AN AFRICAN-SUNRISE MOMENT

I woke up this morning a kushite.

It was just like any other Tuesday, just like any other day of the week. Got my ass out of bed after 30 minutes of a music mix and went to take a piss. As you can imagine, I had to struggle with the morning wood, of course. Nothing as stubborn as a hard d**k on a cold chilly morning.

Before I walked back to the warm embrace of my Maasai shuka, this sunrise caught my eyes. A sunrise is never a big deal for most people but anyone that knows me well knows that I'm crazily in love with African sunrises & sunsets. There's something beautiful about a sunrise. Then there's something of magnificence about African sunrises. This was one of those magnificent sunrises. Those sunrises that just warm you through to your heart. Those sunrises that sooth your soul.

This particular sunrise is what made me smile. For a few minutes I felt how life can be good. For a few minutes I felt some peace, some love in our motherland. For a moment I forgot my worries, as an individual and as one of mother Africa's children.

I forgot about this money money problems that we all have. I forgot about the stress of seeking employment. (For your information, it is hard to be employed when every employer knows you're yet to graduate. Well, at least it is that hard in the corporate 8am-5pm workforce.)

I forgot about the killings up north in Kenya. RIP to all souls we've lost there. RIP to all the security personnel whose lives were taken last week. It was sad. I forgot about the Ebola issue that has been a menace for a while now. RIP to all those brothers, sisters and relatives that we've lost. RIP to Africa's children.

****************************

The place was now getting brighter, the sun was now past the horizon's clouds. It's the voices of the women who were nearby cutting grass for their cattle that brought me back from my thoughts, back to reality.

I was back from that sunrise moment. Back from one of those sunrise moments that give you hope of a better day ahead.

PARENT AT 25?

I've been continuously fascinated by the thought of being a father. This is now almost a permanent thought in my head; something I think of on the regular. I guess it's because of the society. (We always have to blame society first.) I also think that it's because of the fact that 50% of the people I knew in campus are either parents already or will soon be. Some of my childhood friends are also young parents. However, I recently found out that not everyone will share the joy of me having a kid. . .at this young age. (I'm not even 25 BTW)

We're all aware that premarital sex is wrong according to the Bible. We're also fully aware (and if you didn't know this, you need to open your eyes wider) that Kenya is a f**kin nation. Left, right and center, everyone wants to get laid. It shouldn't be a surprise to see one of your friends, one of your cousins and one of your Exs fully loaded with another human being inside them. At this point is when I have a problem with the society. Kenyans need to learn how to focus on the most important aspect of a situation.

As a guy, it is usually not that bad. If you have a father who is still African, he will be proud of you after you impregnate a lady. You will probably earn more respect from him and any other male member of the family. You will probably know the share of your inheritance at this point. On the other hand, the lady doesn't get so much of a royal treat just because of the swollen belly.

I've never understood why people would label someone a whore just because they're pregnant. I don't understand why you would beat up your daughter because she is pregnant. I don't understand why parents waste their time and other resources trying to turn the situation from a pregnancy to a crime, the father of the child being a criminal for impregnating their daughter.

I'm not trying to justify premarital sex here. I'm just trying to understand why it is so hard for us to think positively about any pregnancy. If you've never known this, lemme tell it to you for free: there are a lot of people out there that don't want you to be a parent. Your parents, your Exs, your 'friends' ... anybody you can think of. But that's not the point. The point is, we need to treat this situation better. Accepting that someone made a mistake and got your daughter pregnant will make the situation better. Accepting that you forgot to take your birth control pills will make the situation better. Accepting that you're jobless but will struggle to provide for your kid in one way or another will make the situation better. Maybe all these abortions wouldn't happen if a lady wasn't so scared of what her father would do to her.

As a society, we need to accept that the youth will make a lot of mistakes. We also need to make sure that we'll be there to pick them up and continue with the journey of life. I just hate how everyone views you as the sodom and gomora Whore Of The Month just because you're a parent at 25.

