Focal Point

In this new world, men have come under criticism from the womenfolk for being tad a bit too soft or unmanly . It seems to be true even as we remain impassioned to the claim and we ought to take action because there is cause for concern that the views by our women are true. It is pertinent that we stop blaming feminism for our failed masculinity. Women are not to blame. We, men, are the culpable party. Following ground breaking progress that we have witnessed and even been part of in the past two or three decades, and with a projection of even greater strides ahead, it is unfortunate that we still insist on raising our boys the same way our grandfathers' grandfathers were raised. In that era of yore, it was definitly encouraged right from birth that bossing women was not just a choice but nature. Afterall women then were viewed as discounts of humanity. It was easier to get women to do things for you by either shouting, demeaning or even beating her. In fact the latter was encoura

In our never ending quest of living, we human beings are driven by the intrinsic need for self-development. Owing to this wee fact, at times we overreach, crossing all the way into the selfish territory and even plunging into the yaws of greed. Now, I'm an asshole just like everyone else and I know a little selfishness is a must, like masturbation to a starved soul. However greed is a territory we never want to cross, much like excessive masturbation to a disturbed soul. So, in this rhetoric, I seek to persuade all ye assholes(basically everyone) from totally slaving to this trait.  Unless you don't associate with anyone, you have been an asshole to someone at some point at some place at sometime in your life. So, watu, here is how we can remain little, inoffensive assholes instead of the heavy juggernauts of this terrible behaviour whom everyone wants to punch in the face. 1. Accept that you are an asshole Yes I know. You are pious and can drink pee and let someone else hav

If it's not limping, it's ailing. If it isn't ailing, then it is paddling in a pool of embarrassment. This is the narrative that has been a recurring feature in Kenyan football for as long as there was football and memory, and the recent embarrassing scenario that marred Harambee Stars' journey to Cape Verde should perhaps be the crown on our ever growing pile of humiliation. The story has been the same for years-different casts but the same script and this low has exposed the real issues if at all we had missed them in the past. 1. Poor leadership This is perhaps the highlight of everything wrong with our football. From vacous and silly supremacy battles to lack of proper structures, no low is too low for this current administration to stoop,even as far as threatening players is concerned, what with allegations that a top official from Football Kenya Federation (FKF) allegedly threatened to ruin a player's career for protesting the treatment of the team in the s

Poetry Remember me, For my passions, And for what I could best describe as compassion, I do not know the nerve I tickle in you, But in any way remember me. I may not be ideal, But I am a man of means, I am my writing and my writing is me, Yes by definition I am a writer, But by occupation, a waiter, Waiting upon the fates to finally smile down at my efforts. I may make it, I may never make it For its hard , smiling when crying is the default, Fighting when giving up is the only way to rest my faint frame. And to that I say I may or may not see the light at the end of the tunnels. I would love to see the sun shine again, upon my life, my family, Posterity, anyone that I touch with the crafts and smiths of my words, But in the wake of the shrewd dealings of reality, I know that my life might be cut short before I see the end. Why did it have to happen, I always ask anyone with ears enough to listen, That I would find myself footslogging in the bog of uncertainity, hea

                             2          IN THE FACE OF HUNGER A gust swept through the heath, through the unending vast, empty plains of Hatma, covering the whole area and the air above in a thick, heavy cloud of twisting dust. The brown threads of dirt swirled as they trundled across the emptiness, after the wind. Aside from a few scrubs and small, elfin and unhealthy trees scattered about, there was not much vegetation here. Homes were a rarity, sparse and scattered on the plains that stretched into the very periphery of the miraged horizon. A few pallid and sickly cows gnawed at the hardly leafy scrubs, with some attempting to reach the leaves on the trees. Others,yet, lay on the ground, having given up entirely on finding food and silently waited for their peaceful demise. In one particular compound, one that was a little too flung from its nearest neighbours, was a mud house, with a woman shaded on its front, eyes distant in troubled muse. She looked bony and unhealthy, sick a

