Beat the chills

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It's safe to conclude that there's never a dull moment in Kenya.  Nyahururu residents were treated to the unprecedented spectacle of  snow not too long ago. Yes, snow!!! Let's indulge ourselves a bit and ignore the guys at the Kenya Meteorological Department; it actually 'snowed' in Kenya. It's been that cold this July.

I'm accustomed to my birth month being synonymous with near sub-zero temperatures but this...this is just too far much. Drastic times therefore call for drastic measures. I have made it a cardinal rule to sit in the front row behind the driver's seat in a matatu even if I will have to assume the role of co-conductor and possibly be part of a 5-man sandwich. The radiant heat emanating from the engine compartment is worthy compensation for the intrusion of my personal space.(plus there's added perk of body heat)

Having intensely observed my cat's sleeping posture, I have further been equipped with profound insights to keep warm. I have resorted to contorting my body and curling up in a figure 4 position to optimize my body's heat retention capabilities as I sleep. Prior to adopting this sleeping position, I have seen it  prudent to lie on my bed for around 15 minutes just before I sleep, this pre-warming technique has been especially invaluable in ensuring the bed sheets 'changamka kidogo' because the fabric can feel so cold on the skin at night.

Polyester pants have served me well this period. In addition, ironing my pants/shirts or even socks just before  wearing them has been just as effective, not forgetting walking briskly and layering. Spare a thought for those who live in Iceland, just  how they hack it is anyone's guess?

As much as I'm for being warm at all costs, they are those who don't keep warm, not in the colloquial sense of the word. I mean those who are cold, or to put it plainly, whose hearts are as cold as ice. They go about life griping and wining, wearing a permanent scowl on their face with crease lines perpetually running across their foreheads. They didn't beat the chills, the chills beat them.

I would know, because I was one of them; almost always brooding, sulky, seeking sympathy from all quarters and believing i was entitled to people feeling woiyee for me, the chills got me bad. Looking back, I figured why I was such, I figured out why many are as such. The chills stem primarily from emotional hurt, and it's fair to say that the hurt isn't always as people-induced as I would think it to be.

Let's take a trip down memory lane...you and me. You thought it was just my problem. Guess again. This cycle I am about to narrate may well include you as the lead actor.

Episode 1- The Expectation

Being the rational being you are, with knowledge and wisdom to boot, you develop expectations.

"Guys will share this post and it will go viral."

" She won't friendzone me, I think I'm an upgrade on her ex."

" They will accept my friend request"

" Dad has to be there for me on my graduation."

" The church will help us out."

" There's no way she can date my ex, she's my bff."

" He will pay me back as promised."

Episode 2- The performance

The post doesn't go viral, neither is it shared, nor is it liked. I get friend-zoned big time na niko ndaani,ndaani, ndani kabisa. Friend requests go unanswered, 4 months down the line. Dad isn't there on your graduation, or on your ruracio, or on your wedding, in fact he is never there at all. The church doesn't help you out, christians stigmatize you for getting peggars out of wedlock, christians don't come rushing to your aid when you're in financial need even when you bailed those christians out when they were in the red. She does date your ex, in fact, she's the reason why you're the ex. He doesn't pay on time, or one month after that, or 6 months after that, or one year after that and in that time he's gained weight, got a car and bought an iphone for his girlfriend.

Episode 3- Disappointment

I get disappointed. You get disappointed.

The sunken feeling of unmet expectations lingers in your heart. How could things have transpired the way they did? Why did they happen the way the did? How could I have been used like that? How could someone take advantage of my kindness like that? How could I have been played for a fool? Questions abound with no answers in sight.

Season finale- The Downward  Spiral
Then I get angry, bitter, resentful of the other person. How could he/she/they have done that? They become public enemy no 1. They are the problem. They are at fault.

I'll prove him/her/ them wrong. I'll work on myself, hit the gym till I get ripped, rise up the career ladder and become Kenneth 2.0 till they feel sorry for the way they treated me and beg for my forgiveness. My every move becomes about them, my offender-focused rage fueling my resilience to be a better version of me. The bitterness or siege mentality works it stuff, and refuses to welcome any thought of letting go of my anger. Only a solemn apology from the offender will do, anything less, won't cut it.

Thereafter, I refuse to speak to the offender. I  refrain from liking or sharing any of their posts, I block them or unfriend them from my social media accounts. I place them on the reject list in my phone so that I don't have to answer their calls. I badmouth them to my friends and expect my friends to distance themselves from the offender in question.


Have you ever found yourself in this cycle? It's a cycle for the simple reason that season 2 goes like this; in thinking that the offender will come around and apologize, you develop an expectation, he/she doesn't apologize(performance), you get disappointed and then angry and just like that season 2 is a mirror image of season 1 and the seasons keep on coming without any let up.

The result is we nurse a grudge. We think ill of the offender. We cannot for the life of us understand why he/she can't fess up that they did us wrong. As much as we don't sing 'solidarity forever' or hold placards, our hearts have gone on strike and will not resume working to love until the CBA(the offender's apology) arrives.

It's always the offenders fault! It's always his/her actions! I will be happy if THEY just apologized!
Is it really? Is it just solely the offender's fault?

Eleanor Roosevelt quipped, "Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent." We are so keen on zeroing in on the performance of the other that we fail to realize our expectations in the first place are the biggest culprit, we and not them,are the reason why we feel angry or inferior.

Episode 1 and not 2 is where it all goes wrong. More times than we care to admit, we set unrealistic expectations. Many times, we set expectations in complete ignorance, then blame the offender for his/her wrongdoing, but remain mum on our ignorance or naivety. Many times we falsely think that our perspective of the truth is the gospel truth of how things should occur. Our perspective is a perspective; the reality/truth is so much different. Many times we misinterpret what people say/do, like I did, we perceive things not as they really are,  a recipe for disaster.

I have come to realize it's not always the offender's fault, it's mine for being ignorant of the person, the environment, the way things work, the way people behave. I have come to realize that the fault was mine for being naive, for misunderstanding someone's actions/motives, spoken words and failing to clarify what he/she meant and reaching false conclusions. It's my fault for thinking that my intuition was bang on cue, my fault for thinking that my perspective of truth was truth when the reality was and still is far different. Common sense isn't always that common because we have  varying perspectives on things.

And perhaps............., you have too.

The focus shouldn't always be on the offender but on ourselves as well, on our very skewed expectations.

This is just the stating point of beating the chills. The second point is also realizing we have the power to CHOOSE how to respond. We are not COMPELLED to respond because of another's ill treatment towards us. I am not my shame. I am not my bitterness. I am not my anger. I am not my siege mentality. I chose all those.

When I look at the life of Jesus, do I realize this. Jesus had  reason to choose to be bitter, sulky and angry, in fact he had a catalogue of reasons. He was rejected by guys in his own home town(Luke 4:14-30). His own brothers didn't believe him.(John 7:5) Pharisees claimed he drove out demons because his power was from demons!!!(Matthew 12:22-37). He healed 10  lepers yet only one came back to thank him(Luke 17:11-19). He was betrayed for only 30 pieces of silver. His trusted disciple Peter betrayed him three times. The crowd chose him(sinless God-man) to be crucified and pardoned a well-known prisoner, Barabbas, to go free in his stead.(Matthew 27:16-26)

He didn't leaved a charmed life that's for sure. He was hurt repetitively. He did not sulk. He did not go about whining about the wickedness of man. He wasn't constantly telling his disciples on how he would get back at the Pharisees. He didn't feel the need to prove his brothers wrong for not believing him. He didn't act to seek sympathy from others.

