Why Valentines ?

Today, it’s been 22 years since he departed,
But God, weren’t you her confidant, her friend?
Why pluck her beloved on Valentine’s Day,
When you had countless other days to choose from?
Could you not have spared her this heartache,
Just for one more day, one day to hold dear?

We’ve been taught not to question your ways,
To accept your will as the ultimate decree.
But forgive me for feeling this is unjust,
Is this why your friendships are so few?

My anger rises, for she was still so young,
Just embarking on life’s journey with her family.
With young children, the eldest barely five,
She hadn’t yet found her footing, her stride.

Then, like a sudden storm, death swept in,
And snatched away her partner, her soulmate.
How can this be fair, to leave her
With shadows on a day meant for love’s celebration?

As others stroll hand in hand,
Amidst fragrant blooms and tender caresses,
She cloaks herself in sorrow’s shroud,
Haunted by the ghost of that day.

Even after 22 years, the pain remains fresh,
As if it happened just a breath ago.
She clings to his last words, his final touch,
His essence lingering like a bittersweet melody.

She recalls how his eyelids closed,
Never to flutter open again,
And how he lay, his head gently tilted,
Upon the Agha Khan, Kisumu bed,
As he breathed his final breath.

Death, they say, is a passage we all must tread,
But why, oh why, choose Valentine’s Day?

@okelododdychitchats

Betrayed !

Who says a typical African man cannot cry?
I’ve shed tears countless times,
The pain was overwhelming,
It cut deep into my soul.
I gave my all in love,
Only to be hurt,
Like searing drops of plastic on tender skin,
Like the agony of removing a tattoo.
It felt as if a dagger pierced my heart…
She deceived me all along,
And I, blinded by love, believed her empty words.
I mistook her companions for friends, for allies,
Yet they were all feasting from her pot,
Or what I once thought was mine.
Was I inadequate?
Or was I simply not enough for her?
I am exhausted,
I cannot endure this any longer.
Even in my realization, I cannot welcome you back,
I’ve become wary after being bitten twice.
Your presence no longer comforts me,
Your touch, once tender, now feels abrasive.
I recoil from your hug,
It’s as though I’m being pricked by thorns.
I cannot continue like this!
I am weary and worn, I am tired !

@okelododdychitchats

St. Patricia

In 2008, following the post-election violence, my sister and I joined St. Patricia Memorial Academy, one of the best primary schools in Rongo, Migori region at that time. We were both in grade five. The school boasted of quality education, but it was not reflected in its infrastructure. The buildings were old, windowless, floorless, and poorly planned. In simple terms, the school was an eyesore and not well-built.

When we enrolled in the school, my sister and I stood out as cool kids. Stella was a well-dressed, soft-spoken lady with class. Boys thought she was super beautiful, which she was and still is. I was a neat, well-dressed young man with good writing skills, and well-spoken. We were disciplined and had a unique habit of greeting and receiving things from the teachers by two hands while bowing down. We even said thank you after being flogged, which was ridiculous.

One incident that I’ll never forget from those early days of St. Patricia was when I got punished for writing a good composition. I had written it so well that it was beyond the writing skills of a grade five student. Instead of congratulating me, they decided to punish me and make me write another one. I was disappointed, and I wish they had a plagiarism checker back then. Long story short, I wrote an even better composition, and the teacher responsible had to apologize to me and my dad, who was a senior education officer at that time. He didn’t strip them of their powers, though he could have. Instead, he warned them against doing something like that again. My dad believes in understanding and listening to both parties and didn’t want to act rashly.

Despite the challenges, I enjoyed my stay at St. Patricia. The school made me brave and naughty, and I loved the freedom it offered. On Thursday afternoons, we used to sneak away from school to swim in River Misadhi. It was a welcome escape from the nonsensical debates that often ensued during that time. Seriously, who cared about arguing whether a teacher was better than a farmer or vice versa? A good fraction of boys from my class joined me, and we had fun swimming in the river. Those were good days, and we were doing our internship on sneaking out of school.

