Cock And Bull

• Business As Unusual

  Posted: June 27, 2008, 1:07 pm by Administrator

  I had been noticing it much too often for a while, and so when I saw another blind man, I asked the business man from whom I was making a purchase, “Am I the one who is seeing too many blind people or is it a fact that there is an influx of blind beggars in town?” The business man straightened and walked towards me from the back of his shop as he said, “You are right that there is a sudden increase in the number of blind beggars in the streets.”

  If you live in Nairobi, you must have noticed the blind beggars being dragged by hand from place to place by young school going children. The beggars usually have a small plastic container with a few coins that they juggle periodically in order to attract the attention of any sympathetic well wisher. Perhaps you might even have been bothered by the fact that the young children seem to be wasting their school going days after being forced to accompany their ageing relatives on begging missions from street to street, inside businesses, and from drivers stuck in traffic jams.

  As he smiled, he added, “Begging has become a business just like this one I run.” And as he laid down the merchandise I had requested on the counter he continued, “Don’t be fooled into thinking that the children are relatives of the beggars. The are usually hired for the day to accompany the baggars.” And on seeing the bewildered look on my face he added, “There is a place where the beggars pick the children every morning for a standard fee, and so you see, both that boy and that blind old guy are in business.” He finished as he made a gesture with his lips towards the duo that was disappearing down the corner. With that, I made my purchase and walked in the direction opposite the one that the blind beggar and the boy had walked. Without a doubt, I knew I would be seeing many others in the course of the day. In Kenya if it is not business as usual, then it is business as unusual.

• President Ken’s Neighbor

  Posted: June 26, 2008, 6:21 pm by Administrator

  Last night I dreamt that my neighbor had become the president of Kenya. In the dream, I was there when he got the news and vividly remember the look of bewilderment that crossed his face. And so I asked him if he expected to become president to which he replied “I have been thinking about it since the beginning of the year.” When I woke up, I thought that it would be good if I could be able to share it with him. When I looked out of my window, I thought I might not get a chance since I saw his wife leaving the house and so I assumed they would leave together. And anyway, I have not seen him for several weeks.

  Three hours later when I was walking towards the road to town, a strange car pulled up to where I was and the passenger window was automatically wound down. I realized that the driver must be someone who knows me and who wanted to give me a lift. And when I looked, I saw that it was the neighbor from my dream. From my experience about the way ‘coincidences’ play out, I was not really surprised that it was him. And after exchanging hellos, I excitedly told him; “You are just the person I want to see…last night I dreamt that you became the president of Kenya.” To that he said, “Really?” with just as much excitement to match mine. He then said, “That’s a very good thought!” And from the way that he was fidgeting on his seat I could see that he was actually imagining himself being the president of Kenya. I continued to tell him the rest of the dream and when he drove away after I declined a lift, I could see that what I said had a positive effect on him.

  I suppose what struck me was the fact that he did not for a moment talk or act as if it was ‘just a dream’. The fact that he said “That’s a very good thought!” instead of “That was a very good dream!” made me realize that our dreams do not necessarily have to originate from us. It makes me smile to think that today I might have planted a seed in my neighbor’s mind that might blossom and make him the president of Kenya. If that comes to pass, I know it is not the seed, but rather, how he is going to nurture the resulting shoot until it becomes a whole tree. It is not the dream, but how much he is going to cherish the thought and work towards making it a reality. For even when I talked to him in the dream, he told me that he had been thinking about it for some time.

• Choosing Labels

  Posted: June 26, 2008, 5:46 pm by Administrator

  During one of my very first visits to Addis Ababa, I was given a traditional Ethiopian shirt as a present. The heavy while cotton fabric was hand woven and the embroidery had the yellow, green and red colors of the Ethiopian flag. I treasured it immediately, and thought it was the perfect outfit to wear on the day I was invited for the Ethiopian Easter celebrations at a friend’s house. When I arrived, the compound was crowded with guests and I soon lost sight of my friend soon after he welcomed me. But I didn’t mind since I felt quite at home and immediately began heading for the counter where I could get a drink.

  But before I could reach the counter, I was beckoned by a guy in a group of about 5 Ethiopians. And even without a hello, the guy started pouring out an order for drinks in the Amharic language, pointing to each person’s drink as he mentioned the name of the drink. When he finished, I politely told him in English that I did not understand the Amharic language since I was still new in Addis Ababa. With that, he immediately looked acutely embarrassed and profusely apologized while saying that he thought I was an Ethiopian. As I walked away, I was smiling to myself thinking that with my looks, I would not have trouble blending in with the people I was going to live with for the next 3 years. And as I was walking to find a place to sit after grabbing a drink, I felt a touch on my elbow and another Amharic order for alcohol was repeated.

  I was to later learn that during such social functions, waiters usually wear the traditional Ethiopian shirt in order to distinguish them from the guests. It then followed that whoever saw me wearing the shirt immediately assumed that I was a waiter and hence the order for drinks. When the host finally caught up with me, he was very amused by my unexpected experience and we laughed about it and hastily made a round in the compound as he introduced me to the other guests. Thus ended the short lived career of my Ethiopian shirt as a favorite wear during social occasions.

  That memory came back when I looked at the waiters at Ronalo Restaurant in Nairobi. They all have differently colored sleeveless sweaters to distinguish their various roles, with green for the ones who serve food, red for the ones who serve drinks, yellow for the ones who clean the tables and black for the supervisors. If you call a green topped waiter and send him for drinks, he will immediately summon a red topped waiter for you to send. Similarly, a yellow topped waiter can never agree to be sent for food since his job is to clean the tables.