What he did was to continue the work God sent him, in spite of the hurt. He continued with his teaching, he continued healing, he continued driving out demons. That must have taken love and forgiveness. That must have meant, moderating his expectations of people and accepting their limitations rather than adopting a siege mentality against them. It must have meant bearing with them patiently, his persistent patience with them evidenced so strongly when he says to his disciples, "At last you believe!"(John 16:31 NIRV)

Jesus set an example for us to follow; not one of constant bickering or holding out for an apology, but one of letting go and loving. To keep warm, aside from moderating our expectations, we also ought to let go of our hurt, our bitterness, our resentment. I know it isn't easy but Jesus showed it by example in the face of hurts far greater than our own. Besides, since we have hurt Jesus and our sins put him on the cross, yet he forgives us and graciously gives us things, what right do we have not to be merciful and forgiving as he was, irrespective of how we were offended?

As Jesus lay dying on the cross, he asked God to forgive those who crucified him.He prayed for those who offended him.(Luke 23:34) Stephen did the same by praying for those who stoned him.(Acts 7:60) Beating the chills, means we too ought to forgive, we too ought to let our bitterness go, we too ought to pray for those who hurts us like Jesus did on the cross as well as Stephen.

It is not beyond our capability to do so as christians because we have not received a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline(2 Timothy 1:7) that overrides any vengeance or siege mentality and loves back.

Being cynical, isolating yourself, seeking sympathy doesn't beat the chills, it only reinforces them.
As Louise Erdrich said, "Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with it's yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could."

Fear of hurt shouldn't force you to live as a cynic or in isolation. At whatever point in your life, may you draw lessons from your past hurt and may that in turn lead you to moderate your expectations to avoid making the same mistakes. Follow Jesus example, as he patiently bore with us, may we bear with one another and forgive whatever grievances we may have against each other and forgave as the Lord forgave us( Colossians 3:12-14)






 

Ndani ndaaaani, ndaani kabisa

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As you are no doubt aware, it's that time again when political aspirants countrywide beseech us to vote for them. Not too long ago, Nick Salat, in an embodiment of this earnest desire, voiced his rather robust allegiance to a certain political outfit. I doubt he envisioned his impassioned plea would generate a host of parodies and vines in other humorous contexts. Neither am I sure he envisioned himself betraying the very same words he uttered not too soon after; when he was certainly "nje, nje"; but we have come to expect that from our politicians, haven't we ?

Regardless of this turn of events, I'm sure at one point one your life you can attest to being ndani, ndaani in something. Given the notoriously strenuous Kenya School of Law, one would certainly identify with being ndaani, ndani upon  admission to the bar.

Since this is also that time of graduations, a good number of graduands exuberantly celebrate being ndani ndaaani kabisa upon seeing their names in the graduation list. Whereas, those still in campus celebrate being ndani, ndaani on seeing no resit required upon the release of their examination results.

Or maybe you're like me, a Manchester United supporter, who upon the final whistle in Stokholm, Ajax defeated, Mourinho vindicated, and just couldn't help saying "tuko ndani, ndaani, ndaaaaani kabisa," with reference to the Champions league especially after a season of being perpetually reminded by Arsenal fans of being ndani ndaani, ndani kabisa in 6th position in the EPL.

Perhaps after a long day's work, you may find yourself so ndaaani, ndaani kabisa in sleep as you commute home that you wake up slobbering and at times in dire need of Google Maps to trace your  current location.

Who can forget those who are finally filing their tax returns in true Kenyan last minute style and cry out "ndani ndaani, ndani kabisa!!!"  knowing all too well that they will not be sh 20,000 poorer.

However, all the above are nowhere near the worst kind of ndaani, ndani. Something far more sinister is, unfortunately, it is one that far too many Kenyans are in, though they will make concerted efforts to conceal it. It is that ndaani, ndaani to a tribe, that ndani ndaani that obstinately persists to label another ethnic group as 'the enemy'. That ndaani, ndaani that smacks of tribalism and a siege mentality against a particular political candidate just because they hail from a community that is 'nje,nje'. It is a ndaani, ndaani so firmly entrenched in the 'myth' that a coming to power of so and so will indubitably result in the victimization and marginalization of an entire ethnic group and so to 'safeguard' a tribal heritage, the populace votes on the basis of a siege mentality rather than on merit.

The election cycle brings out the worst of this ndaani ndaani, which begs the question, when will it ever end? One wonders why the application of this ndaani ndaani is zeroed in on aspirants to political office. Why doesn't one ask what tribe the doctor who will operate them is from? Why doesn't one pose the same question to the pharmacist who gives you your dosage? Why is the question of tribe not asked of the teacher who will teach your child? Why is the tribe question not asked of the security guard who watches over our estates during the night?

Do we pose the tribe question to the matatu tout before we board a matatu or inquire of the ethnic group of the driver? Do we ask what tribe the Chef hails from when we patronize a restaurant? Do we demand to know the tribe of the bank teller who is assisting us to deposit cash into our accounts?

I doubt anyone does so despite each of these people playing a significant role in their lives, yet for some unfathomable reason, a political aspirant, who we might never ever get to meet will have to go through the tribal checklist.

When our beloved athletes bag medals during the Olympics, we celebrate a victory for Kenya not Kalenjins. When the 7s rugby team won their maiden circuit in Singapore it was a victory for Kenya not the Luhyas or Luos in isolation. Same goes for the success of Lupita Nyongo, Kenya rather than Luo was put on the map.

We ought to be ndaani ndaani about our nation rather than our tribe, and the political aspirant of choice should be the one who accomplishes the best for Kenya regardless of his/her tribe.

I won't be one to go to the tribal route because I know the God I serve wouldn't want it any other way. Jesus in Matthew 28: 18-20  desired that we make disciples of all nations, illustrating no race or ethnic group was superior, all had an equal share. He had earlier illustrated his preference for inclusivity during his encounter with the Samaritan woman and by extension the Samaritan village. (John 4:4-42). In reaching out to the Samaritans, a race whom Jews considered utterly repulsive, Jesus set the tone by showing that even the supposed 'outcasts' on the basis of race were welcome to his kingdom.

Therefore, borrowing from his model, I consider no tribe an outcast or an enemy. Neither will I advocate for ethnic profiling. I am Kenneth, I am not my tribe, and no myths or stereotypes about a particular tribe will tell me otherwise.

I am ndani, ndaaaaani, ndaani kabisa in my nationality as a Kenyan, hating on my fellow Kenyan because he comes from another tribe is totally nje, njeeee, nje kabisa!!!

Unconditionally bae or just way better?

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Just do it. Three ordinary words yet one extraordinary sports brand. Despite being an Adidas lover, I just can't help falling for Nike's signature slogan. The unmistakable white or black swoosh accompanied by the urge to 'just do it' has graced T-shirts galore.

Beyond being just a slogan for Nike, 'just do it' can be viewed as a maxim that transcends sport into all facets of everyday life. It's that overwhelming compulsion to act, that nagging desire that refuses to go away until it is fulfilled, that constant prodding and badgering to exit one's  zone of comfort.

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The embodiment of this maxim comes to mind in the form of Valentine's day. Ladies and gentlemen all over the word are under all kinds of pressure to just do it in the hope of meeting if not exceeding bae's expectations. Flowers, chocolates, dinner dates, show-stopping proposals are all on the cards, after all, love is a verb, and so you put out all the stops to show it.

Love is typically illustrated in reciprocity or simpler terms, nipe-nikupe. It's ingrained in our mindset to give love and receive it back, and it's the same mindset we take with us when it comes to loving God. Action-oriented love, so much so, that when we are not in a position to act and show our love, we believe God couldn't possibly love us back and at present he loves us less.