Our adventurous spirit did not stop at swimming. We ran away from teachers and even confronted them when they were too much. We took without permission mangoes from people’s farms, and I became good at researching and finding the farms with good yields. I was a great market researcher, and we executed our plans. Ronny and Allan were good at finding banana farms, and we also ran off with unripe bananas and hid them in the thickets around River Onyife. We waited for them to be ripe so that we could dig in and enjoy the contents. Arnold, aka Nyangoma, was good at finding bitches that had just given birth, and we would find a way to get beautiful puppies from them. We did all these for fun, and we enjoyed it. The most interesting part was when we were caught, and we needed to escape. They couldn’t catch us; we were fast, slightly faster than an airplane, and slightly slower than lightning. That’s how I could describe our speed. Those were fun times.

At St. Patricia, we also had beautiful girls. Victor Juma was always winning them, and I envied him. I didn’t know how to talk to a girl, and I would literally cry when a girl I did not want was put to sit beside me. I would remain completely speechless when a girl I wanted was put to be my deskmate. When Cynthia Atieno, the slim, beautiful, and soft-spoken girl, was put to sit next to me, I felt happy, anxious, and confused. I liked Cynthia; she was a bright lady, very shy yet very tactical. I admired her from afar, yearning for her despite my complete lack of understanding about relationships or how to be a boyfriend. I was clueless about what it meant to have a girlfriend, what was expected of me, or even what to do. Unfortunately, I never found the courage to express my feelings to her until we both left St. Patricia. It’s a regret I carried with me, and I vowed never to let such an opportunity slip through my fingers again. Nowadays, I go for it! I have never seen Cynthia since then, and I don’t know how she looks like or who she is now. She escaped my mind too after some good time.

My experiences with my boys were just us being boys and enjoying it while it lasted. However, my teachers and parents took it as indiscipline, and I had to leave the school. My sister and I had to go to St. Benedicts Sony, where I could be monitored more. However, this story is not about St. Benedicts Sony Academy in Awendo, so I won’t tell its story. That was it at the school next to the stream, St. Patricia

@okelododdychitchats

Beyond the Chills

The world can feel like a frosty place, doesn’t it? Life’s challenges seem to be stacking up with each passing day. We, Kenyans, are acutely sensing the biting cold, down to the very last layers of our not-so-well-insulated skins.

Taxes are soaring to heights that defy reason, leaving us grappling with the chilling reality. Basic commodities now carry price tags scaling even higher than the mighty Mount Everest. To add a financial frostbite, the dollar has mercilessly surged to Ksh.164, rendering our economy against the dollar nearly worthless.

In the job market, opportunities are as scarce as water in a desert, and those few that do exist often come with meager paychecks that barely cover the essentials. Capital to kick-start our dreams is a distant mirage, making the pursuit of our aspirations feel like an uphill climb without proper gear.

Yet, in the midst of our struggles, we are unfairly branded as a generation seeking an effortless existence. It’s a label that does not resonate with the hardworking individuals among us. This is not an endorsement of laziness, rather, a plea to recognize and support those of us who are diligently striving against the odds.

Let’s acknowledge the harsh truth – our generation is not lazy, Look a little closer, stare a little longer beyond the chills. For those who tirelessly toil, I stand as an advocate. We need a respite, a breather from the relentless pressure and the judgmental gazes that surround us. Allow us the space to figure out the challenges without the burden of unnecessary stereotypes.

Times have changed, and so have the circumstances. Give us the time to adapt. While a degree of pressure is inevitable and can be motivating, let it be a healthy force that propels us forward, not a weight that drives us into the depths of depression.

It’s crucial to recognize that undue pressure and criticism have claimed the lives of many promising young individuals. Depression has become an insidious foe, leading people astray in the midst of their struggles. Let us collectively stand against this silent killer.

Guide us, support us, but do so with empathy. Spare us from the kind of pressure that can tip the balance towards despair. We need time to find our way, to carve a path through the challenges that life throws at us. Let us unite in the fight against depression, ensuring that no loved one becomes a tragic statistic of suicide simply because we failed to extend a helping hand and instead burdened them with unnecessary pressure.

