Osogo chiewa gokinyi tula ruto e wi tado,chunya penjoree nyakwar kibiere ang’o ma dwa yudowa ma awinjo duond jachein machiegni ni? Achiewo amanyo ang’uolana mane agolo ka pok adonjo e od nindo.Awuok oko agoyo ****’a koni gi koni ,aneno minwa oa turo bando e puodho ma path ot,’minwa oyaore?’ amose gi luoro apenje ni,to ma winy ochiewa gi ruto modhuroni to kare ang’o madwa timore,”Nyathina ing’eyo ni asebedo ka aleko lek moko mag tho chalo ni masira nyalo yudowa machiegni ni.”Wewuoyo kamano minwa nyoro ka koko ayiko nyabila osiepa mabuonjo mos to ong’eyo rito nyikwayo ,omwolo nyakamaye,ok adwa winjo wach tho kata matin.Ne, we keta gi wach tho gokinyi chiew owadu ma ababa mondo udhi e puodho ridho bando, wuoyi ber machiewo to yudo gi matimo ka chieng pok obedo makech,awuok achiko e od steve omera kuma ababa tinde nindoe karito ’ ,Ababa pok ichiewo,? mama wacho ni en nindo manade ma sani pod ng’ama dichwo ninde?Bro,nyoro ne anindo modeko nadhi e thum kaseda loka aduogo saa apar ga riyo asayou weya uru anind matin okatamora puodho to adhi.Ababa we tugo koda dalaka. kwani wan ema ne wakoni ni idhi e thum? Chung na malo ka pok achopo kanyo apami.Awera kode Awuok Oko Tiego Kwer ,nyundo pisore to goyo lweta malit ‘Uwi Uwi ****’,Fred en ang’o? Minwa goyo koko,Ta ang'ise gi lit ni " ok nyundoni ema dwa bamo lweta yawa',Ababa nyiera ‘Hehe mama nakoni ni jo town gi bure kata tiego kwer gikia’.Omera we losona kaka ilosonano idhi ****’o iya gokinyi.Mama to nyathini kamaye ekaka tinde onindo dalaka ? Saani dekoro wasechopo e puodho? Fred, in to ema ihero lungo wach,Nyoro donge nang’isi ni aseda mawuon Erick ne onindo e bade? D.O Misiani ne biro goyo ngolo kanyo gi joka shirati band,makoro imedo chumvi e wach dhina e thum ni? Ne ok awinjo maber ababa yawa,yani "Aseda ne osewewa ? To nyaka ne bi dalaka asebedo mana ka awuotho to shemecha gi ok kona ni wuod awino ratego osewewa,mayie we adhi sani agone gi mos puodho ok ringi pod an dala ka.Mama? Ababa ng’isa ni aseda kare ne ong’ielo orengo? We adhi agone gi mos mondi? Fred Okadwa Walo Ochuno Ni Nyaka Idhi Sani ? Dhi nenore marach ni asebet odieng' ariyo dalaka to pok adhi gonegi mos,we adhiya adhiya mama asayi?Kare dhi to kik ibudh kono,Aneno wuonu ma ngoto kono ohero minoni mang’eny gi penjo mag pimo wich,Tang' kode? Awinji minwa.Omera ? Mano fred maneno kalo e rangach kanyo no? Adwoke gi gero,'Mano ng’a magoyo koko gi nyinga E gweng’ no?An bena omera kwani ikia dwonda ? Omera kare in e gweng’ ka ? An Nabiro nyoro. Achopo ka owad gi baba u ma aseda kagoyo mos.Mano ber ,yaani freddy eldoret ka omiyo ok unenru, chakre john ma wuonu tho yawa,uweyo nyauyoma ema puro dalaka  kapunda? Ok kamano baba “nyaka wamany omera, piny oidho ma  ka ok imanyo toinyalo inindo kech kata kwelo.We an achop ago mos koka aduogi,Kapok idhi  Freddy miya gimoro kanyo adonjgo kisii ka amorgo chunya? Omera Benah, sani to atwo ok awuotho gi wallet lakini mak mia moro nikaa ikwe go wiyi, abiro neni maber godhiambo.Erokamano wuod baba, in gi chuny mana ka wuonu ma john. Sasawa Bena we an Aweyi.Hodi ka? Karibu! Karibu !  Freda,To in Dalaka? Antiye min akoth nabiro nyocha neno nyara matin gi minwa ,Mos  kuom gimoyudi ni? Nyathi john,mae e yo manyaka ji duto te nelu,nitie kinde nyuol gi kinde tho, wante wan jokalo e piny ma mwalo ka,mano adier min akoth.To ne  odhi nade ? " Kik iwach nyathi nyieka,an nachiewo gi sime koa kisumo ni wuon akoth wakoche ne oyang’o ng’ute gotieno koa tich.Gichinje matindo tindo." Mos yawa, pinyni  ne waresre nade? En mana kamano nyathi nyauyoma,to piny majan kono udhiye nade ? Siasa awinjo ni liet kono mapek piny otur ji dwaro lokruok? Nandi, dhi maber lakini nasewuok kono an eldoret tinde.'oh nisewuok kono ? Mano ber tek ni iyudo kamoro ma chumbi wuoke."Min Akoth ok awuotho machwe ahinya lakini mak rupia moro matin ni, iyudgo kata sukari moro ne nyithindo."Erokamano nyathina nyasaye ogwedhi,to pok iyudo min ot nyaka nya min nyathini wewa? Hahhahaha ! Naseyuto,Nyasaye ogwedha gi jaber kendo achano mana harus.Pod apime ka en miyo manyalo pur ma kojwach ka.Pod Antiye Dalaka Wabiro Wuoyo Kayudo Kinde. We an aweyi? Erokamano nyathi nyieka.

