An Ode to Ka'aba

Everything I know about life and survival, I learnt in Ka'aba. At this address, Form One students (104s), were initiated into the wonderful world of High School. #TeacherNumeroUno!

So your decker-mate on the top bunk wets her bed, what is my 13-year old self to do? Ka'aba taught me the art of negotiating my way to reasonablenesss.  How else does one survive the deluge of everyday issues that come my way? I learnt how to not only persuade the sister to air the offending beddings, in a manner that allowed her to save face. Of course, we also swapped beds. #ThinkWinWin

So, the weekend visits by friends and family meant that food and drinks flowed freely on Sunday nights. We learnt the art of sharing as well as the science of food preservation to within an inch of expiration or decay. #ResourceManagement101.

So exams were round the corner, and I'm raw to the core in terms of preparedness.  Because academics generally interfered with the smooth running of our social lives, I generally put off reading until the exam timetable sobered up my young mind. During these ruffling times of trials and tribulations, Ka'aba taught me to panic slowly. I was introduced to the nocturnal art of nano-compresson of  entire examinable content into mental capsules that would be released at day-break. #PressureManagement

Ka'aba opened my eyes to the fallacy of 'self-sufficiency'.  We won whenever we dealt with the 'rabble-trouble' that seemed to stalk us, as we fumbled our way through the fog of our adolescence. #Strategic Alliances.

So we were herded together in 'open plan' sleeping quarters, where we lived in each other's spaces, recycling each other's air, stepping on each other's toes, and generally being all over each other's business.  We hang in there though.  We knew that decongestion would happen when we transitioned from the bottom of the food-chain (Form One) and move into the partitioned dormitories of the Form Twos, which would usher us into privilege and privacy. #EarningYourStripes.

So life roughed us up sometimes.  There were moments of home-sickness.  There was also this animal called duties. Woe to you if you were assigned the duty to maintain 'law and order' in the ablution quarters.  Without running water, there were days it felt like Labour Camp.  At times like this, I learnt to look to God to help me navigate the complexities of my changing world.  #FactoringGodIn Life'sEquation.

Ka'aba was a rite of passage that weaned us out of our childish ways and thrust us into young adulthood.  We came away with a great sense of ourselves and others. #HandlingLifeTransitions.

So many years later, Ka'aba goes up in flames. Our hearts are heavy, but we rise.  We draw from the bond of friendship that was formed in those formative years in Ka'aba. We pull together. The lessons learnt find their expression in our every-day lives.  Ka'aba was not just another hall of residence. It was a 'state of becoming'. Our lives are richer for it! #MatchlessGratitude. 

Unspoken

when the urge to speak descends upon me,
and the water of my unborn unkindness breaks,
pressing to come alive,
i'll labour to stop!

i'll stop the labour.
bite my tongue if i must,
suffocate my thoughts 
and bury the still born words,
unuttered

#FacilitatingAnswersToMyPrayers

If Martin Luther King Jnr. had been told that though wrapped in diapers, there was a toddler, alive in King's own lifetime, who would manifest the realization of his, ‘I have A Dream'  speech, would he have believed it? #BarackObama.

If he knew that the seed he was watering was already sprouting into a mighty oak, would it have strengthened his resolve that much more, on the days it must have felt easier to quit than fight another battle? #Keep@It.

Faith is…. doing what must be done: through the obscurity, improbability and even cluelessness of the next step.

It took a King to lay the foundation for an Obama. Whose way am I paving?

The answers to my prayers are bound up in nondescript wrappings of action and endurance.

Off my knees and on my feet....., I go!

Post Script: Whose answer to prayer am I?

The Annual Endorsement Meetings (aka AGMs)

Who will deliver the Kenyan shareholder from the glaring ignorance that is the staple of corporate AGM meetings?  I have attended a couple of these meetings and they all seem to be reading from the same script.  After the mandatory verification and check in, shareholders make their way into the conference room armed with a glossy copy of the Annual Report and Financial Statements in hand. The Chair welcomes us, introduces the panel, and we get busy with the day's agenda.

