The sound of heaven touching earth

The skies are heavy and dark, 

It begins with a minty chill in the air, 

Then the sun is hidden behind dark nimbus.
I stand in the balcony sucking in the cold breeze. 

It feels good as the chilly wind collided with my warm face. 

Loose and fallen leaves are carried away in the swirling minute hurricane on the ground. 

A distant thunder begins to swirl and the lights flicker, threatening to disappear as they always do during heavy rains. 

One large drop falls on my face, 

It feels good. 

I lift my face towards the clouds as I tighten my grip on the rail. 

Another drop falls on my face. 

Raindrops begin to descend faster and faster. 

Increasing in number and intensity.

I lift my hands up and let the mixture of violent wind and rain drench me. 

The cold felt good. It was heavenly. 

The trees swayed and the ground soaked in the torrents. 

The drips of the rain, the howling wind. 

That’s the sound of heaven touching earth. 

Crimes against humanity ; the rule of soldiersΒ 

I remember the post election in Kenya, 2007. The violence, the blood ,the screams. 

The government was planning to dispatch soldiers on the ground to tame unruly civilians, fighting each other over leaders who were cozy behind four, large ,electrical walls with guard dogs and a legion of security forces, sipping whisky with feet on a stool. 


The use of defence troops to take control and rid off anarchy is the worst thing that could ever happen to a country. 

Oftenly,many of the soldiers are inhumane, their animosity towards victims and assailants is despicable!  

Your savior turns into your executioner. 

Cases of rape and sexual crimes are highly reported in an army rule. Troops may decide to go rogue and fulfill their sexual desires on women and children meant to be rescued. 

Murder. Murder is another tangy name of killing. Thousands are killed in the rule of armies. Men and boys are slaughtered, women, children, the elderly all go down to the grave by sexual abuse ,mistaken identity,execution,land mines, guns, bombs  or torture. 

Double agents.  Serving two masters is quite impossible. One master has to prevail over the other. It is either you are with us or against us, you cannot serve both good and evil. Double agents within troops dispatched to protect the people cause more harm than good. It is because of them the enemy defeats the protector and overwhelms the innocent in a war torn country. 

Looting. To be real, who does not like free goods?  Imagine walking into the most expensive retail store or mall with everything you have ever desired at your feet. There’s no security, there’s no order-the perfect condition to take anything you will and can out of that place. No one cares. Those who are not dead yet are busy surviving and hiding from the murderous anarchists somewhere in the forests or camps. 
Fear. The first rule of war. As long as your enemy fears you, it is easy to exert control over them. If this rule is applied to the civilians,the results are true. Rogue troops instill fear through torture, executions and every form of abuse imaginable against human rights in order to control minds and subdue will power. 

Power lords. The voice in control of the armies. They are also called commanders in Chief. When the leadership is infected with corruption and is ailing in evil, the poison always find a way to seep down through the ranks until to the lowest recruits of the army. If an order to kill on sight is passed, the army in one accord, is obliged to follow. “Yes, Sir! ” is the answer to the call. It is the response that dooms both the innocent and the guilty to cruel butchering. 

Cover ups. For those who play the blame game associated with power, know what I speak of. This occurs mostly after the war (though it may also happen during the war) . The leaders try to cover up crimes they had committed by digging up a scapegoat through lies and accusations on the innocent or other guilty souls suitable to fit the bill. They may use the lines, ‘They did it on own command/ I was not aware of the plans/ Communication was broken down etc. Being a flawless liar surely requires strategy and careful planning. However, sooner or later, the truth will break free and shine light to the hidden knowledge. 


The martial law is not always the night in shining armour.

Picture retrieved from

The conviction

He sat adjacent to me on the bed next to sofa where i was.
We hadn’t talked for three days,my best friend and I, so i decided to be the first to break the silence. I did not know what was wrong between us.

“You are the reason am mad.” He begun.

I immediately felt the sour lump settle in my throat. I crossed my legs and arms, ready to take in the rebukes and the file of mistakes I had done.

“First am gonna number them up for more clarity… ” He leaned forward and looked at me. 

I felt claustrophobic. 

” First, you are selfish,  heartless- and if it happens there is a heart somewhere in you,pumping, it is dead cold.”

