TILL WE MEET AGAIN.

Back in the days, while I was still in high school, there was a certain hymn we used to like singing with a lot of fervor. Especially while going for mid-term or long holidays while taking a break from schoolwork.

‘God be with you till we meet again’ it was. Emphasis was placed on this verse with a series of ‘Hey, hey!’ However, it was an emotionless song. Who even cared singing, especially in an all-boys school? But when it came to this hymn specially reserved for such occasions, shouts were paramount. Ideally, I don’t remember singing it during the normal parade days when we sung the hymns. Our new principal while a sophomore forced us to make use of 'Golden Bells', which used to be on the dark corners of the metal box aiding in gaining rust during our 'mono' years in high school.

While reminiscing about this song, a certain hymn also came to my mind. ‘In the sweet by and by.’ It’s dirgic. When I usually sing it during solemn times, I normally sniffle when emotions take the better of me. Thank goodness they never result into sinuses. I  like the refrain. It makes me realize that we are on a succinct sojourn here on earth as much as it is a succor. After singing it, then I become touched for a short moment, then I swing back to reality. That I quickly forget is not a lie. But here are the lyrics to the refrain.

In the sweet by and by,
We shall  meet on that beautiful  shore;
In the sweet by and by,
We shall  meet on that beautiful  shore.

Over the weekend, I went for the interment ceremony of my late uncle Barry. The one I had a half a day with at KNH. He had finally succumbed after being bravely borne to some complications that probably led to his untimely demise. However, for a man that strong, he remained coherent and clear in his voice till the last minutes when he went to the other side of life.

Sometimes I usually imagine how it would be life after death. However, I would never write my own obituary. As a matter of fact, if I write it and God-Forbid something ill happened to me, my cadaver will be declared ceremonially unclean. Anyway that is something none wants. We all want to remain alive. Forever, which is impossible. Even when we really know that we are on the brink of kicking the bucket, we just want a reminder that we can still breathe for the next minute and it should be compounded.

My family does not believe in Langata cemetery. When one finally succumbs, he is taken back home so that we can honourably give him a decent send-off. Because it’s a process, plans have to be made and funds raised. That means that it takes time before the actual ceremony takes place.

We met on several occasions to organize for the fundraising. Usually, to cut on costs, we normally met in a city restaurant and bought drinks and snacks as we planned on how to approach the issue. The major fundraising was held in a certain social hall where all and sundry were invited to aid in contributing towards the funeral expenses.

Back home, guys believe that certain native singers should be hired to sing as the body is being taken home. Mourners should be fed lest people start talking. Local drinks for guys in the reserve should be bought. Music should be played at least twice; the day before the interment and after interment. Funeral announcement should be made on local radio for all to hear for at least a week. And a lot of other logistics that usually involve expenses.

The journey back to my aboriginal roots usually takes seven hours. However, this time round, we were not travelling back with Uncle Barry. He had been transferred in advance and kept in a morgue in my home town. So we had all the time on our sleeves to travel. Guys were on a road trip. Personal cars, hired cars and I don’t know what, were the means of transport.

All the guys we were travelling with were in between their twenties and early forties. And most never did mind taking ale. So cars were stuffed with ale for consumption during the wake and while journeying. Photos were also taken on the various stoppage points and stories ‘beaten’ while travelling. 

The journey from Nairobi is usually ecstatic while driving back with eccentric people. Even though it was supposed to be a grief-stricken journey, it turned into an enjoyable ride. It being a Friday, cops were strategically positioned within a kilometer in some stretches and that limited the speed in which one could travel. I remember being asked for my DL only once. I misplaced the damn thing a year ago and was lucky to have never been asked until when I had renewed it and only had a paper from e-citizen to display as the license.

Uncle Barry’s body was at a local morgue. Being a tall guy, a lengthy casket had to be found to ensure his body did fit inside. There is a bus named, ‘Jaiko’ which translates to ‘the undertaker’. It normally leaves Nairobi very early to arrive in my hometown in time to enable folks undertake their obligations. Those who normally board it love the fact that it keeps time. However, I am not sure if that’s the real name of the bus or it was just another fabrication by those we were travelling with.

At the morgue, we found out that the number of the male species that were succumbing at an early age was quite exceptional. Ladies who had succumbed were few. Judging by the  pictures of the people whose lives were now no more.

