Am I just paranoid?

You have grown cold and distant

Smiles today are like a necessary ritual

Texts infrequent like tsunamis

Or am just paranoid?

In my company your phone is ever off

It tags along even to the conveniences

A strong password barrier erected to keep off intruders when it’s left

Or am just paranoid?

You are gay all the time; no rough days at the office it seems

Your matrimonial house has grown deadening

Getting out of the enclosure is all you purpose

Or am I just paranoid?

The mirror is your new screen of choice

Your grooming increasingly pompous

New fragrances complement your exotic fibres

Or am I just paranoid?

Should I ask her?

Why? So that she can lie to my face?

So that she can manipulate and toy around with my intoxicated mind?

Why? So that she can confirm my paranoia?

No! I shan’t give you that privilege

The writing is on the wall

I shan’t overstay my welcome

I’ll just walk away with my paranoia

Robert Varaq

(My poems)

When school was school

The world has undoubtedly registered huge leaps and advancements not only in the development of basic infrastructure and industries but also technology wise. I remember during those days when owning a cell phone catapulted you to celebrity status and of course one could only marvel at such gadgetry. The story is not the same today, cell phones are almost a basic necessity and I wouldn’t be surprised if the era of disposable communication gadgets rears its head soon. Children have never been this spoilt for entertainment choice; from computer games to audiovisual sources.

These confirm what I have always suspected -am growing old. We didn’t need the internet or TVs to keep us entertained. One was just happy to be in school. If someone stepped on your toes or ratted on you, you didn’t take immediate action but “preserved” him for the closing day where a real duel was to be organized. And believe me when I say the fighters were really motivated. Losing wasn’t an option coz one become the subject of ridicule which only ceased when he redeemed himself in the next fight. If these bouts taught us anything it was to choose our opponents wisely and winning at all costs, lessons that has been really valuable so far.

I should probably not mention the disk part. If your memory serves you correctly you’ll know am not talking about that circular plate we used to serve nyoyo. This was some objects usually unpleasant or with a pungent smell that serious offenders were ordered to carry around to act as deterrent to some boys who might have been thinking of pissing the gods. Noise making and of course mother tongue speaking guaranteed you this honor. Friends and foe alike would trick each other just to make sure the punishment afterwards did not befall them alone. After all nobody likes to die alone. Rumors heard it that some schools used dead cow horns. Grotesque, you might say. 

Even though I caught just a few years of the Nyayo free milk era I still count myself lucky to have been in school during those days that important men went to school. Everything was in limited measures be it books, the milk themselves and most valuable of all-lockers. This was a precious commodity that if you missed you would most likely find yourself in hard logs improvised to keep off the mountain of dust.

Did I mention that ten bob was enough to buy some fair-weather friends at least while it lasted. These were some hard mandazis that were prepared using maize flour. In my school we called them ‘akuon akuon’ .They were so delicious that most friendships were made or broken at this stands. One piece made sure you were indebted and gave the giver a license to any class football team, talent notwithstanding.

School was not this rosy-it wasn’t just about making fighters using clay or eating ‘akuon akuon’. Equally synonymous with school was tears. The teachers believed that truancy could only be gotten rid of by viboko. Inflicting pain they thought guaranteed them reverence. If they were to be feared then the big boys and the prefects were to be dodged at all costs. To be in lower primary was a sin. I remember picking leaves and sweeping every morning under the tightest of supervisions .I wouldn’t talk about the cost of failure in exams because am sure you remember that only too well. There was of course the forbidden topic of girls so I won’t talk about it lest my class teacher hear about it .the letters were intercepted with so much finesse that if the government could just harness this potential maybe ,just maybe al shabaab would have been history.

The silver lining is that however hard life pushed us, we pushed back. However tough the masters were we found away to make ‘gettas’. For those who didn’t go to real schools, gettas were those inner clothing, books that one wore to reduce the pain inflicted on the butt. That we wiped our tears and played football obviously showed our resilience. Am I the only one who is nostalgic about the good primary days, the perseverance, the raw optimism, the unwavering belief that if he can, so can we?

