Ah, the chronicles of Wednesday, the day that wore the ominous cloak of horror and draped it upon our hapless protagonist. It wasn’t just the run-of-the-mill not-good; no, it was the kind that sends shivers down your spine, the sort that makes you question your life choices and contemplate the meaning of existence, all before lunch.

The aftermath of Wednesday left our hero in a state of unproductivity, weariness, and an alarming lack of fulfillment. It was as if the universe itself had declared a midweek crisis, with life feeling like a poorly rehearsed play hurtling towards its dismal end. But fear not, for today is Thursday, a day that beckons for redemption and renewal.

Summoning the strength of purpose like a motivational wizard, our protagonist vowed to seize the day, because, let’s face it, if they don’t do it for themselves, who will? Thus, Thursday unfolds, and our intrepid hero issues a command to the universe: “Be good!”

Drawing wisdom from the proverbial well, “siku njema huonekana asubuhi” (a good day is recognized in the morning), the day seems to dawn with promise. A cautious optimism fills the air, as if Thursday itself is whispering, “Fear not, I come in peace.”

Today’s checklist includes avoiding the peculiar ritual of bathing twice, once voluntarily and the other not so much. The rain, mercifully, has refrained from turning the morning into a dusty spectacle. The delicate alchemy of coffee, sugar, and milk has been mastered, offering a moment of caffeinated nirvana.

And lo and behold, smiles have replaced the migranous and tensionous headaches that plagued yestermorn. At least for now, Thursday seems to be behaving, not putting up a struggle against waking up, and allowing a sip of water to be a simple pleasure, not a battle.

Ending well is the grand aspiration. No fear, no stress; a departure from the feeling of life slipping through fingers. Productivity and fulfillment are sought, with a desire for fewer melancholic messages. Thursday is not just another day; it’s a transformative force, a catalyst for redefining the very essence of ‘good’ in the dictionary.

May Thursday usher our protagonist through its realms with the utmost politeness, offering a taste of enduring goodness. Let it be a day so divine that it could be mistaken for a celestial gift, a respite from the chaos of the week. Thursday, be the beacon of benevolence, the godsend that turns the tide of fate in our hero’s favor.

@okelododdychitchats

With an artist’s tender touch, I’d sketch a portrait of your essence, a masterpiece revealing to the world the poetry etched in your beauty.

In melodic whispers, my voice would be a serenade, a tribute echoing the divine artistry that sculpted you to perfection.

Within the symphony of words, I’d pen an ode, each line a brushstroke intricately woven, crafting a tapestry that captures the wonder of your being.

As a dreamweaver sculptor, I’d mold your likeness into tangible art, placing it on the streets—a public gallery celebrating the blessing of the living masterpiece among us.

If my voice echoed like Jeff Koinange’s, I’d employ it as a poetic instrument, broadcasting praises for your world-class beauty through the rhythmic waves of radio and television.

Empowered to own the streets, I’d transform them into a canvas, every corner adorned with visual hymns—captured fragments of your essence for the world to behold.

Given the chance, I’d unveil you to the world, not merely as a canvas of physical allure but as a living narrative, a chronicle of character deserving widespread praise and admiration.

@okelododdychitchats.

I find myself trembling in fear,
A fear so profound, it’s akin to a deaf bat’s unease,
Or a fish ensnared in the suffocating grasp of plastic,
Perhaps, like a rabbit trapped in a wolf’s menacing den.

My anxiety extends even to my own shadow,
A lurking concern that it might betray me with a sudden stab.
Each step I take is a cautious dance on the precipice,
Afraid that the ground beneath might crumble,
Leaving me with a shattered leg, forever unable to walk.

Boarding a car becomes a harrowing gamble,
Uncertainty whispers that it might plunge into an abyss,
Consigning me to an unforeseen, tragic end.

Even the act of eating becomes a nerve-racking ordeal,
A simple banana transforming into a potential choking hazard on an ominous day.

In this symphony of fear, everything seems to be a threat,
A relentless cascade of worry that leaves me pondering,
What will transpire next in the unpredictable theater of life?

The pendulum swings between joy and sorrow,
Life’s unpredictable metamorphosis from existence to oblivion,
From elation to despair, from love to bitter hatred,
A rollercoaster that petrifies me to my core.

