HELLO BY ADELE by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

A strong cocktail of emotions and power vocals undeniably makes one’s soul quiver. She possesses such an alluring voice that gives will to your heart, at the same time suppressing it. She leaves you twirling in emotions of mortality and incandescent peace. She gets you angry, remorseful and resentful for a love never felt. Then again soothe, bewilder and solidify you enough to be aloof and forget you had water boiling. You will find yourself dating a stranger, falling deep in love, becoming unfaithful, breaking up, and picking it up with someone else. Thereafter, call the prior seven years later. ‘Hello it’s me’. All this happens in your head.

Hello by Adele has been topping charts since its debut. It’s the type of song that brings El Nino to your heart. Everyone (read sadist) loves listening to it, Rihanna is threatened by the musical prowess and Taylor Swift needs a new ex-boyfriend. If I was in the music industry, I would probably be Beyoncé; the queen sticks to her throne. Jennifer Hudson do not be bothered, you blessed child (black American accent). All other self-proclaimed artists, well you are ‘all other’ now quit playing. Probably you haven’t been in a relationship or you are yet to care enough but once you listen you will wallow in a darkness so deep, you will crave hell. Adele is definitely hypnotic, no other song will be close enough to help you heal that open scar she leaves. With songs that are so intricately assembled- she will let you feel the fire, be kind enough to help you tender the scald only to burn you in the next album.

A series of emotional turmoil engulfed by four words, a couple of lines and one singer that can take you there. A vocal belt that can strangle you and lyrics that can put you in shambles. This is the song that defeats all the reasoning that made you save your ex-partners phone number. But if they call a thousand times just pick it. Adele managed to slay all functional relationships and make a million dollars in a week. It’s real talent, believe me.

Choose wise, choose Fetty – ‘Hey Wassup Hellnoh!!!’ and do not look for anybody, Lionel Richie was just playing.

OF POLITICS, SOCIAL MEDIA AND SIDE 'CHICKS' by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

I cry for my people not because most of us are ingrate fools who do not know better than to elect those who will send us to oblivion on a first class ticket, I cry because we spend eight hours a day on Instagram \elnino \netflixandchill. It’s sad enough that it got real for the people at Kilifi but who cares about that when President Uhuru has his Olivia Pope all over town claiming blissful ignorance. I mean I buy my pens and furniture but I really cannot tell how much they cost. If you date the most powerful man in Kenya, you wouldn’t even know how to spell piano. Commas don’t matter here even if threatened by 40 million people. Happy side, happy life.

Politics is a Pandora’s Box; you delve far too deep then you start deliberating as to which devil sent you. Corruption cannot be done away with, it’s the means that gets them in power and also keeps them in power, and we are just manipulated into thinking that we are part of it. The liberals will insist on fighting for the greater good but as soon as they get alleviation; dining with the gods, indifferent schooling for their children and diamonds for their nagging wife, the ‘greater good’ becomes a gray memory.

Should we condemn ourselves for our wisdom is so elusive? Our leaders? For greed is their El Nino and none of them own Noahs. Anthony Mbugua for the 15 seconds of scripted messianic acts? Or Mugo and Kanyari for bagging The Best Supporting Actors 2015?

We believe in a power greater than ourselves and that power must be social media. The generation we live in does not cultivate insurgency, it cultivates likes, double taps, comments and direct messaging. We are in a century whereby vibrators are key in HIV classes, 155 dead in Paris is far much important than the 100 we lose every day in road carnage, the president is ride or die for his side chick \bonnieandclyde \relationshipgoals \usagainsttheworld. (Most people think the main chick has the power but once you meet the side, main who?)

Two weeks later we have forgotten what Dj Crème de la crème did and that’s just how quick we all get slapped. Who really runs Kenya?