                               1                    STILL WATERS                                 * The hill rose in a precipitous ascend, overlooking the submissive valley below. Its rugged contours and sparsed verdure contrasted with the all consuming forest cover in the valley below. A river flowed right through the centre of the fold, dissecting the human settlements and the forest cover. It was quiet and reserved, snaking its way past the kinked lanscape of the area in silent defiance, before disappearing behind a cluster of trees far ahead. It was not an intimidating river as such, but it was home to overwhelming potent, strength harboured beneath its still veneer, power with force to kill. River Jemange had a tendency of breaking banks during the rainy season. When it did, the calm waters would flip mode and turn into a brown, murky mass of destruction, raging into nearby homesteads at the foot of the hill and laying to waste anything, and anyone that crossed its grain. But

The wells ran dry. High in the sky, the sun raged on, signifying the passage of day with its angry glare that just got angrier as the day swelled. Over the towering Eucalyptus, the hawks glided, patiently waiting for a lapse in which to poach a meal from an unsuspecting predator. There was nothing assuring about the bleak sight beneath those bulked and stalwart trunks.  There were fallen trees, some wider than three boa constrictors standing fully stretched in a circle, tail to tail. Some were freshly fallen, a half chopped fig here, a de-branched pine over there, with some rotting away in a choke of fungi, their length and girth sprayed with whitish powdery moss and some brownish mushroom with white stems, making the usually brown or rosy trunks take a completely different hue. Beside them were their stumps, jagged in accordance to how well the chainsaw ripped through. A groggy squirrel jumped timidly onto one of those stumps, sniffed about before sinking into a nearby drained scrub

Dear Sofapaka, Receive greetings from me from the discomfort of my anguish. It is my heartfelt wish that you are all doing fine, even though it is evident that you aren't. But that's besides the point. I am here to pour out my sentiments on the rapid deteroriation of your being and whether there is anything to be done to stop you from careering into the singeing abyss you are plunging into without any brakes. This is a sentimental letter so forgive me if I'm spot on on the emotions but way off the mark in facts, though to be honest, I believe I have most facts spot on as well. Anyway to back to my sentiments- In the year 2009, being a novice in this field called football, I found myself looking for a place to call home (basically a team to support). I must admit that trying to find acquaintance in this circle of football fandom is a difficult affair owing to football's outrageous popularity. Sure you attach yourself to whatever team is winning at the moment, but after

Religion is a noble practice that, unfortunately, has the capacity to reduce the most intelligent of us into a walking mess of retrogression. For every wonderful religious folk, there are a few extremists who smear this aristocratic front with the unholy muds it seeks to make redundant. This they do by either being too uptight, holier-than-thou, snobbish and condescending or by deliberately misquoting scriptures to further a selfish agenda. Then, there is a special case that use religion for self development, which in itself is not a bad thing, until you realise it is 'at all cost', the flocks I am preaching to be damned, humanity be damned. Nothing done that laughs in the face of humanity bears fruits that aren't bitter or painful. Religion is one of the pillars of hope for humanity and thus must be treated with the reverence it deserves. My religious background taught me to respect religion and that rings true even now, though I m a skeptic. People's belief and faith

Part 2 The magnitude of this dream I know not, maybe just you and the devil might know, but I look not to ask the devil for favours before I exhaust all my options with You, oh God. Hitherto, my entire existence has been structured, systematic and possibly even a lie. So no more shall I look to buy time, for I have wasted enough hours to let some more pass me by. So on this day, and every other day henceforth, let me be able to nullify this mental block that tries to nest in this mind. Doesn't this filth obstacle not know the bore it lay on a fragile heart fuelled by pure passion and purpose? I wish to be able to twist its slimy throat between my mortal fingers. I was built for this, and no hinderance can stall nor hold hostage anymore this ball of resilience, for this body is a host of eminent legacy. I won't stop the chase so as to appease my lazy alter ego, for I have wasted enough time being a slouch to give up this new-found, relieving purpose and focus. Lord, don't l

