some kind of wonderful

Christmas. It comes every once a year, at the end of the year. That Pope Gregory (as in Gregorian Calendar) must have been extremely intelligent, because he had this date set to coincide with the end of the year, so that it's really like a double-whammy of celebrations - Christmas itself and the start of a new year. So for that whole week and sometimes even the one before companies close down (not mine though, they'd much rather all working days were spent, well, working) and send all their employees shopping with gift vouchers and spending bonuses (again, mine excluded), which makes sense because every retailer has those year-end sales going on. And we all send all those tu-little messages about the holiday cheer, starting over, hope for the new year, and we overwhelm the network so for two hours on 23rd, 24th and 25th, and then again on 30th and 31st it doesn't work very well. Of course, since we have that whole local tourism thing going half the country goes to Coast and Naivasha, and bus companies take it upon themselves to recoup all those mid-year losses during the one season people MUST travel by tripling fares and going long-distance routes they're not equipped to just because people are too desperate to care. And then there are our finest, the traffic police. Wanting their form of the holiday bonus, they stop every car they can and ask for the one thing they know they won't find (light flare, first aid kit, life savers...), and when they don't find it, well, we all know what goes down. And the malls set up these vibrant arrays of christmas lights all over their premises trying each to outdo the other with the latest designs (for the record this year I think The Junction won that battle - although I didn't get to see Village Market), so KPLC do the only natural thing they can - re-route all residential power to said malls to handle the new load coz they think they'll make more money there than at home where there's probably only one light on, resulting in power cuts at the most inconveniencing of times. But it always comes back so that's not all bad. And the artists (term used very loosely), they're a special group: they all find a popular hang-out joint, attach themselves to its hip, peddling the hottest christmas gigs (one wonders what Keroro and Banjuka have to do with christmas, but what can one say, apparently "Kenya hukuwa hip hop nation, kila Friday huwa ni vacation") with the most outstanding dancers and the loudest DJ and the hippest crowd, for Shs. 700 at the gate and Shs. 600 advance. And the party don't stop till 8 in the morning... I much prefer the Nairobi Music Society's outing, first because I'm not a fan of rap and other senseless genge and dancehall etc, then because it actually takes on a Chrismas-y theme - they do carols and Handel's Messiah and stuff - and then it doesn't happen on the actual day - they do it like a weekend before so you can be with your people.

Anyway, this particular year the holidays for me didn't hold a lot of promise at the start. There was that whole thing of the day losing its magic that holiday I watched Titanic of course, but even then, there had always been the family, the celebrations, the exotic food, the odd relative or two, and the almighty christmas tree. Draped with candy and stuff. And miles and miles of crepe paper interleaved in different colors. This year I couldn't go home because of one Sudan trip coming up next week (booooo!). So I had to find a surrogate family to celebrate with. As it turns out, the one I chose ended up being pretty wicked. Twas some other aunt of mine in Komarock. I mean, yes, they had no christmas tree, there were no christmas gifts, or carols, or dressing up. But I used to live with them once in a past life, and I hadn't been there in forever, so the memories were priceless. House and the people hadn't changed one bit. And my little brother also came coz his concert fell through and he was sane for a change and we hung out and it was fun. He's actually a very personable guy when he's not having one of his emotional meltdowns. And I got to super-diss my cousins and we watched movies and ate popcorn which is like a trademarked thing for that house (I swear they pop corn by the sackload). And while it could always have been better because I could have been at home, with my parents, and a christmas tree, this was the week I watched Avatar. How can I not stand in awe? OMG, James Cameron is a demigod!! Everything considered, this holiday actually was as good as it gets. Especially the part about my brother being sober. I hope he stays that way for a long time, like for the rest of his life. Yes. Once every year, at the end of the year, the holidays come. And we eat, and we laugh, and we drink, and we chat and we go places we wouldn't otherwise go. And then, just like that, they're gone. But they leave us with a certain exuberance. A bright feeling we wouldn't otherwise have. Maybe the magic isn't really in the day itself, maybe the magic is in the air that comes with the day. Even the Grinch, having stolen everything he could, finally realized that: "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more." Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time. 

END

forget and not slow down

...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning...

Happiness must be the most frustratingly difficult thing to get a handle on, no? I think so. And not because it's truly elusive, no, but because it's supposed to be that easy. The sun comes up in the morning and everything is supposed to be ay-ok. We're supposed to look at it and thank the Lord for a new day, and go about making a difference like we should have been in the first place. There's nothing required on our part, just to wake up and open our eyes. And yet this couldn't be further from actual reality. The sun's rising is not as carthatic as it's held out to be. In fact far from it. Everyone wakes up with a groan. The new day does not herald new beginnings like we're taught it should. We wake up and its back to the same old drab ways. We do the same things we did yesterday, complain about the same situations, and the sun goes down at the same time, and joy does not come in the morning. You know that ancient Greek story about Atlas and the way Zeus banished him to forever carry the world on his shoulders - literally - well, we seem to all have taken Atlas' burden upon ours. We behave as though if we took a small break the world will fall apart at the seams, right across the board - from the CEO to the guy that cleans the toilets. When it comes to being happy, are we our own worst enemy?

I know I am. It's more I'm a victim of the system than of myself, but really, I put myself in that system. When you do what I do you won't believe how few the days between Easter and Christmas are. And you'll just wake up suddenly one day and find that you're 33 and you can't remember where the 10 years between uni and then went, and you'll have nothing to show for it, except maybe a stellar career. The pressure is such a rush, and I know I complain a lot but with time you actually get addicted to the adrenaline and the deadlines. You become a complete slave of the environment, and you want out, but you can't imagine a world without that feeling that I have to get up today or the world's gonna collapse. Telling you to slow down becomes like telling Jack Bauer to take a desk job.

Im thinking part of it must be our inability to see the future. That makes it possible for us to rationalize to ourselves that tomorrow is going to be a better day. And even if it's not, the pressure will ease up next year. Or in 3 years. And the 3 years come and go and you find that it's only gotten worse. Every day you take on just a little bit more responsibility and you don't give up any and it builds up over time. And sometimes you don't even like what you do. You do it the way everyone else does it - for the mortgage. And we like to tell ourselves that we're the only one who can do what we do, and so if we weren't there it would all come crumbling down. And so God forbid personal gratification should even come into the mix, the rest of humanity is depending on us. Our kids can wait. Our health can wait. That friend we agreed to meet for coffee and catch up this evening, yea, she can wait too.

So it's Christmas next week, and guess what, I'm going to Sudan - to work. Till January! And not even the town part of Sudan, no, that would be too much like a holiday. Way upcountry. Where people sleep in tents and stuff. I haven't been home in a year, and it didn't use to bother me coz, you know, I've been there since I was born and I was still young and all, but now it does. Maybe I should learn to take my own advice. Slow down, breathe deep. Apparently success is not the key to happiness, happiness is the key to success. We need to learn that we're not alone, there's always gonna be someone to take over. Eragon was the hero in that Inheritance Cycle trilogy, and I like the things he thinks about at times, like towards the end of the book 1:

Oddly, on occasion, I sense a peacefulness within. You would think
that after all I have seen—after all I have suffered—my soul would
be a twisted jumble of stress, confusion, and melancholy. Often,
it’s just that.

But then, there is the peace.

I feel it sometimes, as I do now, staring out over the frozen cliffs
and glass mountains in the still of morning, watching a sunrise
that is so majestic that I know that none shall ever be its match.
If there are prophecies, if there is a Hero of Ages, then my mind
whispers that there must be something directing my path. Something
is watching; something cares. These peaceful whispers tell
me a truth I wish very much to believe.

If I fail, another shall come to finish my work.

