If you went through a boys’ boarding high school without ever sneaking out, then you missed out on one hell of a spine-tingling experience. The rush that goes with it is just priceless. What you need to do is to enroll at a high school near you, sneak out, then get back to whatever it is that you are doing. In this post I intend to share with you my thrilling experience of the first time I sneaked through the fences.
Featuring (truants): Lenny, M’mata, Brise, Kunju and of course myself.
I spent my four years of high school at Lenana School, commonly known as Changez. I’m proud to say that I had been a very good boy up at until my final year. I had never sneaked out of school, I had never held a joint between my fingers, never had I even peeked at naked photos of women in a magazine. Ok, the last point maybe once… or twice – who was keeping count? Point is I had been of decorous behavior for the better part of my high school life.
Well that was until one historic Sunday evening. We were walking from the dining hall when a pal suggested we sneak out and go for dancehall night. The club of choice was Beehive. Beehive was a renowned club back in the day despite the fact that it was located at Ngumo. I know what you are thinking, who goes raving at Ngumo? Well that was long before Westlands took over as the prevalent sin city.
The exploit was absolutely impetuous. We acted on a whim. The idea was not even assessed. There was no debate. Convening a study group would have raised more contention. No one thought of the consequences if our plot went south. Brise and the like were not particularly from the Christian Union Brotherhood. No one took the moral high ground.
It was agreed that we would recruit one more person: M’mata, the most spirited and spontaneous person you will ever meet. We would then go to our respective dormitories, change into decent clothes and go for Dancehall night. I had attended enough Social Studies classes and Mrs. Njoroge had time and again warned us about succumbing to peer-pressure. But there was no way I was going to be a wet blanket.
Walking across the open, expansive rugby pitch towards the thicket fence was like walking through enemy territory. There was a chance a watchman would spot us and blow the whistle. The tension was evident as we strode across. But we remained cool. If I were alone I would have folded under the pressure and taken for the fence at full speed. But I trusted my boys. They had experience.
We were soon on the other side of the world. There was life on this side. No lethargic looks of people bogged down by tedious coursework. No dullness owing to the constraints of conformity. Out here people moved and behaved as they pleased. The unrestricted manner in which people went about their business was comforting. It filled me with excitement.
Well that’s until a woman saw us as we were walking past her shanty and yelled, “nyinyi si ni vijana wa shule? Wacha nipigie headmaster wenyu saa hii.” (aren’t you boys students? I am calling your headmaster right away)!
We dropped our cool at that woman’s doorstep and ran like possessed boys. Thinking about it now, running seems a bit dumb. It’s not like our headmaster would have dropped his dinner on the floor, asked his wife to get him his running shoes and come after us. It’s not like the principal would visit the woman with a pencil and plain paper and ask her to sketch our faces. But you don’t think along those lines at such times.
We connected matatus and got to Ngumo. My pals were veterans.They knew how it was done. Before we hit the club we passed by Kenyata Market for some nyama choma.
When we got to the club, each one of us was required to part with a hundred bob. We paid and we got receipts. But when we got to the main entrance, we were all frozen. You know how kids wearing Mohawks are normally asked to present their IDs at the entrance, the bouncer didn’t even bother asking us to show him ours (I have mentioned before just how tiny I was back in high school, haven’t I). He just pushed us aside. Even after we showed him our receipts!
We were flustered. There’s no way we were going to spend the night out in the cold after taking such a huge risk. We pleaded and pleaded. But our efforts were futile. Luckily, the club owner happened to step out for some fresh air and recognized Kunju. They chatted briefly and he instructed the bouncer to let us in. Kunju was our savior. If we knew better we would have pulled that bouncer’s nose. In turns.
I was finally in a club for the first time in my life. I vividly remember how it was inside. It was hot and humid. The air smelled like a merger of BAT and KBL. It reeked of intoxicants. The music was so loud it threatened to blow off my eardrums. My eyes struggled to adjust to the smoke-filled, dimly-lit surrounding. I discerned a lady in hot pants gyrating next to a table. Seated directly in front of her was a man gawking at her lustfully. There were happy faces scattered all over. Tables were covered with beer bottles. People were enjoying themselves.
