SILENCE IS THE DEATH OF US

Dear Corporate,

I know you like your linen white.
White as milk.
With no stains, no creases,
And no voices too loud or opinions too strong.
You want clean reputations,
Clean photos, clean silence.

You like me better
When I just show up, smile, hit targets,
Say “yes sir” to everything and go home.
You like me better
When I keep the fire in my belly out of your boardroom.
When I don’t question, when I don’t care too much.

But here’s what you forget,

I was me before I became your employee.
I had a voice before I had your email signature.
I had convictions before I had a clock-in code.
And I’m not about to trade all that in
For job security and polite applause.

I love justice.
The same way you love KPIs.
I care about this country,
The same way you care about brand image.

So when you see me at a protest,
Don’t flinch.
I’m not unstable.
I’m not rebellious.
I’m just awake.

When I call out corruption,
I’m not ruining your name,
I’m protecting it.
Because if systems rot,
Your success does too.

When I tweet in anger,
It’s not because I’m angry all the time.
It’s because I still believe that things can change.
That voices matter. That silence is too heavy to carry anymore.

I’m not asking for much.

Just this,
Don’t punish me for caring.
Don’t blacklist me for believing.
Don’t put me in a corner
Because I refuse to play blind.

I want to work.
I want to grow.
But I also want to live in a country where truth doesn’t cost you your job.

Let me speak.
Let me stand.
Let me protest, cry out, and still walk into your office on Monday morning with purpose.
Because fighting for what’s right
And showing up for work
Aren’t enemies.
They’re both signs I give a DAMN.

So no,
I’m not mad.
I’m not disloyal.
I’m just patriotic.
And I won’t whisper that.

Sincerely,
Still the right person for the job. Just louder.

@okelododdychitchats

Silenceisthedeathofus #Speak #PoeticJustice #Justice #Justice4AlbertOjwang #SpeakUp #Corruption #EndCorruption

Everything Here Smells of You

Everything here smells of you.
And it’s driving me insane in the sweetest, slowest way.

The caution seat still wears your scent ,
like it misses you too,
like it knows something passed through it that doesn’t come around often.

The fleece blanket is basically you in thread and warmth.
I cover myself with it and swear I can hear your laugh if I’m quiet enough.

Even my chest,
my own damn skin,
smells like you stayed.
Like you pressed yourself into me and said, “Don’t forget.”

And I won’t.
Not with lips like yours, warm, like you know the secret to sunrise.
I imagine a kiss and it doesn’t even feel imaginary,
it feels like a memory I’m about to make again.

I love the way your waist fits in my hands,
like my fingers were carved with your shape in mind.
There’s something wild about that kind of symmetry.

You’re beautiful.
You’re art that didn’t ask to be admired,
but was anyway,
because how could the world not notice you?

@okelododdychitchats

The Sound of Love (In Three Words)

There is a river in my chest,
its current stirred by longing.
I have wrestled with syllables,
wrestled them like Jacob with the angel,
and still, they slipped from me.

I’ve summoned sonnets like old friends,
dressed up my ache in velvet metaphors,
cradled my truth in gilded rhyme,
but still, the soul was unclothed.

Words, those proud and peacock things,
marched across parchment
but none bore the weight
of my trembling heart.

Then came silence.
And out of silence,
three humble drumbeats:

I. Love. You.

They stood,
not as grand orators,
but as gospel.

Simple.
Sacred.
Enough.

@okelododdychitchats

It’s Colonial, I Swear

What happened before the roses came ?

1. Cold Showers and Pink Suits

There’s a special place in hell for cold showers and it’s probably somewhere next to the queue at the passport office. And now you want me to willfully take one, shave, powder my neck, and wear that pink suit that makes me look like a soft loan? Just to go out on a date? Bruh. That’s not love; that’s martyrdom. I did not survive Nairobi water bills to be out here moisturizing for cold balconies and cappuccino dust.