END

the fine art of falling apart

Why do people grow apart? Ever had a large group of friends at a stage in life, like in school, or when you were living in that old estate, with whom you were so close there was nothing you used to do without one another? And you thought it would be like that for the rest of your lives? But as you got older and people's paths started to diverge you started to realise it was really just the geography holding you all together? That apparently even the strongest of friendships don't survive distance? And everything else in your life became invariably more important that these friends, so that you only noticed they were no longer around on that odd Saturday morning when you'd woken up a little too early and had nothing to do but stare at the roof and reminisce about the good old times? As it happens, I fear that may be happening to one of us. I've had four such groups in my life - one when I was a kid, one in high school and two in uni. Obviously the one for when I was a child died a natural death because that was pre-me becoming a geek and facebook and google wave and also us people moved towns, the one for high school got REALLY dialled back, and the two for uni one's still going strong and one, well...

When someone goes to your wall after five years and writes how it's been forever and how are you doing these days, what are you supposed to answer if that person wasn't just an acquaintance? I usually tell myself if they were really close they wouldn't have to ask that, and then I realise I don't know them that well any more and the whole stones and people living in glass houses thing kicks in, so I just say, "Good, it's been great. Work's killing me though. You?" and she says "Same here," and the countdown begins again for the next five-year interval when we'll check up on each other. Nothing about the lost grandmother, nothing about the recent burglary that left you at square zero, nothing about the decision to go back to school, nothing about finding a new house and moving in, or the break up that obliterated you for a while, or the new baby... we never actually go into all these specifics - all that stuff is just supposed to be covered by the single perfunctory line, "I'm good." Which, if you think about it, is true in a way, coz I mean, we're alive, it could always get worse.

We met recently, my uni group and I, and looking back I could tell the level of association had changed. No one wanted to know serious things about the other. It was just all on the surface - you wanna show interest coz it's been a while and you feel you're supposed to, but not enough that we'll actually talk about something that matters; or something that will require input from me, you know. The rest was all just disses which used to be my thing but seems to be what everyone does best these days. It's safe. And when it's all over we hug goodbye and go under again till the next time we'll run into each other on the streets, probably next year. And later you sit and you ask yourself what new things have I really learned about these people today and you find that you've got nothing. As it happens, you're no longer one another's rocks like you used to be. Everyone went ahead and they moved on. People go through stages and they grow and they change and the world still goes round, so you realise that maybe you should also do the same.

We seem to have gotten this growing apart thing down to a such fine art we don't even have to talk about it or synchronize any more, it just happens. And it affects nothing else in our lives. There's a song, originally by the Carpenters, called The End of The World:

Why does the sun go on shining
Why does the sea rush to the shore
Don't they know, it's the end of the world
Coz you don't love me any more

Why do the birds go on singing
Why do the stars glow above
Don't they know, it's the end of the world
It ended when you said goodbye

If only that was how it worked... Anyway, right now I'm just reminiscing coz I'm idle. I probably won't notice this again till the next random person comes knocking on my profile, asking how I've been doing since we last met in 1999! "Good, really good," I shall answer, "How 'bout you?"

END

hypocrisy of the accused heavens

AC360 today was slammin. There's a story they ran that's one of those that causes your insides to turn. There was a woman, Pat, who 22 years ago carried on an affair with a catholic priest, Father Henry, some place in US that resulted in a beautiful bouncing baby boy, Nathan. As it happens, catholic priests are not allowed to have children, I guess because they're supposed to be celibate and all, so he should have been compelled to give up the priesthood, get a real job (hehe) and take care of his family. Apparently the affair had gone so far that this Patricia had actually left her husband for the priest. They had, you know, fallen in love with each other. Enter the child and everything went downhill from there. Rather than make him leave, the church saw it fit to stand up for one of it's own - no, not the congregant, the father. They assembled this high powered group of lawyers and negotiators, went and bombarded Pat with tonnes of legal speak and grand promises of them paying for everything to do with Nathan (this was a stay-at-home mum without means, mind you) and when she broke down that's when they presented her with the confidentiality agreement. In it, Father Henry admitted that he was the father, the Franciscan Church agreed that it would pay child support through Nathan's life and all Pat had to do was keep the affair secret. She couldn't tell a soul. Of course she took the deal - what else could she have done.

So fast forward 22 years to last month and the boy gets diagnosed with cancer in the brain, and it's too far gone to remove so he's gonna die. As Pat told it, the church abandoned her at her hour of need. It's important to remember that in this story "the church" literally means the church, it's not figurative, coz it was actually the church Father Henry worked for that was meant to be making the payments, not even Father Henry himself. Anyway, she called, wrote letters, pleaded, went down on her knees, and then the church sent her $1,000. This was like 2% of what she really needed to cover the hospital bills and all. Anyway, she somehow made do, and I think it's at that point that her story got picked up by the media, first the New York Times and then Anderson Cooper which is where I saw it. Of course the church was embarassed, came out all guns blazing saying how over 22 years Pat had received in excess of $223,000 from them. That translates to just over $11,000 a year, hardly enough to raise a child on for a person with no other source of income. But that notwithstanding, looking at this picture through the eyes of the insititution that is supposed to be the moral beacon to the masses, was that really the biggest thing wrong with the picture? That they hadn't been paying child support?? Why even sign the agreement to begin with? Why cajole the woman and leave her with no choice? Why allow Father Henry to continue serving as a priest, knowing what they knew about him? Apparently as far as the church was concerned they'd done nothing wrong.

And that's the thing that's most jarring about this story. That this was not just one errant person who could have been the sole bad apple or could have acted impulsively in a moment of weakness. This was the entire church administration. This was something premeditated. Something they sat down and thought about. This was something they did and did over and over again for 22 years and did not feel anything. If a troubled soul can't find reprieve from the church, where else? If this is how the church treats, not a stranger, but one of its own, how about the millions of other people who obviously mean significantly less to it? People to whom it's supposed to be preaching the gospel of love, morality, kindness, responsibility, truthfulness? Think about Nathan, even, how's he supposed to get saved, and believe in an all-loving and all-caring God? When his own father, God's image on earth, abandoned him. She sat there, Pat, and she said she was sure the church would actually rejoice when her baby died because then he wouldn't be a pain to them any more. Imagine - the church actually leading someone to think that way about them and not being bothered one bit by it. Instead of even coming out with an apologetic face seeking forgiveness they have their lawyers draft a letter to Pat saying they will cover 100% the funeral expenses of Nathan. It's like money is just supposed to make everything right. That's the mind of a catholic board. And even that letter comes after the story gets wide coverage in the media. If they hadn't picked it up who knows?

Then for me this story is coming on the heels of another one I'd heard some time back about (this time a local church) a pastor who refused to marry two people who've been going to his church for a while, who had made every arrangement and were just waiting for the wedding day, because he discovered the groom wasn't a believer. The hypocrisy of it all!! Isn't salvation supposed to be a deeply personal decision? One that you do not take lightly? Doesn't the Bible say to work on our salvation with fear and with trembling? What if this was to be the man's epiphany? How is he now supposed to know Jesus if the church that should be bringing him into the fold turns him away? How's he supposed to interpret the meaning of salvation if the pastor basically gives him an ultimatum - get saved or go get married somewhere else?

Nathan died, a week ago. And the church covered all funeral expenses as promised. This woman left her husband, gave up her life, for the church, and all she got was $11,000 a year and funeral expenses. Does that seem inhuman to anyone else? Father Henry finally got suspended by his new boss - but on the strength of new allegations that he once carried on an affair (at the same time as with Pat, btw) with an under-18 girl. See that second affair is actually illegal, and it's that offence that he gets suspended for, as explicitly stated by his boss. Imagine that... You'd think the church should at least have a higher standard than the bare minimum required by law, wouldn't you? As it turns out, you'd be surprised.

END

the sound of names dropping

Do you have one of those names that is just so easy to mistake? Like Collins vs. Colin? And is the other name, the one that's not yours, the better-known one? You ever told people yours is the one without the S so many times you finally just gave up and resigned to answering to both names? The story of my life. It was Shakespeare himself,  was it not, who penned the all-important question. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet," said Juliet to Romeo, as she went ahead to convince him that it mattered very little to her that his name was that abominable Montague and hers was Capulet. 