To paint a clearer picture, I'll borrow from the 5 love languages of love as defined by Gary Chapman. We express and expect to receive love in 5 different ways;

1. Acts of Service
This love language is about helping someone out or easing another's burden or responsibilities. When someone serves you out of love and not obligation or compulsion, you feel loved.  Simply put, you seek somebody's good/ well-being by doing something for them. No love language says 'love is a verb' than this one.

2. Receiving gifts
 This love language can sometimes be misconstrued for materialism which isn't always the case. The recipient of the gift thrives on the love, thoughtfulness and effort behind the gift. Somebody whose language is receiving gifts believes that the perfect gift or gesture shows that they are cared for and that they are prized above whatever was sacrificed to bring the gift to you. A missed birthday or a hasty thoughtless gift would be disastrous so would the absence of everyday gestures.


3. Words of affirmation
These love language is about giving unsolicited compliments to somebody. They come in the form of encouraging or highlighting positive attributes in another person as well as affirming commendable behavior.


4. Physical touch
 Hugs, pats on the back, clasping of the fingers, kisses, gentle touches on the shoulder, arm, knee can show excitement, care and concern. Appropriate and timely touches can be be credible pointers to ones affection.

5. Quality time
Nothing says 'I love you' like undivided time with somebody. Children are big on quality time and they equate one's love for them to the amount of time they spend with them. Spending uninterrupted time with someone else or just doing activities together shows one's care.

It follows that the way we learn to express love to each other is the way we will express love to God. One whose language is acts of service will love God by serving in church in the choir or an usher or as a welcomer/a sunday school teacher or a small group leader or whichever ministry.

Another whose love language is receiving gifts will be at the forefront in tithing not just money but giving a tangible gift to the church as a way of expressing their love for God.

A man or woman whose love language is words of affirmation is likely to talk about God highlighting his positive attributes, praise him and bless his name or affirm others who serve God.

Someone whose love language is time will spend a considerable amount of time in reading the bible and quiet devotions. If not, spend time with those who are vulnerable like orphans, widows and the sickly.

For rather obvious reasons, physical touch is rather difficult to express but then one perhaps shows it in the way they praise God and worship him.

Between people, reciprocity of these love languages is indispensable to a thriving love relationship. I love you, you love me,  a failure or a slacking from one party and discontentment sets in. Inevitably, one becomes convinced that the other doesn't love him/her any more.  Can we thus be blamed for having the same line of thinking when we don't love God and conclude God cannot possibly love us back?

Does God cease loving me when I am not as active serving in the worship team or as a small group leader as I used to? Does God stop loving me when my tithe goes from a 3 digit figure to a 1 digit figure or no tithe at all?  Does God divorce me when I no longer spend time in the morning to read my bible or reflect on my walk with him as opposed to when I would spend 30 minutes with him every day ?

Too often, if this aforementioned is characteristic of us, then we will answer in the affirmative and conclude God no longer loves us. We will adopt a prodigal son mentality and consider ourselves unworthy to be called sons or daughters and instead be thought of and treated as slaves. The thing is God's love for us is unconditional and initiative, it isn't dependent on us or our actions.

1 John 4:10 reads, "This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins."  It's not that we loved him first, He did, and we are the ones who follow suit and love him back. One thing the story of the prodigal illustrated  is that the love for the father never abated; it was unconditional.

Even when the younger son was essentially telling his dad, "You're dead to me!!!" by asking for an inheritance. The father's love didn't go into remission because his son wasted his wealth on himself and prostitutes; neither does God's love go into remission when we waste the talents and gifts God gives us on ourselves. Even when the son probably came back filthy, probably reeking of the stench of pigs, The father was all out on the love language on physical touch when he embraced him. He didn't wait for him to clean himself up, he loved him there and then, unconditionally. God the father doesn't wait for us to clean our act to love us, he love us just the way we are.

No matter if we are like the prodigal reeking of the stench of having just masturbated or indulged in porn. He still loves us regardless of  that constant feeling of filth or depravity that  lingers within because the memory of the company's cash we stole, or that sexual encounter high on masochism or that night out  high and wasted on shots or on speed. The depravity whether internal or external matters not; he loves and embraces us when we come back to him.

Not to mention, that he communicated the gift giving love language by giving him a robe, a ring and also words of affirmation by reiterating that the prodigal was not a hireling or a slave that he thought he deserved to be but his son and thus ensuring there would be no identity crisis.

The prodigal son thought he had lost his honor as a son when he wasted away his wealth on prostitutes, don't we too think we have lost our honor when we can no longer boast of our virginity. ruefully beating on ourselves for casually sleeping with that lady or that guy? Don't a host of ladies feel defiled and full of shame when they are raped, sometimes blaming themselves for it, and even going as far as to think they are no longer worthy to be called God's daughter? Yet, God being the high priest he is, knowing our weaknesses, being tempted in every way just as we are, is able to sympathize with us.(Hebrews 4:14-16). On the cross, he was disrobed, naked, shamed, so that he could take away our shame, our dishonor and defilement and still love us. Even before we watched that porn video, or masturbated,  God loved us first by dying on the cross for that very sin.

You can thus be sure, whether you struggle doing your quiet time, whether you no longer serve in church as actively as you used to, whether you're now frequent at just passing the offering bag without so much as dropping a coin into it, whether you're not as sexually pure as you used to be, God still loves you. He loves you the same, yesterday, today and in the future. You don't always have to 'just do it', to 'earn' his love based on your actions. Your acts of service or lack of them, your gifts or lack of them, your spending time with him or lack of it; your sexual purity or lack of it; by professing yourself to be a child of God by accepting Jesus into your life, serve or mess up, God still loves you.

Not on strike

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"Man down!!! Call 911!!! Get a medic!!!" Scrubs, ER, House or Grey's anatomy, choose your pick, whichever series you fancied, those desperate cries were the norm. You would be acquainted with seeing the casualty getting prompt attention, in a decent medical facility and probably end up walking out of that hospital alive. The reality, in Kenya, right now couldn't be any more different.

The doctor's strike has gone beyond day 60!!!! The country has been brought to its knees. Scores are dead as a result, thousands are in agony, and this is just a rough estimate. I shudder to think of the actual death toll. Protracted negotiations have yielded precious little in terms of a breakthrough. Bizarrely, our government seems more focused in expending its energies on rallying it's citizens to vote rather than race to the negotiating table in the hope of reach an amicable solution to end this impasse.

Many see it as a case of misplaced priorities and I am not one to disagree with them. The doctor's resolve to abscond from work has brought to the fore once again the mismanagement of the ailing health sector.  Remuneration that isn't commensurate with the medic's labour, run down health facilities, insufficient equipment are just some of the problems blighting the sector. It isn't a well-oiled machine that's for sure, but a broken one, tottering on the brink of collapse. It's indeed disheartening to see many people writhing in agony, sullen-faced and unsure when they will get medical attention or whether they will be alive by the time it does come. Not only possessing broken bodies on the outside for whatever injury or sickness, they are broken on the inside at the realization that their plight is being given a wide berth, but it's not just them who are broken.

Brokenness is as rampant as corruption is in this country. We are broken as a result of divergent political views, broken as a result of diverse ethinc groups and deep rooted tribalism, broken by widespread graft that sees a few pocket millions while millions have close to nothing in their pocket. Brokenness is something we're all too familiar with, rich-poor, man-woman, old-young, no-one can claim immunity from it.

Our relentless pursuit of happiness to numb our pain is testament to how broken we are. There is only so much a flourishing career, a fun night out laden with alcohol, an escapade to Naivasha, Nax-Vegas, the coast or  a one-night stand can do to mask our pain. As patients countrywide are compelled to do patch up jobs to conceal or alleviate the pain, all the while failing to comprehensively treat their infirmity, so the same goes for the aforementioned,they are merely patch-ups, quick fixes, pain relievers that never go as far as treating our actual brokenness only just bringing temporary respite. They merely paper over the cracks.

