Life’s little things.

The great things this life does hold
Don’t make our lives bold
Not even gold –
It’s the little things

It’s a tiny flower
A baby’s smile that never turns sour
A little word sincerely spoken
Can lift your spirit high
Like a feather in the sky.

It’s that little dew drop in the morning grass
The warmth in the sunshine
And the splendor in the moonlight.

Money can quench not
Desires that burn us hot
The remedies are all around us
They are all a parcel of God’s creation
And all are free
Free as wind –
Free little things.

©2011 Otiato Opali

Not With My Eyes Closed

Bought a ¼ Kg of sugar at the kiosk for 50 shillings
Normally I would pay 50 shillings for ½ Kg
To last me every two weeks
But am not giving them my 100 shillings for ½ a Kg
Not with my eyes closed.

It makes no difference, really
I will still have to buy another ¼ Kg in a week
And still spend 100 shillings for ½ Kg.
They will take the extra 50
But not with my eyes closed.

Because it's closed eyes that dont see the whole world in debt
With the missing money in a few silk lined pockets
Yet governments scoop more of our hard worked sweat
To pay for the missing money they have hidden in plain sight.

I will therefore pay 50 shillings twice as they take their 100
I will not pay 100 shillings where I used to pay 50
If someone has to rob me
They better do it staring in my eye
Because am not letting anyone rob me
Not with my eyes closed.

©2011 Otiato Opali

Lord Ouma!

Have you ever met a man so great that you cant describe him in words? I have not just met such a man, I have known him for quite a while now. Lord Ouma is one of those characters that can only be described as phenomenal.

Lord Ouma comes from Busia like I do but I knew him because of his son, my best buddy so far and a former schoolmate.

I was therefore enthralled to stumble upon a witty article by one Biko Zulu (who I find to be the best blogger in Kenya yet) on Lord himself. Biko was talking about what a car can tell you about its owner in his article Cars; their stories and thank God he spotted Lord Ouma's KPP. What followed was the most candid rendition I've ever seen or heard about Lord Ouma. I've annexed the section about Lord and shared it below with permission from Biko.

Have a good look at this man’s face. Look at his eyes. What do you see in them? The answer is nothing. Now forget about all that wind about telling a man’s character by looking into his eyes. You can’t, at least not entirely. But this man’s face is a storyboard and it has that lopsided character weighted from cynicism. This is how a cynic’s face looks like. This is the face of a man who questions things. A curious man. This look here says, “Oh, is that right, son?” This look here is a look of a man who has lived his life believing that not everything is what it seems.




Look at his hat. I like his hat, perched atop his head like an afterthought. But you can tell it was intentional, this hat. You can tell from his hat that he still seeks swag. This hat might not be trendy, but it’s his hat and he never leaves his house without it.


This man was a cop for 35 years, most of which he worked for the Interpol’s anti- narcotics wing. The Narcs, as they call themselves. Who could have guessed?


His name is Mzee Ouma. He is in his 70’s. He is retired, over ten years in retirement. He spends his day sitting in his bar, drinking what he calls “Coffee spirit.” I found his car before I found him and his car led me to him. His car is a 1970 Fiat. Old as the hills. I asked a couple of boys next to it who owed it and they told me to find him in the bar. And I did.


When I walk in, he is seated in his darkened bar. His socked feet are stretched on top of the table, next to his drink. He regards me coldly as I shuffle in and introduce myself. He offers me a rumbled handshake, a weathered handshake, the handshake of an old man. I tell him I love his car and I would like to ask him a few questions regarding it. He motions me to an empty chair.


He takes his time before he talks, as if he is stringing the sentences and editing it in his head before he utters them. It’s old age maybe. He asks me what I do. I tell him I’m a scribe.


“Can I see some ID?”


I hand him my press card. He gingerly removes his reading glasses from its case and pores over my Press card, then he does something odd. He asks the lady at the counter to bring the day’s newspaper. “Now show me which article you have written today.”


I tell him I don’t write on the Friday paper, that I write mostly on Saturdays and occasionally on the sister paper. He absorbs this for a while before asking if I’m writing about his car for the newspaper.


“No,” I say, “It’s for my blog.”


“What is that?”


“It’s like a diary.”


“Only women write diaries!”


Some moron seated two chairs away chuckles heartily at that. He finds that really funny, the funniest thing he has heard in a while. I want to ping a beer glass off his skull.


