The Fallen Ones

Look out!

The Ideals are falling;

This is the fifty year end.

Stone upon uncut stone,

Rumbling and tumbling to the ground,

Smashing against rock into ashen smoke.

Don't run!

Stand like the man you are

And savor sourly

The slice of Italian-made,

Blue-tint glass shards,

Into your soft dust-speckled skin.

Who built this?

Stay.

Silently, solemnly, with a subtle smirk -

 Watch them bury you -

Through and through;

Then rise.

bodo2014

Now, ideally a poem should not be explained. I will elaborate on this one simply because as I said, that is an ideal. You may still interpret it in your own way usijali.

As we form and end various relationships at different points of life, there are certain constants. We either get friends who will help us through tangible rewards (like loaning us/giving out hugs and fist thumps when our team wins) and/or those who help by being what we want to be.  We search for friends who uphold our ideals as/more than we do. Ultimately we relate to our idea of what people are.

These ideas sometimes are our own creations/creatures. Sometimes something happens (a word, a situation, a preacher in a bus :) and opens our eyes to the fact that we've been living a dream. Not that this person has changed, just that the image we had has fallen. The greatest 'most principled' friends become 'kawaida' normal human beings. The ideals fall.

Of Blackouts and Chicken

1. My thoughts on a popular video...Song.No.Video.Meh.Vocals.Wow! Moving on swiftly...

2. My thoughts on the subject of this post...Song. Okay. Video. Great! Vocals. Read on...

Picture this, you've bought your ingredients, including a voluptuous hoho and once you've locked yourself in, you proceed to do a bit of washing saving the pleasure of slicing, swishing, pouring and even lighting the gas for later.

After  you've undressed to your bare tu-thingies, in line with the 4th law of nature that says you shower after washing everything else, and turned the knob that promises hot jets of water, something happens.  Lights out.

The first words out of your mouth (even if more than three) are most probably laced with profanity.

But then my mouth is not your mouth. So I censor the profanities and whisper a phrase with just one bleep. I pause for a full minute. My theory always is, if the lights came back immediately (as they do very many times), any movement on my part will be wasted effort.

Is there comfort in numbers?

After the moment of awkward pitch darkness, I decide to dress up. Kabisa. Theory? It could be an invasion by terrorists or gangs or the boogie man. Boogie man. Enehu, so as I chuck the bathroom I notice there's light outside the door.

I dress up quickly, walk out to discover that, alas, the angel of darkness didn't have the key to some houses. So back in, I cook haraka. I decide to play Mwanzo and Barua ya Dunia back to back. I dice and slice, singing (maybe loudly) along to Bien and Maureen and at some point, when listening to Koo Koo, I get an epiphany that necessitates a blogpost.

I've told my music-leaning friends that I find it important that every musician hides gems in their music recordings. These are quail-sized licks, ad libs that for the musical ear sound like aromated matumbo.  Kwanza there's this girl who cooks. Wololo! I think she's the one who's aromated, not the food. Lame? So?! Go sit on a cactus!

Enehu, so as I listen to Maureen show off (yes, the girl shows off at the oo in koo) I decided that there's something else that is essential to a great track. I walk to the laptop, back to a get a towel to dry my hands on then back to the machine and start typing. By the time I get to the second paragraph of this post I realize I can't remember what it was I wanted to tell you. You who have taken time to scroll through this 431-word post.  Want to count? They're actually 460.

As I type this, my laptop battery is almost up. My food is almost ready. I don't know how I will eat in dead silence then sleep. I can't even read a book. This is just sad.

So, goodnight.

Remembered just before the machine died.

So, I wanted to say it is also essential that one is able to do something no one can ever attempt better or succesfully. Wyclef has the thing he does at the end of his phrasing that is gruffy and sharp. In Koo Koo, Maureen does something no other woman who dares try to do , now and in future, thinks is easy. Don't do easy. Perfect it. Anyone who tries sounding like Nameless for instance will always sound like a hoax. Haya, sasa machine iko na lifesaver ya yellow 

Skip and Dance

Disclaimer: This post is sappy. Don't complain about the writer's personality after reading it.

