THE STORIES UNTOLD

Life is so full of crap;seriously. There are days I wake up so full of zeal - days when I feel a little more stronger than than Tyga Power or John Cena or even Roman Reigns. On such days, I can effortlessly zoom a ball past De Gea (world's best goalkeeper) into the top corner of a goal net in the Old Trafford. Such are the days I feel like a man; a real man. Days when I pamper my ego and end up thinking that I can do seven shots under thirty minutes. (If you know you know). Man, those are the days I live for. But again, like the weird doctrines of nature dictate, there are other days which implore me to regret my very existence in this amazing yet trouble-filled world. Such are the days which become evident as early as 5 a.m - when you get up from bed and realise that you don't remember where you threw one sock before you slept the previous night. That aside. When you find the damn sock after ten minutes, you hurriedly rush to the dining hall for breakfast. There you will f...

"Every person has the freedom and liberty to express his or her opinions without fear or favour...But in this, the freedom of expression does not extend to public incitement or hate speech or words that insinuate discrimination of any kind against another's tribe, colour, religion or background." This is a loose paraphrase of the Bill of Rights in the 2010 Kenyan Constitution upon which I will premise my arguments. As far as my memory dates, history has - for times not few - upheld and indeed proved that curtailers of the freedom of expression have almost always had ulterior intents up their sleeves. Either they have a blackish background which they do not wish to let out of the bag, or they feel intimidated by the  liberals' views. Simply put, they fear the truth; real as it is. Retired President Moi was hasty to limit the KANU renegades' freedom of opinion and expression because he was very much privy to the fact that they would sell him out. He, like all ot...

A little sleep, then a dream: A new world order, In the horizon's lining, Ants are mammoths, And the big pigs; minute. Paupers become givers, And the ample donors, Become beggars on the streets; A classic case, Of grace to grass. Domineers become domineed And the barrage of slaves, Masters. Sweet irony-things fall apart, In a house of rocks. Beasts tread the land, Free from fear of the whip. And man; Superior in stature and thought, Is subjugated. A little more slumber then awake, Just a dream it was, A foreshadow of sort. Satirical and allegorical though, A dream in the offing. @oiraqaleb Esq.

Revolutions eat their own children. Governments eat their own people!" Those are the very words of Siaya Senator James Orengo on the floor of the senate on the 19th day of July 2016 during the electoral laws debate. His sentiments were directed at the Jubilee legislators who were defending their party to their last. Over time, the truism of Orengo's allegation has become apparent beyond reasonable doubt. Let me tell you why. I will draw my  analogy from George Orwell's allegorical novel-The Animal farm - in synopsis. Old Major, a senile pig of the Manor Farm in the suburbs of England, alleges to have had a very satirical yet important dream. Duly, he summons all the animals of the farm to a prompt meeting to narrate unto them the worthwhile vision and its claimed significance. All the animals thus assemble in the barn and ready themselves for Old Major's speech. Old Major sets the ball rolling by stating that for so long, man has mistreated them - the animals of th...

"No! I say that the cockerel must be slaughtered. It shall not live to see the sun of tomorrow. My house is the guardian of culture and tradition, and as the headman, I decree here and now, that the cock must go! It is profoundly insane and unheard of in our land that a cock crows in the hours of nyachieni  [the devil] and it is let free to see the beige rays of the morning sun. May our fore fathers unleash tenfold of dry thunder upon they that do not heed the customary way of life that they set!" That was my old man on the Christmas eve of 2005. Simple and casual as he was, with a long Africa shuka strewn all through his frail-looking but yet strong body stature and an oversize pair of traditional flip flops, Mzee Yimbo was still the de jure leader of the household. He was the head. And so as such, his word was law. Any deterrence from his decree was bound to attract an inevitable terrible punishment, or even banishment from his home; at least according to the inform...

We all have reasons or things or people for whom we are grateful for. Personal,social or intellectual gifts to us by the most high God are most appreciated. Now, I have this one gift for which I will forever be thankful. That happens to be the spirit of liberalism. It is queer and I’m absolutely privy to that. But better still, I don’t shy away from admitting such. I regard this gift of nature so uniquely because in a myriad of ways, it has saved the human race from extinction for so many times. Human trade and slavery in the medieval times for instance, was brought to an end courtesy of the liberalism of people like William Wilberforce who at the time, was a leading economist in Britain. It is also that same spirit of liberalism in the icons of African independence like Mwalimu Nyerere, Dr Kwame Nkrumah and such like them which prompted the many colonialists of our vast continent to let go off the archaic, shameful and uncouth practice of over dominance. Also not forgetting t...

Osoch Ogun, who doubles up as my writing mentor opines that disquietude, injustice, darkness and suffering lie behind the most prolific pieces of literature. Wasn't Ngugi wa Thiongo's Devil on the Cross informed by the rampant corruption in this country of mine Kenya? And wasn't it racial discrimination that prompted Mandela to author his masterpiece, Long Walk to Freedom? As such, I am in no position to contest Osoch Ogun's opinion. This piece you're about to read was as well informed by disquietude. And I realised my heart would not be at rest till I put the words that were churning in my mind to paper. Writing relieves. Ooh, and by the way, that guy you see in the picture is my brother, now late. His name is, or rather was, Ronald. At home we were however used to 'Misiani'. From where I come no one is called by his formal English name. I know you are wondering the reason for this, but to your chagrin, I also dont happen know why. Mayb...