth skin and her clothes could easily render your olfactory modality dysfunctional. She had a nice scar on her left thigh courtesy of yours truly. Also she was the only girl with plaited hair and had a pet. We all know everyone with a pet is a princess right? (I’m kidding). We did most everything together. Things like eating her lunch and so on. Fast forward to my point. There was this one time a couple of kids were picking on her. Being the good boyfriend I sought to defend her. I engaged the other kid in a good fist fight or whatever the hell kind of fight we had, pretty sure those were not fists. But that was one of the many mistakes I’ve ever done. A couple of boys from nowhere came at me to defend the poor chap I was working on. They beat me so much I wanted to cry and pee at the same time (I think I did). Even girls beat me up that day.

Lesson: you might have all the power but when people are fed up, they are fed up and people together? You can’t win against that.

Anyway, a teacher came to my rescue, boy must I have been so glad to see her. Princess was crying for me at this point. My pains were dressed with a cup of juice and the other boys got punished (because who beats up a poor boy whose only mistake is defending his girlfriend?). Point? My relationship with princess got me beaten up like a dog and I lost power, pain. But it also made her love me even more (or whatever was going on between us), I was her hero (I think), joy. And I guess the messed up part is the fact that we were five years old and in love.

But that’s not the story here….

Penelope, not her real name but let’s call her that. I figured it’s a name you’d give a fat beautiful lady with lovely legs and an amazing soul. Before you say anything, she is indeed fat and she doesn’t mind being called fat, unlike some who consider the word an insult. Penelope broke up with her guy. I was listening to one of Sauti Sols jam. It went something like, ‘we can fall in love again…’and it just so happened that at that moment and time I was going through my WhatsApp, catching up on conversations and stuff. That’s when I saw the stories with harsh and bitter captions. Normally, she would put up Mr. Guy’s three or four pictures and write some really sweat captions on them. Not this time. And

Because I’m such an idiot (an idiot who cares), I asked her what was wrong. I wish I didn’t because now I’m writing about it. Penelope told me too much. Then because I’m poor at consoling broken hearts, all I did was encourage her to say more. She said “That broke ass dude broke up with me on a text! Who does that? Cant he be man enough and say it to my face? After all I’ve done for him” Mr. Guy, if you are reading this thank angels you did not dare do it to her face, she’d kill you this one, literally.

Because I’m so insensitive, the only part of that story that intrigued me was the break up text. I asked for the screenshots and now I’m depressed.

Now here’s why I wrote this.

Complicated as relationships are, which they should otherwise where’s the fun? I believe they are worth it. When a man is romancing a lady, he goes out of his way. He borrows that car and take her out somewhere tranquil and say all the right words. He’d even write a poem or sing a song, I know I would. Because effort is important. Effort is required. A lady the same. They borrow dresses and shoes and all that lady-look-good-stuff. Process is good

I think break ups too should be done with more effort (I know, I sound crazy). Break ups either break you or make you or to the extreme, they destroy you which means they are an important event. I think they should be done properly. If it were up to me I’d write a letter and it would be the stuff of museums. It would be lovely but not too lovely. A bit serious but not too serious, it would have life and reasons with why’s and the works. I’d make it so reasonable that after she reads it we still remain friends no, besties. Who limits a breakup with a simple ‘we are done’ text? That’s not even right. Effort! You wanna brake someone’s heart at least try and do it right

Princess if you are out there reading this, I still fight for you.

 

 

