What is life?

Several people have tried to define life in the best way possible, but clearly we cannot describe life in a statement let alone in one word. They say life is a marathon and so you have to endure, but for how long? At least an athlete knows that it is only 2hours at worst 2hours 30minutes and it will be over.

Many Christians tend to think that life is about endurance-with all the wickedness and evil all over and have resigned to fate. They even go as far as saying, “It is the will of God.” Who really knows the will of God? Is it the Priests? Forgive my language but who made them priests in the first place, God? Who can really claim to know the heart beat of the creator?

Besides the athlete endures because he is expecting a gold or silver, what about you? How do you endure when you don’t know for how long, needless to say for what; but if that’s how it’s supposed to be then damn humanity!

Why should you celebrate your day of birth when all it can remind you is the day you begun this miserable journey? Why should your men of old present gifts at your birth or was it a mockery? What star directed them to your place of birth or rather your mother’s house/hospital?

Yet others tell us that life is a battlefield, so you should fight for everything and anything- they call it survival for the fittest. A greater percentage of the world believes in this myth and so has reduced humanity and the world in general into some National park.

We seem to have lost the voice of reason; when you want you don't ask, lest it be considered a sign of weakness; you attack. But whom do you attack or who is willing to be attacked?

Thugs therefore attack you and take what's yours because they are ready to fight for it and on the other hand you are expected to fight back to defend what you believe is yours, but if you are sane enough to realize that your phone or furniture is not worth your life, then you will look like you don't understand how life seems to operate.

However I believe those who think they understand this savage system of life are educated best when they visit the land of the dead

Anyhow as others consider themselves warriors in this life there are those who think life is a drama, so you tell them you are looking for a scholarship or a job and they burst out laughing thinking that you are being dramatic; they think you're probably doing rehearsals like them, they think you're acting out a big joke and so those who believe in this theory will tell you that if you can find humor in anything then you can survive.

Sweet as it may sound just how practical is it. Someone tell me in this 21st century how are you supposed to find humor in idling around while the rest of the world is working into something great. If life is really some sort of drama why then don't we have those lunatics as our role models?

Anyhow dramatic as it may look how many times will you be allowed to recite bearing in mind how short life is? Does life provide room for correction? When things don’t work do you just go on hoping that you are in the rehearsal stage and how do you gauge the rehearsal stage and the real stage?

In essence there are as many definitions to life as there are people in this life; yet these entire definitions pause a big question that if we were to delve into, we might not arrive at any sound conclusion.

Whatever you call it; whether a marathon, battle, drama or a joke, one thing clearly stands out- the vivid confusion! The confusion is so clear in our failure to answer crucial questions which only lives me with one theory, that life is a journey- the same way you don’t know a place until you reach there is the same way you know nothing about tomorrow until you live it. Life is a journey.

© 2009

Abionyach my threeness

The sun was already determined to get up high on the sky, the clouds hurriedly paving way for another clear sky, below the birds sang merrily as though they knew what was about to happen or rather what was already happening.
The waves thrashed the shores of L. Victoria gloriously tossing the anchored boats back and forth like some kid on a seesaw. Then there was the unmistakable sound of a new born showing disgust at the new environment.
It had been long tiresome nine months for the mother who was now holding the baby with joyful relief. On the other hand for the new born it had been the best nine months judging by the seemingly uncontrollable yell- yes, the baby yelled not cry.

Abiud he was named after the mother convinced the father that it was a prophetic name-something he later became very proud of in his life. So Abiud left the gates or what looked like the gate of Lumumba Hospital curled up on the mother’s arms as the father fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. In the next fifteen minutes or so Abiud who is also called Onyango was introduced to his other siblings.

It had been awhile since the attempted coup. Now three small joyful faces were staring down at him. It wasn’t long before they would get fed up. Onyango as it turned out was not only robust but savage. His age mates feared his anger. He would never hesitate to jab when necessary.

The mother had frequented his school more than was necessary. One moment he had broken a friend’s hand, the other he had disfigured a pupil’s dental formula. She had come to know all the teachers teaching Onyango just as good as the palm of her own hand.

“What on earth did I give birth to!” at one point she wondered, after another report this time from a neighbor who’s son had felt the wrath of Onyango’s anger. At such times his mother would opt to tie him under a large mahogany table that was about one foot tall.

His father often caned him but he was somewhat proud of his robust nature-maybe that’s one thing he might have borrowed from him. Nevertheless Onyango who is also called Onyach was quite popular with the older members of the society, particularly the aged people…TO BE CONTINUED…

Involvement

I’ve always been involved, right from the point of birth. Immediately the doctor ushered me into this world I let out weirdly long cry (or was it a shout?) whatever the case I was sending a signal that I am now involved in this not so comfy world. From that point on I got involved. With every age and height I attained I got involved both in the good and the bad. The scars in my body can attest to this tale. Yes! Trees I climbed not only for fun but also to rescue a trapped cat.

