Give Me Time

Give me time,
hold the reins soft in your hands.
I’m moulding a future from raw clay,
shaping it with my own hands,
climbing a hill I never stop sliding from.

Be patient with me.
I am giving the last of my breath to build more breath,
praying into the night with worn hope,
waiting for heaven to write back.

God will answer,
I feel it burning somewhere just beyond reach.
But pressure?
Pressure will crush the promise before it flowers.
It will sour the love we planted,
bruise it until it tastes like curse instead of blessing.

Don’t turn your eyes toward the neon world,
the staged lives and filtered fantasies.
You know we feast from little,
yet I still stretch it into something sweeter
so you can glimpse the life I swear I’m carving for us.

But if you make my ribs your stepping stones,
if you demand the world today,
I might not survive to see tomorrow.

I don’t want to die young.
I need silence, space, and peace,
not to escape you,
but to return with enough abundance
to lift us both
into the life that waits.

So hold me gently,
walk beside me,
and one day,
we’ll rise together.

@doddyokelo

Rivers of My Own Making

There is no universe in which I am sitting down to read how someone built a whole cereal shop from a single grain of rice. Never. I respect the effort it took to type all that optimism, but no. Your road doesn’t bend like mine, and I refuse to be shamed into feeling inadequate simply because my idea of joy moves to a different sun. If you want to pray, pray. I pray too, my brother. We are all sinners anyway. The only difference is how we manage our sins. Mine are personal. I enjoy them quietly and carry the consequences alone. Yours arrive with collateral damage, cloaked in lies, dipped in theft, and sanctified from the pulpit. A pastor from hell, if we’re being honest. Cut me some slack, man.

2025 has been incredible. Financially, the fireworks stayed away, but the lessons arrived on time. Lessons that stay. I learned how to take care of myself by leaning into what I love. I learned that some opinions bloom like flowers but are made of dust, pretty to see, hollow to hold. I learned the strength that lives in subtle sighs, the subtle mastery in watching without interference, the rare discipline of letting words fall around me without reaching for a reply. And perhaps the hardest lesson of all. When the lights dim, the applause fades, and the crowd vanishes into the night, only your own shadow remains. That truth seeps in like a silent river, carrying its weight with quiet insistence, tracing the contours of the soul, unseen yet unstoppable, leaving freedom in its wake.

I carry no resolutions scribbled on paper for 2026. Free of banners of ambition and untouched by public drumbeats, I carry instead intentions. I plan to be better. To build myself financially. To chase what I want without hesitation or apology. And yes, I plan to cut people off, gently but firmly, when their presence drains more than it gains. Whether I leave or stay, your life will continue uninterrupted. I’ve made peace with that long ago. I plan to do more business, take bolder risks, and travel wider, seeing places for their stories, feeling the streets beneath my feet, tasting lives outside my own. Unfettered by heralded plans, letting the quiet flowering of my journey reveal its own story.

Still, gratitude stays. Deeply. For the hands that steadied me when my footing slipped. For those who pulled me out of trenches without demanding explanations. For those who trusted my strength enough to place opportunity in my hands. For that, a special medal goes to Sheila Chepkirui Yegon. Some people are mere passing notes in your life, others are chords that resonate. Sheila is a river of melodies, a living network that carries you forward, flowing steady, connecting what was, what is, and what could be. May God widen her path and multiply her grace.

And always, my brother Stephen Ochieng (Soo Ochieng), take your flowers, bana. Always. We remain stubborn believers in the impossible, still dreaming with the audacity of people who refuse to shrink their visions too early.

This isn’t a storm, it’s alignment,
It’s growth,
It’s choosing your lane, and driving without explaining the route.

Solo Drive

I’ve marked no map with ink or public pride,
To show the woods where I intend to go.
The things I seek have nowhere left to hide,
And what I reap is what I choose to sow.
I take the path where fewer shadows bide,
And leave the crowds to talk of what they know.
The fence I mend is built of quiet stone,
To keep the peace and part the draining guest.
A man can walk a standard mile alone,
And find in silence all he needs of rest.
For every seed of will that I have grown,
I ask no leave to put it to the test.
So let the wheels engage their rhythmic song,
Across the hills and through the turning lane.
I owe no word to prove where I belong,
Or why I chose the sun above the rain.
The drive is short, the inner light is strong,
I go my way, and need not explain.

@doddyokelo

The Unsent Text

The number sits there, plain as unstacked wood,
A short row noted in the mind’s own slate.
The path to use it has been long understood,
And all the tools are ready on the gate.
No mountain to be crossed, no debt to pay,
It’s only patience that I choose to spend.
I’ve kept the thought inside me for a day,
A waiting letter that I will not send.