  These waiters at Ronalo Restaurant often make me understand the power of labels in our lives. What’s in a label? A person who is defined by the name ‘waiter’, only does the job of waiting upon tables while others enjoy their meals or drinks. As long as he bears that label, he has no right to sit down, or mingle with other people, or seem to be enjoying himself by laughing with other waiters. Despite the fact that the waiter is simply an ordinary person such as you and I – and maybe just as brilliant – it would seem like his life is severely limited by the role given to him by the label. When that same person leaves the restaurant, he is at liberty to become whatever else he wishes. It would not be surprising if he was to transforms from a humble servant of the people to an aggressive member of the human society capable of doing and saying much. He can even become a customer in a restaurant to be waited upon by another waiter.

  What about the labels that people give themselves or are given by others and that define their performance in life? If one believes that his label is ‘rich’, then it is automatic for him to live in affluence in order to conform to the label. On the other hand, a person whose label is ‘poor’ will do whatever it takes to live in conformity with the definitions of the label. Incidentally, a person can only act out a particular label only if he accepts for it to define him regardless of whether he labeled himself or was labeled by others. The waiters at Ronalo Restaurant were labeled by the management as red, green, yellow, or black and accepted to play out the responsibilities that those colors carry.

  Fortunately it is a good thing that a waiter will only have that label for the period that he is working in a restaurant and drop it as soon as his shift is over. Labels that people accept in life like, ’successful’, ‘wealthy’, ‘loser’, ‘lucky’, ‘godly’, ‘important’, carry a more weighty significance since they define us in all our waking hours. So, whatever label that you choose to accept, make sure its definitions are worthwhile to you and the kind of life you plan to have.

• Choosing The Dog Or The Tail

  Posted: June 23, 2008, 2:55 am by Administrator

  Back at the university, I once found myself in trouble after mixing up with the wrong crowd. It happened when I was caught doing the senseless vandalism and destruction of property that university students are infamous for after a drinking spree. Several days later, I was summoned to the disciplinary committee after which I was suspended from the university halls of residence for a month with a heavy caution against such behavior. But the appearance before the group of university dons and administrators did not worry me half as much as facing my father. And since I knew he had been contacted by the university by post, I knew it was just a matter of days before I faced him.

  I think I was worried because I had generally been a well behaved student and had never had any kind of disciplinary problems from school before. How would I be able to explain to him that I had to wait to get to the university in order to do the foolish things that I could have done and gotten over with at nursery school? I decided that I would just tell him that I allowed myself to be influenced by others and it would not happen again. Anyway, when the day came, I went before him with all the courage I could muster. He was sitting from across me with a table between us and the letter from the university open before him wearing his spectacles in that ominous way that tells you that a hurricane is on the way. As I took my seat, I braced myself for the tirade and rehearsed my defense in my head one more time.

  But quite unexpectedly, his hot gust of words failed to come and instead he told me about the dog and its tail in a soft sorrowful voice that I hear in my head till today. He said that since time immemorial, the dog has had a tail. He added that always, the dog had wagged its tail, but never once did a tail wag the dog. Then he added, “You can decide to either be the tail or the dog.” I suppose the shock for me was in the approach that he took and what it meant; he did not ask me for the circumstances or the reasons as I would have expected. Neither did he give me a lecture about being a good citizen of the university or about right and wrong. He just asked me to make a decision that if made correctly was going to guide my life successfully from that time onwards.

  When I look back at that day, I realize that what he did was to throw my life at my feet and forced me to look down and decide what to do with it. It was a huge challenge after having been used to doing things to please him, and often doing others while looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was looking. The thought that I was now alone to guide myself through life was frightening and I even felt abandoned despite knowing that he was still there whenever I needed him. But since then, once in a while I will pause to examine myself to see if I am the dog or the tail. And whenever I hear an exasperated woman in a talk show exclaim, “All men are dogs!” I want to reassure her that the actions of one person do not characterize what all the others do and so she should probably look out for the men who are not dogs.

• Desiring a Graduation

  Posted: June 22, 2008, 1:27 am by Administrator

  In my primary school days it was imperative that one passes the exams for a certain class in order that they may be allowed to move to the next class. If a student failed to pass the exams, he or she would be forced to repeat the class all over again sometimes for several times until they passed. As a result, it was common to find a class of youngsters with one or two grown men or women who had been repeating their classes for many years. Right now there are many arguments in our school system for and against repetition of classes by students as a result of failure to make the pass mark with the opponents preferring for the students to continue with the next class whether they pass their exams or not.

  If you look at it, you realize that when it comes to personal development, life seems to favor the old system from my primary school days rather than smooth sailing from class to class regardless of the score sheet. That is why many people have asked the question, “Why does this happen to me all the time?” many times over, each time that they find themselves in the same trying circumstances. The circumstances keep repeating to the same person when he or she fails to analyze the problem and find the lesson that they are supposed to learn from it. As soon as the person learns a lesson that life is presenting to them and musters it, it automatically follows that the challenge is over and they rarely have to struggle with it again. On the other hand, when someone sees the challenge as life’s persecution of a good person for no particular reason, then they do not deal with the problem and hence it is bound to come back again. In other words a person fails to take responsibility for their own lives and leave it up to fate to decide what to do next. And since fate tends to be a strict class master, it does not allow the student to move to the next class and hence one is forced to repeat; the person is made to experience the same situation and once again is heard to moan, “Why does this happen to me all the time?”

  Whenever we are faced with a problem we usually react to it in one or more of the myriads of ways available – maybe getting upset, running away, crying, asking for help, passing it one, and sometimes even blocking the problem. It would therefore not be fair to ourselves or to others to claim that we are not doing anything to solve a problem. It would be more helpful therefore to recognize that when a problem persists or escalates it is usually as a result of reacting in an ineffective way for solving that problem more or less in the lines of the saying that goes, “When all you have is a hammer, then all problems look like a nail”. It would therefore be an excellent idea for each one to examine his or her life and identify which “hammer” he or she is holding in their hands. Anger is one of them, so is denial, blaming, violence and many others that are readily available to various individuals. Stopping to look at a problem that keeps recurring might enable a person to choose a swat to kill a mosquito, rather than continuing to cause havoc in the bedroom by trying to bring it down with a shotgun.