My feet, as if weakly glued to the ground,
Tremble with an intensity that mirrors my inner turmoil.
I stand on the precipice of uncertainty,
Anxious, as if pleading for a divine manual,
A roadmap from this moment to the inevitable finale.

The very essence of living becomes a source of cold sweat,
As I grapple with the unknown that awaits me.
Yet, even in the midst of this fear, there is a desire to break free,
To escape the confining shell that restrains me.

@okelododdychitchats

---

Picture this: on a night colder than your ex’s heart, Cornelius and I found ourselves in our favorite drinking spot, nursing the last sips of our German beer, the kind that’s darker than my dating history. But there was nothing amusing about Cornelius – the guy who usually radiates happiness looked like he just binge-watched a season of sad movies.

So, being the good friend and amateur therapist I am, I asked Cornelius what in the world had him looking like the star of a tragic romance novel. Turns out, his four-year love story with Shiko had hit a plot twist that even Shakespeare would find a bit much. Love had done a 180 on him – from a rom-com to a horror show. Happiness was on vacation, and acceptance had filed for divorce. Love had turned into its evil twin: hate.

Let me paint the backdrop here: Cornelius, our man, had just landed a cushy accounting job after what felt like a never-ending era of being broke. Naturally, he thought, “Time to bring Shiko into the picture!” Enter the ‘come we stay’ relationship – the budget-friendly edition of marriage. No dowry, no wedding, just two people, a house, and hopefully, some shared Netflix passwords.

Now, here’s the kicker – Cornelius, a proud Luo from the village, was dancing the tango of love with Shiko, a Kikuyu. In Kenya, that’s like mixing oil and water or trying to unite cats and dogs. But hey, love knows no tribe, right? Their parents, surprisingly progressive, gave the thumbs up, breaking stereotypes faster than a speeding bullet.

Fast forward to the sitcom part of the story: Shiko started acting like she was auditioning for a role in a soap opera. Moody, rude – basically the opposite of the woman Cornelius fell for. She even had a mysterious “uncle” on speed dial, disappearing every weekend like she was part of a witness protection program.

Despite the red flags waving like crazy, Cornelius, in true African man fashion, endured silently. Days turned into weeks, and he went from ‘Loving Husband’ to ‘Detective Cornelius.’ Long story short, he discovered Shiko’s secret messages and realized he was starring in a drama he never auditioned for.

So there we were, Cornelius and I, drowning his heartbreak in beer darker than the turn of events in his love life. As he poured out his woes, I couldn’t help but think, “Man, Shakespeare would’ve loved this tragic comedy.”

I reassured him that this messy chapter in his life was just a plot twist, not the whole damn story. We’d flip the script, turn the page, and one day, we’d reminisce about this bizarre rom-com that had more twists than a rollercoaster.

As we clinked our beer mugs in a toast to new beginnings, I told Cornelius, “Life just handed you a lemon-flavored plot twist, my friend. Let’s make some damn good lemonade – the kind that’s so good, it overshadows the bitter taste of heartbreak.”

And so, with laughter as our soundtrack, we embraced the uncertainty of tomorrow, because, after all, nothing dulls life’s drama like a good dose of humor and the promise that the best stories are yet to be written. Cheers to the next chapter, my friend – may it be filled with more love, laughter, and a plot that even Hollywood would envy.

@okelododdychitchats

Last eve draped in shadows and frost,
Embraced by a haze of haunting echoes,
No solace found, only nightmares persist,
Yet, not the loss of kin,
Nor the parting of the love intertwined,
Nor the sacrifice of limb on an oily road’s cruel whim.

Upon waking, the dreams clung tenaciously,
A relentless encore of enigma,
Was it the arboreal neglect on National Tree Planting Day,
A penance for not sowing seeds of green benevolence?
I pondered, lost in the maze of surreal cognition,
What cosmic symbol does this foretell?

Restless, my limbs adhered to the icy ground,
Head turned, fixated on the wardrobe,
Blood cascading from my nostrils, forming the mysterious number 11.
A tableau of confusion painted before me,
Questions echoed in the silent chamber,
What sorcery is this?
What metamorphosis engulfs my essence?

Fear, a voracious predator, devoured reason,
I stood, paralyzed by my own shadow,
Averse to the embrace of slumber,
Terrified of the unknown, even within the realm of dreams.
What cryptic message lies within this enigmatic sequence?