The Managing Director gives his views, defends the accounts and few minutes later, we have a hit-and-run Q & A session.  Shortly thereafter,shareholders are asked to endorse the content in the Report. I am not too sure how many of us understand the intricate balancing act that is the Financial statement.  I am not sure how many even bother to go through it. Besides the line that reads: Earnings per Share, who can tell the stuff staring at us through the accounting crevices right in front of the shareholders' eyes?

For every item on the agenda, there is a Kenyan who proposes and another who seconds.  The choreography of this window-dressing sessions borders on the hilarious.  Are these fellows corporate stooges, propped up (or hired) to execute the will of the Board and management? could it be?

Then, what really matters to the rest of us shareholders comes to the fore. Our singular agenda is two-part: the freebies and the dividends.  Speaker after speaker talk about the smallness of the dividends and the fact that the freebies are of the wrong quality and quantity. ....could this too be another agenda item designed to distract the focus of the meeting from the core business? Are shareholders simply pawns spectating in a game of numbers beyond their league? could it be?

Who shall deliver the shareholder from this myopic view that focuses on peripheral matters instead of the corporate governance that steers organisations?

In their present configuration, the AGMs epitomize corporate felony. Beyond the auditor, there needs to be a body (either out-sourced or informed shareholders) who help shareholders interrogate the books and ask the right questions.  

Woman of Great Worth

Hold up..... who do you say I am?

Stop!

Before we go there, 

I have to ask the more pertinent question: 

Who am l?

I look ordinary, 

....dress ordinary,

..... talk ordinary, 

But, beneath this cloak of ordinariness

is a Woman-of-Great-Worth!

I don't always feel like it,

I sometimes look far from it, 

I don't walk the talk often enough,

But, I am not deceived.

Beyond the apparent ordinariness,

is a Woman-of-Great-Worth!

I'm unfolding!

What I have become is now playing catch-up with who I am.
I'm stepping into myself
becoming the full expression of who God created me to be.

So, as I come to,
and take my place,

it gives me great pleasure to introduce me......
Hello world!

#DivineDiscretion

Pits and Falls of Building on Another's Foundation

After toiling tirelessly at 'another man’s' enterprise, my friend Tendwa was requested to take her labour and passion elsewhere. The suddenness of her firing, has left me sad and awakened to the fickle nature of twenty-first century employment.

You see, Tendwa is a pro. Her peers look to her to catch a glimpse of where the industry is going. She has clocked the mandatory 10,000 hours that experts say is required to make one a guru in their field. That, coupled with the fact that she is endowed with killer talent makes her a deadly weapon in the competitor's hand. So, if anyone's job was secure, hers was..., or so we thought.

Her career , began to unravel when a new ‘pharaoh' came to town. His efforts at re-deploying, taming or at least reconditioning her were thwarted and out-wiggled by her clever maneuvering. Eventually, the boss unleashed his ace -termination of contract.

Her scarlet list of corporate sins was long and unpardonable. Under the new regime, she had fallen into the pit of overconfidence and over-competence. On the omission spectrum, she had trespassed by not understanding the reality of the boss’ insecurity and thereby overlooking a fragile ego that needed periodic stroking.

In the end, a cock-and-bull story about why they were letting her go was concocted. It was said that the company could no longer afford her. However, they were also not willing to let the fact that she was ready to take a pay cut bother them.

In the absence of proper communication from the higher-ups, the rumour mills in the industry are churning speculations by the day. The staff are looking to jump ship and take their labour to less turbulent waters.  Their own insecurity has them asking: ‘If they did this to our captain, what will they do to us, mere mortals?’.....

The Bottom line:
As you serve your employer diligently and whole-heartedly, never lose sight of the fact that as long as you are building on another man’s foundation, you are only a signature away from the Pink slip! Think about your future. Hone your skills and competence to ensure that you are easily absorbed into the job market, or are marketable enough to trade your sweat with the highest bidder. Dear employee, options belong to the enterprising and competent souls.

