Laments of a generous driver

A dedication to all those Kenyans who give people free lifts in their rides. I hope I will be able to appropriately present your sentiments.

If you are a driver, probably drive your own car or have one that is under your care, you probably have heard the words,

"Niaje bro, si unidunge lift hadi base x?"

Or in the case of a female,

"Hey Lelli (insert smiley face). can you please drop me at base x?"

*base x being your destination of choice

Problem number one

It so happens these requests sometimes are presented at the most inconvenient times especially when you are going in a totally different direction. Of course it won't be much of a problem if you are both heading in the same direction but if you are heading in a totally different way, there arises problem number one.
If you are a dude, you know it is easier to tell a fellow dude no and they will harbour no hard feelings. After all, catching feelings is for he weak. However, saying no becomes much more of a mountainous task when the request is presented by a member of the opposite sex. you have to be more understanding and all that emotional stuff you have to be sensitive to.

Me to dude: "Zii, siendi hiyo direction"
Dude to me: "Sawa, tuchekiane morrow basi."

Me to chic: "Eeeerm....... Well......."

Problem number two

After establishing the time of departure and the destination, suddenly, especially in the case of the female race, three or four other passengers will appear at the designated time and spot. A plus three is the maximum if you have a five seater, anything more than that is attempting to mock the traffic gods that randomly parade our roads. so usually the driver has to find a way of breaking one of their hearts or breaking the law. I think I should call this 2(a) because....

The second problem 2(b) is if the self-invited passengers make themselves comfortable and fill the little air left in the car with their conversations and totally exclude you as if you are  taxi driver and not a new acquaintance. It is like coming to my house and talking about my dog instead of talking to me.

Then at times, they may leave some litter in the car as if their handbags have no room for the wrappings they threw around. Or in the case of dudes, have no hands and feet to escort the litter to the nearest dustbin.

Ooh and insisting you change your playlist or the radio station as if they do not have multimedia enabled mobile phones.
CARRY YOUR OWN RADIO AND EARPHONES!!!!

The worst part of accommodating unexpected passengers is that they are now seated in the seat reserved for your imaginary friend and now you have to relegate the poor dude to the boot.
Or you thought we open the boot when people come to dump our laptops in there???
LEAVE SPACE FOR THE IMAGINARY FRIEND. Back left preferably


Problem number three

In the case of ladies usually,

Lady: "Can we stop at this supermarket I buy something?"

Me in my head: what option do I have?
Me to lady: Sure

Lady: goes and spends an eternity there. Does monthly shopping (and it is mid-month), sees a beautician, catches up with friends she bumped into and whatever else that can be conceived as possible.

Problem number four

This is the deal breaker. The meat in the sandwich. The big cahuna. The meat in the buffet.

Fuel, FUel, FUEl, FUEL.

As a driver, you probably have a blacklist of friends especially who ask for lifts and never for once offer to fuel. And they will ask you to drop them off at Big Square or Java or Art Caffe to go meet their pals, yet they are apparently too broke to help you fuel your car.
Though it might be important at this stage to mention, fuel is budgeted for. When a driver fuels his car, he or she has an idea of how much distance the fuel should cover. So in essence, the fuel is designed to help him reach home at the end of the day and home only. Any other extra distances is up to you as the passenger to cover. After all, your extra trips are not in a driver's budget, are they?

And please, fuel tanks run only on petrol and diesel. They do not accept the following:
 1. Thank you
 2. God bless you

If you ever served that for supper or traded it in at a supermarket and can prove it, we will gladly accept your tokens.

PS: We might not ask you to fuel because we may be feeing rich or because of our ego. However, if you offer, we will take note of your good manners and cross you off our blacklists. And stop praying to God to punish you with the blessing of a car so that you may suffer as you have made others before you to.

Love in a kiddie meal

Sink your teeth into it,
Let the juices splash onto your tongue,
Let the bread melt in thine mouth,
Till the sweetness of the mayo,
And the sharpness of the chilli,
Do a ballet's dance.

The bread characteristically soft,
The lettuce deceivingly crunchy.
One plant processed and cooked,
Another harvested and raw.

The glory of the meal found in the meat,
Thinly cut pieces but big on taste.
All other ingredients, encompassing the main agenda,
Sweet and salty, hot yet cool.

My sandwich experience

Tongues of men, you fail me

She opened her mouth and out flowed words,
To a listening ear that she had longed for.
He didn't hear much. Heck, he can't even recall a full sentence.
But his ears heard. His brain processed.

She shut her mouth when her words ran out.
Sighs of the heart in languages unspeakable was all that was rumbling now.
Then he listened.
His heart listened, their souls communed.
An understanding soul, a listening heart:
all she ever needed.

Tongues of men, you fail me.

