the greensun blog

I personally almost believe that “lamba nyonyo” by Willy Paul was primarily intended as an instructional tune for weaning infants that have trouble operating the ‘machinery’. Then again, I could be wrong.

Find link to atrocious song here: https://youtu.be/V7DojVAf9IM

The question still bothers me so long after its release “Why did he make such a song indeed?”
I think we can all agree that the song whose title roughly translates to ‘lick breasts’ in english is tasteless both objectively and subjectively. To be clear, I am unconcerned with the morality of it. I just think that creatively speaking, he fails flatly. If you oppose this notion then I defer to the arguement of “Please, lets not argue. I am not well” that did the rounds on social media a while back.

Someone sent me this photo on whatsapp. I liked it. So I posted it here. You are all welcome

Now, I consider myself a simple man. I’m generally concerned with high ideals and all that old fashioned nonsense. I attribute this partly to my parents telling me to just be myself. They did this, I think, without actually appreciating the true meaning and purpose of such instruction. In their minds, they just thought that I was a good kid and that I shouldn’t try to be like the eponymous “cool kids” that drank, had sex and all that other fun stuff. They wanted no trouble out of me. As a parent, I think wellbehaved kids are easier to manage and thus cheaper to raise. Every parents dream, right?

Here’s my take; its important to be yourself. No doubt about that. My reason however aside from the obvious new age meta/philosophical ones you’ve heard over and over is purely utilitarian. Say for instance, you are a very tall person. It’s then easier to play basketball. It’s also easier to become a professional boxer if you naturally have better muscle tone and agility. Playing to your strength is what I’m talking about. It ensures a greater rate of success in one’s endeavour where they are suited.
Now those are the simplistic examples partly because they only take into account glaring physical traits that one cannot deny. What then happens when dealing with someone that denies their own internal traits? Or worse, someone who isn’t really sure of what their traits are?
I’m talking about people that force themselves to be social when they know they really aren’t. Or you people that can’t stand working in an office and would rather have a job that allows them to travel and socialize? Or what about you guys that are naturally musicians or athletes but are stuck in a boring accounting job that just happens to pay the bills?
Perhaps the situation isn’t even that drastic. Maybe you are exactly where you are supposed to be but…when you were younger, you used to be excellent. Excellent in every respect because you put in maximum effort and you enjoyed the satisfaction that gave you. But the mean kids called you pretentious or ‘kiherehere’. Then you stopped because you couldn’t stand the malicious criticism. Now you have lived in the comfort and quiet of mediocrity for far too long that you wouldn’t even know how to start defining excellence. It’s become much easier now to blend in even if that means that your life is of lower quality.
The human spirit is truly remarkable. People prove extremely malleable when it is for the sake of survival and sometimes they think that means fitting in.
What then exacerbates the situation is the plethora of information going around these days. Social media, TV, grapevine(is this even still a thing…I felt like I should include it because I have mild OCD and feel the need to list things in 3s). We see our heroes and role models portrayed on media to fit into 1or 2 general personality types. Usually the traditional strong quiet type that seems to have a prophetic right to victory or the underdog that triumphs despite the unbearable odds. These soon become the only desirable things to aspire to be in society. A byproduct of society shaping art which then goes on to shape society.