Despite our cover ups, inevitably, the brokenness will show. As has been said often, hurt people tend to hurt people, not because of a fault of the other, but just the mere fact that they are hurt. Brokenness shows through anger or lashing out by fists or words despite little or no provocation.It is evident when one only sees the glass empty in everything, a bonafide cynic, ever complaining, whining, criticizing  and trash-talking just about anything or anyone.


Brokenness rears its ugly head in aggression, the pain of brokenness being the motivation to be overly competitive and get ahead to the pinnacle of one's career with anything else being of little concern. A relentless drive egging you on just to make a point and prove someone else wrong, who had made a mockery of your competencies or capabilities. It  is seen in aggressively trying to prove 'the nice guy' among the ladies or a constant need to be the 'it girl'. Aggression can go as far as sexual abuse in crude groping and even rape. Not to be left out, is the modern-day aggression which compels one to flaunt and parade a 'successful' lifestyle on social media that bears scant correlation to one's reality. Instead, only serving as an effort to hide one's struggles or vulnerabilities and portray that the character in question has got his/her life together.

What of the guys and girls stricken by passivity. Almost always hesitant to act or take initiative, reluctant to make decisions,  bereft of confidence in themselves and all too willing to resign themselves to a fate of mediocrity. They of the 'victim mentality', ever one to lay a finger at fate conspiring against them.The causes of which are numerous.

Men and women broken because Dad was a flawed father figure or wasn't even a father figure at all, not an ever-present but an always absent, never there for you when you needed him or wanted him. Children broken, because their parents chose to part ways. Their perspective of family fractured, as well as their souls, their identity broken and leaving them more inclined to alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sex,depression etc.

Relationships gone south have led both men and women  being overly suspicious and cynical of the other gender's intentions in dating. Ladies thinking all men are irresponsible, cheats and all about using them, whereas men think that women are full of drama, double standards and are just after their money. Each group resents the other, each group refusing to be told that the other can be anything different. In its aftermath, are women who hate men with a vengeance and think only of them as chauvinists and misogynists, while men hate women in equal measure and see them as overbearing feminists.

What of the broken because cancer took their bff away, or a bullet took away their cousin. For some, they never got a chance to hold their baby in their arms, some did only to bury them years before they reached their prime. Others had to watch as their parents slipped away too early

Brokenness mostly stems from our past. I think it always does. The guy haunted by the lady he impregnated and his decision to go the deadbeat path, the lady haunted by the string of guys she regrets sleeping with. The athlete remorseful that he took that pill to gain a competitive edge. The mzae pained that his marriage is on the rocks following revelations of a clandestine relationship years earlier. The lady whose nudes of yester-year leaked thus tarnishing her reputation. The man who looks back at how ignorant his decisions were that ultimately distanced himself from financial freedom.

Once something is broken, it's broken, it never goes back to it's pristine condition. Thus, it's a depressing reality for all of us that our brokenness will plague  us for the rest of our lives. All we can do is mask it. What if I went all Morpheus on you and told you that there was another way. What if I told you the doctor who could fix our brokenness isn't on strike, what if I told you his treatment doesn't require to hold a massive fundraiser to pool funds for transport, treatment and accommodation in India.

You probably wouldn't believe me and I don't blame you, I haven't been living as if I did.I didn't see him as a doctor but that guy who rescued me from Hell and  could give me good things like health, cash and a girlfriend if I just did good things and stayed away from evil. I was wrong.

Jesus isn't just that guy who hooks me up with good stuff. He isn't only my gatepass to heaven, he is my Lord, savior, healer and effectively my doctor to treat my brokenness and yours as well if you allow him to. When you consider how badly broken you are as a result of your past, it's natural to expect treatment will come at a cost. Sometimes we want to earn that treatment and think we can pay it with a few righteous deeds here and there but we can't. We can't pay him for the treatment. We can't earn his favor or his love because of what we do for him, Our loving doctor incredulously renders his services to us 'pro bono'!!!

Yaani free!!!His gift of salvation, which is the diagnosis and subsequent treatment of our infirmities is free for those who would believe in him and accept him as their saviour. Jesus chose to be a life donor and sacrificed his whole body on the cross that we may have life in him and be reconciled to God(John 3:16, 1 Peter 3:18, 1Timothy 2:5-6)

Isaiah 30:18 reads, "Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the LORD is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him.!" Our doctor isn't holding out on better conditions to treat us, he longs to be gracious to us and took the initiative to come to earth and reach out to those who were suffering and in bondage to save them from oppression, to give them treatment, hope, a new start.He doesn't wait till we have cleaned our lives, got our lives together to come and provide treatment, he reaches out to deliver us, heal us and restore us even when we are dirty, full of shame, remorse and regret and don't feel worthy of it. The same way the father treated the returning prodigal(Luke 15:11-32) is the same way he treats us when we come to him.

He gives us his spirit of power, love and self-discipline(2 Timothy 1:7) that enables us not to live in fear of our past but in confidence and with affirmation that we are God's sons. (Romans 8:15). He forgives us of our past mistakes and out of gratitude of that forgiveness we freely forgive others and live life buoyantly as opposed to living it with heavy hearts nursing grudges and resentment for things done to us (Isaiah 43:24-25, Colossians 3:12-13)

In Jesus we become new creations,(2 Corinthians 5:17), not in bondage to our old habits as before. Even if we do struggle to completely shake them off and the process of becoming a new creation is both instantaneous and gradual;  his grace is sufficient for us and his strength is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9)

All this comes from recognizing that the patch up jobs, the quick fixes are insufficient to deal with your brokenness. Only God can and he won't force himself upon you to fix you, he will come to your aid if you let him, believing you can't do it on your own and that he can.

Do you desire healing or forgiveness from a broken past? Do you desire peace within you? Do you want a fresh start, a clean slate, freedom from the burden of trying to be perfect? The remedy is Jesus and he is also the doctor that hasn't downed his tools but is waiting for you to let him into your life to save you.

It's in the script

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"Hadithi, hadithi, hadithi njoo"

"Hadithi, hadithi, hadithi njoo"

"Hapo zamani za kale...," the narrator would begin, as we craned our necks, steadied our gaze on him and listened as if our lives depended on it. As kids, we loved stories, and as adults we still do, there's plenty of evidence on show to prove it. Autobiographies or biographies fly off the shelves, Gossip sites are never short on traffic, Movie theaters always draw a reasonable crowd. The script may have changed but we still possess the same child-like enthusiasm for a story. There's just something so captivating and enticing about them.

While it may be fun to listen to a story, it's equally delightful to be in one and tell it, and today I share that privilege. My story dates back 2011, I was a young, undergrad student, fresh from finishing my second year of University. I was on the lookout for an attachment. Did I mention I was desperate? Well I was. I was on a 3 month break till school resumed for the next semester. Before then, I was required to do a 12-week internship. One month into the break, I still hadn't secured an attachment. That's not to say, I hadn't been trying. I had been invited for some interviews. Not one but two. The first being at Panafric Hotel, which didn't go too bad but I lost my phone immediately after the interview and I didn't do a followup to see if I got in. 

The second was at Sankara, which was a disaster, and I was not at all surprised that they didn't get back to me. Being the gentleman I was, I was courteous enough not to get back to them for obvious reasons. By this time, panic had set in. Time was whittling away and I hadn't even began, it became evident that I wouldn't do 12 weeks before the new semester started but far worse, was the unthinkable probability that I wouldn't do the attachment at all. Disaster. Unparalleled disaster. That would seriously jeopardize my chances of graduating, but then, a lifeline came. My sister managed to talk to a friend, who was then a director of a hotel, and we arranged for an interview. "Has to be third time lucky", I thought to myself.

