Finding my Heartbeat

Before everything happened. 

We used to talk and people would listen. Am not talking about any people. The top cream. The  top one percent ruling caste. They are lost in disillusion. Colonialist fantasies that woefully make them appear as ghosts. 


The last time I saw blood on my pavement was 11 years ago. The lingering faith of such peace is not existent everywhere as you would want me to conservatively profess. Freedom, democracy, unity are all  themes that explore the complex journey of healing a dying nation. Even darker is the subject of economic empowerment for the typical Kenyan. 

In considering the contemporary political scene, dispossession occurs to be a rather retrogressive debate. Sadly, a debate  clothed in sweetness and denied its sarcastic freedom. It is not that authorities have curtailed the freedom of expression in Kenya.  In fact, it is the safest point of any era so as to say- when you can speak anything , anywhere, however you want. Unless for hate speech which seemingly would spur tribal malfire or violence. 


Will you even forget those times before I was born? When to pass across a point you had to gather a community of people; organize them on a public space and speak. Contemporary Kenya  and the world at large is a digital space. Facebook, Twitter, Whatsapp groups and so forth.  Gone is the frustration of community gatherings and civic talks. The blogosphere also paints itself on the front end of communication. It is where artists of all kinds conjure varying tastes of  magic. 

But were community gathering a frustration really ?


Perhaps just like me, your day began on a lighter note. Without reluctance, you warmly woke up from your bed and teamed with millions of others into the dreaded rat race. Unlike me, you neither complained the water tasted pints of salt. You alighted from the matatu and surprisingly had the audacity to  smilingly great the traffic officer. Damn , that should have been a frown.

The newspaper salesmen threw the Daily Nation and without freaking at the headline ; you gladly and disappointingly grabbed a hundred shillings and gave it to him. Trust me , I would have freaked at the headline of a Kenyan Newspaper. But you see, I can’t just come and shout at you that politicians are ghostly tenderpreneurs out there to auction the divided souls of its people. 


Doesn’t it perplex you my dear, 

That you are sitting pretty  tuning from one station to another while a tint; in a long line of Jubilee scandals is worth $600 Million (Approximately Ksh 60 Billion) – Kimwarer Dam Scandal. Does it not frighten the hell out of you, your son someday is still going to attend those USELESS SHAMS of halls adorned as universities. 

[ Challenge: its fun haha  – read the above bolded capitalized words quickly , two times repeatedly — I can see how you desperately attempted to wear a foreign twang into the words, come on, Wee ni Mkenya; Mwafrika]

Well let’s go on. 


Like me, you will  probably shout your way through the crowd, desperate that someone will hear; but unlike the 90s where the freedom of speech was curtailed – People would speak at the slightest opportunity and the public would lend its ear – this time you got full rights to the podium and no one listens. 

Find your Freedom 

Find your Heartbeat

What was, 

Is no more.

10 thoughts on “Finding my Heartbeat

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