Its much harder to be one’s self now, especially if you don’t fit into any of those prescribed types naturally. Society has made its prescription seem so appealling and so compelling. The pressure mounts. Everyone apes. The youth on the other hand pick up on whatever they see around them in an attempt to be different. Trying to be different is the way of the youth I suppose.
But even they try so hard to be different that they just forget to be themselves.
And isn’t one’s self the only thing truly worth being? Can’t we agree that in this, there is no struggle, no labour in futility, no dissatisfaction and most importantly, no emptiness? I think that in this, we play to our strengths. We are as perfect as a human can possibly be inside and out.
I think many parents tell their children to “be themselves” out of selfishness. I am certain of this. Recall how yours would tell you this one minute then compare you to your cousin who just won an award for some ‘good boy bullshit’ he did in school (maybe a science congress project or something etc)They might have told you to be more like your cousin blatantly as well. This makes their instruction disingenuous as they were mainly unconcerned with your emotional wellbeing. Perhaps they were more concerned with their own pride and standing in society as responsible parents.
Perhaps that’s what happened to Willy Paul. That he finally snapped and departed from his wellknown brand of gospel music. Perhaps he was a goodie-two-shoes that finally became seduced by the dark side(read: secular music community) and peer pressure. Or perhaps he always felt like he was in the wrong place in gospel to begin with but stayed in fear of not being like the heroes he grew up admiring. His financial success in secular music might indicate whether or not he is being true to himself. Or perhaps it won’t. In truth, what do I really know? All I know is that I liked his music better when he did gospel. And that’s saying a lot seeing as I don’t particularly enjoy gospel music. I guess it just seemed more natural to me then than this does. I dare say it seemed more sincere than a lot of the other musicians.
Some of you aren’t doing well financially because you landed decent wellpaying jobs earlier on in life. The whole circus of college may have led to this. Maybe it closed your eyes to any real possibilities you had of defining your own path as you would have truly wanted. And now you fit in. You fit right in with your fancy degree, your crushing debt and loveless practical unions with ‘likeminded’ educated people. Some of you now embody the ideal example of a decent person with a decent life that anybody would kill to have. A nice 2 bedroom house, wifi, gym membership, nice car, annual trips to nice holiday vacations and regular outings to the nice joints. Yet, deep down inside, you just want to quit and go do something silly and fun. Something simple amd utterly absurd. And you cant understand why it would satisfy you more than your current lifestyle does.
I won’t sit on my high horse and tell you to do so while I can’t do it myself. Quite frankly, I dont know what to do either. I just know that it’s crucial to honestly accept how you feel about this. It is extremely important to understand and embrace that, you, the star of your own life might just be a goofy character( usually relegated to a supporting role in most movies). And that is perfectly fine. It is the first and most crucial step to actually being yourself.