Makiga Something Something

It was on a monday evening, one of those cold evenings. My friend George gave me company as I dropped to Eldoret town to fetch me a modem. It only felt fair that I also accompany him as he checked on his grandma who recently stepped on a nail. So we're waiting for the doctor and I see this Ad on Makiga something something. It's a machine for making interlocking building bricks, I think. The guy on the Ad says it can cut off your building budget by 50% and goes ahead to mention several other benefits. My biggest worry is "DOES THE BUILDING MADE FROM THE BRICKS LAST?"

You and I can go ahead and mention some new products on the market that have very nice adverts, filled with all kinds of spectaculars. The game plan here is to make a substandard product that will earn you quick cash; a product that addresses a market characterized by a continuously changing demand; a product that will save you enough change to consider buying more of the product.

Makiga something something is the product in this case.

I'm back, but sick.

I had almost forgotten that I have a blog. I've been a little busy with my internship with PamojaTogether for the past 1.5 months and that would be the reason for so many cobwebs and the foul smell on these walls. Apart from that, I'm trying to enjoy life while I can. Most people forget to do so. This week has been sad following deaths in every part of the country. RIP to the souls we've lost.

I really didn't know any of the people that have passed on this week, but I also had my own share of 'grief'. I just came home because I didn't want SabaSaba to find me in Raila's lovely hometown, Bondo. 2 days later, I'm brought to the ground with Malaria & Typhoid. FYI, these 2 ninjas have never attacked me at the same time. Trust me when I tell you it's nothing to joke about.

I hate being sick. I hate the tablets, yes, but that's partly the reason. I hate the unstable moods, yes, but that's partly the reason. I hate the drawing of blood for testing, yes, but that's partly the reason. I hate the waiting in long queues at the clinic, yes, but that's partly the reason. The main reason why I hate being sick is, whether you like it or not, you will have to be off Mary Jane, alcohol, tobacco or anything that floats your goat. This is not for 2 or 3 days but at least a week.

If you had to be off 'medication' for a week, thank your God. I didn't want to ask my doctor about the period that I should stay off any illicit substance. I knew he'd tell me a month. So, I decided to take it up with the cute nurse at the pharmacy. She told me 2 WEEKS! 2 FREAKING WEEKS. I'm 2 days into the fortnight and I don't like it at all!

Well, I just hope that I'll be feeling great after the 2 weeks. Having a threesome with Malaria & Typhoid for 3 consecutive days has drained me weak.

Internal self-rule, really?

I decided to Google Madaraka Day and this is what I got: Madaraka Day, 1 June, commemorates the day that Kenya attained internal self-rule in 1963, preceding full independence from the United Kingdom on 12 December 1963. (Wikipedia)
After chewing on rice + ndengu for lunch in this lovely town of Bondo, my full stomach couldn't let me move. I decided to meditate on this particular day. This was the only thing that I could do since there was nothing to watch/listen to. Plus I was still in the clouds, probably cloud 3.

Internal self rule, I thought. This in a political sense would mean a political system where the people govern themselves. A system of our own choosing, where we have representative of the people, serving the people and making important decisions for the people. A glowing definition. Anyone reading this about Kenya would immediately love the country. A newbie political scientist would think of Kenya as the perfect country of self-rule. But we all know that is not the case in our country.

We might have attained self-rule from the British but this ruling was never equal for all of us. Think of it as an individual. How many times have your done something that you didn't really like but you just had to do it to please someone else? How many students in universities are undertaking a course that they don't love but do it because their parents said so? How many orphans are on programs that they don't love but they do because their guardian who pays the bills wants so? How many kenyans hate on other Kenyans because of the politician's interest? How many Kenyans follow orders because their leader is of the same blood?

