I met her on an afternoon
when the sun burned low,
spilling gold across the earth
as though the day itself leaned close
to let slip its quiet confessions.
She was slim-thick,
a flame held steady in the wind,
with a presence that filled the space
more surely than height or breadth could command.
Her skin bore the quiet radiance
of fertile Kenyan earth after rain,
luminous, alive with the memory of rivers.
Her beauty was the beauty that stays,
like a song remembered long
after the singer has gone.
Her eyes were wide, dark pools,
holding the innocence of unspoken dreams,
and the fierce pride of the hills,
green and ancient,
keepers of stories older than memory.
When she looked, it was not merely at you,
it was into you,
as though the soul were something
she had always known,
and only sought to confirm.
Her laughter was small, quick,
yet it carried,
like the delicate chiming of cowbells
drifting from a far valley.
Her movements, precise, almost shy,
the way a swallow folds its wings before flight,
yet within them was a grace
no stage could rehearse.
She was not made of ornaments or excess
but of silences,
of natural songs,
of that soft balance between fragility
and unyielding strength.
To call her beautiful
would be to simplify what was infinitely complex.
She was the outline of twilight
against the ridge,
the fragrance of tea leaves
crushed between fingers,
the silence of evening rain on tin roofs.
She was the Mountain itself,
its promise, its mystery,
its unbroken spirit made flesh.
And in her presence,
I felt the world pause,
as though even time leaned in
to watch her pass.
@doddyokelo
Tag: rain
IF YOU LOVE ME, HOLD ME
Hold me,
not just my hand,
but all of me.
Wrap your arms around my body
like you know what it’s been through.
Like you’ve heard the storms it carries
and still want to dance in the rain with me.
Take my hand,
don’t ask where we’re going.
Let’s run,
not to escape,
but to feel free
for the first time in a long time.
Hold my heart,
gently,
like it’s the last soft thing in a hard world.
Place it close to yours,
let them beat together
in a rhythm only we understand.
Touch my waist like it’s sacred.
Pull me into your chest
like you’re pulling me into forever.
And when you kiss me,
don’t make it rushed.
Kiss me like you’re trying to teach time
how to slow down.
If one tear falls—just one,
don’t panic.
Wipe it.
Don’t ask if I’m okay,
just look at me like you see everything
and say,
“It’s going to be alright.”
And mean it.
When I say I’m cold,
don’t go looking for a sweater.
Be the warmth.
Be the safe place I curl into
when the night gets too loud.
And when I say “I love you,”
don’t whisper it back.
Say it like a vow.
Say it like your soul recognizes mine.
Say it like you’re not going anywhere.
Because real love
isn’t made of grand gestures.
It’s in how you stay,
how you see me,
how you reach for me in silence.
So if you love me,
hold me,
not just in your arms,
but in your everyday.
@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
Holy Hypocrisy
Why did I stop going to church? One of the funniest reasons I’ve heard is, “My pastor was crippled and healing cripples. Like, why not heal yourself?” It’s a dark statement, but I get where they’re coming from. Let’s be honest, are these people God’s messengers or money makers in Poverty Pulpits ?
I believe in God, but I have a million questions. My friend and colleague, Evans Asudi challenges me every time we have a discussion about religion and the existence of God, he argues that the design of the universe, nature, and everything in it must have an origin. My question is, is that origin the God of the Christian Bible, Allah of the Muslim Quran, or the supernatural forces in Buddhist texts like the Tripitaka? I’m not saying these religions worship entirely different gods. They argue as if they do, but interestingly, they all seem to agree on the same devil. Crazy, right? Anyway, I believe in God and identify as Christian, but I rarely go to church. I have my reasons !
As a kid, I always questioned my existence, and while that hasn’t changed, I now find myself questioning the origins of religion. Who created it, and what was it really meant to achieve? History shows how religion has been used to create divisions, often for political gain, and it still happens today. Different religions hold varying beliefs, and even within Christianity, denominations clash. Paul even addressed this in Corinthians, questioning why Christians were divided when they were all baptized in Christ’s name. These divisions are often exploited for political purposes, given the strong influence religion has on society and politics.
