TEENAGE MOMS

Last Friday was the final day of filing returns which in any right thinking fellow's mind is much ado about nothing. I had managed to score a few clients who had serious issues, people who wanted to declare their rental income, a steal from lucrative deals that in my opinion could use some creative accounting and avoidance and others just didn't have a clue on how to use iTAX platform.  At the end of the day I had a few extra coins to cure my headache with some fine liquor and rhumba music. One even has the confidence of bribing the DJ to play NAMISWI MISAPI on repeat. Pesa Otas donge?

It had escaped my mind that the following day I had some charity business to attend to. That's my version of spirituality. I do not practice any religion because all of them are flawed in matters to do with doctrine,consistency and common sense.

With barely 3 hours of shut eye, I was dragged out of bed by a phone call with women shouting at the other end  that they are knocking at the gate and they are being ignored but can see jaber parked outside. By some miracle I was able to crawl out of bed and let them in. "Yaani ndio unaamka, hata mswak wewe bado piga?" they lamented. I was in pain my friends. There was a time when I could party all  night, go home have a change of attire and get on with the day like nothing happened, nowadays my hangovers are the worst. Every morning after, I have trouble getting out of bed, I have to have a meeting with each body part separately and convince them that they need to work together and get through the day. I feel like I should be on an IV bag or something. The clunking of my bones is just embarrassing.

I survive the morning ritual and set off for Marurui, a village tucked along the northern bypass near the suburb of Thome. There are orders for me to roll up my window which I blatantly disregard. My hangover symptoms are similar to morning sickness in pregnant women. I cannot stand the smell of anything that's not oxygen, everything has to be neutral. It makes a nigga nauseous, so women with perfumes and scented lotions are like kryptonite at that time.
We finally found our way to WINGS OF COMPASSION children's home.
The establishment has no sign posts or any indication that it plays host to the less fortunate. It is actually a private home run by a lady called sis Dorcas. Her house stands on the right side of the small plot and other iron sheet structures that have wooden rectangular slabs attached to hinges to act as windows on the left. A small shed shielding a Nissan b15 from the sun acts as the seating area and visiting bay.
The home isn't like any of the conventional ones. It plays as a rescue center for teenage girls and their children. These are no ordinary children. These are the innocent offspring that are sired from rape and incest. Children that are survivors of the savagery that human beings are capable of. I had no prior knowledge of this.

So the ladies sat down with the madam of the house as I went to scavenge the shops for a bottle of water and some panadol. I got back and went to sit in the TV room by myself. I wanted some personal time to reflect on my relationship with the bottle, this shit has to stop, near death experiences and seeing the white light every weekend isn't funny anymore hehehe.
BUT the devil has his plans. Toddlers emerged from the mabati houses. There was pandemonium, some were calling me uncle, some were poking their fingers at my tablet, my moment of peace and tranquility was gone. I decided to engage them asked them their names, took selfies et al.

Around nine teens came out of the houses, they were the mothers. They were so excited to meet me. One asked the name of my school and the  "form" that I was. (18 till I dieeeee :-) ).
We chatted and I could tell there was happiness in their current situations and status of housing. There was music playing from the DVD player and I got to learn with disbelief that there's a song called "Mungu nipe nyonyo." I still can't believe it. How does one start singing that chorus in church? I see the women's guild falling on their knees crying for our youth. When did gospel music become so secularized ?
Then I learnt of "bazokizo" a music video with cool dance moves, I was forced to join in and break a sweat, a cold ethanol reeking sweat. The fanfare was cut short when the lady of the house called everyone to a meeting and introduction session under the shed.

The same girls I had had a fun time with  just minutes ago started sharing their stories and this is when my heart broke.
One of them , very well groomed, confident,talkative and full of wit shared how she had to run away from their home in Western Kenya after she had conceived from being repeatedly raped by her own biological father. This man had threatened to kill her if she ever exposed him to the family. She had suffered the torment of being branded a prostitute by her own mother.
On the very night of her escape, she spent the night in the cane fields where she was attacked by two young men who raped her and robbed her of the little money she had.