We are in a country that attained self-rule decades ago but we have never attained self-rule for our own selves. I'll be waiting for the day when everyone at a Madaraka Day celebration will be a truly independent Kenyan. Someone who makes the right decision for him and his neighbor. Someone who wants his/her voice heard on matters.

7th, 8th, 9th Paragraphs

2:01 pm. My phone reads. The sun is scorching but we're all seated, patiently waiting. Waiting for that moment to arrive. A moment that most of the people here prepared very dearly for. It is evident that some of us don't really care about that moment. Some people are enjoying the choir that has been instructed to entertain the guests. They are dancing lazily because some of them are in our team. Some choir members are waiting for the same lunch we're waiting for. They are singing "mungu aibariki ndoa yenu". Ruth Chemutai & Abraham Kimutai's wedding that is taking place at #Salaba Academy, 20 shillings away from #Iten Town.

My brother - Abel - and I are scrolling through our phones. Someone watching us would think we are involved in the committee that planned this wedding. It looks like we're busy ensuring that everything is in place. We are not. We're keeping our minds occupied with the internet + Whatsapp texts so that our worms (we refer to them as inner colleagues) won't protest so much. My brother is chewing hungrily on Mr. Berry chewing gum so that he can confuse his inner colleagues even farther. I am busy taking pictures of the structure and designs of #Salaba Academy. It's an interesting view of the intelligence of the architect. Suddenly we are brought back to the events of the wedding when the MC says "... kakeeny' tany" - "they have slaughtered a bull".

Slaughtering a bull for any ceremony in the kalenjin land is considered the top most level of any kindness or prestige that has ever been witnessed. The decision to slaughter a bull for your wedding is a sign of kindness, hospitality, love, joy, peace and any fruit of the Holy Spirit that one can think of.

My brother is smiling. I know that he has already visualized the food.

4th, 5th & 6th Paragraphs

I decide to leave. It's now getting cold and dark and I should be near the town centre. There is more life and civilization there. I walk back and within 10 minutes, I'm seated at the #Iten Stadium. It's not as fancy as the ones we see on English Premier League but it's fancy in it's own way. There are cows grazing on small patches of rich green grass, fellas are playing volleyball on one side of the stadium and ladies are playing on the intelligently marked out football field. Yes. Ladies are playing soccer. I am marvelled by this rare sight and decide to concentrate on the match that is now at what seems to be the 88th minute of a full game, 90 minutes.

There is serious action at the left side of the field. I can't identify who are the strikers and who are the defenders. I don't know who is playing against who. This isn't like when men play. One team might take off their shirts for team member identification when the game is on. This isn't the case. I'm confused here. I don't know which team to support. Despite this, I'm happy to see children cheering. They must be the children of the players. The players must be their mothers. Everything is heated and while some children are cheering at the edge of the field, others have joined in the match. They're helping their mothers score and this tells me that the match is at it's last minute.

Suddenly, everyone stops. It's 90 minutes. The match is over. Without much celebration, the players stop the bee activity in the field and start leaving the field towards their children. They had come for a refreshing match but it's now over. It's time to leave and go resume their house duties at home. It's time to start thinking of what to cook for their husbands and children. A number of them leave with the children while the rest head to the market that is 2 minutes away from #Iten Stadium. This is where most farmers' products end. It is where they buy & sell vegetables, maiza, beans, bananas, peas, potatoes, tomatoes and many other farm products. It's where they'll get most ingredients for their day's last meal.

2nd, 3rd ... Paragraphs

I decide to change the view, to a warmer place. A different view from the cold one I'm on. I walk through a path with bushes of average adult human height. I see a different path separating from this, a path that seems to be commonly used. Grass on this path have been dried up by what I can call local tourists. As I approach what seems to be my next view of the escarpments in Iten, I hear voices. Happy voices of teenage girls greet me as I enter this rocky view, dotted with 1 spot of shade. I greet the girls and take a position at the edge of this warm and sunny view point. I can now see more of the rift-valley,  I can now see more civilization down under me.

