So Disappointing!

Courtesy of Foundations Christian Counseling

It was quarter past one a.m. but Hill was still seated, alone in his murky sitting room, on a squeaky austere high-backed chair, for the third day in a row. Midnight was his favorite time to sulk; a product of overthinking and a stench of failure. Disappointment was the only taste he could feel, regardless of the master’s degree he had just obtained from the university of Moi.

Nothing seems to be going in the right direction,” he thought. Even his two-year relationship with miss culture Kenya looked like a sham. He had spent ten minutes staring at the last text she had send him and all he could see was a line, right through the lies. The despondecy was too much. He was sinking fast and an inch away from rock bottom.

Disappointment is relative. It is a reaction from a stained action; a tear through trust. Conclusively, statistics prove that mankind has gradually developed thicker skin compared to their counterparts in 1900 BC. This is because life has proven not to be coherent with our plans. We set sail for north and life drags us south. 2020 is one such example of what went wrong. It is a year than we can unanimously decide to erase or give it a do over if possible. It gives the best analogy of the inability of mankind to influence nature and time. We thought we had bagged the cat with our executive plans and a ‘nothing is impossible mantra’ but 2020 was meant to be a supernatural joke on mankind which we don’t seem to get the punchline to. age..was the routine we were accustomed to and with false hope of influencing fate, we rod on our imaginary castles without paying heed to the disappointment that was creeping in.

-We did not notice that we were giving more love in our relationships than we were actually getting back.

-We thought we could get justice for the Brown’s for their illegally grabbed land by the area MP.

-We forgot that trusting the government with our kids’ futures was like flogging a dead horse.

-Mercy gave Ramsey a second chance for the seventh time hoping we was now a changed man as he claimed.

-Jack’s mum succumbed to a failed medical system two days before Jack’s 30th birthday.

-Mrs. Lorraine hoped for a hundredth time that her husband would at least make it home before midnight without the scent of another woman on his shirt….

And disappointment was all they could manage

Being physically tough and adapting to a negative emotion were all two different things. Their next time always hit harder than the last time. Disappointment, left, right and…….

Being black and in Kenya must really make you superman,” Hill thought to himself. The idea of his friends burdening tougher issues than his, reeled him back to reality and he immediately knew what he had to do. He flickered his hand over the candle across the room and it went off. And in the dead silence of the night, Hill tucked the disappointment up his sleeve and braced himself for tomorrow; to go out and bark, hopefully this time, not on the wrong tree.

Survivor Stories

Courtesy of Drive safe online

I am seated in a bus headed to Malindi and I can’t help but think about the accident. It’s been three days now and every time I close my eyes, my mind drifts to reconstructing scenes of the accident and replaying possibilities of a different outcome. Fatigue is choking me. If only I had pressed the brakes…

Travelling has become traumatic because every single corner or hoot or a screech of brakes gives me a panic attack. I am good at putting on a show, especially when everyone becomes sympathetic. I tuck back my neck and shell out strength yet I am dying from the inside. People end up convinced that you weren’t hurt because physically you never bled and emotionally, you came out of the crashed car, guns blaring at the guilty truck driver who almost killed you. I tend to think I was a hundred percent innocent but we dint wait long enough for the cops to ascertain that. It was late and I had bigger things to worry about than a rude truck driver and a raggedy conductor and…hell, let me just give the whole story.

Reverting to the events leading to my shaky knee, on Monday the 13th…

“Finish your tea, everyone’s done and they are waiting for you.”
I was transfixed to the TV watching something with my two nephews. Well, it was PJ masks, and before you judge me go try streaming that cartoon, age be damned. I quickly gulped the last sip and walked out with a piece of bread..bad habits die hard. My cousin and my best friend were already in the car. I clumsily took my position behind the wheel, and after an eternity of finding the cut out button we drove off. We had several things to attend to in Machakos, biggest one being my cousin’s clearance from school.

I am a driver of 4 years and regardless of incompetence in the driving school I attended, I can comfortably revere myself as a good driver. What’s hard in pressing brakes and an accelerator alternatively when you drove an un-roadworthy lorry in driving school and passed?

The journey from Nairobi lasted an hour and a half, little traffic here and there. And in another hour and a half we were done with the serious stuff. Mid-day was here and we were starving, to say the least. So, the three of us plus a mutual friend we hooked up with, drove to Naivas to get some food. The food section was stuffed with kids admiring snacks and cake so we unanimously agreed to get takeaways and eat from the car. Probably drive to a disclosed location and have the food from there. Bummer! An open pandora’s box was about to hit us hard.

