tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85490309831068427292024-03-08T04:38:14.983-08:00kguyincAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-39057550140114933112017-04-14T13:06:00.000-07:002017-04-14T14:13:44.545-07:00Lets Reverse "Trundle Beds" Project With Laptops<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These are "different times" in the Kenyan political scene. This is because the executive is keen to implement its ambitious pledges without blinking, unlike before. One of this hotly debated pledge is equipping five-year-olds with </span><a href="http://www.daringabroad.com/" style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">best trundle bed</a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some people are surprised; others have actively opposed the idea. However, questions have arisen regarding the wisdom behind bringing some pledges to fruition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A <a href="http://www.daringabroad.com/trundle-bed">trundle bed or truckle bed</a> is a great space-saving alternative in small rooms. Rates for renting apartments have gone up all over the world. <a href="https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/trundle-bed">A trundle daybed</a> is cost effective as the lower drawers can be hidden away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When Jubilee first announced their pledge to provide Standard One pupils with <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/6908946.stm">solar-powered laptops</a>, everyone was intrigued. No serious thought was given to the pledge as it was considered just another political campaign gimmick. Until Jubilee won the elections.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Given the limited resources for home improvement and other "pressing" matters, why not reprioritize resources to building better home or other projects that are deemed to produce greater impact? The need to feed the hungry or hire more teachers or build better schools is often cited to justify scrapping the program.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another concern is: Has the government done due diligence to ensure the program doesn't turn into a scandal? Has the government fallen for the technology fallacy --believing that technology is the panacea of all our problems?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Does it make economic sense?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When these questions, among others, are considered, it becomes plausible to kill the program. Kenyans are eager to let the president off from fulfilling this promise. He should seize the opportunity. It is said that a wise man changes his mind; a fool, never. The president would be wise to reallocate resources to projects that will yield greater benefits for the country. How about injecting the money into the economy to stimulate job creation? Or even speeding up the expansion of urban roads to eliminate traffic jams that result in billions being lost? Or channeling the funds to fighting crime and making the country safe?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am among the skeptics of the trundle bed project. It is largely going to be a waste of money and a nuisance. As one commentator put it, handling a billion pieces of electronic waste, when the agencies are being overwhelmed by household waste, will ba a nightmare. Not only am I concerned that the devices will become waste quickly but, given the illiteracy and poverty in most families, the gadgets will likely just lie unused or sold to help buy food or clothes. Besides, I don't think 6-year-olds know how to take care of an electronic device that is susceptible to damage from water, dust, breaking after falling e.t.c</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Many people abhor change, especially if the effect of the change is not clear and simple enough. This fear of change seems to transcend any facet of humanity. From new leader to new trundle bed. But in all instances, the earliest bird gets the grain by beating others to it; late comers just fight over.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-17016438938125022742017-04-13T13:10:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:19:45.233-07:00ICC Deferral Case was going nowhereIt was bound to fail. The moment you present yourself as the one and only, alpha and omega, and purport to advice the political gods of this world that they are useless, thoughtless and pathetic bunch of ego maniacs, you don’t make any headway.<br />
In the world that we live today, nothing happens without big brothers knocking to share the soup. The broth is too tasty not to want a piece. And with things like satellites, virtually everything can be controlled from the comfort of a desk somewhere.<br />
Did the powers that be fail to understand this! Did they fail to interrogate their tactics! Did they employ extravagance and not astute and practical ideas! Did they feel they have the intellectual rigor, competence, class, purpose and reason to command the world!<br />
Power sometimes gets into the heads and skins of people and they forget to think. Take a back seat, sip some cold drink. It cools the system. Enjoy the breeze for a few moments. Put your feet on a pedestal. Have a quick nap. Wake up. Clean the face. Look at the world. Smile. Get down to work.<br />
It’s simple. The plan failed to inspire any worthy reason to positively appraise the world of the need to defer the cases. Both the intent and tact were hapless. In a nut shell, as the Swahilis say, <i>fimbo ya mbali haiuwi nyoka. </i>It’s called focus. Where and how do you place your efforts!<br />