Together, let’s stand against depression and build a world where the weight of life’s challenges doesn’t crush the spirit but strengthens it.

@okelododdychitchats

Ubuntu Boys

We were the Ubuntu boys – eleven spirited men from the vibrant Lakeside, always ready to champion the cause, fighting relentlessly for the rights of Multimedia University students. We were a force to be reckoned with, loud and omnipresent. People labeled us as goons, but we were warriors fighting for a noble cause.

Our name, Ubuntu boys, originated from our true-blue support for Clinton Owino, who was running for president with the slogan “Ubuntu.” We successfully propelled him to victory, only to witness a political maneuver that stripped him of power. Elly Oriko, backed by Polycarp Oliver (Buzeki) and Massu Ayallo Anthony, orchestrated a strategic retreat, flipped the school constitution, and ousted Clinton. In the end, Elly emerged as the school president.

We felt the sting of defeat but, being resilient individuals, we smiled through the pain. We didn’t succumb to despair; instead, we sought ways to survive and thrive. Elly, the new president, proved to be a good man and leader. Despite our political differences, we collaborated, showcasing the strong bond shared by the Ubuntu boys and Lakeside natives like Elly and Clinton.

Our time at school was captivating. Though we didn’t own the businesses, we controlled them. We enjoyed free meals, earned a living, and had everything we desired. From the presence of attractive ladies to what many considered wealth, life seemed like a walk in the park. We even had our own means of transportation – an old Toyota Probox.

Connections with politicians and influential figures were part of our daily lives. We’d visit Maina Njenga’s place, uttering phrases like “Comrades Power” and exchanging nods of wisdom. Uncle Oonga Tom excelled at this, ensuring we were compensated. Life was straightforward, and we rarely went home – school was our home.

We, the Ubuntu boys, were like brothers from different mothers. Originating from Luo-Nyanza, our common goal unified us. We faced life with diverse characters but shared a strong bond that prevented any of us from failing. Our unity, a lesson learned in streets, still holds us together even four years after going our separate ways.

Our shared goal extended beyond campus life. We were united against poverty, committed to building each other up. This commitment became a lasting legacy as we inspired those who followed us. Despite the challenges and labels thrown our way, we emerged stronger.

The post-campus lives of the Ubuntu boys unfolded uniquely. Stephen Ochieng (Bache) became an award-winning journalist. Tom Oonga ventured into politics, campaigning to be the next MCA, known for inventing Choma (Chapati and Soup) at Multimedia University. Brian Mark Ogutu (Chief) successfully runs Clean Roof Masters.

Seth Lazaro, Benard Otieno (Aduera), and Laurent Adongo embraced online writing in Rongai, each carving a niche for themselves. Victor Haya (Wuod Atoyo) excels as an accountant and a social media guru. Stephen Ongola (Machete) emerged as a business mogul in Rongai, delivering more than just packages, if your girlfriend lives in Rongai, he is probably her favorite delivery guy. He is good at it !

Michael Kijana (Wanjigi), a young tutorial fellow, wears the hat of a professional online writer with pockets deeper than his age. Together, these individuals made campus life unforgettable. No regrets – we made life easy for each other, showcasing the enduring friendship forged during those Ubuntu days.


@okelododdychitchats

Endless Craving

Every dawn, every dusk, every twilight,

I’m not talking about occasional moments,

It’s a craving that persists,

I yearn to bask in the sensation of you,

To relish the warmth of your breath gently grazing my neck,

To feel the delicate touch of your breast against my chest,

I simply ache to feel your presence close,

To sense the texture of my skin melding tenderly with yours,

To trace the outline of your beautifully arched back with my eager nails,

To firmly grasp your waist in my hands,

To be serenaded by the melody of your moans,

To taste the sweetness of your lips,

I long to feel you nestled beside me,

To shower you with love,

I ache to experience the velvety touch of your lips,

Against my neck, as I strive to imprint mine on your forehead,

To explore with my tongue the contours of your breasts, reveling in their succulence,

Clasping the pert nipples tightly with my lips,

To cradle and caress you, without fail, each and every time.