Another one, name withheld told of how she came to the city with her sister after her parents died and werecast out by their relatives. She'd been promised work as a domestic help but saw none of that. Her sister was a commercial sex worker in downtown Nairobi and there wasn't a night that she'd sleep peacefully since the studio apartment played host to an average of 5 men a night. She would go out in the street under the cover of night until her sister's business would conclude. On one ill fated night she was accosted by a stranger in a dark alley and was beaten and raped.

They all shared testimonies that no child should ever have to experience. One thing I admired about those girls was their resilience. It takes courage to tell a story like that to strangers without breaking down. In their eyes and mannerisms you can tell that these are still children and have the potential to be moulded into great citizens of the future.

In the evening madam husband arrived and all the kids, about 15 of them, ran to embrace him shouting , "daddy daddy.."  I've never seen something as beautiful as that. These children don't know rejection because they have a mom and dad despite their circumstances.

If you ever get time, feel free to visit and volunteer at WINGS OF COMPASSION home, Marurui village.

BACK TO OLD

I am back to blogging! 6 years it has been. Nobody including myself knows why I took the hiatus. Perhaps I became lazy, unmotivated or maybe I found something to occupy my pass time with. All three reasons are valid. So much has changed in the short time, I finished school worked a few jobs, quit some, got fired twice (hehe) ,found love and dumped soon after. I would confidently say that my learning curve is quickly approaching sunset I am 27 years old now . I have seen the struggle of youth, the hunger to succeed,  the clamor for excellence, the frustration of employment and the suffering of slow but certain death in wrong career choices. Changes are part of growing at least we are told. The blog display picture will stay on for a little while longer, it is good to live with the memory of when times were good, life was easy, bellies were flat and all teeth were present. Not to say that I have missing teeth but weight has been put on, lager has curved a presence on my gut and a little more facial hair protrudes on the base of my chin. A little less bright eyed and bushy tailed and more squarer more confident and less bothered by perceptions of those around. In short there has been reasonable growth.
Wanjiku wa Macharia (my mother) rang me last Friday at around 9 a.m. and wouldn’t have picked the call if it were anyone else, but peering through half shut eyes I realized that this had to be answered. There’s something about ignoring your mom’s calls that gets you an earful from granny in Siaya about how you’ve abandoned your family and the constant reminder of whose blood is running in your veins. Yes I was still asleep at that time, there’s this small matter of getting fired I’ve talked about up there that’s going on at the moment but that’s not important. Distress punctuated her voice. One of our close family friend’s elderly mom was ailing and a resident at Outspan Hospital in Nyeri. I met the Shosho around March this year and she was one of the kindest ladies this side of the Sahara. See I am not good at conversations with people outside my age bracket but was able to relate with her on all levels. Old people don’t want to hear your opinions, they want to dominate the discourse and impose their ideas on you and show you the error of your ways. This wasn’t the case with her, she was actually keen on getting my perspective. The exchanges were nourishing and philosophical. I had indeed made a friend. Something that is difficult in adulthood. We planned to drive up the county the next morning.
I couldn’t sleep until around 5a.m. seeing that when one is between jobs you find yourself occupied by film and literature, this time I was reading Christopher Hitchens God Is Not Great (how religion ruins everything). Sidebar: God is Great, this author is just full of shit.
4 hours later I am on the road. The drive was smooth, jaber was trying out it’s new gearbox on the mountainous terrain of Kirinyaga, she ate the Kangocho hill for breakfast.  Mom slept through the entire journey, I don’t know how she does that.
We were at the hospital waiting bay a few minutes past noon and had to make due with the uncomfortable seats. The sun shone halfway into the room peering through the translucent panes branded span Hospital. The word 'out' clearly faded off voicing a cry for renovation.
With my kabambe in hand there wasn’t much to look at on my phone hence my eyes wandered through the bustle in the hospital, the nurses were all pretty, light skinned and young. I wondered to myself what the HR policy was or that they simply cared for their patients such that the caregivers had to be appealing to the eyes. I have been to a few public hospitals and the looks on those nurses were everything but friendly. Perhaps it’s the long standing union battles they are embroiled in with the government or maybe it’s the frustration of lack of facilities that gives them the hostile demeanor.
