Cole, Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life

2016 CALVARY HILL DRIVE


I: THE COME UP

Oh be careful little eyes what you see.

I’m rooted in rocks.
Smell the scent of what’s cooking.
I’ve crossed the desert.
And sands are no longer sinking.
I remember the peace in my liver.
When I never walked alone.

II: THE WARM UP

Watch your actions for they become habits.

My voice is a lyre
My truth tugs at her strings.
My life is a hymn but I feel alone
You know like solo-ish
I can see the darkness at the start of my tunnel.
Lights, please!

III: FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS

C’est la vie

Got friends from Cana having a party in my tummy.
Vices abound and I think Roy has the spirit.
Following stars that are Westbound.
But not a wiseman amongst us.
I’m wasting my youth on the young.
I need something over 21.

IV: THE SIDELINE STORY

Yea though I walk…

I’m missing His presence.
Trudging over bits and pieces of my essence.
Her lies taste sweet like ice cream.
Her wake rouses me and I scream.
I’m flashing a full house.
At the chess table.

V: BORN SINNER

For God so loved the world….

I had a million dollar dream and a pyramid scheme.
Emerged from the battle but with a crooked smile.
No longer picture perfect but worth the picture still.
In the beginning was The Word.
It said: “Seek and ye shall find”
But I’m the one who knocks.

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Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, The Teenage Years

Untitled 01:45h 19/12/2015


I: God

Take me back to a time.

When being good was as easy as breathing.

And my mama’s words resonated in me.

When her bidding was stronger than a belief.

Proud to be called clean, faithful, a follower of rules.

Take me back to Sunday school.

When I believed in forgiveness.

In King David after the transgressions.

Saul would become Paul.

And the past would be forgiven.

Early mornings, when I’d remove my  socks and shoes.

To be equal to the other village kids.

When my lullaby was the thoughts of heaven.

And not finances, planning on how to break even.

Take me back to being what they called a junior youth.

Looking forward to a life of serving not mastering.

Living for Him not aspiring to attain.

Take me back to the Bible not the blogs.

To learning rather than just reading.

 

II: Love

Take me back to the fairy tales.

To dreams grand and of sunsets.

When love was a gift and not an achievement.

And a source of never-ending happiness.

Not a path to probable pain.

Take me back to when today mattered.

To when the future was always bright.

Not a reflection of past mistakes.

Take me back to Celine.

To Luther Vandross and ᗅᗺᗷᗅ.

To staying alive and celebration time.

A fulfillment of the life that would be mine.

Take me back to hand sculpted gifts.

To names carved on trees and doodles on my books.

When the thought far outweighed the cost.

And the character way better than looks.

Take me back to primary school.

When affection made my heart skip not beat faster.

When I’d be transfixed in moments not lost in the next.

When what I felt was said and not lost in text.

Take me back to just being divine.

Before I let in the bandit and stole more hearts than one.

It’s been a while since I went out of line.

Lost the chance to enjoy the moment and ran after the fun.

 

III: Author

Take me back to senseless writing.

To holding a pen and trying my best at cursive.

To when the ink was the blood from whence poured my soul.

And truth riddled every sentence.

Take me back to basic lexicon.

When being deep was not the goal but a happy coincidence.

To when morphemes and synonyms did no matter.

And rhyme came out as staccato as a stutter.

Take me back to real poetry.

When  my life leaked with every phrase.

My thoughts and fantasies saturated every page.

This gift was not even recognised as one.

Take me back to grammatical errors.

To a period way before the nazi era.

So I can write away my troubles.

Let the paper fade away my pain.

Take me back to Wordsworth and Frost.

Before I end up on the road least taken like Poe.

Lost in my melancholic notes.

Of the writer I could have but never became.

Take me back to Shakespeare.

From thence I can find my path again.

Still a poet by any other right or how I write.

Immortalized in my own song of La “Wino”.

 

IV: Life

Take me back to singing and dancing.