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Posted in My Tales

New strength

1
i’m the other guy

Growing up was not a bed of roses. In fact it was as tough as they come. ‘Work hard and make your own butter’ is what they used to tell some us, hell, most primary school motto was hard work pays (pssssssss!). Not like making butter was our main goal in life or that we even paid attention to such. Living in the ghetto is no easy task. Fights broke out almost every day, people bleed for everything. Ranging from territory to girlfriends to small pettifoggery and such. From the young to the old, even ladies fought for something (mostly men). It was a perfect real life way of saying survival for the fittest. Everyone was ready and able to fight, or go down honorably. I wasn’t ready to lose a fight if it came to that so when I heard that freshmen were being recruited for karate classes, you bet your ass I was the first to join. Every 4 o’clock we’d meet up, punch the air, make some really scary noises or shouts (I don’t know which it was), did a lot of pushups which left us weak and finally, the good part, seek a worthy adversary to ‘ngara nayo’. Most of us gave up after some time, I was the first. Long story paragraphed, inasmuch as it was a real bitch of a life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I was going home the other day. It was late and dark, people had retired to bed or bar. See I fear very few things, meeting Mia Khalifa , death by cockroaches (if you’ve watched the mummy you’ll get the picture. Not the latest mummy remake by Tom Cruise, I’m talking about the real mummy, the bald dude who opens his mouth and cockroaches come out…)  I’m still working on my other fears. Anyway there were footsteps behind me and darn was my heart racing so fast. The footsteps increased in tempo successively as I tried to look scared whilst terrified. I wanted to look back but, hey you don’t wanna spook them, you don’t want them to know you’re onto them. So I kept it cool and tried whistling a hum under my breath and change my walking style. At this time I’m trying very hard to recall my karate class lesson and the dangerous shouts. I’m pretty sure if Mr. Oketch saw me right then, he’d be very disappointed. I ran every scenario in my head and decide that if I was going down, I was taking a tooth with me. Part of me wanted to run but you know…

I stopped right ahead and was ready to fight. Imagine my shock when a small kid came walking towards me. I bet she was eight or something. She reached near me and looked at me with the most grateful eyes ever. She was scared but glad to see me. And I was terrified. And was ready to punch her nose. She didn’t talk to me but her eyes did. So I walked behind her till she reached her place then I went my way.

Fear is a great thing. A weapon? I don’t know, maybe. But one thing is for sure, fear keeps us going. Most people think being brave is everything. Being macho is some sought of high pedestal. But I found a new pedestal. Its fear driven. Picture this, if one doesn’t want to fail, in studies, in life…they prepare. They read and stuff like that. So fear of failure makes one read which in turn makes them not fail (most cases). Fear of death makes one take care of themselves. Back in form one, there was this tall guy, Weba, he was a fourth year and very scary. I didn’t want to get on his bad side ever. I once saw him slap someone so hard the whole class went silent, the boy didn’t even squeeze a tear or two. He just stood there absentmindedly. So when Weba came one time and asked me to buy him a mandazi, I bought him four. When he came looking for a calculator I ran to him with one (I never got it back until he sat his papers). I feared him so much I didn’t want his anger near me. So I made it my business to provide. Big picture, with all those deeds, I bought my protection. No fourth year ever bullied of harass me. Not that Weba even knew my name, being seen with him was all it took. Point is, my fear for him got me protection! So fear is good.

It’s been a while since I wrote something so I thought I scribble this and tell you about fear. Tell you that fear is allowed. That if you tried bravery and it never worked, it’s about time you feared something. Right? Good answer.

P/S

For those asking, I’m ok. Nothing bad happened to me. As to why I’ve been missing in action, well I don’t really have a good answer for that. I’ll try make an effort to do something for this blog at least once a week. Thanks for the support.

 

 

Posted in My Tales

Isn’t it so?

graduation cap diploma isolated on a white background
yeah…

Finishing high school education is probably the best feelings ever. On that very last day of school you get to do almost anything. You get to burn your note books and all the papers, we called it academic bonfire. You’d ink your school uniform with varied graphics displays from signatures to funny cartoon drawings and, the generous part, the part where you get to give handouts to the junior students. Of cause you were saying goodbye to lousy morning calls for dawn studies. Stuff you no longer needed. Bid good reddens to the crappy food. The food was always crappy, the beans with weevils swimming in it, oh and the white porridge. The porridge was quite good, if I do say so myself. After some cocoa and margarine additive…heaven!

But that wasn’t all. See the real excitement was the road ahead. I remember we would sit down a tree on Sundays and imagine how life after would be. We fantasized about being together in one place just being troublesome and looking cool while at it. But that didn’t come to pass. College!. I don’t know about you but back in high school, teachers made it sound like some ultimate utopia. The freedom, the wear-whatever-you-want policy, the no early morning assemblies and the pitch was always the girls. The smart, beautiful girls of college. Once a teacher got fed up and yelled “stop wasting time with this small time girls at the fence, there are beautiful, intelligent girls waiting for you in college.” The ‘waiting for you’ part won us, most of us anyway. I got to university and boy were those teachers exaggerating. But what the fun in telling the plain truth right?