Of course am not saying that we solve all our difference at the boxing arena, to be clear lest Kibunja and co label me a warmonger.

My case for the disgraced deputy CJ

Our television networks having realized that controversy sells have not stopped analyzing the infamous village market incident where the deputy CJ allegedly brandished a gun and harassed a female guard at the shopping mall. They have not just overplayed the incident but also raised the passion of Kenyans by asking questions such as,”was Nancy Baraza right to brandish a gun, or pinch Kerubo (the guard’s name) in the face?” Kenyans have also caught the cue with social media awash with humorous illustrations of the event. My favorite is the picture of the deputy CJ taking the place of Jack Bauer in the hit series 24.

Well, it is not difficult to catch the reason behind the excitement. The deputy chief justice had gotten the job on the platform of change, increased efficiency and adherence to the rule of law. Kenyans had expected a break from the past excesses of the powers that be and with the passing of the new constitution there was indeed real optimism that the dragon of impunity had been slayed for all. The mere manner in which she ascended into office was a real break from the past where cronies were rewarded signaled a new era in Kenya’s judicial dispensation.

But I believe that the media and my fellow Kenyans have got it wrong on this one .wait, am no apologist for Baraza. I am a believer inhuman dignity and respect for all irrespective of social and economic standing .I just do believe that the lynch mob that is baying for her blood are not driven by a honest desire to see justice prevail but by a malicious zeal to see her fall. Kenya’s activists have been largely responsible for the democratic space and freedom that we enjoy in this country and they deserve every ounce of respect. But I feel that they are fast losing the plot. Some in their mistaken belief that they are acting on the interests of mwananchi have taken tough positions on issues that don’t warrant such hard stances. Some use this opportunities to endure themselves to the electorate in readiness for their still born political ambitions.

There are procedures for vetting an errant judge. If we value the law so much then we should also wait for her to behavior to be termed unbecoming by an impartial and objective tribunal and not through the inflamed passions of the public court of opinion. If we are crusaders for human rights as we purport then we ought to realize that part of that is also respecting that a person is innocent until proven guilty. Part of that is accepting that as much as we are qualified judges as to whether food is salty or not, to determine requires a seasoned judge who looks at things not from a moral or religious prism but from a basis of what the law says. Then and only truly then can we pride ourselves of being custodians of the law.

This saga might prolong for sometime but believe you me, it will go away. Then what? The warmongers will simply go to the next victim. They will like a vulture patiently wait for some big shot to slip up and then hound him up like vultures upon a carcass. They see us merely as stooges to their means end. So the next time you have a strong position on something just ask yourself if it really is warranted.

 Unless of course we ni mutu ya Gor Srikal-they are the only ones allowed to stone and cause dismay without a worry in the world.

 

New Year's resolution

It is that time of the year again when the gods of resolution have resurfaced again. The human in me refuses to let the opportunity pass before seizing it…again. But after tinkering with big ideas such as saving the planet and winning prizes no less than the Nobel Prize in my formative years I finally lessened the burden on my shoulders. But even after revising my targets to the bare minimum, I am still finding it tough to be faithful to my dreams; talk of a man cheating on himself. But there is a silver lining in this story-well let’s just say that this year my target is not only simple but seemingly very practical.

Appreciating what one has surely can’t be that hard. There is this saying that has become synonymous with Philippine soaps. It goes something like you can only know the value of what you have till you lose it. Alejandro and the pretty young lady by his side live happily thereafter but only after some time of separation. it’s not difficult to get the logic here in that, sometimes you are not sure just how much you value something, or someone in this case till they grow wings and fly away. But do we really have to push people away before we realize just to what extent our worlds would be gloomier without them.

You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that it’s only the things that you take special attention to that’s serves you longest. A mere word of ‘thank you’ goes a long way to assure the person in question that their input is appreciated. It just doesn’t stop there; it motivates them to work harder to catch your eye. That is on top of my new resolution this year-to let the people who matters in my life know that they matter. But even this seemingly easy stunt is proving a herculean task.