To India Arie and Maxwell on a sunny afternoon.

To ill-fitting earphones and cassette tapes.

To bitter lemons without a tequila shot.

Take me back to addition and subtraction.

Not regression and plans for my progression.

To learning how to draw, no matter how badly.

Rather than designing a dream house  in every reverie.

Take me back to freedom.

To aspiring to be President.

Proudly sitting at the head of the class.

Rather than murmuring at the back row.

Take me back to undefined genius.

Rejoicing in completion rather than competition.

To figuring things out not judging them.

To creating and not just utilising.

Take me back to long walks not quick rides.

To sun basking and making images from the clouds.

When I’d revel in heavenly splendour.

Not lost in thoughts of what tomorrow will bring.

Take me back to open spaces not closed walls.

To old friends not new acquaintances.

When I’d play in the rain rather than in its after-scent.

Enjoy every living minute, make it a lifetime moment.

Take me back, just take me back.

Homeless of Nairobi, Kenya, Life, Love

They are not the “HOPELESS OF NAIROBI”


I know I have been off this site way too long. As I get closer to 30, time seems so scarce. Taken over by work, moments of football punditry etc. But let me be honest and say, a certain 6 month project at work that ends next week has had my hands quite full. Clearly also getting new titles comes with it’s “workaholism”. You are now looking at the new……enough about yourself Ed!! This  I feel is the first real post of 2015 as it is prose. Poetry as I have said before comes quite easily to me. This post is not meant to be heart rending. It is not meant to make you feel sorry. It is not meant to make you feel bad about your elevated echelon. It is just meant to get your attention, to have you realise what happens where your eyes don’t look..or avoid to look. To give you a fresh perspective. Something you don’t necessarily have to live with but know for just that single moment that others live with. Something that can change the way you think or have you want to make a change. I had been part of this endeavour before. On a previous month when I was assisting Kibali in his month’s pledge. Then, I was just letting my heart lead me. There was no logical questions about it. I had some extra money and was willing to help. However on this particular day in May. Something else led me there. During the day, due to the aforementioned work commitment I had failed to have something to eat for breakfast and lunch. By the time I left the office with rain clouds looming; the storm I was paying attention to most was in my tummy. I have acidity issues and that evening found me almost keeling over as the acid burnt through the lining I would assume is not as thick as it used to be B.C (before cocktails). I struggled to make the walk from Riverside to Westlands, I found my mind lost in another thought process. This is not quite an unusual thing. I’ve almost walked past the bus stop more than once, lost in thought. I was imagining how weak I must be to be in this much pain because I had not eaten in less than 24 hours. I was wondering about the person who has not had a meal for a week. If that was me, would I indulge in cheap drugs to get rid of the pain or to forget what kind of hell I was in? Did this seem familiar to the “one for the road” of the rest of the white collar society? If that was me, would I snatch a phone to sell it for a measly 500 to be assured of a meal for the next 2 weeks? Would they judge me then? Would I judge myself? Would I really view my life as that black and white? Would I so easily understand the law when I barely knew how to read? The above is not a justification of all the crime, violence and wrongdoers out there. It was something that got me back looking at my life. I am not ashamed about it. I work hard and have studied hard to be where I am. But what makes the difference is that I had the chance to. I get lost in thoughts of whether I would have survived past the age of 10 having been sick most of young life. Again, same tummy issues. What would my body have done to fend off illnesses when I could not afford antibiotics worth 100 shillings? What did you do to deserve the life you live? The family you have? Chance? Fate? You were good in your past life? This reminds of a case where I dropped a dollar in New Delhi as I fumbled with my wallet and walked away without noticing. Seconds later, a filthy street child would tap my arm and I almost leaped away from him (Nairobbery instinct) and was about to tell him I had nothing to give him when he handed me a dollar and walked away. I barely managed to speak to him before he disappeared into the crowds. Not waiting for a reward. Ok, this does make me want to weep. 😥 What I want to say is that I made it to that feeding program in Westlands with quite a change in attitude. I was not giving because I could, I was giving because I could manage to stay without. I could manage to live in a comfortable cheaper house if hard times hit. I could manage to live without eating beef. I could manage to not have milk. I could manage to live without a cocktail here and there. I could manage to walk part of the way to work and save 60 shillings per day, 2400 per month. Because you know what?It takes 2500 shillings to feed 65 to 70 street families/people at Clifford’s feeding program in collaboration with the Homeless of Nairobi. That made me vow to feed some 70 people a month for as long as I live and more as my life, effort and returns rise. As an African, we are very insistent on teaching how to fish and that is also what Clifford’s program is about. From finding shelter for these people, schools, rehabilitation and work. It does not stop at food. I had a talk with one young man who helps Mwalimu Cliff out in serving food every weekday night at 7.30 behind KFC Westlands and in front of Uchumi opp. The Mall. He came to Nairobi to find work. He previously had work installing air conditioners in Rwanda but that did not pan out. He would like to act in plays, he’s a comedian. What this people need is a chance.Remember the chance you got when you were born to able parents? Use that chance to make sure another kid does not have to be born on the streets. This story seems all gloomy right? No. I was welcomed with genuine smiles. More genuine smiles than I see in my side of society. Happiness from money is overrated. Really. These people are homeless, some jobless, others parent-less but most are not HOPELESS. You can read more about this program here: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-31359061 You can find Cliff here: https://www.facebook.com/clifford.c.oluoch?fref=ts and @OluochCliff Homeless of Nairobi: https://www.facebook.com/homelessofnairobi?fref=ts and @melessOfNai

