Lifes' files

Much has been written about Magufuli, and there’s isn’t much of a chance that a picture may go wrong. Among his contemporaries, he was rued for his brisk. Suddenly, how did a peasant from Chato somewhere in Northern Tanzania make it to the highest table of Tanzanian politics? But then again, there’s something about Northern Tanzania and the presidency, it seems. Even in death, and like Nyerere, he is the man of the moment. Mostly for the right reasons.  Photo: Courtesy He died while in office, a year into his second term as president. Suluhu, who had subordinated him, took over becoming East Africa’s first woman president. There’s so much to write about the man- his unorthodox ways of governing a country, his religious indoctrinations, his work ethic, his drive, and his nationalism.  When you have as much to write, but sometimes you just can’t, is a perfect picture of Magufuli’s Tanzania. “Tukutane Paradiso Meko! Umenihangaisha sana wewe! Bado Bashiru na Bashite sasa…,” ...

  From Kisii, the road winds up and forth, across a panorama of green trees and sunbathed sheets of peasant homes, and beyond herds of livestock bellowing in their hundreds; alive and chewing cud. Further, Tegunot lies at the summit of hills and ranges with its nonchalant grace yet; Londiani lies west and is a vast jungle of brick and tarmac. Tegunot is at the edge of the hilltops flaunting the Western Mau. It is home to a deranged forest complex; a lush belt of eucalyptus, cypress and oak trees, brimming springs, and a robust peasant economy. The locals here farm corn, and cereals – and rear cows, goats, sheep, donkeys, and poultry. A cup of milk goes for a paltry ten shillings. It was in this sleepy village where he grew up and made his cut. Beyond the great mountain ranges, and the alleys that iterated below, a river snaked downstream from the tip of the Mau. It was in this river where, as a boy and in the company of his peers he swam, fetched water, and watered the animals. But...

  In matters Kenyan politics, Tinga is that brusque know-it-all bully in the school. Walks around with unkempt hair, rarely tucks in his shirt, hits out at everybody at the slightest or no provocation and never apologizes. He is, however, loved by his classroom majority for his indecent jokes about the school administration and for his enviable football skills. Everybody agrees he is an excellent footballer despite the fact that he has scored blanks in virtually all major interclass competitions. He has been the de facto captain and the “ever-fit” most reliable striker for his class but has never led them to a single trophy. He has shielded himself from ridicule by a surrounding himself with hangers on that form the school’s (read Tinga’s ) cheering squad. His teammates, since form one, have accused him of selfishness and gross violations of team ethics. He lacks the ability to work in a team, bosses everyone around and some even accuse him of using voodoo in the games. Now in for...

I met him one Saturday morning. He was going about his business. Garbed in specs, he glanced at the console on his right. “ Chemosi ,” he said, “Where have you been bru?” “I got scandals bru,” I said, “I am in a situation I might not be in a position to unfix.” “ Ngori .” He motioned to a sofa. Further, a polypropylene chair sat in wait. I pulled closer and sank in it. Deep in thought, I powered the console on. I was a gamer. So was he. “ Unasema ngori ,” he said. I knew he was about to say something baleful. “Another girl impregnated?” I ask, whilst throwing a surreptitious glance. “Not necessarily.”   I could sense some apprehension in his tone. “Wifey is due soon. I already have a tentative figure of the bill. Wifey folks will manage half of it.” “So, the other half the bill is whatchu looking at?” Yeah. [A retort] He was tall and wiry, with eyes that furnished some sleep, and some shash , perhaps. He wore a 6-foot frame, a pair of haggard eyes, and a neatly kempt afro - with a ...

'I want to sire kids with you,' she said without a sign of consternation written over her face.  I was shook from the inside. Shook that a damsel did want to sire with me. She was kidding, right? Except that she wasn't. From the look of things, she meant every ounce of her speech. She was ready to marry, that is to say, implicitly.  The tension in my veins hit  terra firma . I looked at her frame again as if I had seen her for the first time. She was full of life, and desires, and meat. Her five foot frame, with a ball of steak behind her made my situation impervious. There was no denying her appeal and she knew it.  'I am game.'  I said without a flinch. 'Let's do this,  amor .' That was in 2016. I was yet to get my act together. I was broke yet people thought I was eking a living and going for the kill. Few people know the feeling in your heart, and mind when people think you have money and you don't. So I was spending nights worrying about...

  Dear me,           Life and the going about of it can sometimes be confusing. Just when you feel like you are winning, there is always that retarded element or spirit that keeps pulling you back. It is interesting to note that even those that confess of a faith have similar struggles. We are growing (old) fast and with each ticking of the clock, new realizations come our way. Do you ever feel insufficient, unappreciated, despised, scorned or even just plain ugly? You are not alone. Such are the realities of life. One day you are up there rolling on the niceties of life and another day you are down in a deep dungeon of solitude. You often wonder whether it’s you that makes wrong decisions about life or you are just a victim of fate. Good thing is that you haven’t lost hope yet. The reality, however, is that life (as it is) sucks you dry.  You happen to be indifferent to virtually every aspect of life and humanity. You have thos...

He passed away on the wee hours of July, the 3rd. Shortly before 4 am or 5 am, or maybe before 9.54 am when I called and he wasn't answering. No one knows the exact time his strength left him or the time his spirit flashed away. He was in high spirits shortly before he retired to bed after watching a game of football. No one knew that was the last time they'd see him alive and unwell. And chained to a wheeler. And groaning in pain.    He had been taken to MTRH the day before his passing for a CT scan, and a MIR scan and a host of other tests that would unravel the malady that had tormented him for years. He was keen to beat it, wrestle it and cast into damnation a condition that had confined him to a wheelchair.    He was in high spirits on their way back after a day with specialists at the Eldoret Hospital. He had been inoculated with tranquilizers and anesthesia. Mostly the extracts from his frame, and torso was rudimentary. His bones had lost their mojo a...