2. Love in the Time of Third Parties

Who even decided that love needs to come with an invoice and VAT? Dating in this economy feels like trying to start a business on a chama budget. You spend thousands to sit across someone in a place where both of you are silently trying to gauge who is more emotionally unavailable, while the waitress thinks you’re about to propose.

3. The Whitewashing of Romance

Let’s talk about it: is the modern date a colonial export? Imported like jazz music and instant noodles? Because, really, how did our grandfathers do it? They didn’t need a date. They needed a strong back, a hoe, and a keen eye for dowry negotiation. Now we’re out here buying roses that die in 48 hours, basically love-shaped perishables and calling it romance.

4. Introverts Anonymous

I’m not antisocial. I’m pro-solitude. There’s a difference. Why must love always be on display, like it’s a talent show and we’re all auditioning for the role of “Emotionally Available Partner ”? Me, I prefer my affection with a side of silence. Just Netflix algorithms that understand me better than most people.

5. The Psychology of Smashing vs Smiling

Some dates feel more like interrogations with ambience. You’re sitting there, trying to chew tasteless pasta gracefully while wondering if she thinks your smile means “I like you” or “I’m just horny.” You’re sweating from trying to remember if you mentioned you were raised Christian or spiritual but not religious.

6. Date Inflation & Emotional Capitalism

Who decided that love must be shown through receipts? That emotional availability must be measured by how many brunches you’ve paid for? I’ve dated women who thought the absence of fine dining was the absence of love. Hey, the pepper in my githeri is a form of affection. Don’t let capitalism gaslight your heart.

7. Domestic Love, Anyone?

Let’s stay home. I can cook, I can serve, and I can even throw in bad jokes for seasoning. No need for that performative laughter at Java. I want us barefoot in the house, arguing about how much salt I put in the food. That, my friends, is real bonding. And I can pause to pee during the movie without missing the plot or the bill.

8. Public Displays of Affection Fatigue

What’s so romantic about someone interrupting your moment to ask “would you like sparkling or still?” Let me love you in sweatpants. Let’s laugh over burnt ugali. Let’s fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch and meet halfway in a dream. That’s the kind of love that doesn’t make it to Instagram, but lasts.

9. Love Without Logistics

The planning of dates stresses me more than the dating itself. Reservations, rides, fitting into attires from 2021, it’s a full-time job. Why can’t we date like we used to play kalongo in childhood? Spontaneous, anarchic, and mostly in someone’s house with limited adult supervision.

10. Let’s Redefine Romance

So no, I’m not taking cold showers for a warm table. That doesn’t mean I love less. I just love differently. Quietly. Deeply. With less garnish and more substance. If love is a language, I speak it fluently in slippers and home-cooked meals. The balcony is cold, the city is expensive, and my pink suit is for weddings only. Choose your battles wisely. Choose your love even wiser.

@okelododdychitchats

Still, I Write

I hate words.

They slip in when I don’t want them to,
curl around me like smoke,
sharp at the edges, soft in the middle,
always taking more than they give.

They crash like waves, loud and relentless,
dig into places I thought were safe,
fill up the quiet until it isn’t quiet anymore.
And when they cut, they cut deep.

But I use them anyway.
I shape them, mold them, send them out into the world,
let them dance across pages, spill from my lips,
like I trust them, like they’ve never left scars.

And yeah, I’m good at it.
Words are how I find my way,
how I turn the mess into meaning,
how I make sense of the silence.

But not all words are gentle.
Some hit like fists, sharp and sudden,
slice through moments that should’ve been soft.
They linger in the air long after they’re spoken,
turning into ghosts that refuse to leave.

So if I ever throw the wrong ones your way,
don’t let them fester.
Call me out. Make me see.
Because I know words can wound,
can twist, can take more than they were meant to.

Still, I write.
Even when my hands shake.
Even when the words don’t feel safe.
Because somewhere beneath it all,
where kindness still breathes,
I know there’s light waiting to be found.

