It was the era of wooden clothes pegs and as she hang out her laundry some of these broke. I worked out a way of mending them. Our conversation then, was along the lines of me starting a workshop for mending broken clothes pegs. I must have been eight or nine. Not long before that, I had been showing her drawings I had made. In her motherly tone she had marvelled at their beauty, “What would you need to be an artist? ” she asked. “Lots of paper”, was my answer. “Mama, did you know that paper is made from wood? They crush it into pulp at the factory and dry it out into sheets of paper” I had quipped. She promised to plant many trees so that I would have an endless supply of paper – and wood for my workshop.

I was never an artist and no more pegs got fixed but Mama’s compound has many trees. It may seem she led me on with my silly whims but not so. She sensed dreams and passion then became a draught to fan that flame.

Eight years gone today since Mama went to rest with her Lord. She blew some wind beneath my wings to set me aloft, to a place where rising currents caught on and are carrying me higher.

Blessed memory.



Great thoughts that touched me.


Much has been said about anger. It is many things including scary. Anger occurs generally due to being hurt. When personal boundaries are crossed it is natural to feel hurt. On a serious note, anger wears one down. It is tiresome to be angry.. I mean you are always grumpy having, a long face, feeling like smashing something and what not.

I used to be angry about a lot of things but I came to learn that there is only to be angry and that one is not me. It is God. His anger is Justified unlike yours and mine. So what if your life is not going the way you wanted it to go? You don’t belong to yourself. You were bought at a price 1 Corinthians 6:20..

I was reading the story of Joseph. You remember him, the handsome lad that was the second youngest of 12 brothers. Honestly speaking…

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The Battle of Verse

The sun is gone and night has come,

For many a soul tis time for rest. 


Not quite so for our Queen of verse,

Oh not so for our Lady of prose.


Maps all laid upon the table,

Studied over and over with her men of voice.


Paths crossed once and crossed anew,

Ravines scoured with poring eyes.


This all done to route out traps,

Set by the enemy to bring us down.


The body and mind scream for rest

The leader of the troupe must remain alert.


I will sing a song to cheer you on,

I will whistle a tune to keep you alert.


We will prepare the victory trumpets,

We will prime the trombone of success.


Our Lady of verse is leading battle,

Our victory from prose is coming home.

We Fire On

Another day risen
Drums roll to set pace
Swords set in their sheaths
Ready for final battle of season

We don’t faint from past losses
We don’t gloat of victories past
We put aside that which is behind
And lay sight on today’s victory

I blow this trumpet
I will clap the cymbals
I will set the drums rolling
And get the pipes played

To spur our soldiers
To sharpen their will
To uplift our heroine
And bring this victory home.


A child throwing tantrums and a bully in school are an all too familiar sight. The former hasn’t learnt to communicate his needs well but knows his fits yield results, the latter craves attention and figures that ‘heaven is taken by violence’.

A recent occurrence draws parallel to these two scenarios. Former cabinet secretary, Ms. Anne Waiguru, had to step down from office on health grounds – this after hue and cry over corruption scandals unravelled in her ministry, never mind it was she who ordered investigations that revealed the same, or so she says.

The general public went on the rampage by pouring bile through social media. For a time they let out a cry for justice but eventually bayed for blood when targeted ears proved well waxed.

The crying was not sin, it was commendable if not heroic. Bullying is the point of contention. Figuratively speaking, Ms. Waiguru was undressed in the public square and I cannot clearly ascertain that the nudity exposed was truth or mere description borne out of lewd imagination.

We had gotten onto the bare floor, crying about lost funds, exorbitant spending, and double standards in the government’s fight against corruption. Rather than bear fruit, it bred contempt. Ms. Waiguru would stay put, we were told.

Insult had been added to injury and the populous whined and whined some more. Objectivity was lost in the melee, so that rather than speak about the pain of the pinching shoe there was screaming and hurling of insults. This may have been justified because nobody in authority seemed to listen. Salt had been rubbed into the wound by affirming that Madam was there to stay, accusation notwithstanding.
The tyrade raged and it turned ugly. She was called names, her person getting battered and dragged through murk. The masses became a bully and like a rusted bolt, authorities remained stubbornly firm but when the wrench persisted there was a turn. Scales fell off and the nut gave way, the cabinet secretary eventually tendering her resignation on health grounds. She could no longer stand the heat.

This was both good and bad. Good that the person seen as a problem bowed out, and bad because it affirmed the effectiveness of the strategy the masses had employed – one that had earlier seen CNN allude to an apology and pull down a headline after the infamous ‘Kenyans on Twitter’ raised dust.

When a young one is all up squirming and rolling with lungs at maximum decibel, he should at best be ignored and taught to express his needs in words. When the said need cannot be met at all, he is made to understand that one sometimes has to do without certain things until they can be afforded or viable alternatives procured.

Responsibility thus lies on two persons: the adult to patiently wait for the tantrum to pass and do the explaining – and this may not succeed on the first go – and the child to realise that their best interest is always held at heart.

In our case I would say the ‘adult’ was wrong and my narrative expectedly should be one to outline what the government ought to do. I will not go there. They are the adult and so will best choose what to do with themselves.

The allegory bears we the society as the child, only that this time, in my opinion, the tantrum and bullying was justified. My belief however, is that we should act wiser and choose to communicate our needs more articulately. Let us point out the ills, support our claim with credible evidence and stick to that.

Should the call be ignored, we should press the facts all the more harder. This way, the big guns will know that they cannot cover their tracks with the ‘my community’ or ‘my gender’ is besieged talk. We will have ground to secure unity among the people as facts will subvert any attempt at sneaking in ethnicity. If we just whine and bully they ever will get away with their sins and rely on the repeated occurrence of storms eventually dying down.

With the same spirit we rally each other to collect colossal sums of money towards medical treatment of fellow citizens and for disaster management, we can collect funds for private prosecution. If authorities will not take action, we could do it. Slowly but surely we will get to the place we want to be – a nation where impunity is not condoned and where citizens can take action constructively.

This may appear a pipe dream but aren’t dreams valid? Yes, solutions to every tough fix start with a dream – and the will to implement that dream no matter how difficult it may seem.


You need to go out but need to be clever about it. Getting permission from Mum or Dad is totally out of question – let alone mentioning it.

Well, a boy has to be clever to survive. Pile pillows under the blanket and the party’s good to go.

At the crack of dawn things need to be quickly done, this is inspite of the lag booze is causing up the cranium. Gently open the window, unfurl the blanket and quickly get under – before Dad peeks in.

Oops! The pillow feels more solid than it should, and warm too. Ohoh, it’s breathing…Dad!

This just had to be Crosby


Language is important.

It doesn’t just facilitate communication, but brings new light to learning.

Statements make sense and concepts stick.

The learner is not compelled to cram but is instead encouraged to think.

Let us take time to read to our children – and we too, take time to read.

We would make our land a better place.

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