There was quite a stand-off at the entrance of the morgue when we arrived because some people wanted to receive the body of their loved ones before others who had earlier on been cleared. In fact, they wanted to forcibly gain entry inside the morgue to perform the task  of the mortician. Luckily, family members had ensured that the body of Uncle Barry was removed in advance. Therefore, we only saw as guys were struggling to gain entry inside the morgue. Shielding them were sentries who never wanted those rascals who were acting savage to enter inside the morgue.

Apparently the number of ladies who came to accompany their loved ones was also many.

After finalizing on a short prayer ceremony, the body was placed inside the hired hearse and off we set off for my rural home.

Come to think of it, most of us usually travel back home only during such occasions as funerals and Christmas or for remembrance of a departed soul. This is usually an opportune moment for members of our extended family to bond. We spend the better part of our lives living in the city and various towns then end up in a home we never thought we would stay in, the grave. Luckily for Uncle Barry, his insurance had taken care of most of the expenses. But the budget is never enough, so it forces family and friends to chip in to boost the income availed by insurance. Which means I should also join an insurance to ensure I plan for my future whether I kick the bucket or not. It’s crucial.

When I was young, during the journey back home from the morgue, people used to sob uncontrollably and others even fainted just by the view of the body of a loved one. It was the kind of sobbing that was genuine. Nowadays, there are professional mourners. They get hired by those whose loved one is either unknown by the villagers or severed ties with the rural folks. These are people who go to towns and stay for long so that they are forgotten by the folks back at home.

Such people elicit no feelings among those back at home when they demise. Our culture is such that we have to cry while taking the body home. Most ladies are the ones who engage in that. They wail and shout to alert villagers that the body is getting back home. As for men, they also shout carrying twigs or a fly whisk as the hearse’s siren blares. Cars accompanying the hearse also honk loudly and put the car hazard on while being driven at snail pace. Children also are not left out as they come out to witness how the late is being taken back home. The youthful guys carry twigs and run helter skelter chanting 'Jowi'. They are also in charge of carrying the body of the deceased.

When the body is removed from the hearse, it is carried to the homestead where a priest or a local pastor will pray, after the mourners have calmed down. Mark you, the body has to enter the compound using the main entrance, which is cleared in advance if twigs had grown on it. Normally, before the prayer, the young men carrying the body usually run with it shouting heroic words if he is a man for around five minutes in his compound or his father's compound. It’s a ritual that I have no idea about. Incidentally those who carry the coffin are normally inebriated. After the prayers, people will sit and take tea with either ‘mandas or nyoyo’. A goat or sheep called 'chiayo matin' is slaughtered for consumption that day. 

Obviously you will hear latecomers wailing at a distance as they come to confirm that it truly is the body of the deceased.

During the wake, the songs that are usually played are gospel songs. Rarely are candles lit, apart from those who know the meaning of it. A sermon is usually given and people from various homesteads join the family members of the bereaved. If it rains before the burial day, most people say that the deceased is crying. That night is also when the grave is dug, a cow is slaughtered and the food is prepared.

In my rural home, catering is a big business, I even have an uncle who left his job in a hotel to start his own catering business and he has never looked back. From funerals, graduations, birthdays, Christmas, and Easter. He usually has a tight schedule during the weekends and being seasoned in the industry, you need to book him in advance. His clients range from the who is who, and he name drops those big names when I ask him of his latest business.

During the burial day, relatives and friends will come from various places. Those given a chance usually eulogize the deceased of his heroic deeds. A funeral is treated like a wedding in our place. Weddings are the reverse. They involve people going to the church, afterwards, they go for a small meal then the ceremony is over. In our place, funerals are budgeted for. If people never eat, they will annul to having gone to such a ceremony. And most people don't like it when their homestead is talked about illy. I usually wonder why funerals are treated as such. In some cases, there is food reserved for the VIPs and there is another reserved for the villagers, who come en mass especially if the person who died was a prominent name.

After the burial, those who want to leave usually do at their pleasure. One thing is for sure, as long as food is in abundance, people will stay for a while. However, in limited quantities, they will exit the very day. But that night, there is usually music played all night long till the wee hours of the night. Boys normally outnumber girls during such an occasion. It relieves the family members of the grief they have. Long ago, such music used to be played for even a week. Some even involved bringing a local music band to sing for mourners turned revelers. 