  Each time we find the same thing happening to us all over again, or recognize a cycle in our lives that we do not particularly like, we should stop and ask ourselves, “What should I do differently this time?” That might save us from the trouble of using the same ineffective tool to deal with it, and keep us from the heartache of experiencing the same situation repeating itself all over again. Of course one has to strongly desire a graduation from his or her current class in life and into the next. And as strict a class master as fate might be, you will find that she will readily smile at you if you do your homework well.

• Walking in Auntie Rose’s Plastic Shoes

  Posted: June 22, 2008, 11:26 pm by Administrator

  One day, Auntie Rose from my mother’s side visited our home for the weekend. What impressed me most about her visit – even much more than the presents – were the shoes that she was wearing. It was at the time when plastic shoes had just hit the Kenyan market, and ‘Sandaks’ were all the rage for the people in the lower income bracket. For the first time in the Kenyan history almost everyone could now wear shoes thanks to affordable plastic. Auntie Rose was wearing white plastic shoes that were molded like a moccasin. Again, it was around the time that moccasins were all the rage for teenagers from rich families much to the envy of boys from ordinary homes.

  It happened to be the weekend that my sister and I were going to visit my brother at his boarding High school and so in my most polite voice, I asked to borrow Auntie Rose’s shoes for the day. I did not like my leather ‘Bata’ shoes much, especially since one of the laces had been joined together in a knot after breaking. Auntie Rose was much older than I, but her feet were smaller. However, she had a large heart and so she readily agreed to lend me her shoes. And so after managing to stuff my feet inside the plastic, and smiling broadly to hide any sign of discomfort, we set off to visit my brother. In my eagerness to prove that the shoes were a prefect fit, I forgot to wear socks and being a hot and dusty day in February, I was in trouble as soon as we left the house.

  If you know about plastic ‘Sandaks’, then you know that wearing them at all was a blunder. And so putting them on without socks on a hot day was similar to walking inside a thermos flask filled with steaming mud. The reason is because the sweat from the suffocated feet mixed with the dust and created a quagmire that would make the shoes noisily slip on and off as I walked. Being a tight fit, the on and off motion was made excruciating by the fact that the toes were being pinched mercilessly with each step. To make matters worse, we found that my brother was away on an impromptu school trip and so we had to walk back as soon as we arrived hence missing the chance to rest my feet after walking a mile with my sister seeming to be oblivious of my ordeal. Of course she had warned about the tight fit, but I could not miss a chance to show off moccasins for once – even if they were plastic – had the formidable village council of elders been summoned to discourage me.

  When we got back home, I gave Auntie Rose her shoes back after cleaning them and thanked her profusely as if everything went perfectly. The next day, she seemed just as dashing wearing the white plastic shoes and she had when she arrived. And as I escorted her to the bus stop, she seemed surprisingly comfortable in her shoes and I could feel the blisters on my feet that came with a lesson that will last my whole lifetime.

  Often when we look at others, we tend to see what looks so good on them and in our envy, we imagine that the same would look just as good on us. I think it might take the form of what is called keeping up with the Joneses in some parts of the world. However, as I came to learn that day, the shoes that looked good on Auntie Rose were definitely not as good looking on me. Worse, they actually were much more uncomfortable than my ‘Bata’ shoes, despite their plain style and a knot on the shoe lace. When I look back at that day, and at life in general I understand that once in a while, we have to walk for miles in fake shoes in order to appreciate the true value of our own good pair of genuine shoes that we left back home.

• Unhiding Flesh and Blood

  Posted: June 22, 2008, 9:51 pm by Administrator

  The only toys that I have in my house are turtles. I now have 3, but I remember that I had more than that but reluctantly gave them away to kids who needed them more than me. I bought the toys some time ago when I had a project that required me to critically look at the features of a turtle. When the project failed to take off, I was left with a living room with many turtles and a drawer stuffed with materials for the project.

  Looking at a turtle, with a shell on its back I start thinking about our human condition. No one likes getting hurt. And that is why we sometimes become so afraid of feeling the pain that we create a tough amour in order to protect ourselves. Like the turtle and its hard shell that it can withdraw into, we create similar protection by erecting a wall that we can hide our hearts behind when we see danger approaching. And just as no one might know what really happened to the tortoise that it has to carry a bunker everywhere it goes, we feel that others might not quite understand why we have to erect the walls no matter how hard we might try to explain. When someone is concerned about us and wishes to spend time to listen to our side of the story, then we feel that we have a friend and it is easy to lower our guard and talk to them without running behind the wall.

  What if turtles really have shells in order to hide something from other turtles? Then if turtles were to have a consensus and decide to remove their shells one day, then they would all realize that what they had been hiding and protecting so fiercely all this time is simply flesh and blood. And not just the ordinary turtle would get this revelation, but also the king of turtles, the preacher of turtles, the blogger of turtles and all the others turtles that live. They would perhaps realize that they had all been hiding their turtleness, just as we often feel obliged to hide our humanity. Finding someone who looks at you with the same eyes with or without a shell on is a true blessing from God. And so I thank you my friend.

• Choices of Now

  Posted: June 22, 2008, 9:06 pm by Administrator

  I was recently talking to my grandmother who is celebrating her 90th year of age about a fact that seemed to surprise her; the fact that she now can sleep any time that she chooses at the drop of a hat. As she put it, God seemed to have given her back the sleep of a baby. And she is perfectly happy with that arrangement since she is getting sickly and being awake for long does not make as much sense as it used to. The sleep pattern and other new feelings she did not have before seemed to mesmerize her and she said audibly more to herself that to me, “I guess all this is new to me because I have never been old before.”