The interview was scheduled for 9am, mistake no 1: I arrived late, very late, 9:30 late, Did I mention that the Director had a European background? So you get the picture now. I was hopeful that maybe she was involved in some meeting that ate into my scheduled time with her and so she wouldn't mind much. I was wrong, very wrong. The alarm bells were well and truly off when the Front Desk agent realized my predicament. "You were supposed to see her at 9:00?" he asked with a bemused look on his face. He then glanced at his watch and was rather apprehensive, an ominous, foreboding kind of apprehensive, even if he wasn't the one that was late. I seriously had it coming. 

He asked me to wait before summoning a porter to escort me to the Director's office. I didn't wait too long before the porter arrived. He ushered me away, as we navigated a couple of hallways before we finally reached her office. He greeted her and then beckoned me to come in before hastily departing. She looked easygoing, so I thought. Clutching my CV and application paper in her hands, she initiated what would be my shortest interview to date with these words, "You don't know how to write a CV or an application letter, and then you come 30 minutes later..I'm sorry I can't give you this opportunity." she tersely said. Mic drop. Just like that, my hopes of securing an attachment were gone and she was in no mood to give me a chance to explain, not that I really had any. Thus, I picked up the shards of my self esteem and was on my way, thoroughly despondent.

I once cried a river  after Manutd had only been beaten 1-0 by Liverpool at Old Trafford, God knows that I felt like crying then. I wore the longest face, as I trudged out of that hotel.  Despair does not even begin to describe my state of mind. I made it to Strathmore University, valiantly holding back the tears, and I begrudgingly told my course administrator that I wasn't going to secure an attachment. I then proceeded to spend the remaining weeks at home, not knowing my fate, unsure that I would graduate....

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.....As much as I toyed with the idea of having a part 2 to this blog post, I will spare you and continue my story. My childhood is rife with instances when this dreaded 3-word black screen appeared and the episode in question would never be continued. I mean who does that really.... who does that?!!! You just had to leave us with the suspense and wait a week later to see how it all played out. All you would get is the credits rolling and a news bulletin thereafter. Why didn't they ever have a 'to be continued' for the news I wondered back then. "Why couldn't they fit it all in one episode?"

My questions were never answered and so not wanting anyone to go through the harrowing experiences of my childhood, I will continue

...so there I was, at home, instead of being on an attachment, wondering whether I would graduate. I spent the remainder of my now enforced holiday, miserable and definitely not at peace, before returning to the University to begin my first semester of 3rd year. During the first few weeks, almost every lecturer wanted to know how we fared during the internship and would not begin the lecture without first inquiring from each and every student about their internship experience.  Everyone had an answer except me. This was surprising for a number of the reasons.

One, I was the class chop, the undisputed Index one,  the guy who would finish his exam 30 minutes before time, mic drop. You could say I was that guy who got an A regardless of Fred Matiangi or not. I was also the good guy, one could say I was the teacher's pet in a way. So it came as a shock, that I of all people didn't do an attachment.

Interestingly, a classmate had secured an internship at Panafric and was rather surprised I never reported there for work as she acquired info that I had actually aced the interview at Panafric. Maybe it was because I lost my phone after the interview that they couldn't get back to me. Fact was, though, I never did any internship and even the news that I did pass the interview was scant consolation.

I was low on confidence and self-esteem as a result. I really wondered whether I would graduate. I was stressed up about it. It therefore came as no surprise that a few months later, I contracted a condition known as Vertigo. Vertigo, being an illness, where one has an imbalance in the ear, and experiences constant dizziness. I felt as if the world was spinning, and it wasn't easy walking straight. I had to take around 2 weeks off from campus.The doctor attributed it to stress and I made up my mind that I would go on a one year study leave if I didn't get another attachment after 3rd year ended. 

I was put on medication and it didn't seem to cause any marked improvement. I only got better when the doctor recommended I do a set of simple exercises 3 times daily that included moving my head from side to side, moving my eyes from side to side moving my back and forth, staring into space among others. It was extremely simple and it was mighty effective because weeks later, I was OK. I thought I needed surgery but who knew a few simple exercises would get me back on track.

Third year would eventually end and like the year before, my sister managed to get in touch with a friend at a different hotel and this time I was early for the interview and I got the internship. After 12 weeks of the internship, my confidence was back, in fact it came with an added personality. I became super-talkative. I had no qualms of being a class representative for the second time. To make matters even better, my aunt gave me a laptop and now I could access the local area internet at campus with ease instead of hustling looking for labs. Life had indeed taken a turn for me. Then it took another turn. A turn for the worse.

Despite being the class representative for the best part of 2 years, and one of my responsibilities being to communicate any grievances my classmates would have of the exam timetable, I did the unthinkable; I got the times of my last exam very wrong.

The last exam of the semester was to be at 8am, I thought it was to be at 2pm. I had the habit of arriving right on time for my exam and not 15 minutes because I  didn't like that last minute group discussion of possible questions before an exam. I usually arrived right on time or slightly late to avoid it. Therefore, my classmates had no reason to suspect there was something amiss when they were frisked and ushered into the exam room and I wasn't there. They surely did when I hadn't arrived and the exam was over. All the while I was at home reading for an exam I thought was at 2pm but had in fact ended. I got a call from a classmate and she asked me why I had missed the exam. I was stunned into silence.

It was the shock of my life. I couldn't believe it. She explained to me that the paper started at 8am, and ended at 10. I can't remember what I replied back, but  my head was literally spinning from the news. I took another look at the timetable just to be sure and I realized it was true, the exam was at 8. There was an exam at 2 all right, being invigilated by the same lecturer but it was for the 2nd years. I couldn't believe this was happening.

Exam timetables usually come in one or two drafts before the final timetable and I remembered that in the first draft, the exam was slated for the last Friday at 2pm. A good number of my classmates weren't up for that and insisted I ask the faculty to push it forward, which I did. When the next draft came out, my classmates looked at it and said they was no change. They were right, the exam hadn't been pushed forward, it was still on Friday, but, they were also wrong, there was a slight change. It was no longer at 2pm but at 8am. I didn't notice that and it would prove to be a fatal mistake. I ended up missing the exam altogether much to my consternation.


I rushed to the University desperately hoping the lecturer would permit me to do the exam at 2 pm, but that would not materialize. Instead I was told to hope that the Evening Class whose exams were due the next month had the same unit in the exam roster and I could do a retake. Failure for that to occur, meant that I would have to wait till 2015 to do the exam and hopefully graduate in 2016, 3 years after my intended graduation!!!

I was crestfallen. How could I stupidly blow away my chances of graduating by failing to look at a timetable? I prayed that the evening class was scheduled to do that exam a month later but still told God I would accept the 2015 option if push came to shove. I left it all in his hands and waited.

A few days later. I was at it again. I lost my laptop. It was in my bag when I left it at the luggage section of a supermarket, on reaching home around 2 hours later. I discovered it was missing. What was all this?!!! I missed an exam, then I lose my laptop. Things were going downhill at a frightening rate. Worse was that I hadn't finished my project proposal which was due in 2-3 weeks.

Fortunately prior to the loss, I had been using my gmail account as an additional backup drive, and I had saved my progress. Fortunately moreover, I had the habit of writing things down before typing them, and so I was able to type my literature review from a written draft and subsequently generate a satisfactory list of sources for my proposal.