One interesting thing I have realized is that we don’t take notice when everything is okay. Trust me though a little discomfort will surely catch our attention. It is very likely that we notice when we catch colds but if we are alive and healthy we’ll simply presume that as normal. Appreciating God for the life and grace that he has given us freely is in my list. It won’t cause us much to let our mothers and fathers know just how much they mean to us. Our friends will be equally smitten if we appreciate the role they play in our lives besides just noticing their excesses. And of course if I were to make an honorary list she would surely make it.

That is my target this year; may as many as with similar prayer say Amen.

just why my relationship with santa is not changing soon

If there was anything that was looked forward to with so much appetite then nothing came closer to the end of year parties-Christmas and New Year celebrations .I get so nostalgic when I remember this fetes especially the former. But it has recently joined the world of the leaving dead. Against the backdrop of the global economic meltdown it has become not only overburdening but also impractical to engage in such indulgences.

Christmas was that time of the year that we could ask for things and they be handed over on a silver platter. Not that the other times didn’t yield results but unlike those other times the responses were immediate. Christmas as we remember it was some day when foods that were not so common were assembled together by our mothers to prepare a meal of a lifetime. Even foods that we prepared everyday such as rice and chapatis tasted differently never mind that the recipes were written by the same authors.

During those days Santa was real and not just some African man adorning red costume and dishing out some candy. Fast forward to today, Santa still exists but without his supernatural powers-that’s if he had any in the first place. He exists but to beautify buildings and make them attractive for potential consumers, lure small children and thus their parents and most importantly to perpetuate a mood and be in sync with the rest of the world. Don’t get me wrong, am no cynic, neither am I disgruntle man taking his frustrations on one of the world’s oldest establishments.

Christmas I agree is just as important on the social front as it is on the religious end. It enables and friends to bond over roasted goats and get to catch up. It’s a time for relatives who have not seen each other for a long time to fake affection over free food. Christmas I believe is a day that’s has lost its path even in the religious front. I wasn’t there when the son of man was born so I wouldn’t contest the date. However, biblical evidence doesn’t point that way either. For all we know Christmas could have been on the 4^th of march-not that I am to be taken seriously either.

Least I be stoned, I do believe in the good tat Christmas does, I just dot believe in the day. I do believe that people should have a good time sometime least they succumb to the daily pressures; I just don’t think that day has to be 25^th December. If we are truly celebrating the birth of the man who taught love then each day should be a day to share with our friends and enemies alike.

See you later-I got a Christmas invitation to honor-surprised? Well, let’s just say that I didn’t castigate free foods and drinks!

Mzee Varaq

jakom

I just realized that out of the many friends I purport to have I can only boost of knowing a handful by their three names ,slightly more by a single name and the vast majority by pet names conjured from the events or persons of mutual interest. You know am not alone in this if you have friends that you only know as Jakom, Baba, Mzee, Ondiegi, mtoto wa Wenger, Torres, ODM just to mention but a few. The names get more intriguing if the buddies are from the same tribe. Most of these names depict fondness in a flattering yet hilarious way that is unique to just a select few.

There are those guys that we meet, shake hands, mumble greetings or engage in some phatic communications that before we know it we become bosom buddies. It just becomes a matter of time before they become our football comrades, accomplices in little crimes, laughing over some jokes, hanging out, engaging in life defying stunts that one would mistake us for having known each other our whole lives. With time as is synonymous with most if not all aspects of life we begin to share intimate details such as our worst fears, passions and even life projections. That is why it becomes quite embarrassing if you have to introduce your mate to other pals or in formal scenarios where those pet names will simply not suffice.

What motivated me to do this piece is an incidence the other day that was just so awkward I wished for the first time superman and I were buddies. Maybe I would just have pressed the distress button and he would have waltzed in and spirited me to a safer ground. Onyancha- if you thought that self confessed rapist/serial killer I couldn’t begrudge you. But this Onyancha was a friend of mine from school to whose shoulders was bestowed the task of continuing his legacy. Never mind that the chasm between their physical statures and their ways was just as wide as Saddam Hussein and Desmond Tutu. Let’s just say that the reasons are not necessary to follow this story. But if you cough up some dollars I might just be kind enough to let you in on why the name came to be.