Sadly, there are times when such reveling turned disastrous as no one was frisked upon entry. Chances are, you would find a person getting hit on the head with a panga, or an innocent dude whose dancing skills charmed a village beauty being beaten by a bunch of hooligans high on bhang smoked with abandon. Some marauding hooligans also carried whips called 'boka rao' they whipped those who crossed their line. Jik, a local drink is usually consumed in colossal amount and this also triggers the few cases of violence some goons engage in. Luckily, the brutality is usually quelled by those who want to enjoy, but if it gets out of hand, the local chief normally intervenes with his boys. This explains why folks from my tribe love engaging in acts of violence and also love partying like there is no tomorrow.

Let me not forget to mention that the family of the deceased normally gets to be given cows, sheep and goats if the sole bread winner was the person who succumbed. All the remaining animals and foodstuff that were not consumed also become the assets of the deceased’s family members.

While we may not have observed all the rituals during Uncle Barry’s funeral, we did give him a decent send-off. Though it was a short-lived affair as opposed to how it should have been in comparison to the past.

That is why I must conclude by paraphrasing a bible verse.

2nd Timothy 4:7, "You have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith.”

“God be with you till we meet again.” Uncle Barry.

Hasta La Vista, Baby.

[Picture Source: Pixabay.com]

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ARRESTED BY A LADY POLICE

Have you ever been caught by a lady police officer? Unawares. Driving on the right lane. Listening to music and jokes on radio and laughing like a hyena inside to those bland jokes by a sell by date radio presenter. That’s the time thoughts started accelerating in my head. Even though I knew I was on the right, my heart was hammering inside my chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its skin.

I feigned composure though.

‘Unaenda na route gani?’ she asked. I don’t remember receiving any greetings from her.

“Langa’ta Road,” I replied.

“Nifikishe Bunyala Road.”

“Ingia twende.” I said then went mum.

She pulled the manual lock because I had rolled down the window due to the sweltering heat and entered inside. She looked motherly, removed her reflective jacket and I noticed the sillage. It was floral and nuanced of a finer approach. After sitting, we had a plausible awkward moment. I remembered I had discussed with someone that cops like freebies. Lifts are their weakness. This was the second time I was carrying one. The first was a young policeman who stopped me and as opposed to this lady, we had a lengthy chat. Usually, they are on their way to attend to duty.

Nairobi traffic jam. It was a gridlock on that day. Every car had turned off its engine, you could see matatu conductors wandering on the highway looking up and down for clues. My panya route turned out to be the longest route. I had used Kenyatta Avenue, then snaked effortlessly on Processional way to Haile Selassie from Uhuru Highway. I caught up with her just after switching lanes from Processional Way. Then I saw the cars I had left in the jam on Uhuru Highway getting preference over us. Ouch! Reminds me that I always have to exercise patience. However, this lack of patience had resulted in me giving a lift to a lady police. Is this not a worthy exercise?

I normally listen to Capital FM while alone. A habit I developed in campus because we thought it was cool. So the practice has stuck. The sassy diva was on air. Apparently, Koffi Olomide, ‘Mukulu Kulu’ is coming to town, tickets go for 2K. I was made to understand he has over 35 names. Pole Musa. I cannot afford to attend this concert. My uncles love such stuff, Rhumba. They hyped how they would attend Fally’s concert. Did they attend?

Sitting inside a car with a police is uncomfortable. Especially with the sweltering heat of Nairobi and am dark-skinned. That makes me look darker than usual. Compounded with sweat, I look scary. Just wondering how she resorted to ask me for a lift. Is it because I had not tinted the front windows? Do I look philanthropic? Or is it that I am homely and kind? Food for thought.

Inside I started being bombarded by many questions. How do I start a conversation? Why does she not take the initiative? She is a cop for Christ sake and should be able to take initiative. The insurgent cold almost resurfaced. Most guys I know are currently battling a cold. ‘Mapua karibu itoke makamasi.’  I had to look up and sniffle. To avoid eye contact, I decided to look outside. Imagining.

This were the imaginations. Why is that guy in a bespoke suit walking from work? Does he even know that I have no money on me yet am driving? Or did he pack in a shady place where he does not have to fork out parking fees? We surely needed to switch positions if he had no car. He is burly and am kind of skinny, I think this is a reversed role. Then I notice a dude who has a big derriere. They go like, ‘ashu mia, ashu mia’. This sounds gross, right. But he should have lent that lady in front of him with some. She looked like someone denied those assets which are hideous on men.