Signing off,
DAD

PS: I apologize for subjecting you guys to such a horrendous tune as “lamba nyonyo”
But…it had to be done 😉

It wasn’t about a girl. It really wasn’t. People always assume that relationships are that powerful. Sometimes they are. But this isn’t that sort of story. I just fell into depression somehow without my own knowledge or permission. (Not like anyone ever consents explicitly to this kind of thing.)I would then sink deep into an abyss that would persist for about 2 years of my life.
Perhaps it had been long overdue(all the trauma of my siblings’ and my childhood being taken into account ) Perhaps 2012 was when I finally became mature enough to process that state and survive mentally. It was the year the 1st Avengers movie came out. Wasn’t such a bad year in hindsight seeing as I had gotten most of what I had always wanted by the end of it. I cant positively say that that was exactly when and why it started. But maybe it was.
All in all, a deep sadness found me and decided to stay with me. It brought a gnawing sensation to match every smile I carved onto my face. And I smiled as one usually does when its clear that weakness must not be shown. But somehow, it always echoed through my laughter. I was officially depressed and the emptiness was overwhelming. Talking about it now is cathartic ironically. But the gloom back then was anything but that.
Overthinking was probably the worst part. I could reduce any fortunate occurrence to a statistical anomaly. In my eyes, it wouldnt last. In my eyes, it wasnt supposed to. The worst possible outcome always seemed like the most likely to occur. I mistook pessimism for pragmatism. The downside was always over my horizon like a dirty sickness. And whenever I looked into the eyes of humanity, I could see what they were truly about. I could see their deception. The way it reeked to be around plastic smiles of imperfect creatures just like me. So I hated humanity. I hated them because I hated myself and could see my reflection in them. The way I had become a parody of their excesses and overindulgent natures. I hated this pretensiousness and how it sheathed and choked happiness with the ideal.
I think…no! I’m sure now that this is the byproduct of getting everything you want all at once without doing anything to earn it. There is an emptiness that comes with realizing that wants and needs are flatly different things. The former was in abundance yet the latter was entirely unknown to me. And that irked me in a most sorrowful fashion.
In the midst of all this psychological torrent, there she was. And there was nothing wrong with her. On the contrary, she was perfect for me, I guess(On paper that is). Everyone seemed to think so. Even my mother. I was supposed to love her although I dont think that I really did. I didn’t feel much back then. To be honest, I felt close to nothing. Nothing but the feint gnawing pain of anger, hate and nihilism behind every experience I had lived through to that point. Every ugly piece of history that my new fortunes had tried to cover up came forward. That sort of pain bites at you bit by bit and finishes you slowly. Depression is such that you have neither the ability nor inclination to remedy it. You are tired even in your youth. Life in its abundance has worn you out and you aren’t sure of what to do from that point on.
Trying to love her was hard. An impossible task actually. I was trying to offer myself while there just wasnt enough of me to spare. Same with my emotions or lack thereof. It all showed. You cant hide this sort of thing. And it broke her heart. All for nothing but to keep this shitty facade going . Pretending takes a toll on a man. It was unbearable. I just wasnt fit for consumption.
Ofcourse I tried to do something at first. I tried to feel alive by doing things that cause pain, excitement and even fear. I did things that should have killed me and when they didnt, my next actions just became bolder. If I hadn’t cared before, I really didnt care now. But it wasnt bravery, it was just me not giving a shit in incremental degrees. At some point, one logically considers the path to self destruction yet it doesn’t scare you.
No inclination to selfcorrect.
It wasnt really a desire to die. It was more of an exploration of my mortality and its limits. And these limits are great. Trust me.
I recall approaching someone I looked up to. I needed to talk to a mature voice.
“I’ll get you someone to sit down and talk you very soon”, was her response.
She never did. She never spoke to me either. It was disappointing but not painful. Strangely. To realize that in this lost place she couldn’t make time for me. I realized that family can’t be there for you either because they are too busy living their own lives. Especially in this day and age with its boundless complexities. And that is fine because I was too self-absorbed with mine as well.
Realizing that one is alone is the most liberating thing in the world. This became clear much later. It became clear that I am powerful because I only answer to one human; me. This gives my actions much greater weight. It lends my intent greater meaning. Solitude had a haunting beauty to it. The tethers were chopped off entirely and this gave freedom an aroma I had not previously taken in.
My rediscovery of religion complimented this shift in 2014. To be clear, I did not rise out of depression because of religion. I embraced religion anew because I had emerged out of it. And quite frankly I didnt want to fall back in.
The dissillusion and emptiness fell away.
I was relieved when the feeling washed over me. And I wasn’t angry anymore. The storm had been quelled from within. It was easy to forgive. I was also suddenly wise enough to realize that some of these things people do are not against you but just for themselves. Their faults have nothing to do with you. Forgiveness is unnecessary because in truth, no wrong has been done. But forgiving one’s self? That was such a crucial part of it all. It was my salvation in every sense of the word. With it, things made sense all over again. I knew who I was. Not like a year prior when I could feel nothing meaningful and highlight of my emotional experience was rushing down the steep waterslides at village market.
I think that depression is the ultimate state of being a broken human being. This is a stage beyond burnout where you view everything in your life with suspicion. Nobody that comes into your life is good enough. Broken people mostly just know how to break other people and things. Damage is what they have learnt intimately so it is a skill they know proficiently. In my sorrow and silent anger, I dreamt of war and hate. I dreamt of absolute destruction and I fantasized about massacre. When I couldn’t bear the knowledge that the world would continue standing as it was to my displeasure, I sunk even further into a world of fantasy where my wishes came true. Imagine forsaking the truth for a sweet poison. I suppose I’m probably alive today because of that denial.
I still cant quite describe how I crawled out of it. I see others talk about this state yet in truth, not too many really know what it feels like. But for the ones that do and still suffer out there, all I have to say is “Hang in there. It gets better.”
Not because it gets easier, but because you eventually get stronger.

