Being in LOVE with Alone Ness

I’m home alone today and I’m in bliss…

This moment in time is for all females out there and to males who belong to The Tribe – the Journey Women and Men, the ones who >>> walking into a busy Nakumatt/Tusky’s/ Naivas or any mall - is a total nightmare.

.... being alone....

 I was up long before the crack of dawn – wait - why would one call it that <<<< by the way? Crack of dawn? The first dawn yes, probably began with a tremendously L.O.U.D shattering crack of brilliant g.l.a.r.i.n.g. light that split open the darkness in an astonishing wave of brilliant LIGHT Waves that spread piercingly across the galaxy –  wave after wave of pure intensely penetrating light that poured forth and moved forward in a massive wave throughout the first day… yes – that would be a ‘crack of dawn’  - but I didn’t write English… I just pen it… and dawn is not so cracking now  but -

..back to my awakening moments… and to the point of this bliss –

 .. I was up early this morning if “waking up” is even a word to describe my so-called ‘sleep’ as I could hear my 16 year old son roaming and wandering through the apartment in an endless bid to keep sleep away – or is it that he couldn’t find sleep?? Hmm – but his nocturnal prowling was very audible to me as I tossed and turned in the heat of the night and eventually stumbled out of bed, worn and fatigued, and straight into a lukewarm shower to accelerate my body into a semi-wake up mode – and in that #woke state I made Son a hearty meal to prepare him for his road trip - which he had already began in his mind because at some point he asked me – so what time will we get there? … and my answer was ‘way after 9pm’… and I was being nice - road trips to Dar are murder-on-time if I’m not driving – you’all know how I drive hahahahaa…. I fold Time -  really. I Time Travel – you’see, I passed Physics a long time ago back in-the-days of  B4844  - and THAT was the age of Live & Let Die  - if it was your time to die – you died hmmmm - if I die like I drive then it will be  Fast, Furious and a totally exhilarating blockbuster Hahaha…  

So with the promise to my son that most likely watafika Dar kitu 15 hours from commencement of trip In’Shallah,  I made sure both shildrens ; who are in reality small adults, were comfortably ensconced in the belly of the the Super.Cozy wifi- in. KE.Only .1 storeyHigh.Wheeler.Coach.Bus and got into my personal wheeled chariot to zoom out of the noisy, loud, dirty, irritating mess that is downtown Nairobi on any given day in Kenya –  they don’t ever tell you that do they? About Downtown? Well, it’s a mess. If you can find a clean ‘Bus-Station bathroom’ please let me know. Downtown on ‘Christmas morn’ at 5 am was a darn cold 9˚C , a mess of drunk old men tottering home; teens high on ?? somethings dawa  out to cause trouble; beggars with no-where to go; angry askaris & turnboys asking for ‘krismassi’ handouts and pissed when they don’t get any [shauri yako, wee kaa tu bila kunipea… shauri yako] << is it a must to give? Moving on… no seats for waiting travelers – sit on your suitcase anyway – it’s safer -  ma3’s overlapping, hooting & duh, causing a jam; salon cars with fam and relas being dropped - hug hug - kiss on cheek - we're a touchy touchy huggy huggy breed, us Kenyans -  or relas and fam and friends being picked with same hug hug kiss kiss and excited shouts; small salon cars backing up and making illegal u-turns;  passengers getting into and out of hooting mats; smoke from somewhere;  Huge Overland Buses revving to leave, other buses arriving from long trips and vomiting weary cold, hungry journeymen and women out of their huge bellies – babies crying;  drunks stumbling in the dark morning and weaving across cracked grimy pavements;  peeps spitting and blowing their noses; every other ma3 playing it’s particular radio vernacular station louder than the other  -

Waarrh… overloaded senses-

I shot of there like a bat shooting out of hell –

.. to go back home  -

…  through a stunning dawn morn… this dawn…

It was a symphony…

I saw music notes…

Nairobi at 6am with NO TRAFFIC. Cold sweet air bila fumes in through my window -

No Hurry..

Serenity..