The drive to ‘lunch’ would be last sane drive we would have before ‘the age of ultron’ was released. It was a straight drive, minimum difficulty, but a truck was switching lanes from one extreme side of the road to the other. I tend to think I had the right of way, but this guy thought he was too visible and would bully his way to the road at my expense. So I flickered my lights and hooted twice to alert the guy that I was about to pass. Talk of stubbornness, nigga hit me so hard I felt life ooze out of me. It was the scariest 5 seconds of my adult life. The sound of fiber hitting fiber was so loud, I am sure hell shook. The car sprawled outside the road and halted a meter away from a ditch. Luck! I don’t know whether I parked or just walked out to breath and check in on everyone. Holdup, i checked the car first..yeah, that I dint even notice my shaky knee. Talk of priorities

We spend the next two hours exchanging words and weighing wits on whose knowledge about driving was at fault. Two hours that I regret deeply because nothing good came out of it..just a spoilt day and a million thoughts….trauma!

On the contrary however, I contend with the fact that we walked out alive. Nothing to take for granted.

I survived a crash, now i have to survive the trauma…

Behind Bars!

Courtesy of Pacific Standard

Inspired by the personal experience of my friend and brother, Mwangi

It hit me while I was sitting there, on a concrete floor, with mosquitoes biting at every piece of my uncovered flesh, and the smell of urine lingering in the humid, stifled air; that my life was about to change in a whole new way, for the next couple of days, or even weeks, that would test me, try me and push me to my limits.

I was overwhelmed by the exhaustion of my mind, scratching and fighting to grasp some sense of reality that could sum up the trail of events that led me here because the events escalated so fast that I didn’t notice a thing.

Babe kimbiiaaaa…” was the last screech I could manage before I was tackled to the ground by a blood thirsty, steaming hot officer. My struggles to free myself and get some air were neutralized by a hefty blow on my back and I can swear, it felt like I was hit by a bowling ball. I was quickly handcuffed and bundled carelessly onto a waiting police land rover. But even then, through the entire ordeal, I managed to sneak a peek at my now flying girlfriend and I was sure she had managed to escape the two officers hot on her heels. Awesome. I was now a guest of state with at least five offences including the now recent one, trekking past curfew hours without a mask. Moreover, I couldnt tell whether I was still drunk or high from adrenaline after being chased for almost a kilometer by relentless afisas.

The Sh500 I offered for ‘talking’ fell on deaf years. “Hio ongeza mia ununulie bibi yako kiatu. Mbio amekimbia itabidi tumempea kazi ya kukimbiza nyangau kama wewe
When a Kenyan cop refuses ‘kitu kidogo’ you will sing hot funk, and I was about to become a backup crooner with my now developing soprano. Minutes later we were trooped to the station where our names were entered and valuables registered in the OB.

I couldn’t help but wonder that it was probably harder for my family and friends back home (minus my Kipchoge girlfriend of course). They were out there with no idea what was going on, or where I was. There were no means of communication, not even a smuggled mobile phone! My pockets had been emptied, my shoes taken off and I looked like a total wreck.

Throughout my stay in custody, the harrowing screams coming from the other detainees in their cells echoed down the corridor. And on my block, the noises were definitely a deafening racket. If you’re a light sleeper, you might want to think again about getting your head down for a couple of hours because those shrieks dominate the building.

‘Afande! Malisaa yeye!’ are just some of the things you might hear with a few expletives thrown in for good measure. Looking at the same four walls over and over again is not exactly the best way to pass time and unsurprisingly it’s not long until boredom creeps in. Boredom in a poorly ventilated cell with only sky high windows where measured light and oxygen sneaks in.

But custody is not designed to be an enjoyable experience and personally I came to understand, the hard way, the harsh truths that follow after you commit a crime. With no clocks, I had no idea how slowly time was passing. It provides the perfect chance for people to gather their thoughts and think about what they’ve done – and in my case have a long nap, contrary to my expectation.

And forget about taking your time for granted because in that cell you really are in your own little reflective bubble with nothing but your own thoughts to contend with.

Inside there, you stand strong, find humor and enjoy your time like a crack head because once you remove your belt and one shoe, freedom flies out through the window.