Well, I think there's a lot in a name. People grow up loving their names, so much so that it's become universally accepted that the easiest way to leave a legacy is to leave something behind that bears your name. For some, the children are enough - but that's a legacy that'll probably only be known amongst about six people unless you're Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and you happen to have a child called Benazir Bhutto. A different way is to start a company with your name on the letter head. Like Saks Fifth Avenue, as in Andrew Saks, or McDonald's, as in Dick and Mac McDonald, or if you're immensely powerful, Pennsylvania, as in William Penn. You ever imagined whether Hilton would be such a household name today if Conrad Hilton was instead called Quinane Bartholomew? Paris Bartholomew just doesn't have the same ring to it as Paris Hilton, does it? Or if JW Marriott was, in fact, not called Marriott? Or if Donatella Versace had gotten married to a Jordanian and adopted an islamic name? I tend to think that a little wind would have been taken out of the sails. Those names became so famous so easily because they were already imposing to begin with. You're called Christian Collinsworth and you send in an audition article to New York Times and just like that you've got the job. You know, names with grandeur around them.

Lord Lexington wasn't a particularly difficult moniker to name a town after, and later an avenue in Manhattan. Or Queen Victoria the Victorian Age. See those were stately names. So, I think, is one Denis Pritt, or Argwings-Kodhek, or Haile Selassie. Imagine if either Ludwig van Beethoven or Wolfgang Amadeus Morzart had had less statuesque names, like say Scott Joplin. Would one sound so educated and cultured saying they listen to them? Thomas Edison invented some things and also the all-important light bulb, Nikola Tesla invented six hundred thousand other things that were infinitely less significant, and in fact Tesla actually worked for Edison at one point, and yet it was Tesla that history chose to honor with a whole metric unit, the tesla. Why do you think it is that rap stars [other than designers and models, the single group of people who're the most concerned with appearance] don't use their birth names on stage? Why instead they opt for names like Master P and Chamillionaire? It's an image they're trynna project - we gangster, we loaded. No one's gonna listen to a rapper called Calvin Broadus, so he instead calls himself Snoop Dogg, and goes on to sell a million records. Doesn't change anything else, just his name.

And all this is before I even start to consider the cultural importances of the name - which among other things point to one's tribe which is a seemingly crucial issue over here. I frankly couldn't care less about the tribes if I tried, I think it's enough to just say we're all Kenyans, so I'm staying out of that one. But all these things start with the name. Just the name. "What's in a name?" asks the Bard, well I say quite a lot. History. Origins. First impressions. Influence. Legacy. So no, I don't think a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. I think if a rose was called a skunk we wouldn't even touch it with a ten-foot pole. And I really don't think my name can be interchanged with the other one! When Jesus came down and gave His life for us, God was so impressed with Him that what did He give Him - the NAME that is above all names. The guy gave his life, and got just a name in exchange. Seriously, do we still think names don't matter? Call someone by their name today, see how many points that earns you with them.

END

absence of purpose in the succession of events

I met a guy over the weekend, nice guy, called Ian. He's a preacher, preaches mostly in prison, but is part of a church that rents a hall some place in Ngara. This guy talked a good game about purpose, place in life, wealth and the importance of money (or lack thereof) and destiny. Of course, being a pastor, there were little bits thrown in there about God and being christian and walking by faith. He's a bit of a motivator so there was also a bit about role models and how they impact the people that follow them. See, Ian is a rich guy, by anyone's standards. If he's as good as his word, and I think he is, he owns the houses one of which he'd hired out to us (like nine in all) in an exclusive area, houses that made even me oooohh and aaaaahh. Lives in one and hires out the rest to people who want to stay here for short spans of time but don't want to do the hotel thing coz of that homely feel. Did the interior design all by himself ("You see I believe everyone is born with some art in him. You don't go to the interior designer with an empty space and tell him to decorate it, you tell him exactly what you want done and in the process of realizing it, he adds his own flair to make it better.") and it looks GOOD! Seems like he's always on the lookout for people whose lives he can change, as all good preachers should be ;)

Ian struck me as the kind of guy who's really big on purpose. Passion. "Everyone was created with a specific spot into which they were meant to fit. Find what it is you were meant to do, you won't have to compete with anyone there. No one can do your bidding better than you can." Told us about one of his tenants whom he knows runs a commodities trading website or shizznit like that, has only one customer, works only four hours a day, and still makes almost as much money as my employer (who has us work like 100 hours a week!). Told us this other story about himself, about how he loves organizing and planning for conferences, so much so that he can do it in his sleep, but his wife, who went to school for that and is a professional, would need a week, coz there's no passion there. He's a preacher, so he works just one day a week (Sunday, all you atheists! :), and still gets enough zest in that one day of work to keep him through the rest of the week. Used also the example of musicians. They do like two shows a month, and the rest of the time is spent preparing for the next outing. The thing they have in common: passion. It matters not how much, or little, time you spend at something. You don't even need to love what you do, apparently, you just need to have a passion for it.

On faith, he told us how he originally got those houses he owns. One day he drove down Gitanga Road, turned into Hatheru, stopped at the black gate, and there was a guy standing out there. Asked the guy if there were any houses available. The guy bent over (Ian was in a "small" car - as we found out later, a C200) and told him, "Inside here there's YOUR house." Guy walks him in, shows it to him and all he needed to see was the basement, and he told the guy to seal it and consider it bought. Ian's net worth at the time: KShs. 2,000. Faith. When you hear God talk to you through other people, do you heed? Do you follow through? Or do you start second-guessing and walk away, thinking when the deal is too good...(?) The things you study, the things you follow others into, those have nothing to do with what you're meant to end up doing. What did you maker create you for? Where does your maker intend that you go? Those are the important questions.

It really could just be me, but have you ever noticed that the only people who say money isn't important in life are people who already have money? I guarantee you, you'll be hard-pressed to find a clerical level government employee tell you how he values things like family, friendship, love, belief in Christ. In the end, it always comes down to the mortgage. Ian is one of those people. Thinks very little of money. Has massive disdain for the rat race, keeping up with the Joneses. See, he believes there's as many places to fit in in the world as there are people. Ian doesn't dissect projects and ventures to death. When he feels himself being steered left, he turns and goes left. Doesn't care how everyone else who went there has done, if it's his time, God's gonna see to it that he succeeds. Or, if he gets into a ditch, well, you live, you learn. Picks right back up and starts over. He oozes success, you know, the kind of person for whom it's worked out more often than it hasn't. Confidence.

All in all, the one thing you cannot fail to pick up on when you talk to this guy is purpose. And passion. Find out what it is you're meant to do, and pour your all into it. Don't necessarily follow the well-beaten path. When you find your ordained purpose, all these other things shall come. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God," says Ian, and also the Bible. Anyway, like I said, I've been noticing a lot that the only people who think like he does are people who already have money. Faith is a really easy thing to have in hindsight. It's when you're heading into the dark that your faith really gets tested. It could just be one of those unexplainable coincidences, but you've gotta agree with me; you tend to speak with a lot more conviction when you're saying, "I tried this and this is what came of it," than when you're saying, "I'm going to try this and this is what will come of it," right? Riiight...?

END

which to bury, us or the hatchet

So that ICC prosecutor shows up and all of a sudden all of the wounds of two years ago come rushing back to the forefront. Yesterday on News they showed a man who during the now infamous PEV hid in a bush as bandits burned his house down - his family inside it. He listened helplessly first as they desperately screamed, then as their screams slowly started to fade, turned into chokes, until there was deathly silence. You never forget that kind of thing. You never get over the day you hear your loved ones burn to death. You never forgive yourself for being unable to do anything about it. You never get over the fact that they (or you) had done nothing to deserve it, except try to eke out a peaceful living, and that whoever perpetrated the crime rises and sleeps in the knowledge that such a thing will probably never happen to them. One day you'll just be walking, going about your business, and then you'll hear that song play that your baby used to like singing or you'll smell your wife's scent on a random person in the street, or maybe just the smell of smoke, and  it's gonna hit you like a tidal wave. Forgiveness sounds like a very noble concept in theory, but you never forgive these people, because the pain never really goes away.