A voluptuous lady with yellow thighs passed by the kerb. She had a slit on her skirt that almost kissed the ass. And she had a fine ass. I wish I could go tell her ‘Kizuri chajiuza, Kibaya chajitembeza’. She probably caused men to have lascivious thoughts as she walked the aisles of the offices.

As a driver, you only imagine. Imagine a lot of things. You are also imagining what the cop is imagining. Let me not pen down those dirty thoughts. But cops know so many secrets. This one was a traffic police. She was well build, round faced and had a mellow voice. A phone call did break the virginity of silence.

‘Hallo.’

‘Sitafika mapema leo.’

‘Unataka nikulete nini?’

‘Sirudi town lakini.’

I could not hear what the other person what saying. But it did sound like a young’un. That was just an excerpt of the short conversation they had. I was not keen enough because I was driving. You know men cannot multitask.

She also talked with someone who sounded like her boss. The jam was on again. She kept referring to him as ‘Sir’. Her senior. Sign of respect, like we used to call all our male teachers ‘Sir’, in primary school. And that mentality has also stuck in me.

After the conversation, the jam started moving. I remember her telling him that she was taking to her what he had required of her. Then I realized that indeed, cops have sway on the Nairobi jam.

We had been in the jam for more than thirty minutes. But after the conversation was over, we started moving.

She said something but I still could not respond. I have some kind of introversive demeanor with strangers. Then there was news that there was a proposal to increase the age of judges to 74 from 70. She gave the example of Kubana. That they were going to age while in office. But judges are like wine. I corrected her that it was Kalpana Rawal, the deputy CJ.

We talked about how judges like privileges, and she talked about immunity and some other benefits I have forgotten.

I wanted to ask her how comes guys in big cars with normal number plates were overlapping and overtaking using the wrong lane while we were in the jam. Why did they let them do so? Were such guys more special than us in small cars that with three litres, you can drive to Nakuru and back? Could we also do that now that she was going to build the nation? She never looked like someone in a hurry.

On reaching Bunyala road, I almost hit a car by the side. ‘Umeingia vibaya,’ she told me.

One of the side mirrors is past its useful value. It serves no purpose other than it just being there. A grease monkey had told me it retails at 4K. I cannot afford that.

She did alight on the round-a-bout as I sped off.

I remember seeing a guy in a vitz looking at me. Maybe, he thought I was caught and the fact that the laws do not allow police inside commoner’s cars, it looked odd. But at such times, you need to kill your conscience. If you can kill your conscience and live your life, you will achieve great feats, someone told me.

PS: Someone pulled the charger from my pc while doing the original version of this post. It was over 800 words. I hate having a laptop in form of a desktop. That means I should buy a battery as soon as possible. That was more than two hours of time lost. I now wish all my content would be web linked so that nothing is ever lost.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source: Pixabay.com]

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ONLINE MANENOS.

There is a certain day I went to ADD (That unfinished building along Lower State House Road) to either download a hilarious comedy series or some nondescript series I was following, or probably I was headed to conducting an extensive research on my final year project paper. Chances are, I went to research but in the process got sandwiched into downloading those series from a site I have forgotten. Then, those tech gurus had disabled BitTorent and uTorrent. Again, they made it impossible to download using faster means such as IDM. Hence we had to either use direct download which was slow, or some extension on Mozilla which sometimes failed unexpectedly.

Of course, you found yourself also on social media. I was addicted to twitter as opposed to now when am a big fan of LinkedIn. It’s called growth. Facebook and YouTube also were too tempting. I remember watching ladies ‘twerk’ because it was a big thing then on YouTube. And there was a day we went to our lady student friend’s house and they did really twerk it even though we had a ‘fifty fifty’ Christian friend who went on to receive a hot lap dance only to realize he had erred when the process was over. You know these guys who profess Christianity like it’s a means to an end but when they find a conduit, they never fail to exploit.

Initially, anyone who knew ADD would enter without much scrutiny. So if you were a KEMU student and wanted to read in the luxury of an unfinished building, ADD offered a leeway. Overtime as security issues became fragile, it became necessary to allow only students from UON to gain access to the building. But during the official business hours, it was only the ADD students who were allowed to transact business. And most of those students acted like spoiled kids from rich families because they hosted parties on weekly basis much to the chagrin of broke Main Campus students who were a majority.  Main campus guys were rendered to the role of being spectators.