..sunrise in Nairobi 25th December 2016: Photo credit:  xPenSiev©

The sky was a deep dense blue-black with tiny wisps of light-gray ethereal clouds suspended in space, over there somewhere on the horizon the sky began to slowly, so slowly, spread dusty smoky colours of pale pinks & peaches, dusty grays & hues of dark raspberry blues, quietly,    oh     so  so quietly and majestically the colour from the sky lovingly caressed rooftops of buildings, quietly signaling the beginning of another day. 

Such serenity. I switched off the car lights…

I felt the world literary falling off my shoulders… and I stepped into Being SheLone..

It’s a small miracle for me when this happens, when I find myself totally – home alone – with nobody and nothing dependent on me for 24 hours or more, no visitors, no mboches, no time tables, no cooking schedules, no writing deadlines, no Twitter, #hashtags or Retweets…

… what ties you down girl? Long ago I’d do school runs and laundry piles taller than me… there was a time it was meetings in boardrooms with SouthAfrican Boers and the horror of it – I’m just NOT a boardroom person. Soon after that it was writing deadlines in a radio station…. Gosh my life – but what I’m tryin’ to say here is at each point of our life there’s a chain* tying us down.

- but it used to be a scary thought. Being alone. Scary because of this idea that’s actually a huge cultural lie and a mantrap that many of us have fallen into:-

“..woman!!

HARK!!

if thine ist alone,

thou art a failure…”

mancrap. Bullcrap!! HAHAHAHA…

Note, not she-crap. Nah… otherwise it would be known as cow-crap.

Skiza…

There is a strength which comes from being alone that is totally wicKed. Absolutely enthralling in it’s power, the magic of she-lone-ness weaves a spell around the “She-loner” that is scary to men… and other women..

Why the fear? 

 Because it’s only when we’re truly alone that we look deep into ourselves and ask questions like,

           ... what do I REALLY WANT in life? It’s when you’re alone Woman, that GOD speaks to you. When Nature speaks to you.. because you’re alone and you’ll listen. – coz we women are so good at listening…

… It’s when you’re alone and free of his schedules and their calendars that you can breathe for a while and think for yourself. It’s in the magic of being alone that your body makes little noises made up of creaks, groans and whispers and you have time to listen TO, and obey. If it hurts, attend to it immediately – because there is no-one else for you to attend to, but you. If you don’t feel like doing it, don’t – because there is only YOU to please at this time –  if there’s no one to wake you up to feed them or care for them – then wake up, feed and care for yourself….

Selfish? No. She-Loner.

Laying a foundation for the building. Pouring in the concrete and wetting it with your tears and striding out like #MinnieWalker – purposeful and ready for all of life’s fucks - some sweet, some bitter, some short, some long, some paid, some unpaid [hahahahahaa!] – but READY.

I love these rare times so I make the most my She-Lone times. I sleep deeply. I dream too – because women are fantastic creatures that can birth dreams and bring them into a beautiful reality that we can sustain because women are natural born nurturing machines, with thick arms to hold and big breasts that will feed that dream when it is birthed. A Women Alone can be very scary stuff to those who do not like strong women. You know… men are allowed to retreat into their man caves, but a woman alone… whoa! We’ve got to shoot down that idea dead as a dodo!

Gals, Look at yourself, and the magic you could dream and weave and spin into your life if you could eagerly grab at your ‘me-time’ – and shrug off and negate the people who say that being alone means you’re a failure.  When you sit aside and sort the chaff from the stupid stuff, when you clear your mind of clutter, when as a woman you gently probe and prod at your intuition until it’s purring and vibrating so good and strong – [mmmhhh…I love that feeling] .. when you’re in a state of complete She-LoneNess – and you come out of it with a fierce determination that won’t get you down in a hurry...that’s the magic of ShePower.

So forget the bull-crap of:

    ‘..singleness means you’re not worth it’ …. I can’t even begin to slaughter that stupidity – where do I start? Whether we’re extroverts or introverted as fuck, we ALL NEED that space where we’re completely HOME ALONE to recharge.  Negating alone times and believing in the LIE that being alone is ‘bad’ is not a good thing. At all.