The depth of the human soul is an interesting thing. Impressions that take seconds to form can take a lifetime to wipe out. Remember that time you were a kid and your neighbour came with lollipops and gave everyone else and skipped you? because earlier in the day you'd refused to share your juice with them? That's how early the vengeful spirit is implanted in us. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. From then as we get older the stakes only get  higher, so the feeling only grows deeper. We define justice as nothing short of revenge. And people like St. Augustine [who was actually a Christian theologian btw] don't help any - he's the guy who says an unjust law is no law at all. We read and we find out that revenge is actually a legal principle (the law of retaliation under retributive justice - reciprocity should be equal to the crime: "life for life, wound for wound, stripe for stripe").  It's seemingly in the constitution, so how can it possibly be wrong? 

But even then, the supremacy of the individual being posited by such scholars as Henry David Thoreau - "Any man more right than his neighbours constitutes a majority of one." - a concept whose most horrific representation became Adolf Hitler, tends to vindicate us when we harbor such [for want of a more extreme term] ill feelings towards others. It's not as if we need anyone else to validate our dark desires, after all, they haven't been through what we have, have they? No one can understand our loss, so what qualifies them to pass judgement? But as if to add fuel to a fire that's already burning, here comes the law telling you you're actually right in demanding for that head on a plate. How can you not?

Louis Moreno-Ocampo is just one man. The quest for justice runs deeper than can be imagined by any of us. It's probably gonna take more than just him, and more than just one investigation cycle, to set matters right. But, that said, seeing to it that those guilty are made to face up to their crimes seems as good a first step as any. I haven't lost anything/one worth dying over, so I can't speak intelligently on the subject, but the guy on TV was saying if he can't get his family back, then at least he'd like to be able to see the people who took them away be brought to book. He will not be content with the matter just resting like that. All he wants is to know that yes he's suffering, but so are the people who ruined his life. And that's why this ICC prosecutor's coming is so monumental. Ocampo is just one man, but he represents a larger, more deep-seated principle. Revenge. Retribution. Justice. Where does one end and the other begin?

END

remember me as a time of day

I'm sitting in the car, on the passenger side. We're talking, the driver and I and the guy sitting on the back seat. We get off the highway into a side road, and this driver does not see that his lights are red, so he does not see the oncoming pickup truck, also partly because it's oncoming from my side (him he's turned right so he's looking ahead not to the left - which apparently they do teach at driving school. I see it, too  late. I hold my hand up to the window, almost as though I can myself prevent the crash. "Oh. My. God!" Time stops. The car starts honking, from afar, getting closer and closer, now accompanied by screeching tires as he tries to brake. My guy now turns to his left, sees it also, tries to swerve, but does not help. He screams. A loud pop. Escalates into a crash. A sharp searing pain from my shoulder to my head. Broken glass. Crumbling metal. I'm thrown to the right. The pain is now in my lower ribcage - which I later gather was me hitting the gear lever. I lose all feeling. My elbow knocks the steering wheel, followed rapidly by the rest of me. Then I fee myself pushed back by the driver's airbag. My head now on the driver's window. Needless to say, the car I'm in was not a Volvo, does not have side impact bars, or passenger airbags. The pickup comes to a screeching halt, stopped cold by the force of the collision. I start to see white, my head whirls round and round. A warm stream starts to flow steadily down my forehead, my hands, my neck. It's all happened in five seconds, but at slow motion they feel like two hours. And then it starts to get dark...

So we ran a red light some time last week in town, and that accident almost did happen, but the pick up stopped in time in the real-world(TM) version. I've been having this nightmare on and off since, and every time I wake up just as the crowd starts converging. It's almost as though I have one of those out-of-body experiences, where it's me in the action, but it's also me looking at it from above. Like the way on TV when people are having flashbacks they can see themselves as though from a third-person point of view. As I have learned, now and from past experience, death is like a thief in the night. It happens in an instant. There really won't be time to repent and all that stuff we tell ourselves we'll do just before we die. But like they say, you tend to survive if it wasn't your appointed time.

So anyway, here's my question: what age are you when you're in heaven? The age you were just before you died? The time you remember as being the happiest in your life? Or do we, like, get application forms filled where we pick? What if you were in the army and you died in combat - do you hobble around heaven sans the foot you lost to a land mine? What if you die by hanging - will you forever walk around all gross and blue with your tongue sticking out? And what if we can choose, and you die at 15, and you pick 35, how will anyone ever be able to find you then? Mark Shultz is playing (by design more than coincidence... :) "...Coz I believe that He never lets you go/I believe that He's wanting you to know/I believe that He'll lead you till/You're back in His arms again..."

END

unpatriotic itchin' needs a patriotic scratch

"For love, for honor, for mankind." When they released Armageddon in 1998 that was the tagline, ostensibly meant to explain why akina Bruce Willis sacrificed their lives to go blow up the meteor that was coming to destroy the world (of course starting with America, as always :) The first two I get (yes I get love!), but that last one, for mankind, I have never understood. I've never seen the sense behind us having a predilection to identify with the rest of mankind just because we're similar, or with people my tribe just because we speak the same language, or people who come from my town just because we come from the same place, even people my race - just because we share ancestors. As irrational as I find love in general, this particular one I don't even bother rating - it's too out there.

When I was in uni I was in a club called SIFE, that's Students in Free Enterprise. Essentially it's a movement that aims to empower disenfranchised members of society with the economic wherewithal to empower themselves. So each uni carries out projects where they teach members of society how to make the money, then at the end of the competition cycle we all meet and present our projects and it's left to a panel to decide who's the winner based on who had the most financial and sustainable impact. My team was just the one - it was full of superstars! So two years running we go do these killer presentations, and two years running we win and get to go represent the country and our uni on the world stage [that's how I made it to NYC, btw], and the school administration used to be so proud of us that do you know how much help they accorded us? Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Even just a letter to say these are our people could you please help them any way you can we had to ask till we were hoarse, so lemme not even go into financial assistance. The first time maybe you could argue we were a small club, relatively unknown, but the second time around, we were already reigning national champs and we'd just done it again [we actually used to go present the trophy to the admin as a courtesy]. I swear there was even this time we thought seriously about going as independents, rather than emissaries of that uni!

I'm thinking about these things coz in the just-concluded Project Fame, I saw on Twitter some time that Kenyans showed Patricia madha ati coz she had voted out Debarl (or one of the others - don't watch broadcast TV so I wouldn't know), and I was thinking dude! she doesn't like the guy she doesn't like the guy. Me I wasn't even one of the people who were up in arms when a while back Kaz voted out Didge in SA I think. I totally got it. If she thought he should go then she shouldn't have had to keep him just because "we're kinsmen." Or that time that runner Keter agreed to be bought by Denmark, so that he even changed nationalities - good for him. If he thought they were a better deal he shouldn't have been villified for accepting it just because "he's a son of the soil." Lord knows this country hadn't done much for him!

I love my family. I love my schools - high school and primary, (obviously not uni). And I love the two towns I grew up in. And since I moved here, gotta say, me I love Nairobi regardless (pun pun). You see those are places and people that changed my life. But I can't say I love the countryside where all luhyas are supposed to be from coz I've never been there. I can't say I love ugali just because "it's your people's favorite meal." Obviously don't even get me started on the small transistor radio thing. I gotta have more than that "sentimental value" to go on. There was a time in I think '04 when Natalie Maines [one of the Dixie Chicks - she's actually the Dixie Chick who sings] went on national TV and proclaimed that she was ashamed of Bush as president coz of the Iraq war. Now, you need to understand that when you sing Country you don't speak out against a president who hails from Texas - which is Country's biggest market - so naturally there was massive fallout, their concerts and air play suffered, she got death threats, so she apologized publicly; but later she changed her mind and reinstated her earlier sentiments. And went and wrote a song to that effect [which the Texans boycotted but went on to win the Grammy for Song of The Year and Record of The Year and the album it was from, Taking The Long Way, Album of The Year anyway]. At the time, Natalie commented, "The entire country may disagree with me, but I don't understand the necessity for patriotism. Why do you have to be a patriot? About what? This land is our land? Why? You can like where you live and like your life, but as for loving the whole country ... I don't see why people care so much about patriotism." She said that despite being a citizen in the Holy Grail of patriotic citizens, and just like that [at the risk of sounding, well, unpatriotic], she became my hero.