Later on, when mechanism had been put in place. It was a requirement to enter the building using your student ID and if you had a laptop, you also needed to register it because of a series of theft cases that were probably reported.

There is this day I went and found a very thorough sentry who never entertained jokes. Unbeknown to me, this sentry was above his game in terms of dealing with mischievous students. Thinking it was business as usual, I went and registered a phony serial number of my laptop then walked away. Not so fast.

“Excuse me, hebu rudi hapa.” The sentry called me out by my name.

“Kwani nimefanya nini?” I retorted in defense after heading back.

“Unajua ile kosa umefanya?” he asked.

“Sijafanya kosa yoyote,” I replied in my equivocally poor Swahili due to Sheng Interference.

“Mbona hujaregister serial number ya laptop yako?”

“Nimeregister na ndio hii hapa,” pointing at serial number I had written down.

“Unajua ukora ndio mi sipendi.” The senty said.

“Ukora gani?” I was beginning to become irate.

“Mbona unaregister number ya computer ile si yako alafu unatoka mbio?”

“Mimi najua nimeregister laptop vizuri juu hio ndio number nimeshika kwa kichwa.” I said.

Then an argument ensued. The sentry could not let me in. I started feeling frustrated and got irked. But he never budged. In the end, I had to give in. I could not win with a clearly assertive sentry. My protestation was like a house of cards. It was fast crumbling at a rate that reduced me to mollify myself. I had to remove the laptop battery and alas, there was the correct serial number.

All along, I had underestimated the wit of this sentry. But when you do a job for long, not even the most knowledgeable theoretical genius of a Professor can outwit you in your trade. I did yield. Actually, after seeing many students register their laptops, he had got acquainted to the starting letters or numbers of most laptop brands. In my case, because of his actual interaction with most HP laptops, he knew the numbering and lettering.

As a matter of fact, he did let me enter inside. Oh, they were with a certain female sentry who really laughed when I was forced to retract my earlier words because she probably thought that university students are ideally intelligent. Of course the sentry knew me from that day. I would sometimes tip hip because he had unearthed my folly when I felt like I was 'chummed'. And that meant that when he found me inside the building while doing his random patrols, he would never miss to greet me even if I looked busy perusing for exams.

Anyway.

Unsubstantiated research has revealed that most people spend more than four hours a day on social media. Either to catch up with friends, be on the know, get entertained, read stories, upload pictures in exquisite places to let haters be jealous on their new found fortune or just how good they are doing, and the list is endless.

Being an online nerd or freak was a weakness until studies became a really intensive and I had to reduce on my online presence. Now, my laptop battery is past its sunset days and therefore serves no purpose other than ensuring it keeps the laptop free of lost parts. Therefore, there are times when I am busy writing and someone removes the laptop charger and I feel like eating him whole. Or when electricity units run out and it catches me unawares having not saved my work. I wish there was a word editor that recovers documents like adobe programs so that you never get worried about the probity of loss of your work.

Back to social media. I still think MKZ (Mukuru Kwa Zuckerberg) is the biggest social media. The pundits on this social media site have come up with metrics that cannot be easily bypassed in terms of getting a wider reach of people. It's called organic reach. Then there is paid reach. Those sponsored ads you see on Facebook are really earning Zucks so much. But it is however very expensive to run an advertisement on Facebook. My interaction with advertising on social media made me realize that there is power in having the mechanism to reach so many people online.

Having realized that am aging and need to be more professional, I returned back to LinkedIn, where I opened my account more than six years ago. LinkedIn is conservative. It's full of bigotry. That many people pretend to be who they are not is not a fallacious argument. Everyone seems to be working for a very good company with a big title that can scare you off. You find HR professionals who update that they will review your status which is actually a lie. Then there are those who write quotes, those who have impressive CVs having worked for very big multinational companies but nothing to show of for humanity. Those who are influencers and have a paid account that enable them to send inmail. As for yours truly, the economic conditions of a student cannot allow me to operate a paid account. Am even struggling to be a worthy publisher on the site.

