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

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

When I fall in Love



When I fall in love,
there will be no trumpet,
no choir of angels rehearsing hallelujah,
just the quiet breaking of bread
between two hands that have known hunger.

I will not ask the sun to shine,
it will.
I will not beg the wind to be still
it will not.
But you,
you will laugh like sugar spilling from a jar
and I will remember
how joy can be messy
and still be beautiful.

When I fall in love,
I will not be the half of a whole,
I will be
the whole of a whole
meeting another
who does not need
completing,
only witnessing.

There will be no ticking clock,
no red thread prophecy,
no trembling knees
(unless from laughter).
I will not call it fate.
I will call it choice.
I will choose you.
And choose you again.
Even when your smile falters,
even when your breath
carries thunder.

I will not write sonnets.
I will write grocery lists
with your name at the bottom
underlined twice.
We will argue about soup.
And make up in whispers
like old songs
that only the two of us remember.

When I fall in love,
I will not promise forever.
But I will give you every now
I can carry.
I will plant soft yeses
in the soil of every day.
I will hold space
for your shadow
and your shine.

And when I say goodbye,
(if goodbye must come)
it will be with the ache
of one who has lived
and not regretted
a single soft, unspoken
I love you.

When I fall in love,
it will not be a fairy tale.
It will be
a revolution
of two
sacred, flawed,
magnificent
souls
saying,
yes, still.

And you,
you will not be worshipped.
You will be
seen.
And that, my love,
is holy enough.

@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

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

Pieces of Me

I’m not stubborn about most things. 
I want to change, I really do, but not everything. 
There are pieces of me I just can’t let go of,
Like my accent, which always feels like home.
Or my style, which speaks for me without a word.
And my team, Manchester Red, through the wins, the losses, and the heartbreaks. I stick!
Those are pieces of me I’ll never trade. 

But some things? I’ll leave behind. 
I’ll swap the bars for church,
Trade the noise for peace, 
Let my spirit find rest in quieter places. 
I’ll keep my screen time, I’m not ready to fight that battle,
But I’ll change what I’m watching. 
No more wanking to strangers’ explicit tapes.
No more moments that leave me feeling emptier than before. 
Instead, I’ll open a Bible. 
Not promising to be holy, 
But I’ll seek meaning in verses rather than fleeting thrills. 

And that muscle, that restless, familiar muscle?
It’s time I show it some respect.
But you better behave too.

 I sit, thinking about what stays and what goes. 
The pieces of me that make me who I am,
my voice, my name, my roots,
those will always be mine. 
But I’m ready to grow. 
Not all at once, but slowly,
Like a tide reshaping the shoreline,
like a man learning to carry himself differently. 

I’m not stubborn,   
I’m just figuring it out. 
Step by step, choice by choice,
trying to become someone better
without losing the parts of me that matter most.

….. And to you all , this isn’t a series of “we listen but we don’t judge.”

@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

I am Tired

I am tired

That type of tired that you aren’t convinced of anything
Anything like love or just the normal satisfaction
I know fairness is just but a human concept, not a universal law
I know life is inherently chaotic, and demanding order in chaos is futile
But again, what about me?

Let it be unfair to someone else
Let them carry the weight of the world on their shoulders
While I struggle to even lift my own
It’s exhausting, this constant battle within myself
Trying to find meaning in a world that seems bent on stripping it away

I am tired

Tired of pretending that I have it all together
When inside, I am crumbling like a fragile house of cards
Tired of putting on a brave face when all I want to do is cry
Tired of chasing after something that always seems just out of reach

I am tired

Tired of the empty promises of tomorrow
Tired of the endless cycle of work, sleep, repeat
Tired of feeling like I’m never doing enough
Tired of feeling like I’m never going to be enough

I am tired

Tired of the constant noise and chaos that surrounds me
Tired of the endless stream of bad news and tragedy
Tired of the never-ending demands placed upon me
Tired of feeling like I’m drowning in a sea of expectations

I am tired

Tired of feeling like I can never catch a break
Tired of the weight of the world pressing down on me
Tired of feeling like I’m the only one struggling
Tired of feeling like no one truly understands

I am tired

Tired of trying to keep up with a world that never stops moving
Tired of feeling like I can never measure up
Tired of feeling like I’m always falling short
Tired of feeling like I’m always on the brink of collapse

I am tired

Tired of the endless battle raging within me
Tired of feeling like I’m fighting a losing war
Tired of feeling like I’m never going to find peace
Tired of feeling like I’m never going to find my place in this world

I am tired

Tired of the constant struggle to hold it all together
Tired of the relentless pressure to be something I’m not
Tired of feeling like I’m always one step behind
Tired of feeling like I’m always running on empty

I am tired

Tired of feeling like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders
Tired of feeling like I’m carrying the weight of my own expectations
Tired of feeling like I’m carrying the weight of my own doubts and fears
Tired of feeling like I’m carrying the weight of my own insecurities

I am tired

Tired of feeling like I’m alone in this endless battle
Tired of feeling like I’m the only one struggling to keep it together
Tired of feeling like I’m the only one who can’t seem to find their way
Tired of feeling like I’m the only one who feels this way

I am tired

Tired of feeling like I’m always on the edge of breaking
Tired of feeling like I’m always on the brink of falling apart
Tired of feeling like I’m always on the verge of losing myself
Tired of feeling like I’m always on the edge of giving up

I am tired

Tired of feeling like I’m never going to find my way out of this darkness
Tired of feeling like I’m never going to find my way back to the light
Tired of feeling like I’m never going to find my way back to myself
Tired of feeling like I’m never going to find my way back to peace

I am tired

But despite it all, I will keep on fighting
I will keep on pushing forward
I will keep on searching for that elusive peace
I will keep on believing that one day, I will find it

I may be tired, but I am not defeated
I may be tired, but I am not broken
I may be tired, but I am not lost
I may be tired, but I am still here

And as long as there is even the smallest glimmer of hope
I will keep on going
I will keep on fighting
I will keep on believing

For I am tired, but I am not done.

@okelododdychitchats

I can See It

The tunnel feels never-ending
A vast expanse of darkness
Thick and suffocating
But I keep pushing forward
Searching for that distant light
That flicker of hope in the distance

My feet are weary
My heart heavy with doubt
But I press on
For I know that the light
Is my salvation
My guiding star in the abyss

I stumble over rocks
And trip on my own fears
But I pick myself up
Dust off my doubts
And keep moving forward
Towards that glimmer of hope

The wind howls around me
Whipping through my hair
Stinging my cheeks with cold
But I am undeterred
For I know that the light
Is worth every hardship

I close my eyes
And imagine the warmth
Of the sun on my face
The gentle caress of a breeze
And I am filled with renewed determination
To reach the end of this tunnel

I remember the words
Of those who have gone before me
Those who have faced their own darkness
And emerged into the light
Their stories give me strength
And remind me that I am not alone

I cling to their words
Like a lifeline in the storm
And I push through the pain
The doubt, the fear
With every step, I feel closer
To the light at the end of the tunnel

I feel it calling to me
Beckoning me forward
Promising me peace
And I know that I must keep going
No matter how hard it gets
No matter how long it takes

For I will not be defeated
By the darkness that surrounds me
I will emerge victorious
Into the glorious light
At the end of this tunnel
And I will be forever changed

So I press on
With newfound resolve
With a fire in my soul
And a song in my heart
For I know that the light
Is waiting for me
At the end of the tunnel.

@okelododdychitchats