Since the doctor's confirmed my lungs is rotten and it need immediate surgery, my time has been filled with prayers. Also, looking for direction at way past midlife, at what else I might want to do with the years I have left, with the talents and gifts I have. I still have much to contribute. So today I had some time off from nearby church. Although still Wintertime, the weather blazed cold but beautiful like a summer’s day. I went to a nearby garden, and toting a lawn chair, blanket and book sat under a shady tree, soft warm breezes caressing me.
Blessed silence. I hadn’t felt such peace in a long time. When I rose from the lawn chair and did as poet Mary Oliver once wrote in the poem The Summer Day . I fell down on my knees into the deep green grass and inhaled its heady fragrance. I stretched out on the blanket, looking up at the green leaves of the tree silhouetted against a blue-blue sky.
I listened to the birds twittering around me, the hush of the breeze in the branches, and marveled at this unique perspective of seeing the world from the ground up.
I paid attention. You see, "life is about paying attention".
And I heard yet again Oliver’s haunting question: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
But no answers came . Sometimes I think too deeply. Ask too many questions. They block trust. They are ways of controlling and of not allowing Divine flow to take over. I’m aware of this.
So as I stretched out on the grass, I decided to follow a saying popular when I was a teenager. It would become my mantra — to bloom where I am planted.
Sometimes I am planted in uncertainty. Sometimes in the hard earth of sadness or the rich soil of joy. And sometimes I am planted in meeting a stranger who simply wants to connect.
I sunk deeper into the earth. In the moment. Blooming. Then idea of writing an album came. And, that was the birth of "Far District"
I have written stories since I was old enough to hold a grey lead pencil. Words have, more often than not, been my safety net, my closest companions, the light in my dark dreary tunnels. They have been the quiet whispers of hope, the resounding joy that comes with new love, and the mumblings of other worlds that exists beyond the fenced horizon.
At times, my words have been all I have had, and we have wandered the globe together side by side with no agenda, no clear path, just trusting the journey. Tattered notebooks line my cupboards where other people may have clothes or shoes or photographs. Documents fill each folder of my laptop where other people may have bills, emails, to-do lists.
Over the years, my personal ramblings have developed to researched articles, blog posts, paid projects on everything. Over those years I have lived in shadows, in echoes, in dark hours and threads of virtual communication. Yet my world is still quiet, empty, and the words, no longer heal me. The path to imaginable dreams is often fraught with compromise. I have to falter precariously up the lower rails of the ladder to reach greater heights.
It’s such a bizarro world we live in.
One in which we jump on to a tiny, rectangular computer and scroll through content so vast in volume, we can’t possibly process it all. One in which we see the online embodiment of a stranger we passed on the way to the coffee shop last Thursday after we had to take a walk and clear our head from a morning meeting.
One in which a platform urges us to start a superficial connection with said stranger and read a bullet point list of all the jobs they’ve had in the last four years, the places they’ve lived, their relationship status, all about someone who caught your eye for approximately 3.4 seconds because they had cool jeans, before your mind wandered on to the next observation or introspective subject.
One in which we’re now programmed to browse through a particular set of information carefully curated for a carefully or haphazardly curated online audience of friends according to a title this platform provides us for our connections.
One in which we scroll and semi-curiously learn about someone who means very little to our world, although we’re prompted to make them a part of our world in that pesky “People You May Know” section.
One in which we catch a post about their mother passing, and suddenly this stranger from Thursday has a new dimension. They’re grieving. They loved their mother. They’re from a close family, a spiritual family. They posted a heartfelt tribute that made you cry because it sang with sorrow and rang with joy for a mother and woman who inspired so many to live and love fully.
This is a bizarro world, one in which we pass a stranger and then meet their depth on the solitude of our front porch in the evening, sipping wine and wondering when the bear is coming out tonight to browse through its buffet of alley trash cans. In this world, we wonder if we should know these things about these strangers. If there’s something immoral about browsing through their personal life. And, within the process I have learned a lot and I've written a lot....
In this album "far District" I have expressed a lot of the ideas, it goes @500 Kenya Shillings.

-Buya Marach