The ‘No doing chores’ African Male Disorder

Courtesy of

(What my brother would say, word for word..haha)

If you think being quarantined with my parents and being called a thousand times a day, motivated me to writing this then yeah, you guessed right. I am one call away from bursting into flames. And don’t get me wrong, I am an obedient ‘son’, or so I think, but it goes without saying that chauvinism has very little to do with washing clothes and mopping the floor. Now, now ‘feminists’ hold your horses because I have done my research and I have left no turn unstoned. I recently came across a clip making rounds on social media about a brood of ladies raging on about their right to equality and having their husband’s cook for them especially when they get home later than the guy. Well, I think everyone’s entitled to an opinion and more so in the confines of a marriage with clearly outlined expectations. Personally though, I differ but that’s a debate I won’t get into right now. However, my million dollar question is, what happens when these men don’t cook? You beat them? Or is the whole stunt on feminism just theoretical?

Let me save you the heartache, men don’t do chores because we suffer from the African male disorder. Not arrogance. Palliaris calliaris or whatever, I am still working on the scientific name.

Since time immemorial, African men have been tasked with duties that exclude the kitchen and anything with the verb washing (minus their body’s of course). This is definitely intrinsic and one might add that this is because the men were the sole-providers and breadwinners for their families. But I kid you not, this little detail of history has been carried along to date even with the increasing plight to acknowledge the change of roles. Women now provide for their families better than their counter parts, the men, but that historical loophole continues to evolve into a disorder that is hard to purge.

Test trials on the male mice that I have condemned to death in ‘my lab’ show a positive curve in relation to men embracing house chores in the 21st century. But an anomaly keeps popping up. A significant problem. We have tried our best to domesticate ourselves but it’s really hard to clean after our mess. We eat and don’t cook and we wear and don’t wash. Even when we go the extra mile we never do the chores a 100 percent. So please stop pestering your all time FIFA 2020 playing boyfriend.

Personally, I am a melancholic. A character trait that came to my knowledge as I grew up. With it comes the curse of perfection and order and I can tell you, I have tried it all. But being a male African, I have lost myself more times than I can imagine in my pursuit to help around the house. But as they say, the first step to cure is finding out what it is that you suffer from.

All in all, I am a strong advocate of embracing change and helping out in chores. Most men are. So please pray tell these socialite bimbos to meet us in the middle or kiss goodbye to the idea of having a normal family.

The Faithless Religion

“Let him who has no sin cast the first stone…”

Faith is a vast subject, one that exceeds the mere boundaries of religion. It is however a founding pillar of Christianity without which it is ‘impossible to please God’. My opinion on this topic will have zero relation to casting the first stone because truth be told, I have my episodes of doubt, reluctance to exercise my spiritual conviction and an obsession with proof. Faith on the contrary, isn’t just an idea. It is an assurance of what is unseen, an interpretation of the visible through the lens of the unseen. Amen?

Hebrews 11:1 by biblegateway

This is intrinsic knowledge and if you were keen enough to listen to your Sunday School teacher, then high-five your neighbor and tell them, “tuko pamoja”.

Christians live with an internal desire to become like Christ and put in real effort to obey God’s word but intermittently. This is because there are many professing Christians with good theology but their lives contradict what they claim to believe. And it gets worse because a significant number of Pastors and Reverends fall squarely under this category. This is inarguably true in Africa and especially Kenya where Pentecostals have turned the church into a market place. The sanctity of the gospel has been replaced with profit based sermons and sycophancy. Just recently a ban was put on political based church fundraises but that’s hardly enough because it does not cut-off the problem, it smoothers it. We have and are still barking up the wrong tree.

Let me explain,

This religion reeks of rot. Rot that has been orchestrated from the inside. We have lacked faith and digressed to dubious ways of managing the gospel. We the Christians have outwardly exposed our greediness for ill earned money at the cost of tainting the name of Christ. How on earth will a pastor grace the news at prime time and claim that he turned to selling eggs because the church was closed and he can no longer provide for himself? How do you ask the government to open churches because you have not collected offering for a month? Do you serve at the pleasure of men or the King of Kings? That is outright mockery of the gospel. It simply means that they have made the church a business that can no longer accrue income because corona locked them out! Didn’t Paul make tents professionally and preach the gospel at the same time?

It is spiteful, malevolent, embarrassing and defamatory to the pain Jesus endured on the cross to provide salvation for us. Salvation from lack, discontent and ignorance. Philippians 4:19, Mathew 6:31, Mathew 7:11, Romans 5 and probably the entire Bible indulge in the confines to which God provides for us and more so the men of God and the clergy. The shame we have brought upon the gospel has barred the great commission of spreading the gospel because people do not want to be associated with a confusing ideology of pretentious followers.