“You’re alone because you’re unloveable”

“You didn’t have ANYONE to spend time with this Season…. Gosh… how sad…”

Don’t entertain those thoughts – ever ever. They’re meant to put you into a spin and detract you from the truths and magic of being SheLoner and sadly, those lines of thought go into the minds of Tribal People [Depressives] & Empaths [both male and female] with a devastating fury of a Force 15 magnitude hurricane or cyclone – so just stop those holding those lies in your mind, or tasting them with your tongue or vomiting them on others. Stop.

Humans were made to be social, yes, but more, they were made as entire little perfectly independent solo units. That’s why we’re mostly born in singles. And when we die, we die singly – my death doesn’t mean another will die. Your soul-mate is that person who, when they die before you do, your own life becomes a big stayfree pad wad of meaninglessness – but those are couples who have been together for ever and not in Nairobi – out there in shags maybe - yes – but aki – mainstream Kenya peeps are so hard-hearted that even the Drunk Driving Billboards warn you that if you drive drunk and die, your ka-wifi will soon-and-very-soon be married to your bhesti and your unborn child will be calling someone else papa….gaii.. That’s just cruel. Nawatu’wa giggle… sigh..

But we ARE in Kenya, TIK. RIGHT now. In 2016. And tings are tuff and a woman has to do what a woman has to do – which is bear the whole wide world on her shoulders and look devastatingly sexy as she does so… ok.. my eyes have rolled so far back in my head.. you know, Alhumdullilah for being a Hijabi. That is a huge debt burden that was negated and not by World Bank….This Hijab wow-  I got my sexy back and it belongs to just one man..

but that’s another story – 

Take a break girls, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not so, so long ago, less than just 250 years ago, our great-grand mothers as girls and women would have packed a bag to sling over their shoulders, a good strong walking stick, bows, arrows and short swords - and walk off into the mountains and bundu and stay away for like 3 years on an #adventure and nobody would say natin’ – infact – those same men and mama’s in the village - they’d give you messages to carry to other villages that you’d maybe pass through in your sojourn…

Now we’re all #Slaves and #Prisoners

In fancy boxes but still

Chained

And Hobbled with bleeding ankles

Chained to the fancy box

by #debt.

Shut up in a box;

a fancy coffin.

That’s Nailed Shut

With lies and imported beLIEfs

Take a fuckin’ break. Shove the ‘guilt’ away and just do it, go SheLoner Mode. Put the all kids in the Bus, Airplane  - whatever – to wherever - somewhere – and Hubby too – put your Fam on Hold, tell Friends to take a chill pill, switch your location off on your CELLphone so your enemies are distracted for a while [especially if you use Instagram] and take a

She-Break. 

Nobody is indispensable  to others but we are, to ourselves. If I break down it's me to fix me and it's me who knows where it hurts - it's me wearing the high heel shoe and if I break an ankle, then it's me wearing flats for G - not you. Nobody is indispensable to OTHERS - they will not DIE if you take a frickin' break. Just do it and watch!

Pray. Exercise. Sleep. Dream. Pray. Eat. Laugh. Walk. Swim. Write. Doodle. Eat sweet stuff. Fart. Watch a funny movie. Pray. Laugh. Cry. Wear perfume. Shower. Soak in a bath. Buy bath salts that smell like a dream. Treat yourself. Walk around the house in socks and shorts or in a khanga – and wear your favorite parfum. You’re HOME ALONE. Smell good. Feel good. Smile.

Talk to yourself.

Listen to yourself.

Love yourself. PAY yourself with delicious, edible amounts of gorgeous ATTENTION until you fall in love with yourself. Just DO IT. Happy Holidays were created for you, so use them. ~ "Some women fear the fire. Some women simply, become it"

The XpenSieve Report© 2016

[Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to xPenSieve© with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Headline banner design by NNMunyinyi]

The Male Privilege, Bewildered Boys & Team Mafisi

Exactly what is ‘Male Privilege’ ? In Kenya, it’s a lot Team Mafisi.