“It’s not like a diary, diary,” I stammer, “It’s like something you write on the internet.”


He grunts. I’m hoping that’s not a sign that he’s about to fall asleep; you know how old people are, if you bore them they will sleep.


“Who reads this, this, thing?”


“Blog.”


“Yes. Who reads it?”


You know that’s a question I have been asking myself lately. Who reads this blog? Truth is I don’t know. I know their pseudonyms, but that helps as much as broken clock.


“That’s a good question.” I say reflectively to which he stares, no scowls, down at me obviously expecting an answer.


“Well, the people who read blogs are faceless.”


One of his eyebrows arches up.


“I mean to say, it’s hard to say exactly who reads, but I want to think they are like me.”


“Like you?” he asks.


“Normal.”


He cracks the first reluctant smile.


“Do you make money of this, this…thing?”


“Blog.”


“Yes, blog.”


“No, at least not yet.”


“So why do you do it?” This question is punctuated by a look that implies that I’m sort of stupid.


“Probably the same reason why you sit in this bar daily drinking your coffee spirit.”


He stares at me, an intimidating look that says “Oh, we have a smartass in town gentlemen.”

Anyway, he talks about his car. He bought it for Ksh 17,000n at F. Boyare Kenya Ltd.




“Is it still there?” he asks.


“Yes, it’s outside.”


“I mean F. Boyare Ltd, not my car.”


He says F. Boyare is a motor store at the junction of Harambee Avenue and Parliament Road. Maybe it was, in 1975, not now I tell him. He says he has kept the car for this long because it’s “durable,”. He adds that its spares are authentic, not the knock offs that are sold now. He scorns at automatic cars, calls them “Lazy.” He loves the stick shift because it’s a good form of exercise. He takes me outside and he proudly pops open the bonnet and shows off the engine. He starts the car and revs it, and then while the engine idles he steps out and stares at his car with a pride that is fun to observe.


Back in his bar, he opens this old but cool leather case which contains certificates and land title deeds and all these important papers and there he shows me the receipt he bought the car with. He also shows me the receipt for the first car he ever bought, a Datsun in 1963. As expected with old people conversation drifts to his time at the police force, his long travels in America and Europe. He shows me a medal he earned at Interpol. He talks about the Russia’s KGB, the America’s FBI and the Scotland Yard. He tells me he can tell a druggie a mile away. He can tell the quality of cocaine by tasting it.


“Have you ever shot and killed anyone?” I ask.


He ignores that question like I never asked it. He talks about his son instead, the one who “just died.” I say I’m sorry to hear that and he waves it away dismissively. He talks about another son who went to Makerere University to study but came back without graduating. “Drunk too much in Wandegye, yes?” I say with a chuckle. He talks about his kids who “have disappeared in America.”


“How many children do you have?” I ask.


“Several.” Comes the curt answer. Several could be 50 kids you know, but I don’t want to pursue that.


“Do you fear dying?” I ask.


“Why?” he asks preposterously, a question that acts as my answer.

He has lived his life well, he says. He loves his twilight years. When he talks about his children he harbors little bitterness. He loves to sit in his bar and drink his coffee spirit or whatever. When I ask him what he regrets most about his life, he thinks for a moment and replies, rather dishonestly, “nothing.”



“Not one thing you wish you did differently?” I insist


“I’m happy with my life.”


So I ask him what quality one needs to live a successful life. The maxims of life that can help us navigate life successfully.


“Honest and integrity,” he says, “Be satisfied with what you have. Don’t aspire for riches; make enough to offer decent education for your children, to buy a decent house to live well. Wealth kills; it will bring disease and grief into your life. Greed for money will be what finally kills young people.”


I realized that throughout our talk he never did once mention God. Not to imply that he wasn’t spiritual, but I would imagine that a man in his twilight years would by default throw in God in his conversation. Or maybe he was being respectful not to call the good lord’s name in a bar.

Dear Sun

Birds salute dawn with lonely tunes

No one to listen with me.

The sun yawns orange gloom

No one to grieve with me.

Dear sun,

While on the other side of the world

Tell me, have you seen her?

My forlorn shadow dwarfens under my feet

No one to redeem me.

Half way across the sky

The sun blends my tears with sweat
No one cries with me.

Dear sun,
Having searched half the earth
Tell me, have you seen her?