I also have had about Snapchat. I probably should have read about it on Wikipedia or other productive sides with info. All I know is that it is owned by a certain Billionaire who is my age mate. It deletes photos once uploaded within 48 hours and it is meant for ladies. (The last time I checked, men are photophobic unless you are some celeb.) So I am as green as a child on her first day in class with matters Snapchat.

There is Instagram. I initially wanted to be the ‘it’ guy when it came to matters cars so that many people would adore me on this site. But with the loss of my smartphone about three years ago and never having reawakened the drive, the account is now in its dormancy state. Not like a dodo however.

There is a dating site by the name Badoo. Well, I have never had a successful date on that platform. All the prospective chats hit a dead end because I lose interest when it find it easy for a chic to give in. It also has so many restrictions like you need to pay for credits to chat with the person who excites your licentiousness. But hey, there are so many pretty ladies out here who are single. Likewise men. The only good thing is that there is no poster on someone’s forehead written, ‘Single and ready to mingle.’ If I were to rate this site, I would give it a 2 star. It is based on monetary terms and that pisses me off even if I were to find the apple of my eye. But I am not interested, in online babes, because they are as unrealistic as the site itself.

I wonder if Whatsapp is a social media platform. If it is, allow me to surmise about it. In the near future when people will have reliable readily available internet at subsidized rates and smartphones will have been the order of the day, most people will resort to Whatsapp as a media of communication. Again, Zucks will start charging fees and he will make lots of cash. I have been relegated to seeing group chats and sending forwards received. The young guys on this site are more versatile. The know how to effectively use emojis and don’t need urban dictionary as an app to counter-check on the stfu, tf, lol and the tgif of this world. They are also more open minded. Maybe, circumstances are making me realize that it will never be the same again.

Sportpesa. Let me take a breather.

Back to reality. There is an investment guru I read about who is a billionaire by the name Bill Gross. Never mind that am focusing on billionaires. He used to play black jerk. I have never entered a Casino but my former colleague who used to be a steward in a casino did info me about it. Bill Gross used his gambling skills to become one of the most sort after investment managers in the world. And reading through my investment lit, I realized that there is a high correlation between speculation, risk, gambling and prosperity.

Which leads me back to Sportpesa. I had vowed never to play Sportpesa. But my classmates are playing it. My former campus mates upload screen shots on our Whatsapp group and having investment ambitions, I think I should start betting. Investing involves well calculated risk, and Sportpesa can be a very good platform for starting out. Never mind that one of my cousins lost all his benefits to it, and pretended to have been attacked by majinis since he resides in Mombasa. He went bonkers for a few days and mum had to go check what was happening. Don’t we have this bigoted mentality that folks from the coast can cast a spell on you when you try behaving clever?

EdX. This ought to be the best site for online learning when you can spare some time to join a class with worldwide participants and who share the same ambition. Ever since I stumbled upon this site on LinkedIn, I have never looked back. I undertook a course by the University of California, Berkeley and got an impressive grade. Though I must admit it looked quite simple. Again it was based on peer review. Which should be adopted in most campuses as opposed to letting the lecturer do all the donkey work. I have also started another course. Hopefully it will improve on my employability.

And I learnt about natural reader among many other insightful stuff that have helped me to be a better blogger. Natural reader is an app. You need to pay for it to get the full benefits. However, it can still function well if you don’t pay for it. It helps in revision of my posts, editing and reading to check for sentence syntax and grammatical errors in my script. So I have benefited blog wise from edX, a lot.

Yes, our institute also had an online webinar on Ethics. It is paramount for people to be of high ethical standards because it is a fiduciary duty to ensure you are full of integrity and honesty before you deal with other people’s money. So yes, even though am this reclusive online bugger, I try to remind myself of the best ethical practices so that I am able to act right. Above all else, a person of good morality aids in cleansing the society or moral corruption. Right?

Obviously we have wordpress, tumblr, pininterest, kik and so many other online platforms for sharing. The innovators and founders of this platforms are smiling all the way to the bank. They don’t give a shit when we post about the hard times that we go through. In fact, they are telling us punfo miran subtly as they become more liquid while we gripe at our predicament which we do nothing about.

And on that note, it's another time to say.

Hasta la vista baby.

[Picture source; My Own]

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CREATIVE BLOG WRITING IMPETUS

Does creative blog writing change our demurred perspective on the plight of those who struggle everyday having gone through experiences in life that are mortifying or those who lavish at the altar of abundance because life bestowed such prominence?