For all my wealth of ‘common’ sense and knowledge, I admit readily that I didn’t grasp it fully – or get enfolded in a back-breaking hug of understanding; until I read this Ebony* interview – where I really got-it. Male privilege is an inborn attitude and demeanor that NEEDS to be un-taught to our BOYS, and only when we as parents and guardians of the youth do that, only when we feed the honey and milk nourishment of behavior back into our boys, only then will our daughters and girls be truly free to walk our streets and roads in both daylight and darkness, only then will they stop being prey meals.

We took the stories away from women and mothers, sisters, girls and young ladies and told them that singing a sweet honey filled song will not help them, and when we stopped singing and the boys stopped hearing those lyrics, they tried to do the next best thing, which was to take the honey by force.

Male privilege is when a man knows that he can get his honey, as he pleases. He’s a Bear – a foreign thing that doesn’t live in Africa - looking for honey and eff the bees that depend on it for life - you know that swahili saying..?

Tafutua Asili, chunga Nyuki

Well if you watched Mwogli the Movie you gots to understand – a bear needs honey, needs honey and forget the fact that there are bees that may sting. He will use whichever monkey is available to get him that honey and that bear won’t bat an eyelid if the monkey is stung to death - 

or not.

The Male Privilege thinks that the Honey is there for his taking, any time. And if he can score more, well give me a high five! or knock-knuckles because, well – ‘she put out’ didn’t she?  In The Male Privilege  world, A No isn’t no, in-fact, many males don’t hear NO – Listen, this was a shocker for me, an intense hurt when I understood it, but instead of standing within the thorny bushes of the hurt, I struggled through it’s prickly patch to peer deeply at the real reason why men don’t hear anything when girls say NO.

They don’t hear it because it’s not a part of their life. Period.

How do you hear something that hasn’t been taught to you?

Male Privilege doesn’t, don’t and won’t hear NO. Even if the woman shouted it.

“what’s that?”

“say whaaaat?

“… you gotta be kidding me…”

The word NO has not been written into The Male Privilege database, so when you tell a man NO and he doesn’t hear it, the fault lies in the deeper ground of his up-bringing. Society, Education and yes -  Most importantly - PAPA. Not so long ago, girls would ask a boy where he’s from and then proceed and tell their Dad, ‘I met this guy, his famo is akina and so’… and the Dad would do some deeply intense sleuthing and detective work… to unearth and uncover the boy’s background – ama famo.  Why were they so darn personal and intrusive >> because they MADE time to. Which Dad has the time to do that today?  Msweeech – that sound that is something between a spit-and-a-sucking-in and collecting of the same spit  that old men & women make in their mouths, lips fused shut in a down-turned curl that looks like a dead fish –

……………….. Which Dad has the time for that nowadays? Which Dad, huh? No, he’s busy sponsoring and spanking and smacking some college girls butt – a girl who is probably younger than his daughter.  Shameless. And he wears her on his arm like a medal. So his son, tell me, his son - who is his son’s hero? The same Papa who’s sponsoring his best friends kid sister?  >> You see,  there’s that axiom about the fruit – it doesn’t fall far from the tree. This is true – sometimes – that we also get ‘black sheep’ – those rare beautiful souls raised in a white-sheep dominated pasture and are somehow, wondrously, so full of a beautiful blackness that they stand out  - in gentleness, in manners and in demeanor  - that it stuns a generation of white sheep to the point that the white sheep ask:  where did that magnificence of Black Sheep-ness come from?  So if you’re different and you’re well rounded and cannot fit-in the square box of life, wear your damn Black coat with honor and integrity. Honor. But sadly, many sons don’t. They slink after their fathers and copy them in ignorance. So, yes, it’s fine for a Dad to know where his daughters new boyfriends roots are, and it’s fine for all of us to talk about Honor and Shaming when it comes to families.  Shame for date-rape, shame for rape, shame for a

Forbidden

Use of

Carnal

Knowledge.