  When she said that, it caught me off guard because it never occurred to me that one would consider the discomforts and inconveniences of old age as a learning experience. As you know, nowadays old age is mostly viewed as a nightmare rather than a blessing and in the process of fighting it off, few would have a moment to sit in its classroom despite the fact that joy and peace of mind in at least a quarter of their lives depends on these lessons. But one might argue that this is the only way to look at the situation considering that the days of having an eager brood of grateful children, grandchildren or even great grandchildren to watch over you and take care of your needs as you wait upon the Lord are slowly coming to an end. That is one thing that my grandmother has, and which she attributes to her faithfulness to God since she was a young girl.

  All this reminds me of a time when she explained to me about what it feels like to be as old as she is. She gave me an example of an old person who would want to run to accomplish an easy errand such as a pressing bathroom call but cannot, and has to contend with the slow hurried gait of the elderly even as he feels the weak bladder give up its dignity right in the middle of the carpet in a living room full of people. She made me understand that for such a person though the spirit remains ageless, and the mind might be as active as ever, the aged body will not allow him or her to do the things that would have been easily possible when younger. And that is why old people are often filled with bitterness when they remember all the things that they could have done when they had the chance but didn’t. It is also the reason why the advanced in age see folly in many things that the young do, since they have the knowledge of what really matters in life, plus the experience to back it up. Unfortunately, it is to such people that the young do not listen to.

  If a person takes time to find out what truly matters in their lives, then they can choose it and move on with life with the confidence that whatever the discomforts of old age, they will not have a moment to look back and regret about the decisions they made or failed to make when they had the chance. May God make it easy for us to make the choices and accept the decisions that will propel us to where He wills for us to end up in this life and beyond.

• The Family Blanket Tradition

  Posted: June 21, 2008, 6:19 am by Administrator

  Each day that I make time to go and see my grandmother, I often find myself learning something so profound that makes the visits to the ailing 90 years old woman extremely worthwhile. Take the day before last as an example; she told me about the origin of the tradition that requires any groom marrying into our family to present the parents of his prospective wife with a blanket before betrothal. That story took us back to the time my grandmother got married to my grandfather in 1937.

  When the two did their wedding, she was 19 and he was 32. However, they had to overcome many hurdles even before they could walk down the isle. For a start my grandmother had many people – especially her age mates - discouraging her from getting married to him because of the age difference. There was also opposition from her own family since the man was very poor and came from a background of poverty as opposed to her wealthy upbringing. More opposition came because she was a saved Christian and he was not and also due to the fact that he had been in a marriage once before that did not work. But all that did not matter because both of them were determined to live their lives together.

  She told me the reasons why she decided to get married to him; because he did not take alcohol, because he was not the kind of man that fooled around with women, because she believed that they could become partners to rise above the challenges of life including poverty, and because she trusted that God had shone her the right man for a husband. With a smile, she told me that my grandfather was smitten by her beauty and the fact that she was what he was looking for in a wife. He was so determined to catch her fancy that he enrolled into school for the first time in his thirties in order to learn how to read and write, just so that he could be in the same school as she was. He also started taking an interest in Christianity and even got saved after they were married.

  In order to frustrate their efforts to get married, her family imposed very stringent dowry conditions such that it took many installments and a long time before my grandfather could ‘afford’ to walk away with my grandmother. My grandmother’s family would ask for some seemingly impossible payment after another, and each of these required my grandfather to go and find casual labor in Nairobi until he could earn enough money to pay for what was required. She told me of an occasion where he was asked to bring a sheep for a ‘get together’ slaughter, but it was rejected on the eve of the occasion on account that it wasn’t fat enough. Luckily, his determination had earned him enough goodwill from the village folks and the man with the fattest ram offered it to him for the slaughter.

  When he finally met all their conditions, it was time to take him wife. However, her parents said, “It is not fair that you should take away our daughter who used to light the fire to warm our aging bones without giving us a blanket in return.” And so once again the frustrated man had to go to Nairobi to find money for a new blanket. On the day that he bought the blanket, he was in the presence of his bride to be and he said loudly, “I swear that if we ever get daughters, each man that wishes to marry any one of them will have to buy us a blanket!” And so it was that the family tradition was born.

  God blessed them with 5 daughters that are all married. Apart from one of my aunties who eloped with her husband all the others had a blanket ‘paid’ for them at the right time. My grandmother explained that one day, my auntie got very sick. He legs were swollen and she could not move for the pain. When my grandmother saw her, something told her that the reason why she was suffering was because of the unpaid blanket. By then, my grandfather had been dead for years. Being a saved Christian, she was at a loss at what to do since she did not want to contradict her faith by talking about superstitions. At the same time, she could not demand for a blanket since my aunty and her husband were very poor then. And so, she decided to call the mother of my auntie’s husband and requested her to convince her son to buy a blanket and present it to his wife’s family as a matter of urgency. Luckily, he obliged even without knowing the reason, and my auntie got better soon after.

  That story got me marveling once again about the power of the spoken word. However, what was really my prize from that story is the prayer that my grandmother used to say before she got married. She told me that she would simply pray; “God, choose for me a husband that is suitable for me.” I found myself thinking of all those times that I dictate to God what I want in a situation, and then end the prayer by asking for His will to be done in my life without even considering that which would result from God’s will might not necessarily be the same as what I asked for. I suppose if we were to analyze our prayers and look critically and the requests that we sometimes make, we would realize that the reason why our lives have not turned into catastrophes is because those prayers were not answered at that particular time. I now think that making a prayer for God to choose that which is suitable for us at any moment would not only align us with God’s will, but it would also save us a lot of anguish. For as Mother Teresa rightfully said; “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.”