Visitation hour crept in and we were all led through a small search point into the ward two flights of stairs into the room. Illness has a way of sucking the otherwise jovial and cheerful personality of people. The old lady could hardly recognize me initially until that point when I was struggling with my urban kikuyu to remind her I was Wanjiku's son. I could see her face light up when our past conversations finally struck her. She asked me whether I’d found a girlfriend yet and that if I was still unsuccessful once she was back to full health it would be her life’s mission to find me a partner.
The homestead was 36 kilometers away in a town called Naro Moru. The drive from Nyeri town was a spectacle. Central indeed is a beautiful place. The thin winding tarmac roads that disappear into grand prix deathly corners stand out for miles, you have to wrestle the wheel like it’s a raging bull that wanted to toss you into the grassland abyss that seemed to meander in  never ending circles. I went past the Kenya Police Training camp in Kiganjo and was in awe of the beautiful landscape that was well manicured. Discipline echoed the manner in which the recruits walked in well choreographed processions in their yellow outfits. They all looked eager to graduate and serve Kenyans with integrity and impartiality. I don’t know what the fuck happens after passing out parade and cops are handed their blue wears.
We get home and were greeted by the mzee of the house. He’s an elderly gentleman somewhere in his late seventies. Well kept and brushed white hair , back slightly bent forward whispering years of hard work in the farm to put food on the table. His shirt was well tucked into his khaki trousers that were properly pressed. The only fly in the ointment were his mismatched pair of slippers. Blue and red. This told the story that the Mrs. of the house wasn’t available and the man was battling to keep things together.
He ushered us into the home and what struck my eye was the homely ambience of the living room.
The whole wall was decorated with memories of a life well lived. Pictures lit the room with precious moments of the Chomba's in their wedding bands in 1957. Photos in black and white of their children taken in professional studios told of a family that stayed together and valued the times they spent in each others company.
Frames of certificates upon appointments to head various posts in the church occupied the spaces between the stone carved tablets our parents had the habit of buying and displaying to visitors. Notably were the all famous 'Christ is the head of this house, the silent listener to every conversation.' Money and wealth come from parents, but a prudent wife is from the lord.' And my all time favorite from the book of Jeremiah ,' I know the plans I have for you, those of prosperity and not evil, says the lord.
One thing that carried the day for me was meal time. The old mzee led devotion and thanksgiving in the similar fashion that my late dad did. The whole family had to eat at the table and together. T.v.was off and we did the old fashioned dinner table conversations that were full if wisdom and intrigue. My dad taught me a particular method of eating ugali that seemed to have fascinated the young children present. Ugali should be rolled and a depression made to accommodate both soup and the portions of beef in one fell swoop. The downside was that the flour was ground out of millet and anyone who has eaten such ugali knows that it gives you heartburn that leaves you praying for death.
 Naro Moru nights are devilishly cold attributed to the place being located at the rainshadow side of Mt Kenya which I can confirm to you is a thing of beauty when the morning fog clears and the rays of the sun catches the ice caps at the peak. Too bad my tablet was out of power, I could have taken pictures.

This is one of the places I would want to retire in. I wish Shosh gets better soonest possible
I love this place.

Chapter 6;Values

In the two decades that I have co-existed with fellow mortals in this world I have come to develop certain inferences on how to relate with one another.

Having not yet mentioned any relations with my paternal parent I wanted to reserve this post for him.The values imparted by the man were unrivaled.
While he imparted many for instance humility,kindness and contentment,discipline was the key. However firmly it was administered. He clearly distinguished between being brought up and being left to grow.He believed in "kukulisa wewe kiboko" which is loosely translated as your arse in fellowship with the cane. It did not matter where he finds you when he discovers your shortcomings. Yes in the presence of your friends,at the bus stop,in church anywhere.
I will admit that more values are yet to be assimilated as I continue living this life. In so far as I'm convinced the following apply across all beliefs,cultures and any form of setting and situation that homo sapien sapiens are present.