There are farms, filled with different crops and plants. Passion fruits, nappier grass, bananas, pineapples, groundnuts, avocados and various vegetables. This is usually the maize season but none of the farmers has been lucky with the god of rain. This explains the large but dry farms spreading through most of the land on this floor of the rift-valley. Brown farms are all over, screaming to the god of rain, to be merciful and shed his tears on them. Maize seeds are probably still underground, waiting for the rain to fall so that they can germinate. Beans seeds are luckier because they've already germinated but the lack of rain has shrank them.

Two young men walk to this view. They greet me then move much closer to the edge and gaze upon the valley. I think, they must really be enjoying this view but once they start conversing, I realize I'm wrong.

"How are your beans?" One asks the other in Kalenjin, the native language.

"They've grown but are really dry right now. I had started weeding but decided to stop because there are no signs of rain this season." The other replies.

Without much talk, they leave. Their faces are painted with disappointment, not anger. Disappointment. I'm left wondering why they're disappointed and not angry. I think for a moment then I conclude that maybe they should have waited for the rains before they laid the seeds. Maybe they are disappointed in themselves. Maybe they're disappointed that they're not good farmers, something that is expected of them by their loved ones. Maybe they're disappointed that they'll let their families down this season of farming. They are sad.

1st Paragraph

I'm feeling fine !
This is one of those moments that anyone who lives outside of #Africa wishes for on Christmas.
The views I'm enjoying right now are breathtaking! Vast land spread from 0 to 180 degrees of my eyes' view: the enormous and windy Rift-Valley. Giant clouds are crawling through the 3:33 PM #Kenyan highlands sky, a sky that is filled with ghosts of the #Kalenjin ancestors' in form of midnight-cold breezes; breezes that roam the #Keiyo land ... inspecting how each piece has been used for farming. This is just but an outskirt of #Iten, The Home Of Champions.

Of ladies testing their men

I can be a keen listener (licensed eavesdropper) when I want. It's a partial gift to compensate the fact that I'm short sighted. However, this isn't about how I have ears better than my eyes. This is about what I heard and this wasn't the first time I heard about such a thing. It wasn't the second, the fifth or the twentieth time I was hearing about girls (or women if you've matured enough to take 'girl' as offensive) taking a huge risk with their relationships. It wasn't the first time I heard about a lady sending her friend to 'test' her man.

Let me first explain what happens in such a situation. A lady, call her Eve, sends her friend, call her Jezebel, to test and see if her boyfriend (Eve's boyfriend), call her Ronald, really loves her or will easily fall for another woman's trap. This is not always the case. A lady may do the same thing just for entertainment. Others will do the same just to prove to their other friends that her man really loves her and no one else. They never mind if the guy already knew the ladies are friends but sometimes may send a friend that the guy doesn't really know. In some cases, they send their sisters for the same test. I have to ask: what is wrong with you ladies ????

What if your guy needed such an opportunity to free himself from you? What if your friend and your boyfriend have been eying each other for long till you decided to give them a chance? A legal chance. What if your sister has something to offer that you don't? Oh, yeah. Coming from the same womb doesn't mean offering the same 'goods'.

Remember you came up with the test. How your 'students' do it doesn't matter. You just need the results. What if they end up cuddling? What if they end up sleeping together? What if they enjoy it? What if your man enjoys her sex more than your love making? What if your sister finally gets a guy that understands her well. What if your best friend decides to stay because he can please your man better than you do. What if your man finds a lady that knows what his sexual needs are? What if you deliver the perfect package to your man, in the name of testing him?

Fine, you might be thinking it's not always possible for someone to just up and leave her longtime girlfriend. What if they continue sleeping with each other behind your back? Will you live with the fact that you once sent temptations to your man? Well, I'm just trying to show you that there is no good end to such a situation. No matter how you'll try to justify this, it is just wrong. It's stupidity.