We took sits around a table and my friends ordered for beer. I asked for ginger ale. I spent most of the night observing, quietly absorbing the nightlife. But that’s a story for another day. This post is about the sneaking part.
The most dramatic part of our escapade was getting back to school. We left the club at around 4am and had to walk to Ngong road where we would take a mat. On the way we passed right in front of Brise’s home. If his mom had peeped through her bedroom window she would have seen his drunken son staggering by.
It was still too early in the morning and there were no matatus when we got to the stage. Lenny, M’mata and I sat on the bench at the stage while Brise and Kunju sprawled themselves on the edge of a culvert, and fast fell asleep. Of all the boys, myself excluded, Lenny was the soberest.
While looking out for a matatu, I happened to see a police landrover approaching. I thought I was being paranoid and I asked Lenny to confirm. He confirmed my fears. We both watched it as it approached. The scariest part was when it started slowing down as it drew nearer. My heart was exploding in my chest. The five of us were the only ones at the stage. Normally boys run under such circumstances. But we were flat-footed. Brise, Kunju and M’mata were oblivious of what was happening. They had blacked out. The vehicle came close to a halt directly ahead of us and I could see the cops’ heads turned towards us.
Lenny and I sat there staring back at them. And somehow, as unbelievable as it sounds, they drove away without bothering us. The relief we felt was so immense. We woke up the boys so we could narrate the close shave. As hair-raising as our story was, two of them went back to sleep midway through.
We soon got a matatu. A few minutes later we alighted and took a winding dirt road towards the school fence. When we were about a hundred meters from our entry point, dogs started barking hysterically. They barked like we were Chinese. We knew they must have caught the attention of the watchmen. We therefore had to regroup. We split and I paired with Lenny. I had shared a dormitory with him since form one and I trusted his judgment. Before parting with the rest, we made a pact not to squeal in case any of us got caught.
Lenny and I walked towards an alternate entry point. But as soon as we got to the fence a dog came scurrying towards us. Behind it was a watchman bearing a torch trying to keep up with it. We stood still as posts behind the thicket fence. The dog was barking menacingly on the other side as the watchman tried to peek through. Luckily for us, he was not as keen. After searching for a few seconds, he turned and walked away. We could see numerous flashlights hovering around the rugby pitch. It was evident the principal had instructed the watchmen to be on high alert on receiving the phone call from the snitching woman.
The pitch was a no-go zone. I turned to Lenny for a way forward only to be met by a defeated look on his face. He even suggested, as a last resort, we back off and come back later through the main gate and say we had been sent home for school fees. It was not a good idea as it meant shopping for school uniform. We decided to keep walking along the fence and see if we could find an unmanned opening.
Lenana School can as well be a province on its own. The school is expansive. It would take the whole KDF to have all the openings covered. We squeezed ourselves between some barbed wires and made it into the compound. The walk between the fence and the dormitory was the longest walk of my life. It felt like walking across the Sahara. Mind you we were not in school uniform. We crashed at the closest dormitory. We waited till time for breakfast, borrowed school attire and went to our dormitory. All my friends made it in.
Later on the teacher who had been on duty the previous evening came to my class and demanded to know where I was during prep time. I came up with some flimsy excuse and got punished. The punishment involved washing the dormitory. I have never undertaken a punishment so enthusiastically. My own house has never been scrubbed with half the dedication. I undertook the punishment like it was part of my grades.
I have done some pretty crazy stuff in my lifetime, but this could easily count as my most thrilling experience.
If you have a boss that’s always breathing down your neck; if you are one warning letter away from being kicked out of the building; if you’re sitting there wondering if you’ll still be on the payroll come December, worry no more. I got you. I have come up with a bagful of survival tactics that could help you avoid the impending axe. But if you take me too seriously and you get fired on the spot, don’t come after me wielding a machete.