@okelododdychitchats

Bana, let me tell you, times are tougher than trying to open a packet of crisps with greasy fingers. I mean, I just checked my wallet, and it’s so empty, it echoes when I scream into it. Money has decided to take a marathon with these economy legs, sprinting away like it’s in a cash Olympics. We can’t keep up – it’s like playing tag with a gazelle, and I’m always ‘it.’

I’ve been living on the edge of brokeville for days. My pocket is so barren; even the dust bunnies have packed up and left for greener pastures. But fear not, my friend, Ogutu Brian Mark, the financial savior, emerged from the shadows today, sending me a whopping 30 bob. International folks, that’s a solid 0.21 dollars, or as I like to call it, “economic confetti.”

With that 30 bob, I became a budgeting ninja. I spent 20 bob on a ngumu and a sachet of sugar to concoct a cup of tea that could raise the Titanic – tea for the strong-hearted but financially feeble. That meal, my friend, handled my hunger like a quarterly report, leaving me with a victorious 10 bob.

But seriously, what in the name of a government is going on? It’s like they’re taxing everything, including the air we breathe. I heard they’re considering taxing daydreaming; you close your eyes for too long, and there goes another shilling. I even heard they’re taxing taxes; pay a tax for every tax you pay. It’s so confusing; I feel like I need a tax consultant just to navigate my way to the bathroom.

And don’t get me started on the job market; it’s so dry, even the Sahara is jealous. People are graduating left and right, but there are fewer job opportunities than there are uses for a chocolate teapot. Investors are fleeing the scene like it’s a sinking ship, and who can blame them? Trying to make a profit here is like trying to find a needle in a haystack during a solar eclipse.

In conclusion, bwana, it’s clear you can’t tax a nation into prosperity. It’s like trying to water a plant with soda – it might look promising at first, but in the end, you’re left with a sticky mess and a plant that’s more confused than a chameleon in a bag of Skittles. So, let’s all hope for a brighter financial future, where the only thing taxed is our patience.

@okelododdychitchats

Beneath the bus’s relentless hum, wheels turning in a tireless rhyme,
Her presence, an unmoving statue, rooted to the bus floor’s time,
She gazed out the window, lost in contemplation profound,
A silent observer of the trees, dancing to the bus’s rhythmic sound.

The weight of her worries etched on her rosy cheeks, clear,
Invisible burdens she carried, in the depths of her heart’s sphere,
Something had transpired, casting shadows on her soul,
Preventing her from self-care, an empty, unattainable goal.

But deep within, I sensed a hidden, authentic self,
Concealed by the veil of her suffering, a cry for help,
What were the secrets that her troubled mind concealed?
Was it despair, loneliness, or wounds yet unhealed?

Had she succumbed to the belief of her unworthiness,
Thinking she’d borne too much to deserve life’s happiness?
Yet, every soul deserves a chance to thrive, to be free,
To embrace the world’s gifts, with hope and destiny.

With trembling hands, I gently tapped her weary shoulder’s grace,
My voice trembled as I inquired, the concern in my face,
Startled, she turned, breaking the silence’s enduring trance,
For the first time in hours, she met a stranger’s empathetic glance.

Her words flowed, heavy with despair, “the world, unjust and cold,
I don’t deserve to exist,” the painful story she told,
I didn’t delve into the depths of her sorrow, but I tried,
To sow seeds of hope, purpose, and worth deep inside.

A faint smile touched her lips, and softly she said, “Thank you.”
In that moment, a connection formed, a lifeline anew.

@okeloddychitchats

Ah, the adventures of a morning commute, full of drama and surprises. So, there I was, stuck in traffic in this Ummoiner Matatu, lips shining like Wuon Song’s Mandas, thanks to that lip gloss gift from the beautiful girl who cares about me. Apparently, Vaseline just didn’t cut it for my lips anymore – now I smell like chocolate, and I’m not complaining.

As I bobbed my head to some loud Naija music, I couldn’t help but people-watch. I observed folks scurrying in pairs, trying to avoid puddles caused by heavy rains. They slowed down, attempting dramatic leaps over mini-lakes. And, a wicked thought crossed my mind: what if one of them face-planted? I mean, I’d probably laugh, not that I’m heartless, but that “Woiyee” sympathy is too real.