@okelododdychitchats

The Shoe Shiner

I didn’t grow up sticking to one spot; I’ve got the privilege of recalling three to four places where I spent my childhood. This journey made me lose a few friends along the way, but it turned me into a social butterfly. Making friends has become my forte, and even though they’re not countless, I hold them close to my heart. This weekend, I reunited with buddies I hadn’t seen in thirteen years. Kelline, the always cheerful guy with a deep Luo accent, remembered me for my knack for cleanliness. It’s amusing to think that at the tender age of eleven, I was already a master in the art of shining shoes, making beds, styling uniforms, and harboring a soft spot for the ladies!

Yesterday, I bumped into Apopo Powel, a hilarious pal from high school. He reminded me of our shared past, especially how neat I was. The funny part was how he described everyone else getting stains of uji  on their clothes during breakfast, while I miraculously stayed in mint condition. He chuckled about my well-shined shoes and my “don’t touch” trousers. He even marveled at my impressive collection of uniforms in just my first year of high school. Quick recap: I was the shoe shiner back then, and I still know how to keep my kicks looking sharp. Hence, the title of this piece – “The Shoe Shiner.”

I’ve always known I’d leave a lasting impression, akin to a scar reminding you of how you got it. This mark I leave is meant to jog memories of the things I did.

People tend to remember me for various reasons – my pride, persuasive arguments, potential as a lawyer (I plan to pursue this), my shyness around those I hold dear, and my keen sense of style. I find joy in being remembered for positive and impactful qualities. Forget those unrelated things I mentioned earlier; I’m not here to toot my own horn. The point is, I strive to make an impact, and I love it because those close to me also try to leave a memorable mark, something you’d want to cherish if it were physically tangible.

In this era, forming relationships – not just romantic ones but strong friendships and close-knit families – is sometimes seen as old-fashioned. People give it skeptical looks, associating all relationships with potential betrayal. I get it; Gen-Z and millennials can relate. They treat marriage and reconnecting with hometown friends cautiously, fearing envy and potential harm. The village WiFi supposedly has better bandwidth; you can’t hide from it. I don’t blame them; caution is not fear.

Yet, there are still those who believe in robust relationships and hold them dear. What about you? What do you think your close ones remember you for – good or bad? If you’re skeptical about relationships, what caused the trauma? Is there a way to mend it? Let’s have a chat, my friends. We could even explore topics like “Relationships and Betrayal” or “Friendships and Betrayal.” What’s your take?

@okelododdychitchats

Just Drop a Comment

When do you find yourself grabbing that pen and paper? Is it during tough times when emotions are running high, and writing feels like a way to tackle the challenges life throws at you? Or is it in moments of pure joy, when even the ordinary things bring happiness, and you catch yourself smiling at everyone, even someone you’re not too fond of? Personally, I used to think I was most creative when feeling a bit down, not necessarily to express my feelings but to capture what I saw in small gatherings at barazas, the lively conversations in tailoring shops, the buzz in barbershops, or even the snippets of life heard in matatus. Writing about these observations used to be a kind of therapy for me. However, recent realities have hit me hard, filling my once-bright mind with empty thoughts that have taken away my usual good vibes.

I’m not looking for sympathy here, I’m just curious about how your year is going. Is it turning out to be good, or are you facing some challenges? While it might be early to ask, haven’t they said that you can sense the quality of a day from the morning? Let’s think of that metaphorically. From talking to a few people, it seems that, despite some initial confusion, many are finding this year to be interesting. What’s interesting is the lack of the usual flood of boring “happy new year messages” and the absence of big unachievable resolutions. Instead, people seem to be having more practical discussions, focusing on solid financial plans and pursuing their interests with passion.