Couples, in gold lit faces, gasp at sunset
No one to gasp with me.
The sun’s golden rays seal their whispered vows
No one to whisper with me.

Dear sun,
Now that you retire
Will you ever see her?

©2011 Otiato Opali

Police Brutality - Fanya Fujo Uone

There are some things called tools of trade. A policeman's rungu is one such tool. Our tax money is spent to buy these rungus so that they can be used to beat up citizens when talking just won’t do and I’ve never heard anyone complain about this.

In Kenyan riots the police normally dispatches regular and administrative police to disperse rioters. In case the rioters overpower these, the elite GSU squad is then dispatched and I have never heard of a case where the GSU were overpowered because their nature is to flatten everything on sight. That is their job description.

In a shoot-out between police and a gangster in Nairobi's Buruburu estate recently, the regular police spent hours trying to smoke out a lone gun man in vain. When the GSU RECCE squad arrived, the gun man was finished in minutes. That's how the GSU work.

I was therefore not happy when some people were putting pressure on the police to sack an officer who clobbered an elderly woman the other day (watch video here). Why sack someone for doing his job?

These were the GSU and by the time they arrived at the scene, the woman - or anybody in their right senses - should have rushed as far away from the scene as is humanly possible. These people swear during their Passing out Parade to beat up even their mothers if need be. That's what they are trained and employed to do

Otherwise the GSU should be sent to riot scenes with bibles to preach peace, not with rungus.

Go Down Death

(For Mama Wangari Maathai)

Weep not, weep not!

She’s not dead, she is resting on the breast of Jesus

Heart broken son, weep no more
Grief stricken Kenyans, she’s not gone
She’s only seen home.

Day before yesterday morning

God was looking down from His great high heaven

Looking down at an earth she strived to restore to Eden
And His eye fell on her - Mama Maathai,
Tossing in her bed of pain
And God’s big heart was touched with pity
With everlasting pity!

God sat back on his throne
To the tall bright angel at his right
He ordered, ‘call me Death’
And with a voice that broke like the clap of thunder
The tall bright angel cried
‘Call Death, call Death!’
The call went down heaven’s streets
Until it reached that shadowy place
Where Death waits with his pale white horses.

Death heard the call
And jumped onto his fastest horse,
A horse as pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street, Death rode
The hoof of his horse struck fire from gold –
But it didn’t make a sound.
Up Death rode to the great white throne
And waited for a command from God.

God said; go down Death, go down.
Go down to Africa, Kenya, down in Nairobi
Go and find Mama Maathai.
She’s borne the heat and burden of the day
She’s weary, tired
Her strength retired
Go down Death and bring her to me -
Go down Death!

Death didn’t say a word, out and on he rode
Past heaven’s pearly gates
Past suns
Past moons
Past stars
On Death rode, straight as he came.

As they were looking around her bed
She turned her eyes and looked away
She saw what they couldn’t see –
She saw old Death coming like a falling star

Death didn’t frighten Mama Maathai
He looked at her like a welcome friend
And she whispered to them: I am going home …
Smiled, then closed her eyes.

Death took her up like a baby
And she lay in his icy arms –
But she didn’t feel a chill.
Death began riding again,
Up beyond the morning star
Up beyond the evening star
Up towards God’s son
Into the glittering light of glory
And there he lay Wangari Maathai
On the loving breast of Jesus

Jesus wiped away her tears
From her face he smoothened any furrows of fear
Angels sang a little song, pleasing to her ear
As Jesus rocked her in his arms every time bringing her near
As he kept saying, take your rest my dear
Take your rest, take your rest.

Weep not, weep not!
Wangari Maathai is not dead,
She’s resting on the breast of Jesus!

©2011 Otiato Opali

Talking Eyes

Above the murmurs in this congested hole
Above the acrid smell of beer and cigarettes
Above the occasional grunts from the passed-out drunk,
Above all are the talking eyes.

Winking eyes telegraph messages across tables
A man’s smiling eyes declare intentions at one end
A woman’s submissive eyes seal the deal at the other
Five minutes later, they both walk out hand in hand.
Couples tables apart but eyes together.

One from a table across chats me with her eager eyes
‘Do we do business?’ the eyes invitingly ask
‘Am broke,’ mine reply
‘I Can’t even afford a cheap lodging room'
‘Go to hell!’ her eyes glare back
‘No money no business’

Her eyes then rove the bar for better eyes
Better money talking eyes.