By the way, I won't lie to you. We, men, will make the most out of it. We will take the test as a bachelor's party. You just gave us a free pass to new green pastures. It's simply a crime with a free get-out-of-jail ticket. How will Ronald resist Jezebel, surely! Jezebel and Ronald. Mmmmh ... I wonder how that relationship will be. :-D

However, that's not my point. If you're tired of your man, try this. You'll be 'testing' him while he's 'tasting' your friend/sister. It's probably the best way to end a relationship (to the man): you single and miserable with regrets but him with a brand new girlfriend, delivered at his doorstep, I mean bed, by yours truly.

Follow me on Twitter: @theRonaldRotich

Are We Wrong?

When I get things wrong. When you get things wrong. When we get things wrong.

I get up with the thought that I've really hurt you. I get up to texts of how badly you're hurting. I get up blaming myself for whatever is wrong between us. I wake up to pain prolonged from last night. I wake up to you happy. I wake up to you smiling. I wake up to you happy with your new love. I got it all wrong.

You wake up to none of his texts. You wake up to a clear phone screen. You wake up to no calls. You wake up to no texts. You wake up to no "GOOD MORNING BEAUTIFUL" whatsapp messages. You wake up all alone. You wake up without him by your side. It was just sex. It was calculated lust. You got it all wrong.

We blame ourselves for other's pain. We think we're in love. We think it's our fault they left. We think we gave it our best. We think we're better apart. We do everything to stay that way. We do everything to anger each other. We do everything to push each other away. We think we're not in love. We think we won't hurt after weeks. We think time will heal us. We got it all wrong.

This is for all the wrong decisions we made.

R.I.P Rachel Sanga

Last night I dreamt about you. It was a very wide dream with most of my aunts, my high-school mates, my campus mate and you. I don't know how that came to be but it was a lovely dream simply because you were alive, once more.

It was an ordinary working day, at our Kapkei village. We were from the farm and as usual it was time to feed. My aunts had prepared enough food for a few of me and my classmates. I then remembered that I'm supposed to pick some chapati & cooked bananas from a friend. I decided to ditch the boys. But I still needed something to carry the food. I needed a tin. You had a tin. You were alive, once more. 

You were always a good neighbor. A hardworking one I must say. You struggled with being a single mother and did everything to try and provide for your family: Chela, Kim, Kiprop and Cheru. It was a heavy task. I don't know but it looks like a heavy task. Most single mothers can agree to that. But in my dream you were happy. They had all been taken care of. You were alive, once more.

Before lending me your tin, you had to tell me a story. That was the condition. As usual I was impatient because of the hunger but I still listened to you. We laughed and laughed till I forgot about my hunger. You were really happy. You were really joyful. I can still remember your smile when you came to our home. It was glowing. You were alive, once more.

I can't thank you enough for the times my siblings and I ate at your place. From the ugali, rice, chapatis, juice, soda, mboga kienyeji, mursik and even the mkarango we enjoyed when we were still kids. We can't thank you enough for the many times you were there for us as your neighbors. They were various instances. So many that I can't even count. You were always there for us as we grew up. I wish you were still with us. I wish you were alive, once more.

This is dedicated to my late neighbor, Rachel Sanga. We still love you. REST IN PEACE Mama Kim.

Follow me on twitter: @rontich

End Of Campus Party - Buruu

It was a Monday. But not any other Monday. You know it's a special Monday because it's the last Monday before you start your exams. It's a Monday to be serious & start looking for class notes you didn't have. It's time to collect group works of other groups and study them. It's the last Monday before the last exams of my 8-4-4 education.

The seriousness expected on such Mondays is beyond the normal serious Monday at a court house. It's a Monday to step up your studying. It's a Monday to step up your copy-paste material & version. If it was version 1.013. It's time to shift to version 1.014. It's a generally serious Monday. But here we were, an End of Campus House Party and bonding.

