The Burden of Being

They say men drag themselves to hell,
As if each step they take is a burden,
As if the weight of their struggles,
Their pride, their pain,
Should remain hidden,
Silent, unspoken.
And when a man is wronged,
When his dignity is stripped away,
When his worth is questioned,
They turn away,
As if it’s his fight to bear alone.
No one speaks up, no one defends,
He’s left to pick up the pieces,
His bruises ignored.

Have you ever seen
What happens when a man’s life is taken?
How the story shifts,
How the reason for his death is twisted,
Explained away,
As if it’s somehow justifiable,
As if it’s easier to accept
If the pain can be rationalized,
If the wrong can be painted in a different light.
The truth is bent,
The facts contorted,
Until the sharp edges of injustice
Are softened, made palatable.

Why is it only wrong when it doesn’t fit the narrative?
When a man’s struggle doesn’t meet the approval of those who’ve never walked in his shoes?
When the pain doesn’t match their prescription of how things should be,
Why do they bend and twist the story to make it easier to understand?
Why is it that the wrongs done to a man are shrugged off,
Ignored, forgotten,
Until they can no longer be ignored?
Is it because they expect him to endure quietly?
To accept disrespect as part of his place in the world?

Why must we turn a blind eye when a man is dismissed,
When he’s disrespected,
When his value is diminished,
As if he doesn’t deserve the same empathy,
The same respect,
The same justice?
Why do we question his pain,
His frustration,
When he’s left standing alone,
Fighting battles that no one else sees?
Is it because he’s a man,
And somehow, his hurt is less?
Somehow, he’s expected to rise without the help of others?

It’s a sad, painful truth that we live in a world
Where some lives are weighed differently,
Where some struggles are minimized,
Where the wrongs done to men are excused,
Simply because they’re men.
But when will we see that pain is pain,
That disrespect is still wrong,
That when a man’s dignity is stolen,
When he’s pushed down,
When he’s wronged,
It’s just as heavy, just as real
As the wrongs done to anyone else?

I won’t stand for it.
I won’t accept it.
I believe we can do better.
I believe we can rise beyond these broken rules,
Beyond these silent expectations,
And see each other for what we truly are,
Human.
Every one of us, deserving of dignity,
Deserving of respect.
And maybe, just maybe,
When we stop justifying wrongs,
When we stop twisting the truth,
We can heal, together.
Men, women, everyone,
Equal in our worth,
Equal in our struggle,
And equal in our right to be seen,
To be heard, to rise.

@okelododdychitchats

Wacha Ikae

Don’t look at your phone. The urge is there, gnawing at you, but you resist. You know how it happens always. She hasn’t called. She hasn’t left a message either, not even a one-word reply to that carefully written text you sent. But she’s read it. The double blue ticks glare back at you like tiny daggers, taunting you with their silence. 

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe her phone died. Yet deep down, a faint warning whispers, something is off. The red flags you once ignored are now bold and unrelenting, waving in your face. But no, this isn’t even orange yet, you rationalize. She’ll call later. She always does, and when she does, there will be excuses. So many excuses. Weak and hollow, they tumble out like rehearsed lines in a bad play. 

You’ve heard them all before. “I was caught up with something.” “I didn’t see your call.” “You’re overthinking it.” And yet, every excuse chips away at something inside you. Still, you stay. You try to trust, to believe. But the lateness, the nonchalance, the dismissive tone, they sting. When the responses come, they’re lukewarm at best, indifferent at worst. And when they don’t come at all, you’re left to sit with your thoughts, drowning in a pool of “what-ifs.” 

And when you dare to question it? The tables turn. She doesn’t apologize or explain. No, she gets angry. She calls it “female empowerment” or “girls in male fields,”  her right to do as she pleases. But somehow, your feelings don’t matter. Your concerns are labeled as misogyny, your hurt as bias. Her anger flares, fiery and unrelenting, until you’re forced into silence, swallowing your words like bitter pills. 

It’s funny, though, how the rules seem different when the tables turn. When you’re the one who doesn’t pick up, doesn’t reply, doesn’t explain, the world implodes. Her hurt becomes righteous indignation, and your silence, a personal betrayal. Suddenly, you’re the villain in a story you didn’t write. You’re made to feel guilty, selfish, unworthy. And yet, you understand. Or at least, you try to. Because if you don’t, she gets mad. 

You’re not stupid. You see the pattern, the game, the manipulation cloaked in pretty words. You know the imbalance is more than unfair, it’s toxic. But you hold on, clutching at the tiny string of hope that maybe this time will be different. Maybe she’ll see you. Maybe she’ll call. Maybe she’ll stop making you feel like an afterthought. 