BEING DIFFERENT IS NO LONGER A CURSE by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

Ever felt like you are trapped? Nothing physical withholding you yet you are incapable of doing anything. You are trying to move forward, probably better yourself or even wreck yourself but you can’t seem to find the keys? You can clearly see the knob, the windowpane has never been so clearly cut out, the roof can never get that amiss but there you are, you can’t crawl, you can’t roll, and you almost can’t breathe. The El nino is swooping you over but it’s the dry season.

You are so confined within your own skin, your will is surpassed by what you think is reality. You get so submerged in what others (family, friends, strangers) think or feel is right that you forget that there is no right or wrong; it’s just mere opinions turned into facts. Your walls cave in but you no longer fight back because you used up all your strength trying to convince others that your glass is actually half full. Before you realize you are so comfortable in your discomfort that it befits normal.

You beat up yourself as you are a spectacle and no longer human. People use you as a point of reference, discriminate against you for being different, shunned for the choices that might have been made for you; they owe and applaud for the mess you have become. Forced to take up everybody’s opinion but yours; you lose yourself by trying to live up to everyone’s idea of who you should be. You then realize that there was nothing wrong with you but it’s too late. You spent so much time convincing others that you were the perfect fit for everything. But nobody really cared.

Celebrate that your skin colour matches the dark, appreciate those zebra stripes on your hips and butt cheeks, flaunt your idiocy through your craftsmanship, parade your womanhood and take the presidency and don’t you dare forget to spray that bald head for the sun to mirror a little sharper. You are beautiful, do not be ashamed to show it to the world just look a little deeper. Do not lead a life of incarceration. Do not just not die. Live! Live! Live!

THE INSOMNIAC DAY 39 by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

The first reaction I get when I tell people that I listen to reggae is simply startling. Hair falls like winter, hearts cringe, eyebrows meet hairlines, teeth separate; amusing, yes? No? I never quite understand why, considering music chooses you and not the other way round; rest in peace Kenyan music. I bet if I had dreadlocks, wore a straight outa my mom’s closet blouse and a cap pointing to the sky I would fit in perfectly. But I am not about that life.

Reggae music has a sacred tune to it that awakens at the same time calms nerves that you rarely feel. Its rhythmic contortion of different instruments at the same time having one key higher than the rest is purely artistic; a resonant above the rest, a salvation to the deaf. It feels African yet not fully conversed to our ways at the same time not corrupted by the Western noise. It’s beautiful to the ears, its eerie yet identified with; it’s the stream of life and the way to death. Reggae music can kill you without you feeling the pain. Instead you find yourself savoring the intricate moment of a combination of knife on neck to a mellow beat. It’s the type of music that you dance to at a wedding, disturbing all your pearls without making a complete fool of yourself.

Tonight, its Reggae night! My kind of music. Culture has been in my records for so long I should be arrested but I can’t seem to leave him behind, kicking it off with “Frying Pan”. It’s amusing how the genre speaks so much sense yet maintains a fun and dramatic vibe throughout. If you do not have the legendary and overrated Bob Marley; gerrarahia please. I am absolutely absorbed in “Could you be loved” and of course one of his number one hits “Get Up Stand Up”; who is not? You cannot be a reggae fan if you do not embrace creative artists like, Marlon Asher, Don Campbell, Admiral Tibet, Freddie McGregor, Burning Spear, Richie Spice and my all-time every time drug the talented Gregory Isaacs.

Reggae is the only genre which has remain loyal to its heritage compared to all other fields. As much as it has branches like roots and culture, raga and dancehall, all these branches like the tree have a little bit of the Genesis in them. Reggae music soothes, stimulates, lifts, stirs and empowers all at the same time. It’s not just music, it’s a lifestyle. Unfortunately I still can’t sleep after this, my search for a ‘Cure’ continues and not ‘Jah’……..

Buo buo boom!!!

MY VERY OWN GOLIATHS by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

The real identity of this person shall not be revealed due to security and mortification purposes.