Shift the blame
A colleague told me a story about his cheeky five year old nephew. Last Monday she was dropping him off at school and she asked him if he had completed his homework. He started panicking and said he hadn’t. She asked him why and after careful thought, he said his mommy took him to Westgate!
You gotta writhe out of those tricky situations. Don’t let the buck stop with you. You are not Jesus. If you are asked why you are late, blame the righteous matatu driver for adhering to the traffic rules. How were you to know that there are matatus that don’t overlap? If the boss points out your decline productivity, blame the January heat wave, and the government for doing nothing about it. Do what you have to do. Blame the Ocampo Six, blame Arsene Wenger. Just shift the blame. But don’t get your colleague fired.
Act like you know
I know a guy who never lacks answers. Dude can justify anything. You can never corner him. Even when he’s clueless he’ll give a lengthy and complicated explanation by the time he’s done you’ll be so confused you’ll just let it go. There are many times he has no idea what he’s talking about but he would rather just keep going than back down. He talks eloquently and with such confidence you will be drawn to his side of the story.
This quality would really come in handy in my line of work. I’m always bombarded with questions when things go wrong. I am expected to have all the answers. I’m supposed to be a walking Wikipedia. On that note I will google a list of technical jargon as soon as I’m done with this piece. If your boss is not as well versed, create a story. Be a bit dramatic as you tell it. As they say if you can’t convince them, confuse them.
Charity in the office
If you watch the tv series Dexter, then you’ve noticed that the main character has a habit of walking into the office with a boxful of donuts. He passes by each desk and his colleagues excitedly help themselves.
If you are not sure how that appraisal will go, you should try this. And make sure you start with your boss. There’s a good chance when it’s downsizing time the axe won’t fall on you. But you need to be careful here. Especially if you have haters in the office. You can imagine how nasty it would be if a colleague screws you over and finds a way of contaminating your snacks. Then a few minutes after helping themselves, stomachs start rumbling and people start lining up in the washrooms! There are malicious people out there you know. You would be screwed.
During my internship I worked with this guy who never smiled. The office radio was always tuned to Classic fm and once in a while Kingangi would say something hilarious and we would burst out laughing. You know how you can hear something funny and you turn to your colleague so you can all laugh together like happy retards, you would appear like a bigger retard if you turned to Ogolla. He never laughed at anything. His sense of humor was as dry as that of a goat.
Boy wasn’t Ogolla intimidating. If he told you to do something you would get onto it. Immediately. Even the boss approached him with caution. Whenever he approached Ogolla he would clear his throat and talk to him politely. I never once heard the manager reprimanding him. Dude owned the boss.
If you can pull off a mean-ass look, you can employ this tactic and see if those deadlines won’t get extended.
There’s this pal of mine who is from a well off family. His first job was at the very bottom of the corporate ladder but he used to drive to work every single day. A few weeks into the job he realized he had been parking right next to his manager.
Wrong move. His contract was never extended. He was even lucky the boss didn’t pinch him on the nose and tell him to know people.
Bosses want to feel like bosses. They like to be revered and they hate competition. More so from their juniors. If you want that job, if you have hopes of climbing up the corporate ladder, you gotta keep it on the down low. You have to suck up. I do not mean sneaking under the desk whenever he passes by your desk, just don’t compete with him.
Sucking up can be done tactfully. If you observe closely, even the meanest boss has his match. There’s always that person who somehow manages to cheer up the boss. There’s always that special person who is never yelled at as loudly as the rest of you. It could be that this guy is good at his job. Or it could also be that he is just a bootlicker.
When the boss is in a good mood chat him up. Say good morning to him and tell him that you are more energized than ever to get shit done this year. Flash a smile while at it. A genuine smile is hard to resist. But if your boss is of the opposite gender then you need to be careful. The last thing you want is your smile to be misconstrued as flirtation. You can imagine if he is a family man and all of a sudden he starts exhibiting pictures of his beloved family. Or even worse, if he is a sick perv and he starts grabbing your behind in the elevator. Not pretty.
