Nyaruai

My friend Shikoh is a mad woman, at least she likes to refer to herself as such. She tells me we should make noise when leaders steal our money, when they get pay rises before they work, and we should name and shame corruption in every shape and form it may manifest itself in. But if you know anything about what the president with a bird nest for hair called a shithole country, you know she will always have something to yell about. Probably until her last breath. And I commend her. Because sycophants see her as a nuisance. And small fish politicians hire people to send her headless chicken. But she still yells because she wants better. I figure in essence, that is all human beings want. Well, most human beings. Trump doesn’t. But sometimes, I look at the bigger picture and pardon my arrogance, I cannot help but think we don’t have problems. Okay, if you’ve ever travelled on those my town service pieces of metal, you see the problem. Heck, you’re paying 40/- to ride the problem daily...

Photo Courtesy: Pinterest There is this chicken at home. Ever since it was young, it has never really fit in. When it hatched its feathers were more like fur, too small and not what was normal. She was taking too long to grow and she was quickly left behind by her peers. It came to a point where she was too fragile to even move. You think a chickens bones can’t get any hollower. So we put her in a cushioned box in the kitchen where a light bulb hung always for warmth and light. We fed her fresh milk and yoghurt and cooked rice. We had eye drops for her. She got better, but she couldn’t walk straight. She leans on one side, stumbling more than walking.  I don’t even think its little brain works properly and if you observe it well, its eyesight isn’t as useful either. Most of the other chicken that hatched together with her are either stew or trade history. No one will eat her (is it okay if I use it, rather than her? yes? ok) So no one will eat her because we don’t want to cat...

           Photo Courtesy: AmuKay Let’s go waaaay back. From the beginning. When the earth was just a baby, God’s baby. Like a programmer’s code, being moulded into a perfect masterpiece. Then the gay serpent happened. I say gay because a talking serpent approached a NAKED woman and only asked her to eat an apple. Or was it blind, because we all know, us creatures of Venus have the power to stir up a million emotions when we take our clothes off. Assuming the devil is male, (we know he is), the fact that he did not notice her perfect boobs is the reason we have plastic surgery and Photoshop today.  Take a moment and picture the look on Adam’s face when  Eve told him he was naked.  So assuming Eve, did not eat that apple, and the earth remained the perfect universe it was supposed to be. That is my what if story... First things first, there would be no lies, which is a bummer, because most industries on earth were born out of lies. Starting o...

           Photo Courtesy: AmuKay Can we first agree that the term happy is relative, yes? Ok. So, my source of happiness varies greatly. One time it’s a series of memes, the other it is that time the broker fishes out a wad of notes to pay for my vegetables. Let us agree, money is actually a source of happiness and to be very human, I’d rather cry in that Range Rover (I prefer a Ford Ranger) that laugh on that bicycle. What if it starts raining and I’m on that bicycle, then I catch pneumonia and die? Was it worth it? No it wasn’t .Rather, I’d rather cry in that my Ford Ranger, and as I toast in the warmth of the air con, my tears will dry, logical, yes? Also, my forefathers did not blindly fight guns and grenades with spears and machetes, eating ngwaci in a mosquito infested forest, so I can cry on a bicycle. Back to the topic, happiness. My source of happiness I think lies in the small things in life. The laughter of a baby, (Boy! Do I love other people'...

I don’t know if people actually have a single favourite book. Its impossible. Not with all that creativity floating around and people harnessing it.   Eight years ago, the BabySitter series was the jam ( do people still say that?  No? Ok)I remember Karen and her two families and that colourful blanket ( like the one that drove Joseph’s brothers in so big a jealous fit they sold him off to slavery. Ama  it was a coat?.) she'd torn in two, one for each house. Five years ago, Harry Potter was my favourite book series. Let me tell you I had mastered the spells so well the only thing missing was my wand and a cauldron. HAHA! Expecto Cauldrones!! Then I grew up into Mills and Boon. The amount of sex, all in detail was so intruiging for thirteen year old me. I used to wonder if the teachers turned a blind eye to these books on purpose. In fact, it used to rain Mills and Boon on the weekends. Let me just tell you the promises of everlasting love and lovemaking in those boo...

They say a dad is girl's first love. If he fucks her up, he has fucked up every member of the male species that will come into her life after him. Mine didn’t. Mine’s a good dad. In fact, this post is about this man. My earliest memories of my dad were of him narrating snow white stories to me. They were not exactly what the books said, he added his own words and plot twists a lot. But I can tell you for a fact there was nothing I looked forward to more than the stories. Other times, he would tell me of ogres who lured young girls by imitating familiar voices and handouts and then eating them up. Considering the state of the world, I think he knew the exact kind of data he was feeding into my head. I would never get into a stranger's car or take gifts from stranger, because, you know, ogres. When I was 7, I remember he bought me my first storybook. It was called Mr.Todi from those New Progressive series. It took almost a month to complete. It was about a hibernating toad who ...

I'm not even sure how I’m supposed to phrase this because half of the things that made me happy the other day don’t have the same effect on me today,  you know like how githeri man isn’t cool anymore. Wild hearts can’t be broken, because they ride the wind and touch the sun. So you wonder, in essence,  how to please a wild heart. I wonder too. This list includes some of the ways you can win this one over , though in no particular order. A book. An actual print. Not a Kindle or an eBook. Let me tell you there is something about a good print with a storyline that literally sets me apart.  The rate I devour the story, mingle with the characters and flow with their fates makes my blood rush. I feel their words, I see their faces, I feel their feelings. I absolutely love novels. Good music.  If you know me well, I will let you count the number of times you have seen me without my earphones on. See? The number of fingers on your hands are too many for that.  My mus...