The argument that France, US and Britain messed up the possible success of it fail appreciate just as much as they have the veto power, they had a decision to make without any coercion or influence. Even if Kenya wanted to compel them, they have no leverage. The same token used to say how they countries are not ICC members hence should keep off ICC matters, the same should said of all the seven UNSC members who voted for the deferral. They are neither ICC members. And its true, only the show wearer know where it pinches.<br />
From the go, President Kenyatta should have focused with the International Criminal Court (ICC) itself. Here, use all the weapons to lobby that your case and that of your deputy be allowed to proceed in your absentia. Use the energies towards the hollow and hopeless African Union (AU) to the same powers you say control the ICC and indulge them to intervene<br />
Secondly, come up with other mechanisms locally to try show that you are working on something to give hope to not only victims and Kenyans at large, but also the world to smile. For instance, jump-start local judicial mechanisms even if it’s just to create a division of the High Court to deal with international crimes, it’s a step. Just talk nicely to Chief Justice Mutunga.<br />
Thirdly, be calm, collected and employ insight to win the souls of the world. When you start declining, out of nowhere, foreign ambassadors, you do have a right, but be strategic and intelligent in doing it. Then you also recklessly become very selective with who you want to associate with in international trips. Oh well, you brought it on yourself.<br />
Do not ignore or forget that politics is local. But why really did it fail!<br />
It’s a globalized world. To think solely of African problems to African solutions is foolhardy. It’s a global village. Everyone has an interest in you. In the global village we live in, you think about local problems with global solutions. Or local voices, with global change. How about global problems with local solutions, like climate change efforts! Even in justice efforts, think along the same lines.<br />
Every country acts internationally based on national interests. To expect any to act otherwise is parochial. It is itchy to hear government officers and jubilee enthusiasts saying how what country where has interests hence it refused to vote for the deferral and abstained. Even, Rwanda which sponsored the resolution and all the seven members which voted for it have an interest. Like china, you do not need to think hard over it. It’s written all over in black and white. How about you deciding what your interests are and horning them globally as well!<br />
Wrong perception created. It was thorax thumping from the first second. Who the hell is Kenya out there! Be humble. Kenya is no one in global politics. It’s a reality. Accept and move on. Work hard to be someone in future. If you are successful, good for you. For now, get advice from the good book, humble before the lord, and you shall be rewarded. Politically speaking, humble before the powers that be, you shall be rewarded.<br />
Lacked focus; lobby countries with veto, not just anyone. How do you start lobbying countries that have no veto! They have no power. Even basic economic power! It should have been to talk to the five permanent countries. In fact, they changed their strategy saying that while inter alia they had a policy of not cooperating with countries whose leaders are indicted by the ICC, they will cooperate so long as the leaders cooperate with the ICC. So you forced a change of policy. Take that ride further. Don’t shoot blanks in the air.<br />
Lacked local support; it was typical of our leadership approach to issues; its top-down not bottom up. So the leaders felt, they needed not put any effort towards instilling some local mechanisms to show they have local support. Even having forums to seek Kenyan’s say on the matter was not done. On the one hand, it is assuming, not wholly wrong, that since you were voted a few months ago, then whatever decision you make are what people want you to. You forget just how sweet people feel when they are consulted, even on mundane issues. Sooth the ego of the holloi polloi’s of this country. Don’t forget the embassies are here for information gathering. In intelligence world, they call it intelligence gathering. Security world they call it spying. Hence they are aware that the strategy lacked local support.<br />
Anyway, it maybe not all lost. There could be a window of opportunity. It’s about coming down to reality of who you are, what you can and cannot do and changing the form of content of the strategy.<br />
And as the powers work harder to probably delay or escape justice, justice denied somewhere is justice denied everywhere. If really justice can be bought, place your bet where you are guaranteed the highest bidder. Let me pinch your nose, you should know people.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-4177182962075914492017-04-12T13:27:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:28:03.382-07:00Quality Seed, Great Harvest<div>
When I looked at this picture, I wondered what was going through the young boys mind. Years later, that young boy is the president of Kenya. Could it be that his father was doing this deliberately, or was it just a random coincidence? What made a father choose a political first name for this particular son? Among many other siblings, what made this one be interested in politics? Probably one day I will meet the president and get to hear it from him.</div>
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They say life is both a season of planting and harvesting. Today for example is a day to plant seeds for tomorrow. It is also a harvest of what we planted yesterday. Obviously depending on where you are in life, one season is more dominant than the other. For the young generation it is mostly a time to plant while for the older people, they are now harvesting what they planted in their younger years.</div>