Act a fool
If worst comes to worst, just act a fool. If you are busted napping on your desk, say that you were working out a solution in your head and you are just about to figure it out, then go back to sleep. Act like you had no idea the report was due that day. Act like you never saw that email. Act like you never got the meeting invitation. Heck, swear that you did not show up at work coz you thought that Monday was a holiday.
This should be the last arrow in your quiver. If all fails, start crying as your boss yells at you. I do not mean sniffling with tears running down your cheeks. Bursting into tears is what I mean. Trust me he wouldn’t know how to react. Take advantage of his bewilderment and excuse yourself. Later on apologize for the incident and tell him that you had received some saddening news that morning. You might just get the day off for not finishing that assignment.
Greg the smooth-talker
Greg and I shared a dorm and a class back in high school. He was a cool, rational guy. And I looked up to him. Many of us did. This is because Greg had a knack with the ladies. I believe he figured out the psyche of women even before he could draw the map of Kenya. I looked up to Greg because wooing the ladies was not as easy for me. I was shy and tiny. I was so tiny chicks treated me like I was a poodle. During functions, even when I tried to be as smooth as Ryan Gosling in the movie Crazy, Stupid, Love all I got was “aaaawww you’re so tiny and innocent.” To make it worse I had a soprano which I think shrilled when I approached a girl.
Greg on the other hand was virile. He was tall, muscular and had a deep voice. To top it all, he was a smooth-talker. He had flawless English and his pick-up lines did not start with “so do you also hate Physics…” You should have seen him in action. Chicks did not stare at the sky while he talked to them. No. They were so captivated you would think he was a fortune-teller.
You know how in a boys school there’s always one or two female teachers that you would set eyes on and feel like biting off your fingers, Greg would walk up to them and chat them up with such confidence and ease. He would even make them laugh. Do you know how hard it is to make a female teacher laugh in a boys’ high school? Especially if she knows everyone in the school (including principal and the school bus driver) want a piece of her?
Fabby the enigma
If there’s anyone out there doing a doctorate in Psychiatry, Fabby would be a great case study. Not that the guy is loco, his actions are simply puzzling, even to himself. The hardest question you would ever ask this guy is not where God came from, but simply ‘why did you do that?’
I met him on my first day of campus. We met on the corridors of the dormitory and he started talking like we had been bffs back in high school. He invited me to his room and he told me all sorts of stories till late that night. Fabby is a smart, entertaining guy with some pretty interesting stories. I instantly liked him. We soon became thick as thieves and even acquired the tag The Cramp Twins.
However, Fabby is the most unpredictable guy you will ever meet. The only thing constant about him is that he adores the female genus, and the fact that he is a skillful dancer. You would leave the dining hall or dormitory with him but by the time you got to wherever you were going to you would be talking to yourself. Along the way he would meet a hipster-wearing chick and he would ditch you without warning.
Fabby hails from Eldoret but the last time I spoke to him he was in Malindi. I asked him what he was doing there and he his answer; “I woke up and decided to relocate. I took a map and pikey pikey ponkied the damn thing and ended up in Malindi. Got into the bus without even packing a damn thing.” That’s an excerpt copy-pasted from facebook. That’s how serious it is.
Porkie my rave partner
I have never come across anyone who is more fascinated by my dark skin than this guy. If I were a chick I would be suffering from low self-esteem as a result of his insensitivity. Whenever he had nothing to say or do, Porkie would turn to me and have a go at my dark skin. He used to call me the angel of darkness, and once said that I am so dark if water was poured on my head, by the time it got to my chin it will have turned into black coffee (don’t dare laugh by the way).
He is one of the funniest men you will ever meet. I met him in campus and he soon became my rave partner. I liked hanging out with Porkie for two reasons: He was great company, and secondly he wouldn’t ditch me after I was frozen in clubs.
I remember in my first year, before Porkie joined campus, my friends and I went to Qs and we were all frozen. Luckily for my friends they managed to sneak behind the bouncer after some cuties distracted him. I tried to side-step him but he caught me by the hood of my top. My efforts to cajole him to let me in bore no fruit. I thought my pals would come out so we could all head to another club but after standing out there for 15 minutes I realized I was better off waiting for the rapture. I had to persuade the bouncer to take my two hundred bob before he let me in. If my memory serves me right his name Izzo. The guy wouldn’t just let me enjoy a night out. I hope he is now suffering from ED and his wife left him.