We are a brood of chameleons and we ought to change and strictly espouse the Christian way of life. Integrity, justice, love, endurance, wisdom and FAITH. It’s time we became pragmatic and carried our minds with us even in spiritual conviction. Being a man of God is a responsibility added on to your professionalism, family and social roles. Therefore, if you cannot take on more responsibility then I don’t understand why you should convince me to be my best self while you are wallowing in identity crisis. I look up to men of God and we all do, so we shouldnt condone mediocrity in the things of God.

Will we shrink away from faith when it becomes difficult and uncomfortable or will we lean to God because we trust Him to provide? The Church needs to have reverence for God. This should be the status quo!

The Unlucky Lover

Courtesy of and Faith Kioko

Sometimes it felt bright and rosy; sometimes it was cold and dull. Call it a roller coaster of emotions, where no one understands or can predict the next mood. An affair of unfaithfulness. Betrayal at the end of the tunnel. You have to play a fool or be one, just to hold on a little longer. A belligerent life. Who knew love could sneak on someone in such a rare form, a taboo? Bread eaten in secret is definately pleasant. First it was love then shame, bitterness and finally revolved into embarrassment and loneliness. The power of first love.

Love is patient, love is kind, and love is…love is a hopeless feeling.

Tears of betrayal fall off her cheeks yet she cannot share her story to the world. What she did is an abomination, total taboo. Feelings of guilt encroach her heart and choke her freedom of ever falling in love again. The thought of giving in to her ex lover or a cougar relationship was not her plan. It started off as a mentor-trainee relationship and one thing led to another, a messed up end in the midst of a quagmire of emotions.

It used to be the best time of her day being around him ,venting out her crap and there he was, hand held out, soothing her, hope and love that gave her warmth, set her moods straight and kept her insanity in check. What a relief, she always thought. With him it felt like a revival. She was never going back to the lonely nights, the days she cried her brains out, the days she craved attention and days she longed for company. Or so she thought.

Nothing comes easy and soon she paid the price. The devil was in the details.

Life is fair and unfair, two sides of a coin. Right from the start, she knew that this wasn’t right but she fell for him. He took the lead and she followed .He coaxed her into love that melted her heart of stone. He made her believe in herself and brought out the best in her. Tried his stride to spoil her and cheered her all the way. This was the best version of her love story. He was sweet, kind, calm…a husband and a father of two. She was dating a married man! Catch 22 situation and her biggest nightmare.

Photo by Pinky Jangra

She was constantly tortured by her consciousness, the many ways in which this love was wrong. Had she lost herself? She tried her best to pull through all the heart aches, the stigma and the disappointment thrown her way. She strongly believed that her love was true and real. She was ready to suffocate in her attempts to fit in. She was forever in denial that her love could be wrong.

At times, she wished love could be a lot more easier to fall into. She wished that this guy could travel back in time and ask for her hand in marriage but this was a dream, a fairy tale and a fantasy.

A tainted love story, where no one validates. Love never chose sex, age, race, wealth, happiness, beauty or brains, we did! We attached beliefs, cultures and legalities. We made it a quid pro quo. A business deal. A complication.

She vowed in her soul never to recall the ordeal, the dire consequences…

“Aand Cut “..the narrator said loudly. “C’mon Lana, move to the next scene”…

Did reggae take a break?

Courtesy of; Gado the cartoonist
BBI- The cleaning detergent for elected criminals

This country is many things but transparent is not one of them. We live in an error of woebegone criminals who hide behind the fact that they were elected in office only to run down the country into a shit hole. Kenyans have tried to grow out of their ignorance and are now more advertent than ever. But even then when a majority of us can see right through the political debauchery of our leaders, we chose to turn a blind eye. We are stuck in medieval times of police brutality, political oppression and dictatorship and therefore disregard has been our only option. Democracy is too good in theory but abysmal in practice. In addition, our stout love for these leaders has paved way for them to perpetually brainwash us at the expense of our development and growth.

The building bridges initiative is one such example of what is wrong with Kenya. I will admit that when I first heard this program, I was sure the country was headed in the right direction and who knows, it might still be. However, with time, criminals caught up with the BBI train only to taint the image further by adding their selfish interests in the document and aligning themselves strategically to book spaces in the next regime. On the other hand, a number of them used this forum to wash their slates clean of their criminal offences by paying pilgrimage to the number two in this country-you know who. As penance, they join the BBI choir and lead at the front and centre in an effort to “prolong reggae”. Call it innocence by association.