This wasn't that normal house party. It wasn't that bring a mzinga for every 2 people you come with. It wasn't that house party. It was a family house party. It was about the family you've made throughout your 4 years or 3 years of your campus life. It was a neighborhood party. You cherish such parties because of that one neighbor.

That one neighbor that you once borrowed salt from. That one neighbor that you once borrowed sugar. That one neighbor that you once borrowed tea leaves. That one neighbor that you once borrowed a packet of condoms. That one neighbor that you once lit a spliff with. That one neighbor that you once had a boner for. That one neighbor that you once thought would look so much better with the lights off. That one neighbor.

We partied. It was lovely. We ate. We drunk. We laughed. It was a memorable party.

This post is dedicated to Biko (you are a badass at slaughtering chicken), Willy & his girl (mkiwa hakuna kupanic mambo na food), Martha (thanks for the kuku), Chege (always high but we never know what you're using), Eugene (thanks for the accommodation), Koi (nunua mattress refu kukushinda), Winnie (congratulations on obeying God's command; go to the world and multiply) ... and all other people I haven't mentioned. Thanks so much. I cherish such memories.

Follow me on Twitter: @theRonaldRotich 

Happy St. Patrick's Day; with memories

St Patrick's Day. Daaaaamn man. I don't even know where I'd start. This day is a special one. Very special to a certain species of human beings. It's a special day recognized by them saints. It's a special day for a Patrick. It's a special day for every St. Patrick's High School - Iten old-boy. (Alumni if you like.)

The first thing that hits me on this day is a whole collection of all the crazy memories I ever made in St. Patrick's High School - Iten. Commonly known as "Saints", we usually made a set of crazy memories. Year after year, every final class would make crazy memories, imprinted on their skins, hearts, minds etc. It was a time for us to make our own coded memories. It was our turn.

I remember the mahindi choma fest at the farm. That was a crazy day. Before we go any further, ever felt like whatever you simply did in high school requires a lot of weed or alcohol in the current world? Yeah, me too. Anyway, we visited the farm, found some mahindi 'mbichi ya maziwa'. Best mahindi choma. We roasted them and ran for our own lives away from the farm. Not because there were snakes or anything but because of being discovered by some teachers.

I remember eating special on all St. Patrick's Days during my stay at Saints. Year after year, we would take a break from the normal ugali + cabbage + coffee + avocado and eat something special. I have to warn that there are different definitions of special. Our special meal was rice + beans and maybe pork. That's a special meal for every 17th March. And we loved it. (Don't judge!) We ate & made stories. We talked for long, laughing at each others pork piece. We looked for those students with allergies and couldn't eat pork. We hunted for their pieces and quarrelled over their share. It was a crazy night every year. We would then go to sleep, happy to be a Saint.

I can't really say Saint Patrick's High School made all of us better but it built us from little kids to a family of brothers. Brothers that would live in peace. Brothers that would fight. Brothers that would unite & work. Brothers that would unite & sneak. Brothers that would be divided by academic performance. Brothers that would be united by football talk. We were true brothers. We were one family.

Just wanna wish y'all a marvelous St. Patrick's Day. Long live the green army.

Follow me on Twitter & Instagram: @theRonaldRotich 

Dj Joe Mfalme is a fraud! A FRAUD!

“…ladies and gentlemen, the original, creator of the ******, SHE GONE DO HER THING, remember this forever. No one can do it better. You better recognize. SHE’S JUST GONE BLOW YOU AWAY! And you know this men! Men! Men!”and it continues.  

If you haven’t heard this by now then you are from the planet Pluto. The scratch (scratch being a dj term ) studded intro that has locally been known and perceived to be Mfalme’s  as fate would have it is not his.  It’s what writers would call plagiarism of the utmost insert adjective.

