Rich people and large amounts

What makes one great? Is it the fact that their deeds are great or is it because people think their deeds are great? Social Media has become a tool with which we can lie, boast or dream of how perfect our imperfect life is.  

Mark 12: 41-42

. . . many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

The Poor Servant of God

He who seeks to keep his wealth shall lose it

But he who loses it for the sake of the Servant of God

Verily verily I say unto you

Shall save it.

Didn't our Lord wash his disciples feet

And teach that the master should wash the Servant?

So who am I,

Humble Servant of our Lord -

Who am I,

Your dedicated Servant -

To say nay when you come forth to wash my feet?

For if foxes have dens

And birds have nests

But the Servant of God has no place to lay his head

How in God’s name shall the gospel be spread?

I am but a poor Servant of God

And if you want to be complete

Go and sell all your possessions

And give it to the poor,

The poor servant of God.

And Thou shall have treasure in heaven.

©2013 Otiato Opali

The women in my life.

There was Omuya my grandmother

Up in the ranks with Ogungo my mother.

And two sisters

Two Naluvangas

Each as sweet as the other.

Then came my wife – Ng’ina Omuya

Her people call her Omoiseke Omuya.

She who is my grandmother’s mother

She who brought back Omuya - 

My father’s mother.

I now boast of a new Omuya

The return of my grandmother

Who will make me a grandfather

And my wife a grandmother.

Among her sons, dear ancestors

May she have plenty of daughters

And make the women in my life flow

As abundantly as ancient waters.

©2013 Otiato Opali

Richard Gizbert continuing

To understand the meaning of the title 'Richard Gizbert' and its significance to this post, you might want to look at the two posts preceding this one; Richard Gizbert updated & Richard Gizbert  

Richard Gizbert posts are about a spot I call the Listening Post. A spot that has been so dear to me in the concrete jungle that is Nairobi. A spot that was a vast field of nothingness when I chanced upon it. I have been tracking its disappearance as developers, notably GreenSpan Investments put up multi-million malls and apartments in 'my' space.

I was there recently and found them putting up what appeared to be a store* in the remaining space where I had been boxed into. A store from where the rest of the Listening Post will be taken away from me. A store from where the building of structures in the remaining area of 'my' space will be managed.

All I (a squatter) can do is document.

The Listening Post as I knew it in 2008 when it was all 'mine'

The Listening Post in 2011 as Greenspan developments started showing

The Listening Post in 2013

2013. This small house in the foreground is the Store* mentioned in this post, its position is marked by a red star in the 3rd picture above. I know it will be a matter of time before all the space left is gone. With God's blessing, I will be around to capture the fall of the remainder of my Chill Spot

Al-Sha-Cowards

That since the KDF stormed your den

And brought down your illegal reign

You slay our helpless children

And kill our defenseless women.

A coward by whatever name

Will never win any game

And just like this ploy was brought to tame

We shall bring your cowardice to shame

©2013 Otiato Opali 

May the souls of the innocent Kenyans killed in the September 21st '13 terror attack at the Westgate Mall rest in peace

Not that anything but that everything.

Not that I don’t love you

          I had never known love till I met you.

Not that you don’t got the fire

          You satisfy my deepest desire.

Not that I need a break

          You are every breath that I take.

Not that anything

          I love you more than everything.

But that I need a younger girl

          Not an older pal.

I need a young shy smile

          Not your rocking motherly laugh.

I need someone to protect in my arms

          Not someone in whose arms to be protected.

An old patch

Will never mend a new wine-skin.

©2013 Otiato Opali

Prodigal Daughter

As the journey trickled down towards its end
Obuolo came to the Kajulu hills
And from the top of an aged boulder
He squinted at the sparkling city below.

Kisumu the city clung to the lake
Like debris washed ashore.
The window glasses and iron sheet roofs reflected the sun
Shining like sparkling splinters of broken glass
On a barefooted child’s path.

He would isolate her from the splinters
He would redeem her from this plastic existence
Where she peddles plastic love
Across plastic counters.

He would fish her out of the debris
Wash off her filth in the mighty lake
And carry her back to his home,
Her home.

From the top of the aged boulder
Atop the ageless Kajulu hills
Obuolo mopped his sweating brow
And set out for the city below.

©2013 Otiato Opali

Someone Take Me To Zimbabwe

Somebody take me to Zimbabwe

Down to the famed Matobo National Park
And up the Malindidzimu hill
I have unfinished business with two gentlemen resting there.

I don’t want to see the lions and giraffes -

We have plenty of those in Kenya.
Nor to marvel at how worthless the Zimbabwean Dollar is -
Is only machine-a-make money.

I want to stand atop two homosexuals’ graves

One Cecil Rhodes and his lover Starr Jameson.
I want to unzip my trouser and unsheathe my big African cork
I want to splash my urine on this century old tomb!

©2013 Otiato Opali.