The heat of defence was warming up my body fast, I had to defend myself. 

“Really? ” I asked in pain. “Am I that bad?  Give facts to support your claim.”

He seemed prepared and ready as though he had anticipated for this to happen. 

” Do you remember that day I was to help you with your suitcase, but I couldn’t since I had hurt my ankle in a football game? ”

I nodded affirmatively. 

“The first thing that came out of your mouth was not a ‘sorry’but a statement highlighting how disappointed you were in me for ‘purposely ‘ injuring myself to escape helping you move your luggage.”

“I never meant that way, I… ” he cut me short and went on to give me five more examples of which I only recalled three of them. 

” On to the next ones. ” I uncrossed my legs and released my arms,then stared straight into the brown eyes. 

“Number 2, you bully me all the time,” he went on and gave situations which I committed the sin. 

“Number 3, you are a miser.  Each time we go out to buy something for me, it always ends in an argument and the result is you never buy a thing and if you did, you grumbled about it. ”

I had to say something there, I ain’t a miser. I don’t believe I am. “That happens because you compare what I give you with what your friends and exes gave you, and that really pisses me off. ”

He shrugged and moved to the next point. 

“Number 4, you are a liar or should I say turning into a liar.  Last Wednesday you kept me waiting for five hours for you to turn up. The excuses you gave kept changing every  hour and when you finally came you narrated a different  story from what you said on the phone!”

I had no counter-attack statement to cross that allegation. It was true I lied. 

“Number 5, you are a ticking time  bomb. The anger in you is really scary. It turns you into a totally different person. It is like you are not you.  You do not listen to reason and you end up saying and doing hurtful things that can make the other person hate you for life. You called me names, unspeakable names that one time last month I never passed by to say ‘hi’to you- when I came around your apartment.”

He looked concerned as he said that. This made me sink deeper into the sofa, covering my face in the palms of my hand. I have been struggling to control anger since the day we became friends.  Many times he is very annoying. 

It reminds me the case of Peter, a disciple of Jesus, when he was asked three times the same question by the risen Christ. “Do you love me?”. A question he had answered the same way before, nevertheless it was repeated again and again. 

My friend has a way of repeating actions and questions like a broken record and this really wears my patience and self control thin to the verge of boiling emotionally. 

I felt hot tears well up behind my closed eyes hidden beneath my cold palms. May be I did have a cold heart. 

“Number 5 , you are big fan of complaining! Do you remember on Monday last month…. ” He went on to give more examples including the recent ones. 

At that moment,I  stopped  paying attention to him but to the thoughts in my mind raging like a thunder storm over a wavy sea. 

I couldn’t believe I was that horrible! He had even made a joke of me being geneologically related to Idi Amin,  a cruel, sadistic Ugandan dictator who died many years ago. Inside, I was screaming..  I felt horrible, I felt like the poisonous reject from factories which kill the beauty around them.

My poisonous personality had seeped fear into those around me, starting from my classmates to the roommates I had.  They all behaved withdrawn and weird around me, they were not free with me. 

Something hot rolled down my cheeks. He was still talking,numbering down all the cruel things I had done to him. He was at 15.The tears increased and the one drop that hung on my chin become heavy enough to fall down to my thighs, wetting the trouser I had worn. 

They came down faster, streaming like a river.  I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t hide the guilt that swelled up within me.

I felt arms wrap around me in hug. “Don’t worry, You and I will fix YOU up. ” He said. 

I found myself repeating “Am so sorry” midst the tears. 




​ Is it wrong to write what I feel? 

Is it wrong to say what I think? 

Is it wrong to describe what I see? 

Is it wrong to tell you who I am? 

Is it wrong to be quiet in peace? 

Is wrong to be free? 

Is it wrong? 

Am I wrong? 

Maisha imekuwa ngumuΒ 

Walai wasee, nimekaliwa vi-proper😦

I know how unprofessional this article is but….. I  got to say

Hustling has become real

Sweating blood and breathing in fire

Kuhustle ni real

For a girl Who says no to sugar daddies and preying guys 

I got to hustle to survive 


This has been a bad month!!!!!!! 


Bad days: the trouble doubles.

How was your week? 

It was just ….out of this world. 

On Monday. A cup of hot coffee was knocked off the table by a falling book and landed on my naked right arm. I got scalded,…badly.