An American Dj by the name DJ SHORTEE came out guns blazing claiming Dj Joe Mfalme and Crème de la crème stole her intro. As Kenyans we defend our own. See the comments on her Facebook post. So I went on a run to get to the core and guess what. Joe is a FRAUD Crème is just a victim of circumstance.

 Dj Shortee Mix <<<<< listen to that and get any Joe’s mix that u have on your hard drive and compare. Let’s start by giving credit to where its due, Dj Joe Mfalme is a good editor if he does the editing that is. His mastery of Sony Acid the software he uses to produce the mix tapes cannot be questioned. Other than the “she” vocals that persist he does a pretty good job on it.

Take notes.

1.       This is theft

2.       Before you comment and expose your intelligence  or lack thereof do your research

3.       This is unbecoming of a Mfalme a respected person in the music industry.

4.       Dj Shortee is of her own class, take it from me when I say she is a legend, a master cancel all that she is the queen of the decks. Challenge if u can.

5.       If she were to sue hell would break loose.

There you have it. So what do you think? Should Kenyans expose Dj Joe Mfalme just like they did with Octopizzo, another fraud?

By @DjLorc

Dallas season 3, Blacklist e.t.c resuming.

I remember i sat with Dallas season and season 2 for a whole month before i decided to watch it. I knew it'll be the same old stories of Michael, Alejandro, Portia and Catherina crying for each other over sweet nothings. Then i decided to watch it and was immediately hooked. I cursed myself after that. The story developed so well I had to fix a night for the full season 2 marathon. It ended well, suspense was really high and we all prayed for season 3. It is here!
The backstabbing, two-timing, double-crossing drama kicks off it's third season with the Ewings on top, having defeated Cliff Barnes and taken over his company. The Ewings are united, with Sue Ellen planning a wedding for John Ross and Pamela. But solidarity among them can only last for so long.
The 1st episode is out and I'm sure it'll do everything to capture our attention and maintain it throughout the season.

Moving on, Blacklist also resumed with episode 14 on Monday. Coming up from episode 13, Liz helps Tom come to terms on their impending adoption while Red reveals that a woman from his past, Madeline Pratt, is the next target on the Blacklist. Elsewhere, at an elaborate party at the Syrian Embassy, Red convinces Liz to pull off a covert heist. This sounds like an awesome episode of heart and relationship matters but i bet the action won't be so much of that.

 In other news, Intelligence season 1 is at episode 8. This is a nice series, the Chuck type but less on the humor and funny scenes. It has almost the same action and plot as Blacklist. The Following is at season 2, episode 6. That's all for today.

Tweet me @Rontich for TV Series download links of you're interested. otherwise, happy watching people !

My 2 cents on Octopizzo (Or TI's "Black Star")

Alright, before we dive in, lemme briefly tell you about Lil Wayne's Dedication 5. Dedication 5 is the fifth installment of Lil Wayne's "Dedication" series, following its predecessors The Dedication, Dedication 2, Dedication 3 and Dedication 4. (I Wikipediad that btw). What Lil Wayne does is get instrumentals of recently 'awesome' tracks and do a freestyle. It leads to such a MIXTAPE. It was a really good one. I've never liked loved so many tracks in a single Lil Wayne MIXTAPE.

Moving on! Let's talk Octopizzo. The first thing that usually popped up is "He's illuminati". Not anymore. Anytime i hear Octopizzo I think of the fraud he is. Come on, you do too. He recently released an ALBUM on iTunes and that's a really clever move for business. We can't argue. But that "Black Star" track that he featured her daughter ... controversy. The original track was by T.I and Eminem. We all know that. Same beat same words. The 'Illuminati wannabe' (not my words) went ahead and let her daughter lip-sync the chorus like they are her own. I know, sad. I won't dwell much on that since everyone is now complaining about it. What if ... WHAT IF Octopizzo also never came up with original instrumentals? Maybe his ALBUM should be a MIXTAPE? #JustSaying.

My 2 cents on Jimmy Gait's "Makekes" up next