• My Apology

  Posted: June 19, 2008, 12:43 am by Administrator

  When I decided to write the recent article on my past sexual bondage, it was under great and lengthy conviction from my conscience and my greatest motivation was to share my story with a person or people who might be in a similar situation and who will be comforted to know that they are not alone. The most burdening thing about walking around with this kind of a secret is the fact that one believes that it is impossible to talk to anyone about it since he or she feels that no one would understand. As a result, one is reluctant to ask for help. There is also the haunted feeling that somehow the secret will come to light and that the people who matter would know about that which had been so carefully concealed by the darkness. That thought is as terrifying as imagining one being undressed in public.

  Every person carries a secret and no matter how big or how small it is, each one imagines that his burden is the heaviest and would be glad if they could tell it to someone else who will listen just so that it can get lighter. In most cases, such a person will choose a complete stranger – say a shrink – rather than someone who is close to them. To tell the secret to someone who knows us would require a guarantee that the person not only seals their lips for ever but also accept us completely and Love us without any judgment. However, the terror of realizing that we might not be acceptable in the eyes of those who we desire to Love us makes us model ourselves from copies of what we think is acceptable as a human being. And that is how people end up splitting themselves into multiple persons; one for each occasion as need be.

  If we decide to accept ourselves as human beings capable of falling and rising, then it is possible for us to let others see us for who we are. I am saying that as someone who for years, has desired forgiveness from God, from other people, and above all from himself and not being capable of receiving it because of imagining that his mistakes are too great. It is very hard for a person who will not accept forgiveness to forgive and accept others. I am praying that God gives me what it takes to accept others just as I expect them to accept me.

  I am naturally wondering what the people who know me are thinking after reading the article. I realize that there might be someone or people who will feel offended or betrayed not only by those decisions I made in the past, but because these people can directly be associated with me through various liaisons. I know it might even seem inappropriate that I should air my linen in public so shamelessly, but the fact is that truth eventually heals after seeming initially to sicken. And so to all I say that I am truly sorry. I am totally responsible for my behavior and so have no excuse to give for all the things that I did that hurt others.

  Each one of us is made right by the grace of God, the Love of Jesus Christ, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. May God continue to give all of us what it takes to ask for forgiveness whenever necessary and also to forgive those who have wronged us always, Amen!

• Removing the Obstacle

  Posted: June 18, 2008, 10:04 am by Administrator

  A few years ago, we traveled for a funeral of a relative to the agricultural town of Nyahururu in the Rift Valley. When we left Nairobi, it was bone dry but when we reached Nyahururu, it was pouring with rain and that is how we ended up in the sticky mud. When the bus that was at the head of the convoy got stuck, we all came to a standstill and the only alternative was for us to push it from the quagmire.

  Initially, just a few men were deployed to push the bus, and it seemed like they were not doing any good. After a while, several more joined them and still the bus would not bulge. Soon after the rest of us stepped into the rain to try and help the already soaked men in order to save the day. Still the bus would not bulge and its back wheels skidded in place while throwing mud at our clean clothes as if in protest. But we continued pushing and pushing until we all got exhausted and could push no more.

  It was while we were in this broken state that someone looked under the bus and realized that there was a stone that was lodged firmly in front of one of the front wheels. The stone was frustrating all our efforts to make the bus move forward and it was embarrassing that no one had bothered to look before. After the stone was removed, the bus was able to move almost without being pushed.

  This incident set me thinking about life; how we sometimes struggle so much with pushing when what we really need is to remove the obstacles that prevent us from going forward. Someone said that in every life, we can identify a single thing that if we change will enable us to succeed in ways that we had not imagined before. In Christian circles, I believe that this is referred to as a breakthrough. Take some time and look through your life, identify the single most important obstacle that you need to remove, and you will realize that instead of needing 10 of you in order to push through a day, you might just need yourself.

• Turning Weakness Into Strength

  Posted: June 18, 2008, 9:40 am by Administrator

  I am sure you have heard it being said that everything happens to us for a reason and that all things work for the best. However, when we look at the negative things that happen in our lives, we might be left wondering what good could possibly come from those things.

  Take for example an undesirable habit that a person has struggled with for a long time. You will bear me witness that when it comes to these habits, we sometimes feel like captives and it might even seem like God Himself has refused to turn us lose from our chains. But then when one steps away from the problem and looks at it objectively he might begin to see a totally different picture.

  Take a moment to look at a habit that you want to change without judging it as right or wrong. You will realize that in the moments when the habit is ruling your life, it takes over almost all your resources so that it may be played out. You will notice is that the habit demands perfection and it is done with incredible planning in the mind such that when it starts to execute, the body runs in automatic with very little input from you. If you have heard personal development gurus talk about visualizing, concentration, drive, efficiency, emotions, and such kind of things then you realize that you apply them all very successfully in feeding the habit.

  If you think about it, you might realize that many of our most spectacular successes in life are achieved in actualizing bad habits. You perhaps know that a guy who really has to smoke at 2 am in the morning will smoke one way or another. The craving will result with him driving to the mall at that hour, something that he might not do if another person’s life depended on it.

  People overcome great obstacles in order to succeed in fulfilling bad habits. If a person who finds it difficult to lift a finger to do anything useful at work looks at himself in both situations, he might realize that his ability to act is intact, and that he just needs motivation in order to be effective. What if he was to isolate the motivation for performing the destructive habit and import it into a pursuing a constructive habit?

  I suppose that the challenge is for us to find the reason so that we can give our circumstances meaning. If we see bad habits as a constant reminder of just how good we are as planners and how efficient and focused we can be, then we might even begin to understand why God stands aside and lets us prove these qualities that are mandatory to success to ourselves over and over again. Just think, if a person isolates the motivation for performing a destructive habit and imports it into pursuing a constructive habit, then he or she will have turned weakness into strength and will most probably have changed his life for good.