So if you have a young man who doesn’t know how to HEAR the word NO

If you have a young man who has an inbuilt sense of Male Privilege

When you have a young man who knows he can FUCK and walk away

When you have a young man who doesn’t know about Responsibility and caring and loving

If you have a young man who thinks only about himSELF and scoring

If you have a young man who is angry and in Defense mode – who if you walk behind him, and you prod his shoulder with your finger, he turns around and jumps you like a ninja fighter - kicking you on your chin with the full force of a Jackie Chan Foot in your teeth without the special effects – tell me, what do you have if as a society we have 37,340  or so young men with Male Privilege chanting and singing ‘I can do anthing, utaDo’  like these, what do you have if all these young men released onto our Kenyan streets?

That’s what we have.

They’re going to University this week,

and so are your daughters.

Let’s talk about the girls now.

Once upon a time, girls knew deep in their hearts and in their bones that the only place that they could lay down in completeness was within the woman’s world. Women loved women, loved that they were ‘she’  and that they had spaces where they could be

free,

to laugh,  to cry, to sing.

Women had a space where they could talk. And be heard.

Girls had a space where they could talk. And be heard.

Little tiny girls, barely toddlers, had a space where they could talk. And be heard.

Long before man stole it for themselves the ‘blood-bonds’ belonged to the sisters because they shared blood – sharing the Menses-Shelter – the Red Tent, the place where women would sit in pain, or not, the place where young mothers would give birth, and share stories. Women would spin stories of honey, delicious with each exhaled breath. Words were lyrical, full and bountiful, sexy and languid and rich. Words that gave life, words that breathed comfort, words that whispered encouragement and security… Women were confident in the knowledge that they were  the ones who nourished, that they were the healers, the consolers. Women still share recipes with their daughters today,  tell me, do they share health tips with sisters, do they help each other to give birth and raise babies? Do women still share songs of dance, beats to clap hands to, rhythms that make women jump up in joy, that make women shake and sway their wide hips in abandon? Do women still comfort each other in times of sadness? Because in this strength of SHARING, women used to hold women when women hurt. But if we don’t have those She-roots,

women can’t hold a woman when she hurts.

women can’t hold men, when men hurt.

When did females stop believing in she?

When did She stop listening to Her?

Do you know, that if She stops listening to Her, he does as well?

Look at Kenyans now, and what we have:

The Male Privilege with his entitlement,

and Women who say to the girl who is abused by Team Mafisi - ‘she deserves - it’.

What the eff kind of nonsense is that, especially when it comes from a woman? I look at these women and I shiver. I say I’m glad they shall never be my mother.  What kind of woman takes a sip of that bitter beverage, swirls it in her mouth and spits out those ugly cruel words at another woman, “she deserves it” ?  Msweeech – that sound that is something between a spit-and-a-sucking-in and collecting of the same spit that old men and women make in their mouths, lips fused shut in a downturned curl that looks like a dead fish – Look here. We all know what is behind The Male Privilege - it is being a member of a Boys Club - a ‘Team Mafisi’ like groupie where they defend themselves to the death. That’s right. That’s correct. A species must defend it’s own and never cannibalize itself otherwise it will eat itself to death – actually no – I lie, humans breed like a virus…but yes >> Boys are tight<< The Male Privilege.

Do this. Visit today’s Womens Club and you’ll find many not only clubbing each other behind their backs, but rolling their sleeves up so that they can get down & dirty, right down to holding another woman down for  men to rape them. And after-words, she’ll kill her with words and rejection. Because women, when hurt, will still run to another woman for comfort – but, the chain is broken. So they run to men. Your broken girl runs for comfort - they run to men who are inbred with The Male Privilege – they run to ‘Team Mafisi’ , or to the dad of Team Mafisi- The Sponsor – your husband and the father of your son.

And it shows through-out Kenyan society where women batter each other, pound on each other in all arenas, in family, in politics, in religion, in culture, in education, in tribe, in every single aspect you can think of, women in Kenya are so divided it’s INSANE. What kills me is the jealousy.