I tell myself the courage yet remains,
That it is wiser to be quiet just now.
The simple act is subject to the soft rains,
The slow bend of the unpicked apple bough.
It is not cowardice that makes a man delay,
But seeing clear the cost of the last turn,
A field can wait for plowing one more day,
But once you light the fire, it must burn.

The true work is not the reaching out with haste,
But in the long regard I give the wire.
A man must know what he intends to taste,
Before he builds a larger, hotter fire.
I know that once the single stone is thrown,
The ripples travel outward from that date,
And must be met, once they are fully grown,
At the slow-built fence where I’ve chosen to wait.

@doddyokelo

AND YET, WE VOTE

WHO PROTECTS THE PEOPLE FROM THE POLICE ?

You may write us off,
dismiss us ,
ignore us in Parliament halls padded with stolen wealth,
but still, we see

We are the country beneath your motorcades,
the hands that build and break,
the voices cracking in the dust
because hope costs too much now.

And yet,
we vote.

We vote for thieves in clean suits

We vote for wolves draped in our flags,

Enough.

We are tired.
Tired of job descriptions reading “Must be connected.”
Tired of degrees gathering dust
while our dreams starve in silence.

We are tired of joblessness turned into weaponry,
young men hired cheap to kill our own voices,
paid to break bones they’ve never healed in their own lives.

Tired of watching peaceful protesters
shot dead,
while those who loot in daylight
are guarded like royalty.

Tired of asking:
“Who protects the people from the police?”

Tired of staged outrage,
press conferences filled with air,
and politicians who only remember their roots
when it’s time to lie again.

You fight for positions, not for people.
You dine with the devil,
then kneel in churches too small for your sins.

You debate your egos on live TV
as our people dig trenches
not for roads,
but for graves.

You die to be seen.
But we die because we’re ignored.

Kenya is choking.
On debt.
On lies.
On the stink of promises unkept.

We are not asking.
We are telling.

This time, we vote with memory.
With pain.
With names.
With tears that learned how to speak.

This time,
you will not scare us with teargas.
You will not buy us with t-shirts.
You will not distract us with empty tribal drums.

We will remember who was silent when we bled.
We will remember who smiled while we starved.
We will remember who disappeared our brothers
and called us TREASONOUS CRIMINALS.

We are not the children you once fooled.
We have grown teeth.
We have grown rage.
And we are coming.

So let the ballot tremble.
Let your seats shake.
Let the ground beneath your stolen homes shift.

Because next time,
we are not just voting.

We are reclaiming.

And if you still don’t listen,
then hear this:

We are not afraid.
We are not asleep.
We are not yours.
Not anymore.

@Okelododdychitchats

#RUTOMUSTGO #ENDPOLICEBRUTALITY #RAGEANDCOURAGE
#JUSTICEFORELIJOSHUA

Tukutendereza Yesu

State House Road smells fresh, like the air has been scrubbed clean. The rain came down hard, soaking everything in sight, and now I’m walking past YMCA Central, taking it all in. Two holes sit dangerously by the roadside, barely covered with small tree branches – useless at stopping anything from falling in.

It’s still drizzling, but the world feels different. The water in the trenches flows peacefully, no trash clogging it up. The road is strangely clean, almost surreal, but the traffic toward University Way is as crazy as ever. Amid the noise, I can hear people singing. The voices are gentle, calming, carrying the unmistakable melody of an SDA hymn. “Blessed Assurance, Jesus is Mine” floats around me, a song I know will stay in my head long after it fades-just like “Tukutendereza Yesu” always does.

The drizzle is cool against my skin, I can feel gentle drops of water kissing it. It’s almost refreshing, but I’m freezing. I thought I was smart leaving my jacket at home, it would have ruined my look, but now I’m regretting it. Style is one thing, warmth is another. Today, “freeze and shine” is a reality. Style will kill me !

When I get to the bus stop, what we call Stage here in Kenya, I’m lucky enough to find a matatu right away. I climb in and grab a seat at the back, but there’s a random remote sitting there. For a second, I wonder if that’s why the seat was empty. Maybe it belongs to the woman next to me? Turns out, it’s the matatu’s remote. I pick it up, planning to hand it to the makanga when he comes for the fare.

Finally, I’m warm again, but I’m so tired. My mind feels heavy, and I just want to get home. Looking out the window, I remember it’s Christmas season. But, something feels off. The streets are still crowded, kwani watu hawajaenda ushago hii Christmas! The shops aren’t decorated like they usually are for Christmas, nothing like the usual festive look we’re used to – no green, no gold, no red. The waiters, shop and supermarket attendants aren’t wearing those red and white Santa hats. Has Christmas lost its magic, or is it just me?

