21In about three weeks I turn twenty-one. The big day that God Almighty saw best to bestow the human race with this awesomeness that is yours truly is strategically placed at two days after Christmas. Yeah, their arithmetic went bad a good steady-state error of forty eight-hours. You know, I’ve never really asked them if it had been a well-laid plan (no pun there) or a coincidence-me being born at that particular time of the year. I can only imagine the look of my dad’s face if I were to gather the courage to ask. He’d probably affirm the rumor-that engineering makes people go bonkers sometimes. It’d be happening right in front of his own eyes. Well, to cut my good folks some slack, not that I have to, their word-play didn’t fall too far off. On that Hallelujah day in 1995-O glory glory
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My lovely,

What can I say? It’s been a minute. No that’s a lie. It’s been a while-a long long while. Honestly speaking I do not know how to face you. I doubt you even remember my face. The right- fitting words escape me but I will try.

People have been asking about you. A reasonable number of them have in boxed me to inquire whether we are still a thing and I have replied with two grey ticks (blue is just too cold).I simply lacked a legit explanation and there’s only so much emojis can say. Some people think we are not together anymore. They think we called it quits, threw in the towels and the sheets. That somebody lied, somebody slept outside Continue reading



I don’t know how to talk to girls. To be clear last I checked I am very much a girl-a lady rather, on the verge of bursting into a full-grown woman. By not knowing how to talk does not mean I cannot utter a syllable to a human of the same sex but rather I do not indulge in female conversations as much as the girl next-door. My real self-that very bubbly, outgoing and most free persona comes out more when I talk to guys I like. It is no-one’s fault- not their fault(the girls) and I like to think it’s not mine either. Sincerely it is not a fault per-se but one of those things I will diplomatically label ‘circumstance’. Maybe it is caused by a childhood scar or Continue reading



open_book_macro-wallpaper-1600x900It is 1.25a.m in the morning when I start writing this. I am reading my Bible, something I do not do as regularly as a regular Christian should. The pages of the Book of Job and a devotional commonly known as lesson in my church lie in front of me open with words eager to be read. “Fight Night” by Migos is playing on a low from the speakers that lie so close to where I place my head, a constant reminder that I reside in a public university hostel. This particular song has been on repeat the past two hours.It is as though it moved in discreetly, started by “accidentally” leaving a toothbrush in the bathroom Continue reading



I have this bad habit. It’s called leaving. My preference between “fight or flight” is fleeing. I leave at the first sign of danger. I also leave at later signs of too much joy and contentment-something like “O goodness! You are too good to be true and you make me so happy I’m not sure I can match up so I’ll just be on my way bye see yah!”-just like that. I am a **nice monster and I am not afraid to admit it.If history is anything to go by I’m almost toxic. Not fit for human consumption. This is not fiction, this is reality.
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BEING KISII-Why we run at night


You’ve probably heard it before.If you haven’t you are about to. Somewhere west of this sovereign nation of Kenya lives a people within hills not high enough to be mountains; but low enough to be highlands. There at the bosom of these hills, a tribe called Abagusii dwells, calm and composed. It goes by intact in its state, almost indifferent, like it had no other choice but to be what it is, where it is. Yours truly happens to hail from there. Yeah, someone played pinky pinky ponky and that is where the finger pointed- also not much of a choice.

While we are known for many things, one subject persists, it is almost always the conversation starter whenever you introduce yourself as a Kisii to strangers Continue reading



In less than five days I, child of the soil, sister of nations, daughter of the Most High Jah bless, mother of dragons…errr-beg your pardon-mother of dreams, will be in fourth year. Not first, not second, not third but the very fourth year of college education. College is the politically correct term to describe what I do at school. College cuts it because it is so grounded, not fancy like university or trial-version like campus. Campus is for people who take media: library specialty and go through the semester with the ease of an Indian doing yoga, or a Kisii peeling off a ripe banana, or a (true) Jaluo eating those wide-eyed small creatures they like to call fish- Continue reading