Tag Archives: Kenya

What ever happened to Fridays?

When was the last time you attended a house party? Not a family gathering or a one month old kid’s birthday party. A proper house party with ratchets and a little bit of chaos. A house party isn’t a house party if someone doesn’t throw up, a fight breaks out or someone or some couple randomly starts crying. The crying bit I’m yet to understand. How is a party related to sorrow?

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I haven’t been to a house party in years and I’ve started a petition to reintroduce house parties. You shall find the form attached on my next post. The few among us that have no diapers to buy, still want to get wasted and paint the town or rather house with semi-solid edibles. Just like the old days when Jesus turned water into wine because the party don’t stop till the sun come up.

I’ve mentioned a few parties I used to attend in uni and unfortunately this memory stems from the same basic friends that I had. They weren’t bad. They just didn’t know how to throw parties. I can’t recall one good house party they threw. Not a single one. The best one ended up in more than five guys looking at each other in the wee hours of the morning because a scorned girlfriend had taken all the girls with her; even the ones she met there.

So the party started like all other parties would start; with a text. “There’s a party. Bring the booze, we have the bitches.” I was young, hot, pretty skinny and looking to skin another human being. Such kind of texts got me over the roof and I spread the word to my trusted crew. I’ve never been a fashionista so dressing up was never part of the plan as long as I had fresh breath and a pack of condoms. I always though rough rider was legit until I met a girl whose ride didn’t last long enough and I had to be dropped along the way.

We met up and being the cool people we were, decided to buy a slightly respectable beverage. It was quite cheap but very few people knew of its existence and I had no money. After various lobbying conferences and secret caucuses, we bought another fairly priced bottle and set off to conquer the world with less than $10 between us. Nothing was impossible in the face of fairly shaven female crotches and a slight whiff of perspiration stemming from walking to the party.

The school was in a remote area but I had spent quite some time in the area and knew my way around. All the way to the venue we were just praying things wouldn’t follow the same path they usually did. Disaster. You remember that time traders were having a party at the temple and out of nowhere Jesus comes in, pissed as a bull in a Spanish street and whips people around? That’s how I usually reacted to these whack parties. Only difference is that I get invited. I had no whip but I’d make sure nobody enjoyed the evening. Even if it meant calling the cops on the parade.

So we got to the party, hungry and all. We were met by loud music, hanging bosoms and slightly ashy butt fissures. At his point, my face lit up. This is why they forgot to put an extra O on Monday. I was lit. I was walking up the stairs faster than you could say, “Donald Trump sounds more like Donald Tramp.” It actually does sound the same, doesn’t it? I was in the zone. My name was being called from every direction. I knew this was the party I would meet my next blog article.

I realized my name was being called from every direction because I was on the wrong floor, knocking on a random family’s door. I went back to the right floor and yes, the party was partying. Not in a good way. We didn’t know the host but knew a co-host who wasn’t really a co-host because he knew another co-host that was a co-host at another party. We got to the door and the bouncer, who I presume was the host, asked for our drink before we made our way into the party. I was at the front and pushed his hand aside and walked in. To my surprise, the ashy butt and hanging bosom, were ploys to attract us. We had been duped.

I backed out so fast I forgot ashy butt’s waist was wrapped out my arm. I’m too sleek for myself. Now there was a problem. We didn’t want to share our drink because there were no females as promised except for the chained dog that didn’t even bark when I said she wasn’t a bad bitch. Dog just lost valuable points there for chickening out. Ashy butt was with us now because she saw we still had fresh bottles and looked equally fresh, draped in cheap clothes.

The host started cussing us out and we just stood there, bottles now open, staring at ashy butt and looking for a way out. Out of nowhere, Max steps in and calls out the host. Max is our co-host. The guy that knew the guy that heard about the party from the invited guy. It was all calm at the beginning and we knew he had it all under control until he let out a yelp. Not those loud ones, the kind a puppy makes when you startle it. Brief yet definitive.

We were ready to square off
We were ready to square off

We knew it was about to go down. Before we could roll our sleeves and dish out capital punishment, Max started crying. He wasn’t folded up or being roughed up. No, Max was crying roughing up the host. In all this confusion, ashy butt had escaped and we couldn’t trace her. Things were getting even weirder by the minute. Lazarus disappearing from his tomb was straight up David Blaine but this was undocumented. The host started weeping and he and Max were comforting each other.

I’m still confused as to why any of them cried but I had seen enough and decided to pull the plug. The hookah pot they were using belonged to a friend and I decided to confiscate it.  Ok, this was after we ran out of charcoal and even tried chopping wood from someone’s fence. I rushed down the stairs and signaled my friends to follow suit. We were bringing an end to this party. We dashed into the darkness with the hookah in tow.