Captured

a poem by Dima Adam Dima from Sprectum Volume I copyright © 2019

I salute his bestial eminence, the gargantuan sentience lurking along the crevices of my indecision and doubt
He roars and all bow to the might of his ego. Who needs the devil on his shoulder when he is around?
My heart rumbles violently and squeezes petroleum into pulsating arteries when he takes control. Doors open by the undeniably seductive bellow that pours over my tongue and out of my mouth.
When he stands at the helm to steer, clenched fists hunger to pound itching and grasping, finding inebriation by the aroma of the blood in the air.
As he walks through the world, things go missing and appear where they shouldn’t be. So the faithful lament and question God’s plan.
Clouds part in the wake of his volcanic rage and the torrent birthed from such a cataclysm deletes the often unappreciated calm from existence. And the tempest ? The tempest churns out what every proper tempest should
Meanwhile, I lay bound in captivity within the recesses of my own construction as my reality fades. All control left a long time ago when he first distracted me with his passion and the glory of a blazing world.
He is the night to my day that shamelessly abuses his intimate comprehension of my most well hidden proclivities. All the desires I harbor and dare not chase, he pursues shamelessly.
Yet the world yields to his depravation as I sit gagged in the darkness of bondage yearning to apologize to the world for all these misdeeds.
But I bow and submit nonetheless because plastered on the front of his head is face like mine, his eyes like mine but seething with spite for my weakness, my indecision, my tears, my uncertainty and my remorse.
His sneer looks like mine would if I didn’t suffer from terror but became it. His will is mine if I wasn’t scared of letting go and falling into infinity and the abyss below that it houses. Those clenched fists are mine if my palms weren’t so clammy in the cold sweat of defeat. He is me if I didn’t believe in the all-seeing eye and that it could stop me.
If only I could shatter the earth, steal light from the sun, drink up this vast vast sea and master existence as he does. Then perhaps one day I wouldn’t need him to move through the world ruthlessly conquering without a shadow of doubt in his heart anymore.
But until that day, I salute his bestial eminence.

I ate the love of a good woman last night
Now I am vital, I am complete, I feel strong
I could mount a campaign to subdue nations
I could stare death right in the face with all this abundant life bursting out of me,
I could part the seas and break the world in half
By my will. By my conviction. By my love…the same love she gave me last night.

Adapted from “MNJN pamphlet” of “Spetctrum” by © Dima Adam Dima

When Susan was a little girl, she loved the public holiday celebrations being broadcasted on television. She would watch the parades with wide eyes and a throbbing heart. The spectacle of intricately choreographed marching and colourful uniform moved her to delight each time. She couldn’t quite understand it yet but that TV set brought to life and present all that was beautiful in any sovereign and proud nation.
This exercise that actually carried on many kilometres away was here with her in spirit. One could not have known that the country was broken. Not with the way it made her feel. Perhaps every Kenyan child is a patriot before a certain age. Or just up until puberty.
Somehow, the heart either embraces or recoils at decay. The day she saw it, she recoiled with a resolute tug. Her heart would from then on watch the country with suspicion and fear. And I’m not just talking plain corruption in its most obvious sense but true decay of the society and all that was once sacred. I’m talking about the thing that causes the fall of empires, the destruction of homes and the end of the world as she knew it. This was the grimy sludge of impunity that corrosively washes colour and lustre off the shiny world and leaves a plain sorrowful grey.
When Susan grew up, she went to college then came back home. She had not yet realized whether something had changed inside her or if it had only changed in the world. She would come to realize it after landing her first job.
On watching the Jamhuri day celebrations a few days ago, the melodies of beating drums and blown trombones didn’t have the same joyful ring as when she was a child. They sounded with an overbearing tone as a harsh reality took up all the space in the back of her mind. They were playing the happiest tune of disillusion she had ever heard in her life. This spectacle was just a spectacle. Nothing was more clear than that. It became apparent also that her patriotism had long since died and this melody was the dirge that would usher it into the afterlife.
Susan had now become the Kenyan of this new age. She wore a weaker coat of Kenyanness than those before her. Perhaps in the old days, the coat of pride had better quality. Perhaps its fabric was richer, with a higher thread count, better texture and warm enough to remind you that this nation was the only home you needed to know. Perhaps that doesnt exist in any country anymore. Perhaps it never even existed at all.
What she knew now was that her taxes paid for the procession of those intricate marches, the instruments and the dazzling uniforms. She had once has asked what she can do for the nation but this is the best the nation could do for her. Everything else was a mess.
So she is broken now. She lost her childlike wonder and faith long ago. And maybe, just like her country, she has a price as well now. Just like everybody else in it. This republic could have thrived. Now it only tries to survive. In King Kaka’s spirit of #wajinganyinyi, so much can be said about the nation. So much should actually be said. But isn’t it all just so tiring to even just think about?