..... Thankfully, Tendwa shouldn't have a hard time going either way! #DivineDiversions!

surface living

....i'm drained
from all the peripheral baggage
picked up from living on the surface.
i'm out of my element.
the winds, the heat, the rain
and the traffic of everyday living
have left me scourged, bruised and thirsty

skin-deep living doesn't come cheap
i've paid way too much already
its sapped a lot of my time and energy.
i refuse to fork out any more loose change
i'm giving it everything i have, and some

when i'm done expending my life energy
i want to be extracted from the deep
not swept or blown away from the surface
i'm all in!

#CallItGood

...because God calls it good,

all things work together for good.

the dark and heavy cloud will lift

the rain will stop pounding
the grass will grow

the sun will shine 
and yes,
you'll laugh again.

your smile will warm our hearts

and light up our world, again!

Botched Value System

You know you've gone too far, when as a society, your response to a man who has been doing surgical procedures on your kin and kith, without ever setting foot in a medical institution as a student, is: "Rule Over Us!''. 

Ronald Kiprotich Melly, 28, had been carrying out medical procedures and delivering babies by caesarean section at the Meteitei sub-County hospital in Nandi, where he had been promoted to the rank of Medical Superintendent.

Eventually, as luck would have it, this borderline butcher was stopped in his tracks by the Kenya Medical Practitioners and Dentist's Board offices where he had been tricked to believe he was going to renew his "permanent" medical license.

When news of his arrest broke in.the media, I was relieved to know that nobody would ever again risk the pain of endangering their lives under the scalpel of a wannabe medic.

However, my relief was short lived when his community in Nandi went to receive the unlicensed operator after the local Court released him on a ksh. 500,000 bail. His community hailed him as a local hero, and vouched to elect him as their local leader.

If a man has the nerve to lie to you on a matter as life-endangering as performing surgery on a disease ravaged individual, what will he possibly do while in political office? Would you ever accuse him of misusing your funds or lack of integrity? 

What really, do we stand for as a society? Has our moral compass completely lost its bearing?  Do we even know our right from our left? Does anything matter?

How botched up is our value system? Is anything sacred?

If Medics with years of learning still, unfortunately, manage to botch up surgical procedures, what can we say of a guy, whose surgical exposure does not go beyond ER on TV and possibly Google University?

To have to keep looking over my shoulder to double check that the medic, the pilot, the butcher the milk vendor... are legit, is an exhausting, and possibly futile exercise.  We really must decide the kind of world we want to live in. 

This monster we are feeding, when we facilitate corruption, help our children cheat in their exams or award Tenders and contracts to shoddy service providers, is fattening ourselves for the day when the monster demands our own blood, body and soul.

The seeds of dishonesty that we are planting and watering so liberally, will in the fullness of time, bear fruit, much fruit. 

21st Century Mashujaa

This Mashujaa day, (October 20th), as has been the case for as long as I can remember, Kenyans were treated to an impressive display of Kenya's DEFENSE might.  This show, no doubt, sends a clear message to potential enemies of our ammunitional readiness to quash any form of threat. As a child, the extravaganza filled me with pride of a secure Kenyan.   

Then I grew up.

Media reports on Governance and Leadership have got me asking questions.  Fifty-something years into Independence, who are Kenya's real enemies?  Who are fueling or enabling the endemic corruption that has sunk its poisonous claws and gripped our hearts so completely? Why are we so enamoured with self-aggrandisement? Will anything stop us from devouring ourselves?

At this point in our national life, the greatest need of the Kenyan public is protection from this enemy within.  The unapologetic cannibalization of Kenyans by Kenyans needs to end. This monster, unchecked, will be the death of us! 

Thing is:

... the only kind of parade I  care to see is not a Defense forces armed with heavy artillery walking across the stadiums in different counties on our National holidays. But, of Kenyans standing shoulder to shoulder, daily celebrating their ability to deliver goods and services to everyone who calls this beloved country home.

