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




Here we are. It’s been a year now. Can you imagine? Time goes so fast, doesn’t it? Soon babies will be waltzing around my feet, needing me to add milk to their cereal (or cereal to their milk) and asking silly questions like “where do babies come from”? And you, where will you be, say twenty years from now? I bet you’ll be nursing a ravishing menopause, knitting away at some overpriced old home for blogs. You know I’ve always found you more mature and older. Like 20 years older. I mean, you’re always saying either deep or (somewhat) funny things but me? I’m as funny as a sewerage pipe in Ol-jororok. Continue reading



This is a story of manly endings.

I come from a place of loss and want. I am disturbed by things, angered by things. Why does the world have so many human beings but so little humanity? Why do the good ones always suffer?


I was brought up to know that I should never complain. I am a man. Men don’t whine. Men put on a brave face and handle issues fair and square. Men don’t show emotion. It’s a sign of weakness. Let the women cry and drag themselves on the floor. Women are weak, don’t mind them. They will put up a show over useless things and create mountains out of molehills, haven’t you heard? Don’t bother. Just don’t. Love women but hate that they’re women. They will give you orgasms but they’ll also give you non-stop headaches… Continue reading




Yes, I know. It’s one of those posts. Blah blah blah. Roll your eyes to Tibet. There’s no stopping this warm-blooded mammal. It must be written. Ink must spill .Aluta Continua. The revolution will not be televised my peoples; the revolution will be live! (Anybody feel a Sarafina in the atmosphere? Somebody?)


Please ignore that intro. Blame it all on the now-overstaying lecturer’s strike.


Happiness is a concept that has been discussed years over. Is there a finite amount of happiness, say one pint of happiness? Just how ‘happy’ is happy? Are there really seven steps to happiness? If the steps a.k.a stairs prove too steep, can one take the escalator? Is happiness a mere human illusion? Maybe the world really is a miserable place and the so-called ‘pursuit of happiness’ is just another feeble attempt of man to defy nature, an adaptation that fits some and ‘misfits’ others. Money is the ultimate source of happiness; yes or no? Religion, maybe? Love?

A few days ago, I was having a conversation with a friend (chatting sounds too 2go-ish).Right out of the blues-not the ticks-this pal asks me and I quote “What makes you so happy?” We must have been discussing the weather or a boring subject akin to that and then bam! What makes you so happy…Caught me off-guard. The question itself had a final tone that I am presumably happy. Now that would require verification from a certified professional because my grip of the subject is not quite black and white. The truth is I have this innate ability to feel happiness. I have my moments, just like everyone else. I cannot for the life of me pretend not to be happy if I am happy. I know how to be selfish with my time but not so much with my happiness. I will spread the cheer if I have it. I wear happy so well and it’s a good look on me, I like to think. When it sinks, I immerse. On the other hand, call it poetry syndrome, I ease into melancholy with almost the same ease. Melancholy and disinterest. Once there’s a good enough trigger I will snap from happy to neutral at the speed of light. I will dislike, disregard, dismiss dissent and just like happiness I wear my somber with the same poise. It’s a science I am yet to fully grasp (on top of most of my four years’ classwork, thank you very much).

Lately, acute loneliness has been visiting me in my room. It rarely comes but when it does it makes itself comfortable. It long lost the courtesy to call or knock before bursting in, the behavior of a friend too acquainted. It simply marches in, grabs popcorn and goes on to sit on its spot and place its feet on my table. This is not your usual type of lonely though, where someone can save you from yourself. It’s not as if suddenly my social ties went to the dogs. No. This type does not care whether I’m watching the funniest sitcom or reading my most favorite book .It will come and camp tent for the night. It’s during these times bereft of color that I question the subject of happiness. Whether the fact that happiness has this nuisant ability of slipping through our fingers makes it unreal. Whether if we got every possible thing that equals happiness as defined by society, we would be permanently accomplished-good grades, a high-end satisfying career, well-adjusted religious beliefs, people’s approval, wonderful spouse and kids, high fame-commanding traffic on our blogs(Ha!)….and the list goes on.

