THE STORIES UNTOLD

I was watching a television interview the other day where Narok senator Hon Ledama Ole Kina was a guest together with NTV investigative journalist Kennedy Mureithi. They were hosted by Mark Masai on the Press Pass. They were debating on the contibution of media in conserving peace especially in our country Kenya which has not been spared the rod of sporadic violence majorly on the account of divisive politics. The media, needless to say, is a major stakeholder in the bandwagon that seeks to maintain peace in any jurisdiction all over the world. I say this on account of the fact that the media has the capability to be used to advance either extremes; peace promotion or havoc-creation. In 1914, during the World War 1, the media was actively used by the European governments as a vessel for the propagation of propaganda as a way of manipulating the public to alter their opinion regarding the war. World War 2 proponents like wise used the press to persuade the public to help in the wa...

One day you’ll turn eighteen. Probably you will wake up in a haze because you didn’t sleep the whole night due to wild and completely unnecessary excitement of becoming an adult. You’ll want to think that everybody remembers its your birthday and they’ll give you a surprise party or something like it. They don’t. Your dad doesnt even know you have a birthday. Old man never gets yappy about birthdays. He only marvels at the hallmarks of excellence. Parties are not his type. You cant ask him to give you money for a bash. On your sixteenth birthday, you tried to; and the response was not an iota close to what you had anticipated. “Yaani wewe unanisumbua hapa na pesa ya birthday na wenzako wanasoma? Kwanza ulikuwa na grade gani last exam? Unajua ukona mwaka moja ufanye KCSE?” You don’t want the story to go on because it may erupt into something big. So you just accept to eat the humble pie. No sweet sixteen for the t-bird. You dont get the logic of African parents. You only asked for a...

Highschool can mess you up real bad. Four or so years prior today, the tales I heard about highschool had been romanticized to make it look like a second paradise. I have now lucidly made out that the stories were all but true in regards to the contemporary situation. I never wanted to come to highschool. I was not the typical yappy kid who found fun in everything in life or who wanted to know more and more and become great in future;if ever there was any. I never wanted to become an Einstein or a Ben Carson or Collymore or anything close to that. Ijust wanted to become a simple man, probably the calibre of Mwalimu Andrew of the Sunday Nation, then buy a farm and make a life out of it. I just wanted to stay locked in the land of bananas and die there if I had to. But you see, life as it is, never gives you anything you want. You ask for oranges, you end up getting damn lemons. But even then, we the wise ones never go down with that. We make lemonade and boom! We get even with life....

The window seat is the best thing that has happened to me in highschool. From my vantage point in Four Beta, I have almost the entire Camp Laz in my view. The sunrise, the big juicy passing arses, the fountain one floor down, and best of all, the sunset; all within my view. I’m that guy in class who gets to decide when or not to open or shut the window. In this winter, I can decide to ruin a whole class’ morning power nap. [Assuming you get the whole idea of how important a power nap is to a highschooler.] I don’t do such though. I’ve got a reputation to keep. Nonetheless, the window seat gives me some sort of unexplainable dominion. It is another heaven for me; apart from winter of course. I love winter. So today I am at this spot, minding my own fucking business. Its 4 p.m. I’m a loner. There’s nobody to give me the damn closure or mollification that I’m in so hot pursuit of. Trial One exam is doing shit on me. I’m doing Chemistry tomorrow but look, here I am, writing some damn j...

The night had been fairly silent. The serenity was way beyond amazing; save for a few crickets which made incessant sounds all through as if they had nothing to do. Well, of course they didn't. Its not like they would just decide to make out on damp grass like we were doing. And anyway, it is for humanity that they were created; to make the dead nights such as those alive, at least. The sky was clear as well. No moon, no stars, no clouds;no nothing. Just the cool breeze and us; Amelia and I. Nobody was saying anything. Each of us was engrossed in separate thoughts - largely she though. Honestly, at that time, I was not thinking. (I never think when there's an aura of femininity close to me.) Maybe she was thinking of me; how shy I was or maybe how amazing I was. I didn't care about that. All that mattered then was that I had her by my side. Well, about the silence. Its not that we had nothing to talk about. Actually, we did. I had a lot to say to her, Amelia did as well...

Easter came; not that I had longed for it though. Chaps were all into prayer, fasting, beating themselves and carrying mock crosses for miles and miles. Others were whipped and adorned with thorn crowns. They bled and groaned hoping that our dear good Lord would look away from their misdeeds and make them his eternal children in glory. For the rest of us- those who were not into the pain and repentance stuff,- easter meant one thing at least; 'winter is finally here'. And winter was not just about the damn cold, no! It was something bigger. Winter was a package. It brought with it the grand finale of Avengers:The Endgame as well as the Game of Thrones season 8. The cold weather was in itself a haven of felicity for the lovebirds who adored cuddling lazily in their cribs. Winter was winter. Winter was heaven. Iron man's ass was kicked real bad by the way. Actually, he died. His endgame came way too soon I suppose. Away with all that winter crap. Do you remember that...

I still remember his face How his nose was long and slender How his eyes were small and shiny And with little shapes in them Like the beautiful pearls of the ocean. I have not forgotten his long chin With the small tuft of pricky beards Or even his cherubic countenance Which brought butterflies to the ladies stomachs. I haven't forgotten a single bit about him All about the clothes he loved The music he cherished most Or even how he loved his food; Thoroughly peppered and in its unlimited abundance. Its been almost a year since he left But still, he lingers around I see him everyday; We wake up together, sit side by side, Dine together and tell silent tales through dawn. He is the same person I knew With the same soft palms, And long slender legs One thing though; He never speaks. I see his lips move; quite often He deems to speak; But the sound never comes out His face has become a harbour of sorrows Unlike when he left Each time our faces ...