©2011 Otiato Opali

Heartbeat.

He came home
Went to the safe
There where he locks his heart
But alas! It wasn’t there
It was gone, stolen!

He saw footprints – the thief’s
Followed them, one after the other
And found himself at the door of her heart.

She had stolen his heart
And kept it in hers.

He took her into his arms
Looked into her deep tender eyes
Keep it safe – he said,
Thief of my heart!

© 2011 Otiato Opali

That was MASENO for you.

Location: Kenya, All over the world, Internet, MASENO SCHOOL
Cast:        Maseno School Class of 2000 Jambazis
Time:       Past & Present
Source:   #MukuruKwaZuckerberg 



Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala
For those out of the know, am the one and only Otiato Opali! 4G Mafia! Member of the I-riginal G7 made of I, Douglas Ndombi Okhungu Chris Angwech Haig Aseda Aholyx Bobb Lee Odiga and Clifford Ongugo! Eat That!

Chris Angwech ‎
Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala, I think u r forgetting the one n only Wuod Ongele Doc Doc, and waz Douglas Ndombi Okhungu really in the pic? I think this waz only a Bowers Crew Affair!

Haig Aseda

lol! very true, the I-riginal G7, hii ya akina Ruto ni shadow

Douglas Ndombi Okhungu

I was a member incognito. I think the admin mistakenly sent me to Stansfield instead of Bowers..lol. I missed out on the photo with all heads together that later turned out to be Papa's imagined evidence for DW. Chris Angwech and i were ordered not to be seen within 3m. of each other.

Chris Angwech

hahaha,,when seen together school captain's office pap! Then the next morning ,,, "after the assembly may I pliz meet Douglas Ndombi Okhungu and Chris Angwech thankyou"!

Chris Angwech

The DW suspension letters came while we were @ the music festivals!

Haig Aseda

i donno what illegal stuff Jim was smoking

Douglas Ndombi Okhungu

‎Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala, Chris Angwech; Rem. Papa was related to my neighbour in Ksm then i paid back big time when i hooked up with one of his nieces. Mimi fala nikamshow siku moja ka ashaniona na chuma ya umbrella. Waar! Sasa ndio chuki ikazidi. Its funny we could meet in Ksm after 2000 severally na bado na-smile naye!

Douglas Ndombi Okhungu

‎Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala umenikumbusha mbali sana! The day i went to take a sh!t kwa toi then kumaliza natoka nje napata Nyamila n co. waiting for me. Ati fungua mdomo tunuse kama ulikuwa unatumia drugs huko ndani. No hard feelings but i wish hiyo siku singesuguwa meno asubuhi wapate mdomo ikinuka diambo. lol.

Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala

This is what am talking about!!!! The crew wamesema.

Tom Nyongesa

Otiato Tell them u were in 1R kabla ujaenda 1G.Remwith the mzungu bio teacher

Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala

Tom kumbe una memory! Tulikuwa 1R na kina Ben El Rey Wandera Clifford Lukaye Bob Annon etc Mambo biad!

Ben El Rey Wandera

na Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala uliniudhi sana ukienda 1g bro

Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala

‎Ben El Rey Wandera Sikuchagua, ilikua mashetani ya one Jim Papa Agutu!

Ben El Rey Wandera

hahahaaaaaaaaaa..............si kwa ubaya bro

Hesbon Okeyo

weee, ulikuwa mtundu, si Jim

Aholyx Bobb

The Bowers Seven. Ati unasuspendiwa juu ya kupiga picha na vichwa pamoja.

Douglas Ndombi Okhungu

One day i left my sugar tin open then roaches dropped their sh!t in it. Unfortunately that was inspection day so my tin was confiscated and i had to clean all the droppings and hand them over to the authorities led by Hesbon Okeyo. After a ...week i was summoned to the office only to find my Dad sitted in a meeting explaining why i should not be suspended for using drugs. Kumbe Papa and his crew had taken the extra droppings and filled them in my sugar tin then went ahead to claim that the droppings were KUBER and i mixed it with sugar and got high during breko and carbon time. Kwani walidhani my Dad, The late WJO and The late Mr. Odundo who was present hawana senses za kunusa. I dint have much to say, Buda alichomoa wallet akaniangushia shillingi kadha and i was ordered to go back to class and represent the school well in National Schools Drama festival that was around the corner. LMAO!

Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala

Boss! Papa's methods were wrong!

Bob Annon

basi douglas okhungu ulipitia mambo kweli.get saved n drink booze with christian names only,like Jack Daniels..e.t.c

Ogero Otekki Musa

BTW who authorized those weird inspection hours?..opali it resulted in that wash and wear shirt rule.,it was said they should not get you with more than one shirt and still you pulled through..,enyewe we survived difficult times.,house a...ssembly collar inspections.,wuz caught with carbon coated shirt n boycotted kuenda ku squat hapo mbele ya assembly.,wuz punished for a whole week.,but here i am today..,memories are made of this.

Douglas Ndombi Okhungu

‎Bob Annon haha! Ata usiseme. Kuna chupa ya Tomatoe sauce i used to scavange spices with then carry with to the DH. The day i was visited, i threw it inside my mabati box that i rarely used as an F4. Mimi fala nikaisahau huko ndani and as y...ou know the kidogo content that was left fermented with time. As usual, i was only being inspected by the big guys so by the time my good friend and Hse Capt Oliver Ogutu Omondi found it, the bottle was almost exploding. Wacha aifungue..ile pungent smell ilimchapa..waar! I couldnt blame him for taking it to Papa who concluded that it was alchohol and specifically Bond 7. So according to Papa wakati wa lunch na supper i was busy mixing Bond 7 with Ugali and beans nikijibinjari. Really!!? LOL!
Edwin A. Ochieng
Enyewe kama kuna mtu jim aliswaga sana ni Opali...ulikuwa customer wake!


Haig Aseda
‎Douglas Ndombi Okhungu i feel you, Jim was a nutcase. He could accuse you falsely and make it look like a movie  


Gregory Okeyo
You guys are cracking me up like nothing else! No wonder bowere\s had most actors

Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala
I loved this ambigous statement Papa had stuck on his office door - Spare him not kill him! It meant different things dependin on how deep in sh!t u were.



Chris Angwech
man,,,these guyz convinced us to accept that we were DWs for us to be readmitted back to school! thats after 9 wks chillin @ home!! the charges were rediculous!


Chris Angwech
Papa wud pick up a ciggarette then call u and insist its urs and he saw u sneaking out of the house to smoke it in the middle of the night,,waaah


Ben El Rey Wandera
Torch ya battery nane na mbwa kaa kumi meanwhile zinakunusanusa buda ai the guy was a wizard

Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala
Halafu Nyang'or anasema kwa assembly '2moro we are going to Chulaimbo for volleyball, Permenas, Chris Angwech Douglas Ndombi Okhungu ongele etc have been banned from the cheering squad since they are a danger to security. In my absence, Festus Ogada will be the acting school Cap. SCHOOL . . . ATTENTION, dismissed!



Ben El Rey Wandera
hahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa


Ben El Rey Wandera
na anakubali wakora kama Alfayo Miguel a.k.a shem obaje etc waende


Chris Angwech
‎Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala, Douglas Ndombi Okhungu rem when we were to leave for Music Fests, papa tried to ban us but Duch cud hear none of it,,,we had clearance from WJO!!


Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala ‎
Chris Angwech kwanini unadhani nilijipata handball, tena kwa school team! Ati wanatufukuza ICVS Roy Kush akani-adopt kwa handball team hehehe!

Douglas Ndombi Okhungu
Meeeen! Nobody protected us more than Duch and later on Mr. Odinga under the banner of Anti-Aids club. Kaka braza Silas Amunga J Namale pia akani-adopt kwa Rugby. Yaani tulikuwa tunapromote chuo vipoa lakini wengine walipenda tu kutuchokoza.



Silas Amunga J Namale
eroo waa


Douglas Ndombi Okhungu
Nakumbuka Papa aliniappoint SB mimi nikathani 'ameona mwangaza'. Kumbe it was a divide and rule ploy to keep me away from Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala, Chris Angwech and the rest of the crew. Alipogundua hawes make he sent emissaries to spy ...and finally the hummer fell on me when i was caught dancing ndombolo kwa DH after an inning. Ati SB's dont dance infront of visitors and a couple of weeks later cops had an inning and we could hear them sing and dance wakiwa Geog room. Talk of double stds.