God dead in Garissa

"Our present state is a factor of our past actions,
Our present reality is a factor of our perception of the future"

Lelli Mandela

To effectively answer the question where was God during the death of the students in Garissa, one must not ask finite questions but must demand to understand infinite reality.
A reality simply put is a transcendence of perceptions based on facts to a perception based on unchanged truth. To accept that there is a truth that may defy present facts in time and may offer higher insight into what is real.

There has been an argument that the massacre happened either because God is not real or is altogether present but unable to save. I could take this time to argue out whether God is real but that is not why I have sacrificed my words today.
God was present and watching as it happened. Probably even shed a few tears for He has emotions too.  If I were Him, I would have cried over the unnecessary manner in which the young people had to die. Maybe mourn for the killers for they have not yet known my love and will spend eternity separated from it.

Time is a factor of eternity. Death just a transition into another state. Death is not such a big deal  as men see it. It is a big deal if it was final, if there was no eternal hope. If there was no heaven or hell. I think I may do well at this point to declare that I have a working soul so yes, it is a big deal as a man.

The Bible says do not mourn as those who have no hope. Hope speaks not of the present but of the future. That is what the gospel promises, an eternal hope. Something that helps us live our present lives rather than exist for like 80 years.

God may have altogether failed to save our comrades because of hope, not because he is incapable of interfering in human affairs. If he were to interfere in every death and stop all unreasonable manner of descending to the grave, then we would have nothing to look forward to after death. Maybe death was the most selfless way of giving man a glimpse into eternity.

He touched her

And she didn't know if his hands were cold,
Or if her body was hot.
All she knew is that she felt a change,
She felt the difference.

Warm body and cold hands,
or was it
Warm hands and a hot body,
Whose temperature was right?
Whose body temperature was wrong?

Did she fear him or
Did she fear her?

Instrumental waltz on the key of D

There are things only melodies can express,
Feelings too deep, inexplicable moments, desires unmatched, tearless pain.
Joy untold, fears, worry, anger,
Confusion.

Regrets, injustice, failures,
Hope, love, triumph,
Incongruity.

Give me my guitar, burn the dictionary,
Mute my tongue, arrest my voice.
Senseless words, foolish rhyme,
I no longer have use for words,
They don't dig deep enough.

Let my troubled heart speak,
Though it lacks a tongue, it shall talk.
Teach me not how to write, that's not what my fingers were made for.
Only teach me how to play,
For then all my words come to life,
Then my handwriting will be perfect.

Firmament of Conceit

Put asunder eternity and time.
Divide the waters and let them never touch.
Let the heavens and the earth never kiss,
For as long as time exists, so should their estrangement last.

Ma lady, make pious prayers,
Pray not in anger but weep if you may,
Hold your heart,  let not your tongue curse your God.
Shackle your bitterness, unchain it if only to forever lose it.

Voices of scrolls eternal shouting out from the chambers of immortality,
Yet to a man whose liberty has been taken by the death of his son,
The shouts only come out as faint whispers carried by the winds of time.
Whispers of truth,  drowned by the storm of sin.

Let us pray to our gods, gods fashioned by the hands of politics.
Ignore the whispers, the voice of the people is the voice of God,
And right now, the voices are screaming in the midst of the storm.
Voices of despair,  voices of benightedness.

And that is why the earth and the heavens will never kiss,
For the folly of Man so denies him the wisdom of eternity.
Fruitlessness, the maturity of the seed of Pride,
Will forever remain his bountiful harvest, in a vineyard of leafy fig trees.

Resurrection

Don't bother checking, I am sure as an atheist is of his disbelief.
Don't touch it, there is no point in being disappointed when it won't rise again.
I didn't check but I know, the heart no longer beats.
The dying horse is already dead.
No need to confirm my disappointment.

But...

Maybe you could check, I am not sure but I have the hope of a Christian.
Touch it, shake it, shout. It might just respond to your gallantry.
I didn't check, because I fear for hope's last ounce to be crushed.
There still may be life, confirm it.
Crush my fear one last time.

Stories

Stories are told of ages before,
Stories of triumph and strength,
Of hope and courage,
Of death and fear
Of sorrow and pain.

In the dead of night, peak of the hill,
Laughter of men on strong drinks,
Laughter that did little to hide their fear,
Ominous camp fires from the opposite end.
This is war.

They sang songs, melodies of death and life.
Tunes of hope, melodies of sorrow,
Notes of celebration, chords of regret,
A father's shout, a mother's cry.
This is war.

As the morning dawns, belts are buckled, swords are sheathed,
Boots are worn, breastplates adorned,
Spears are raised, flags are hoisted.
This is war.

If this is death, so be it.
It is destined for a man to die once,
Then face judgement.
Trials are official events,
My excuse to be fully girded.
If I am to be judged, let me stand dignified.
Polished armour, shining sword.
If today is the day, so be it