END

losing my religion

The words to a song I wouldn't be caught dead listening to are running through my mind
Radio is playing, turn it up higher,
Gospel music's bumpin' and the place is on fire...
It's struck me because not too long ago, my friends and I were having an argument: does this so called "christian music" exist? And if there is, christian music, does the song need to contain an explicit reference to God/Jesus/the Holy Spirit for it to make the cut? Isn't it just enough that the person singing the song be christian?

I don't know if it's just me, but I've always been of the opinion that there's no such thing as christian music. See music to me has always been just a vessel; it's the reactions the song elicits that determines whether it's a song I love or not. The message behind the song, who the song is directed at, what the writer had in mind when they were writing it, the forums in which it is marketed, the personality of the singer, these are some of the things that cause to me to believe in some songs and not in others. I guess for me it's never really come up whether or not a song fits into this mould society has branded "christian music." If I listen to a song and I hear it speak to me I like it and I collect it. There's one of us who was saying his understanding of Christianity is belief in Christ. You have faith, you love Him, and then everything else follows from there. If you think of being christian that way, [disclaimer: simplistic argument coming up - not my view in any way] then a song can't really be christian coz, well, songs can't believe right? :) The other people seemed to follow the more conventional path - if a song can comfortably be sung in church then it's christian. If it can't, it's not. 

Take a song like Everything I Do, by Bryan Adams. Traditionally, he's been known as the guy that sings love songs, so even that just went into that category. But if you listen to it you'll notice it has none of the honey, babe, darling, beau or sweetie that characterizes every other love song out there. Because it's Bryan Adams we just automatically assumed he was singing it to a girl. And that is the ONLY reason we assume that. Now imagine it had been, say, Michael W. Smith, and you sang the exact same words with Jesus being the "you",  eh, does that sound like worship or what? Same song, different artist. What stops Alan Jackson's Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)? from being considered a christian song? That he's not religious? That it's about 9/11? Seriously, look at the lyrics:

I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love

Word for word out of the Bible! And there's very many artists that fall in this ostensibly grey area, as in their songs don't explicitly say "Jesus is Lord!" so they wouldn't pass for Sunday morning worship, but you can definitely see christian principles being advocated for somewhere in there. Creed, Switchfoot, P.O.D, Paradise Lost, Enigma, Relient K, Six Pence None The Richer, Matt Kearney, even Skillet and Sanctus Real and Group 1 Crew - I have no idea why those are considered gospel bands. It's not as clear cut as it would be for, say, Hillsong, and you see those ones literally sing their music in church and record it there. So to me there's no such thing as christian music. There's just good music, and everything else [and clearly, if you ask me Chevelle Franklin above falls under everything else].

Just before he died, Jeff Buckley released an album. It was called Grace, and the biggest song out of it was a song called Hallelujah. It was so good it ultimately made it into Rolling Stones' 500 Greatest Albums of All Time at #303. You'd think it was a christian album, wouldn't you, and that Jeff Buckley was a gospel artist, right? Ya, you'd be surprised. And if anyone still has doubts, you only need look at the market. The best selling gospel album of all time is the Preacher's Wife soundtrack, by, wait for it, Whitney Houston. I'm willing to bet it sold that much because it was Whitney - drugs and fights with Bobbi Brown notwithstanding. Does that sound like double standards? Again, for me there's just good music [=rock], and everything else.

END

it's the only one you've got

This is one of those times when the song just says everything I want to say, so I won't even try to change. It's a really old song I came across yesterday when I was being adventurous with my library by 3 Doors Down. I don't even know how I'd never noticed it before, but I haven't been able to stop playing it since.

How do you know where you're going
When you don't know where you've been
You hide the shame that you're not showing
And you won't let anyone in
A crowded street can be a quiet place
When you're walking alone
And now you think that you're the only
One who doesn't

[Chorus:]
Have to try
And you won't have to fail
If you're afraid to fly
Then I guess you never will
You hide behind your walls
Of maybe nevers
Forgetting that there's something more
Than just knowing better
Your mistakes do not define you now
They tell you who you're not
You've got to live this life you're given
Like it's the only one you've got

Memories have left you broken
And the scars have never healed
The emptiness in you is growing
But so little left to fill
You're scared to look back on the days before
You're too tired to move on
And now you think that you're the only 
One who doesn't

[Chorus]

What would it take
To get you to say that I'll try
And what would you say if
This was the last day of your life

You hide behind your walls
Of maybe nevers
Forgetting that there's something more
Than just knowing better
Your mistakes do not define you now
They tell you who you're not
You've got to live this life you're given
Like it's the only one you've got

I suppose this one's about living. Bringing down the walls. Immersing yourself in the moment. If you're afraid to fly, then I guess you never will. Cut yourself a break - no one's ever perfect. We all make mistakes, we just shouldn't let them define us. Pick yourself up and get right back on that horse. If this is as good as it's gonna get you don't want to be the guy who'll be wishing he'd lived a little when he could. You don't have any other life, this is the one you've been given. Live it, and make it rock! If you think about it, you really don't have any other choice - coz what's the worst that could happen, you could die? Well, that's gonna happen anyway so...


END

through the eyes of a child

When I was nine years old, my parents almost split up. Actually I think they did, but for a week or a week and a half, coz she actually moved out and went to live with a certain neighbour of ours. Those days I was still the oldest, and I didn't really understand what was going on, so I really doubt akina my brother and sister even noticed any such thing. We used to go visit her at the neighbour's in the evenings after school, and then go back home to our father's. Can't remember exactly what they used to tell us when we asked why she was no longer staying with us, but I can remember the pastor and a certain delegation coming over every evening with her [our church at the time my dad was sort of one of the founding members back in '88 - he was good with guitars and stuff so he launched the very first choir when the church was coming up - and it wasn't yet that big, so there as that extra personal touch people got from the leadership], and then they'd lock themselves up in the sitting room and discuss lots of adult stuff laced with prayer, then when it was over she'd go back to the neighbour's till next session next day. Us guys were just glad we were being allowed to play outside after dark - that whole "forbidden fruit" thing. I believe that was my very first experience with counselling, the only one so far.

Despite the fact that I didn't get everything that was going on, I can actually remember the straw that broke the camel's back. See there was these two girls at the time that came to live with us, and they ended up becoming like my parents' adopted children (which was another thing I didn't get), so over time they grew up and became young women, and at some point there must have been some appearance of impropriety, coz the reason my mum left was she gave him an ultimatum ("They go or I go") and he must have refused to kick them out coz ati where were they supposed to go now (errrr, back to their parents' houses - who were still alive, btw) so she figured she wasn't gonna live like that. Anyway, the counselling must have worked, or love for the children must have won out, coz she did come back after that rocky period and the girls didn't even have to move out. Sorta opened my eyes up to the sacrifices parents make for their children. Like I said, I was nine, but I really think no child should have to grow up with two homes, or picking who's their favorite parent (btw, I chose my mother - coz to me it appeared like he hurt her somehow, and he got the house so it only seemed fair that she should get me. that's the mind of a nine year old - chuckle chuckle...)

