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

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

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

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

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

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

Bikram Yoga

I won’t name this story after the person it’s about, Laura Kabaara, just as the Joluo people name their children according to the season and time of their birth. I admit I’m not great at coming up with titles, but trust me, this will be different from the rest. I promise to do my best, my people.

We’re finally here. I’ve been pursuing Laura for two weeks, eager to get to know her and perhaps use my pen to brush the dust off my notebook and write about her. We’re seated in the office lounge, a tastefully decorated space behind the Little App Board room. The view is stunning; we can see the neatly parked cars, the scene resembling a beautifully crafted artwork.

Laura is the cheerful one, always radiating happiness. She has the knack for turning your mood from gloomy to jubilant in an instant; she’s simply good at it. She’s exceptionally intelligent and incredibly stylish. She effortlessly elevates braids to a level of elegance that surpasses even human hair. And before I forget, please don’t judge me; I’m just appreciating one of God’s creations, and I won’t dwell on it to avoid raising suspicion, even if there isn’t any. She possesses captivating eyes, accentuated by her natural eyelashes, and a slender face that’s simply flawless. I know my girlfriend might be furious when she reads this, but “Kufa dereva, kufa abiria” let me say it: Laura is beautiful.

She sips water from her unique water bottle. It’s not just any water bottle; it exudes class. Everything about Laura is exceptional. Her lip gloss looks expensive, her hand lotion is a rare find, and unlike most Kenyan girls, she’s unfamiliar with the “Wajesus Family,” Milly Wa Chebby, and the famous Terrence Creative. I think she’s a cool kid. She’s Luhya, but you wouldn’t know unless she tells you. Her English is not only well-spoken but also fluent. Laura is simply Laura.

There’s a quiet pause between us, where neither of us speaks or stirs. It’s as if we’re both lost in our own thoughts., I break the silence and inquire, “Who is Laura?” I’m curious to hear her describe herself, not in the rehearsed manner of a job interview, but in a more engaging, casual, and honest way. After a brief pause, during which she fidgets with her nails, searching for the right words, she begins to speak.

“I see myself as someone who possesses a keen sense of self-awareness,” she begins. “I would describe myself as lively, self-aware, and confident.” She goes on to explain that her journey towards self-awareness began during a period of meditation, where her spirituality took on new significance. There was a time when she was not religious, when she did not believe in God. However, certain events in her life led her to embrace spirituality in a different form. From 2016 to 2023, she believed in a higher power represented by the universe rather than a specific deity. She believed that the collective energy of humanity contributed to this higher power.

This journey, which I am tempted to inquire further about, led her to profound reflections and a newfound perspective on life. It required deep introspection, ultimately shaping her into the self-aware person she is today.

I mentioned this earlier, Laura is consistently cheerful and lively, spreading joy to those around her. Her happiness and bubbly nature seem to have no particular trigger; they’re simply a part of her, evident even early in the morning. I’m curious about what fuels her mood.

Honestly, Laura doesn’t fully understand what happens. When she returns home, she retreats to her room and her energy changes. She becomes quieter, and she doesn’t actively control this shift; it’s like a switch that flicks on and off. She only knows that she loves life and mostly maintains a positive attitude at work. Oh, I forgot to mention, she’s my colleague in the Corporate Sales Department. I was drawn to her because of her vast knowledge, sense of style, and love for books-things that resonate with me. Interestingly, her energy at work differs from elsewhere. She feels a sense of worthiness and believes her hard work has led her to this point, subconsciously triggering her brain to think positively. Laura’s liveliness is appreciated by everyone in the department; it rejuvenates and lightens the atmosphere. It’s just her vibe, you know?

Let’s talk about her style… At first, I thought she might have OCD because of how meticulous she is with her arrangements, especially at her desk. However, that’s just a passing thought. Laura’s style is truly distinctive and unique. It exudes a strong sense of fashion. Her style is inspired by her belief that art is a form of self-expression.

One notable aspect of her style is her stance against the objectification of her curvy body. She’s adamant that her fashion choices should not invite unwanted attention or reduce her to a mere object of desire. She prefers clothing that is both fashionable and comfortable. She seems to have mastered the art of dressing for her body type. In fact, in 2023, she even won the Best Dressed Employee award at Llittle. She strives to represent the ideal black woman in the corporate world through her clothing and hairstyle, she says…

Sales is undeniably one of the most challenging jobs out there, a form of rocket science in its own right. However, Laura excels at it. She not only performs well but also enjoys the challenge it presents. She finds it intellectually stimulating, pushing her to think creatively. While she may not immediately admit to loving sales, she believes it’s an essential aspect of every business, one that cannot be hated because it underpins every industry.

For Laura, sales keeps her on her toes, and its quantitative nature allows her to measure her contributions concretely. She acknowledges its importance, even if she doesn’t particularly like it. When we discuss sales, we also touch on passion, which she sees as both an art form and a means of self-expression, much like fashion.

She dreams of pursuing something in the fashion industry in the future. However, she worries that she might lose motivation if she doesn’t see instant results, as patience isn’t one of her strongest virtues. I encourage her to pursue her fashion-related aspirations and to trust the process, even if it requires a bit of patience.

When it comes to the desire for a family, Laura speaks from the heart. She longs for companionship and envisions having a family of her own. Despite her concerns about finding love again and occasionally falling into the trap of trying to change herself to fit someone else’s expectations, she remains steadfast in her desire to marry and start a family. Yet, she sometimes worries about becoming the proverbial “aunty wa madoo” to her nieces and nephews based on a few past experiences.

My phone rings, it’s my sister calling, I text her to call after 30 minutes. Meanwhile, we find ourselves grappling with questions of morality as members of Generation Z. Laura and I often discuss the state of our society and our shared belief in the importance of doing what is right, even when it seems that immorality is becoming normalized. Despite our youth, we are firm in our conviction that our actions have consequences, and we strive to act in a way that will make us proud in the future. We understand that the choices we make today will shape the legacy we leave behind, standing as a testament to our values.

Our conversation swiftly transitions from morality to cars. Laura has a soft spot for cars, particularly the Volkswagen Golf GTI. Interestingly, her first boyfriend owned this car and sparked her interest in automobiles. Her dream, however, is to one day own a Mercedes G-Wagon G63. I share her enthusiasm for this vehicle; just thinking about it keeps me up at night.

As the clock ticks toward 5 PM, we all start feeling the pull to head home. In our final moments together, Laura shares that she doesn’t have a single hobby per se; she enjoys a variety of activities, from reading to listening to music, depending on her mood. I nod in agreement, admitting that I, too, don’t have a specific hobby for the same reason—I love trying out different things.

It’s fascinating to learn that Laura and her best friend are planning to venture into activities typically associated with the affluent. They’re considering starting Bikram yoga. I had no clue what that was until she mentioned it! Honestly, I haven’t looked it up yet, but from what she’s described, it seems like one of those things that won’t appeal to everyone, much like rap music or rhumba. What’s Bikram Yoga Anyway ?

@okelododdychitchats