I cry for Argentina. Or my friends. Or anyone
I cry for Argentina. Or my friends. Or anyone

Why we carried the hookah is still beyond either of us. We finally got to the crying bandit’s house and pulled out some charcoal. One of our friend’s girlfriend was there and ashy butt as well. Come to think of it, ashy butt was probably the most loyal stranger I’d met. She ditched her own birthday party for us. I’m sure it wasn’t because we were cool because we weren’t.

We set up the hookah and started smoking one of the most vile carbon products I have ever inhaled in my life. I could feel all the exhaust mufflers cheering me on. But why did ashy butt follow us anyway? I had no money and neither did my friends. I did smell good though. I had one of those free Bvlgari colognes and ladies love a man who knows the value of free things.

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Anyway, we smoked to our feel and ashy butt had no option but to spend the night. The surprising thing is that she looked extra shiny in the morning bar the butt fissure. My condoms were still fresh, ready to protect me through another rough week. I gathered everyone to the living room and made a declaration that I would never attend a party someone I went to school with had organized.

I kept my word. For four days I did not answer to any call for a party. On Friday morning, I got a call from another friend. There was a party. In such situations I always referred to the bible and asked myself, what would Jesus do? I forgave my friends and as soon as my class was over, I bathed in cologne (still Bvlgari) and headed out for a party. This time it was definitely going to be different.

Can you hear me?

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Hi God,

I’m sure you know who it is so I don’t need to introduce myself. From what I’ve heard and read, sources say you’re omniscient. I bet you already know what I was going to write about. I’ve fallen into the habit of writing letters so I couldn’t forget to write to the man with the biggest following. I have a lot of issues and most of them actually concern you. I’m certain you don’t mind my inquisition, that’s probably what made the first church stand strong to date.

Recently I’ve come under a lot of fire. I’ve been called everything from confused to an atheist. Do you think I have no beliefs? I asked you questions before but you never seem to answer my concerns, it’s like you suddenly became a celebrity; all you have is, “No comment.” A lot of people will talk, say that I’m starting to lose it, but if you gave me the brain to think, why are your people castigating me for using it?

The people you sent came over to my land and called my people heathens. A primitive people. A society without beliefs. Do you really think my people had no beliefs? The mountains, the trees, lakes and everything that naturally came to be as a result of your magnificence? I asked someone a question and she told me I’m too confused for life. When people pray to you and it works, that counts as a blessing, but when they pray to others and get, it’s termed as evil?

Sometimes I wish everything was as simple as following the Ten Commandments. In that case, I’d easily allow myself to see out my life under the same laws but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m taught about forgiveness every now then. Hell, I even give fourth chances to people who screw me over and they still do the same thing. So how come you can’t do the same? You are the ultimate being, so technically, you have power over Lucifer. Why do we need to suffer over something you can easily bring an end to?

Can’t you just forgive him? I’m simply a human being, what power do I have over a spirit? The same spirit that was almost as big as you in terms of hierarchy if I may add. The cardinal commandment is to love your brother as you love yourself. Does that only apply to humans? I do my best to always accommodate people but it’s very hard when religion teaches me otherwise. The pastor says don’t judge but judges me because of my friends. What is the ideal Christian life?

I bet you already know most people think I’m an agnostic, atheist or pagan. You know me better though, you created me. You gave me a mind and with that I was supposed to use to analyze everything I’m taught and make conscious decisions. This is me analyzing everything and pointing out what I feel doesn’t add up. I want to believe everything but the people doing your job aren’t doing much to convince me otherwise.

What’s a church? The people? The building? The belief? Me? One way or another everyone has their own interpretation of what the church is. I’m not a model Christian but I bet I live my life openly enough. The Catholics told me drinking alcohol wasn’t wrong as long as I didn’t get drunk. The Protestants judge me for seeing me in a bar. Should I cut off the people I consider friends just because religion doesn’t agree with them? Or should I try to make show them better?

Where do we draw the line? From the little Christian education I received I learnt that no sin is greater than the other. Theoretically, I would agree but technically, that’s a far fetched idea. In the bible, same sex relationship is frowned upon but we have gay bishops. Selfishness is discouraged but we have religious leaders making a living out of the desperate. Who is fooling who?

The Christian faith is built on the model of Jesus Christ. If anything I read was correct, Jesus led a very humble life and encouraged his followers to do the same. So where did the prosperity gospel come from? The more you have is as a result of giving. Who comes up with these things? Why do we have pastors on the Forbes list? Pastors are living in mansions but preaching to people in the slums. Does a pastor have to fly in a G5 to talk to you?

It’s getting really confusing when pastors and politicians lead the same lifestyle. Blessings are equated to wealth. I thought our riches lay in heaven? I barely go to church nowadays. I don’t think you’ll hear me better simply because there’re hundreds of us congregated. I have my own special needs and the way I communicate them to you is all tailored to my preferences. So why is it a big deal if I don’t go to church? Is my presence more important than my belief?

