#kenya
You know the type. Smiling wide, promising change with one hand while the other is deep in your pocket. They come with Bibles in one hand and tenders in the other — preaching morality while signing off on corruption.
They show up in floods wearing gumboots for photo ops, but disappear when the real work begins. They remember your name during campaigns, then forget your existence after the votes are counted.
These aren't leaders. These are politricians — masters of disguise, fluent in double-speak, experts at selling hope they have no intention of delivering.
They don’t serve the people. They serve power.
Wake up. Question everything. Don’t fall for theatrics and staged tears.
Because if we keep treating clowns like kings, we’ll keep getting a circus instead of a country.
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
From the lofty snowcapped peaks
of Kilimanjaro
The morning mist envelopes its verdant foothills in a tight embrace,
No need to hurry, this is not a race,
Beads of sunlight dancing across the glistening dew.
As the plains of Amboseli reveal their golden hue,
There's movement spied where none existed moments prior,
A herd of Zebra lounging in their elegant attire,
The lush grasslands beckoning them for yet another day.
The few Wildebeest amongst them if only they could talk they'd say,
We're happy to be safe in this weird and motley crowd,
Despite the fact these Zebras are so boisterous and loud,
What's a little banter when the promise is of grazing in contented peace.
Double is their luck as the pert Egyptian geese
Act as wary Sentinels, their honks resounding loud,
Alerted by the pride of crouching lions, their countenance so proud,
Scouting for that meal for their young to feed.
A Wildebeest or two would fill those hunger pangs indeed,
Were it not for those Hyenas prowling on their scent,
To steal their hard-fought prize definitely hell bent,
Neither party cowered, neither will give
ground.
But what's a little tiff when prey does so abound,
A fragile land of bounty, God's country that's for sure,
Where every single creature finds ways to gainfully endure,
Africa in all its glory, nature’s living work of art.
Jun 29, 2024
Jun 29, 2024 at 8:37 AM UTC
I miss my childhood
Just as how
I will miss my teen and youthfulness
When I get old
Waiting for unkown small kids call me grandpa
Pat their heads
And remind them, how my younger days we only had lantern
Will they believe,when I tel them I attended Jesus birth and death in one year😅😅😅
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 6:08 AM UTC
Am learning something new....
Time seems to be learning something new too 😔😔😔..
Are we classmates Mr time??...
Or we attending same course😂😂😂???..
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 10:53 AM UTC
And the knowledge of the hedgerow plant, I found embedded in leaf veins ... like in mine, etched along blue lines of a notebook. In the ripples on the remnants of water that pooled, before the mudflats claimed them are the striations of ol'butot near Naivasha. His stories tell of caves, a gleaming obsidian of a pre historic introspection. Do forty day fasts suffice to exorcise the springs of sulphur or the forced baptism of a flash flood washing six souls to Hades ? The sun glinted at me through a narrowness of fate, a gorge of interminable seconds and I marvelled at the strata of time in a warp, for it blurted out a moan.
Love spoke in nuanced layers of molten flow that crawled to stillness. Can I not say that stone speaks? A couple of hundred years back in time, self titled discoverers had seen land that had not been unseen by the thousands who lived for thousands until then. So yes, the strata spoke to me, like the striations in the leaves and the lines that were everywhere telling stories of interminable seconds. Time grooves like a death valley in an engraving, etched like a memory of that which has never been, ripples on sand, circles on water,
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 10:49 AM UTC
‘That would be nice,’ you say,
So, we cross the quicksilver city.
We step, like tipsy teenagers,
Into a basement of Kisii and Kikuyu,
Sunshine dresses
Swaying to the Benga music,
Like cruise ships.
Oh, exuberant one:
The fire in your heart spills out sparks
As you spin and turn across the floor.
‘Dance for the children,’ you say,
‘Dance for the future’.
Magnificent Mercy,
With your intergalactic smile,
You make all the sense in the world.
Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 4:52 PM UTC
want a new addiction, want to fall victim
explain to me: why do dem females have similar names?
i was blacklisted and then i got promoted
all my poems were burned by me
and i destroyed all my novels, dramas and stories
blog entries, essays and term paperz...
and every time i closed my eyes, i stopped existing
the creature of the night, ******* of da city
fundamental, livin' under mental conditionz
chanukka and christmaz, gimme me three minutez:
imma be, stay and i'll have claimed my spot in it
no matter where ya at, anthony and antwone,
italo-africanz, meet dem boyz, cry, run, but die
no room for da shy, da law of the chosen few
8000 family memberz, nationwide and global
and don't they dare to fukk around -- we alwayz local
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 12:13 AM UTC
the people here
seem most at home
in brightly colored clothing
fierce men casually strut in hot pink
women weave maroon and mustard yellow
into their hair
the deepest skin
brings to life
the most saturated of shades.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
the Maasai people
eat mostly blood and milk
after a certain age.
a man we met
showed us his sleeping father
claiming his father was
one hundred and eight
years old
the man under the blanket
looked tiny and fragile
a tangle of bird bones
I could have lifted
in my arms.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
a man living in a Samburu village
must have strength and grit
a young man will be circumcised
in front of other villagers
he must hold dignity through the pain
lock every muscle
completely still
if he so much as winces
he will bring disgrace upon his family.
when a man comes of a certain age
people make it their business
to find him a wife
if the man is traveling
in a nearby village
and happens upon a delightful young woman
he must bring this news
back to his parents
who will make the decision.
if the parents agree
he will supply the young woman
with gifts of:
one camel
four or five goats
and seven or eight cows
unless the woman is special
then she might receive
two camels.
once a man is settled
with his first wife
he may find more wives
sometimes up to eight wives
or more.
each wife may bear about five children
while the children are young
the man may not know
the names of the children
or which mother they came from.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 5:05 PM UTC
her belly is on the concrete
the sun makes her
glow
softer than the water
she is bored
she does not acknowledge
the great gift the light has given the world
by reflecting
off her body
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
waking up
among the painted antelope
and the wildebeests
streaming up the hillside
and the gnarled knees
of an ostrich
and the glassy yellow eyes
of a lion
is something
we should all experience.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
I can't decide
whether to
cut
the splinter out
or wait
for it to
heal over.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:45 PM UTC
dung beetles
are my favorite beetle
because I feel like
giggling
when I see one.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:42 PM UTC
a male lion
lay motionless
in the shade.
his fashionably disheveled mane
and swollen belly
gave me comfort
until he
opened his
eyes.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:41 PM UTC
I like the
deep color
of their skin
crafted
from soil
and wind.
these people are
powerful
enough to carry
the sun
inside
their bodies.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:35 PM UTC
the people here
have no illusory separation
from their land
small, bare-armed boys
pause from herding goats
to glance over
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
the goat was completely alive
and then it was completely lifeless
if there was an in-between
I could not tell where it ended
or began.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
bones of drought
rattle in the sky
the bones denote
a constant dry
no rains came to quench
they were absent
on the Kenyan mound
an arid woe
remaining around
the land morbidly dead
of life's elation
it vanished in the sun's
unrelenting evaporation
people starved by
unrealized crop
cattle thirsted for
a watering drop
and a parching famine
dwells in Africa's well
the fountain of survival
a desperate hell
bones of drought
rattle on high
the rattle speaks
of an empty sky
aid agencies implore
the world to give
so that fellow humans
can go onto live
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 8:23 AM UTC