We reach my stage (yes, that’s the bus stop again), and I step out. The drizzle hasn’t let up, and it’s still cold. I pull my scarf tighter and rush home, I just want to escape this cold.

That’s all for now. Stay warm out there!

Wait a minute, “makanga” is tout. As I warm up at home, I’m going to play “Tukutendereza Yesu!” It always reminds me of my dad, and I love it just as much as I love my dad.

Adios !

@okelododdychitchats

Golden Hue

My skin drips cocoa butter,
rich and unparalleled,
like the earth holding stories of rain and sun,
like a promise whispered by the night.
It’s dark and beautiful,
mysterious as a velvet sky laced with stars,
It tells a story of history.

It doesn’t glare or dull,
it balances like a seashell
cupped by moonlight,
a perfection gleaming in the sun,
catching light like a secret revealed.
This is my skin,
a story of generations,
a mark of resilience passed down with pride.

Its scent is Yara cologne,
layered and lingering,
a melody made tangible,
a fragrance infused with culture,
with memory, with home.
Every breath of it recalls
the places, the hands, the voices
that shaped me.

Above it rests a crown,
soft coils and curls that stretch toward the sky.
Hair that defies gravity yet welcomes touch,
a crown sculpted by no one but me,
alive in its strength, its freedom,
a hymn of self-love in every strand.

This essence of me,
is seen and felt
it’s carried,
it’s lived.
Every inch speaks
in a language only I can translate,
a declaration of identity,
a love letter to the self.

So let my skin drip cocoa butter,
let it shine unapologetically.
Let it sing of power and joy,
of beauty that doesn’t ask for permission.
This darkness isn’t a void, it’s fullness,
it’s richness, it’s light wrapped in shadow.

Let it carry the rhythm of culture,
the heartbeat of diversity.
In its depth is strength,
in its texture, truth.
It doesn’t hide,
it never will.
My skin drips cocoa butter,
and in it lies the whole world.

@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

Black is Beautiful

I am a black kid, they say, a child of the night
With skin as dark as the ebony sky
But is black truly beautiful, or just a lie?
A lie told to comfort those who fear the unknown
I am rich in melanin, they say, but is it a gift or a curse?
My rough, hairy skin a canvas of deep brown hues

They say black ain’t good enough, sio rangi ya thao
That beauty lies in lighter tones, like vanilla or cream
But what about the beauty in diversity?
In the rich shade of colors that make up humanity
Should I be bold with my blackness, embrace it with pride?
Or hide in shame, letting their words pierce my fragile heart

I try to see beauty in my reflection, but all I see is darkness
Ugly thoughts creeping into my mind, telling me I’m less than
Forget my big ears, they say, it’s all about my skin
My skin that marks me as different, as other
They call me a monkey, comparing my hair to fur
As if my blackness makes me less than human

I walk the streets with my head held low
Feeling the weight of their stares, their judgment
They see a criminal in me, not a child
A child with dreams and hopes, just like any other
Do I not belong to this world, to this society?
Or am I destined to always be an outsider

But I refuse to let their words define me
I am more than just a shade of black
I am a child of the night, yes, but also a child of the sun
I am rich in melanin, my skin a testament to my roots
I am beautiful in my own right, in my own way
And I will walk with confidence, no matter what they say

So let them call me black, let them call me ugly
I will wear my darkness like a crown
For I am a black kid, proud and unapologetic
A reminder that beauty comes in all shades
And that true beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
I am a black kid, and I am beautiful.

@okelododdychitchats

Value Hub Kenya

We find ourselves at Mint and Salt, a charmingly decorated yet cozy restaurant tucked away behind Kenya Cinema. The youthful ambiance suggests that they serve up some delicious eats. The music sets a lively tone, though a tad loud for conversation, prompting us to opt for outdoor seating. Outside, the scene is bustling yet relaxed, with hawkers, shoppers, and passersby going about their business.

I order a crisp, cold white cup while Mutuma opts for a mocktail, chilled to perfection. My acquaintance with Mutuma dates back to our days at Multimedia University of Kenya, where we shared mutual friends in the Bachelor of Commerce program. You know how university students always stick together, whether it’s heading to the cafeteria or back to the hostel after class? Well, that was the Bachelor of Commerce Class of 2020 for you. In those communal journeys to Chafua, the Multimedia University equivalent of a cafeteria, I got to know Mutuma and some of his classmates.