But how long can you hold on? How many excuses can you stomach before the weight of her indifference crushes you? You wonder if love is supposed to feel this way, like walking on eggshells, like a one-sided battle for validation. Deep down, you know the answer. You’re just too afraid to admit it. 

And so, you sit there, resisting the pull to check your phone again. You tell yourself this is the last time you’ll let her silence hurt you. But even as you make the promise, you wonder if it’s one you’ll keep. After all, the heart rarely listens to reason. And yours, stubborn and bruised, still beats for her, despite everything.

Ah, Wacha Ikae Bwana ! Don’t wait to confirm the obvious with a great sense of discovery

@okelododdychitchats

Fading Notes of The Heart

For the first time in my once-bright life, 
I feel love slip away, 
draining quietly from a heart 
that once brimmed with warmth and fire. 

Because of her,
passion now feels like a distant memory, 
her eyes, once alive like sapphire stars, 
now hold no light for me. 
The smile that once lifted my world 
has faded into something I barely remember. 

I knew love once, 
I felt it in her touch, 
in the way she made life seem full of wonder. 
But now, that wonder feels hollow, 
a shadow of something I can no longer reach. 

The beauty I once saw everywhere 
seems to have vanished. 
Dreams feel brittle; 
hope feels like a foolish story I once believed. 

Her absence is a quiet void, 
and love, once a tender, living thing, 
is now just a ghost 
I can’t hold on to. 

And so I go on, 
not with the joy I once knew, 
but with a quiet acceptance 
that the song of my heart 
will now play softly, 
alone. 

@okelododdychitchats

If I Fail to Wake Up Tomorrow

If I fail to wake up tomorrow,
Know that I fought with all my might
Against the demons that plagued my mind
I battled through the darkness
But in the end, I couldn’t find the light
My soul was weary, my heart was tired
And I found solace in stepping into eternity,

If I don’t wake up tomorrow,
Tell my friends I’ll miss them dearly
The laughter, the memories, the tears we shared
Will forever be carved  in my  silent whispers lost in time
I hope they find peace in knowing
That I am finally free from the pain
That haunted me every waking moment
I’ll be watching over them from above

If I fail to wake up tomorrow,
Promise me you’ll take care of yourself
Don’t dwell on what could have been
Live your life to the fullest, cling to the warmth of joy
That I could never fully appreciate
Treasure like gold every sunrise, every sunset
And know that I am always with you
In spirit, in memory, in love

If I don’t wake up tomorrow,
Tell the world my story
Let my struggles be a lesson
That mental health is not a joke
That a smile can hide a world of hurt
And that reaching out for help
Is not a sign of weakness, but of strength
Break the stigma, break the silence

If I fail to wake up tomorrow,
Know that I am at peace
No longer shackled by my fears
No longer drowning in my tears
I am free to soar amongst the stars
To dance in the moonlight, to bask in the sun
I am finally whole, finally content
In the arms of endless rest.

Let my legacy be one of love
Of kindness, of compassion
And may my journey to the beyond  bring awareness
To the struggles we all face
So if I fail to wake up tomorrow
Know that I am at peace
And that I will always be watching over you
From the heavens above.

@okelododdychitchats

Niskize

You don’t know the battles I’ve fought
The struggles I’ve faced !
You don’t realize the depth of my sorrow
So before you judge, just wait, niskize !

Don’t mock me with your words of scorn
Don’t criticize me from dusk till morn
Your harsh remarks don’t offer insight
They only push me further from the light

My pain runs deep, it’s a part of me
It’s only I who truly see
The struggles I endure day by day
So take a moment, niskize !

I may seem weak when tears fall down
But crying is my way, my sound
Of releasing the pain that weighs me down
Of letting go of the burdens I’ve found

Don’t label me as frail or meek
Just listen to the words I speak
I have a story that needs to be told
A tale of pain and  courage bold

So before you pass judgment on me
Take a moment, niskize !
The strength it takes to face each day
To keep going despite the wear out

I am not defined by my tears
But by the battles fought through the years
So next time you see me cry
Remember, it’s not a sign of weakness, but of strength inside

Don’t underestimate the power of a tear
The release it brings, the healing near
So before you speak, just listen first
To the story of pain and hurt

I may not be what you expect
But my strength lies in the tears unchecked
So listen to my words, my plea
And see the true strength in me.