Porkie would never ditch me despite the fact that he was never frozen. Even in his first year he looked mature. I think he started going bald while still in primary school. Moreover, he walked like he owned the damn town. Bouncers ushered him into clubs. I on the other hand was so tiny bouncers thought I was better off playing Super Mario back at home. But Porkie would never ditch me.
Sly the party animal
Let me put things into perspective here; I believe Sly is the only person in the history of drunkards who has ever left a club at 7am, and headed to the beach for a swim. I mean who does that? Who leaves Bob’s after drinking all night and thinks ‘pfft who needs a bed while there’s the beach? Sleeping is for sissies, the beach is what’s up!’ I understand it’s Mombasa but still you don’t go to such lengths. Funny part is, while the rest of us were heading to the beach in the afternoon (you know, the time when normal people go to the beach), Sly had blacked out. Not even angel Gabriel’s trumpet would have woken her up.
Sly is the kind of person that will never pass a chance to have a drink. I have a feeling when she was small, she had a dream that one day she will wake up and there will be no more fun in the world. That fun will run out. She dreamt that one day inflation will hit us so bad all recreational places (read clubs) will close down and the best fun you will afford is a game of checkers. Guys what’s the opposite of the phrase ‘it’s never that serious?’
Last December, while at the coast, she partied for six straight nights. I thought she would finish her money and come back home on a camel, or never come back at all.
Sly is just special. I have never seen her gloomy. She’s always in a good mood. She is all about making merry. She is never in the background. Nah. Her presence is always felt wherever she goes. She is always the life of the party.
Joram & Ivan, my mouthy workmates
These two go hand-in-hand. They are like chips and tomato sauce. No, a butt and a g-string. I think as some of us were studying computer101 they were studying the encyclopedia of insults. When together, they are a force to reckon with. When they are idle, avoid them at all costs. Go as far away from them as possible because if they start to diss you they will not stop. They just won’t run out of insults. If only they would channel that creativity somewhere productive. This one time I pissed off Ivan and he was like, “Joram, this guy is so lucky I don’t hit girls.” Of course I bolted as fast as I could. I knew what would follow would be nothing short of an avalanche of insults.
My mum’s favorite dress is designed and tailored by her. She enjoys designing and tailoring dresses just as much as Nancy Bauer enjoys brandishing a pistol. She believes no other person out there can design a dress better than she does. I believe if she had been resolute she might have turned out to be an accomplished fashion designer. Don’t panic, this post is not about my mom’s dressmaking talent.
So the other day momma decides tailoring dresses is not fun enough and decides she wants a laptop. I was ok with that as long as I was not the benefactor. So she gives me the money and I get her a laptop. I teach her how to switch it on and off, how to open a window and what not. She learns fast. Soon her typing improves to three words a minute. It does not take long before she realizes that a laptop is even more fun if there’s internet connection!
I visited my folks early last week and as my dad and I were discussing the weather, my mum interrupts and says she would like to start browsing the internet! I was not in the least bit amused. Why you ask?
99% percent of internet users have a facebook account (ok I might have made up that up but I’m sure I’m close), and I have heard horrifying tales of people who have logged into facebook only to be greeted by friend requests from their mums! I mean at fifty something years old you don’t just decide, over a cup of tea, that you want to start browsing.
It even gets worse for me: You see the only thing that’s worse than seeing a friend request from your mum is seeing a comment on your blog from your mum! Trust me, it would not read “LMFAO”.
You see, my parents are staunch believers. They have been since the Last Supper. And me? Well I’m just a believer. I know a few memory verses here and there and I say a prayer quite often but that’s basically it. You wouldn’t catch me speaking in tongues in a kesha, even on new year’s eve; or among brethren discussing scripture on a loose Friday evening. Ok don’t get me wrong, I’m not that evil but my holiest moment would not match my folks’ weakest moment.
