I’m pretty sure this piece is coming out of nowhere and probably has lost its meaning since Valentine’s was yesterday. Yea. Valentine’s.  A day that most of us on the internet spend making a big fuss of until the day actually comes and all that you do the entire day is sip Fanta and swipe through memes or through people’s statuses to see whether their own Valentine’s  was going as great as yours. Yeah. The Worst.

Think about it. Really. Like most of us who are in our eighteens and nineteens and twenties. Yea. Us who are yet to discover life, get the perfect girlfriend/boyfriend, go to a bomb ass university, get an eight to five , get married and have 3.5 children called Beauty, Balance and Happiness.  What is Valentine’s to us? Valentine is probably one big fuck up where you actually don’t do anything different from what you do on normal days.

TBH, I’m starting to fear for the human race(Not really). Like seriously. Let me put it this way, how many of ya’ll actually took Valentines seriously and treated those whom you love without throwing it up in people’s faces on social media? Huh? Like wtf? Do we actually go along with this Valentine’s typa stuff for the sake of show? To throw it up on that Instagram  story? On that Whatsapp status? On that snap?

That’s damn retarded.

I’m not judging or anything (I actually am) but wtf? Valentine’s has turned into that day where we put up one big fake show of affection, right? No?

Then what in damnations sake have you been doing for the rest of the year until another Valentine’s shows up for you to do that dumb shit again?

Don’t you call your girlfriend in the morning to tell her that she needs to wake up early to catch that mathree to school? Do you text your girl when you have no data so you that you can tell her that you’re just checking up on her though you’re broke af? Don’t you call your Mum to tell her how much the world she means to you? Like seriously?

Just ask yourself these questions. Do you have to wait for Valentine’s to do that?

Now look. I’m not here to bash you up on how a total loser you are. I’m here to show you how not to be a total fuck up.

For starters, you could start by making sense of your priorities. To me; family always comes first no matter what. Listen to your parents for once. So send that card to your Dad at work saying how much you treasure him. Buy your Mum that shade of nail polish she loves.


Love is not measured by how much you do for somebody but rather how much you are willing to give up for them. Is it your time? Your care? A shoulder to lean on?

Like; be there for her when she’s scared to start her fashion label. Be there when she’s scared to pick up a guitar and sing. Be there for her when ACCA classes become one big monster. Be there for her when ACCA classes become her best friend as well. Be there for her when she’s scared of the future. Be there for her when she’s scared whether the two of you will work out.

Be there for her.

And tell her this.

Don’t think. Feel.


Peace. I’m out.


P.S: I was not drunk while writing this. (I actually was)



I still remember High school with all of its quaint subjects and overbearing teachers all over the place. When I was in my final year in High School, my life became more of what I did not recognize. I used to go through the days consciously, startlingly aware of every decision I make; and the day after recollect the previous day as if I was gazing through a veiled screen.

Smoke screen.

In our dormitories we’d sleep in an open cube of four people. In mine was a junior, two other form fours and myself.

Muli, a close bud of mine, would keep me awake after those doggone night classes (that ended at 10:30 with half the class fighting to stay awake)till midnight rambling on about his rugby training and painful shoulder. He’d narrate their game against Ofafa Jericho as though it was World War II and Hitler’s’ goons had just broken into the British flanks; and after a while, a sport which I totally held no regard for; or most probably thought was meant for headless barbarians, became an avid fan.

So at the beginning of the term he’d psyche himself up for the rugby season and pray earnestly that they qualify for nationals. Every games time when I’d probably be on my bed wolfing down a Chimamanda novel he’d be out in the pitch. Bearing tosses and turns, bruises and broken bones just to get to nationals.

He’d return in his Nike Pro Combat Gear, dusty and gleaming with sweat. His Adidas spikes a glistening red from the dust. A strange fire playing in his eyes. I could easily tell that this was his passion. What made him feel alive.

“Mazee Imanda leo nmefinya try tatu msee…” he’d proudly declare, that he’d scored three tries in a row.

Picking his towel and a bar of soap he’d head for the showers (I wonder though how he scrubbed himself, with a gunia, maybe?). I would turn back to Purple Hibiscus, trying to figure out which page I was on. (I used to fold the bottom right corner of the page-a practice my English Primary school teacher would severely disapprove of)

We’d go to class for night preps together and head to different classes. He was in 4A and me in 4B. Sometimes I would doze off in the middle of cramming those unbearably difficult calculus concepts.

Dy/Dx. Damn.

I’d finally give in and place my head on the desk and stay half asleep and half awake; because an overzealous teacher on duty(Who usually happened to be a teacher on practice) might be prowling about; and I’d spend the entire of the following day at the farm, tending to clueless chickens.