My life as a drug peddler

Which substances do you deal with?
I do not have a limitation as to what I put in the market but on a daily basis I sell weed. It does exceptionally well at all times, I suffer little to non-losses.

Is this the ‘career’ path that you wanted to take?
No, Not at all. I would wish the circumstances were different and I would be the president (he giggles) but life has a way of giving you lemons and I decided to make drugs out of it. My background is definitely the root cause of what I am doing today, I lost both of my parents when I was very young so I live with my grandmother who is the sole provider; she can barely make two ends meet. I ventured into hawking, washing cars even a public toilet cleaner but none paid off.

How much do you make on a daily basis?
(Chuckles) I make close to three thousand a day on a very good day and it’s always a good day. But it goes down to one thousand five hundred float because you have to pay your mignons and it’s crucial that the police get their fair share. In a month I can bring home fifty thousand just from selling pot only.

Selling illegal drugs is risky business, why not start up a shop instead?
It is a risky business. The police are not even the ones who pose the threat, doing jail time does not scare me one bit, it’s the veterans and the publics that give me shivers. You can get killed at any time once they feel you are threatening their market. Opening a shop is a good idea but it’s just not for me. I am not cut out for that kind of business. I want to pay rent for one structure and that’s for me and my family, I can’t keep on checking expiry dates of milk and bread or asking suppliers to drop off a new stock. However, it’s something I can consider once I find a wife. (Smiles)

How is it that you balance school and your businesses?
School is actually my core business. I thank God for being so kind and allowing me the opportunity to learn and to get sponsors who have helped me all through. I am in second year right now pursuing a degree in Mechanical Engineering. Balancing the two is as easy as eating peanuts. You would find students make fifty percent of my customers, twenty percent are lecturers and the remaining are workers and locals. The two support each other.

Clearly you have wits and the papers to prove it so is it a lifestyle that you have acquired or a necessity?
I do realize that with my level of education, it’s ironical that I am venturing into the ‘wrong’ path as many would say but what people don’t see is that I have a family to take care of. I have been taking care of my grandma and siblings since I was seven. I may not be using the correct channels to put food on the table but that’s not the matter in hand. I was blessed enough to get sponsors but the two siblings following me have found a hard time . Food must be put on the table, books on their desks, clothes on their backs and shoes on their feet. It is a lifestyle yes and a necessary one.

No given today that you are provided with everything you need, you and your family, would you consider quitting?
I would consider leaving the practice but it is not as easy. If I happen to leave this life, I would be causing mayhem amongst many people. Especially with the police. They get a certain cut so as not to lock me down and if it so happens they do not get that cut, I am not sure what will happen to me and my family. In this line of work, you cannot just up and leave anytime you want, you are answerable to many people.
Do you ever regret doing what you are doing?

DIRTYL AUNDRY PART 2 by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

The floor was cold, the stench from the ‘restroom (read bucket)’ became stronger, the one blanket to be shared reeked of urine worth of centuries, the blood on her chin had then clotted, and her kinky hair had gone afro from all the sweat. It is nearly dawn. Her fellow jailbirds would take turns in throwing up, with the bucket full, it would slowly flow towards where they cramped up. The guards pretended not to take notice.

Kantana reached out for the blanket, she covered her back and face just to forget for a second the situation she was in. She could feel the bedbugs making their way down her back but no pest could compare to the one she was facing. She gently began to scrape off the blood from her face. She spit in her hand and rubbed off the stubborn ones. Her stomach felt uneasy; she hadn’t eaten for three days. The bile tortured her insides occasionally trying to find an outlet. She was weak but she pressed on.

‘The jury finds Ms. Kantana Ferusi guilty as charged, sentenced to thirty years in jail!’ Her eyes were blank, no emotion as she faced her verdict even her lawyer was taken aback by her reaction. She showed no dispute, no sigh of relief either. One would say she took it like a man but even a man would be broken if they were to spend the prime time of their life behind bars. She would get out when she was fifty, her one and only son would be thirty three by then, and probably Peter Kenneth’s son would have taken presidency. She thought randomly.