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Probably if we lived our lives more deliberate, chose the kind of seeds we plant everyday, we would then live great lives as we enjoy bountiful harvests.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-48295124704516426192017-04-10T13:29:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:30:30.155-07:00How We LiveIf you look at brands they have a communication tagline. This tagline is what we call a claim. Taglines are a condensed representation of the values or attributes a brand wants to be perceived as offering to the target audience.<br />
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Unfortunately some of these claims are not realistic and neither are they true. But marketers know if they feed you with a claim over and over, your mind starts to think that it is a true claim and thus creating demand. E.g. is dirt really good? and can you really experience open happiness from a bottle of soda?<br />
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We live in the information age. So many claims are made everyday. Just check your friends status updates and tweets. Some of these opinions and claims are made over and over until we have started to assume they are true.<br />
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Sadly, so many people now more than ever, are building their lives based on baseless claims. Their mindsets are shaped by the opinions of others.The just concluded general elections in Kenya was quite an eye opener. Seeing people expresses themselves to the extent of hatred, I kept on asking myself, what informs this claim? Is it based on an expressed opinion by an opinion leader, an existing stereotype or is it really the truth?<br />
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Coming closer home, it is important that we learn to check on how we are living our lives. What informs my perspectives? What shapes my mindset? Where do I get my philosophies? Someone once said, if you dont have a dream to build, someone will hire you to build theirs. Now I say, if you dont have the sight of truth and of the actual reality, someone will hire you to propel theirs.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-79732342887924457782017-04-06T13:39:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:53:06.181-07:00Whose Child Am I?<div>
The other day I was travelling from the countryside. There was this boy aged around 7 or 8 years who was coming to Nairobi by himself. Knowing how inconveniencing the public transport sytem is in Kenya, his grandmother had given the driver Kes. 400 out of the needed Kes 500 to take care of the boy. The problem was the boy was not allocated a seat. As we were waiting for more passengers to board, the boy allocated a seat for himself.</div>
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After waiting for more than an hour, the van was full with the boy occupying a seat. According to the driver, the van was not yet full. He wanted an extra person to fill in the seat now occupied by the boy. The passengers onboard started getting impatient asking why we were still there yet the van was full. The driver was not being forthright. An old woman recognized what was going on and started harrassing the driver saying that the boy should occupy a full seat since the grandmother had paid for him. The driver was hearing none of that and insisted he is not moving until he gets another passenger. For what he cared, the boy could stand. The boy who was anxious about going to Nairobi started crying. The old woman tried looking for the grandmother, who works in the town market but could not find her. And the driver was adamant that the boy will travel to Nairobi standing in a van, and the boy was feeling he has a right to sit down. But who will intervene for him? He must have wondered.</div>
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The rest of the passengers, especially the men, joined in the argument, some really humiliating the driver and trying to incite the boy not to give out his seat. All this time the boy was wailing, lost in the middle of a crisis. I was observing and grieving with the boy silently. You should have seen how the same people who were making noise, avoided the boy when he was displaced by a dot com lady who came to occupy the boys seat. Luckily the lady was willing to hold the boy. I could feel the tension in the van.</div>
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I started creating scenarios in my mind Most probably this boy is a bastard. This is a boy who is raised by his grandmother. A generous grandmother. Maybe a grandmother who had no option but to raise her own childs child. Seeing how she had bought mandazis and soda for the boy to grab on his way, she must be very caring. She seemed a busy grandmother, that even when the van was empty she could not stick around to ensure the boy has gone. Maybe she was relieved that for the next 3 weeks before schools resume, she will have the space to be an old woman.</div>
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I started thinking about the person waiting on the other side. Maybe she was hustling to raise the boy after the man who made her pregnant took off. Maybe she had married and the man had refused to raise the boy closely. Or maybe the boy was an orphan who was going to visit an aunt for the April Holidays. Maybe, I was just thinking my own things. But from the look of things, I could tell the boy was wondering who child he was. Was there no person who could take care of her all the time? Must he change hands of care all the time? Was he a bother or had he become a selfish one having been raised by a grandmother?</div>