• Taking What You Can Give

  Posted: June 18, 2008, 9:00 am by Administrator

  I heard the story on the day following the one that the Prime Minister had a meal at the Ronalo Restaurant in Nairobi. When I went there for lunch, the restaurant was overflowing with customers, most of who did not look like the regulars and perhaps had just come in because of seeing the joint on TV the previous night. As a result, the sitting space was more squeezed than usual and I happened to share a table with the guy who was telling the story to two of his friends.

  The story teller was an expensively dressed huge man with dark spectacles tastefully aligned along his hairline and had that light complexion that makes a black man look dashing, no matter what his looks are. And he had such overbearing flamboyance that right now, I can’t even remember what his two friends looked like. But the story, I cannot forget.

  According to him, a guy he knows failed to keep a keen eye on the rising prices of petrol and ended up with an empty tank on the highway at night. The guy then decided that his best option was to walk to the nearest petrol station to get some fuel in a jerry can so that he could revive his car. Unfortunately, the guy was accosted by thugs before he got to the petrol station. The thugs were of a particularly nasty breed since apart from robbing him, they also sodomized him.

  At this point, the story teller posed for effect and took a moment to make a call from his cell phone. He must have been talking to a taxi driver because he asked him to pick him up from the restaurant and drop him at the airport so that he could catch a flight to Dubai. With that done, he went back to telling his story to the two listeners who seemed thoroughly impressed either by the story telling skills, or by the fact that they were having lunch with a person who apparently was going to have dinner in a different continent that evening.

  Back to the story, the traumatized man somehow managed to make it home where he found his wife and tearfully narrated his ordeal. However, rather than offer sympathy, his wife looked at him squarely and said; “Now you know how it feels like each time you ask me to do that with you!” She then added, “You are wailing and it has happened to you only once…what would you do if it was to be done to you each time one of those men came home drunk?”

  We never got to know what the guy’s response was, or what happened after that since the story teller’s phone rang and it turned out that the taxi driver was waiting for him outside the restaurant. He quickly snapped his flipping phone shut, picked up a small travel bag from between his legs, shook the hands of his two friends in a hurry and left them bewildered, just as a waiter came to ask if they needed any more drinks to be added to their tab. It must have been expected by everyone including the waiter that the flamboyant story teller would pay for the drinks and this was just a ploy to ensure that the two would be willing to take the responsibility. You could almost hear their mental calculators being punched ruthlessly as they recalculated their budgets before they grudgingly chipped in to pay the bill.

  As I left the restaurant, it occurred to me that the moral of the story was that we should always be capable and willing to give what it is that we demand from others.

• The Puppy in a Pit

  Posted: June 17, 2008, 2:38 pm by Administrator

  I once had a puppy as a small boy. It was the most precious thing that I had and I couldn’t wait to get out of school to get home and play with it. The puppy was brown in color with clear bright eyes and a wet muzzle. It was fat with a small tail that wagged all the time and it loved rolling on its back so that I could tickle its belly. I would cook porridge for it, clean up after it messed, and washed it once a week to remove insects from its fur.

  One day I got home from school and my puppy was nowhere to be found. I looked all over for it calling out loudly, and was in tears when I couldn’t find it. Suddenly, my sister called me from inside the latrine closet and informed me that she could hear the puppy. Somehow, it had wandered into the latrine closet and had fallen into the hole many feet below.

  If I had a way of getting down that hole to physically pull out the puppy, I would have. However, the hole opening was too small and I had to immediately figure out another way to save my puppy. As I joined several pieces of rope in order to have enough length to lower down a tiny bucket into the hole, all I could think about is how much suffering my puppy had already gone through.

  When I finally had the bucket at the base of the latrine hole, I prayed that the puppy would get into the bucket so that I could pull it out. I could hear the whimper, and by shining a torch I could see the dark outline of the puppy surrounded by bubbling dark muck that fiercely offended the nose of my down turned face and made my eyes water. I wondered, “Would the puppy recognize my saving efforts and somehow see the significance of the bucket next to it?” But rather than get inside the bucket, the puppy just looked up at me and whimpered even more soulfully.

  It was almost dark now and so I began imploring my puppy loudly to get into the bucket since I knew it might not last much longer inside the airless hole. But then I realized that my presence and voice was distracting the puppy from seeing what was right in front of it, and so I withdrew my face from the mouth of the hole and switched off the torch. That sent my puppy howling in protest and that made me heartbroken, but still I knew that it was the only way that I would be able to save the puppy. All the while, I talked to it with my mind and begged it to get inside the bucket.

  When I went back to the hole after a while and shone the light downwards, the puppy was inside the bucket and quietly looking up. And as I pulled up the rope attached to the bucket, I was crying shamelessly with relief without even worrying that my sister would see my weakness. And when I finally saw the puppy at the surface, all coated with grimy stinking aged human dung, I was more than glad to hold it between my bare palms and immediately took it for a thorough cleanup, after which I wiped it with my only towel and warmed it by the fire in the kitchen until its damp fur became dry.

  And as I think about that incident I realize that not at any time did I feel angry and say, “The puppy deserves it, let it suffer”. Rather, my only concern was that the puppy comes out of the ordeal it had fallen into alive, and that it never falls into such danger ever again.

  I suppose God’s concern for us is much more that a small boy has for his puppy. When we fall into pits, he throws lifelines down at us and implores us to accept his help. Once in a while, He will withdraw His face so that we can look around at what He has given us as help, but that does not mean that He is any less concerned about our salvation. Are you in a pit and cannot see God shining down a light on you? Then just look around and you will see all the help that he has dropped down into the hole to help you climb out. And if you listen with your heart, you will hear Him imploring you to accept His help with your life.