As would be planned by none other than capricious gods, he invited me over to his home after realizing that our homes were merely walking distance. I found the entire family on the lunch table- but he who I was looking for.

Strangely this name had become so embedded that I forgot he had a real name in the first place. ”Is Onyancha around?” I asked .What ensued was some awkward moment before his siblings broke into pearls of laughter after filling in the gaps. The noise did not abate an iota with the father politely explaining that I had the wrong house and my insistence that I had been there before seemingly failing to convince him. The situation only took a turn for the better when Martin-or should I still call him Mzee Onyancha came to the rescue. This I later realized was a hoax that was orchestrated to teach me a valuable lesson-the value of getting to know each other-by name first.

This experience has just given me the fresh impetus I needed to make a meaningful life course. And I know exactly where to start-to replace the contacts hitherto replaced in my phones as lady x, y, graduation square, Eldoret with real names. I know this process may cost me some points I had previously earned or even some friends but don’t the Swahili say it’s better kuziba offer than kujenga ukuta. That’s my New Year’s resolution-to get to know my friends not just as Hulk or Osama but by their anointed names as well.

I can only urge you my pals to follow suit to avoid scenarios such as, “This is Hitler, Hitler this is ……, sorry where are my manners…I should let you do the introductions yourselves”

of men and their precarious selves

Isn’t it funny how things sometimes turn out? Events occur that either leaves us in fits of rage or crumple just about everything we hold dear, everything we believe in. Sometimes we get into a limbo and retrospectively looking back, we just can’t seem to fathom how we got where we are in the first place. In most cases we never take responsibility for the chronology of events that put us in the tight spot. The converse is however true. We can’t help but blurb to the whole world how it took a stroke of genius for the success or how meticulous planning and Machiavellian discipleship on our part paid off. Never mind if we just borrowed the idea or copied it from other places. It’s just human nature, someone would point out.

What people think of us play a critical role on how we handle ourselves, in the public realms at the very least. Most if not all of Adam’s offspring like to portray a picture of calm, refined and peace with himself. Bold and strong, that’s the picture we all strive to portray. People want to be seen as the hero who defended their ideologies against popular thought. Nobody wants to be seen as the coward who relinquished his principles at the altar of sacrifice. Our worst fears are bottled up and shoved away. Nobody wants to be seen as feminine-the traditional misconception at the very least. Well, that’s humans for you.

We live in a diverse world where the line between right and wrong is very blurry. The Somali circumcise their ladies and consider it an important moral rite of passage. The medical community and human rights lobby groups consider it an unnecessary evil that places sentimental value over basic human rights. One would wonder how a whole community could be so wrong about a concept. But again truth isn’t democratic and sheer numbers alone cannot be used to determine what is right and what is wrong. One would wonder then why we place so much emphasis on our democratic process. “It’s different”, that’s the commonest answer you are likely to get. How different though nobody will even attempt to explain.

We all for strive for peace, or at the very least that’s what we proclaim to every single pair of listening ear that we can get. Never mind that it’s only when it’s in our own best immediate interests to pursue. We lay our actions on reputable sources that support our course of the moment but won’t hesitate to demonize the same references when it doesn’t suit our needs. A perpetual drunkard would argue that it’s God’s son who brewed the sweetest wine on earth. It therefore beats logic that He would castigate those appreciating his first miracle in Cana, Galilee.

In any debate, there are different prisms of looking at the same issue. There is the religious front, the moral front, the legal front among others. Am not saying that these views must always clash, at times they are in tandem. Christianity prohibits murder, so does the statutes of the land, so does the norms of our forefathers. The laws of the land excuse murder when there is a case of being pushed to justifiable anger or in case of defending one’s self. The Bible, The Christian good book though does not support it, the motivation  notwithstanding. It even frowns on anger in the first place. Whichever way of thought you subscribe to, you can’t always be right all the time and of course you can’t always be wrong always.

That’s just the dilemma of being human. That’s just how we are-united in our physical resemblance (or most of it at the very least) but divided in everything else.