The good book in Proverbs talks about association too, “he who walks with wise men will be wise, but the companion of fools will suffer harm”. In Kenya, you just need to choose the right side, sit back and enjoy the fruits of a failed justice system because you know someone, who knows someone. Raila Odinga, being the number two of this country, like it or not, has helped legitimize the most corrupt government in the history of Kenya for a fee. Be it a thief, rapist or murderer (the nature of the sin is irrelevant), don’t worry, pay a fee, shake Raila Odinga’s hand and your “crimes” will be forgiven. Quid pro quo.

A Kenyan DJ lies in a hospital bed as an invalid, accumulating hospital fees with the perpetrator of the crime pledging to donate his salary for mitigating the corona virus. Try calling him out and he will be the most belligerent of them all with verbal hurricane that will send you crying to your mother. Just recently, after spending a week in remand, he was granted audience at a BBI meeting and all his woes seem to have been corrected. “He is no longer a slave of sin”

The NYS is struggling to support itself on its own two feet after a hefty blow by the then cabinet secretary who in conjunction with a few officials looted everything to the extent of pocketing pens and files. This same person is leading the BBI train at the front having “cleared her slate clean” by a handshake with Mr. R and pledging allegiance to reggae.

It gets better. A suspected murderer of his 26 year old pregnant lover walks scot free at the BBI platforms with, “wanainchi power, wananchi BBI” here and there, having delayed the blades of justice through a pilgrimage visit he made to the mountain. To him the stench of crime isn’t so bad after being clothed by the BBI.

It is clear that the political-class play by a different set of rules. They lose no sleep over getting into bed with thieves and murderers as long as it serves their interests-BBI. For all their finger pointing and proclamations that corruption makes their skin crawl, their actions tell a very different story. We are the handshake amnesty republic.

Inspired by Olive Burrows- NTV and Boniface Mwangi- activist

Millennials risk ending up worser than their parents

A big part of the Kenyan dream is that each generation will do better than the one that preceded it. This has been part of what supposedly makes this country special and distinctive. However, statistics show that this being theoretically feasible might not be at all practical. Millennials are classified as those of the generation born between 1981 and 1998. You can plus or minus this to accommodate your age. This generation comes of age at the worst possible moment when the economy has collapsed in great recession and insurgency due to excessive corruption by the government. Compounding the problem further is that the millennials parents did benefit from an upward shift in job status, making it even harder to surpass their accomplishments. The millenials are also part of the problem because of wrong priorities and the disregard of manual work for the white collar among other issues that are at par with peer pressure.

Simply, you are most likely to end up poorer than your parents.

On paper or preferably on social media, most of us are way better than our parents. The exquisite life style we document blurs us from accumulating wealth and rather spending the little we have on non-basic expenses. Take pride however, if its any consolation, in knowing that fifty percent of the problem is not your fault.

Recession and financial crisis
It is not news that the current government has failed by far in not only improving the economy but also maintaining it. We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office. Most of the governors if not all have been involved in graft cases, looting the counties dry of money meant for improving both the public and private sectors. The unemployment crisis among the millennials has worsened over the years with thousands graduating from universities every year to compete for the same jobs that are favoring the aged. In addition, parents had a smooth transition from school to the job market via transparent channels which are now rigged to the core.

Wealth creation is lagging
The few millennials that have been lucky enough to grab a job are accumulating junk instead of wealth. Yes, there is a difference. The kind of lifestyle they are living is far beyond what they can afford. Even with a tone of saving agencies the millennials prefer a life of hand to mouth.

Defective priorities and peer pressure
Based on the risks the millenials take with their bodies, some of them won’t live long enough to accumulate enough assets to surpass their parents. Even then, the prospect of taking care of a family or building a normal, decent home seems like a far-off dream that the millennials want to reconsider in another twenty years. We just want to have fun, don’t we?

Poverty is looming more than ever and there is only one thing left for you to do. Pull off your socks and try with your feet. Otherwise you risk becoming poorer than your parents. The system is rigged.

Nothing new about the New Year

The year 2019 began with delayed onset of long rains and it now closes with killer floods. A strange cocktail that has tossed Kenyans’ well being down the drain. This is not the only puzzle that has thrown Kenyans off balance because we are already one day into the new year and things seem the same, with poverty looming more than ever. Millions celebrated as the curtains fell on 2019 without much thought on what exactly they were crossing into. Most of them put aside reality to enjoy that moment of temporary madness and mob mentality anxiety. Truth be told though, there is nothing new about the New Year. Most of us will go back to our shitty jobs, with over the roof taxes and greedy employers who pay us just enough to keep us coming back to work for the rest of the year.