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I thought it takes a whole village to raise a child. But from this scenario, I realized, it takes courage to be a bastard. I just wish our transport system could be more child-friendly and I pray that our society will even be child-compliant.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-26927289932171618462017-04-04T13:31:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:54:46.354-07:00Of Weddings and WomenHave you realized how most Kenyan <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wedding">weddings</a> are just attended mostly by women? It irritates me when I see them dancing with other women yet they have left their men at home. And how come men dont like attending wedding?<br />
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Wedding are more a menu of fantasy than reality. If you give it a keen eye, most of the things done during a wedding, apart from the exchange of vows, are just so ridiculous and useless. I just dont know why you need to spend so much money on a dress you will never wear again. Or why you should borrow money to please people who dont give a damn. We should learn to do simple weddings, focus on the important things and cut our cloth according to our size. But there is no problem indulging if you can afford. We all got different approaches to things.<br />
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Weddings remind most women of their fantasies. The older one, who are already feeling neglected, get so jealous seeing a young bride being taken by young man. Holding hands, flirting with her, making vows and kissing in public. The image can only bring nostalgic feelings of the old younger years when they had fire in their belly. And i a moment of thought they wonder where is this man I got married to? We could have had a chance to dance our love. But alas, the man is allergic to weddings. They remind him of so many things he is not doing.<br />
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The younger women are there reshaping their fantasies. You hear them whisper in undertones now how could she get such a dress?. i love the flowers, but you know mine will be lilies! and not forgetting the eye-candying on the few grooms men available weddings happen to be the best hook up place for singles. The stage is already set! And for the boyfriend who was dragged to the wedding, he is reminded of every wrong detail that will not be allowed in theirs.<br />
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But again why do most men avoid wedding? I guess its a Kenyan peculiar culture. If you would follow closely, given a chance the groom would have avoided all this fuss altogether. But the girl had dreamt about this day over and over and over and over and over! Dare you deny her haki! And so the guy just fulfills his part of the bargain and no wonder for many, this could be the only day they will ever dance again in public!<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-44305618681589186112017-04-03T13:34:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:35:04.224-07:00I Just Wanted To Help. to be a MAN.When I was growing up, life in the countryside was awesome. There was so much to do. There was space to explore and experiment, especially with nature. I also like the way our parents would train us and involves us in different chores and activities that made us feel important and part of something more than being useless children.<br />
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But there was one task that my mother was hesistant to delegate. Milking. From 1989 to arouImagend end 1991 we only had a goat. A goat that mum milked. I was too young to desire milking then, until we got a cow. In 1992, we got a cow called Munge. She was golden brown with a white patch under the belly. Very cute. She produced a lot of milk as well. Thick, creamy milk.<br />
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In the morning my mum would wake up at 4 am to milk and take the milk to the dairy, then in the evening she would milk at 3pm and sell most of the milk to the villagers who didnt have cows yet, or whose cows were pregant. So, every afternoon, young one would stream into our compund with their tree-top bottles in search for this precious commodity.<br />
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I tend to believe I was a very obedient boy, eager to learn and willing to help. There is nothing I long for more than becoming an adult, a responsible man. I had been taught that the worth of a man was tagged to his ability to handle responsibilities. And so, doing chores was not something I needed to be motivated about. Unless you are asking me to go to the shower.<br />
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It was a sunny afternoon. Kids had thronged into our homestead to fetch milk. As usual, we would play a little as mum finalized the milking. Doing 4-5 litres is not a small task. This was a fortunate afternoon. Mum was nowhere to be seen. It was running late. The man in the 8 year old me rose in full force. I was to rise for the occasion. That is what men do.<br />
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I warmed some water, and got set to milk. The beauty about Munge, unlike Queen; our grandmothers cow, is that she was calm and peaceful. You didnt need to tie the legs and neither did Munge kick the milk bucket as you milked. And so I was confident about this task. In my mind, milking was a simple as a che che che che.the sound the milk makes as it hits the bottom of the milking bucket.<br />
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After like 3 minutes I was so tired my finger went numb. I was not even a third way into the bucket but I could not go any further. I panicked. I was not sure whether the cow had hid the milk, as I would hear sometimes, or it was my inexperience. I wanted to believe the former. I had heard that if you leave the cow with some milk in the udder, she would get sick. I also knew that I had to have enough milk to pack for the waiting families. But there I was, fingers numb, bucket just third way, Munge frustrated and my friends watching a man in action. You should have seen their admiration.<br />