• Self Imposed Sexual Slavery

  Posted: June 17, 2008, 2:37 pm by Administrator

  One day I was walking with a female colleague in Nairobi at night. And as we went past the Total Petrol Station on Koinange Street that houses the Florida Night Club, she asked loudly, “What kind of men come to pick up these girls?” She was referring to the scantily clad prostitutes that hang around Koinange Street boldly flagging down male motorists in a bid to entice them to stop and negotiate for a ‘good time’. My friend was asking the question more to herself than to me. Had she directed herself to me, I might have told her that I did not know what kind of me pick up prostitutes using my most convincing tone. However, if I were to have been quite honest, I would have told her that she was walking with one of those men.

  I am sure she would have been shocked and I most probably would have wanted her to understand the circumstances that had led me to become sexually addicted to prostitutes. And I would have taken her back many years before when I completed my high school. Having free time between doing my final exam and waiting for the results that would enable me to proceed to the university, I had the excellent opportunity to discover the city of Nairobi. And so I would spend a lot of time walking up and down the streets, marveling at the various items of display behind glass windows in various shops, while committing the map of the city to my mind. It was in one of those outings that I met a cousin who was slightly older than me and who lived and worked in the city. And so we spent some time together chatting about my school and his job and we agreed to make more time the following Sunday so that he could show me more of Nairobi.

  Come Sunday, I met my cousin and after exchanging pleasantries, he asked me to follow him for he had something to show me. I do not remember quite which route we took until we found ourselves walking up a flight of stairs and on breathlessly coming to the landing, my remaining wind was knocked out by the spectacle that greeted me. There was a long corridor and on each side was a row of women of all shapes, sizes and complexions wearing very short skirts and brightly colored tops that liberally exposed the bosom. At once, I realized that I was in a brothel. My cousin was still walking and so I braced myself and slowly followed him feeling the eyes of the many women upraising us as if we were the ones on sale. As we climbed two more sets of stairs to walk along corridors with similar parades of prostitutes I wished I could just get out and take a breathe of fresh air and when my cousin saw my discomfort, he obliged and we went back to the street.

  I was sweating, my heart was racing, my knees were weak, and I was laboring for breathe. All the while, my cousin was explaining what happens when a person engages one of the women for a sexual encounter and with a shaking voice I asked him, “How does one protect themselves from getting infected with a venereal disease?” He laughed at my naivety and said, “The woman will give you a condom!” Even though I was not quite a virgin, most of what I knew about sex was picked up from discussions with my school friends and from the occasional steamy novel that came my way.

  “Do you want to try? I will pay for you…” my cousin prodded. I was so turned on by the images in my mind that I cut him off with an enthusiastic “Yes!”

  And so it began.

  The next time I was in town, I managed to find the building that had the brothel all by myself. Within a very short time, I had discovered other brothels in town and I was officially addicted. At 18, I was ready to start conquering the world but from the way I felt so helplessly attracted to commercial sex, it seemed like the world had conquered me even before the fight began. I was to attempt to break the acquired habit soon after, but it seemed like the more I tried the more deeply I got hooked. After each encounter, I would look at myself in disgust and vow that this would be the last time, until days turned into months and months into years.

  Why am I writing this? It is because I feel compelled to talk about sexual addiction which is an issue that I believe affects many people making them feel unworthy, dirty, abnormal, out of control, sinful and even suicidal. At the surface, it might seem like a simple issue of masturbation, or being too amorous, or too much enjoying of being in strip clubs, or loving porn, or wanting to be in inappropriate sexual situations say with a child, or one of many other kinky sexual acts. And even though it can easily be justified, the person affected can never really accept himself or herself because of this behavior, and he or she would like to be free from the crack of its whip.

  In Kenya today, there is an ongoing cultural revolution that is making many people review their sexuality more objectively. This is perhaps most evident from the many advertisements concerning sexual enhancements of all sorts that appear in the daily newspapers. While they are useful as aides to help people with various sexual dysfunctions, it is obvious that perfectly OK men and women are being driven into taking drugs such as Viagra, and into believing that their penises need to be enlarged, or their vaginas need tightening. Sure, dildos and other sexual toys are bringing unprecedented ecstasy into many lonely bedrooms. However, there is a danger of being hooked to ‘coming’ in much the same way that an overweight person is hooked to food. A person might even realize that they can no longer enjoy a normal sexual relationship with a partner despite being in a loving relationship.

  Unfortunately, when one is hooked to a dildo it will not be just a case of packing it away inside a box for good as soon as a sexual partner comes along. Neither will a man who visits prostitutes regularly give up his rendezvous on getting married to the girl of his dreams. And since the conscious convicts most people on sexual grounds many men and women lead secret lives of unbelievable sexual adventures unknown to their spouses or partners. The burden is heavy to bear and many would like to share it, but many men and women are asking themselves, “How can anyone understand?”

  The fact is that because of how good it feels, a sexual addiction becomes very consuming and can be difficult to break. A sex addict will continue to engage in certain sexual behaviors despite facing potential health risks, financial problems, shattered relationships or even arrest. As with any other problem the first step into breaking sexual addiction is recognizing that one has a problem and deciding to take responsibility for finding a solution. By the grace of God, sexual addictions and all forms of addictions can be overcome.

• Watching Life From Start

  Posted: June 17, 2008, 2:36 pm by Administrator

  Today I wanted to find somewhere special to go. And that is how I ended up in my mother’s stomach once again. Curled up inside this buoyant cocoon, I am surprised to rediscover just how close mom and I once were. And though we hardly talk these days, she is the person who sheltered me in her flesh, enveloped me in her warmth, fed me with what she ate, and kept me alive with her own blood. I once again consider how gentle and accepting she has been over the years, which is quite the opposite of my father who is slightly aloof and the disciplinarian. And I realize just how important this combination is going to be for guiding me in life’s journey.

  At one time I have been brought up by my father, by my mother at another, and by both parents at another. My education has been in different schools and in different parts of the country. I have been in a mixed school of boys and girls, and a school of boys alone. I have been in boarding school and in a school where I went home at the end of each day. I have been in a school where I shared sleeping quarter, and a school where I slept alone in my own room.