However, it wasn’t until a stroke of luck led me to a fantastic deal on a screen protector and phone cover that I truly connected with Mutuma. At a time when a screen protector alone cost as much as Ksh. 300 and a phone cover went for Ksh. 500 if you didn’t have the right connections, stumbling upon someone offering both for Ksh. 300 seemed too good to be true. Intrigued, I dialed the number on those modestly designed posters, and to my surprise, it was Peter Mutuma on the other end.

Our business transaction proved fruitful, as Mutuma delivered top-notch quality in both the screen protector and phone cover. From that moment on, I knew I had found “a guy.” Our bond grew stronger over time, cementing a friendship that began with a simple transaction but evolved into something much more meaningful. And that’s how I came to know Mutuma.

His phone has been ringing constantly since we met, a testament to either his busy schedule, the thriving nature of his business, or the high level of customer satisfaction. I’m not quite sure which it is. This time, it’s a call from Martha, ordering camping chairs in anticipation of the KCB Sponsored WRC 2024 rally. Mutuma efficiently takes her order and dispatches his delivery guy to drop off three sets of chairs at Martha’s chosen pickup location in Nairobi West.

With the business momentarily settled, I seize the opportunity to inquire about Mutuma’s entrepreneurial journey. He now owns a shop located at Kenya Cinema, 4th Floor, Shop B5, Moi Avenue. Taking a sip of his mocktail, he pauses before recounting the story of how it all began.

In 2017, his parents gave him Ksh. 13,000 to buy a phone. Eager to make the most of this opportunity, he ventured to town one Saturday and purchased a Sony Ericsson for Ksh. 10,000 from a seller in Luthuli. Pleased with his purchase, he returned to the green monkey and warthog-infested grounds of Multimedia University, thinking he had not only acquired a good phone but also saved Ksh. 3,000.

However, upon showing off the phone to his friend Karanja, who had a knack for distinguishing between genuine and counterfeit phones, he discovered that he had been sold a fake. Karanja advised him to return the phone, but when Mutuma went back to the shop, he found that the seller was nowhere to be found. Disappointed but determined, he realized he needed a new plan to get a phone. With only Ksh. 3,000 remaining, he decided to sell items that everyone in school could afford: phone covers and screen protectors. These accessories were in high demand among smartphone owners looking to protect their devices and add a touch of style.

His first customer was his then-girlfriend, who willingly paid double the price for the goods, impressed by his initiative. Word spread quickly, and soon, he was making more sales than he had ever imagined. With the help of Karanja, he created posters and strategically placed them around the school, further boosting his sales.

As demand grew, so did Mutuma’s ambition. He began thinking of ways to expand his business, even venturing into selling phones after ensuring they were legitimate and fit for sale. By 2020, his business was flourishing. However, like many others, he faced a setback when the nation was hit by the Covid-19 pandemic.

He pauses to take a puff from his apple-flavored vape before expressing his concern about the impact of Covid-19 on his business. Like a soldier strategizing on the battlefield, he knew he had to regroup and adapt. At that time, his business was called “DnD Tech Africa,” initially standing for “deals and deliveries,” although many mistook it for “Do not Disturb.” Sensing the need for a more relatable name, he rebranded it as “Value Hub Kenya,” reflecting the quality and variety of tech products available at his one-stop shop.

He turned to platforms like Jiji, initially paying a monthly fee of Ksh. 3,000 to showcase his products. However, due to increased demand and the effectiveness of the platform, he now pays Ksh. 16,000 monthly. Additionally, he rented a shelf in town to give his business a physical presence and enhance its legitimacy. This move proved to be a turning point, as he diversified his offerings, ranging from cutting-edge tech gadgets to unique items that seemed ahead of their time.

When asked about taxes and the economy, Mutuma emphasized the importance of understanding buyer behavior. He believes that customers prioritize quality over price and value sellers who are knowledgeable about their products. Despite high taxes and economic challenges, he remains optimistic, noting that people’s addiction to technology ensures a steady demand for his products.

Mutuma’s commitment to quality and compliance is evident in his business philosophy: “Mpeni Kaisari mali ya kaisari” (“Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s”). Customers swear by the value they receive from Value Hub Kenya, often referring others to the shop. Mutuma, a true entrepreneur, has never been employed by someone else. While he doesn’t close the door on traditional employment opportunities, he finds fulfillment and achieves financial success through his entrepreneurial ventures.

As Lil Mama by Sauti Sol fills the air, we transition to discussing Mutuma’s other endeavors, including interior design, e-commerce systems, and digital marketing. His diverse skill set and entrepreneurial spirit make him a jack of all trades in the business world.

Check Value Hub Kenyas’s Website https://valuehubkenya.co.ke/ .

@okelododdychitchats.