3 Secrets of a Gospel Centered Spirituality We All Miss

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.
Psa 91:1-4”


Even Democracies Have Slaves

“We live in a political prison under the illusion of freedom. We’re drip-fed manipulated information to maintain that illusion. We’re kept distracted by the fantastically outrageous actions of the actors that are politicians. A haircut here, a slap there. Distractions.

We used to be united by blood. Now we’re divided by class, divided by colour, divided by sexual preference, divided by religion, divided by gender, divided by political ideologies, divided by cultural heritages. So, basically, we’re divided by all the things that make us human.”

Just Sham It

Beyond all the corrupt politicians, beyond all the greed, beyond all the dilapidated schools, beyond all the understaffed and under equipped hospitals, beyond all the crime, beyond all the broken roads, beyond all the raising pollution levels, beyond all the tainted media, beyond all the callous and violent city council workers, beyond all the homeless masses, beyond all the racism, beyond all the rampant tribalism, beyond all the terrorism, beyond all the rich people who made their money in the wrong ways, beyond all the apathetic celebrities, beyond all the subservient masses, beyond all the poaching, beyond all the lack of unity, beyond all the disappearing budget allocated money, beyond all the bribery, beyond all the fat policemen, beyond all the façade of a viable justice system, beyond all the hype of governors and senators, beyond all the child rapes, beyond all the “me first” attitudes, beyond all the broken…

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Tying my lesso

Even as I finish writing this piece, an e-mail comes in.

A three year old girl was raped. By two men. For four hours.



What I remember about that night were the sounds. The scraping of the bed being dragged across the floor. The insistent pounding of fists at the door. The thudding of my heart echoing in my ears. The muttering of prayer tumbling out of my mouth in a stream of whispering.

They had come after me.

Earlier that evening the driver of the matatu I was travelling in kicked us out slurring, ‘nimechoka. Tokeni.’ Though we tried to protest, his erratic swerving had left us jittery and we felt we were safer walking than being at the mercy of this drunken driver. So several hundred metres away from Oyugis, we started walking. I was on my way to a funeral and was carrying a huge white box overflowing with flowers, stuffed with the wreaths I had been asked to bring from Kisumu.

The walk is a blur to me, but I…

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A letter to the daughter of the land



To the daughter of the land,

The one at whose hut my heart stops.My famed bukusu darling.Mine truly.My mother’s daughter -in -law.The mother of my fourteen unborn children.My good one.I salute you.

You are the longest crush I have ever had in my life;from when I first saw you to right now.Seeing as you are the one I shall grow old with,I have decided to start bonding with you this soon through this old school letter.I acknowledge that I wrote you a lot of such letters during your long days in primary and secondary school in Kamasielo though I did that in broken English.I am taking you back to those our good moments sweet one.

The aim of writing this letter is to keep you aware of some development in my life and to also let you know of my plans for the both of us.You see,they taught us that…

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Yes, Kenyans read but…..

“You should never read just for “enjoyment.” Read to make yourself smarter! Less judgmental. More apt to understand your friends’ insane behavior, or better yet, your own. Pick “hard books.” Ones you have to concentrate on while reading. And for god’s sake, don’t let me ever hear you say, “I can’t read fiction. I only have time for the truth.” Fiction is the truth, fool! Ever hear of “literature”? That means fiction, too, stupid.” — John Waters


First Crush

It is a great thing to see through generations. This here is my sister and a decade plus apart, she kind of almost lived the same life like I did. I loved this.


TheSix Million Dollar Man, we called him. He waltzed (more like kung fu-ed) into our lives on a nondescript day as we played kati and branda and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. You see, it was break time. Break time, when pupils as young as five years or some old enough to be their parents, were all out in different corners of the school compound taking a breather from the harsh reality of books and teachers. Break time, when gossip and rumors took the blink of an eye to reach even the ears of the truants smoking behind the ablution blocks. Break time, when most teachers congregated in the staff room to sip tea from huge thermos flasks that mysteriously emerged from the female teachers’ large baskets. Break time, the twenty minutes in between lessons that the often corporal punishment-inclined teachers let children be children.

It didn’t help that he came in a car, a rare spectacle at this village school tucked in the midst of a piggery and the largest…

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