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Deep and overstood, Life, Love

Kiss me, Death


Kiss me, Death.
In a deadly way that only you know how.
Feel the tremble of my lips.
I’m not afraid, I’m expectant.
The scars now have wounds.
And I bet my back hurts your knife.
Kiss me, Death.
So that you can feel the heat of my face.
It’s not fear.
It’s not rage either.
I’m ready for your cold hands.
The stringy web that covers your soulless eyes.
Kiss me, Death.
For only then will you be able to feel.
The ripples in my muscles.
As they tense up ready to push you away.
Your scythe will claw at my heartbeat.
And that’s when you’ll discover my impenetrable heart.
Kiss me, Death.
For then you will learn.
That love is forged with the ores of Nemea.
And I’m the Heracles of this fortress.
Kiss me, Death.
You’ll see the light of my Patronus.
You’ll realize your mistake only too soon.
Before your body dissipates into thin air.
Kiss me, Death.
I’ve got the courage of the people of the Shire.
Always worn my heart on the sleeve of my reefer.
Kiss me, Death.
For only then will you know what you can’t kill.
When I……
Kiss you back, Death.

Crush, Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Kenya, Life, Love, Politricks

Rest in Peace The Divine Bandit


In her past they sang a song of victory.
They won the war.
In my past they sang my dirge.
Yet I won the war too.
But my victory was short-lived.
For a bullet fired in victory found its target on my knee.
And as I fell down to the ground.
My bayonet had gone through my throat and then tongue.
To say I was dumbfounded is understating it.
But their victory songs did not stop but the dirges did.
Because I did not die. I crawled to safety.
Away from their trampling celebratory feet.
I crawled to her.
She had seen me while atop her kraal.
She spread her “shuka” on the ground for me.
We fell in love in silence.
Then we became blood lovers.
As her fingers got covered in mine. Hers became cold.
Under the golden African sun.
Her wails were a harmony to the rapping of the “victors”.
In her sobs I found my inspiration.
Covered in her tears, I accepted my expiration.

To be continued when I rise again…

Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, Prose

Judas Iscariot: Stain or Saint?