Going through the current situation is a bit of a challenge for me, with the uncertainty of tomorrow hanging over. I’ve never been one to predict the future, and while it might seem a bit tricky, there’s a sense of hope pushing me forward. My plan is simple: prioritize things that bring me joy and stay away from things that bore, drain, or stress me. Essentially, I want to create a happy space for myself and those around me….

How’s your year going? Share your thoughts in the comments! Let’s connect every Tuesday or on any day that suits you (we can vote a day). I am thinking about throwing in some interviews and sharing stories about different places. Just drop a comment to let us know what you’re enjoying and experiencing this year, and also, what topics you’d like us to dive into. I’m thinking of adding some opinionated sections. So, drop a comment – your input is crucial in shaping our conversations. Feel free to join the discussion! Just drop a comment !

@okelododdychitchats

Connection

I yearn to be the gentle breeze that swells your sails, a breeze infused with the salty scent of the ocean, carrying promises whispered through the rustle of leaves. Guiding your journey, not merely as a navigator but as a companion, a silent confidante in the vast expanse of the sea.

My touch, a delicate dance lifting your veil, a dance choreographed with the soft notes of a serenade, unveiling the layers of your soul with tender grace. Each touch, a gentle exploration, revealing the intricacies of our connection.

As the moon orchestrates the celestial ballet of your tides, imagine my presence as the gravitational force, not just shaping the waters but sculpting emotions and sentiments. A gravitational pull, not of obligation but of choice, a choice to be laced into the cloth of life .

With each sunrise, envision me as the warming light, not just illuminating your eyes but also casting a golden glow on your dreams. A sunrise not witnessed in isolation, but shared, creating a dawn of shared aspirations and mutual encouragement.

A spark igniting, not just a fleeting flame but a sustained fire, fueled by shared interests, passions, and a mutual desire for growth. In the mosaic of your dreams, picture vibrant hues not just representing wishes but embodying the shared adventures and challenges we conquer together.

To fulfill desires, ambitions, and all you’ve sought, imagine a journey beyond the visible horizon, exploring the uncharted territories of our shared future. It’s not merely about reaching destinations but reveling in the journey, hand in hand.

And beyond these promises, there’s still so much more, like an unwritten story with pages waiting to be filled. An endless sea of love, not static but dynamic, evolving with every wave of shared laughter, every ripple of shared tears.

In every heartbeat, every whisper, every shared endeavor, visualize me as not just a participant but a steadfast ally, contributing to the melody of our shared existence. I don’t just want to be your everything; I want to be the constant companion in the novel of our lives, scripting a story that transcends time and echoes in eternity.

@okelododdychitchats

I Like it When

I like it when our eyes meet, that unexplainable chemistry sparking a connection that words struggle to capture.

I like it when I hug you, feeling the embrace envelop us in a cocoon of warmth, a comforting haven.

I like it when I hold your well-shaped waist, fingers tracing the curves that fit perfectly within my grasp.

I like it when your fingers surround my wide neck, each touch creating a melody that resonates in the air.

I like it when you walk in that short dress, admiring your beautiful legs like a beautiful piece of art painted with elegance and grace.

I like it when you cook your favorite meal, now a shared delight, the aroma telling stories of memories we create together.

I like it when you’re settled, calling me ‘love’ with that beautiful voice, each word a sweet note in our exquisite duet.

I like it when you kiss me, your tender lips finding mine, creating a dance of passion that lingers in the air.

I like it when you smile, illuminating every dark corner with love, a beacon of joy in the landscape of our shared moments.

I like it when you’re happy, sharing in your joy, a contagious happiness that becomes the rhythm of our days.

I like it when I miss you, the longing a reflection of the depth of our connection.

I like it when thoughts are all about you, a constant orbit around the gravitational pull of your presence.

I like it when I call you baby, a term of endearment that echoes the tenderness in my heart.

I like it when I sleep next to you, holding your tiny waist, our dreams twisting into a beautiful story.

I like it when I wake up to your morning smile and that good morning kiss, a perfect start to our shared day.

I like having you, just like I like this piece. Hope you do too, as it mirrors the depth of my feelings for you.

@okelododdychitchats