... the only kind of speech I want to hear is one that tells me how much revenue we have generated and how we have accounted for every last shilling of it for the betterment of Kenyan lives.

... the only dance I want to gyrate to is one choreographed by Public-school going children whose quality education is guaranteed by the Government;  

... the only song I want to bop my head to is one sang by senior citizens whose health-care and dignity is guaranteed in their old-age;  

... the only National gathering I want to be a part of is one where the ordinary mwananchi is honoured for his tireless sacrifice from sunrise to sun-set, in an honest effort to eke out a living for the family.

... the only Mashujaa display I care for is one that takes an OFFENSIVE stance against the corruption and lack of accountability for public resources.

On the daily, the 21st century Mashujaas, must speak up, speak out and ACT against corruption if we are to triumph over this engulfing war on corruption that is suffocating our nation.

God help us, I pray!

A Mother's Pain

As I enter the room, I can hear the muted sounds of pain.  In one corner of the room, Awuor heaves in pain. My wobbly feet make their way to what is clearly a pale shadow of her former self,  My eyes, clouding with tears, do not blur the agony that is mercilessness of disease on the human body.  I am unable to look her squarely in the eye.  Somehow, I make a limp attempt not to look away.

Dear God, is this painful and protracted death her only escape?  Is there an end to all of this torturous existence? As things stand right now, death might be a welcome relief.

Then, I hear the sound of stifled sobbing from another corner of the room, it,s Awuor's  mother. She's seated quietly, lost in her own sorrow and thoughts.  Her eyes are fixed on her daughter, unblinking. She acknowledges our presence with a nod, and we move towards her.   She extends a frail hand to greet us, her pain too deep to share.

I wonder to myself, which is the greater pain? Is it that of a daughter with the broken, disease-ravaged body or the mother with a broken heart, helplessly watching the lights of her daughter's life dimming before her eyes?

The mother has been camping in this room since her daughter was admitted.  Praying, waiting and pleading for Divine intervention.... her pain cloaked over her like a dark and heavy fabric.

We hold hands, pray and then leave the room.Behind us, is a mother left fanning the embers of hope that have survived the deluge of pain and disease.  Hope still flickers even (in fact, especially) on the darkest night.

Post Script: Awuor passed on the very next day. RIP.

Spurring one another on in Realness

One man's expressed vulnerability opens the door for another man's courage and authenticity to find their own expression!                                                                                                    

Singing out Loud

This is the Lord's doing; it is marvelous in [my] eyes!            - Psalm 118:23 -

Birthday Bounty

This season, I choose to receive the ultimate gift - Perspective!

It's the light that cracks through the darkness and the doubt

.... the joy that washes over my soul when the scales fall off my eyes

.... the rest that comes with ‘really knowing’ what I can’t see.

It's true freedom!

I am not sure there is a better way to live.

And for this blessing, dear Lord, I am eternally thankful!

Birthday Blues

When I look at the rung on which my life is seemingly perched,
and contemplate the heights to which I desire to climb,
a heaviness descends over me... and leaves me weak in the limb.
I get the sinking yet re-assuring feeling that without Divine assistance,
I labour in vain.

If I did not factor God in the equation of my life,
I'ld be all over the map, lost in off-the-chart imbalance.
My life makes sense, even when it doesn't, because God's in it!

I therefore, choose to believe the truth. 
Yes, for the most part, my cup has been full to over-flowing.
With every passing year, I've seen boundless bounty and blessing.

so,

To my limbs: 'Press on!
Climb the ladder of life... one rung at a time.

To m'dearest heart: 'Keep your chin up!'
Rejoice and sing-out-loud!
God's not through with us yet!

... in the end, we win!

Time Marches On

I was at a funeral where the preacher-man looked at the dead man that lay in the coffin and urged us to live in the awareness of our own encroaching death.  Carrying on with the trees motif he had picked for this occasion, he gravely declared, “There are many of us whose trees are mature and ready to be fell.  No one is getting out of this life alive!”