John Adrian Yuko
That psycho papa got me suspended for an altercation. Na Biko during the holidays in nairobi yet the same biko amemaliza high school I still don't get that!!!

Bob Annon john
wats an altercation?that aside,papa was an idle man out of his mind,kabisa.



John Adrian Yuko
The guys who bore the full brunt of his madnes were akina opali,ndombi,angwech...axis of evil and once in a while one cartoon called philip aloo mwangi!!


Bob Annon
he he,Aloo mwangi..yeah,the guy was bent on destroying those boys.wonder wat his motivation was,am stil amazed.


Douglas Ndombi Okhungu ‎
John Adrian Yuko i rem. the Biko saga. Yaani alishamaliza shule na bado unafwatana na wasee. He reminds me of the guyz who would cry ati shule zimefungwa na siku ya opening wanarauka ngware kutime breko ya shule. lol.


Douglas Ndombi Okhungu
‎Ogunde Arnold Aze a.k.a Aloo Mwangi.

Oliver Ogutu Omondi ‎
....talking of Philip...i met with him this evening in tao. I think he was going to have some booze with friends.



Hesbon Okeyo
Use ua name so u dnt hav2 make along intro.


Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala
‎Hesbon Okeyo This is a virtual me and not really me ;-)


Haig Aseda
papa was way too idle, i spent my 9 out of 12 weeks of form 3 3rd term at home because of some stupid stuff he cooked in his head, i will never forget!!


John Adrian
Yuko papa ako wapi ako wapi.....niko hapa!!!

Edwin A. Ochieng
that guy was a bored adult...that is a dangerous combination with power!



Wuod Ongele Doc Doc
i once went to papa`s offiice4 he asked me wat i would like to be in future i told him i want to TREAT people he told me NEVER on earth, Fuck him hard i treated his kid and many other teachers wa maseno. i think papa was in love with guys from Kisumu. ALL Prefects who helped papa fuck with my life FUCK YOU ALL.


John Adrian
Yuko heh doc what is.....pewa achiel


Chris Angwech
omera osiepa John Adrian Yuko, ilal kanye?

Edwin A. Ochieng

Opali enyewe niambie ukweli Jim sahii hayuko. What happened ile siku nilikutuma sigara kubwa kisumu!!?...gave u doo when u were going to an outing in kisumu, u came back ukaniambia umekosa then few days later Jim ananiita na mashtaka ya bangi!...did u snitch me out?

Wuod Ongele Doc Doc
there was this prefect in bowers who had a big bro in owen house wat was his name? I can bet with you we never talked in form four ma prefects wat was papa givin you coz its sickening that you can be in the same school and year but not even joke with each other. Infact there some people i must go to their burial to confirm they are dead.


Wuod Ongele Doc Doc
i forgot the prefects who fucked my life and we have met and did not scream thief you are not in my bad books. Kiba wat progress has occured in the get together so that i can forgive the ones who tresspassed me and drink to all who were good to my life.


Haig Aseda
‎Wuod Ongele Doc Doc sometimes you've got to let these things go, it was part of life and it made us what we are today. The get-together should enable us recollect both the good and the not so good days back then so Anthony Kibagendi should keep us posted, meanwhile congrats kibah on your new addition


Muluvanga Imboko Ya Banyala
Edu, Papa would have wished I snitched for him but that was just a wish coz I would never. Doc, forgive but never forget!

Bruce Omondi

one day I was called into Jeam office to get some nude magazine i had,it was reinforced with a cello-tape then placed nicely in my file then my parents were called to discuss the matter. The day they came very anxious to to take away their son,guess what happened,Mr,Agutu sent for my file.Remember the messenger of doom,I decided to faint.I hope Pato the dispenser can remember that incident. An ambulance was called and the story ended just like that.

Edwin A. Ochieng

Bana bruce u ought to have joined drama club, dutch would have utilized ur talent!

Peace

Peace …
With the calm of trees
No bad winds, just a breeze
Calm, like the silence in an abyss.

Not tongues that clang
And guns that bang
With hopes that hang

Hanging for peace -

Peace …
What the world needs.

©2011 Otiato Opali

Stupidity

(For Africa; For Libya)

His hue’s entity
Dark as a moonless night with its uncertainty
Hides cultures and ways of high quality
But also hides with it the stupidity
Which leads him to taking weapons in quantity
From their pretended honesty
And use it to kill his brother without pity.