  I have had different careers and have worked in different countries both in employment and in my own business. I have met different kinds of people from various backgrounds, had a chance to make friends and even people who did not like me. I have had a chance to travel and periods of extensive bumming. I have had the chance to Love and to receive Love, and I have watched Love walk away. I have given and received and have praised and complained. I have been inspired greatly and have had a chance to encourage others in return. I have walked miles with heavy burdens and I have had my burdens relieved and once again walked light. And I have courted the dark just as vigorously as I have sought the light.

  In my mother’s stomach, I have just a little beating heart as the rest of the body is slowly being formed. And yet I know all my strengths and weaknesses and the triumphs and pitfalls that are ahead of me. I do not know about right or wrong, and have not yet judged myself as a good person or a bad person. And neither have I labeled myself yet as rich or successful or a Kenyan or an author. For now, I am just a person waiting to walk into life with my own two feet; and sometimes I know I will be strong and sometimes weak.

  It is good to know that as long as I live, I can always go back into my mother’s stomach and assesses my future performance, changing different circumstances realize the life that I dream about when I am yet to be born. Just a while ago, I would have told you that this is just my plain old life, for it did not look very interesting being looked at as a past. But looking at my life as a future makes it seem quite fascinating. I suppose it makes as much sense as watching a movie from beginning to end, as opposed to how we view our lives from the present time backwards; similar to watching a movie from the end to the beginning. Looked at this way, I can even dare say that it has been a good life for me.

• Removing a Jigger

  Posted: June 16, 2008, 12:53 pm by Administrator

  I look at my finger nails and I realize that they are much longer than I can remember and I think that maybe I should clip them. I also know that my hair is due for a long deserved trim. And as I look out of the window, I realize that while my finger nails and my hair were growing, the banana grove next to my apartment was also growing. For a while, I listen to the sound of the birds and I feel a chilly but soft breeze on my face, and it seems like I am waking up from a long slumber even though my eyes are wide open.

  For a moment, I am distracted by the sound of the computer as it finishes doing the installation of software that I have been trying to make work for almost a week now. And as I resist the temptation to grab the mouse and find out if I will have better luck with the program this time, I once again realized that there is a lot going on all the time in me, to me, and around me that I do not have any conscious control over.

  As I look back at the last one week, it seems like not much has happened outside my computer screen and it makes me feel like I am removing a jigger from someone’s foot. A jigger is an insect the looks like a flea, but slightly smaller. A jigger thrives in dusty households in tropical countries and is fond of burrowing into a person’s foot where it feeds and lays its eggs for the purpose of producing the next generation of jiggers.

  When a person’s foot is attacked by a jigger, the tiny spot becomes very sore and itchy and brings a lot of discomfort. It is therefore usual for the person to ask someone else to help in removing the jigger from the foot. This is usually accomplished by digging out the insect from the foot using a very sharp pin. The operation is usually painful since the jigger buries itself deep inside the flesh and so it requires a person to dip the sharp pin into the same wound as many times as is required to uproot the jigger from its cozy home.

  While removing a jigger from someone’s foot, full concentration is required in order to ensure that the insect is removed with the minimum amount of pricks from the sharp pin. When one in on to a jigger in another person’s foot, everything else fades into the background, and not even the grimaces of discomfort or the howls of pain will distract him from the task. And that is how it feels like the last few days have been.

  Life blossoms even as my computer keyboard slowly clogs with the hair that I have pulled from my head in recent days. And I am now thinking that if I had asked the power that makes my finger nails grow while I sleep, and makes the trees flourish and the birds frolic while I am awake, most probably He would have given me a hand with this particular problem. God is still there to help us with our problems. All we have to do is ask, and give Him the chance to do it. So let us remember to ask God to give us a hand in everything that we do.

• The Generosity Test

  Posted: June 14, 2008, 10:24 am by Administrator

  There is a trick that we play with our children in order to develop their sense of generosity and willingness to share. This usually happens when you surprise a child with something that they value greatly like candy or cake or a new toy. Say for example, you give the child a single chocolate bar. He will be very glad to receive the unexpected gift and will eagerly tear the wrapper off in anticipation. But no sooner has the candy touched the mouth and the chocolate began to melt on the tongue, than you tell the kid, “Please give me the candy bar for me to taste as well.”

  In an instant, you can see just by looking at the little face the turmoil that the request creates inside the child. On one hand, he knows that you are the one who gave him and so you deserve to get back in return. But on the other hand, he also knows that he now owns the candy and he can choose not to share. Some kids share and others refuse to share.

  For the kid that decides to share, the adult will take the candy and pretend to take a bite at the candy (that would be liberally coated with saliva by now). The adult will then give back the candy to the kid and lavish him with praise because he is willing to share what he owns. The adult might even give more to the child in order to reinforce the lesson that giving and sharing is a good thing and when practiced, one does not lose, but rather he gains.

  As for the kid that refused to share, he will be reminded verbally of where the candy came from and admonished for his stinginess. On some occasions, the adult who gave the gift might even repossess it from the stingy kid, or take it forcefully to share with other children. This often results in the stingy child screaming hysterically because of the loss, leaving him unhappier than if he had not received the candy at all.

  God treats us like His little children and will give us similar tests to see how we react to His gifts. I am sure that you can remember an occasion where you received money unexpectedly and just as you were planning on how to use it, someone came with a small pesky need that required you to give away some of the money. Did you give the money gladly, grudgingly, or reused to give? As in the case of our children, that is God’s way of saying to us “Please give me the candy bar for me to taste as well.” When we give back to God through that person with the annoyingly accurate timing of appearing just when we have some unexpected bundle of cash, God gives us back with praise and much more of what we offered to Him.

Blah blah blah

Fish cakes

Alas a fish cake.

Yet more fish cakes

Guess what ... yeah ... fish cakes.

The end of the fish cakes