The 9:30 P.M bell would ring, and I’d gladly drag myself back to the house to finish my novel.

Muli at that time would head over to the gym to lift 60kg weights (Ahem). To tone himself for their next game against O.J. And he’d pose a dramatic entrance into our cube, yammering about how every muscle on his dehydrated Kamba body ached. Well, he’s a decent human being, quite respectable in any sense and has a sense of humor that isn’t quite right. Grotesque, that’s the word (He’ll strangle me for this, you know)

I’ll never quite know how he manages to play a testosterone-charged sport and still afford to shine with a quiet polish.

He’d give an account of his day. I’d give an account of my day. He’d tell me which bird over the fence he was writing to and I’d tell him my ALA interview was coming up the next week. And then we’d pray. We took turns praying every day. Although we were four of us in the cube, only the two of us prayed. One was a self-declared atheist and the other was vaguely uninterested in religion.

When it was Muli’s turn he would fervently pray that God covers the entire rugby team with the blood of his son Christ(If the team was anything but slippery if covered by His blood) and that they’d suffer no injuries in the next game. He’d invoke the name of the Holy Spirit that it rains brimstone and fire on all of their opponents (He’d slip into Kikamba sometimes, and lose me also).He’d pray that they(The team) proceed to nationals. He’d pray that my interview would go through (Hallelujah). He’d pray for all of us. Amen.

And the fall asleep. That’s Baba Musyoka for you.(Oh, and I forgot to mention that he has a son called Musyoka, he’s yet to be weaned)




There were those tiny stretches of time,of exhilaration, where I most definitely thought that I finally had the world in my grasp and that the universe had finally decided to bend to my will-Hitler style. And more often than not, it did.

But when it did not, I would, just like the rest of the world, blame everybody else for my boring shit. I frankly did not deserve a reminder of life’s impermanence. I did not need any reminder that my uncle Joe was slaughtered in cold-blood by heartless freaks in the middle of a cold Nairobi night. Murder.Death.I heard somebody once said that Death is what gives Life meaning. Curse that guy.He doesn’t know the pain of having somebody you love so much wrenched away from your life.Just like that.Bam.And for what? Money? Politics? Hate?

I would contemplate suicide and think of sailing to the high seas and drowning myself in rum and brine.But what good would that do to anybody, forget myself. I honestly did not derive any sense of purpose in living, existing,breathing, loving, hating, envying,winning, sinning or any other of those things I did on a daily basis.I craved to be an animal. To forget my human essence and live by my raw instincts.Pursue my ambitions with a single-mindedness that I cannot even relate to, that seemed alien to my very self.But what good would that do to society?

Fuck society and all of it’s stereotypical bullshit. I thought myself a sinner and a rather thorough one for that matter. My girlfriend(ahem,she doesn’t exist anymore) would often point out to me the amazing adventures we would have together.

“Let’s live in this moment baby. Admit it, sinning feels so fucking good. Let’s  drown ourselves in this stretch of time.Just you and me.Forget everything else.God can sort himself out…” she would religiously say, rather ironically.

I wanted to tell her so bad how much I hoped that God existed and feared that he didn’t, after all. She would ultimately shoo away my dark thoughts and change the subject to a more sensual one-Jezebel style.

“If it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant….,”she would say.

“What do you want?”

“To be in Hell with you..”

In the midst of the bliss and her soft moans I would feel a terrible despair that this would be over soon. This high.The Cloud Nine. She told me it made her feel alive.That she’d feel it in her toes.That it woke in her a refreshing feeling of newness.


And did she know what it did to my conscience?And she’d soon need money for the Uber, the airtime, the hair, the make up, the blunt. I really did not mind spending money on her. The’re was this feeling i had when i was with her.A feeling of freedom, of pleasure, of madness.Wild. One that I could not bear letting go of.

I’d tie a noose around my neck and wait for the wonderful sound of my neck snapping and my unfortunate life ending.And realize that Heaven and Hell are but just the creations of man’s insecurities on Earth.

But does God exist? I cannot answer that, and neither can you, and there lies man’s greatest tragedy. We are often faced with life’s unfortunate circumstances and unanswerable questions and where do we turn to?Faith.The Bible.And hope that the Almighty God in His  everlasting throne above will solve all of our problems. I’m no Jesus though.But you can crucify me if you want. No l’s given either way.

But still in the grand scheme of things, stuff still seems to work out, even if they don’t, if you know what I mean. And all of those things that make us humans. The raw human emotion.The Animal instinct. The focus.The determination.The sinfulness.The insecurity. The family. The hope.The despair. The good. The bad. That’s who we are. We will fight for our lives, hope to the end and make it work out.

Just as my favorite rapper once said,

“… Sex, money, murder-these are the breaks…

…Sex, money, murder-our DNA..”