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There is no way I was going to disappoint my peers. These 8 year olds, needed a role model. They needed a man their age to look up to. And so I finalized my just started milking and headed into the kitchen. Knowing the milk would not be enough, and that I needed a two third to fill the bucket. the genius me added water and served everyone their portion. I was their hero.<br />
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I love my brother, I should get him a job at Kameme FM. On spotting our mum at the gate, he ran towards her to broadcast the news. Let me imagine the headlines.Come and see a boy, who can milk your cow! Your boy is now a man, hurray! He milked your cow. Mum, mum, can I also milk. Whatever he said, he made mum so happy and so proud of me. She could not believe. I had thought my mum would panic but on the contrary she was so elated. We even told her we sold to everyone and we have the portion that remained in the cupboard.<br />
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It started as a laugh, then some questions, then some lies from my side, then a chance to set the record straight, to an overblown ego of the new man in me. Then there was an outburst! An outburst of anger from my mum. She could not understand why I was lying. She also could not fathom how I had sold water to her precious customers. Knowing how such an action would ruin her now flourishing milking business, she started boiling. I was given the beating of death. When my mother beats you. You are beaten.<br />
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She milked again and produced a full bucket of milk as if I had not milked. She then packed the milk and asked me to deliver to all our customers apologizing to both the mothers and the kids who had fetched the milk. And she accompanied me for this diplomatic mission.<br />
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When people talk about the walk of shame, they have no idea what they are talking about. Tears we still rolling out, i had developed some swelling on my face, mucus was unlimited edition and my voice was breaking as I writhed in pain How can a hero face those who admire him in such a state?<br />
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That is when I realized, being a man was more than I had imagined and being a hero is even worst!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-28526833075503764272017-04-03T13:30:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:56:39.397-07:00My Grandmothers PrayersI am missing my grandmothers. I am lucky to have both of them alive, actually I am most blessed because even my grandmothers in laws are both alive. I think I am missing my grandmothers because right now I am feeling as if they are the only ones who can dare stop their already almost stopping life and make everything be about me. I am the kind who loves attention. Sadly with life being too busy and loaded with responsibilities, who has time to pamper me or to adore me but a grandmother?<br />
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This week I had two rough experiences on the road. Having my car breakdown in the middle of nowhere. Twice. At night. Two different nights. The first breakdown was the kind that made me mess up a client big time. I hate it when I am unable to keep up a word I had promised. Even when its something beyond me. I am a pleaser. The second breakdown, which occurred on my way back from this job that nothing seemed to work, was tougher because I was already too beaten. Exhausted, disappointed, kinda angry and way too hungry, stressed and wishing that I could just be someone else. Someone else who was not too aggressive, too ambitious Someone else who was okay with average. You see, all these troubles I was having were because I am determined to make it biggest.<br />
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As I was frantically waving the danger ahead reflector to truck drivers who were so determined to take us home soonest, I remembered my grandmothers. Being a responsible road user, I was determined to alert other road users that our truck had broken down and was occupying part of the road since the narrow path home, did not have space for us to park out of the road. First having set the reflector beside the road to have it smothered by overtaking trucks who really didnt care that everyone else but them had a home they were aiming at getting to at the end of their journey. Clearly a narrow mind needs a broad path.<br />
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Both my paternal and my maternal grandmothers bore ten children each. All of their children apart from one on each side has had three children with an exception of two who have four children. That is without counting the seed that fell by the way side. Every evening at each of my grandmothers blackened windowless kitchens, prayers are said. Sometimes I feel as if these prayers are only made when I am there. Not that I doubt these women of faith, but dont these women pray.<br />
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To be honest, when I hear any of my grandma want to pray, I try looking for a valid reason to defer these prayers with no avail. I have to sit there and doze quarter-way through the prayer. But I have to be careful not to snore or miss out on the ending. Luckily there seems to be a formula that signals the long awaited ending. I must also be careful because at times the prayers can demand some participation. Like that evening, my grandmother was praying Lord we thank you, we thank you because you are a good God, we thank because you are so good that you raised lazarus.. and that other girl that other girl that other girlwhat was her name? mutindirikanie... (kindly remind me..). And at that point, with a serious and stable voice I had to interject.. kairitu ka jairo...the daughter of Jairus and the prayer continued<br />
