Random Thoughts

The Bitter Sweet Lunch

IMG_20180809_141623We want intentional loving. We want purpose and meaning and those intangible things that human beings chase after their whole lives.

I sat in an Indian restaurant, with a plateful of buffet food not-so-neatly arranged. Behind me, a white guy in a white T-shirt was enjoying his meal. He seemed well-travelled, and unlike me, this didn’t seem like his first time here.

I had my back against him, but before I had sat, I had thrown my eyes in his direction. He munched with confidence, there was no shyness about it. He ate like an hungry man who also valued image, but not to the extent that he would deny himself the pleasure of scrapping the spoon against the plate and letting out that sound. Continue reading “The Bitter Sweet Lunch”

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When we talk about these things, we mean them

He always insisted that I stay a little longer. And most times I never did. I always had things to do.

He says that in case I run out of luck, and I get the feeling I am, I should look for him. He will marry me, he says, if I don’t get a husband. He would not think twice about it.

We are saying goodbye, and he is intoxicated. He says I should get in the car. When I tell him that I can’t, and I tell him to lock the door, like that’s a minute factor he could overlook, he says “ I love you” Continue reading “GOAT GRINS”

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Between hell and high waters, I am probably on the thing that comes after those two. I mean, if I could, I would trade my life with a fish right now. If you’re a fish all you do is swim all day. Who wouldn’t want that? Especially an aquarium fish. Those ones that are fed and I hear, help depressed people calm down or something of that sort. On second thought, maybe I need an aquarium in my room. Two goldfish. I want to stare at them for two long minutes and feel all the parts of my dismembered life fall nicely into place. See? Now I’m even using words like ‘dismembered’. Something is wrong.

Honestly, I just had that paragraph to wing today. But since I am here, can we just take a moment to appreciate great YouTube videos and the geniuses behind them. Continue reading “O HAIL KDF!”

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CourtCounter App

It has since dawned upon me, since my maturity into being an ‘adult’, that the toughest part of it all may not be being left to do your own shopping for back-to-school. Not even when the government has abandoned the unga subsidy like a one-night stand and the price has since plummeted to a wallet-shattering three-digit figure (does it sound as HUMOUNGOUS as I intended it to? Haha ).

The toughest part of ‘adulting’ so far, because I have not started paying bills thanks to living in the school hostel, is actually to make decisions on your own. I mean, unga going up to 135/= or so is pretty bad especially if you come from the Western region of this our beloved country(did I hear someone say stereotype?) …but wait until you have to pick between Dola and Jogoo. Okay this one is not so difficult for me since I’d pick Jogoo anytime, even if I was NOT having chicken for dinner. Jogoo sounds manly and self-assured and you’re almost certain you gon get some tonned muscles from ugali wa unga wa Jogoo (or curves for the non alpha-females). Continue reading “IT’S EITHER YOU DO OR YOU DON’T”

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Ever passed along your former high school a year or two after leaving? There is a feeling that seeps through the bones (and the brain real quick). It is not commonplace nostalgia, but it is nostalgic. You want to tell everyone who cares to listen that you went there, you were part of that, in fact you still remember the school anthem and the name of the best cook. But part of you doesn’t want to go back there. Part of you remembers the early, cold morning preps and the pressure and the performance board….you are glad you are done with it.

2018 just hit me on my face. I was hearing that it was coming but I thought it was headed to the neighbor’s. Continue reading “2018: A VOTE OF CONFIDENCE!”

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This is it.

This is the person I’ve become.


Serve me my sentence. Tell me already. I’m running out of patience. I’ve never really been a patient fellow. See,I have things up my sleeve,’ve got responsibilities. Tell me already, would you?

The end is deliberately soon. I can smell it. I can feel it. I can see myself in an empty room, my luggage strewn all over the floor and light beaming in through my window onto my scared little adult face. I hope I’ll be alive, first and second, I’ll be ready.I can’t afford not to be ready.


Aah, History has this clever sly thing it does called repetition. It just finds a way. It might take a while but actions re-occur. Footsteps are retraced. Memories reincarnate from the dead. Suddenly the vice is the virtue; the past is the present. The future can only be betted upon. And you know bets, sometimes they ‘ingia’ sometimes they just do not.

I’m sinking slowly. Losing my grip and giving in. It’s reckless yet so refreshing. It’s dangerous yet so safe. My heart is a river of peace and the waters are clean. Falling down under and floating at the same time. Sweet, sweet Jerusalem!


Haha. I love this part. Totally melodramatic. Can we not talk about it?

Continue reading “THIS IS IT!”

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I’m sitted by the roadside, waiting for a miracle. Maybe I should be on my knees, praying and fasting. That is the supporting scene just before a miracle, isn’t it? Sitting by the road and watching passers-by go about their business seems like idle business. Doesn’t exactly feel like the best miracle-evoking recipe of all times.But who cares?

Here’s a little heads-up. I am not just a douche who enjoys views of roadsides. I am a little educated, you know. A little because when education doesn’t make you think differently and want to make bad things good, then you’re as good as a log floating on water. So far I have not made tectonic plates drift, I haven’t made any significant contribution (none at all) in the field of science or made people shed tears because of my art(not even a sniff) .I have not impacted on people like I would want to. So let’s say I am in school; when I become educated for real you’ll know. I’ll stop writing about boys and puns and the numerous narcissistic “I”s and “me” s will probably translate to something more ‘issue-based’. Can I get an Amen at the back? Continue reading “SITTED BY THE ROADSIDE”