The world is without doubt a global village. At the click of a button, you will be able to see pictures (said to be worth a thousand words), watch videos and even read on what’s trending all over the world. Amid the many pictures and videos, words aid in giving life to otherwise undecipherable sounds, motion pictures or still pictures that we see whenever we access the internet. And internet created the blogs. I will not dwell on the genesis of the blogs. But the reality is that as at now, blogs are a force to reckon with. They shape life in so many aspects we cannot fail to ignore them.

This essay will gravitate on how creative blog writing is redefining the narration of untold stories which are rarely captured by the mainstream media. Blog posting has also aided in taking writing to the next level. As such, it should be appreciated as an avenue of making would-be professional writers in the near future or those who are yet to be discovered.

Blogging is changing the way people tell stories that would have never been captured in black and white. Ideally, it's easy starting a blog, but updating it continuously is a major setback among many bloggers. It is a maelstrom that needs innate research since we are losing many writers due to lack of intrinsic motivation. However, there are a number of creative blog writers who capture us readers with fascinating stories you feel like you are part of the story as opposed to making readers feel like passengers in a bus. Their prose are ‘leavened with wit’, hold us captive and serenade us with joy or invoke grief or remorse we sometimes are forced to act just by the power of words we read.

Indeed creative blog writing has been instrumental in shaping the perspective of many people who would have otherwise not acted because of lack of information. The penetration of cheap Chinese smartphones has made it easy to access information on the internet which has also been compounded by the availability of subsidized data bundles in this age of technology. For example, in Kenya, when a blog post goes viral, many people get to know about a  tragedy facing an individual or it aids in creating awareness about stigmas which readers can react to. As such, such posts trend on the social media with engaging hash tags that capture your attention even if you never wanted to read. Therefore, creative blog writing aids in bridging the hiatus that is existential in terms of being informed since the mainstream media is limited to reported stories by journalists and the editing process kills stories that may end up not evoking reaction by the ‘audience.’

There is a case in point where a blogger  used her platform to inform her readers of the rot in society especially about the collapse of a bank that had accepted in deposits the savings of her family lineage. When the bank was liquidated and because in the financial miasma, it is the creditors whose dues are first settled, they are still waiting to be indemnified. It was real eye opener because she was among those who had to undergo the misery of having lost so much money when they had trusted in an institution to deliver.

There is also a time a very influential blogger used his platform in raising awareness on cancer. The end result was a certain cancer patient got help in terms of finances to aid in his treatment at a hospital in India. That’s killing two birds with one stone. Otherwise, no one would have known that he was bravely battling with the disease and was not going to let the growth let him succumb without using alternative avenues. Maybe, now he is benign or on the onset.

The blogosphere in Kenya is still in its nascent stages. The number of bloggers who take it seriously as a source of livelihood can be said to be insignificant. Many creative bloggers are engaging in writing as a pastime hoping that someday, they will be able to take their craft to the next level. That means getting a wider audience, being able to cash in on advertising revenue as a result of blog posting and having an influence in general on their readers. Which is beneficial because you have a rote that as a blogger should be fulfilled, failure of which, you may antagonize those who wait with abated breath for a new post. The only stumbling block to going mainstream in terms of blogging is the availability of finances for setting up a professional blog and advertising the blog. Still many people are not aware of avenues they can use to blog on the various platforms available.

However, there are instances in which some people have used such platforms as blogs to perpetuate vices in society. While such engagements may generate income to such bloggers, the net effect is that it eventually contributes to the moral rot in society. Propagation of messages that tend to incite readers negates the essence of an avenue that should be used for the betterment of society. However, we cannot live in an ideal world. Had rather we foil their efforts when they go to the extreme end.However, as long as people of various cultures and creeds congregate together, there is high likelihood of finding those who will engage in truancy for the sake of it or as a result of influence from movies or information available online.

With all due respect, blogging is here to stay. It is slowly giving the traditional media houses a run for their money. But before it takes over, let’s appreciate the little it has done in addressing the inadequacies that have been plaguing society which are sadly ceaseless.

P/S: I originally wrote this essay as a requirement for submission in a certain online class I was attending and thought it necessary to have it on my blog.

Hasta La Vista Baby.


[Picture Source: My Own] 

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