Moreover noise makers I wrote in Primary School but I too had my name on the ‘Parrot list’ at some point in life. That is I have been involved in leadership but I have also been under leadership. You see many people call me Jack but I wonder whether they know that am really Jack and that I can sometimes be a jerk! I have pissed off as many people as i have pleased so Jack or Jerk depends on whether you know me for the former or the latter. Believe it or not after high school I preached the gospel not in the church, certainly not! I preached on the streets. Yes! I preached to passers by at Kencom stage. Not that I was holier than thou, absolutely not. If anything I am wretched sinner saved by the grace trying to fulfill the commission or what do you think He meant when he said, “Go yea into the world…” simple! Get involved or you forgot that i am a Jack of all traits.

Anyhow from a demon chasing heaven bound street preaching I ended up in Daystar University pursuing Journalism rather than theology; not that I intended to be a pastor, not at all but neither did I think I would become a journalist not even in my wildest imaginations. Actually I still wonder how I got myself into the idea of studying journalism just as much as I get baffled at the thought of having preached. I’m just being involved I guess.

However there is a part of involvement that I got involved in that left me different more reformed and obviously ready to transform. When I joined campus I yearned to get involved so I joined the Involvement scribes and thus my journey begun. Unlike the 'underground' daystar group on face book, we literary have our offices underground. But that's beside the point.

I seemed to have known well where I was going…so as part of involvement I drew cartoons to involve them and believe me they were involved. At times the cartoons made them laugh; at times it reminded them of the sad reality we faced every day but most importantly it left them more informed. I was happy playing Gado or Maddo in Daystar, whichever suits you. I had done well involving my daystar community.

Furthermore my talent cup was filled to the brim and it spilled over to opinion writing. So I involved them not only with the cartoons I drew but also with the opinions I wrote. Some were mind boggling and others too simple that even a mind that slipped into campus illegally could grasp; yet I never failed to involve the Daystar Community. I rose in ranks with every member of the community I involved. The more my pen coughed ink and my pencil slid on the drawing book the more I informed and the more they got involved.

Consequently my talent cup got fuller and fuller and lo! And behold it spilled on the marketing docket. Did I say Marketing? Of course I did, how then could I possess this noble title? For awhile my creative mind took a rest to pave way for logic or better said arithmetic. But to this very day and hour I question the spilling of my talent cup. Did God really tilt my cup in this direction or was it my ambition. But the more the days go and the more I try to involve them in arithmetic which is supposed to involve advertising the more I realize that indeed it was ambition that tilted my cup. A year is almost gone since my creativity gave way to Arithmetic but quick calculations tell me that I have involved none.

Nevertheless I am a man of reason. I believe in results. Yes! I believe in involvement. Unless you involve you are being selfish and by extension boring, but my ingenious mind cannot accept to be in a boring state and therefore I shall honorably give back what ambition gave me and pray to the almighty to forgive my opportunistic character for out of involvement I’ve learnt to seek the voice of him who involved us all in this life. The Creator!

© 2009

THIS MAN

It was one of those grey evenings I was lying on my back on the hospital bed shifting my gaze strenuously from one florescent bulb to the other, apparently not believing that I was soon going to close my eyelids never to open them again.

The thought of death itself was just us unbearable as my sick body. I imagined how it would be like to die& whether the dead would welcome me just as much as we usher the newborns with gifts and songs. Then I remembered a conversation I over heard between two old men in our neighborhood as they talked about the living dead who tormented a young man back in their village and as my thoughts soared I wondered whether I’d also be back to torment, but whom will I torment or who will be willing to be tormented, I wondered; then without warning I found myself thinking of those who were mean to me and how I was going to torment them when I had someone call me from a distance.

I lazily turned my head to my right almost unconsciously my mind still in deep thoughts and right beside my bed was my childhood friend Gitau, now a successful pastor. Immediately my thoughts ran back to our childhood days and I remembered how Gitau always seemed to invite more problems than any of us. I particularly remembered one day when we had a clearly spelt out plan of how we were going to warp up everything at Maweu’s garage until Gitau showed up with this ‘stupid’ idea that almost blew our cover and the best he could do to save the situation was to laugh his head out.

We were quite naughty. Now the same old friend who always wore a smile stood a few inches wrapped in silence, probably trying to compose his spiritual speech. I never paid much attention to him; especially after ‘he got cheated into joining the freaks’ yeah! That’s what we called those saved; but that day I yearned to hear from him. Whether it was the last words of a neglected old friend that I wanted to hear or this thing called spirituality am not sure, but that was the beginning of the end.

I listened keenly as Gitau explained to me the life and death of this Man Jesus. Every thing seemed to be still except for His deep voice that cut through the air and the shuffling of his hands through the Bible pages as he looked for a reference to back up his teaching. I wondered whether I was really enjoying this ‘freaky’ stuff or it’s my friend’s presence I was enjoying.

Soon he was done and he asked that we pray and I agreed more of a favor to him; I mean you don’t want to make enemies on your death bed do you? Or so I thought, but the prayers were so fervent at some point I opened my eyes to watch the person we robbed people with praying with so much passion. Then came the part for Amen and I pretended to be opening my eyes.
“I pray that God visit you this day.” He said then handed me his Bible then left...TO BE CONTINUED...
© 2008