Scene: (yet to decide) [Robert and Lina step into the living room. Elvis is crouched infront of the stereo system. He is fiddling with the knobs as if trying to fix something. Lina crumples back into her previous couch as Robert, painting in hand, drags gracefully to the sofa he had been sitting in.] ROBERT : (sounding concerned as he speaks to Lina) My dear, will you not go and have yourself some food? LINA : (wincing slightly as she closes her eyes and reclines in her couch) Oh dad its okay. I'm full. ( she opens a single eye and looks at the shiny yellow bulbs hanging from the chandelier) I just have enjoyed something quite heavy. ELVIS : (turning a cheeky smile to his sister) Weh! Don't tell me the date fell through. LINA : (sitting up suddenly) Jesus, shut up ! ROBERT : (looking lost) What date? ELVIS :  Oh come on Lina, everyone knows it. I knew it even before you knew it. (He ducks to avoid the pillow Lina hurls at him. He picks it up and laughs on) That does

...    So should she? The thought rankled on, heeding to exactly none of her pretensious efforts at distractions. Beyond the walls of her room, someone groaned and mumbled intelligible nonsense. Anna sneered. After drinking himself silly, Bosco had slumped into the sofa and was probably just waking up, wondering in what dimensions exactly the non-existent blanket had fallen into and whether the bed had indeed been that small when he slept on it. She turned and looked at the dress spread on the bed. She reached for the hem and felt the skirt between her index finger and thumb. Wouldn't it be nice if she could be happy for once? It didn't matter how, or with whom, but wouldn't it- wouldn't it be nice to have fun? To live life and laugh out loud? Marouane hadn't bothered  returning her calls. Mad- sure, but the lack of even a sliver of concern hurt her most, the fact that he had refused to cut her some slack. Was it hard to understand that she had a sick brother? Did

Part 1 After a toil and hunt for the bread, daily I sit upon this creaking bed, sick and weary, the uncertainities, consequences and possibilities of tomorrow leaving me shaken and dreary. If these dreams come with a price, I trust I am committed enough to pay. If this life comes with a risk, then on death I'm willing to lay. Bless the mind that dreams and bless tenfold the hand that does. These dreams look to be dispatched and dispensed to the world and a print to be left by each word. In these puny hands is a task, a task that has to be done before dusk. I'm sick of putting on a mask. True, I seek humility but let me shed some wight off my modesty. Not that I want to be a brag, but rather proclaim to the world the fact that I am no drag. Whether I live this dream by mouth or hand, I don't mind, but from this moment on, I lift the blind off this raw mind and let the dreams that had been hidden now be the guide I live by and abide. Patience is a virtue. I'm willing t

In this reeking lair Seated on this cold creeking chair I write Write to you With hope that you stop your wander Write about you With dear candor Write for you To celebrate your honour In abject squalor I have been On empty stomach I have slept, on clammy concretes I have l lain My back washed in pain, I have bent and kissed the lowest ebb Of living and being alive Take this scribe, my dearest As a frank contract A bold commitment to my utterances That when you indeed rest in my arm You will be peaceful through the night And see the day just how you find right At no one moment Will you walk over the shards of glass That malaised my entire existence No longer Will the soles of your feet be mapped with blisters and swells Forget being famished and malnourished With me dear, you are and will be forever cherished Upon your head I commit myself All this struggle is for you That you may know trouble But not in its crudest element, misery That you may cry Bu

In a castaway land, A land of thriving murk of poverty A land where everyone was no one Someone was born. Through every wrong and right, Through the thick and lean Through the shrewd dealings of reality A legend grew. To blaze a trail, they sought And the sky's enigmatic allure, So fetching, blissful and pure Beckoned And who is the legend Not to respond to the call to duty. Never, In the land where everyone was no one Shall it remain the same The stalemate has been broken And cast atide on the dhow Is Destiny On the uncertain waters Over peaceful depths And unsettling shallows It will float Through the waves and the tides Through the gentle waters that lap on its sides The vessel will heed no divergent calls As the wind fills the sail No more shall it all be in vain The voyage of destiny From view in the periphery Is set to dock I advice you make merry For from the castaway land A land where everyone was no one Someone has risen. Photo from www.