Captured above is Daisy Kipesha. She is an alumni of Technical University of Mombasa and a part time model currently residing in Mombasa.

Email for more details

In Nairobi, appearances are everything.

Even the hobbos in Nairobi seem cleaner than in other towns somehow. Thats just my observation but perhaps I am biased. I know of how the facade in that fine city has greater importance than the real situation. I also know how religiously Nairobians defend their reputations.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
First of all, introductions are in order. Nairobi was established as a colonial rail depot back in the day(1899 to be specific)
At the time, Kenya was part the East African ‘protectorate’ with Mombasa as its capital under the thumb of the tea drinking nation of Britain. Showing immense potential for growth and logistical convenience, Nairobi soon replaced it for that seat in 1907.
Today it has a population of
13,751,653 all within an urban area of 696 Km².


Photography by Yahya Walijee

Being the largest city in East and Central Africa, not too many things that matter in this region happen oustide Nairobi. It is home to thousands of Kenyan businesses and over 100 major international companies bringing its annual GDP up to around USD 14.9 billion.
People stream into Nairobi every year and as such its population is said to grow by about 4.1% per annum. Part of the reason is that Nairobi has since 2003 become home to several universities, colleges and other tertiary institutions. This growth rate takes into account the annual migration of ‘campus kids’. Now I use this term loosely to refer to all young people coming to Nairobi from other parts of Kenya to pursue tertiary education. The aroma of promise and a bright future beckons to them as they march into the city to live, study and work.

Some years back, they used to call Nairobi the city under the sun. I wonder why they stopped or maybe they still do. I dont know. What I know is that it actually comes alive in the night with feverish lights and seductive vigor. If you havent partied in Nairobi, they will say that you definitely havent partied period. The Nairobi nightlife is famously and immersively crazy. As such, these ‘campus kids’ stream in not just for the curriculum but to sample its famous decadence.

The youth shall always be the youth, everywhere you go. That is a given. There is no place that exemplifies this truth more than in Nairobi. Meeting a group of trendy youth absurdly dressed like marathon athletes or high end waiters is not uncommon. They laugh louder than other people because all the jokes are still new to them.
Model above is called Dishon Mmanyi