My life is on the right track. It is where I'd like it to be. Of course in a way that would mean I haven't considered where God wants it to be. But then I honestly don't know where He wants it to be. So according to me, it's on the right track.

No. It's not.

I've just been given some news. Interesting news. So captivating that I can't seem to get my mind back to the Mother's Day concepts I was working on.

I'd like to go back to 2 weeks back. Take you there and explain why today seems to have the same effect. But I won't. I will try.

When I was in Class 2 (at Hermann Gmeinner. That spelling was confusing. So I'm not sure that's the correct one and if I take time to Google it, I'll lose my mojo. So let's work with that for now), the teacher, I think it was Miss (or Madam) Bilha told us to write a composition about 'My Best Friend.'

So you're reading this blog post. With its many interruptions such as this one. Where do you think my story is headed?

I didn't know what to write. Long story short, on that occasion and another one later on in Nzoia Sugar Company Primary School (different class and teacher), I picked one of my close friends and wrote about him, sure that no one wrote about me.

In both occasions, I was struck by fear when this subject came up. Best friend. I was everyone's friend. I was no one's best friend. Because? Inspite of? I dunno. I picked that up (dunno) last year.

Fast forward. Pause. High School. Moment of reflection as people 'pair' up and same situation. Fast forward again. Pause there. Right there. Back kidogo. Ummm...there! There. First year campus. Cliques. I knew everyone. I joined campus three weeks after official orientation date but in a week's time I knew almost (80%) of them. I was the guy people would ask who 'nani' is when they needed help and didn't know the name of the light-skinned guy at the back of the class. Yet I was not strictly part of any clique. At the periphery of some but not full member.

You're wondering about people in the estate back home and probably feeling sorry (if female) and bored (male).

The best way of explaining this phenomenon, I found out much later, was my growing up. When your life pans out in such a way that you move after every 3 or so years of living in a town, it becomes difficult to sink roots. It's almost impossible to have the kind that mango trees have. You probably manage Mangrove ones that just keep you afloat.

So, when you finally think you've managed to carve out something and then it slips through your fingers, well, it can be damaging. But that has nothing to do with the news. Which I won't share for now. Just know it's depressing. 6 months (probably less) and a day after  I've seen my work on banners and gone through the shock and elation of it, this isn't what I expected.

I await confirmation-via email. So I'll go kneel and tell Him to do something.

Before I got the news, I had come up with this plan (as I walked to 'mbeiz' for lunch);

1. Purchase everything for the house by the end of the year and then focus on investing.

2. Start on a Marketing course so that in 2 years I can quit and market what I love most: Music.

All that might have to wait. For now, pull up a chair and sit. Watch as I mend (or try mending) my friendships (God knows I value them), I take on all the projects around and finally as we ( God and/through me) pull off weird maneuvers with projects lined up.

What can I say? Nothing is tumbling yet. Okay, some are. But then again, I can't just sit and watch movies, as tempting as it sounds.

Last week on Bodo's Blog...

Last week on Bodo's Blog...

Hahahahaha! I make myself happy! You see, in my head I can see the look on your face and makes me laugh so hard I start getting hunger pangs. Okay, I'm done.

Back to the story of how I met Anita.  i'm serious.

Now every time I try throwing in, "Remember Miss Bilha?" I'm overpowered by "I can't believe we were deskmates in Nursery School!"

Me: I remember Lucy, the mzungu girl and...

Felix: Wow! Remember Kate Wami?

Joy: Kate Wami is my best friend. Looks very different now! Ever seen...

Do I blame God for this predicament? For not knowing who Kate Wami was and only shariing memories of one mean teacher Jacinta? No! I blame my mother's boss for this particular situation. Not anything else, just this moment.

To cut the long(short) story short (shorter), a some point the Kapten's joined the conversation. Fullie (spelt F.U. double L.I.E :-D What?! F.U. Double L.I.E. In case you didn't get it, lemme repeat. No? Ok)

Fullie was in the same class as Allan.

Me: We were family friends. In fact I met her the other day...

Fullie: If you were in Anita's class how come you don't remember my brother?

