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.