©2011 Otiato Opali

The Drummers’ sticks

These shiny slimy leeches
These smartly dressed chauffer driven vermin
These drinkers of our blood.

They are the drummers’ sticks
Who skillfully hit the drums to different tunes.

But we are freaks
Who fall for their tricks,
We dance to their tune
And welcome our ruin.

©2011 Otiato Opali

A death of ants

Some ants climbed into a glass of water for the sugary drink inside, they never made it out!

Tongue Tied.

Then to those left on his left he would say,
Away from me
Away to the eternal flames
I was hungry
You would not feed me.

Then they would answer him,
When did we see you
Hungry, naked, a stranger
And did not attend to you?

Then he would reply,
Whenever you refused
Any of these least important ones
You refused me.

Then they would lament,
These least important ones you talk of
These least important ones were us –
Hungry, naked, strangers … us!

Then he would be tongue tied.


©2011 Otiato Opali

Conversation with Ngugi Wa Thiongo

Before our last General Elections in 2007, Ngugi Wa Thiongo wrote an article about his take on the politics of the time. Read the article here - Ngugi Wa Thiong’o reflects on Mwai Kibaki and the 2007 Kenya General Elections I particularly took issue with some of the ideas fronted by my greatest writer on earth and did a comment on the article. Allow me to share the comment here since next year is an election year and the players are still pretty much the same. The issues too haven't changed a bit!

(It would be worth noting that Ngugi's article was written before Kibaki (allegedly) STOLE the elections leading to the post election violence in Kenya. Mine comment was written after the violence)

Mr Ngugi,

To say I am an ardent fan of yours would be an under statement. I named my pet dog after your character Matigari. Having studied Literature at the University, you struck me as Africa’s best yet but things are changing and am sad to note so.

This article is naive to say the least. It might have been written before the violence flared up and its no wonder it has such glaring gaps. In the article, you rightfully note that there are the haves and the have nots, Kibaki never changed this.

It took Kibaki Five years to do what Moi did in Ten years of his rule, create disparity between the rich and the poor. You remember, when Mwaura in the Petals of Blood led the villagers to the Golden Heights cave In illmorog, that is what the poor did after Kibaki’s government disenfranchised them. Like the crowd in Matigari, the people burnt down cars and houses in protest.

Dont misunderstand me, I am one of the most faithful students of your socialist take. ’Great Hapiness I saw among the women and the children, even a bean that fell on the floor was shared among them.’

The Viloence that occured after the election did not have a socialist push to it, and its because you have deserted us and there is no one to give us that guidance. What we have are politicians who take the revolutionary in us and make it flow along tribal lines. That is why it was a tribal upheaval and not a socialist one.

Though you display concerns in the article for the motherland with the mention of the Armenian brothers, the Anglo leasing scam and the ’Standard’raid, alot that goes on misses in the article. One cannot talk about the politics in Kenya and mention Kibaki’s name thrice without mentioning Raila even once.

You talk of your encounters with Kibaki, how he transformed from a hardliner for Kanu to a president and that was a good analogy but how about Raila. What about the almost ten years he spent in detention cells under Kibaki’s supervision. He shared the same detention facilities with you. How has he developed and what has he become. we need to hear your take on this. What’s more, Raila shares your communist ideals.

When your people tell you Kibaki has given them electricity, Kibaki’s allies have been given more than electricities. His friends businesses are growing threefolds. When he came to power, bread was Ksh 22, It is now Ksh 32, only after five years and the economy is growing. And the poor us have to buy this bread at the same price with the rich them.

One thing I am sure about you, Ngugi, is that you are biased towards the poor. It is for this reason that I ask you not to praise Kibaki because he has not helped poor kenyans anyway anyhow. And am talking about the kind of help you advocate for, not some small electricity here and some few boreholes there.

You remember when Gikonyo in A Grain of Wheat was swindled out of buying the settler’s farm by the politicians, that is what Kibaki has done to Kenyans. They trusted him to help them get prosperity like Gikonyo trusted the Politician and he took all the property for himself.

My biggest challenge to you, come back home. Dont be Like Leopold Sedar Senghor who wrote so much negretude against the french only to go and spend the rest of his life in France.

Otherwise, I am still your fan, I have read all your books except Murogi wa Kagogo and I still kind of worship you.

Otiato Opali (20 February 2008  at 14h16)