The first semesters are always the best. You are so focus, so determined and you are ready to take on the world and anybody else in your way. It’s the only time you will attend all lectures and even the make up or extra classes. The only time you will have three pens, the blue one, the red for writing headings and black for answers. You’d take notes so keenly and even go to the library for further research. You goal is to get a well-paying job, probably a 6 figure salary, a posh car, maybe a Porsche 911 turbo S, a good big house and the girl. You are so obedient and self-conscience this time, you don’t indulge in any other activity threatening your studies. Hell you even have a personal timetable for personal studies. Like I said, the best moments.

But with time comes change and nobody really likes change. Except for a second year student. The second semester you realize that you are ‘alive’. You want to taste the limits of your freedom. You make new friends. Join new circles, drop your first year pals and such like. You want to go out to every event in town. You want the latest fashion, the new kicks in town. Basically you forget about your ambition and focus on yourself, you forget the books. This is usually the part where you quote the “You Only Live Once” phrase and convince yourself that everyone is doing it. By the end of semester, you know everyone who is anyone. You’ve had like 10 girlfriends and maybe if you’re lucky enough to not get some sickness or pregnancy. You barely pass and move to the third year.

Now third year is the year of claiming ground. There is school politics, you want to join in. Every activity that brings out the authority and dominance in school you will find a third year in. Of cause this comes with pressure. You also have to convince everyone of your academic dominance. So if you can’t cheat well then you have to study. Thus comes the stress. Most people defer the semester at third year out of fear. They realize they have not learnt a thing and time isn’t friendly. You will find yourself very active with matters lecture. When a lecturer is absent you want to fire the whole school. Third years complain about everything. Your famous phrase here would probably be “we pay a lot of money and we are not taught.”

The last semester is a tricky one. You suddenly realize that you are almost done. You are soon graduate and venture into the real world. Most people panic, for a minute then say something like “am not alone anyway” that would calm things for them till they realize that they are actually alone. At fourth, you will probably want to pass highly at whatever cost. You know what I mean. You will pay for your project to be done, the research reports and all. You have no time at fourth. You are either juggling some job and your studies –because mama isn’t gone house a grown-up no more – or job hunting and studying.

It’s tough out here…

Posted in My Tales

Credit!

I was resting the evening away by the wall. The big wall with broken soda bottles stuck on top like some security measure. Every soda company brand is represented on the wall. Behind the wall, on the other side lays everything called garbage. Plastic bags from every supermarket around, Jameson bottles and –people here clearly don’t care about the environment –just everything constituting a nasty dumpsite smell. But the mademoiselle on a green dress on the other side makes it all go away, the fetor. If I didn’t know myself any better I would say I always get to the wall just when she steps out of the balcony for whatever it is she does there for approximately 45 minutes, sometimes its 43 other times is 50. But today she didn’t come out. So I didn’t stay long.
Just when I turned to take my leave, this young girl came up to me with a math book. She is in primary seven and she needed help solving some problem. I froze for a moment. I wanted to ask her, “girl who sent you? Who put you up to this? Huh? Who are you working with? Where are your headquarters? How much do you know about me?” but I didn’t. I smiled and took the book. See before you think what you’re thinking, math and I were friends, once. You can ask David, he’s the one who made the answer sheet for every math paper back in high school and I helped him most times. But really? I don’t even know how to spell math this days, it’s been like 100 years or something since. So my reaction is justified.
With that said, I have a trifle of history with math. In primary three, I remember one afternoon we had a math class. I wasn’t warmed up to it so I opted to skive. I begged Peter to come along but as always he was a chicken. I went alone. I ran towards the field in stealth mode. I was scared but it didn’t matter anymore. In my head I was a ninja spy. Leaping on the tip to the toe. I managed to reach the field and lay down on the long yellow dry grass. I lay there for a while. Being scared and stupid. I thought I hid well I started counting, to distract myself. The sun was so hot that day I remember sweat passing all the way to my grey sweater and making a huge patch there. Time wasn’t moving at all. Long story short, I was caught and BEATEN, not caned or punished…BEATEN. I still hate that security guard who caught me. And that how my spy career ended.

We sat with the young girl and went through the math ‘together’. It was some quadratic equation. I didn’t remember shit so I pulled one trick! Make her do the math herself, while thinking I was helping out with the math. It’s simple really, I asked her questions after questions concerning the problem and she answered. I was being all teachery*** like what do you do when you are given this and that. It worked. She did the math herself with my voice in the background and that was that, she got it right.
In her eyes am that ‘mtaa genius’. The guy you go to with the crazy math problems. The mum also thanked me for helping her child and even asked me to tutor her. Of cause I declined the offer. I gave her some bullshit excuse and she bought it. What matters is, her view of me has drastically changed to my advantage –that’s if she even had a view on me – and that;s a good thing.
The 48 laws of power: let people do the work for you but always take the credit. Always!