I might be performing dismally on society’s score-sheet thus far but that doesn’t mean I can’t create my own:

Happiness is when my 8-year old sister smiles. O, a thousand splendid suns. Rainbows are beautiful but that shy smile full of untaintedness and unawareness of NASA, Jubilee, Trump or Syria…that is a gem. That gets me.

Happiness is my little brother finding me in the kitchen dancing (or let’s just say moving my limbs) to ‘bazokizo’ and then joining in. Happiness is when we get the moves wrong all through and make total clowns of ourselves except at the ‘two fingers in the sky’ part. That’s too obvious folks. It’s two fingers in the sky….Happiness is when he asks me ‘left ni wapi?” when I am busy bazokizoing at the most right part of right that can be.

Happiness is when that new jam drips sugar and honey and all things sweet in my ear and my soul, well-rehearsed beats that go on and on and o goodness! What can beat a good song? Happiness is when I play it loud. Happiness is when I play it on repeat. Music RULES!

Happiness is when I sit at Aga Khan Walk and wait for a friend I haven’t seen in eternity come to sight .It is that first glance. It is when we don’t hug but our eyes say “I am glad you came”. Happiness is the empty conversation, the endless laughter and the solemn goodbye.

Happiness is when my dad leads the “I went to the zoo, I saw a big black monkey…” part of the ‘Happy Birthday’ medley year in, year out with that monotonous voice of his.

Happiness is when my mama and everybody in the family gives a mushy speech about me after that song while I sit there and gawk like a pregnant kangaroo.

Happiness is drowning in Khaled Hosseini’s lines and dying there. The best Rest In Peace there is. Happiness is Mark Twain, Jane Austen, Chimamanda Ngozi-Adichie, George Orwell, Charles Dickens, John Grisham and…(list goes on).Happiness is that uncontrollable laugh when Biko humours.Happiness is a good book.

Happiness is the fat curvy yellow ones…uhmmm, sweet bananas. Of course I HAD to mention bananas. It’s me. I’m cliché and from the village. I lack enough amusement to not mention bananas.

Happiness is not getting a supplementary in Need I say more?

Happiness is any e-mail of acceptance-be it into an asylum.

Happiness is an exceedingly long hot shower with the temperature just right and the water rationing not so tight.

Happiness is falling in love for the first time. Butterflies and imagination running wild. Life suddenly gains meaning. Endless possibilities with a stranger you just met. Us against the world. How thrilling!

Happiness is the unexpected “just checking on you” call from someone who cares.

Happiness is tight hugs. O, hail tight hugs! Long-live tight hugs!(best served by tight friends)

Happiness is brilliant puns and tasty puncakes. Pun DEFINITELY intended.

Happiness is sarcasm. Nice is over-rated.


Whatever your definition of happiness is, be happy and do it now! Make it a D.I.Y thing. Have you seen the news lately? We have enough misery going around as it is.















Lately I’ve been having conversations with myself. Monologues that never seem to end. They drone on and on, as if my mind was truly unoccupied even when it’s not. Sometimes my monologues are violent. Things fall apart. The center cannot hold. Sometimes they are full of reason and hope and optimism and endless possibilities. During these times my heart threatens to come apart at its seams, pumping and pumping. It’s a pity to have a weak heart in the world we live in today so I have dutifully trained mine to play hard, never falter heart. Never falter. A rock the size of an elephant be thrown at you but don’t you dare flinch! Put yourself together and pump heart. Pump. Hard!

A penny for my thoughts? No? Well, here they are anyway. Continue reading

You should know people-ELSIE MUHONJA


There are some people you meet and they leave a taste in your mouth. It is not the taste of cherries or strawberries or anything defined really. It’s that nostalgic feel. They leave your presence but leave traces of theirs behind; pieces of a puzzle, dots to join, some effect that jogs your mind for two seconds or so….”Who is this girl? Where have I seen her before? Do I know her from somewhere? Is she one of those people I am supposed to know?”

This is the precise feeling I had when I first saw Elsie Muhonja. Back then I was completely at loss of any titles to her name or anything essential about her apart from the fact that we lived in the same hostel. Yet from that afternoon when I saw her walking across the stretch of grass outside my hostel to the few other times Continue reading



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
Continue reading