I am a stereotype and a sucker for holiday tradition as most of us are. It is therefore, crystal clear that we all have a routine for the holidays especially the Christmas holiday and the commemoration of a ‘new year’. That routine largely constitutes spending hefty amounts of cash at the expense of a very hot and long January. This is common knowledge and anyone civil enough to take note has gradually improved in setting priorities to accommodate the month of January in planning for the festivities, so I have no big issue with that.

The rising concern however, is the yelling and shouting witnessed a few minutes to the crossover of a New Year that has deemed fruitless over the years. Most of us wake up to sore throats and the harsh reality that life moves on. If you were keen enough, you should have noticed that however much we yelled at that golden minute, the clock never stopped moving.

The literal definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. We seek to improve our worldly situations and become better people by hoping this year will be better than the last one. News flash, nothing new will come to you unless you make it so. King Solomon said, ‘the more I explore what appears to be new, the more I realize truth is impeccably reliable- What works always works and what doesn’t work never works’.

It is not a parade of events or festivities that will change your life but an upgrade of your consciousness. You should not seek to change the world but seek to change your mind about the world. If you attempt to change your circumstances without changing your mind, nothing will ever change (pan intended). Even better, get your hands dirty making that change you desire. Quit that job and begin the business you have always wanted to have. Nelson Mandela said, it always seems impossible until it’s done. How will you know it works unless you risk doing it?

If you are going to make the New Year new, then put those plans into action. We live beyond time, age, history or future so do not let these wordly props bind you. Wake up!

Cheers to the new year and another chance for us to get it right!

Weird but effective😂

My dad and I are very close, don’t get it twisted. However, I would preferably like to call that space between me and him, ‘the vacuum of respect’ as you would all. Dad is the perfect role model. He doesn’t equivocate when it comes to spiritual health, academics, and character. He raised us in a cocoon of unflinching respect for others and hard work not to mention a high degree of Christian faith. If you met my dad, you would think he owns a 3 acre church with a huge following. ‘Vitu kwa ground ni different’ anyway. Trust me, I also wonder why he doesn’t have one. Perhaps it is how he loves that morning sleep too much to ever consider going to morning glory on a daily basis leave alone being the one coordinating it. That morning sleep however, God-send! I can relate. (I am hopeful he won’t come across this article) Or is it that he spends all his weekends on the farm meaning no time to shepherd the flock? Mmmh, the jury is out there. Mr M, dad, always keeps tabs on his children, more like monitoring and evaluation. Most parents do this because they have prospective future plans for their kids so the regular checkups are merely for aligning their kids to the set parent-child strategic goals.

Experience of my life
Two days ago I sat next to Mr M in church and it was the longest 3 hours ever. Church is a place where you let go of your issues in ways best known to you and therefore one needs their safe space, more like a spiritual sanctum. Infact, whoever said men don’t cry should attend a holy-ghost filled church service and see my younger brother. Preferably, people should sit next to strangers so that they forego minding about their surrounding and being judged. Truth be told, sitting next to Mr M has never been an issue because we roll in different social circles and he ends up sitting with the wife or some other place. On this occasion however, he got into church late and decided to have the back bencher experience at my expense because that was my designated sleeping area, sorry I mean sitting area. Pardon me. The man himself was in my safe space and I couldn’t help but think to myself that this was it. The evaluation of my relationship with God, or if at all I had a relationship with the big guy above. It comes without saying that I had to be on my best behavior. I sheepishly sat next to him on the long bench and we exchanged glances. He then swung around to shake my hand perhaps in a show of solidarity to the common purpose of being in church. I am sure events didn’t unfold the same way I am documenting them and this is probably exaggeration but if you had the same experiences as I have had with this guy then you would be biased too.

Grace hour
Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity and I was in luck. Two ladies and one guy strode into church and walked towards the same row we were in. I wasn’t sure they would sit on our bench so I pretended to be an usher and bellowed at them to come fill my ‘dad’s bench’ which of course had space. By doing so, there were now three people between me and my dad and we were far off at extreme ends of the bench.

That my friends, was a miraculous restoration of my comfort. I spend the next three hours drowning in a pool of self-heroism and uncalled for self esteem. It was a near miss.

However, Jean de la Fontaine said ‘a person meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it’. So, soon enough, I am certain Mr M. will get me, but that won’t be today.

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