It’s been a while since I did some prose work. The most weird part is that I barely noticed. When you have someone making your poetic juices flow. You just let your world drown in them. When you wake up dead, you swim in them and end up at the World’s End. It is when she becomes your Calypso, forgives you despite your drunkenness in her. Your scales and tentacles fall off. You’re free to play the piano and music once again soothes your cold cold soul. Now that I have written some non nonsensical purple prose that some might ask for an explanation to. I can go ahead and write about what the title and the entire post is about.

Before we go too far in the conversation. I will need to state this: I AM A CHRISTIAN, I BELIEVE IN JESUS CHRIST AS MY PERSONAL LORD AND SAVIOUR TILL THE END OF MY DAYS. I guess that will calm atheists down, I am not stepping over to your side and never will. With that said, let me indulge you in a topical discussion that I have had with some of Sanaa people before. At a religious level, people (meaning InSanaaNites) are always ready to indulge, without so much judgement. I believe that’s the way it was meant to be. The inspiration for this post came from a friend’s status update, and comical as it was. It got me thinking on some level of knowledge acquisition that most of us have learnt to suppress for fear of reprimand, “blasphemy” or being judged harshly. I will post the relevant part of the conversation that was had in the comments section of that update.

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Oh, if you wonder why the spaces up there, it is because when we (My friend and I) looked for the update on which we had this quite hilariously intellectual rather intellectually hilarious discussion, we couldn’t find it. It seemed someone had decided to report it and have it removed from his Timeline. Bollocks!! It’s his TL. Like really who does that?? *Calm down Bandit, calm down*

Anyway, the content and the questions therein that I can remember were:

  • God knew Peter’s life before he was formed in his mother’s womb. That means Jesus knew Peter would deny Him and He told him rightfully so. So question was, if Peter was really to exercise his “freewill”. Was he going to not deny Jesus and prove the Son of God wrong?
  • Of course with the line above that refers to mother’s womb brings up the discussion. Adam and Eve were not born of man. So they came from no womb. So might they actually have been the ones with the only freewill and they messed up? And is it possible, even God had not foreseen that?
  • Finally, of course the titular character. Judas Iscariot whom we called Judas “muici wa karati” while growing up which translates to Carrot Thief. Without him, someone else would have been chosen to betray Jesus, probably even Peter who clearly easily denied him. Not forgetting the doubting Thomas who even after all those miracles he had witnessed did not believe Jesus was alive again. Like dude, you were there when He raised Lazarus, why would you not believe He could raise himself? Or finally Matthew the tax collector who was more into money, the olden day KRA. 🙂 All I’m saying is, without Judas, there’d be probably be no salvation for us. We’d have had to live with the original sin. So what does one classify him as?

With the above said, it does give you something to think about. Just last Sunday I asked at a family gathering, why there are some verses of the Bible I’ve never heard read in church. Isn’t the whole book supposed to be His Word? I’ve read of rape in the Bible, concubines, Solomon was a modern day literoticist (my own word). And yet when I pen such poems I am labelled a….nah that’s a discussion for another day.

The answer I got was that these were rules that kind of disappeared with the first coming of Jesus. He became the intercessor and we are saved by believing in Him and asking him to become our Saviour. Of course one has to try to stay righteous. I use the word try because I am not sure whether any one person can achieve 100% righteousness being as the stain of the original sin is supposed to stay with all of us.

In the end, my belief in God supersedes the things that certain religions have tried to impose on human beings. The Catholic church still fights with the Protestants while they read from the same book. Ok, I understand there are some differing or additional books somewhere.

The God I serve is in my being, I feel His Love. And when it comes to His Love, 1 Corinthians 13: 4 -7 holds true. Otherwise quoted and applied in how well I know my God. He is patient, kind. He does not envy, He does not boast, He is not proud. He does not dishonor others, He is not self-seeking, He  is not easily angered, He keeps no record of wrongs once you accept Him. He does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

And I will say this as I have said before. The day I lost my religion, is the day I felt closest to God.

