Chillin'

loungin' hiatus

Am about to lay back, kick out my nike, wrap myself in kikoi and lounge on my mid-year vacation. Yes that's in May!! The start of my Inspiration Triad - mayjunejuly.

Came up with the above illustration for a baby pillow advert i was doing. so i decided to tweak it abit with some cooln/warm effect, like my favourite months that come with rainy days, chilly nights and all the warmth of triggered inspiration.

//> i'll be chillin' til jun.

Bitter ama Betta?

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Realizing that as often as one of these doors closes on me, I have to decide whether to sit down here and be bitter or get up and concentrate on the others that are opening – become betta. I’ve felt the spasm of love lost yet I bask in the hope of a love waiting. I’ve felt the thud of my failures yet I believe if you fall seven times, get up eight. I’ve felt the disappointment of being looked down upon yet I gotta show them juz what am made of.

It’s all so good and easy layin’ the blame on others and finding all the wrong reasons why things turn the wey they do. But step back, take a look at the image on the mirror and learn through it. Be real with yourself – if you ain’t who will?

Leo amua, utakuwa bitter or betta?

C'est La Vie!

Paths crossed, paths parted

After the cutting of the cakes, the goodbye hugs and the farewell cards, reality sinks in.

These past weeks, i've had to say goodbye to five work colleagues, swept by the tide of time to pursue their life's paths. I've realized how much i gained from each one of them and started questioning myself when my path deviates, how it would be like. I guess we all have to accept the reality about life - coz that's how it is. Sometimes we lose people who mean much to us, some never to meet again, and some whose paths and ours will cross once again. In any case, we are left with the footprints of experiences we shared with them - good, bad, ordinary and unusual. To me like i know to many, their worth almost seems to double as soon as they're gone. Soon we realize how important they or what they represented were.

After the cutting of the cakes, the farewell speeches and the empty desks left vacant, reality sank in.

I thought we were going to be together longer. I thought to myself if i left tomorrow, what would i have accomplished? What did i gain from this path? What legacy do i leave behind? Did i add value to the organization, to the people i interacted with? Did i make a difference, however minute, or swam along with the current like dead fish? How this experience has changed or built me? Are these connections worth keeping? Friendships worth cherishing and holding? Have i achieved what i set out to? If not, why not and will i get there? Is it something i can live with going knowing i didn't get there? Will they feel the void when am gone?

Many, many questions arose from the farewells. One answer arose from the questions - Live today as if it was your last day. By doing so, you'll have no regrets, you'll aim to do your very best, you'll try to be at peace with others, and you’ll be at peace with yourself and what you do.

For Aissatou Sow, Norman Shitote, Eliot Pence, Sandra Kidwingira and Guy Berthiaume, I say C'est La Vie and Bon Voyage!

Aissa taught me elegance, power politics, persistence, pressure, creativity, friendship and unflinching boldness.

Norman taught me simplicity, realness, humour, patience, understanding, commitment and openness.

Eliot taught me how to push the envelope, humour, fluency, hard-balling and spontaneity.

Sandra taught me joviality, how to laugh from the heart, kindness, warmth, dedication and daintiness.

Guy taught me strength, self-pride and respect, creativity, articulation, humour, boldness, simplicity and friendship.

Thank you all. Whatever paths you take, wherever life leads you to, I pray that they bring you ever closer to touching your triple beam dreams; and that you know you left footprints along the trails you crossed – one of them being mine.

Signs of the Times

Jana a fisherman in Vanga on the East African coast caught a strange messenger - a tuna with Arabic inscriptions on the side of its belly. I watched the news mouth-agape, almost trying to deny the reality before me. Here was the calligraphic writing in front of the TV and so clear i could easily read it - "Allahu Khairun Razikin", translated "God is the Best Provider".

For my feeble faith, i had notions of it being some sort of trick, maybe someone made them on the fish. But to my artistic amazement (and i've seen enough forgeries), the inscription was embossed and blended with the shades of different colours on the tuna's body. Now that was enuff to make my doubts succumb.

The crowd looked equally awed; and i deeply appreciated the fact that here was a fish with Arabic writings caught in a region where the populace depended on fishing for their providence and sustenance and were Arabic literate. Imagine that.....