I was raised in a strict Christian background where questioning the church or its leaders was off-limits. It was considered disrespectful and even thought to bring curses. Looking back, I laugh at how much I used to fear that. But, even as a kid, I could see pastors giving in to “earthly” temptations, sins they were never held accountable for. They seemed untouchable, immune to any form of criticism. Over time, this made me start questioning things more deeply, and now it’s part of why I find it difficult to step inside just any church today.
To make sense of where we are, let’s start with the history of Christianity. It began in the 1st century after Jesus’ death as a Judaic sect with some Hellenistic influences. The Catholic Church claims to be the original, with the first church said to be in Jerusalem. Over time, Christianity branched into several groups like the Church of the East, Oriental Orthodoxy, Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, Protestantism, and Restorationism.
In its early days, the traditional churches built schools, hospitals, and provided services that genuinely benefited the community. They did this without exploiting their congregants. But as time went on, evangelical churches started popping up what one of my great of all time writer, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie calls “mushroom churches” in her book “Purple Hibiscus”. I’m not generalizing all evangelical churches, but many sprouted after the colonial period, often without any regulation, and some have become quite problematic.
These churches often target vulnerable people, especially our mothers. With this, sometimes, I tend to believe that the colonialists had a plan, schools for the children, prisons for the fathers, and churches for the mothers. Anyway, that’s just a detour, let’s get back on track…A lot of these churches manipulate their followers, brainwashing them into accepting whatever the pastor says without question while reasoning that questioning will lead to the unthinkable,absurd! When pastors claim that questioning them will lead to whatever, it’s really just a way to manipulate their followers. You don’t fail or fall by speaking up or seeking answers for God’s sake !
Times without number, I’ve also heard pastors glorify poverty, insisting that wealth distances you from God, they say that having money makes you less inclined to pray. These same pastors live in luxury, strikingly paradoxical ! Some even discourage their followers from seeking medical help, claiming that doing so demonstrates a lack of faith in God, despite the Bible stating, “faith without action is dead.” Are they referring to something who’s content they do not understand or did it change overnight ?
It’s ironic how these extreme churches often have the largest followings. And what really frustrates me is the constant fundraising, with no transparency on where the money goes. I’m tired of seeing congregants grow poorer while pastors grow wealthier. Churches should be shaping and speaking up for the community, but many stay silent when it doesn’t affect them…I am just sick and tired of this top tier deception, emotional control, psychological tactics, coercion, gas lighting, name it all! let me take a break! One day, we’ll go deeper into this, especially on how pastors are now called “Daddy” and their wives “Mummy.”
@okelododdychitchats
Just Look at her !
Look at how good-looking she is
A vision of beauty, a sight to behold
Her melanin is well spread in her skin
A rich, deep tone that shines like gold
Her nails are perfectly straight
A subtle detail that adds to her charm
She takes care of herself, that much is clear
Every part of her exudes grace and calm
Her skin shines like a beacon of light
Radiant and smooth, like silk it gleams
A labor of love, a gift from above
She treats it like a treasure, in her dreams
Her choice of lipstick is flawless
A shade that complements her every smile
Kissable and inviting, it draws you in
A temptation that’s impossible to defile
Her figure is a work of art
Curves that flow like a gentle stream
Aesthetically pleasing, perfectly crafted
By a maker who knew just the right scheme
She is my crush, my sulwe
I can’t help but long for her
I want her to be mine, to hold her close
To cherish her beauty, to never erase
I don’t want this to end in heartbreak
I want our love to blossom and grow
To see her smile, to make her happy
To cherish her always, to let our love flow
For who would want to waste such beauty
On pain and sorrow, on tears and strife
I want her by my side, forevermore
To walk together in this beautiful life
So look at how good-looking she is
And see the love that shines in her eyes
I am captivated, I am enchanted
By this girl who has captured my skies
I want her to be mine peacefully forever
To hold her hand, to never let go
To be her rock, her safe haven
To love her endlessly, that much I know
For she is my type of girl
The one who makes my heart sing
The one who completes me, who makes me whole
My love for her will forever cling
So let’s cherish this beauty, this love divine
And let’s make a promise to never let go
For she is the one I’ve been searching for
The one who makes my heart aglow.