I’ll probably get some backlash for this but I always find it so weird. How harshly we as Christians judge. We judge the gay people, the alcoholics, the smokers etc yet commit the very engraved sins on the 10 commandments on a weekly or daily basis. And isn’t judging also a sin? Isn’t there a part in the Bible that alludes to one being judged as harshly as they judge others?

In the words of Mahatma Gandhi: “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

I am a Christian via Jesus Christ not the worldwide conflicting definition of who Christians are.

And to the person who reported our discussion, a brief word from my friend:

“May the fleas of a thousand camels be with you.”

Culture, French, Kenya, Life, Love, Prose, Travel

Odysseys, junkets and business trips: woes and pleasures


I try hard not to smile but I'm happy..clap along...no? ppshhhh
I try hard not to smile but I’m happy..clap along…no? ppshhhh

Ever had an idea hit you and actually makes you wonder how dumb you must have been minutes before it occurred? No? Happens to me every 6 months as I look back on my life. And I laugh at how smart I thought I was then. This is what recently happened when I realized that I have never written of my travels despite having visited a couple of countries. I am not yet the “Up in the Air” type but still I have been to India. Yes I like mentioning that because in my planned travels as I grew up, that was never in the plans. I have passed through some really hot (and not in the beautiful kinda hot way though they are) places like Qatar and the UAE. I left my jaw at the Ethiopian airport. I wonder how the Ethiopian men maintain their sanity with that much beauty floating around them. No wonder they are always doing long distance running. One has to get a way to get rid of the dhaaaasttt you know. 😉 And I have been to countries where my French versatility really came as a great help. But never have I ever been at a loss like I am where I am now. To be surrounded by people whose only knowledge of English are the words yes and no. Not really their fault. I should have learnt Portuguese. But for now I have to contend with loads of sign language and “Portuguese-lised French”.

My woes started as soon as we landed, it was funny at first but then it became very annoying. We landed in the middle of the airport. About 2 kilometres from the actual airport. (I am not sure about the distance, I have said before on this blog how messed up I am at estimating distances). You see the thing is, we had come in the huge Boeing 777-300ER and the Luanda airport could not accommodate it till some planes moved. So we had to stay right smack in the middle of the runway and wait. But tell that to the travelling group of about 40 Chinese guys. No. They stood up and started getting their luggage and heading to the exits. This was despite the explicit instructions from the pilot to stay seated. The flight attendants had to get each one of them back to their seats but 10 minutes later they were up again and at the doors. I laughed my heart out to the chagrin of the cabin crew who were very annoyed by now. I kept wondering why they were in a hurry to get off the plane. Was Angola moving and I didn’t know? I am rarely in a hurry when I have no control of the factors influencing time.

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We finally made it into the airport and we got to queue as usual at the passport control/immigration. I have never really cared which is which. I had 10 of the Chinese clique ahead of me, fast talking in Mandarin, (I think) while carrying bags so big they looked like they were KDF in training. I try not to judge or be prejudicial based on race, tribes etc. But something happened that had me chewing on my spectacles (yes, I still say that instead of glasses) to avoid spilling the bile that built up in me. I had more venom on my tongue than a cobra that has its flute hypnotist playing the “Toklezea” tune. You see as we got in, they were checking for Yellow Fever cards before ushering you to passport control. Many of the Chinese guys did not have theirs or had put them way too deep in their big bags. (Yes, that happens to someone with so many fanny packs, they look like they have the Batman utility belt. 🙂 ) Anyway, most of them were behind the 150 t0 200 or so other passengers. Soon some of them started coming and checking with the 10 ahead of us (you know language barrier and all, yes I thought I had it bad till you see a Mandarin vs Portuguese conversation). I don’t know how it happened, neither do the other passengers as no one complained. But 15 minutes later, all the 40 Chinese guys were ahead of us. SAY WHAAAT??!! That single moment almost made me hate a whole race. But I am a pretty rational person so I simmered it down when I remembered just 4 years ago I had a really huge crush on one of their ladies. 🙂