"He it is Who shows you His signs and sends down for you sustenance from heaven, and none minds but he who turns to Him again and again." - Quran Chapter 40, verse 13.

Unbloggable

Hii ni fumbo, kwa wenye fahamu...

She tells me her predicament weeping, says she reckons her man's creeping, when he should be zipping, it got her whole world tripping, she can feel the weight heaping, she's confused on the love she has been sipping, wonderin' if she should continue keeping, am dumbfounded near flipping, askin' myself so many questions clipping.

Firstly, i never intend to turn this blogsite into some venting out forum, i view it as a creative outlet, a gallery of thought and a search for tranquility. But since am human, which means i come with all the vulnerability, insecurities and feebleness that our kind possess, sometimes i see or hear stuff that makes me wanna holla! So i keep that roll of questioning going.

How in the world, that same world you grew knowing concern and care, can you explain total lack of caring and zilch concern? How do you start understanding when you have sown all the right seeds and yet harvest lack of understanding? How do you reconcile trust when it's scattered all over with the broken pieces of hopes and convictions that you built over time? Why should you be the one whose always gentle and compassionate? Why should you be the understanding one when shit is always hitting your face? Why should you be the one to go all the way, ignoring all the stop signs, when you know you should meet half-way? Why should you expect the other side of the bargain to be kept instead of demanding it? Why should you flatter yourself things will change for the better when all the signs are blaring hell no, they'll only get worse? Why can't you jump ship even though you are the captain and wade through to better ships? Why should you be the one to make it right when you aint the one who made it wrong in the first place? Why can't you be wrong, aren't you human after all? And human is to err. How many times will you go through the same bridge to realize the water's underneath?

I keep these questions when i see people going thru' stuff they shouldn't. When i go through episodes i shouldn't. And maybe even if they are necessary so that we learn what life's all about, i keep them to balance between my thoughts, my reality and my ideal. Tell me, how do you reach out to someone when they've reached the point of fearing no loss?

Adrenalin

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There’s only one word to effectively describe this past weekend. That word is Adrenalin. Try a concoction of Torque, Supercross and MI:III. Friday took off with a blast and though it rained cats and dogs, I could feel the distant heat that would characterize my weekend. That is what it was and it was a positive thing ‘coz I needed some jerking up after some dreary days working on nothingness at the office. Sato was a lot more on the edge. It started off like Mulatin’s soulful jazz “My Own Memory”, with the pangs and thrust of highness. Shopped around for some inspiration and I got it in a designer wardrobe that would be able to hold all my earthly possessions – that means a roll of clothes, stacks of endless paper and a thousand or so CDs. It gave me the inspiration to redeco my place.

Went around the wey to see Nur and got him fixated on his raw black Honda superbike. With its almost entire parts lying on the floor, it looked more intimidating and ironically fragile. But after takin’ a spin round tao with it, I confirmed that it was truly nerve-racking but not in the least fragile. The full-thrust roar of its v4 engine translated to the exhaust end is enuff to make you shudder in psyched trepidation. This beast reached 150kph in a blinking 5 seconds and cruises at a top 240kph – that’s when you feel your heart and soul floating outside your body, sailing behind the bike just close enuff to reconnect back when you come to a halt.

When I entered the movie theatre to watch the premier of MI:III, I was still high from the lethal doze of velocity I had had before. But to keep it there, I wanted more action and action extraordinaire I got. MI:III’s storyline is very cliché – bad guys, good guys, one man saves whole world from terrorists holding the deadliest weapon ever known to man, rogue nations, all those fancy agencies shit. But, despite a very poor sequel in terms of story, the execution takes movie makin’ a notch higher, the effects were awesome, unbelievable stunts and technology made believable. The last time I left the cinema still hanging on to the thud of explosions, knowing I was cheated but yet believed, was when I saw XXX.

As if that wasn’t enuff, I got an anticipated email from an ol’school flame and for the entire afternoon, I reminisced on them dayz when I wished silently….and when I cruised at 240kph zooming past all the red stop signs as if they were mirages.