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And the <a href="http://www.crosswalk.com/faith/prayer/">prayer continues after thanksgiving</a>, my grandmother prays for all her children, and their spouses, and their childrenand the children of their children, then she prays for the government, the leaders, the widows, the orphans, the fatherless, the hungry, the people in prisons, the people in hospitals, the pilots, the doctors, the drivers and the people on the road.<br />
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And so as I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, I hoped my grandmothers would have prayed, and that, that night, before they had let the last ember at the fire place dwindle, they would have prayed, not just for me, but for all the road users. People who get stuck in the middle of nowhere, weathering the chilling night, in hunger and distress. I prayed that she had prayed.<br />
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And I missed my grandmothers. I missed the simplicity of their lives, or so I think.. But most of all, it hit me how selfish I am. How ME-ish my prayers are. I had complained how long my grandmothers prayers has always been.. until I needed them.. until I longed that she had prayed long enough to get to me.<br />
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And that night, as I was wallowing up and down through the hustles of my life I longed for the embracing smoke in my grandmothers windowless kitchen. as we waste away the night in her long prayers.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-53420752503604532862017-04-01T13:33:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:34:06.336-07:00Who Would Raise My Children?<div>
<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">When I was around 7 years old, my mother started preparing me for the reality of growing up without parents or of being raised by a harsh step mother. We lived in a very hostile environment. Having not bore girls, in a family tree dominated by boys, my mother had not been so welcome. There was this never ending nag especially from our grandmother to our mother that she should be born! Yeah, in the culture of my grandparents, you give birth to your parents. And it is a serious matter. Unfortunately for my grandmother, most of his sons got sons. And even the 2 who got daughters, they had sons too, meaning my grandfather was way ahead on being born.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">In such a competitive environment, there was this constant pressure on my mother who sadly lived in the same homestead with the nagging ungrateful grandmother.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Maybe this is the reason my mother would always share the story of the two boys whose mother and father died, and had to stick together to make it in life. In the story, the younger son, run away from home and on his way to a mountain I will fall, he met some meat stewing themselves. The meat asking him to stew them and eat them. The greed boy did so. He then met some sugarcane, peeling themselves and cutting themselves in nice slices. And the boy on being asked to peel and eat, he indulged. Anyway, it took the elder son to rescue his brother from the rotten world he had gotten into. The boys had to face adversity, they had to work hard, they had to keep dreaming and keep hoping until they became.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">When I was growing up, we didnt have a TV set and the radio we had would run out of battery power so quickly just after a weekend of having dad around. And so most of the evening were evening of stories and songs. It was lovely. But one common theme was surving a harsh step mother. At some point I knew I will have to face the wrath of a step mother.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">It is the fear of a parent especially a mother to wonder who would raise their children in case she died young. Observation shows that most men remarry when their wives die. On the other hand, wives tends to focus on the children and do all they can to raise them. Observation also shows that very few step mothers go well with the children of the deceased mother. Either the children reject her or she rejects the children. The man is left torn in between, though most of time he leans towards the woman.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Many orphans and motherless children are suffering in our society. This is because, very few parents actually think of the person who would raise their children in case they died. And most a times, when this happens, the relatives just decide who to do it, ignoring so many things. It is always a question of what can I get.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #474534; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">In the case of my mother, she knew in case she died, we would raise ourselves up. And being boys, she had some confidence that we would fight for our rights, or we would have the strength to go fed for ourselves. Nevertheless, she prayed everyday that God would give her an opportunity to see her great grandchildren..</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-59798751341134052092017-03-31T13:35:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:35:56.121-07:00No HAPPY Birthday<div>
It is amazing how we all assume the only thing people should do on their birthday is be happy and have fun. But then again, if you are not happy and having fun why are you alive?</div>
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A friend of mine on the eve of her birthday sought to remind her mother about it. Mum, tomorrow is my birthday, She delightfully started the conversation. Really? Her mother rhetorically asked. Thinking about it she would not really be sure if it was her birthday. For all she knew, that is the date she was told she was born, the date showing on her birth certificate. Its not like she was there to witness her own birth.</div>