When I’m with my folks I do not talk about the ‘plot’ that went down over the holidays, unless it regards the Syokimau land saga. You are more likely to catch me humming to Rose Muhando’s ‘Nibebe’ rather than Madtraxx’s ‘Ita waiter’ when having dinner with my folks. I never miss church because of a hangover when I visit my parents. I even wonder how these two people fell in love. In fact I will digress and tell you how I think it all came to be.
It was in the late 70s and the Sunday service was in progress (you do not suppose they met on the dance floor of a night club, do you?). My dad had just completed college and times were tough. He was praying for a job. Then as soon as he opened his eyes, Lo and Behold! God had literally dropped him an angel. Not the kind that would get him a job but… you know. On the pew in front of him stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. He bit his lip, looked up to the heavens with a huge grin on his face and signaled a thumbs-up. He was distracted for the rest of the service and as the other believers were saying The Grace, he repented.
After service was over, as people were walking out, my dad rubbed his palms against each other thinking it’s now or never. You know how a dude walks up to a girl with a corny pick-up line? My dad walked up to my mum and testified. He walked up to her and was like “Praise the Almighty. You will not believe how great He has been in my life…” After charming her with a touching testimony, he offered to buy her lunch. There’s no way my mum would have turned him down, I’m sure daddy had some swag going. I’ve seen his photos. That Sunday, he was probably in some trendy bell-bottom pants and an afro that simply spelled ‘awesome’.
I can imagine during lunch my dad wanted to tell her how pretty she was, but all my mum wanted to discuss was scripture. My dad did not falter. Naaah. He kept his cool and brought up Songs of Solomon. My cheekiness must have come from somewhere, so I suppose daddy must have tried to throw in a naughty joke. But my mum remained stern. She gave him a look that said “Say such a thing again and I’ll smack that afro off your head.” Mummy does not seem like the kind that blushed on hearing cheap lines.
And as they were parting that Sunday, I imagine my dad went for a hug but my mum stopped him on his tracks. With a raised finger (index finger people), she told him it is only the man that marries her that will get to do such things to her. And my dad must have shouted “challenge accepted!” You think Barney Stinson came up with that line? Ask my dad.
My mum is a Kao from Kitui while my dad is a Kyuk from Nyeri. So I figure they met once in a blue moon. But they would keep in touch by writing each other letters. I’m sure when my dad wasn’t testifying he would jot down some serious lines that dazzled my mom. He probably didn’t have perfume to spray in the envelope so he dropped in some Nyeri tea leaves for that fresh aroma.
My dad’s game was tight. After a few testimonies my mom was head over heels into him. The rest, as they say, is history. Yap, who’s ya daddy!
Anyway what I’m trying to say is that my extremely born again mum would fall into clinical depression if she stumbled upon this blog. She would be devastated if she got to know what goes on in the mind of her last born. I doubt she would see the humor that some of you see. She would think I am sick in the head. I’m sure according to her if I have to write, I should be expounding on the Ten Commandments. If she came across this blog she would go up Ngong Hills and fast for forty days and nights. And if I do not change, if I do not start writing about ‘The sermon on the mountain’, she will gather three or four strong disciples and they would come for me and take me to a psychiatrist as I kick and scream.
I love my mom to death. But people, if one Monday morning you open this site and see ‘page cannot be displayed’, just know that she caught up with me. Just know that I’m locked up in some institution with a shrink. I would appreciate if one of you would then stand up for me and say “huyo hakuwa chizi,”(bonoko style). In the meantime, I will try to convince her that research has proven that internet makes people age. I hope that scares her. Or does any of you have a better idea?
Toes crossed too.
Happy New Year people! Glad to see you made it to 2012. The world didn’t end (though there’s still the Mayan prophesy), and those al-shabaab fuckers didn’t succeed in blowing our heads off. Kudos to our government for providing adequate security.