Then God gave me a lifeline. The Unit I missed was being examined after all. In December 2012, I thus was able to sit for the paper with the evening class and score a satisfactory grade. Months after that and slightly after the election of 2013, I had finished my coursework and my project, there was now the small matter of an attachment I didn't do after my second year. So, while every fourth year was waiting to graduate, I was doing an internship at Fairmont The Norfolk hotel. In order to ensure I met the deadline of all my marks being submitted one month prior to graduation my supervisor carried out  an early evaluation of my attachment so that I could be graded in good time.

Everything was going fine, till I realized again, rather belatedly that for a graduand to graduate, a convocation fee had to be paid, and for the convocation to be paid, clearance had to be done which involved going to a host of deparmennts to obtain a signature and a stamp. Unfortunately, because I didnt bother to fully read an email,(what's with me and failing to read stuff?) my course administrator sent, I only knew of this when attempting to pay for the convocation fee on the deadline for paying for the convocation and it was only a few minutes to 5pm.

I scampered across the University, clearance form in tow, rushing to get stamps and signatures from various department heads, but by the time I was through and ready to pay for the convocation fees, it was close to 7pm and the guy at Finance told me it was too late, I could only pay for my convocation on Monday. The deadline was that very same Friday. That was a death sentence because my university was big on deadlines and since now I didn't meet the deadline, I didn't have much hope of graduating again.

I prayed again, leaving all things to God, and acknowledged his will to be done. Come Monday, I paid the convocation fees , 3 days after the deadline and left it all to God. God,was merciful again because a few weeks later, the graduation list came out and my name was the fist one in my faculty's list. Phew!!! 8-4-4 was done, amidst all the odds. On June 28 2013, I was conferred with a Bachelor of Science in Hospitality Management, to cap of a very dramatic last 2 years at Strathmore University. In addition to celebrating my feat, my Aunt gave me a tablet, and in a way the pain of losing a laptop was erased

Next year, January 2014, I was catching up with my cousin, and she was surprised to learn I had worked at Norfolk. She then asked if I knew a certain chef she had encountered while she supplied stuff to the hotel. I told her I didn't. She mentioned he was an eccentric guy who struck terror among staff with his antics. He was an explosive character in the kitchen, few were spared from his wrath.

It seemed he wasn't working there when I was on attachment and on hearing her testimony, I was glad I never met him. Then, one day, as I read a list of Taste Award nominees, I noticed his name, not as a representative of Norfolk, but another hotel, the same hotel where I was promptly dismissed for lateness and a poor application. I was gobsmacked. I wanted that attachment so bad, to think that had I got it I would be working with such a volatile chef; me,  full of nerves because it would be my first attachment in the presence of such a chef; suddenly, I actually thanked God I didn't get the attachment. Suddenly, it dawned on me, that perhaps God was protecting me from him as he saw my temperament then wouldn't handle him. Suddenly, it hit me, I had practically experienced that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.(Romans 8:28)

And I lived happily ever after....well not exactly, but something close to that. My story is still continuing, even as I write this story, I am still the main character of my story which God is writing or should I say has written. All the above was God's script, laden with an incredible number of twists and turns, but his script ultimately proved good for me when it came to the end of my time at Strathmore.

As a character in his script of my life, in real time, things looked bleak to me. When I didn't get my attachment after 2nd Year, I could not see into the future to the period of 4th year I would do it at Norfolk. God already did. He had also seen an alternate reality of me with an eccentric chef and it didn't look pretty and so he protected me from it, even when I didn't see it and wanted that attachment so bad

When I lost my laptop, I couldn't see a future of completing my proposal and then my project the next year but God did and even saw my future with a tablet.

When I missed an exam, and could only see myself redoing the paper in 2015, God had already seen the future of me resitting the paper a month later.

When I couldn't see how my vertigo could be cured by just exercise, he did. I learnt that God could heal me without necessarily having to go for surgery or through medication. This lesson came in handly later on, as without medication or surgery, I had the faith to believe I could get healing from a condition known only as eosinophilic dermatitis that plagued me for a couple of years. I did get healed, and it is unlikely I would have gotten so without the experience of the Vertigo.

My myopic vision as a character in his script was not the point, His dynamic vision as the Author of my story was. Not only did he see my past and my present, he saw my future, all alternate versions of it because he is an all-knowing God.

I guess he proved to me fully that he was the author and perfecter of my faith as cited in Hebrews 12:2. In his wisdom, he though it prudent to develop me as a character and so he allowed me to go through these trials  so that I could grow and also develop a relationship of trust in him for times I would it need later. It was through these experiences that I encountered a God who is trustworthy, and I could respond to him in faith and trust.

I encountered a God who could heal even when doctors couldn't trace the route of my problem. I encountered a God who could make a way for me to graduate when there seemed there was none.

Sometimes we live life complaining that things are tough. We live life unhappy when we are beset by a number of problems. We wonder why doors are shut in our face, why relationships we desire never take shape. Why people never change for the better? In our limited perspective we only see adversity that we don't feel we deserve, but Gods's perspective is that even despite the adversity, his glory can be made known. Through the trials or long waiting period, he is developing your character so that you can handle what he will throw your way in the future.

Don't fret when your life seems to be on standby mode. Don't be anxious when your hit a supposed dead end. Don't get agitated when your life takes a turn for the worse. These responses may not be second nature but that's what the Holy Spirit is there for. That is the gist of Philippians 4:13, the power through Christ to do things that are second in nature to us;to trust him in the face of adversity

He may not win a Nobel prize or an Oscar but he is certainly up there when it comes to writing super scripts, and so even if we don't know the end to our story, he definitely does. They say it's over when the fat lady sings, God says it's over when he deems it to be over not us. Ours is to trust him, the author and perfecter of our faith, and as Francesca Battisteli sang, allow him to write his story in our hearts, even if it comes with twists and turns galore.

Light at the end of the tunnel

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Ordinarily, I would be among those strident voices criticizing ethnicity. I wouldn't be caught dead asking which tribe do you hail from. Matter of fact, I would sigh and roll my eyes  in exasperated frustration at the sight of another politician calling their tribesmen to vote as a tribal bloc. However, there are times when I delight in identifying with my ethnic community. Not to propagate the belief that we are superior to another group but to instead to delight in a particular positive characteristic associated with my tribe that should be replicated by other Kenyans. This just happens to be one of those times.

I am a Luhya. A pure one, when you consider both my parents hail from that group but also a fake one, since I don't speak any dialect. The shame. I know, it's why a call myself a Luhya from Kawangware. Anywho, a positive characteristic synonymous of my community is the deep regard we have for the handshake.

To the common-folk, a handshake is just a handshake, but to the Luhya it is so much more. It is a way of conveying genuine hospitality, warmth and heartfelt gratitude that is mirrored in the exuberance and the length of the handshake. One does not simply outstretch their hand to another and briefly shake their hand, No, that won't cut it for us. The Luhya way, is to use your left hand to place the other person's hand in a lock position and then use the right hand to vigorously shake the hand of this long-lost acquaintance. Preferably this should be done for a period not exceeding a minute. At the very least half a minute. All the while, you barrage your long lost acquaintance with a series of 'Mulembes or mulembe-munos' or "Bhusheres/Bhushere-munos" or "Orio-munos", whichever is most appropriate.

This handshake is a gesture that many city folk will encounter from their rural counterparts when they head back to UK(United Kakamega) or BG (Bungoma) or whichever part of Western Province during Christmas. This December, I can say I am definitely having the same Luhya kind of thankfulness and exuberance to God for how faithful he has been to me this year.