1. Candor  

Never would my old man say something behind anyone's back. It hardly mattered whether your thoughts were in unison.He had a dagger approach to issues and would not shy away from expressing an opinion. In society sorry to say we have lots of people who kiss serious ass.I have a grave yard of bones to pick with the media.The fraternity has gone to bed with politicians forsaking the crucial role the fourth estate is empowered to perform.If any of them had strapped on a pair Kenya would not have been high up on the list of failed states.Corruption,nepotism,fraud in public institutions is neatly tucked away by these fellows.My list is not in any way exhaustive and it takes no genius to join the dots.

     2. Charity/Philanthropy

In the household that I was raised,If you were not willing to share then you were not part of the family.The resources always satisfied the members regardless of their abundance.Sadly that is not the spirit in society today.This is fueled by the maxims of capitalism.Scholars may argue that socialism restricts growth and personal development.So I pose my question, which is the lesser evil?? A communist setting would be in my opinion economical and equitable as opposed to a capitalist one where there's  unquantifiable wastefulness and disparity in lifestyle.Why would we have a frenzy of activity and channeling of money to funds that feed the starving in various parts of the world? It beats logic that turnover of corporates is in billions of dollars while a few million human beings face death by starvation.In the current situation we find ourselves in since we chose the selfish way of life,,philanthropy should not only be a value but there should be some form of legislation that pegs some sort of percentage on the incomes of  companies towards the less privileged.

    3.Responsibility and Family

Easy.If a man has any issue{legal term for offspring} he has all legal and moral obligation to take care of it.I will not go into the nitty gritty details of how my father managed to raise us but if its any consolation I would only say that the means were all legitimate. How many single parents are there not because the father is deceased but for the simple reason that the coward took off?? What should stop a man from fending for his family if the a hyena does despite its reputation of being cruel and calculating.Tafakari hayo

    4.Hardwork and fairness

Hardwork pays.But it is never enough.Humans lack the virtue of contentment.This results to unfairness.A man who's father is unknown will not secure his dream job to boost a career that has cost an arm and leg to build.The creed of intensity integrity and intelligence has long been eroded and reduced down to who has more qualitative advantage than the other.Sweat and blood will not get you anywhere simply because you have the wrong genes and are not a son of the village chief or a seasoned politician.You can dress a goat and and trace it to the lineage of so and so and get along this life.

    5.Tolerance

People are diverse.Cultures,beliefs.traditions,religions,race et al.
I have come to learn that we will never worship the same god,never agree on whether living a chaste life is wrong or right,whether it is acceptable for one to hug their mother-in-law,whether black people are pre-disposed to chicken,whether white women can dance or whether some men  prefer to be the ones in the wedding gowns.But we all have one thing in common. We are human so the only thing we should exercise is tolerance and mutual respect for life and property.

Chapter;5 On The Cusp Of Suicide

In my life time I have rubbed shoulders with death and this is my attempt at de-mystifying it.This was done a while back when I was hit with the news that a former friend of the family had taken his own life........THE BIG QUESTION SHOULD BE WHY NOT?? ISN'T IT A BETTER WAY TO FACILITATE THE MEETING WITH YOUR MAKER??

Dangling on a rope 6 ft off the ground.
My destination is 6ft into the ground.
A million thoughts cross my mind,should I or should I not.....

Orphaned by h.i.v I turned to you.
Only for your ignorance to slap me in the face.
You thought my helpless tear cud infect you.
Off to hell I join my promiscuous parents.
Sorry to say your daughter is expecting my son.........

Pastor, you dislike my affiliation to death metal.
My godfather u were when my parents paid tithe.
You conveniently missed their funeral then.
You tell me the devil is a liar.
I'd rather lose my soul than worship your hypocritical god..........