The young guy loves the way music sounds through his earphones. He loves the short skirts on pretty girls and how cheekily they pull them back down when they hike up their thighs. And these girls know exactly how men see them. They relish this attention because… which woman doesnt like attention? Attention gets them free drinks, free airtime, paid transport expenses and sometimes paid rent. In Africa, shapely female posteriors are a prime commodity. And so these girls learn to feel important and desired.
Then the alcohol and psychedellics makes all the youth feeler bigger, more important and more beautiful in the grand scheme of things. It allows them to revel without bounds which is what they want because defiance is a symptom of their youth. But boundaries do exist.
They soon learn that class is such an important thing in Nairobi. And the city will let you know this by how the ladies treat you(especially if you are a man).The high end streets will feed the fantasy of glory and plenty. Posh restaurants and coffee houses, decedent VIP areas in the nicer clubs and those weekend outdoor events that only an elite few can afford all seem nice.
Meanwhile, the common man/woman contends with his/her reality of stuffed chips parlours with inadequate ventillation and day old fries, dingy backstreet pubs overflowing with keg, cheap liqour and rickety stools and the dingy brothels where men go in only to walk out with lighter wallets and testicles.
Everyone wants nice things. As such, everyone in Nairobi learns to hustle to afford them ‘one day’. That’s the motto there by the way; Hustle. Soon, they all become so consumed with this task that eventually a general apathy sets in to compliment the rush and urgency.
Nairobi isnt just a place. Its a cultural mindset that seems to stand distinct from that of the rest of Kenya. Infact, it defines and redefines the Kenyan way ever so often. People that go to Nairobi learn to swear by it as a philosophy and religion that props up the almighty Kenyan shilling on an altar. Meanwhile, Nairobi’s rugged beauty confounds its dwellers while its cold ‘sneer’ endears them even more. You go there and somehow the city touches your heart. From the gentrified middleclass neighbourhoods of South B and C to the concrete jungle that is the CBD to the legendary Westlands that taught so many Nairobians what the word ‘rave’ really means. I have to mention the copascetic bustling Upperhill area and the charmingly vintage looking railway station. It’s all quite breathtaking.
With that and so much more, Nairobi changes you. That is its charm. And it is able to do so because it constantly changes and grows and grows each day because that’s the Nairobian way. It expands beyond what would have been thought to be its critical mass and explodes beyond set limits constantly defying expectations.
I think part of what fuels this expansion is that everyone is so eager to tie their souls to the city. Everyone wants to profess its gospel and sing its song of progress and high performance.
In time, they are all confronted with the suffering that cities like Nairobi are accustomed to metting out. But Nairobians are masochists. They take pride in this pain. They are proud of how early they have to get up to join the daily ratrace and how punitively high the rents are. They embrace how expensively fares rise without warning. They believe it makes them stronger as they find comfort in the wide array of sidehustles one can do in the city to make up for their income deficits. They believe that if they can survive there, then…well…you know the rest.
By tying their souls to the city, I can’t help but think that they loose a sizeable chunk of it.
It goes without saying that some beautiful young women(and men) frustruated by this hardship (or some other hardship) learn to sell their charm for a piece of the tempting oppulence or to survive atleast. An entire industry that has mastered the concept of the eponymous slayqueen/f*ckboy thrives upon the delicate trade of companionship for fiat currency to varying degrees. The market is created and fuelled by a mix of circumstance and suffering. Meanwhile, the rest strive to make bread so they can afford to not just survive but to purchase this charm. A good ecample is how most young men fantasize about having money so they can get all the women. And thus, by everyone’s complicitness is this market sustained.
All in all, money emerges as the most crucial thing in all this. Nairobi, being the quitessential example for unchecked consumerism lets you know this. I dont say this to sound jaded or judgy. It’s just the truth. There, they sell everything. And they buy everything. Anyone who is not onboard with this philosophy is an ‘idiot’ and a pariah. Things are so commercialized that almost
everything (and everyone) seems to have a price. Perhaps that’s why everything seems so sanitized. You see, Nairobi has no time for the grotesque. It demands only beauty because it wants something it can readilly sell. Thus is the curse of Nairobi. That is its personality as a living breathing city. I see other towns and cities in Kenya and East Africa try to emulate Nairobi and I just dread a country(or world) like that. It has carved a space for itself up until this point. However, going forward, I think this little world needs far less of that sort of intensity. I think to myself “Just one is enough!”
What do you think?

Credits to photographer, Yahya Walijee and model, Dishon Mmanyi.