On Tuesday, had an argument with my roommate and now it is cold war. Later that morning, a fiery exchange of words with a rude janitor occurred. 

On Wednesday, was a pending job and the deadline was twenty minutes away… 

I missed and interview on Thursday, had to reschedule it to next week. In the night, my stomach was killing me because of beans.  Am bean-intolerant…  

My purse got stolen on Friday at the bus stop. My national ID and school ID are now missing. Plus my cash and ATM. 

On Saturday, I had to complete my two weeks assignments. Procrastination is a draining habit. However, my laptop’s operating system crashed, leaving me in the dark.  

On Sunday, I slipped on the stairs and landed on my butt while rushing to church. Someone had spilt water on the steps. 


Hold back the enemy I can’t defend against …

Everyone has a prayer, 
To be successful before they die

The road is difficult to travel

And the first step is always the hardest.

We all have dreams, 

To achieve what we crave the most,

But there are barriers, 

There are  enemies. 

Enemies who pursue you for what you are and what you have. 

Frenemies who smile at you but grind their teeth when you not around. 

Some hate you because they don’t like you, they don’t know you. 

Others are insecure and jealous, they want what you have. 

They want your  looks, your hair, your skin, your brain.. They want your life. 

The unknown  enemies are the worst. 

Kingdoms and nations were ruined by traitors..

Above all, my prayer is

My the Lord Almighty  protect me from the unseen and known enemies who work against me. 

My the Lord hold back the enemy I can’t defend against. 

Because at the end of it all, by my Lord’s side, 

Victory is assured.


   Inspired by Group One Crew ‘ Hold back the rain. ‘

Beneath Β the sad face.Β 

Beneath the sad face is a girl

Hidden in a mask

Who wants to be happy 

But doesn’t know how


Beneath the sad face is a girl 

Who wants friends

But never seems to fit in

With her peers


Beneath the sad face is a girl 

With a lonely soul

Who needs love 

But doesn’t know how to get it. 


Beneath the sad face is a girl

Who every night in her bed

Sheds ice cold tears asking why

Why she is different 

Why things never seem right. 

Beneath the sad face is a girl 

With a beautiful smile

With star like eyes 

And a fragile heart

Searching for someone 

To wipe away the sadness from her life. 


Photo : from Google


Job opportunity: Amatuers versus professionals.Β 

Yep, I have ever been broke. Thank God for the backup food stores I consume when the dry pocket season comes by. 

Being broke is a part of life each person has had the pleasure to leave behind.

It was on April last year that my buddy and I were broke to the bones. The money we had couldn’t buy a drinking straw or a single serviette in an average hotel. 

Our stomachs were on a daily strike, grumbling and rumbling their woes to anyone with hearing ability. We took porridge once a day-the only meal we could fall back onto rather than take nothing. 

We were forced to look for temporary jobs in Nairobi. We thought of construction  work; the pay day was daily, Ksh 500 or $5 in US currency but the work needed muscles (we were ladies, no muscles reside in our bodies except for the inbuilt ones necessary for physiological functions. ) 

Another idea was retail, to be a shopkeeper. Unfortunately , no one was hiring. The ice breaker was a government job. 

Many of the jobs were temporary with a heavy pay of  overloaded potential to kick the poverty out of our pockets.

We spent the whole day perusing through the classifieds and adverts looking for something that matched or nearly married our skills. We found a perfect opportunity seducing us to try it; voter registration.

The pay was weekly and that was a fair game to hunt.  Armed with our computer certificates,national IDs and overflowing  confidence, we woke up very early the next day and started our journey on the road to money. 

University was two weeks away from opening its gates and we needed a form of redemption before the heavenly cheap cafeteria meal was once again accessible to us.

 Finally at our destination, the candidates were uncountable, ranging from youths to middle aged citizens. All were rushing to cease the same opportunity. It was a gold rush. The fittest takes it all. 

At the reception, we squeezed our way through, stealing glances and sneeking peeks at the stacks of application letters on the counter. There were people with diplomas and certificates on various courses, several with degrees and masters,and finally there were countables with a PhD! 

PhD and masters ?  Our egos were instantly deflated alongside our confidence. Hope was dead and gone. How could we compete against that?  But the question really was; how far gone is employment opportunities in Kenya?