Aren’t Kenyans the craziest lot? You would have expected people to stay indoors as a result of the threats. We’re clearly not little sissies. We came out partying like the world was about to end. Literally. Clubs were packed and folks were even willing to pay an entrance fee of ksh1200 for the Ilcovo beach party despite the risk of getting blown straight into the Indian ocean. The al-shabaab better soon realize we are the BOMB.
Folks, the dreaded month of January is with us. The wallet has probably been demoted to a card holder but don’t panic folks, end month is only 29 days away.
2011 was one heck of a year. It had its moments, both ups and downs. There were moments of triumphs (like when they nabbed Osama), and frustrating moments when you just wanted to smack someone so hard they woke up ten days into the new year. That were moments of jubilation, and moments of sheer sadness. All in all we made it through in one piece. And that’s something to be grateful for.
31st of December could count as one of the best nights of 2011 but I’m still not sure whether it was a win or a fail. I think the coastal heat took a toll on me and my friends because we reasoned like seven sheep and three goats. It’s understandable when one person experiences a blonde moment but when it happens to a whole damn group then that’s something else. It’s even worse if it’s not just a moment but a whole night.
We took an oath and swore to bury that story. And we buried it so deep underground it’s probably sitting on the dusty roof of hell. I might just exhume it one day and share the embarrassing account.
After failing the intelligence test so pitifully that night, my friends and I made some impromptu resolutions. We decided it’s probably wise to postpone any academic plans till 2013. We decided that we’re going to keep away from any intellectual group discussions this year. Heck we should just keep away from groups, leave alone discussions.
Moving on swiftly, starting this blog is definitely one of the highlights of last year. I published my first post on the 31st of October 2011, and each Monday I have posted an article. Well apart from the 26th of December. I figured you had more fascinating gifts to open on Boxing Day. Nine blog posts later, I could say this blog has become an integral part of my life.
Through this blog I have interacted with all sorts of characters. Some have applauded my efforts while others thought I should find a more suiting hobby, like ostrich farming or something. One pal wrote me a message on facebook and said that my ‘compositions are so highschool’.
I wish I could say that people’s opinions don’t really matter. That I only do this for myself. But that would be like saying that I can’t wait to get back on my desk to work. The truth is that I wanted to hunt him down and go all Jack Bauer on his mouthy a**.
I’m glad some of you find this blog entertaining, or inspirational, or whatever it is that brings you back here every week. You keep it going and you are much appreciated.
The year also had it’s upsets. But it’s quite difficult to share your failures because it exposes you. Regardless, I think it’s prudent to take some time to think through your setbacks. It’s the only way to better yourself.
Whenever you stumble and fall you should get up, dust yourself and look back just to see what tripped you so you can leap over the next time around. Of course if you keep stumbling on the same block then you should find something else to do. Ostrich farming would be a viable option.
So take time off and figure out why things didn’t work out. Like why you got dumped, again. Or why that business you opened closed down since you had only one customer (who was probably a relative); and most importantly, if you can do things better the next time around.
We do not have control over everything that happens to us but we do have a say. Our destiny is mostly shaped by the consequences of our actions. Maybe if you hadn’t gone to the barman for blessings as you were starting that business it could have picked up.
My resolutions are simple. For starters, I would like to keep writing consistently. This blog got a better reception than I had anticipated. Some people, including my sister, suspected I plagiarize my posts. I found that quite encouraging. I will try to write even when I feel like Bruno Mars in Lazy Song.
I would like to be a better person. I will try to be more accommodating and patient with people. I will try not to be smart-mouthed when a colleague calls I.T support because the lift is not working (true story by the way). I will try not to step on any toes.
There’s so much to look forward to this year. For sports lovers there’s the African cup of nations, Euro 2012, as well the Olympics. And of course for the violent idiots there’s the elections. I sure hope Kenyans will be smarter this time.
Well I’m still on holiday. I’m 500kms away from my laptop and typing from my phone is quite exhausting. I will therefore conclude by encouraging you to set reasonable goals, and work tirelessly towards achieving them. Do not lose sight of your ambitions.
I wish you all a prosperous 2012.