Statistics sourced from wikipedia

A crack comes into being as the earth splits open and something bile like, broken and cruel comes forth. It was the answer to questions yet to be asked and those that have had none since.
Yet this thing rises and pretends not to notice humanity. So as humanity stares, they wondered if it would abide by their stupid rules.
This rogue-looking echo that reminded them of how existence awoke primordially and pounded on longing ears with a ghastly erotic yawn. How brows rose and truth was written across the faces of mankind for the 1st time. It made me not want to apologize anymore. At Least not for the things that gave me shame once. I am ok. I am ok now. Better than I have ever been as I watch time flow right back to my origins. Suddenly, I have all the lessons of the world thrust into my soul at once like a computer getting fed vast amounts of information. As it fills, I start to wonder if one man can truly drink up this ocean. Because, I recall how we have feigned omniscience as a race with such limited knowledge.
I see all the men and women that claim to hate and love me. I realize that it cant be any of those emotions that they feel. Not all of them since they dont truly know me. Perhaps its just envy or admiration or plain desperation as the dread of their own existence sets in. Its not their faults just as it cant be mine. It cant be.
Logic must prevail, because when a cow dies, a family must be fed or the earth shall have its nourishment. It shall have its prize. I know with certainty that as the world takes with one hand, it gives with another…and with deepest sincerity.
I suddenly awaken because my body cant bear to sleep anymore. Then I dance because even this confusion is a form of music.
Yours,

Dad

The model above is called Dishon Mmanyi. He is a businessman and freelance model from Taita Taveta county. Email for more information.

Disdain at the world is what I feel.It sounds petty but I hate that I cant conform. And I hate it even more when I can. Human society is such a tiresome concept . I have toyed with the idea of destroying the world on several occassions.
Each day my disdain grows, I seek more power. I seek followers to fill my ranks, riches to fund a massacre and the iron resolve to strike that final blow with certainty when the time comes.
I think about my origin and I am overcome with both shame and pride. The old lady with her infininte vacuousness, the old man and his brutality, the young girl and her envy and irrational need to destroy me and the masses and their unfounded ideas that made no sense. These same masses that selfishly desired to categorize, stamp and roll me out into the market for whatever purpose and at whatever price they saw fit. The same herd that preached its mediocrity as holy gospel and fed on the vitality of the pure. So that now there is nothing earnest walking the streets. But each day, I found strength to defy these things, to burn down the very pillars of my youth and erect something fresh upon new foundations. Each day I sought to feel the same intesity my soul blazed in before the world broke my heart.
I should be angry but I find my exhaustion far exceeds the rage. Because I’m tired of throwing practical solutions to the world and havng it look at them. The truth is that people are not complicated. They are infact simple beyond comprehension and they need the most illogical things for them to be happy. They reciprocate love under the strangest of situations and they only feel affection for the things they have hurt and that have hurt them. Perhaps they were right to say pain is love.
Somehow , my pride keeps me from walking away from it all as though it would signify a failure in me. My rage keeps me from loving them and my hate strengthens my resolve to destroy them and everything else on this earth. And I have fears. So they haunt me. But the thing about being broken is how easily one can ride past fears. As it turns out, they are just reminders, not barriers.
Thus perhaps I actually feel nothing now. Perhaps every emotion I have is simply a vivid memory.A numb little child under this heavy armour might be what I truly am. It could be what I have always been.
Perhaps self-imposed isolation might be the solution to it all. Yet, obliterating it all seems like it could be more satisfying even as I acknowledge that I am still part of this world. Meanwhile, the world spins.