 

That aside, for the first two days here, I had to drink juice yet I really wanted water at the hotel. You all know “Water thirst” is unquenchable any other way. Poor me. Only one receptionist speaks English and he works during the day when I’m off to work. Finally my Wi-Fi worked and I Googled the word. I felt silly. Again wondering how stupid I was 2 days ago. Aqua would easily become agua. SMH. But that was not to be the end of my woes, coming from the office very late at night one day meant, I had to take a motorbike as the actual taxis are very expensive, like a 100 dollar expensive and they offer no receipts. This would mean reconciliation wars back in Kenya so I opted for the cheaper 200 Kwanza option. A friend from work negotiated the price and told the driver/rider the hotel name then he left. So 5 minutes later, we are cruising on a highway, no helmets on and me holding the motorbike carrier so hard I almost pull off the mesh. My Kenyan man genes can’t allow me to put my hands around a man’s waist. I’d rather die (almost quite literally as that is what would have happened if we hit a pothole or bump). But I was more worried about the guy not having gotten the right hotel name and then I would have ended up disappearing in Angola and working in a diamond and oil mine to save enough money to get back to Kenya. Of course my family would want me back but I guess the more interesting search party would be Sanaa Book Club running tags like #BringBackTheMane #KeepTheBandit on Twitter. This might seem like a joke but it almost happened in Vadodara, India. Having been to more urban provinces like New Delhi and Bangalore. I ended up wandering past the “English literacy” zone. So I was stranded outside a market, jewellery, sun glasses, saris in a paper bag trying to explain to 5 tuk tuk guys where my hotel was. Never felt tears sting the eyes so much but I couldn’t cry. They finally flowed from relief later at the hotel as I hurriedly packed for a flight that was at 1 AM if I remember well. I had got back to the hotel at 11 PM having cleared at the market by 7 PM.

Is this what Anto Neo Soul is singing about?? lol.. Sari sari sari sari...
Is this what Anto Neo Soul is singing about?? lol.. Sari sari sari sari…
I got late being a celeb. They thought I was from the States. :)
I got late being a celeb. They thought I was from the States. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They tell you that certain gestures are vulgar in certain cultures. No one told me about English words (I thought they all meant the same everywhere) and so surprise…..surprise when everyone looked at me shocked and in disbelief when I asked about the clubbing scene. So apparently, a club in Luanda is a brothel or are brothel like. And not chips funga brothel-like. Like naked or 1/16th dressed people kinda brothel. House parties are the norm here for most young people. I am yet to confirm this. Nairobi men would thrive in this kind of environment. That is unless the below happens but I hear that is rare here. 🙂

Phone yake imeenda mteja... lmao
Phone yake imeenda mteja… lmao

 

One thing I have learnt from travelling is that home is not just where the heart is. No. Whenever I travel I miss my country so much and I’m nostalgic to the point that the “Bonoko” audio file I have on my phone provides solace. Home is where I’m understood.Home is where my jokes are laughed at. Home is where my family is. Home is where my best and oldest friends are. Home is where I love with a fierceness that scares even me. With the corruption, the lies, the blood, the tears, the potholes, the afandes. I love my home. Blood will flow for the moment but we shall be peaceful again. Home is in my prayers.  Home is where I love so many people even those I don’t tell, those I can’t tell, those I won’t tell. Home is Kenya. Home is 4 days away. 😀

And now for some shots of the worldly me. 🙂

 

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MVP…. 😛
Brrrrrrr.......
Brrrrrrr…….

 

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It’s like I fell in a Vaseline bucket… 😦
Awesome team...worldly..
Awesome team…worldly..
The gym does not know timezones..
The gym does not know timezones..

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Never felt like such a pimp...hehehe
Never felt like such a pimp…hehehe