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

When I Die

When I die, my body will lie still,
No longer will it feel the thrill
Of life’s wild ride, of joy and pain,
No longer will it dance in the rain.

The beating of my heart will cease,
No longer will it bring me peace
In moments of excitement and fear,
No longer will it whisper in my ear.

My eyes will close, no longer to see
The wonders of the world around me,
The colors, the beauty, the light,
Gone forever into the night.

My ears will hear no more sweet sound,
No laughter, no music will be found
To soothe my soul, to lift me high,
To make me smile, to make me cry.

My hands will lay at my side,
No longer will they be my guide
In reaching out to touch, to feel,
To hold onto what is real.

My legs will no longer walk,
No longer will they run or talk
In the language of movement, of grace,
No longer will they set the pace.

But when I die, I will not mourn,
For I will be reborn
Into the arms of eternity,
Into the embrace of infinity.

I will become one with the earth,
A part of the never-ending birth
Of life and death, of love and pain,
Of sunshine and of rain.

I will become a memory,
A whisper in the wind that is free
To dance and sing and fly,
To soar into the endless sky.

When I die, do not weep for me,
For I will be forever free
From the chains of mortal life,
From the struggles and the strife.

I will be a spirit pure and bright,
A star shining in the night,
A beacon of hope, a ray of light,
Guiding you through the darkest night.

So when I die, remember me,
Not as I was, but as I will be
In the realms of the unknown,
In the mysteries yet to be shown.

For death is not an end, but a beginning,
A new chapter in the story still spinning
Of life and love and dreams,
Of what is not as it seems.

@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

Ian Gideyi

Sometimes I ask, what are thoughts? This is especially true when they are negative. Someone said something to an audience. The audience thinks, “Why are you so negative in life?” Get some positivity and you are like, “I was not telling you that to give your view. I was just speaking to free myself from these endless thoughts.” Again, what are thoughts for if the best they can do is fill us with fear and trouble our minds tirelessly? Is it for caution, not fear, as we may perceive it? What are thoughts and what are they for?

Ian Gideyi is a nice fellow. He is an air load Master in the Kenya Airforce. He studied aviation and chose to donate his skills to protect the Nation. Is he not a fantastic and patriotic guy? Ian is that person you will always want to be next to. He is funny, bubbly, and talkative. He is wise and careful. He likely learned this in the forces or from experience. I don’t know…. Before I get to his appearance, he is quite disciplined and has an “I don’t care” attitude. That sounds like a paradox to someone who’s cautious. Ian is a lot more interesting and never boring. He wears a clean haircut with a little more hair at the centre of his circular head than on the edges. We used to call this style “pank.” Nowadays they call it a “fade.” He is short and dark. His girlfriend will surely define him as handsome. That is what a girlfriend does, blows their own horn. In the fast place she landed in that box because she thought he looks good. I am proud to walk around the streets holding his hands. Save all the qualities a woman may look for in a man, looks is always a point.

I haven’t known Ian for long. I knew of him before I met him. I often heard of him from my brother, Vin. What I would say is, I want to meet this guy. I finally met him. The last time I saw him was on a Thursday evening. I was at his place at White House Court, Umoja. He was from picking his well-maintained Toyota 110 from the mechanic and I was from work. I returned his weighing machine. We had borrowed it to weigh Vin’s luggage. We did so to ensure they did not pass the weight limit indicated on the air ticket. We wanted to avoid the embarrassment to bring back home the extras from the Airport. The weighing machine at a point helped and we packed well not to go against the stated requirements.

That evening, our conversations covered many things. They were about everything but women. I mean, men always talk about women when they are alone. This time, we talked about Vin’s recent trip to Poland. It led to a discussion on being careful and ready for anything. The conversation reminded me of a day when Ian was talking to Vin on how life can be funny. You leave for work and then you come back when you are no more. Vin’s response was, “why are you negative?” Ian told him he was not negative. He said he was speaking reality with courage. At this moment, when Ian was sharing, I reflected on things that have happened. I thought of my first day at M-Gas. We were crossing the road with a guy we had boarded a matatu with. I saw strife and hard work on his face as he made phone calls. He went first. I don’t want to say he was not careful. Or that he did not look at the road before crossing. Because I did not see where that Government Pick-Up truck came from. It knocked him down and he was lifeless. His family were waiting for him to get back home. Now, they were to go check if it was him in the cold slabs of the government mortuary. I saw a lot of accidents along Mombasa Road and Outering Road. The best I could do is feel sad and empathize with the family. All the victims were hopeful at some point. They were out for various reasons. They hoped to see their families in the evening. They were not negative. It happened. I don’t know if it is fate or if it’s the devil who lurks around sometimes. I don’t know. It happens and may their souls rest in peace.

These thoughts came to me because of what happened on Sunday, 25th, February 2024. My question is why that date of all dates. I don’t mean that some dates are bad and others are not. I mean this was the date Vin was supposed to leave for Poland for a better life (He did travel that night). It was not a coincidence, I think. I still fail to understand what it was. Vin was heading to Ian’s place. Ian lives a stone throw away from where Vin and I lived. Vin was heading there to say goodbye to some people he needed to bid farewell to. These people impacted and still impact his life. He used the same route that he uses to that place…..

Then, on that day, the watchman guarding the nearby garage decides to leave his dogs untied. The dogs, upon seeing an enemy, Vin , decided to prey on them. Vin ran. A lady who was walking next to him decided to be calm, as we are always told to be calm when dogs chase after us. Vin escaped the dog bite(s) but hurt his leg’s palm. The lady received many bites. The watchman or garage owner should be sued for letting harmful dogs roam. The dogs attacked them on a public road, not on private property. They were just walking, not invading. This incident made me think. If Vin was bitten, he would have not traveled and the chance would have gone. It was just God working miraculously and I thank Him daily. I pray for the woman to get healed and get justice. This all brings me to Ian’s caution. He says life can change in a jiffy. I realize it’s not always fear of the unknown. Sometimes it’s caution! So as Ian puts it, “Brace for Impact.”

@okelododdychitchats

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

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