I have fat thighs,flabby arms and a potbelly but I recall u loved me for who I was.
Lipo-suction has become my lifestyle,
yet u spot a new roll of cellulite on me each morning.
Now that I am about to depart,honey,I think I cleaned your bank account..........

Food supplements right,left and centre.
but you still compare me to VIN DIESEL and make fun of my visible ribs..
signing the pre-nup was to your detriment since I'm leaving my estate to charity..........

Disapproving looks I get from society.
Since my sexual orientation beats the norm.
We were created by the same god.
So why shud he condemn me for his faults?
After all Im his image and likeness..........

Wankstas are branded perverts.
While priests are married to their palms.
Abstinence isn't in existence and neither is faithfulness.
Condoms are ineffective yet my hormones are effervescent.
I'll fix myself up with the lotion,criticize me and see if I care.............

SOCIETY,THESE PEOPLE ARE ON THE VERGE OF SUICIDE,ALL THEY NEED IS THE VOICE OF REASON.....WHO IS UP TO TASK???

Chapter 4; Men Are Men And Women Will Never Understand

A woman that has been around for a while will always have this question on their minds.
"Why are men so cruel?" "How can they do such evil and turn a blind eye and don't feel a thing?""Why do men cheat?" "Why do men hit women?"
We'll I.M.O {In my opinion} ,sorry old people if this lingo has passed you then you're a little over the hill,women made us that way.

Do not blame us. Blame the so called feminists band wagon.
Growing up,things were simple. Men were the wearers of the pants in the society. In Africa the family was not the basic unit,though some scholars may choose to differ.
A man was the following:

1. The pillar
2. The disciplinarian
3. The fixer
4. The prosecutor and judge.

Just to mention a few roles.
Ok if there are any ladies reading this then my apologies for the following remarks.
Feminism is utterly and in every sense of the word BOLLOCKS.However chauvinist I may sound,in fact methinks this word was invented along with the agenda of "emancipation of the girl-child"
Walk with me and let me make you understand.This is the paradox of gender equality.If it is indeed true then:

1. We should be allowed knuckle up.I fail to understand why if my wife hits me and I reciprocate, I risk dropping the soap in the prison showers doing time prescribed by F.I.D.A.
2. She should support me when I'm unemployed.Do that in this time and age and you are comfortably labeled a BUM.
3. I should hop onto the bus and expect you to catch up.Do that and during her next "self-help" meeting they discuss the deficit of gentlemen in society.
4. The provision that 30% of legislative seats be reserved be abolished.Rise to say that and they will make noise and wake the ancestors.
5. I should call you any time my car swaps paint with another.Do that and someone anonymously calls Classic fm breakfast show and alas you are the talk of the town

Well then to answer the questions posed above.Men will always be men firstly because we can and secondly because feminism has opened our eyes.
When you lose dominance nothing should stop you from thinking that you are irreplaceable.
Chris Rock once joked that when you are laid off as a man the woman will be there to comfort you alright. She'll say, "honey we'll just have to get rid of some things and we'll be fine."
SHE'S TALKING ABOUT YOU