Mothers against daughters, mothers jealous of their daughters, mothers hating their daughters, mothers choosing-over their daughters. And the daughters, fed with hatred, replicate and duplicate and repeat on the hate. Again and again and again and again they spread the virulent hatred against themselves in Tertiary Institutions, in the workplace, in the neighborhoods, in schools, in politics – everywhere. Yes, women complain that as Kenyans focus too much on the girl-child and that we’ve advanced, I say, wait - it looks like we’ve made progress, but in reality? We haven’t. We haven’t. It looks good from far, it’s all glossed up and shiny like a brand new shiny Maserati, but in reality, this team ‘Kenyan Women’ is so ridiculously and ruthlessly far from good, it reeks to the core. She’s your Daughter. Your sister. Your mother. Your cousin.

Why are you pulling She down, dear Kenyan Woman – we were known as gentle women.

The Male Privilege

So Mama, what do you tell your daughter, who has passed her Form Four and is so excited, so excited, that she’s going to college this sem? Will you tell her to ‘Be careful’? and if she’s abused or misused will you scream ‘but you deserved it!!’ then send her off to a Rehab ran by the same members of the Boys Club when she becomes depressed; Oh the irony! Back to the same Team Mafisi that will sap her inner-sweet-honey essence by force. Leaving a shell behind. And yes, she will fall into a serious depression, because women have eliminated most of the safe spaces where they can talk as women.

She, what will you tell your kid sister? or best friend? as she packs to go to college? Will you tell her to say ‘No’  and scribble names of ‘who’s-who’ with fervent instructions to avoid those on the black-list? And what advice will you, Mr. Sponsor, give to your son who’s going to University this sem? Will you tetemeka from within and tell him to ‘keep off’ your girl? Or will you call her instead, your ‘sponsee’ and tell her, btw, that’s my son, keep off him or I’ll withdraw my sponsorship? So Papa is paying fees for his son and rent for his sponsee. And what do you think members of The Male Privilege Team Mafisi will tell his kid bro, or his ‘boy’? Fuck it and anything you want, take it and use it? Because after all, wataDo?

In conclusion:

Exactly what is ‘Male Privilege’ ? In Nai, it’s a lot Team Mafisi.

For all my wealth of ‘common’ sense and knowledge, I admit readily that I didn’t grasp it fully – or get enfolded in a back-breaking hug of understanding; until I read this Ebony interview * – where I really got-it. Male privilege is an inborn attitude and demeanor that NEEDS to be un-taught to our BOYS, and only when we as parents and guardians of the youth do that, only when we feed the honey and milk nourishment of behavior back into our boys , only then will our daughters and girls be truly free to walk our streets and roads in both daylight and darkness, only then will they stop being prey meals.

We took the stories away from women and mothers, sisters, girls and young ladies and told them that singing a sweet honey filled song will not help them, and when we stopped singing and the boys stopped hearing those lyrics, they tried to do the next best thing, which was to take the honey by force.

*Ebony Interview Link. << Please read that  now

Nyakio N. Munyinyi for the XpenSieve Report© 2016

[Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to xPenSieve© with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Headline banner design by NMunyinyi.]

To Poison a Nation, Poison Her Stories

Story-Telling

#ALLlivesMatter

#ALL

To poison a nation, poison his and her stories.

One of Beyoncé's songs,  “Daddy Lessons", is a prime example of the truth illustrated in the picture above. Who on this planet doesn’t’ know that Beyoncé is BLACK, Afro-American, Black American – whatever the term –  but clearly, she’s not  WHITE; add the fact that she’s the epitome, the essence, the quintessential bloody perfect figure head of what a successful ‘black girl’ in the music industry in America should encompass. Millions of women and men across this blue round globe look up and take notes when she speaks – or sings. And she does speak up, vociferously, on matters pertaining to BLACK FREEDOMS. So when this album and this song came out, it was time to look up and listen, this time wasn’t any different, only that I was shocked out of my normally calm clam shell when I heard the words from “Daddy Lessons”.