They toil. Branded the upwardly mobile crew, they work their asses off.
Blue and grey days pass by so swiftly. Nothing seems to change on the surface. But right below, a metamorphosis takes shape.
Time melts together into an endless continuous sequence of the sun rising and setting at arbitrary times. And they dont just feel like slaves of time, they are prisoners of space. Something deep within them yearns for the ability to fly away.
Ridiculous! As though that could solve anything.
Soon, it becomes clear what they really want. What we all want. And all we want is the mundane existance we have built ourselves in the name of prosperity and security to pause for a tiny instance. The danger seems like it would be worth it for just that instance. Blasphemous intrusive thoughts creep into our psyches and make us curse all the right decisions we have ever made to lead us here. We resist the focused demeanor we have embraced. We are disgusted by the fruits of our organizations and prudence. We grow bored of the African dream. We now fantasize about fistfights, drunken profanities, minor car accidents, raucous bouts of infidelity, mild psychedelics….opportunities to feel something intensely chaotic. To relish something unapologetically wrong. Something akin to danger; anxiety, fear, infatuation, rage, the kind of deep remorse that causes a man to shift the entire course of his complacent existence.
The married man wants his wife to perform depraved acts on him. Whereas the married woman…to be honest, Im not sure what qualifies as acts of passionate spontaneity for women. Homework, I guess. Yay!
What is abundantly clear is our appetite for risk in life and how it spikes upwards after prolonged periods of mindnumbing repetetiveness. We look at the disorganized with envy. They seem to have the appeal of pigs playing in the mud and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Bliss, ignorance and and all that.
I said it before “We have built fortified cities to guard us against the elements only to desire the spark it causes within us and invent the danger anew from within.”People say they love danger in moderation. Perhaps that is so. People do a lot of things to kill boredom. I find that danger is usually the main ingredient in these things.
But working in an air-conditioned office is the sort of thing that can kill a person’s spirit. In there, we are meant to stay composed, restrained and well-behaved. There is inherently no danger there and consequently no true satisfaction at the end of the day (save for the money we earn).
But its hard to break the habit. Also, in truth, most are scared to jump off the deep end worried they might get swept away or drown.
So in the evening, bars become playgrounds. All the games we play in the bars become our lifestyles. They start to seem like the only way to exercise catharsis and find relief. All because we have become victims of our success. It’s all ridiculous if you think about it: studying for decades to avert danger and brokeness only to desire it later.
“Let me reward myself”
That’s how we justify these conflicting ideas. And that, my dear people, is the Kenyan way.
That is the African dream.

A steady percussive beating shunts me out of the circus of my slumber. Unwilling eyelids part to meet the sterile light of a dazzling bulb. It shines through supposedly opaque curtains. Nightmares again. And the cold. It bites with viciousness. Gnaws at my sockless foot. The rain outside doesnt just pour. It beats at the world and against the pane of my shut window. Somehow, I feel as though people might still be walking about out there despite the ungodly hour and rain. You know that feeling? I am at the mercy of the elements. Sitting up and stretching to shift curtains to catch the limited view outside, I find comfort. The fog is pleasant. Somehow, the cold and desolate land outside is in no way bleak. Even with its screaming muteness of torrent, it grants me peace. Peace grants me a chance to think. And the most obscure yet meaningful contents of my mind come forward in a shocking violent wave. Beautiful thoughts flood the mind. Such things that can make us cry that are neither pain nor sorrow are confusing. I now stand beyond the disillussion of failure to meet one’s goal or the pangs of a broken heart. I should relearn how to cry. I recalled the last time I did. Aged 17 and foresaken. But that is a story for another day. This is not that sort of moment. It’s the sort of moment where an unsettled mind has raced and crashed. And now it has to take stock of all the things in ones life. So I thought of these things that are greater than the accumulation of wealth, conquest and victory. I thought of my ego and how pointless it truly is. I sat on that bed and took stock for once in a long spell of how fortunate I have been thus far. To have loved ones, a sane mind, happiness…People should do this more often. It is calming. It settles the mind and reinvigorates the zeal. Solitude is heaven. As a dead night paints the world outside with a storm, I smile.
I travelled almost 1000 kms for this.
“Everything is fine.”
My eyes reach out into a dark room as something declares this. And that is happiest I have been since the year started.