Prayers were her cocaine, her grandma taught her that God listens to those of broken spirits and of damaged souls. She prayed for her son, not once did she remember herself. She would think of him when she wanted to give up and end her misery; she might have given life to him but without him, she wouldn’t have kept hers for that long. He motivated her, he was her little Messiah in her apocalypse.

Day 1478. It’s March 5th 2007. Her son’s 8th birthday. She calls home to speak to him as tradition, she was always the first to wish him a happy birthday and she made sure of this. Kunta was growing big, his naivety has shrunk down a couple notches. The neighbors were talking and the fallacy that his mother was in the army seemed less true by the day. However, he loved his mother, he would take her word for it to the grave. She would tell him the sun is black and not yellow and he would live by her word to the very last. Conversely, She was a stranger to him, barely remembered the curvature of her face, was her skin bronze, was her hair long, did she have a birthmark across her back, was she tall and lean or short and thick? He would ask his grandmother.

Despite all the mystery, she was his hero.

BEAUTIFUL WOMEN DO NOT END UP WITH 'BEAUTIFUL' MEN by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

Beauty is a curse and a blessing. A fact that those with rare beauty dispute but given a day to walk in Beyoncé’s shoes, you would wish you were Birdman. Whatever Lil Wayne meant when he sang ‘Stunning like My Daddy’. Beautiful ladies never get the respect they need no matter how hard they’ve worked or how much they have achieved. They are always the pretty face in the office and we all know the stereotypical view that no striking woman has brains. I want to personally thank Kim Kardashian, Amber Rose, Becky Arunga, Vera Sidika, Huddah Monroe and Vanessa Chettle for being so kind and propagating this notion. You all deserve a brain.

To begin with who exactly are beautiful men? There are different categories of men depending on looks, money and……well that is actually just it. Michael Ealy from ‘Act like a Lady Think like a Man’ is beautiful, our very own Nick Mutuma is a beautiful man, Alonso from Tujuane is a handsome man, Ian Mugoya is a handsome man, George Clooney is not human; he is a god, Jamal from Empire is a very huge loss to society, Mwai Kibaki cannot be categorized due to various physical features that only Lucy Kibaki could handle, Paul Muite; bless your heart. I have no intentions whatsoever in questioning the Most High’s word, but how are we all created in the same image?

Attractive ladies suffer the most when it comes to dating because of one or two things. They can get whoever they want, whenever they want and however they want even when they do not want. This means they are spoilt for choice and would hardly settle down with anyone. This Marylyn Monroe mentality tends to cloud their judgment of everyone, both male and female. With a pretty face, all doors open without you knocking but with brains you are allowed to get in.

Having the knowledge that you are actually an attractive person, allows you to understand how someone in the opposite sex who is equally attractive feels. They all feel like gods and God bless Casanova and his legacy for he has rendered cupid unemployed. Beautiful men go for manicure, pedicure, massage, eyebrow-shaping, it’s like dating a woman only that the anatomy differs. Beautiful women are used to the constant attention so when they date from the same caliber, they feel threatened or belittled. This is because their glory has to be shared and therefore no one pays as much attention to them as they did before. You cannot blame them however, you cannot drive a Phantom your whole life then all of a sudden start walking, it’s not right.

For a woman it is easier to date a man of lower ‘standards’ than one of the same or higher level. It creates a certain psychological balance in the relationship. For example Jay-z and Beyoncé, I look at them and wonder how did that happen? Was it at gun point? Is it illuminati? Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Nikki Minaj and Meek Mill, Uhuru Kenyatta and Margaret Kenyatta, the list is unending. Some of these are charity cases, apologies Meek. Therefore ladies, for you to be married for long years and wear those jerseys written ‘Together Since Before Christ’ choose well and choose rare beauty.