@okelododdychitchats

Still, I am

I didn’t get the privilege of being born in a hospital. My mother labored in my grandmother’s smoky kitchen. They were with my late father, who tried rushing her to Lwak hospital, but I grew weary of the womb’s care for, I was eager to taste the world’s sweetness and bitterness alike, I had to step into the light and meet it head-on. I came out right outside the fence, and my grandmother, Stella or if you like  Min Ombewa, delivered me.

I was born in Asembo, my paternal home. A place I hardly know, a place I hardly visit, but a place I recognize much with. That’s why I call myself Jakolal, because Kolal is my village,Kolal is in Asembo.

When I was four, wait, I didn’t get the chance to be light-skinned when I was born. Kids are often light when birthed, but the colors of their skin often change after tasting the different rays of the sun. Their skin changes, picking the shades of their parents’ skin. Biology calls it genetics. The point is, the skin changes and sometimes becomes hard with pimples on the face and sometimes with a lot of hair standing straight on the surface. They change! I was dark at birth, and still, I am. My father, Isaiah Oguta Ngesa Nyakwar Okelo found a way of making me comfortable wearing the dark skin. He called me Rateng‘. Rateng’ means black. He narrated to me during free time how well black is priceless as the first breath of dawn after a long night. I love black ! Black is beautiful. I love my skin. I owe it to my dad.

One night after his karate sessions, he complained of pains. My mother says  it was sharp pains that gripped his chest, something like asthma, yet they called it typhoid. I still wonder how chest pains and typhoid dance together in the same space. He was rushed to Aga Khan Hospital Kisumu, and on February 14, 2002, he slept, closed his eyes eternally. His brain stopped functioning. Everything in his world stopped. He rested. Mama was only 26. I am told she was only earning Ksh. 1000 as a Board of Manager teacher. She had kids and a family to take care of. She remained strong, productive and everything positive. We never lacked. We never knew poverty. We saw all good and got at least everything we wanted. I just didn’t get to practice karate anymore because my company was gone! After he was gone, he took the name Rateng‘ with him. Nobody else knew me as that. Nobody called me that except my uncle, Dr. Odongo. But with that alone, I knew how priceless my skin color was. I wore it with courage growing up. I miss the one who made me comfortable in it, but fate had just brought it that way. Sad!

Forget that though. My mother left footprints of success in the sands of time. She did all a mother could and more, and that’s why I hold her dear. That’s why my best sentence begins with the word “Mum.” My definition of love begins with the word “Mum.” My definition of beauty begins with the word “Mum.” My definition of strong begins with the word “Mum.” Her display of substance and appearance makes her just the best. She is the best!

This doesn’t concern you, but I am still dark. My mum is dark too. We wear this fine melanin, black chocolata skin with beauty and pride.

@okelododdychitchats

Tears in my eyes !

I remember hearing it somewhere,
Though I can’t recall where.
It’s nothing to do with story za jaba,
You know what, forget it!

But wait, it’s choking me,
Your phone was off on the night of Girlfriend’s Day.
I tried calling, not tripping,
When you finally answered,
There was a guy’s voice and “ssssh” signals in the background.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
As my heart sank into despair.

Who was he?
Was he the one we always argue about,
Or did you switch from Total Quartz to Shell Rimula this time?
Questions raced through my mind,
Doubts creeping into my heart,
As I struggled to make sense of it all.

I thought I did everything you wanted,
I don’t even know what Girlfriend’s Day is supposed to mean,
But I tried to do something special for you,
Only to be met with betrayal and lies.
Tears in my eyes !

In a world where truths often falter,
Where promises melt like morning dew,
One whispers, against a heart’s altar,
Just cheat, if it means losing you.
But how could I ever betray myself,
And sacrifice my own worth,
For the empty promises of a love that never truly existed?

I tried to hold back the tears,
To push away the pain,
But it lingered, like a shadow in the night,
Haunting me with memories of what once was.
I thought our love was strong,
But now I see it was built on lies,
On deceit and betrayal,
Leaving me shattered and broken.

I wish I could turn back time,
To the days when love was pure,
When trust was not a luxury,
But a foundation we both stood upon.
But now, as I wipe away the tears,
I know that some wounds cannot heal,
Some scars will always remain,
And some loves are not meant to last.

So I stand here, alone and broken,
Trying to piece together the fragments of my heart,
Trying to make sense of a love that was never real,
But will always haunt me like a ghost.
I will move on, I will heal,
But the pain of betrayal will always linger,
A reminder of a love that was lost,
And a heart that was broken.

@okelododdychitchats