Just look at her !
@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
Preach to me Grace
Preach to me grace,
Let my soul be restored
Let me recover from my mistakes
For the Bible tells tales of redemption
From Matthew to Revelation, the message is clear
That even in our darkest moments, we can find light
But why do you, man of God, cast me aside
When I stumble and fall?
Why do you proclaim that I am doomed
When the Scriptures teach that I can rise again?
Why do you disown me, turn your back on me
Instead of offering a helping hand?
Why do you choose mockery over compassion?
Let me rise again, for I have the fire within me
The desire to better myself, to be whole once more
I may have faltered, but I am not beyond redemption
I am still worthy of love and forgiveness
I refuse to be defined by my mistakes
I refuse to let shame and guilt consume me
Preach to me grace,
Let your words be a balm to my wounded soul
Guide me on the path of righteousness
Show me the way to redemption and healing
For I long to be free from the chains of my past
Do not forsake me, do not judge me
For I am only human, prone to mistakes
But I am also capable of great love and kindness
I have the strength to rise above my shortcomings
I have the courage to take on my flaws
And the determination to seek forgiveness
Preach to me grace,
Let your words be a beacon of hope
Illuminate the darkness that threatens to engulf me
Lead me to a place of peace and serenity
Where I can find solace in the cover of God’s mercy
Do not condemn me, do not push me away
For I am a child of God, worthy of love and compassion
I may have stumbled, I may have fallen
But I refuse to stay down, I refuse to be defeated
I will rise again, I will find my way back to grace
Preach to me grace,
Let your teachings be a source of strength
Empower me to overcome my weaknesses
Inspire me to be the best version of myself
For I believe in the power of redemption
In the miracle of forgiveness
Do not turn your back on me, do not abandon me
For I am in need of your guidance and support
I may have strayed from the path of righteousness
But I am ready to turn back, to seek forgiveness
I am ready to be restored, to be healed and whole once more
Preach to me grace,
Let your words be a lifeline in my darkest hour
Let your message of love and forgiveness resonate in my heart
For I long to be free from the burden of my mistakes
To find peace and redemption in the arms of God’s grace
Do not reject me, do not push me away
For I am in need of your love and compassion
I am in need of your wisdom and guidance
I long to be restored, to be redeemed
For I am a child of God, capable of great things
Preach to me grace,
Let your words be a soothing balm to my wounded soul
Guide me on the path of righteousness
Show me the way to forgiveness and healing
For I long to be free from the chains of my past
Do not judge me, do not condemn me
For I am only human, prone to mistakes
But I am also capable of great love and kindness
I have the strength to rise above my shortcomings
I have the courage to seek redemption
Preach to me grace,
For I am ready to be restored
Ready to be forgiven
Ready to rise again and reclaim my place in the light.
@okelododdychitchats
Why
Why does misunderstanding want to steal my love for you
But why does myopicness cloud my vision of our future
Why does laziness rob me of the riches I wish to share with you
And why does ego deceive me into thinking listening is a weakness
Why does society label submission as toxic masculinity
Yet everything appears hazy, not from desire, but from perception
Why does social media pressure me to doubt our worth
Why does society foster division between our tribes
When our chemistry is as seamless as water mixing with wine
Why do these barriers threaten to break us apart
Misunderstanding lurks in the shadows, waiting to strike
Myopic eyes fail to see the beauty in our shared destiny
Laziness creeps in, stealing the potential of our union
Ego whispers lies, poisoning my willingness to listen
Society’s expectations weigh heavy, clouding my judgment
Yet deep down, I know our love is pure and true
Social media may try to plant seeds of doubt
But I know our worth, our bond unbreakable
Society’s labels cannot define the love we share
Our tribes may be different, but our hearts beat as one
So I will fight against the forces that seek to tear us apart
I will silence the doubts and fears that threaten our love
For in the end, it is only you that I see
And nothing will ever come between you and 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