The thing people never seem to realize is that children see things. Yes they're young, and they may not be able to understand certain concepts, but they see them. And they remember. In that single act, moving out not even knowing where she was going, more than even with the things she says, my mother taught me that you don't have to live with it just because that's the way it goes. You never don't have an option. Those people who say children learn what they live, they're really not kidding. Children see things, and they remember. Of course us people don't talk about it coz it was a long time ago and, well, we're a black family :), but at certain times I dread what if. And then I'm eternally grateful to the Lord it turned out the way it did. There is a certain bliss associated with being a child: the speed with which things slide; the wonder with which we see little things; the comfort we feel when holding a parent's hand; the way we can be sure just like that that it's all going to be ok tomorrow. I mean, here were my parents almost in the middle of getting a divorce, and there we were, playing bows and arrows without a single care. Sometimes I agree, there's not a thing sadder in the world than to wake up Christmas morning and not be a child.

END

crash course in polite conversation

Ya, I know, I'm a little behind on the news, but WHAT! Apparently President Obama called Kanye West a jackass on TV!! Wow! I'd say the evolution of the office has now officially come full circle. Of course being a public office and all apologies from the network were immediately dispatched and the PR clean-up machine went into overdrive saying how it was off-the-record. And then Kelly Clarkson went and wrote the guy (Kanye) an open letter about did he have a lot of emotional problems as a kid? was his mum not kind enough to him? has he led a depraved life?... and I'm thinking, Dude, clearly there's a dis-interface of values here. The guy's as black as they come: doesn't know the meaning of decorum; thinks Fidy[50 Cent, y'all]'s cool for gett'n shot nine times, "He a gangster!"; puts on jeans thrice his actual size, or suits and those Airforce(TM) sneakers; plays Grand Theft Auto and Kingpin: Life of Crime during his free time; plus which, this ain't his first time crashing the awards. And you're gonna what, recommend a hug, or counselling? Ask him to bare his soul? Tell him it's OK to cry, to let it all out? Attribute his un-simpatico disposition to deep-seated emotional problems? Duude! {{{incredulous look on face}}}

But I gotta say, big-ups to the Pres for being real. Helps when you see from people in positions with power of some note show you that we're all just human in the end. And that it's OK to express your shock as you see fit. I just wonder if that "expression of feeling" would be so welcome if it went the other way, say me [a nobody] speaking out against the Vice President [THE somebody]. It might not be applauded, I'm guessing. If I had something less-than-polite to express about the vice president, I'd have to find a respectful way to say it, wouldn't I? Like I can't just up and call him a moron for speaking in a manner likely to infringe on the speaker's independence, right? See people like him should know that because of their office or otherwise (and in his case I'm pretty sure it's exclusively because of the office; I'm doubting if he didn't have that power backing him up people would pay him nearly as much mind) anything they say no matter how insignificant can have far-reaching consequences. When you're the vice president it's not just your personal opinion any more. And so they should sit down and think before they speak, or say anything in public. But he's lucky he did a thing like that in a country like this, where it begins and ends with what tribe you are. Where such misdemeanours simply get let slide as mere "political rhetoric." Where no one's gonna remember anything you do five days later, so it's a good thing the elections come once every five years coz by then, definitely it won't even come up. Totally figures, especially when you consider the fact that it took us 24 years to get so fed up that we overturned an oppressive regime in 2002. Who knows, maybe in another 24....

END

echoes, silence, patience & grace

Day three of yet another power cut. Darkness all over, silence, nothing to do, no one to talk to. Just me and the music. Exactly how I'm used to it being. Do you believe in fate, and destiny? How much of our future can we control? Do you ever wonder how long it takes to change your life, what measure of time is sufficient to be life-altering? Two weeks? A month? An hour? The entire lifetime?

I discovered a building the other day, called Liaison House. I'm gonna remember that name, because there's a company there that I have now added to the other place I'd kill to work in. A friend of mine apparently works there, so that's how I found out things about it: the way they start you off at six times my salary, the kinds of people you get to meet, the exposure to cutting edge technology, travelling all over, no bosses breathing down your neck as long as you deliver, autonomy, open-ended corporate culture, and most of all, the name. You tell people you're from Hewlett-Packard and they shut up and pay attention - you're someone they probably wanna listen to.

I fear, though, that this might turn out to be one of those dreams that sometimes feel really distant, because if a company has only 23 employees, all high-flyers, then you need to be pretty exemplary to get in, right? That can't possibly be for ordinary menfolk like myself, can it? Then there's those other times when I think, why not people like me? What makes them better? "People like me..." What does that even mean anyway? Human nature says when we're apprehensive like that we need someone to stand behind us, and tell us they'll be there to catch us when we fall. A still small voice that tells us we can do it, that we're more than capable. We're made that way, I guess, and that must be why [soccer] teams playing at home rarely lose - coz there's all these people cheering them on and making them feel like they're superman.

The butterfly effect is a concept from chaos theory that goes something like small variations in the initial conditions in a dynamical system may produce large variations in the long term behavior of the system [I know, I didn't get any of that either! :)] Basially, a butterfly flaps it's wings in China and through a cascade of chain reactions, the little breeze it created keeps getting stronger till at the other end of the Atlantic a tornado results. Life seems to be all interconnected that way, where no action exists in a vacuum. And so you gotta believe that everything you do here matters, that someday you'll land on something better, something found beyond the quiet persistence of a dream. And that later on, in the grand scheme of things, when you're looking back you'll know: it turned out the way it did because you took the chance when you did.

Companionship. Life often comes rushing at us from out of the darkness. Suddenly. When it does, is there someone in your life you're gonna be able to count on, lean on? Someone who will watch over you when you stumble and fall? And in that moment, give you the strength to face your fears alone?

END

set the fire to the third bar

"Remember, remember, the 5th of November." That was something Guy Fawkes said, when he hatched a brilliant plan to blow up the British parliament building during the days when government was oppressive and there were no freedoms and there were sedition laws that could be used to arrest people just for saying the wrong thing or talking to a person whose ideas were deemed "not conducive to the continued well being of the powers that be." They made a movie based loosely on that story, V for Vendetta. In there, the guy saw a country where government had overrun their boundaries, where people's very souls were no longer their own, where you were not allowed to have an opinion on grounds it may cause chaos, where the police (interestingly called Fingermen) could do whatever they wanted and get away with it. And he was saddened that people had forgotten all about Guy Fawkes and the 5th of November. So he decided he'd go through with the blowing up of parliament on that day to remind them. You see all Fawkes wanted to do was to inspire people. To remind them that it's their right, that government should be afraid of the people and not the other way round, coz the power really emanates from the people.

It's a powerful emotion, fear, if one can take advantage of it. Because that is how dictators emerge. Fear, and hate. You get a group of conservative, middle-aged, middle-income people who have longing memories of a better time past, you point out to them the rampant insecurity, the rising inflation and unemployment, hunger, increasing instances of things I cannot mention that indicate a massively decadent state of morality in society, you tell them how much worse it's gonna get, get them to retreat into their corners, and then tell them it's so-and-so's fault. Tell them the other-colored people are to blame. Tell them people of this or that religion are scientifically inferior, and beneath their stations in life. Get them to be afraid, and to loathe. Because with just those two feelings alone, it's like when you corner a cat, you can get them to do whatever you lead them to believe will make it all better. Create chaos, show them a world with anarchy, "Remind them why they need us," said that current Chancellor of Britain in the movie when the people were showing certain promise of starting to wonder who was really in charge. You see, people naturally want to be led. William Penn said, "If we will not be governed by God, we shall be governed by tyrants," at the beginnings of the American experiment. There's a vaccuum up there, one that will be filled, whether by good men or by an evil empire.

John Githongo thinks that Africans are the most subservient people in the world when faced with intimidation, or force, or power. And he should know. "When all is said and done, Africa is a place where we grovel at the feet of our leaders" and beg them to please do right by us as though it's a favor they're doing us. And when they don't we say it's ok, maybe tomorrow will be better. I'm wondering how long it's gonna take us to realise, tomorrow does not get better just because of the mere passage of time, it gets better because people [=us] MAKE it better. Change comes because people demand for it. Justice Louis Brandeis said that in a democracy the most important office is the office of the citizen. In the Britain of those days it seemed the people had forgotten about it. And in the Kenya of these days, I'd say we've never even known it. I've been watching that series Hillary Ng'weno and the Nation Media Group made, Making of a Nation. About that time when multipartism was banned in Kenya, about how men like JM Kariuki, Pio Gama Pinto, Tom Mboya and later Robert Ouko got shot just because they were getting too popular, and their ideas were considered too radical (=anti-government), about how the KPU luo leaders were all detained and then later locked out of the general election through a technicality, again because they didn't agree with the government. And, of course, everyone stood by and watched as these injustices got served.