Words can build or break.
They can hold you together or tear you apart.
And maybe, if I get them right,
they’ll be enough to bring me home.

@okelododdychitchats

It must Be a Beautiful Death

It Must Be a Beautiful Death

Let it come like a sigh,
like the silence between waves,
like the slow separation of a ribbon,
loosened by the hands of time.
No violence. No suddenness.
Just the peaceful folding of the day into night,
a quiet hand-over to the pull of the tide.

Let it not be an end,
but an opening,
a door swinging wide to something big and golden,
a breath released, not stolen.
Let it feel like stepping into warm water,
like sinking into silk,
like the weight of the world slipping from tired shoulders.

Something will rise from the silence.
It always does.
A blade of green through frost-bitten earth,
a flame that flickers but never dies,
a heart that stops only to be remembered
in the sound of another’s breath.
Life does not go. It stays.
It clings to the air, to the hands that once held it,
to the laughter built into the walls of an old house.

It must be a beautiful death,
the kind that smiles instead of weeps,
that glows instead of dims,
that steps lightly into the unknown,
leaving warmth where it once stood.
Not a Disapearance, but a soft dissolve,
like sugar in tea,
like smoke curling into the sky.

Something sweet will remain.
A voice Singing in the quiet of morning,
a scent-faint yet familiar-caught on the wind.
The way their name still tastes on your tongue.
Love is stubborn.
It does not bow to time.
It finds itself into the cracks of your bones,
into the spaces between dreams.

And something great will rise from the silence
A light in the dark,
a constellation drawn from the ashes,
a name that refuses to be forgotten.
No one is ever truly gone
if their love still stains the walls of the world.

It must be a beautiful death,
not because it does not pain,
but because it matters,
because it leaves fingerprints on the soul,
because it whispers through the wind,

I was here. I loved. I lived.
And somewhere, somehow, I still do.

@okelododdychitchats

If I Speak, I May Dissapear

The sun scorches the ground and the wind stirs restless among trees,
There are whispers no one speaks aloud.
This is a land of open skies and heavy silences,
Where fear lives close to the tongue.
If I speak, I may disappear.

There was a time when voices rose like a morning tide,
Songs of freedom swept through the hills,
Children dreamed of megaphones,
Their words carried far and wide,
But now, whispers turn into silence,
Muted colors fading into gray.

That’s Kenya for you,
A country of open skies and closed mouths,
Where history’s murmurs still ring
“Nchi ya Kwanza” sang of land, of sovereignty,
Yet here we are,
Gathered beneath fragile roofs,
Afraid to shake the walls of comfort.

Freedom of speech ?
A dandelion crushed under heavy boots.
“Speak up,” they say,
But the claws of consequence lurk close,
Each word a risk, each sentence a threat,
A storm brewing on the horizon,
Every raindrop a truth
That floods the streets,
Only to vanish into silence.

In the market square,
Eyes flicker with stories not told,
Lips press tight as fingers point
At faces of power,
But silence costs less
Than the price of speaking truth.

At dinner tables,
Ideas clash like spoons in a bowl,
A family walks the line
Between safety and outrage.
One wrong word,
And the room holds its breath.

Beneath it all,
The weight of freedom lies,
Written deep in scars,
Buried in graves of those who dared.
And what of the poets,
The dreamers who once danced with danger?
Now they tread softly,
Pens hovering above paper,
Caught between courage and caution.

On the shores of Lake Victoria,
The fishermen watch the waters,
Their mouths sealed tighter
Than the nets they cast.
For even here,
The law grips tighter than any tide.

Still,
Hope refuses to die.
It grows like grass and fern between cracks in the pavement,
It rises in laughter, in hands held high.
It blooms in the smallest corners,
In murals painted on concrete walls,
In songs hummed beneath breath.

