Seek Happiness

Man, who knew we’d get here and that it would be this way? Who knew? Like really?

Just a few weeks ago, I remember confessing to a friend that this is one of the first times I felt weirded out by a birthday. It probably would have hit me last year, but I was in a proper daze about this time last year. So yeah, even emotional procrastination is a vibe. Who knew?

I’m now 27 years old.

One Day

One day, I’ll be a dad. Hopefully of three kids. Just enough to keep my hands full and for my family name to carry on. All genders represented because of what my life has taught me. The brothers to make men out of each other. And girls to ensure you never lose touch with the fairer things in life. To never become too callous a man

29 = Clarity

364.25

Clarity. That was 28.

28 = Decisiveness

Wueh, aki mtu aambie hio mwaka sikuwa na maubaya.

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Yet here I am. After what was probably the most trying year of my life, I am here, smiling, typing this. On a medium that now seems to be a reverse-crystal ball into how I have grown and evolved. Since 2011, naively jotting down whatever thoughts strayed into the labyrinth that is my mind.

But minotaurs, rugged, vicious and unwielding, roamed that labyrinth through 2020. Through the 27th. And made the grounds of Crete tremble as my Thesian efforts slayed through the year.

And here I am. Calm, happy, and sipping chamomile tea. Yes, me, chamomile tea. This is what I have become. A chamomile-sipping, zen-channeling, introspective bloke with too-little time on his hands for the things he’s always enjoyed.

We always knew adulthood was a fraud, but lol, it’s quite something all the same. Like you work hard enough, and the perks should follow, but then you have to work harder to maintain those perks, so much so that you may not get the time or awareness to step back and realise how far you’ve come, how much you’ve achieved, how proud you are of yourself, how proud your people are, and just how to step back once in a while and breathe.

Yes, I just murdered every element of sentence structure that I ordinarily strive to live by. My teachers of the English language would call it ‘poetic’ licence (Ever heard Kendrick/Em/Nas rhyme?)

Enough rambling though.

I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to write this. The past 12 months have been enlightening.

For all their pain, loneliness, anger, stark uncertainty, separation, sickness, death.

With all the adventure, laughs, stolen hugs in the middle of a pandemic, deep stares in the eye that betray what the mouth can’t say, voicenotes and inordinately long telephone calls, discussing life plans with my people, relishing the blooms off my roses, a simple peppery steak over a silky red wine. I’m carrying these into 28.

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  On top of the World, my World.

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  A starry Chuka night.

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  My mother’s favourite rose.

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  My nephew’s fish (probably R.I.P. by now)

The sunrises; sunsets; rain in my face; freezing fingers capturing starry nights; aching feet in hiking boots; wind and high altitude chills helping disguise tears of joy; a non-swimmer snorkeling in the open ocean; scathing sarcastic jokes testing the limits of acceptability; music, oh beautiful music; brainwaves at 2 a.m. in the night; coffee-infusion experiments; ridiculous Kenyanisms like Mwenyemali!

I’m going to enjoy each moment, as I can and as much as I can. Join me. Shall we?

Protected: A Little 2020 Thank You

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Random Sunday Thoughts

I’m just a kid living his life.

I Do?

Do you remember what it feels like to win?

Steady at the Bow.

I can’t remember where I read it, or watched it, or heard it. But I remember someone describing poetry and how it “comes” to them. That it’s like an onrushing train, puffing and chugging down the line. And all you know is that you must grab you pen and paper and rush and catch it before it leaves the station. Because you don’t know if it will ever pass through again.

Rage, rage against the dying light.

This year is peculiar. Disturbingly peculiar. And I would very much like it to stop being so.

Protected: We Continue….

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NOT EVEN HALFWAY THERE YET

25. Funky number.

Funky life and really funky times as well.

“Funky” is not a word I use often, nor is 25 an age I clock on the regular either. But I can barely think of a more nonchalant word to describe my present mood.