Me: Ummm... I was not in exactly the same class. I was in North or South

Joy: Yaani I can't believe it! You remember...

So, this is how I met Anita.

I can't remember. Relax, uskonde. I honestly can't remember the vivid details  of our first meet. This is what I remember:

I remember after moving in to Memorial estate (that is how I remember it being called) and waking up disoriented. You know how it is the first day after kuhama, right?

I have memories of waking up to make cars out of UHT Tetrapak paper. I remember sitting with his brother Dennis on the railings down at the field and him showing me his thumb nail (the nail of his thumb) with a streak of black. Of beauty spots. He had a jungle green jeep the size of my computer mouse complete with an armed soldier inside.

I remember Allan in the school uniform being the last born he is.

I remember passing Anita by the school corridor and looking forward to prize giving day hoping I become number 1 and not 2 because she would get the prize.

I remember her round face. I remember her in a dress, black shoes and white stockings as we played on the sand pile outside our home.

I remember watching Sarafina at our Sudanese neighbour, Ball's house. I remember  going for mass at the cathedral.

All memories of Eldoret are fond. Even beatings after losing my 5th pair of shoes in 4 weeks.

I met her at a Wedding in August last year. Very jovial. Nowadays she wears specs. We chat every now and then. After like 5 months. Oh, and I owe her lunch.

How I Know Anita

Apparently  dunia ni ballgum i.e. is swahili for the world is small. I was in Kamato, Lambwe Valley, Homabay county this past weekend and at least had an excuse to miss a steamy Hisia Sunday.

So I'm seated at the back with Fullie to my right and Joy to my left. I knew both at different points in my short life,with milestones marked every March. Fullie is always tallkative but today he is quiet. At first I thought it is because he felt like a third wheel-when you are two guys and a girl, and you don't know the girl then it goes without saying... 

So he kept busy staring at his phone and texting every now and then. I can bet you 30 dollars it was Ivy.  I don't have 30 dollars so if you win this bet good luck getting your money.

So being the awkward-situations-phobic me, I tried including him in conversation, sometimes starving the girl. ("Who does that?!" I know what you are thinking, but stay with me).

At some point the conversation moves to Eldoret. I can't remember how. Joy can. Sharon can explain why. I feel so smart right now.

Enehu, I mention something about growing up in Eldoret and going to SOS Hermann Gmeiner Primary School. Forget the long name, focus on the people to my left and right lighting up and loudly exclaiming, "You were in...I was also there!" in different tongues a la the disciples at Pentecost. By the way, last week's Wednesday was Ash Wednesday.

I'm speechless for some few seconds and minutes after this, mostly because I was shut out of the conversation by the two. To be continued....

Life Happens Still

I’m creating my portfolio. I’ve gotten some 2 solid leads I want to pursue. I am shocked at the diverse nature of my assignments covering just 3 and a half months. I guess I should be grateful for the fact that this is a big company.

Co-incidentally, as I ask my direct boss on how to go about creating a brand guideline/brand bible, he informs me of my Big Boss’s concerns on whether I have internalized the corporate brand. My direct boss thinks I have. He’s a better designer so methinks that’s what counts. Of course now I have to impress Big Boss over the next few weeks.

Still, let me finish with this portfolio and see what more is out there. Just in case.

I am proud of the fact that there are press releases and some designs with my copy writing. We’ll see how this pans out in the next 3 years.

By the way I think I should do like a whole month of ‘serious’ prayer to unclog some things that seem too chilled out to move. Me included.

My inner circle has greatly changed over the last 3 years, in a good way.

Ever wondered who reads your blog? Ever wondered whether they are waiting to see whether you’ve matured enough for them to refer you to some ‘big’ guy? It doesn't matter which field you are in.

Ever wondered whether your friends are keeping up to date with your life just through your writing and will hold it against you at some future? What about that hot, intelligent ‘potential’? Will she just find your blog and have you figured out by the second date?

Does this influence how you write and what you post?