The real Guy Fawkes didn't go through. His plan was foiled just in time. But V in the movie (being a movie), did succeed. In either case, though, the point was made. People can, if they come together, stand up for their rights and defeat tyranny. All it takes is that one person who's willing to die for the cause. In the last of those Nixon interviews conducted by David Frost after Watergate exploded and he had to resign, Frost asked him if what he was trying to say was that there were situations where the president can decide if it's in the best interests of the nation to do something illegal. Nixon answered, "I'm saying when the president does it, that means it's not illegal." Imagine that!

END

taking back sunday

Back in the day when I was still in school, I remember Sunday used to really be a day of rest. I'd wake up early in the morning, be in church by 8, if I was on rotation for worship team that day I'd probably have to stay till 12, then go to school and hang out in my room or out in the sun and do nothing till it got dark or people started coming back. I was in one of those schools that's really tucked away in the forest (read built-in-the-countryside) so all those people who stayed in Nairobi used to vamoose all weekend or go hang out in town or wherever, basically anywhere other than there. Me, I made lemonade with the lemons I got - I took the time to reconnect with nature, which as it happened was aplenty all around us... [although the fact that home was too far for me to go for breaks shorter than 3 weeks coz I'd spend like a week on the road helped]. See that way when I started the week next Monday at 11am [wat! my course wasn't as involving as it should have been!] I was completely rejuvenated. Monday didn't even use to feel like Monday.

But not these days. First working is a world away from school, coz 8 working hours really means 8 hours plus nights and weekends, so you have no free time to recuperate over the week. Then now the Sundays are no longer my own. If it's not work, or a concert I have to attend in support, or a long lost friend I have to see, or get my hair cut, or travel, then there's gonna be no power and so I'll spend the whole day obsessing over that and checking if it's come back. I swear, the only difference between Sundays and other days is the way I dress. Even a simple lunch with the mother [she happened to be in town today so] takes up the entire day - so many grown up things to discuss: mortgages, bank loans, investments, digital cameras, the economy...ok, not really :) So now at the end of the day you're so tired you can't even lift a finger, then you realize you'd just gotten The Freedom Writers over the week and today is when you were supposed to watch it, and coz the power situation is unpredictable I gotta get ready (= iron clad) for the whole week ahead just in case. As if that's not enough, you're realising all this at 10.30 so there's the whole early to bed and early to rise thing that you've also gotta get around to.

{{sigh}} when did it all get so crammed up?? I never actually thought the schedule would ever be as free as uni again, but I didn't think it would get this bad either. I need to bring back me-time. And not those late nights, actual me-time. Sunday afternoon. Sipping margaritas (or apple juice). Listening to neo soul or acoustic rock (seeing as I have this home theater I never really get to enjoy). Watching those old daytime series I used to be crazy about (Ed, 7th Heaven, Jack and Jill, Dawson's Creek, Charmed, Everwood...) or Mariah Carey's and Trump's True Hollywood Stories, or the deep moving black family movies that rocked the 90's - Set It Off, Soul Food, Brown Sugar, The Best Man, Waiting to Exhale, Boyz in the Hood. Learning guitar. Not having a splitting headache. All the things I never get to do since I started working. And that I probably won't get to do this coming weekend coz one of us in my inner circle has a birthday then. It always turns out to be fun with those guys so I'm staying positive about that one, but after that...

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i will be grateful for this day

Ok, this time even I gotta admit - life is good. Today I met two people, one a friend from high school and the other a friend from uni. The friend from uni was one of those people we really started talking just before we cleared, like in the fourth year, and she was doing well, like in every respect. Got a nice job, house, living on her own, even underwent this crazy personality change, hair grew longer, basically she seemed to be making it. It was early in the morning, so we went and had breakfast and talked about a lot of things, and it was refreshing, to see how people find my traumatizing tale about that day I rolled with our car and almost killed my mother funny, or how sometimes it's not our imagination - the grass really is greener on the other side (she works at one of the other Big Four audit firms so she was telling me all about theirs and it did sound enticing; at the very least she had me at 25% salary increment...), or looking at the world through the eyes of a converted introvert. Twas nice. It's also interesting the way the really shy people, the ones who literally don't look up when being spoken to, can't really come up and say they're shy, and then here's Robbie Williams on Trace saying how "...see the great thing about me is that I'm a really shy guy. You can't see it, I can't even see it myself sometimes, but I am..." WTH!!! DUDE, IN CASE YOU MISSED IT ON THE NEWS, YOU'RE A ROCKSTAR!!!!

Anyway then just after we'd split and I was walking away thinking about how much better life could have gotten for me, I run into the ex-high school friend. Well, not really friend, someone it just so happens we went to the same school with (it was really large, like a thousand students, so one couldn't be friends with everyone, plus really, I wasn't tripping over myself making them those days...). At any rate, we started to talk, and I could tell, even just from his look, that he led a troubled life. It turned out he was a street beggar, but because of his age, (he's my age), people aren't given to experiencing spasms of kindness and writing him large cheques when they see him walk towards them. Not nearly as much as they get the urge to scream "THIEF!!! THIEF!!!" So it's really hard for him. What I thought was merely just a rough day a guy was turning out to be everyday for him.

Actually I should tell his story the way it is - he's not a street beggar, he's a street con. He's mastered the art of telling theses heart-rending stories about how he was promised a settlement by his former sponsors (the people who paid his fees for him - Starch is that kind of school), and how it came as an international wire transfer which is still in the system at the bank and so for the two weeks it'll take to clear the guy he's been living with moved and went to live in Coast for a while so left him without anything to do and so all he needs is some transport to go home - a thousand bob! ati coz he lives someplace deep in Rift Valley. I think I trust in the inherent goodness of people too much, coz I'd bought that story hook line and sinker. So I was talking to some other guys we went to school with as well, and wadya know, they know about him! He's scammed them too! I didn't give him anything coz mercifully I didn't have anything at the time, but I was actually feeling guilty for being unable to help out. It's hard to imagine that at some point not too long ago, the world had opened up before us, both me and him, and the sky was really the limit, (Starehe is the kind of school that does that for you - it opens doors), and now the contrast between us couldn't be bigger. I wonder what happens to certain people's dreams. I've said before that I see no rhyme and reason to life, and that no one knows why some things work out and others don't. Well today I've gained another new perspective: all this time I keep thinking how it could be better for me, and being unsatisfied with what I have, well, I just got a taste of how much worse it could have gotten. If for no other reason, just for that visual, I will be grateful for this day.

END

songs for you, truths for me

Last weekend I went to go see my little brother's band playing. It was beautiful. I swear, 23 years and I'd never seen him like that. It was like when you've been carrying a goldfish around in a paper bag and then you suddenly let it back out into the ocean. The boy came alive. He was shaking his head all over and he was wearing those hideous-ish glasses he insists on wearing and it was like poetry (actually I think it was poetry :) Sorta made me see him in a different light, if only for one day. He's the idealistic kind, the kind who'll gladly play a concert for nothing just because they enjoy doing it, so I hope he never has to see the ugly side of the music world - he might not be able to deal. You know the way there's always one thing someone can do that they can do really well... like, better than anyone else? Well, for him that thing's music. He picks up a guitar and he starts playing and just goes with the flow and before you know it you're in sync. Then he puts it down and picks up that saxophone.