I come from the school of thought of doing good and expecting nothing in return. That gives me satisfaction as an individual. You probably knew some day would come when the church would be watered down to fit individual interests. I’m not a father yet but I want my kids to grow in the knowledge of thinking as individuals in a group. I won’t deny them the chance to make their own decisions. I’ll introduce them to religion and they can decide whether religion cuts it for them or it doesn’t.

Everyone talking about selling souls and I’m a little bit confused. If I sell my soul, can you redeem it? I tend to think, selling your soul is a figurative term but people always blow things out of proportion. A soul is your inner self, right? My inner self is the values and principles I have I guess. So doesn’t selling my soul refer to compromising my principles for a certain form of gain? And where do I draw the line? If I’m selling my soul to save a soul, does that make it any more justifiable?

You created us so you know we’re all different in our own ways. I can deny myself some pleasures because that’s who I am as an individual but what happens to my brother who can’t do the same? Why does the world have to judge him using my standards? You had it all right in the beginning in my opinion. When your son died and the religion that is Christianity was born, things took a little bit of a twist. Jesus mingled with the masses but his followers have isolated themselves from society.

Right now I haven’t been to church in a number of years. What action is more important; being seen in church or doing good? Every day it becomes more unclear because to everyone it seems like congregating is the ultimate act of Christianity. I’m not into the name calling just because it sounds good to the ear or people will look at me in a different light. I always try to remain true to myself. I’d rather be an honest sinner than a sinning saint. You get me?

I hope you aren’t tired of reading my letter. I try to maintain my etiquette every time I’m addressing you or anyone I hold in high regard. So every question I’m raising is because I see a reason to believe. But what good is belief if I can’t convince anyone why I believe? People continuously tell me I shouldn’t do it for other people, but if it wasn’t for other people, would I be doing it now? Everything I do is because I want to have an impact, especially if it’s something I believe. So when a group that was formed on the basis of followership claims individuality I get more confused.

I’m not sure if this is what you had envisioned during creation but as my mum always says, “God also changed. He doesn’t wear the robes he used to any more, he now rocks shorts.” Religion is becoming too dynamic for me so when I sit out some of these changes at least you understand I’d rather be principled in my misery that give myself hope on another person’s riches. I hope you won’t be pissed at me and you’ll help me better understand why I am who I am.

 

Yours Sincerely,

Son of a rant

Letter to my Unborn

Sometimes you just want space,

 Space to breath,

 But someone keeps you under water,

How do you survive on that little air?

 When the person who is putting you through this,

 Is someone you put all your faith in?

            A person you swore to always protect,

 Well, that’s life.

We make decisions hastily,

 And regret making them,

This is a letter to my unborn.


Do you love because you love?

Or do you love because it’s right to love?

And is it me ?

Or that which I have?

These questions are not for me,

They are for him,

Or her,

That is yet to be conceived,

Physically and psychologically,

They’ll need an answer,

If not today,

At some point in life,

A prepared mind begets more,

A dissuaded one little,

This is a letter to my unborn.


I picked you over the rest,

I saw them in you,

Not in your womb,

With your face and smile,

Your laughter,

Your touch,

Our humour,

So when I ask,

Think deeply of your answer,

This is not a commitment,

It’s a new life,

A new routine,

A new reason to be alive,

Commitments can be broken,

But to take your own life,

You must have suffered a great deal,

So as you think of your answer,

Remember,

This is a letter to my unborn.


To my son,

I have tried my best to prepare myself for you,

I want to be the best to you,

Teach you how to love,

Not just yourself,

Or individuals,

But life,

Teach you how to wade,

Not in water, but through life’s storms,

Make you understand how to survive,

It’s not about the fittest anymore,

For even Hercules and Samson failed,

Be smart,

Intelligent,

Know that you are wise,

Not because you think the most,

But because you understand,

I took time from my simple schedule,

To write this,

To you,

This is a letter to my unborn.


To my daughter,

I hear your silvery voice,

The touch of your tiny hands,

Look into your crystalline eyes,

There for your first steps,

Your first words,

Losing your first tooth,

Your first day of school,

And your graduation,

To see you grow not into your mother,

But into you,

A different lady,

A person who commands respect and love,

Not verbally,

But simply by her aura,

I have loved you even before you are born,

And I will love you after,

I write this down for you,

This is a letter to my unborn.


I’ve had you in me,

Pushing for your opportunity,

I believe it is your time,

To know and be known,

A past so bleak,

A future so bright,

This is your time to shine,

To illuminate the world,

I have had my fair share,

Failures and successes,

Good times and bad ones,

Friends and foes,

Plentiful and scarcity,

But I have overcome them time and again,

To my future self,

The future starts today,

The future is now,

The dream and potential I had,

Are now a reality and an opportunity,

Till I see you,

This is a letter to my unborn.