But then again, you probably don’t have your own blog or have given it a name as brilliant as untwisted logic which does not betray who you are. Either way, you only sit and laugh/marvel/judge those of us who because of some weird complex have decided to lay ourselves bare to the world (at least the computer-literate members of the global village.) If my mother read this blog…

Before you go, check out this event's poster. I designed it. So do the necessary :-)

So long folks!

In My Head

It's 1.33 a.m. Late, in my books. I will probably miss early Mass tomorrow and go for the noon one. Mathe calls it the mass for lazy/rich people. Some years ago it was the mass for the drunkards and something else I can't remember.

Insomnia? No, I love sleep as much as sleep loves me. I've never had an issue with insomnia.

So why am I awake? Well, I've been reading...before that I was watching something-Shuga Naija to be specific. 2 episodes out of curiosity on whether it was done as well as the Lupita one. Pssst! Lupita means a small star. Nyota ndogo...hehe!

Done with reading poetry (Redscar is an accomplished author??), short stories and online articles on topics ranging from Psychology (4 paragraphs then moved on) to the usual '14 ways to judge a good business idea'. Now that I've decided to put up a post, I'm thinking.

I'm thinking about this writer who has the ability to weave different characters from real life into fictional works; turning women into men and stuff. I have all along suspected it, but now I'm sure. The realization makes me want to call and ask, but then, well...it's past the hour where a man would just want to find out about a literary matter.

I'm thinking about many different paths crossing, no...criss-crossing each other in the near future and how that will pan out.

From such to things as mundane as this update (by Isaac Mugunda) gnawing at the seams of my brain. The Kenya Premier Leagues is getting more interesting with teams booking/searching for stadiums in different counties. Sofapaka has Machakos county. I wonder how that will affect the politics and football in our country. The EPL hasn't been this competitive in a long, long while. I guess that's a good thing. GGMU!

I'm thinking about this conversation on the need for money and whether we are slaves to money. This was sparked by two separate but related debates. One with Kenita at the arboretum-sawasawafest has returned home- and the other on Etta's wall.

I'm thinking about a dark,rich purple tie and a black shirt.

I'm thinking about how irritating this repetition might be to whoever is reading this.

Oh, and I chanced upon this and it perfectly captures one of my greatest fears. I had, till I read this, never found a way of expressing this very real fear to me. It haunts every little thing I do and everytime I reflect on my achievements and failures, I can't get this thought out of my head. Here it goes:

I will never be a brain surgeon, and I will never play the piano like Glenn Gould.
But what keeps me up late at night, and constantly gives me reason to fret, is this: I don’t know what I don’t know. There are universes of things out there — ideas, philosophies, songs, subtleties, facts, emotions — that exist but of which I am totally and thoroughly unaware. This makes me very uncomfortable. I find that the only way to find out the fuller extent of what I don’t know is for someone to tell me, teach me or show me, and then open my eyes to this bit of information, knowledge, or life experience that I, sadly, never before considered.
Afterward, I find something odd happens. I find what I have just learned is suddenly everywhere: on billboards or in the newspaper or SMACK: Right in front of me, and I can’t help but shake my head and speculate how and why I never saw or knew this particular thing before. And I begin to wonder if I could be any different, smarter, or more interesting had I discovered it when everyone else in the world found out about this particular obvious thing. I have been thinking a lot about these first discoveries and also those chance encounters: those elusive happenstances that often lead to defining moments in our lives.
[…]
I once read that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I fundamentally disagree with this idea. I think that doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of hope. We might keep making mistakes but the struggle gives us a sense of empathy and connectivity that we would not experience otherwise. I believe this empathy improves our ability to see the unseen and better know the unknown.
Lives are shaped by chance encounters and by discovering things that we don’t know that we don’t know. The arc of a life is a circuitous one. … In the grand scheme of things, everything we do is an experiment, the outcome of which is unknown.
You never know when a typical life will be anything but, and you won’t know if you are rewriting history, or rewriting the future, until the writing is complete.
This, just this, I am comfortable not knowing.

She's called Debbie Millman and the book, Look Both Ways.

I had a great year! I'm good. I'm okay. I am resting, I'm sure something will happen...I just don't know when or how bad it will be. C'est la vie!. Goodnight!