Ghetto Langu

Oldhood revisited



Am cruising along Jogoo road, the vibrantly repainted aged bungalows on either side of the road zooming past in a trail of colour. Am headed deep into Eastlands to meet my couzin then onward to Doni to check Mike. Around the stadium there are stretches of mitumba vendors displaying must-have ndulaz from nike to adidas. Dotted in between the alleys of this market are mei guys busy roasting maize from jan to dec. Kuna watu kibao streaming the whole area like a festival of worker bees; everyone full of activity in their own small world, a world that knows no serenity. Am instantly reminded of ghetto langu becoz these are the same things I see there. Here there’s no fresh air only stench. No roads just potholes, garbage sites and mud filled dirt paths. No lighting just kerosene lamps and candles. No entertainment just bars and more bars. No evening siestas juz the sound of gunshots or dombolo. Here there are no full measures; people are struggling with less than a dollar a day so you’d get a quarter of anything – sugar, flour, oil, omo. I see some people chilling for ma3’s, some guy trading secondhand school uniforms and another staggering most likely from having a glass of cheap, locally brewed, undiluted changa’a. If the Russians knew about this lethal drink, they would have probably mass bottled it instead; for pure vodka would taste like tomato juice in comparison and be twenty times more costly.

The potholes are so gigantic, reputably able to “swallow” an entire city-bus in that brief instant when it goes in and out; once in awhile when el nino revisits, seeing children swimming in them. Everyone is trying to dodge them and just be in time to evade the biggest pile of garbage that you ever dumped anything on. Hii ndio ghetto langu, my old hood, where things never seem to change and where life has a fatalistic aura clenching the entire place.

My ghetto has a jobless corner right at the bus stage where we used to sit all day sharing jokes and stories, letting time pass us by and only break for lunch – if you had anything to eat that is. The stronger jamaz started collecting “road tax” from the ma3’s and soon it was a mafia-reminiscent operation. Next to the jobless corner, there are miraa vendors and can tell the shade from far from the green leaves hang there as advertisement, dangling from the top. This is where the journey to tooth decay and probable sterility begins. Still, people throng the place everyday looking for that chew to distract them from the real issues that starkly face them and never seem to shake off or fade away.

It’s a tough life but yet people still smile in the midst of their struggles. They sleep contented despite the cloud of insecurity hanging over their slumber. They still share despite the little they have. Still, nyumbani ni nyumbani, so every once in awhile I’d head back there and get reminded where I came from, what I’ve been through and what life’s real treasures are. Something nimefunzwa kutoka ghetto langu.

+1

**

Turning over another year in the journey of my life feels thrilling. Today, I add one more year to the cauldron that defines my experiences and therefore, me. It’s a moment that I fervently anticipate as I add more spice to the blend of Lenjo Maza Asad and hoping it spins forth a betta person; were we not created to become betta and betta?

Turning over another year in the journey of my life feels rousing. As I close the year gone, I pray this path I’m on leads to new zeniths of affection and achievement. Praying that its alleyways feed me with inner peace and outward connect. That its splints ignite my ambition to get full-blown like nitro, saying the hustlaz’ prayer “if the game shakes me or breaks me, I hope it makes me a betta man..”. Being grateful for this year added to my life, I’d walk away from troubles so that I can reach new heights of self-actualization. Am redefining myself and my associations, social and not. Am repainting my world portrait to synchronize with the hues of what matters most to me. Am reaching out to betta understand the messages of this voyage and taking these lessons to heart, reflecting on their depths, acting on their meanings. Am walking whilst appreciating the facets of moments that I meet in my trail.

Turning over another year in the journey of my life feels inspiring. Today I taste that momentous tang of inspiration compared to last year that left me bruised, hurt and vengeful. Today I’ve come full circle to be thankful for what it taught me, confirming my fears of things I needed to learn; made my brownskin a lot thicker, my comprehension much clearer. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of yesteryear, I’ll remember well these lessons as I reach out to touch the silver lining of my skies. Until am free, am gonna keep it as realest as it gets.

The best message I’ve received today is from my cousin Miriam, she says “Happy
Birthday Junior, may you live 2 be black!!”

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Congrats to Kasakwa for graduating from the Bachelor’s Club. Praying for the two of you that it’s blissful, harmonious and ever-blazing!!