For one, unlike previous Decembers, which have gone by with me carrying the burden of another year of tarmacking and without work, this year will see me remembering God finally removing me from the slimy pit of unemployment and giving me a firm rock of a job on which to stand on. Sure, it was a temporary 3-month contract, but I'm very thankful to God for it. For 3 years, the work experience section on my CV was blank. For 3 years, I had to endure not knowing what to say when a family member or friend asked me, "What are you up to? What's new? Where are you now days?" For 3 years I had to look on seeing guys on Linkedin with impressive job titles, seeing friends on Facebook get married, some going to Baby no.2 while I just stagnated. I was jobless, cash-less, bae-less just but to mention a few.

It was tough but God is faithful though. After 3 years the wait was over, and to prove himself provident, my 3 year long wait for a job ended on my birthday. Matthew 7:10 cites God being a father who gives good gifts to his children who ask him. It's hard for me to argue with that since he gave me the exact birthday gift I yearned for; a job.

A job that had my name written on it from the get go. Upon arriving for my interview, it dawned on me after some minutes of waiting that I was the only applicant for the interview. That gave me the world of confidence. Then during the interview, there was no "so tell me about yourself....where do you see yourself in five years?...why should we employ you?". None of that. I didn't even have to worry about negotiating for a salary!!!

It was straight to the point as I was briefed on the duties I was expected to perform and the nature of the job. As I'm being interviewed, i'm thinking,"Lord, sh 30k or 35k, 40k, that would be good for me to support my family with paying the bills, upgrade my wardrobe kidogo, kidogo,hivi-hivi."Bang on cue,  my interviewer then brought an inward Cheshire grin on my face when she said, "Your salary will be 35,000 and I know its little..." In my mind, "Little?!!! Not to me, that's awesome I will very much take it". At long last, KRA could finally demand something from me and next year it wouldn't be business as usual which was filing NIL returns. And it doesn't end there.... I was to be given a monthly meal allowance that meant I would eat more than my fair share of sausages, bacon, chocolate doughnuts than I would care to imagine. The job also provided me with the opportunity to check-off items on my food-bucket list such as lasagna, moussaka, and shepherd's pie.

The job meant I had access to the Library so I finally got my hands on Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. Boy, what a book that was! In addition, it so happened my colleague at the office had a soft-copy of the Purpose driven life by Rick Warren, another book I had been dying to read, and I was thoroughly blessed by reading it as well. Friday, being the last working day of the week as stipulated in my contract meant every week I had a really long, relaxing weekend to recharge. Who could ask for more?

God was really on the top of his game when it came to giving. He blessed me big time and I was mighty thankful for it. I was though more thankful for the 3-year wilderness period without a job. "Huh?!!!Ken, you're thankful for 3 years without a job?" Yes I am. Yes I am, because 3 years without a job, was more than compensated for by 3 years with an ever-present God who was my rock, my peace and my comfort in the midst of it. When you hit rock-bottom is when you look up and God is there to meet you gaze, He doesn't disappoint thereafter. He was there for me.

I recall the moments I sat in a bus, or as I was at home, thinking like David, "How long, LORD, how long?" How long was I to waste away? How long for me to celebrate others before I celebrate myself? How long before I can move out, before I can think of pursuing a girlfriend, how long before I can have a son?

Many times I felt despair. Many times I lost my self-worth.  My first-class degree became less of an indication of my merit but more of a plain piece of paper. I didn't feel at all as a man, I felt life was passing me by and I had a lot of growing up to do even if I was growing older. God, though reassured me of my identity in Christ. He encouraged me through his word day after day, through family, through friends. He was my peace even when I was just mark-timing and others around me were progressing in their careers. I never had to down my sorrows with copious amounts of booze. I didn't have to reach out for coke or weed to lift my spirits. God's peace was enough. God was my comfort by just reading his word and going on my knees to pray to him. The worries of an uncertain future and the disappointment of an uneventful present would do a vanishing act at the mention of 'Amen'. God became very real to me in that 3 year period more than I could ever have imagined. It was when I was wrestling with doubt, insecurity, hopelessness that God proved himself my assurance, my hope, my comforter and peace and I can't thank him enough. God was with me.

Emmanuel was the name to be given to the baby Jesus because it meant God with us.  It's a name that Jesus more than lived up to for me in these 3 years. He never promised it would be easy, he never promised it would all smooth sailing but he assured he would be with us. I think that's light for the tunnel for a host of  Christians. I think that's why we celebrate Jesus at Christmas every December in spite of us not knowing the exact death of his birth. We can be certain that even in trials, difficulties, long-waiting periods we can be there. It could be argued that he couldn't have been born in the Middle East in December, but surely, for the hope he give us  amidst difficulty, for the strength he give us to overcome adversity, for the freedom he give us when we were enslaved to wickedness, to look back and be grateful for how faithful God was during the year is cause for celebration of his birth in December? No matter how dark, bleak and lonely the tunnels we go through are, we can have hope that Jesus is with us and that He will lead us to light eventually.


That just about wraps up my one minute of me shaking God's imaginary hand. I'll be sure to shake his hand more often than not because He is a faithful God. He has done it once, he is bound to do it again.

Time to go men-tal

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Just like that, poof!! 2016 gone. New year's eve may be about 30 days away, but one can't help feeling that the year is as good as over.

Last month happened to be that time of the year when the dreaded ACS ravages the Gunners. For those unfamiliar with the acronym, ACS is short for Arsenal Chocking Syndrome, a highly contagious condition that has dogged Arsenal and their long suffering fans for years. ACS although not life-threatening, has proved fatal, killing Arsenal's chances of bagging that elusive EPL or Champion's league trophy year after year.

The onset of ACS is usually a second-place finish in the group stage of the Champions league. Barring a spectacular last day collapse from PSG, this looks likely to be the same case once again. A scarcely deserved 2-2 draw at home to PSG ensured the first stage of ACS was well and truly underway. To their credit, at least they didn't put their fans through the usual last day drama, thanks to Ozil's sublime piece of magic in Bulgaria a few weeks ago. However, a failure to beat PSG means even a win in their last game might not be enough to avoid a second place finish. Thus in all likelihood, Arsenal await either one of Barcelona, Borussia Dortmund, Real Madrid, Atletico Madrid to give them a befitting send off in the round of 16. Thankfully, no Bayern this time, so we will have to make due without seeing Douglas Costa making a fool of Bellerin.

The next stage of ACS is a poor run of form in the league. A home draw to Tottenham was Arsenal's first wobble in November. After the international break, it was a trip to Old-Trafford, which had all the hallmarks of a typical November performance; lethargic, ponderously bereft of ideas in attack, Ozil and Walcott gone missing, this was ACS all-right. Then Mata scored and another defeat to United was the only likely outcome. Arsenal though showed they are taking the fight to ACS, and with their only shot on target coming in the 89th minute, they scored an equalizer through Giroud to leave Old Trafford with a point. A barely deserved point, but a point nonetheless.

A week later, they easily dispatched Bournemouth to ensure ACS may just be a thing of the past. Maybe, just maybe this could be there year. Hang on...that's what  I said that last year...and the year before that...and the year before that..I feel it is in my best interest to stay clear from this prediction talk lest I be proved wrong...again.

On the same day Giroud spared Arsenal's blushes against Manutd, men were supposed to be celebrated for it was International Men's day. Women's day, Mother's day and Father's day are days in the calendar that never passed by unnoticed, this one did.

It's like even the guys had no idea it was men's day. I was too busy lamenting Giroud's late equalizer and a 3rd consecutive draw for Manutd at Old Trafford to even care. Everyone seemed to be mum about the whole thing. Facebook was quiet, real quiet, no selfies with guys, no #men's day as status updates, no-nothing. Perhaps this November, with Donald Trump winning the election despite that infamous video just before the ballot, and Miguna Miguna incurring the wrath of a majority of the female population with his  rape comments towards Esther Passaris, men had this coming.