If I speak, I may disappear.
But even silence carries a rhythm,
A beat that cannot be stilled.
For every voice quieted,
Ten more rise.
For every dream crushed,
A thousand seeds scatter.

We are the embers,
We are the sparks,
And no storm can put us out.
If I speak, I may disappear.
But if I stay silent,
Who will tell our story?

@okelododdychitchats

A Letter to You, Men

Dear man,
I write to you in the quiet of dawn,
When the world stirs with whispers of promise,
And shadows yield to the birth of light.
This is a letter, not a sermon, not a scolding,
But a soft wind stirring your soul,
A call from one heart to another,
A pause to remember who you are
And who you could be.

Wake up,
Wake up from the numbing slumber of conformity,
From the comfortable tomb of inertia.
Shake off the chains of apathy
That bind your dreams to the ground.
The world is waiting,
Rise with the sun, let its warmth fill your chest,
And carve your place into the marrow of this earth.

Build your own self,
A man not sculpted from the molds of expectation,
But one built with integrity’s fierce hands.
Lay your foundation with truth,
Brick by brick of courage and humility,
Mortared with the lessons of failure.
Let self-love be your cornerstone,
For how can you lead others
If your own heart is a wilderness of doubt?

Build your family
Make it a refuge where love spills like morning light,
Where tears are cups of truth,
And laughter rings like unbroken bells.
Be the architect of sanctuary,
Not with walls of pride,
But with open doors of kindness.
Do not let regret cloud your vision,
Chart the way with faith and tenderness.
Homes are not houses,
They are hearts tied together by love’s hands.

Play your roles with love
Father, son, brother, partner…
Wear these names like a crown of stars.
Not with dominance,
But with the strength of gentle hands,
With the quiet force of a shoulder that bears,
A heart that listens.
Vulnerability is not a weakness,
It is the marrow of connection,
The place where love lives and breathes.

Oh, dear man,
Don’t be a ghost of a father,
A name whispered in longing,
A shadow in a child’s dreams.
Children need roots to hold them firm,
And wings to lift them high.
Be the guidance in their storms,
The steady light on a darkened shore.
In your arms, they learn to trust,
To dream, to become.
Be their hero, not perfect,
But present.

Do not lose yourself to anger,
That wildfire that devours forests of peace.
Let it pass through like the storm it is,
Rage, then rest, then rise again,
But never let it take your soul.
Meet it with understanding,
For the world is a fragile thing,
And love is always the better sword.

Don’t chase applause,
For it is the fleeting chorus of hollowed hands.
Seek truth instead,
Sing your own song,
Unapologetically yours.
There is no peace in pretense,
There is only weariness.
Live authentically,
Raw, flawed, radiant.

Choose your battles,
Do not draw your sword for every slight.
Wisdom is knowing when to fight
And when to let silence be your answer.
Restraint is not weakness,
It is the quiet power of kings.

Give, dear man,
Give with open hands,
But know when to rest.
Life is not a scorecard,
It is a dance of give and take,
A river that drys and flows.
In generosity, there is beauty,
But let balance be your guide,
For even oceans need shores.

And if love is not returned,
Do not wither, do not fall.
Some chapters are meant for growth,
Not permanence.
Let them go with grace,
And walk unburdened by what was.
Detachment is a kind of freedom,
A breath of peace when the weight is too much.

Do not linger where the air is poison.
When toxicity suffocates,
Leave with your spirit intact.
Boundaries are not walls,
They are gardens,
Places where your soul can bloom.
Seek light, seek life.
Don’t stay where your laughter dies.

Life, dear man,
Is a song waiting to be sung,
Art waiting for your hands.
Be the artist of your existence,
The poet of your days.
You are more than breath and bone,
You are a force, a dream, a maker of worlds.

Wake up.
Step into your becoming.
This life is yours,
A Limitless and glorious scene.
Write your truth,
Shape your legacy with love,
And dance boldly into tomorrow.

This, dear man,
Is your story.

@okelododdychitchats

It’s 2025

2024 was one hell of a year.