The one with PhD should be employing the amateurs! And the masters holders?  They should be building their own companies and organisations, not fighting for the scraps with the newbies. 

Anyways, those with academic qualifications higher than a degree were chased away before the interview. They were allegedly overqualified for the position. 

After a few days, we got a reply. My friend was hired and I was not. I did expect that- I utterly screwed up in the political section of the interview.  Who wants to know who did what when all you see and hear in the news are sad reports of unending unrest and corruption?

I failed the interview ,fair and square. However, that was not the end for me. Virtual contracts were my sort of thing and now I am earning enough to keep me off the streets.

The rate of unemployment has risen tremendously since 2005 in Kenya.  Graduates are force to hold placards at the road sides in search for a willing employer to hire them straight away. 

Graduates are finding it hard to earn a living. It would be better if they had not gone through the four years or more of university or college. 

For those who didn’t make it to these institutions, they are far much better in the real world of employment compared to the graduates.

Handy works, online jobs etc.they do earn you a descent amount of cash….

The market is flooded with masters and PhD holders trying to grab a job as soon as it appears. Even the less paying jobs. The degree, diploma or certificate graduates are competing with fallen giants for what is rightfully theirs. 

This phenomenon is a warning light. To be on the safe side it is better to have a side hustle rather than depending heavily on your academic certificate(s) for a source of income.


To the girl who needs love.. πŸ’ž

This is the story of a girl who needs love. 
She was born into a broken family, raised in the chauvinistic ways of tradition. 

Violence was what she grew up in. No warmth, no love. 

She loathed men; the father who beat up her mother, the uncles who turned a blind eye and the brothers who made her their slave. 

Barely five years old, she was thrown into school. She found a little comfort in the little friends she made. They were the three musketeers.

One was from a very poor family,the other,from middle class, just like her.

They stayed together till the fourth grade when they were separated forever. She was transferred to a boarding school. 

Making new friends was hard. Everyone seemed proud, too proud to befriend a black Beauty. 

Four years down the line,she endured harsh caning and mean girls, not speaking a word to her warring parents and older siblings. 

Teachers were racist. Black racists. They beat the daylights out of the girls claiming African children learn by pain. 

African children should have no hair so that words could sink through their thick skulls. 

They would point out that the roots of education were made bitter for them. You are not like the whites who need no caning. 

She was black.  She was a black beauty. It was who she was. She was made to believe in a lie.  

 She worked hard and become the best she could achieve. She worked hard to bring back the smile to the tear stained face of her mother. 

Finally she went to high school. She become more comfortable in her own company. 

She became drawn to herself, she was an introvert. 

Her friendships ended up in acquaintanceship, she was friendly to all but a friend to none. 

However her mind was brilliant, thinking up great ideas that her seniors deemed crazy.  

She discovered hope, she saw she was meant for more than a dull,lonely life. 

Mean pranks were played on her. Boys never lay eyes her.

 Who would want to walk around with a spectacled freak complete with a shaven head? 

After all, brown is the new beauty. Black is overrated. 

She accepted who she was, she was black. She was bald. She was a nerd. She was an outcast. 

She dreamt dreams and imagined travelling the world, touching the world with words .

But other girls made that impossible. They made her life miserable. They called her ugly. They underestimated who she really was. 

She was powerful. She was black. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was everything they were not. 

She made it into uni. Her success gave her enemies.  Her former mates did not want anything to do with her. 

Everything changed.  She grew her hair long. She braided it up. She was more beautiful. 

She couldn’t understand why every guy wanted her. She was once called ugly. She was once a guy repellent. But now she was everything she was not. 

She was black. She was pretty. She was strong. All those who made fun of her bit their tongue in envy. They wanted to be like her, intelligent. 

She hated men but there was one who seemed different. To her all men are mean and violent. They were meaningless to her. 

Her story had just begun……. 

She needed love.  She needs love to build her up.  She needs love to be the foundation of her dreams. She needs love to get rid of the lies she believed. 

Love takes away the pain inside. Love heals much quicker than time. Love is what she needs. 

Through love life is created and by love we live. 

She needs love, black or white. All need love. 

The story of the girl who needs love has just began……