Posted in My Thoughts

window

There is a fly outside the closed glass window. It’s so stubborn, it keeps hitting its head on the window time and again. I think it wants to get in. From its determination I’d say it’s pissed and it wants to serve justice in cold form. Someone in here must have pissed it off bad. I look around and see if I can identify the offender. Could it be the lady seated next to me? The lady with the beautiful face and a lovely hair style but had to ruin all that by piercing the lower lip? She types a lot and doesn’t look anywhere but her phones screen. Maybe she is typing some nuclear launch codes that would wipe all flies from the face of earth. She looks the type to type such (see what I did there). Or maybe it’s the guy on the phone right across us? He’s too loud and he doesn’t look apologetic about it. He has this nasty beard on him. The kind of beard that get a fly worked up. Or maybe am just thinking too much into it. Maybe the fly just want to get in and pass along disease causing bacteria. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been a fly before. I don’t even know if they are capable of being vindictive.

I have been seated here for the last 20 minutes. It’s not pretty, am so tired and late for an exam. An exam that I will probably not do well. It’s like that exam needs a last scorer and I have to deliver. There is a traffic jam. A slow one. There is a commotion up ahead. I think some guy just knocked another guy’s car and now we are being punished for it. People are shouting at themselves others are calming them down. The nduthi guys instantly become mediators and barristers. There is hooting all over. I hear catalyst roaring behind us, she isn’t happy. The tout is outside and the door is opened. There’s a cool breeze coming in. A calming fresh breath of life. Sent to remind me that I’ve been in worse and I would probably meet worse but it’s going to be fine.

Just the other day I had to run like a mad man from a mad man (oh! again) who was determined that I needed to be taught a lesson on something and saw it fit to beat me with some big stick. I had to run so shamelessly like a coward and it was embarrassing. People were looking at me crazy. But then again it’s never bravely being wiped by a mad man, it’s even less bravery fighting someone who lost his mental faculties.  Sharing the the ordeal with Omosh was the worst part of it all, he had a good laugh about it. In fact, I’ve never heard him laugh that hard. I vowed not to tell anyone ever, if I be chased by a mad man with a stick.

Omosh is an acquaintance of mine who most people mistake for my friend. He keeps me updated on what dirty thing is going on in Ronga. Who got caught? Who did this, why this, why that? And such like. He is a tout.

There is a reason why I like sitting next to the window. Aside from the view, it gives me control. For as long as my fare can take me, the window is mine. Mine to do as I please. I could open it and close it whenever I see fit and no one can do anything about it. I could open it for the fly but I won’t because am selfish that way. Am powerless about the traffic situation but this window I can make move. I love the idea, when a door shuts, God opens a window. So in my little wisdom I see a window as an opportunity…see, window of opportunities.

But it’s a window on vehicle? What opportunity comes of it? I thought you’d ask. Everyone need that little glimpse of hope sometimes, a voice to follow or I don’t know. What I know is that when am seated next to a window, I feel powerful. Not just because I get fresh air and that keeps the motion sickness at bay, but I also get to see what goes on out there. How people are busy doing their stuff. I’ve been told that I have a wide imagination, so let’s not get into what I could do with a window when difficulty shows its ugly face.

Am still in the traffic jam and as if it’s not painful enough, the driver turns up the volume on the radio. Some duo are talking about some very uninteresting topics. How women with money do need men and stuff, because which man is going to tell his millionaire wife to cook him some porridge or to massage his back?? Who? Am not a fun of the duo. But there is really nothing much I can do but listen and persevere. I look around and judge people. What better thing to do than judge random people in a public service vehicle right? Besides, what’s to say one of them isn’t judging me back?

Forty five minutes later I arrive at the school with much haste. I reach the class and the lecturer, with all his arrogance decides its ok to cancel the exam. The nerve that guy. With his pointed nose I bet he doesn’t know how consoling oneself on eminent fail on an exam is such a task. He most probably doesn’t know what I had been through. And then they ask me why I hate easily, I mean c’mon!