Tic, toc… I need to make my life count!    

On a lighter note though:

Funeral Humour

A notorious thug is being buried and the pastor asks those present to pay their final tributes to the departed man.  There is a long silence, all eyes seemingly glued to the floor.  Eventually, an old lady walks to the front of the church and says that the deceased had been most helpful.

At this point, everyone is all ears.  You see, the the 'mourners' were there to get closure and confirmation that Kamau and his terrorist acts on the villagers were no more. 

The old lady continues with her narration: “Kamau had come home and it was pouring heavily outside.  I had been taken ill, as is normal with us old, neglected folk.  I was freezing as I had not been able to build a fire to chase away the cold.  Kamau came, hewed firewood, lots of wood and lit a fire for me.  I was truly thankful.”

The crowd was touched by the redeeming story, (ala, kumbe there was a spark of humanity in the fellow, after-all?), until the old lady added that her axe-head had been missing ever since.

Someone tell this foolish heart of mine...

M'dearest heart,

How is it that you gush out delinquency and gullibility from the same vein?

When you set your sights on something, your one-track mind is set!

Undeterred, Unmoved, Unrelenting!

Against my own advice, facts and the logic of wisdom notwithstanding, 
your resilience holds.

(Thanks to you, I have flogged a few dead horses in my days)!

.... my friend,

there have been occasions when it would have served you well,
and spared you needless bouts of anxiety if you'd just submitted to my mind.
(But alas! ...you and me both know how irrefutably true this is)!

PS: Still, when all is said and vented, you remain forever mine...
and in my prayers!

... all  my love,

me!

The Fattened Pig Bites Back

My life-long engagement with eczema took a new turn this January.  It flared up like I have never seen it!  It’s like it’s on a vengeance-laden mission. Nasty stuff, I tell you!

Given, the whole assault is a tad self-inflicted.  You see, my system has real issues breaking down animal proteins.  So, as sure as night follows day, I will fight the battle of self-control in a time of excess vs a weak-will every January!   

When the Christmas festivities are all over, there is only one casualty left itching... me.  However, the battle is never anything to write home about.  The worst bout has been easily exterminated by a round of anti-histamines, pap! 

This time around though, I'm paying an unprecedented price for my over-indulgence in meaty treats.  Rash and all…. my eczema-ravaged self has determinedly refused to consider the dreadful prospects of a vegan future.

I am beginning to question wahenga wisdom: 'Ukila nguruwe chagua aliyenona'…. really?

Age-old wisdom on Leadership

There are no bad chiefs, just bad people; and bad people make bad chiefs!

Of public spaces and national psyche

There are few places that have their fingers on the pulse of a people as do public transport, newspaper vending points and shopping centres (pubs & salons). Riding in a bus this week, the driver was telling a passenger that he did not come to Nairobi to look for work, but cash... and by whatever means necessary. In his considered opinion, urbanisation is not about work, (there’s enough work in shags, from where he originates). [Heavy!] This mercantile outlook nailed the thinking of many Kenyans. It explains: why a man robs a country blind and is allocated a VIP seat at a national event; why another over-indulged man, after a life of unimaginable affluence afforded by ‘dubiously-acquired’ billions, dies under mysterious circumstances and is accorded a hero’s send-off; still, why another accumulates crazy cash, courtesy of peddling drugs and other illicits, and why our meek response to such colossal misconduct is voting them into elective political office (the tyranny that is democracy is just plain crazy!); why others still, with criminal charges hanging over their heads, remain serious contenders in the race for the highest office in the land. Our choice of leaders speaks more about us, and our values (or lack of the same) than of our leaders. The tragedy is that when majority of the citizens buy into this Machiavellian thinking, moral degeneration seems all-pervasive and a sort of helplessness begins to afflict the moral-minority. My response? A renewed resolve to stand,DAILY. So, help me God!