These two illustrated the ugly side of men, it would be nice if they were only a few other cases of men behaving badly. Sadly they aren't. They are plenty more incidences of men whose acts and speech have had women and children pulling their hair out in frustration. It makes one wonder how a man could turn up so horribly wrong since men weren't born bad, they are made. The likely causes are numerous.

An absentee father or lack of a father-figure in the man's life when he was a kid growing up. An abusive father who eroded his confidence or made the man grow up to be violent and abusive as a result of his childhood experiences. Controlling parents who demanded perfection and constantly deemed their child's efforts as unsatisfactory till he grew up to be a man who gave up trying as he thought it would only lead up to more criticism. The tragic loss of a mum, sister, brother or friend could turn a good man's world upside down. A failed business, a job lay-off, the realization that a lady cheated on him or was just using him or rejected him and labelled him, "not man enough", an accident that left a man disabled, all the above could have a destructive impact on a man's life. Sadly we men don't realize how hurt or messed up we are as a result, and only figure it out, after we've left a trail of broken hearts amongst scores of women, family and close friends.

Who can forget the company we keep. Sometimes our boys are our downfall. The negative peer pressure takes it toll, and we end up compromising our values just to fit in. The boys are who gives us a sense of belonging, who accept us when few do, who affirm us for our actions when so many don't, even if our deeds are questionable or against the law.

A man with an 'i got this, lone ranger' mentality or 'I know it all, buda na huyu mzae anajua nini' type of thinking isn't any better. I've played as a lone striker, it's not as easy as it looks. You almost always have 2 burly central defenders for company who will stop at nothing to keep you quiet. They're constantly in your face, sticking to you like glue, pushing and shoving  you if need be. That's how life can be when you go it alone. In your face, pushing and shoving, ready to drag you down to your knees.You either have to overcome the odds or raise the white flag. When life injures a man and he raises the white flag, it's not that hard to tell.

You'll have him retaliating violently or explosively at the slightest provocation. You will have guys who take to alcohol or drugs to deaden their sorrow or pain. You'll see a guy changing women as frequently as he changes clothes. You will see another one always keen on getting the attention of the ladies, too eager to be the nice, sweet and charming guy. Then there are those like myself, who become laid-back, withdrawn, passive. We are mediocre at best, because we give up trying as a result of constantly being found wanting.

We can't do it alone. Like Proverbs 27:17, " As Iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." How, true, especially when we life blunts us. King Solomon also recognized that when he said in Ecclesiastes 4:11, "Two are better than one because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no-one to help him up!"

Men need men to be good men or better men. A helper in a wife is good, but a brother is just as important if not more. You need a friend to connect with. You need a brother to  encourage you when the chips are really down, to stand by you when everyone else deserts you. You need a brother who will push you to work for your dreams, chide you for giving just 70% and push you to go all out with 100% like a brother so determined for you to leave team one-pack till he'll have you doing crunches with so much exertion that toxic, pungent fumes diffuse from your posterior as you do heave and puff and  literally blow the house down with one more rep.

You need a brother for the good times like graduations, job promotions, weddings, the birth of a child,  to watch football together and then sit motionless with your head in arms as a version of the mannequin challenge to compensate for the frustration of watching Manutd dominate and then draw for the umpteenth time.

You need a guy to be brutally honest with you and tell you to your face, "Bro, we ni boyz, lakini I'll be real with you, You can't sing to save your life, don't go for those auditions." That way, he spares the judges from crashing your dreams in a much more crude manner and he also spares you the shame of clocking 1,000,000 hits on YouTube for all the wrong reasons. You need a brother who won't hesitate to tell you that you are spending too much time on Fifa 17 or that you're spending needless money on Sportpesa.

You need a brother to share the bad-times as well, to be there for you when you get a flat, to be there for you when you need bail from prison, to be there for you to pick up the pieces after the unexpected loss of your dad, mum, brother and help you give them a decent send-off. You not only need someone to share your burdens but also  to share a vulnerably spirit burdened by a nagging iniquity or sin.

I recall oft, how I've had to bare it all. "Vipi bro, I  confess today I was team-mafisi looking at cleavages and thighs in town, pray for me." Or, "Hey man, last night, I was lusting at pics of her on the internet as well as her WhatsApp pic, pray for me." Or,  "Hey bro, I'm struggling with bitterness and being cynical towards other believers who are christians chini ya maji, pray for me to be patient with others." It's not always easy to admit one's struggles but the lack of peace I have when I keep my sins to myself is not worth it. Nothing beats the peace that comes from confessing to a brother, I feel at peace with God, righteous even, perhaps justifying James 5:16, "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective."

Then I need a much bigger brother, an older man, some might say a mentor, I prefer discipler. A man who has gone ahead of me in life and can guide me from his achievements and failures. A man full of wisdom that has come from years of experience. A man, whom when I see in a lady, big car, big bust, big bum, he says big NO to her being a suitable wife for me. This is a man who can prepare me for marriage, for fatherhood, for being an elder and one whose wisdom can pass me by if I just regard older men as senile and old-fashioned, unaware of the new trends.

However, it's not enough to desire a brother or a discipler, I need to be one myself!!! Jim Rohn stated that, "You are who you attract." Therefore to attract this kind of a brother, I need to be the one who is supportive, I need to be the one who is loyal, who is there for his friend during the good times and bad. I need to be wise, honest and able to disciple younger men, I need to be the accountability partner who listens to his brother confessing and prays for him.I need to be the man who is brutally honest and rebukes a brother when need be, for he who rebukes a man will in the end gain more favor than he who has a flattering tongue(Proverbs 29:23). Besides, better is open rebuke than hidden love(Proverbs 27:5)

To become this kind of man, I have taken a leaf from a man who has no equal when it comes to perfect masculinity. His name was Jesus, and he was the man, par excellence. He was the man who loved God so much that he considered his food to be doing the will of his father and finishing his work.(John 4:34) He was a man so wise, that by the time he was a tween, guys at the temple could only marvel at how knowledgeable he was. He was a man who was powerful enough to raise people form the dead, but unlike men who have absolute power and end up being corrupted absolutely, he was humble. He had a humility that didn't see the need to grasp equality with God whereas many of us swell with pride  feel we ought to be demi-gods in the eyes of our subordinates at work.

He was a man who talked tough, who wasn't afraid to challenge or rebuke people who needed rebuking but who was still compassionate to the less-fortunate, the marginalized and the downtrodden of the society. A man who respected women and didn't treat women like dirt even if those very same women felt they were nothing but dirt. A man who was selfless, and didn't feel the need to show the whole world revolved around him, even if in actual sense the whole world does revolve around him. He sacrificed himself, his own life, just so we wouldn't have to be condemned for the many times we failed as men, but obtain forgiveness and reconciliation to God by virtue of believing him to be the saviour of the world and accepting him as such in our lives.

Christ was not just a man, he was THE man.  The goal  for me and for many other God-loving men is to become like Christ and  that's why I need all the help I get in form of brothers by my side and being a brother to others.

Over and above, growing a beard during November, I felt a compulsion to start a discipleship group for men, to help them become more Christ-like and to get help from them to become more Christ-like. As men we need each other, we need affirmation, we need encouragement, we need to feel accepted and a sense of belonging, we need to be honest or authentic and vulnerable around fellow men whom we can trust and share our failures not for condemnation but encouragement or as a lesson  for someone else. We need to inspire each other, motivate each other and be there each other so that we can see and do things that will have others see Jesus in us. Don't be a lone ranger, Don't sit on your gift of leadership, Don't just watch as younger men flounder in life due to an absence of guidance and don't think that the elderly guy in church can't help you. Get involved in one way or another so that being Christ-like will be easier done than said as opposed to being easier said than done.