On 4th March 2022, 8 days before the start of the DVBS in Mt. Elgon, we gathered at Mama Mirriam’s place to discuss the planning progress. There was palpable anxiety and uncertainty in the room. Sentences were short, responses were measured and updates on the points of action were unsurely muttered. Everyone was thinking about one thing but no one had the courage to say it. Would the DVBS happen or not?
Earlier that week, mama Mirriam, the founder of Mt. Elgon Children ministries had come straight from the prayer mountain and got admitted in hospital. She was feeling weak and dizzy but on investigating no specific illness was found.
At the same time, we were struggling to raise funds. Out of a budget of Kshs. 250,000, we only had 20,000 in the account. Continue reading Mt. Elgon DVBS 2022 – A Journey of Faith
During the daily debriefs at the Children’s outreach in Mt. Elgon, one man stood out. He gave the reports of his class in unadulterated Swahili, much to the amazement of the group. He used some words like, ‘mshike mshike, mawaa, bugtha’ and many more that some of us had not heard in a while and only thought they belonged in inshas. But they were not just words thrown in sentences to sound good, there was flow and cadence and order in his speech that was immaculate.
It’s not like when someone brought up in some upcountry village trying to speak Swahili with the coastal accent and you just want to close your ears. No, this guy had it. Did you know that Continue reading The Broken Vessel
You can read Chapter 1 HERE
Thankfully, a friend offered me a job in industrial area. I was staying with friends and random people. At one point I stayed with some girls from Meru. I didn’t even know them but their compassion was familiar. I was moving on slowly; healing and starting to find myself.
Then I met another guy. I was 21, he was 2-3 years older than me, looked naïve like me, was patient with me and had a small nice place that he lived in. In my desperation, I found myself in the arms that showed me what looked like love. But I was also tired of being exiled by the Meru girls Continue reading My Father Through my Eyes – Chapter II
One night during family devotion, after dad had taught us about Noah and the ark, I was asked to pray. I stumbled through the prayer, saying my own things. My older brother laughed. That’s the last time he ever laughed during devotion. The rod was not spared; the seriousness of God’s matters was communicated to him effectively.
I was born in Pumwani and raised in Nairobi to strict parents. My dad was extra stringent. He believed in the cane and there was no negotiation for misbehavior. We somehow knew we were loved but those words were never verbalized by dad. He would do things like remembering our birthdays which he does up to now. There are no more gifts like in childhood but he calls.
My dad was working for the government press, was a part time pastor and did quite a bit of missionary work. From an early age I watched dad Continue reading My Father Through my Eyes – Chapter I
In about 100 years or so, my descendants and those of my brothers and sisters might not know each other. There’s a small chance they could, if they all live around the same area but I think they will be living their separate lives in different parts of Kenya and probably the world. If we are lucky, they might know us. I say all this because as of now, I know very few descendants of my grandparent’s siblings. Where are they? What do they do? What do they look like? I don’t know.
But something happened during the last holidays and it gave me and my siblings an opportunity to know some of them. Our grandma (dad’s mum) has always lived with us. When I was born, Continue reading From Kenya to Uganda, the holidays that redefined my heritage
On December 1st 2021, I met a guy I have known for a few months. I asked him about a project he was working on that he had mentioned to me a few months earlier. He had no response. To put it better, he didn’t want to talk about it. The project was one of his many fails of 2021. He was just glad that it was December which means that the year is finally coming to an end. “I just want this year to end, everything I have tried to do this year has failed. I have never experienced a worser year like this,” he said, shaking his head as he thought of how his goals for the year were ruled out by a callous and invisible referee.
Continue reading Twenty twenty one
When you ask those born in the 80s what parenting means to them, it will include a whole lot of discipline and strict house rules. My experience wasn’t different. My mum was one strict lady although she has loosened up a bit over the years.
Listening to other stories, especially from military homes, I have come to understand that my discipline journey in the hands of my mother is nothing compared to what others have gone through. I am talking about being wound in a potato sack and beaten like a piñata. Some are hilarious, others left children with lifelong scars – physically and emotionally.
Continue reading The age of idolizing children and why it is bound to fail
Do you believe in destiny? Do you believe that you were supposed to do a particular thing in life and without it your life won’t be complete? That’s a question that always leaves us pondering whether we are on the right track in life. You haven’t really lived if you haven’t questioned your purpose on God’s blue circle we call home.
But earth is hard, Kenya is harder and Nairobi is said to be hardest, especially when you don’t get a sound foundation and support system as a child. Your dreams and what you call purpose can be derailed to a desolate destination. You get lost in a multitude of people, your screams for help deafened by the collective despair of society.
Continue reading Blackman
Violence is synonymous with elections in Kenya. There hasn’t been an election in the recent past where tensions didn’t simmer, boil over and eventually lead to deaths, including those of innocent children. The violence is of varied forms; hired goons by politicians, sore losers, criminals taking advantage of the mayhem and police using excessive force, firing stray bullets and killing innocent people.
It’s distasteful to the point that people temporarily relocate during elections. People go to their rural areas in fear that their neighbors of the other tribe could turn against them because of their competing candidates. Those who are privileged move their families out of the country for that period.
Continue reading Is it possible to have peaceful elections in Kenya?
Sometime in 2019, Pitson called an Uber to pick him up at Karura Community Chapel. When the uber driver arrived, he was surprised to find that he was picking a young man and not a mzee. That’s because Pitson had sounded like old man on the phone, his voice raspy and hoarse like that of Mzee Moi in retirement.
Continue reading Pitson – On life in the Valley, Gospel Music and Songwriting