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My daughter, you are my last born of all my five girls, the mother continued. You were supposed to be a boy. We really wanted a boy. The whole clan was tired of their first born son giving them girls. They wanted a boy in the family. And having had four girls, this was my last chance to give birth to something that would bring delight to the clan.</div>
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So when the labor pains started, I walked for 3kms to the mission hospital. All alone in thoughts. I had my rosary to kep my company as I mumbled the prayers all the way. On arriving the hopsital an hour later I was ready for delivery. I didnt want anyone to know that you were being delivered because I was tired of all the harassment. Are children not just children? I was missing your dad so much, wishing he was here with me. But the call of duty could not allow.</div>
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And so you were born. Beautiful, strong and bubbly. I fell in love with you yet, honestly I was not sure what to do with you. My in laws had been pestering your dad to marry another woman who would give them sons. But this pregnacy had been my last chance to be a woman of honor. And here we were. Two lost women in a world of men.</div>
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I took a matatu (public bus), back home. Thoughts were running through my mind. Am I such a loser? I painfully weeped.</div>
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When I alighted from the matatu, I sat at the roadside wondering what to do. I thought of leaving you at the roadside, hoping the outer world would be more accepting than my world at home. But how can I do that? For 3 hours, I wondered.</div>
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I brought you home my daughter.</div>
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Were it not for your dad, who stood by us and who did not give in to his clan, and who moved us from that toxic village, I wonder what would have happened to us.</div>
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Yeah, tomorrow is your birthday Happy birthday and have fun</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8549030983106842729.post-27503554371793225652017-03-28T13:37:00.000-07:002017-04-14T13:37:30.161-07:00The Boy Who Killed My Plate<div style="background-color: #f2efe8; border: 0px; color: #474534; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
During school holidays my dad would allow us come to Nairobi to stay with him. He stayed in Kibera slum. Once in a while we would be invited by his workmates for dinners in the evening. Since he was the company driver, most of his collagues were far well off than us.</div>
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I remember one evening we went to their accountants house, very nice bungalow with manicured lawns. After a nice meal I could not figure how to us the toilet (it was not a pit latrine which was what I was used to), and so I laid some piece of newspaper down and helped myself. Luckily my mother must have realized I needed help because she came to my rescue. I can only imagine the shame I would have brought had we been discovered. And that day, she showed me how to flush the toilet.</div>
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I remember another night we went to one of my dads directors house for an afternoon meal. They stayed in a posh estate. It was here that I ate my first fruit salad. The taste of different fruit all in one plate was heavenly. Unfortunately, being as clumpsy as I am, i broke a plate. It fell down as I was trying to finish every bit of the sumptuous meal we had been served. The woman was so angry, she could not hide it from the visitor. My parents were so apologetic but she could hear of nothing. I know I just broke a plate, but when you say it in vernacular, the word you use is KILL, and yeah it felt as if I had killed this womans plate.</div>
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When we were growing up from the age of 8yrs (remember I grew up in the rural highlands of central Kenya), my mother started serving us on ceramic plates and cups. That was unheard of in the village because such utensil are for special visitors? But how often do you get special visitors in the village? I love the way my mother argued, <del style="border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">maybe she was influenced by her sickness,</del> that we were her special guests. All she needed from us was a sense of responsibility. And when people visited they would be utterly shocked, especially women, that we were served on ceramic. And we grew up with that sense of pride that our mother gave us, and by any chance if one of us broke a plate, she would not dwell on the matter so much. All she could say was, even people die. and so a plate dying was not such a big deal.</div>
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How often do we attach so much values to things, more than we do to people? How special do we make our children feel? If you are mother, look at all those beautiful expensive utensils that you never allow your child to touch? Whose are they? Who is more special than your child?</div>
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I love my mother, because even when I broke her utensils, I was not a boy who killed her plates, rather I was a boy who was learning how to become a king. And it is in her house that I paid the cost. It is in her hands I learnt honor.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12208092878842163735noreply@blogger.com0