THIS IS ME

This is me, savouring the last few minutes of a self-induced caffeine ban since 1st December 2017. After enduring unexplainable days and nights of poring over the eccentricities and simplicities of this legal world, my system threatened mass action against me. And I obeyed the will of the majority (unlike some). The clarity that comes with that caffeinated buzz is rivalled by only one thing: the buzz that comes without it. The balance between the two; what I seek (in full appreciation of flavour and agricultural labour expended).

This is me, marvelling at the similarity between the P and the F, and the grey line that lies between. Also grimacing at the possibility that my rapturous call to my mother may have been premature, and that I should have had my eyes checked first before calling her. Maybe I saw wrong. Oh goodness, I should hang up.

This is me, absorbing Nairobi’s averagely amusing nightlife on the balcony of a haunt I frequent too much. If only for the music. But this is me, in astoundingly intelligent, hilarious, astute, absorbing company, reminding me of the honour-guard that guides me in all I do, as I do for them. This is us.

This is me, hours after professing my desire to spend this year 25th year of my God-given life as the first since turning 4 years old, without an exam to be sat. This is me, in the company of those who pushed me hardest in those dark hours, laughing now because we can. Oh yes, we can, and we are! This is me, even fewer hours after listening to someone hypothesize that I have earned the seat I sit on today. This is me, yearning, striving, pushing for more.

This is me, wincing at the thought of not catching a proper glimpse of the Trifecta. A once in a lifetime celestial event, superseded by a once in a lifetime legal event. In another lifetime, the elders would be seated around the three stones, embers glimmering, with each opining on what a bloody eclipse (pun intended) portended for the community. Well, I dare say, this is me; that is what it portends.

This is me, in the (presently) dishevelled confines of my home. Modest in means, but abundant in belonging and achievement. Here I endured and pushed and surmounted that which was thrust at me. I caught a few throws, kept my guard, consulted my peers, gave encouragement as much as I received it. Pushed.

This is me. LLB stashed away. LLM bagged, CS (K) grabbed. 9 Ps in hand.
Onwards.

MOMMA WE MADE IT!

I just spent one of the most happy days with my mum, and I’m about to spend one of my most fulfilling ones with her yet. I have worked years to get here, and she’s strived ages longer. Yet here we stand. History written, legacies built, stories to be told.

Sat at her feet and learnt, I did. Scolded and praised in equal measure. Pain and joys shared, knowingly or otherwise. Faced doubts, reassured where necessary.

And yet a few hours ago, she shared one of those random gems that strike you and lodge themselves in yet unknown nooks of your psyche. Simple as is: You don’t want your child to grow up without any knowledge of what failure is. They may be exemplary in all forms, but it isn’t till they stare into the adversary of failure that they learn their true capability to get back up, dust themselves off and get going again.

I’ve stumbled once in a while. She’s stood by me. I’ve risen equally as often, and darn sure she cheered loudest.
So this one is yours, Mum. And for the chief himself, Kiriga Mutegi Kabugu.

We ain’t done yet. #LLMKwisha

What a year! And it’s only 2016

Thank you.

That’s what this is: a thank you.

To who? You. Me. Everybody. The last time I felt this grateful for a year in my life was in 2013, and I thought it would be hard to beat. It got blown to smithereens (and so I’ll need you to remember one thing, I came, I saw, I conquered). Sorry, couldn’t resist that.

Anyway, this little ode to 2016 won’t follow the usual flow and form of other clueless ramblings on here. Let’s buck the trend a bit, and simply

FOR THE MAN

Two weeks ago, Graça Machel shared a dinner with a group of remarkable people that I know. A group of young persons, still stuck in the throes of discovering themselves, the paths lying ahead, the choices to be made, the baggage to be dropped and more importantly, the causes (and underlying principles therein) to be picked.

Five Years Of Promise

Five years ago on this day, I sat before an ancient Pentium in one of those dusky cyber cafés that used to charge 1 bob per minute. Then only discovering the rudimentary workings of the internet, I was choosing to up the ante a little. Turned it up, I did; and down and up and….