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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




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?

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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




Don’t let the native name fool you that this girl is anything close to mshamba. She is not, except that well, she is ripe?

Achieng’ Omollo, is the woman you want to be when you grow up ladies and the girl your mama told you to take home gentlemen. Now while we have known our comrades from the lakeside to be the self-made model faces of fifty shades of black, this one has somehow managed to escape that predicament. Need I say? Continue reading