Chapter3;Religion

Yea baby!!! It is hot potato time.
Please feel free to fill a seat in retarded section if by any chance you believe there's no God.
Many people are affiliated to religions for personal reasons.Others {e.g yours truly} found themselves in one.
Growing up if there's one thing in shiku's {God bless her soul}household that we took seriously was,you guessed right, CHURCH.We would rise with the roosters,get dressed in the prescribed attire and leave for mass.
Umoja 1 Catholic is where we would pay homage to the almighty. And time was crucial lest you miss a seat or find a place where you could only hear the Padre but he was out of sight.
The cardinal rule was "do not dare soil the clothes" This was so since water was a gem in Umoja Estate.Time came when we showed enough teeth to be dragged down to "Mafundisho"that was the beginning of my critical view of virtually all religions.
After creation the human-folk was dispatched with one common denominator,,(drums roll) A BRAIN!!!
The stories in the bible you'll agree with me hardly hold water.I further feel very insulted when it is shoved down the throats of innocent children that man was made from clay and woman from a man's rib.What hog wash. Evolution makes much sense.
See creationists have that feeling of self-worth that just makes me wanna cut myself.They always try to force their way as the absolute,unquestionable truth.Not on my watch.The holy book is punctuated by numerous  inconsistencies and a bluff of vicious hellish inferno if one doesn't conform to these absurdities.
In nazi ruled Germany it was simple.It was either you champion their ideologies or you're dead.The religious "almighty"says its either you love me or I send you to hell.I find no difference in the two scenarios.Jews were being massacred for just being that.They cry foul.Still the "almighty" they believe in will want to massacre non believers when the impending judgment day finally arrives.
People who refuse to think for themselves are a sad lot.Why would people spend their whole lives believing on the rain-makers while you have meteorologists for that.
Here comes my aim of starting this blog .Simple. Getting rid of the one thing that Einstein termed as infinite human stupidity.
The society should let children attain their age of majority to decide for themselves whether to be religious.Parents should only be charged with the task of developing a positive conscience that's all.
My view is that God exists but not on the wave length of religion.His is a power that superceeds human comprehension.And do not be fooled the world is not ending..It is ever dynamic and possibly man from the future will ultimately be able to decipher God.People tend to make a song and dance out of my religious views,this is all I say to them....
Pamoja tutumie ubongo.

CHAPTER 1;PIPE DREAM VIS A VIE REALITY

I  wanna be a rockstar.I want everyone to like me. ME AND ME ALONE I wanna play the electric guitar…..
I can only play drums..I can only play that infuriating, frequent to every kip, kipchir and kipchirchir tune.tu ta tu ta tu.
At least I know shiku {my mum} likes me and of course my old man and my lovely sisters do too.
I WANNA BE FAMOUS
Life, elegant ladies and distinguished gentlemen, hardly turns out as we expect. Every time you set the bar high you never really have a safety net idea in case your ambitions fall through. Some religious folk may say the devil is a liar, well that’s a bite we’ll have to chew in the future but I,Okoth K’Olwal, have a slightly different perspective toward life. I may come off as rather eccentric but hey every village has its generous share of weirdos.
I have always harbored a desire to be a whole lot of things.From those days {god bless them} in kindergarten we would be asked to come up with a list of what we would want to become in life and with pride put them in bullet form(I cant do it in word) Driver,cobbler,shop-keeper etc.
Well you can’t blame us entirely because we fell in that age cluster where the law would recognize us as infants.and not in any way looking down on these modest professions.I used to run a shop at some point in my childhood.
As we progressed our ideas changed and we yearned for greater things.All these aspirations summed up together and distributed on our growth curves almost carve us out as the generation with no direction.
Our education system is fucked up.Sorry to say.It has been that way for a long time.The professors that we regurgitate do nothing much than perpetuate the same fuckery that they went through.And we pride ourselves in having two of these fools at the helm of the ministry in charge.Every time I check there is always crap about curriculum developers and publishers blowing hot exhaust through our ears with the gospel of revised edition in the course books used in our schools.That is  their interpretation of “kubadirisha rangi ya kitabu”
This is why high school never made much sense to me and I’m sure the feeling is mutual to many Kenyans.

By the time you are through you feel a notch higher on the scale of stupidity.You just do not know what you want.When presented with a list of careers you are as confused as a baby in a topless bar.My two cents on occupational dilemmas is one should enter high school and only do the subjects that he/she believes will help them in future,ours is focused more on the quantity bit and the quality is in the toilet.My heart goes to those already damaged by the system.Make the best out of the situation you found yourself in.When life throws you a lemon duck and show it your middle finger..That to me is the authentic definition of success.

I will rarely quote any famous people since I also would like to be inducted in their cloaks of fame.Here is one of my own;Success in my estimation is neither a function nor a derivative of rigorous and laborious activity.It is simply how you bridge the gap between fantasy and reality.