But then, amidst my musings on the absurdity of life, I stumbled upon a real-life soap opera – a couple in the middle of a street showdown. The man, cool as a cucumber, was clearly in the wrong; you could tell by his super calm demeanor. His apparent restraint hinted at his awareness of wrongdoing, for it was the kind of calm one adopts when words can only make matters worse. Meanwhile, the lady was all riled up, with mud-stained nightwear. She followed him, seeking justice right there on the side of Jogoo road. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. The crowd gathered around, forming an unintentional audience, blocking my view, but not my fascination.

As the lady’s voice crescendoed into a storm of unprintable words and accusations, I couldn’t help but wonder about the aftermath of this public spectacle. Who would carry this humiliation back into their home? And what about their children, if they had any? These kids didn’t sign up for a front-row seat to their parents’ relationship drama. 

And then, the lady unleashed her ultimate weapon – the bombshell accusation. “You’re sleeping around with other women, and I don’t even know if I’m sick!” Her voice echoed, and she demanded to know where the man had been the previous night. At that moment, it was clear as day – the man was indeed in the wrong.

The growing crowd only added to the sitcom atmosphere. I pondered who might play the role of the heroic interloper, hoping for a guest appearance by a caped crusader. As the lady accused her spouse of a rough marriage, I wondered if they were auditioning for a reality TV show, “Jogoo Road Drama: Relationship Rescue Edition.”

Just as I thought this bizarre episode might reach a climactic finale, the traffic began to move. My comedic soliloquy on the human condition was cut short as we approached the bustling town center. The laughter lingered, reminding me that life often serves up the most unexpected sitcom moments. Two wrongs may never make a right, but they sure can make for great entertainment.

As we arrived in the city, my thoughts turned to the couple. Though their dispute had been a public spectacle, it was clear that their love had become a three-ring circus, complete with acrobatics, clowns, and a roaring audience. I pondered the wisdom of airing one’s dirty laundry in public and the unintended hilarity that sometimes ensues. Life had moved on, but the memory of that peculiar scene would forever be etched in my comedic hall of fame.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of that couple’s surreal performance and the absurdity of it all. In the end, I realized that life’s satire moments may be fleeting, but they leave behind a legacy of laughter, reminding us that even in the midst of chaos, there’s room for a good-natured “Woiyee” and a hearty laugh.

@okelododdychitchats.

Deep within the knots of my heart’s chambers,
I cradle your love with a touch that lingers, holding your tongue and mouth in an embrace,
It is you, my irreplaceable muse, whom I crave for the most,
In a night shrouded in an abyss of darkness and the biting cold’s embrace,
Your presence radiates like a supernova, casting out all my fears,
You, my unwavering fortress of strength.

In this world where riches are elusive, I bask in opulence through your love,
I sense it transcending the mundane,
This fervent love for you ignites a blaze within my very soul,
As I sit here, cloaked in solitude, my every waking thought consumed by you,
As dawn embarks on its journey, inching closer to its destination,
And the soft light of daybreak triumphs over the lingering shadows, inviting morning’s tender touch,
I remain a silent spectator,
Envisioning the grand tapestry of our unwritten future, a story yet to unfold.

@okelododdychitchats

The sun is setting down the hills, casting long shadows and painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, a breathtaking transition from day to night.

Darkness smoothly emerges, ready to take the reins from its fraternal twin brother, the light. I find myself seated at the Jobless corner, surrounded by an ambiance of quiet anticipation. My eyes feast upon “Earthly Things,” captivated by their allure, yet not fully satisfying my inner yearning.

The weather is frigid, sending a shiver down my spine as the air swirls with a medley of scents, although it’s ultimately dominated by the pervasive perfume of dust lingering around the Multimedia University carwash. A vast expanse that has absorbed the day’s rainfall, yet still, dust lingers perceptibly in the air. In this moment, nature’s resilience and dominance over man’s creations become evident.

As the darkness settles in, my senses awaken. I perceive the world with a heightened awareness, even though my eyes alone may not suffice. My ears become finely tuned, capturing the symphony of the night. My nose seems to hear the scents better, each aroma distinct and telling a story of its own.

The rich comrades lean to my left, their laughter and banter echoing in the stillness of the evening. The weight of an empty stomach weighs on my right, reminding me that another night has arrived, and I’ve yet to partake in a meal. I remain seated, still Jobless, in the Jobless corner, observing the world with a keener sense of appreciation for the subtleties that the night unveils.

@okelododdychitchats