Makes me wonder, if it's possible for a person to be so brilliant at something that other people find as cryptic as Swedish, how doesn't this brilliance translate into every other aspect of their life, you know? Musicians are supposed to write from deep within, right? To transfer their personal experiences and those of people close to them to the rest of the world through their songs. They're supposed to be able to make you identify with them, feel as though you were right there with them, be them. Like the way in the 90's before Cosmo with all its psychobabble became such a big hit with the sisters all you had to do to get a girl was sing her line out of 98 Degrees, or the Backstreet Boys. Just with the stroke of a pen, never having met you, singers can make you get up in the morning, pick up a weapon and stand a post, or turn over and tell yourself just how cruel the world is and how it doesn't deserve someone as great as you and waste the rest of your day wallowing in self pity.

And this isn't just one of those 20-minute hypotheticals either. It's something I've felt even in my own life. The songs I listen to, when I think about it, are more often than not songs that speak to me. Songs that tell me something, or echo a feeling I have. [ok, sometimes it's just that it's Linkin Park or Coldplay and I'm only human so how can I not listen :)]. When I listen to Eminem's Sing for the Moment I hear someone who knows they can influence others through their music "...I guess words are a mother*****/they can be great/or they can teach hate...they say music can alter moods and talk to you...music is reflection of self...just let our spirits live on through our lyrics that you hear in our songs..."; or T.I.: "...Either die or go to jail/That's a hell of a decision/But I'm wrong and I know it/My excuse is unimportant/I'm just trynna let you know/That I aint think I had a choice...You waiting on me to die/You're gon' be waitin for a minute/Boy I'm ready for whatever/Somebody better tell 'em/I'll be here when the storm's clear/And everything's settled..." [Ready for Whatever] - here's a guy stepping up to the plate and taking responsibility for their actions when they screw up, but remain determined to make it; or Nada Surf: "To make a mountain of/Your life is just a choice...Always love/Hate will get you every time/Always love/Don't wait till the finish line..." [Always Love] - don't sweat the small stuff, don't let little issues ruin friendships, don't hold grudges; or Angels & Airwaves: "...We all make mistakes/Here's your lifeline..." [Lifeline] - second chances; or Avril Lavigne: "...Keep holding on (coz you know we'll make it through)/Just stay strong (coz you know I'm here for you..." [Keep Holding On] - persistence, never give up, you're not alone; and those are just the happy songs. I have a whole booklet for the sad ones. In fact I think I have something to say about every song I like. That is a. lot. of. songs.

Anyway, my brother and his band; I hope it all goes well for them. And I hope they use the power they have as musicians to effect positive change in those around them. Or even just in himself... And I hope he watches The Dark Knight one of these days, coz, among other things, the Joker said something very profound: "If you're really good at something, don't ever do it for free."

END

heart of a jealous man

Jealous (adj): covetous, showing extreme cupidity; painfully desirous of another's advantages;

I think as far as bad feelings go this one's pretty much up there. Asides from just being a painful thing to experience in and of itself, it's worse than others because it exposes someone's insecurities. If you think you want something someone else has got then that just makes clear to you that you don't have it. It causes your heart to ache. It makes you lose confidence in yourself. You wonder what that other person's got that you haven't, and even if it was clearly just a question pure luck, the human psyche is an interesting thing - it's always somehow gonna be able to find a way to attribute those advantages to shortfalls on your part. You get jealous and you start to think maybe you should have done something differently: maybe you should have gotten up earlier; perhaps you should have put on the blue shirt; maybe you should have studied harder; maybe you should have been taller, or practised more, or cut your hair when you had the chance. It's always things like this - things you think you should have done otherwise that would have led to you ending up in the stead of whomever you're jealous of.

These feelings creep up on you and they consume you; they take over your whole existence, to the point you cannot think of anything other than the person you're jealous of and the reason why. You start to feel smaller and smaller and less capable and weaker and all those things that mean you're inadequate as a person. You lose all your self esteem. And then you pick up a knife and you slash your wrists [ok, not really, only if you're one of those already-disturbed emo kids]. It's one of those things you don't think you'll ever get over, like when you get a tattoo in a dark alley down Kirinyaga Road where the hygiene isn't on the top five most important policies in the procedures manual and then you carry around that scar forever.

Anyway, I suppose even it ends, with time. It's like that weird writer says:

He stops at the window.

He stands.

Greyness. Silence.

A room.

He stands at the window.

And a voice says: Everything passes. The good and the bad. The joy and the sorrow. Everything passes.

END

just we three (my echo, my shadow and me)

Things you do not want to see on the News when you know your sister was travelling back home by road: Night of tears and anguish as 22 die in accident. That was the headline some time last week. For like 10 seconds after I saw that headline and it registered I was freaking out! and then I remembered my sis saying the mum had insisted she travel during the day. Whew! Thank God for over-cautious mothers. But still, the rate at which people are dying in accidents seems to be rising again. And it might be getting to be that time when we might have to really consider if a trip is absolutely necessary before taking it, coz 22 at once is not a small number, and there have been like 10 such accidents in the last 3 months alone. Just last week a colleague of ours was on his way to Naivasha and got hit by a truck in a Vitz - died instantly. But the news came to us piece-meal: "Guy has been involved in accident." two minutes later, "Guy is dead." It's getting really scary. And the worst part is all these accidents, they're PSV's. Almost 90% of the country doesnt own a car, how're we supposed to move around when we can't trust our transport system to get us there in one piece? Literally!

Anyway, that's not why I'm broody, sad, even. I feel like it's the end of an era. It's like a dream has died tonight. There's been this girl, in the back of my mind. She's kind, has loads of common sense, practical, fiesty, catholic, hot-headed, tall, (I wanna say funny coz it seems to fit the general picture, but no, lemme say... dissable), single and beautiful. We like most of the same songs (by now you've noticed that music is almost everything I'm about), and we're at the same place as far as family goes (hers and mine both), she loved Transformers, and we used to be able to talk on end about nothing in particular, I just wasn't looking for anything at the time. But now I'm getting the sense that the spark's fizzled out. Hers, actually, not mine. I've been trynna ask her out for a while and all I keep getting is this cold shoulder. It's never really no, the answer, but then again it's never really yes, either. It's probably just that I'm proud, but I don't think I should have this many questions about where her head's at this early. Or it's yes then just before something else comes up, you know, she gets a stomach ache, or the boss calls, or she has to meet these 1500 other people, or she has to be home by 4... It just, it seems like for her it's a little too easy to put me on the back burner.

All this time my friends tell me I'm selfish and self-absorbed (btw I think they might have a point - I run a whole blog about nothing but myself! OMG!), I realise I am, and not just with my time, with other people's as well. I wanna feel like I'm the most important thing in the world. I can't be the guy you meet when everything else is good and done. I don't think it's too much to ask that if I'm willing to drop everything at a moment's notice when she calls (coz believe me, I have) then she be willing to do the same for me. I've actually been thinking about this for a while, and I've decided it's probably not gonna happen, and I'm writing it here so I believe it. So maybe I can start to move on. There's a mirror in the Harry Potter movies (the Mirror of Araset) that instead of just a reflection shows the person when they're at their happiest, when they've attained their heart's deepest desires. I think if I'd looked in that mirror, I'd have seen myself holding her hand, her head on my shoulder. But like Professor Dumbledore said, it doesn't do to dwell on dreams. This choice is probably gonna kill me later, but I suppose that's how I can tell it's the right one - those are the ones that are never easy.

If you watch enough television, or movies, (and Lord knows I do), you find yourself expecting these neat resolutions. Will the boy get the girl in the end? Will it turn out the way we want it to? Will the good guys win? Will the villain die? We have become addicted to happy endings. To closure. But turns out life, life's all about the ambiguities. The deviations. The little unexpected turns of events that throw you off balance. Sometimes you get the things you want, sometimes you even get more than you asked for, but at other times, not so much. It's actually been said that the only thing certain in life is that you never know what's gonna happen. I don't know about that, me, I'm really just a guy hoping for a happy ending. And, what do you know, Kim Richey is playing: "...I don't have a point to prove/Or a stand to make/I'm just trying to find my way/And a face to wear/And a place to be/In the absence of your company..."

END