My mind runs back to the window on the vehicle and the fly…

Posted in My Tales

constantine

“I expect the worst, so I prepare for the worst and when the worst happens, am ready.” that was John Constantine to Zatana. I’ve watched justice league dark well over a dozen times now and I am compelled to key this words in my diary of awesome collective movie quotes. Problem is, how practical is it? For one john is not one to be taken seriously anyway, the guy is a big time cheat. I mean who gets away with cheating death??

I know what you are saying, this guy derives arguments from mere comic stories, right? Well comics are more than just the fictions and imaginations you see. For some of us anyway.

Back to john and his strategy, see there is not much positivity in his analogy. Expect the worst??? You can’t live like that [I thought]. It goes against whatever is written in the book the secret’ which talks of positive thoughts attracting positive outcomes, which goes against physics which implies opposite sides attract [too many ‘which’ there, bear with me]. But then again that must be only on magnetic field and the likes [what do I know??? I hated physics].

Does it help to plan ahead? For all outcome? I bet it does. Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking of Constantine. Besides, even Bruce Wayne confirmed it [I’d like to call him batman, but I have a feeling you won’t take me seriously]. Bruce once told Blue Beatle “to be a member of the league, you can’t act on impulse, you have to plan ahead.” Bat of Gotham is always right.

Few days back I went to town for an errand. I left early, having anticipated the traffic. All was good until i had to go back home. It started raining and this ‘ma3’s’ have a rotten habit of raising the fare such times. I had fixed amount of money. It was an uneasy moment. A moment of confusion.

I thought, well I have a lot of contacts on my phonebook, maybe I put them to use. I called the first two and the response wasn’t so comforting. I called the third one, they didn’t pick up. The fourth and the fifth too. I figured, maybe my contacts have a whatsapp group and maybe somebody posted ‘bill is in trouble, no one pick his calls’ or something worse. I don’t know. Friends have a funny way of not being there when you need them.

Long story short, I got my fare back home. Mums are angels!

Water socked, I sat by the window of some ng’anya. The council in my head started yelling, ‘why the bloody hell didn’t you listen to Constantine??? Now see your life!

What if I had anticipated the rain [the worst thing to happen to you in town] I would have averted everything.

Being prepared is being ready for everything, and that implies being on top of every situation. Being in control is good. Most of our decisions are undertaken without prior thought process and thus the haste nature of execution. The disappointment is always a shock!

Now I get john. I mean he fights mythical creatures and all but his method is effective all around. If implemented well then the result won’t be unexpected. And that a good thing I reckon.

 

 

Posted in My Thoughts

Rock Bottom

1

Every once in a year, there is that one single moment when  I just sit down and marvel at the idea of hitting rock bottom. In my wisdom (doesn’t usually last) I somehow convince myself that hitting ground zero is the best thing to happen to a mortal. I spend long few seconds just being positive about it, something I picked up from reading the secret. Does it help? I don’t know, maybe. I never stick around to find out.

According to study, nature has it that there is always an instance in life when all hope is lost, pride evaporates. Where shame is just an arrangement of letters. This particular moment is a continuous circle, so no one immune to it. It eventually comes and as it comes it goes. Different people have different pictures of failure. But everyone hits rock bottom at some point. Eventually.

Where am I going with this?

Am I saying hit ground zero? No! Hell no, by all means avoid it, like a plague. Don’t think about it and you won’t be about it. Fear it if possible. Fear is the best weapon ever fashioned in the mind. So what if you hit it anyway? Be happy, smile about it. Be jolly as it’s the optimum level of freedom man will ever have. Why? Well as they say, the best thing about falling down is that you can’t fall any further, the only way you can go is up!

Most people hear this and automatically assume the best scenario. Hitting your lowest is like being in a deep hole with no rope to climb up. The hole is usually dark so there is that too. You have to cling and pull yourself up step by step. Navigating through the wall erections. Trying not to fall down. Which you will. And many times you will.

But with every try, you will reach a step further to ground. You might fall hard, fall when you are very close but eventually you will reach ground. And when you do, you won’t be the same again. You will be more careful not to go back again. If you are kind enough, you will help people not go there. If you were lazy before, you will still be lazy, only wise while at it. You might even find laziness being such a hard thing.

No one really knows for certain, what a single choice would do to tomorrow. You could analyze it all you want but forces within the universe aren’t so predictable. You might fall but that’s not the ‘it’. The ‘it’ comes in with how you deal with the fall. Some people are lucky, they have anchors. Other forces which help them get back up. But not everyone is some people.

Just be ready!