It started with so much hope. I had plans, big plans, to leave certain things behind, and to be honest, I did. But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The struggles came too, hard and fast, but somehow, God showed up every single time.

I’m not the kind of person to stand in front of a church and give a testimony, not me. But today, I felt tempted. I’m writing this right here in church, and it’s probably the fifth time I’ve been here this whole year. One of my goals for 2024 was to go to church every Sunday. I tried, I really did. January was great, I was consistent. But then life happened, and somewhere along the way, I got lost. I try again in 2025

So now, I’m sitting at the back, on the right-hand side of the church. I’ve never sat here before, and I can’t help but notice how full it is today. It’s never been like this. Seeing so many people here, God’s children gathered under one roof, it makes me happy. This place feels alive, like a marketplace of blessings. And I’m here to claim mine, to carry me through 2025.

I’m not writing a long list of goals this time. I’ve learned something about life, it doesn’t follow a formula. There’s no perfect plan. All I know is that the effort I’m going to put in this year will get me where I need to be. That’s it. Simple.

I don’t have much to say, really. I’m just thankful. Thankful that I’m here, alive, and hopeful again. Thankful for a chance to start over.

So goodbye, 2024. You were tough, you were beautiful, you were messy. But it’s time to move on.

Here’s to 2025. Let’s go.

And this is my Prayer,

I know I messed up along the way
But God, just give me a chance to say
I am trouble, I am a f up
But give me another chance to make up

I’ve made mistakes, I won’t deny
But please, don’t let this be goodbye
I’m begging you, hear my plea
I know I can be better, just wait and see

I’ve stumbled and fallen, lost my way
But I’m asking for your grace today
I’ve let you down, I’ve let myself down
But I promise, I won’t wear this frown

I know I don’t deserve your love
But I’m hoping for a sign from above
To guide me back onto the right path
To escape this cycle of wrath

I know I’ve caused pain and hurt
But I’m willing to do the work
To make amends, to right my wrongs
To sing a new and hopeful song

I may be broken, I may be flawed
But I believe in the power of God
To grant me forgiveness, to show me the way
To a brighter and better day

I know I don’t deserve a second chance
But please, just give me one more dance
To prove that I can change and grow
To show that I can bloom and glow

I am a sinner, I am a saint
I am a puzzle, missing a paint
But with your help, I can be whole
With your guidance, I can reach my goal

So please, God, just give me a chance
To show that I can rise and dance
To show that I can mend my ways
And live out my remaining days

I know I messed up along the way
But God, just give me a chance to say
I am ready to face my fears
And dry up all these tears

I know I am a f up, I’ve been trouble
But I believe I can burst this bubble
With your grace, with your love
I know I can rise above

This is my prayer, my plea
To be the person you want me to be
To walk the path you’ve set for me
To live a life that’s pure and free

So please, God, just hear my cry
And give me a chance to try
To be the best version of me
To live a life that’s full and free

I know I don’t deserve it, I know I’m not perfect
But with your help, I know I can resurrect
My spirit, my soul, my heart
And make a fresh new start

So please, God, just give me a chance
To prove that I can advance
To a place of peace and light
To a future that’s bright

I know I messed up along the way
But God, just give me a chance to pray
To ask for forgiveness, to seek redemption
To find a path to salvation

I know I am a f up, I’ve caused trouble
But I believe I can burst this bubble
With your mercy, with your grace
I know I can find my place

So please, God, just give me a chance
To mend my ways, to make amends
To create a life that’s true
To become the person you always knew

I know I don’t deserve it, I know I’m not worth it
But with your love, I know I can unearth it
The strength, the courage, the will
To break free from this endless drill

So please, God, just give me a chance
To find my purpose, to enhance
My life, my soul, my being
To finally find that feeling

Of peace, of joy, of love
That only comes from above
So please, don’t turn away
Just give me another chance today.

@okelododdychitchats