CODED

Diary 1, It was beginning to gnaw at me,this irksome fretting over my last day at the office. At various times in my life I have struggled with the theory of zoe and for this time I felt a looser.  The silver chain at my humbled crib at Genesis Apartments swung gently from a draft creeping into the house through partially finished walls.The chain,as it brushed up against the dusty  60~watt bulb protruding from one of the wood rafters played a song with the hollow whistle of wind that sneaked in the poorly sealed windows.Tink.tink...ti tink. The lonely noise went on for a long moment,then a short phlegmy cough punctured the quiet and the shuffle of papers,and a chair leg scrape ended the winsome song. I pulled my blue knitted warmer tighter,I stiffened my spine as if in defiance of the bitging August air seeping into the house.I padded to my white enamel stove .The ancient stove chipped and yellowing,popped to life as I turned the knob.I placed a copper tea kettle onto the burn...

                          "BISECTED" #diary1. I first met him in matatu while i was in high school some few years ago,and the whole definition of a GAY black man couldn't escape my mind even for a second when i saw him. I continued seeing him on several occasions and hello!The way he handled and represented himself with admirable dexterity and clarity carried away all my attention if not yours. His pleasure in relating and dressing and the coming out of  the byzantine complexities of Nyayo and Harambee politics was contagious and how free and unbothered he walked  around without a pardon of breaking the law embracing oneself with a Big Tag Raised "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS"

Relationships hurt the most, Paramia Cmanto Family. Love them or love them not, there’s often a limit to what you can do with the difficult ones. You can’t live with them and you can’t make them join the circus. When there’s a lifetime of emotional investment involved, it’s likely that any response will hurt and will require a huge push, whether it’s walking away or fighting for the relationship. Even if you decide that the price of being in the relationship is too high, it’s not always easy to leave. Sometimes it’s just not an option. Whether you’re on your way out or bracing for more, here are some ways to protect yourself from the ones who scrape you: Don’t let anyone else’s behaviour change who you are. Be dignified. Be brilliant. Be kind. Don’t let anyone reduce the best of you.  Make it clear this isn’t personal. Insecurity is at the heart of a lot of broken relationships. Insecure people will feel attacked even when no attack is made. If this is ...

An Open Letter To My Heartbroken Mom Forever and always. Always and forever. Panamus Cmanto, F irst of all, don’t be mad that I’m writing this. When I told you I’d be writing for the Odyssey, I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind for one of my first articles. You’ve always been my best friend, my biggest fan, and my secret keeper. You’ve always been the one to hold me in my times of heartbreak and give me the best advice. You’ve always been there for me, but now it’s time for me to do the same for you. Promise me to remember these things in your time of heartbreak NOTHING YOU'RE FEELING IS “wrong.” Everything you are feeling is a completely normal process. You’re handling things the way you’re wired to handle them. Everyone grieves differently: some jump into their normal routine, some take time to themselves; some want to talk about it, while others would rather not. So what if you cry every day or if it’s hard just to get out of bed most days? You aren’t...

The level of ignorance, or is it pure devilry, is staggering. Majority of the people of Khartoum, blinded by the venom of religion and general political bigotry, looked down on Juba, felt no empathy and even called for and cheered their complete suppression through annihilation. The people of the South were called derogatory names and they were made fun of in their years of struggle, agony and grief. Here in Kenya, the same people who cheered Jubilee mafia when they bribed and maimed and shot dead opposition supporters and made fun of those who boycotted staged elections are now up there with angels, talking solidarity with the awakened masses of Khartoum. You are heartless fools. Oppression is oppression, home or abroad. I am still waiting for you to wake up from your dictatorial sleep. It is true that the demons of the tribe ate your brains and now, your empty heads swing on stiffened necks. And to think that Jesus died for your redemption. Sad affair. Shenzi sana! Riswa!

NJALALE'S DIARY Four weeks of emptying out and refilling are over. You don't need to be jealous of me anymore. I have eaten fresh food. I have inhaled clean air. I have enjoyed tree shades and the beautiful sight of sunrises and sunsets. I have listened to an orchestra of grateful birds at the break of dawn. I have taken busaa to my fill. I have 'dished' boiled chicken and fresh mangoes and guavas and groundnuts. I have enjoyed the company of kind people. "Village Diary" concludes today because its author has eaten the departure ingokho and has a bus ticket in hand. Back into the urban dust and rationing and cacophony. This is a sad departure, boys and girls, but that which is of absolute necessity. One thing though, I never met any of my village ex-girlfriends. Where did they go? Anyway, the balding process on my head continues. Good thing is, I have a full beard to deflect your wandering and indiscipline eyes. It was four weeks of wellness and reconnection....

Baby brother walked into the house shortly after the 7:00 pm Kiswahili news. Afternoon was all downpour. The air and the walls and the grass were wet and cold. He grabbed me by the hand and said something about beating the cold. 'Explain,' I hesitated. His was a crazy idea. He'd already gathered bonfire wood. He lit it. We fetched chairs and rubbed our hands and watched the flames rise and fall and expand and threaten and quiet down. The ash was piling and we were talking about intimate things like love and dreams and tomorrow. We'd forgotten it's the rainy season and we were 'free' and sipping tea from a thermos flask, not whisky. Rem this was a surprise thing. Whoever will marry my baby bro will either be too happy or too otherwise. Hear me, there is no middle ground with him. He's the scoundrel in the pic below. Someone was leaning back and the chair was sinking in the soft ground and he was falling backwards and another person (me) was laughing. My...