“..And he taught me to be strong
He told me when he's gone
Here's what you do -
When trouble comes to town,
And men like me come around,
Oh, my daddy said shoot
Oh, my daddy said shoot
Oh, oh, oh”

Oh, oh, oh.

Yes, my mouth flopped open like an old woman without her dentures…

Let’s look at the implications of how a simple song can poison a nation via lyrics, words or ‘story-telling’. Because that’s what lyrics are – ‘sweet words put together to entertain or tell a story.’ When we say, ‘wah, that man has lyrics..’ it means that that person is a charmer, has words that are sweet, he’s gorgeous to listen to and if he’s using his lyrics on you ... >> gurl, you’re solid gone. Just go buy bread, and put yourself between two slices and present yourself to him willingly…  

Now - Pop or Popular music is often used as an Entrancement. An Entrancement is used during conversation to open the mind to suggestion and limit rational consideration of, and objections to, implanted ideas.

Tuko pamoja?

Side bar 

[This is why MEN in CHARGE of ‘tings’ dislike popular music and try to limit what their youth listen to, because POP music is dangerous to the minds of YOUTH.]   

.... please, don’t leave reading this just yet. I’m not talking music here, I’m not talking about melody and harmony and lyrics that can uplift your soul, angelic voices and bass guitar that can electrify and heal your core -  I’m talking some forms of pop music and accompanying LYRICS in particular, and to teens I’d like to stress the importance of knowing what exactly it is that you’re listening to -  what are you subjecting your beautiful mind to?? You have a brain that’s moving at super warp speed, use it!! ..sometimes I don’t get youth. They’re BRILLIANT. So don’t listen to CRAP for the sake of being defiant to old farts. Garbage in, garbage out, …  n’way, that’s a story for another day, but honestly, I’d ban this particular song for one simple reason – that line -> “..my daddy said shoot  when Men like him come around..”  that’s just plain wrong Boo,  on any level.

Why do you’all think we have a culture that maligns and denigrates the black African man? We stopped writing our own stories for fear of being expelled and ejected from Kenya – writers, we were told, are all politically motivated. It’s rubbish by the way, writers just use words to express their truth [lyrics] – but because WORDS are a powerful MEDIUM that opens up the consciousness of the masses – writers are flushed down toilets and victimized by ruling parties and dictatorship states. In the absence of good homegrown stories – the vacuum was filled by ‘relatable’ stories from – Black Americans – mostly sob stories filled with negativity, hardship and hatred; and stories about the uselessness of the black man.  In the New Testament of the Bible, Jesus himself said that exorcising a demon was a 1. A difficult task and 2. sometimes it’s better to leave a demon in a person - because if you removed ONE and you didn’t immediately fill the VACUUM with your own version of [whatever], seven {7} demons would fill that VACCUM. Jesus said.

Seven. Saba.

Mtajiju….

A demoralized nation tells demoralized stories to itself.

Kenyan writers in the 70’s and 80’s were flushed down toilets, demonized, harangued, berated and criticized close to the point of extinction. Kenya had fantastic writers, eloquent men and women who had a certain wild beautiful way with words, artists and song writers, creatives, journalists and brilliant writers, creators made in Kenya.

Vilified. To this day.

Kenyan men, [listen carefully] have lyrics. Good cool real vibes.

But.

We malign our own, we don’t promote our own, we don’t buy our own, we’ve swallowed the Alice in Wonderland magic pill given to us by the state, and we’ve shrunk our brains to nearly-dead-minds to fit into the tiny little hole that the system wants us to be in - The Matrix. The Arts of creative writing, singing, dancing, painting, drawing, expressing self – were pugnaciously and vehemently ripped out of the Kenyan Education System. And in that vacuum, in came the 7devils. This ‘new’ culture from the US of A about the black man and the black woman - where our people identify themselves - not with our local ancestors and local present day writers and authors who we demoralize daily with spitting sounds that begin with ‘….aaaarhg… huyo mukikuyu, achana naye…’ but with Black American pop-culture and a total hero worship of all things white including myself who watches Euro Soccer on TV, but won’t cross the road to watch a match at Nyayo, Safaricom or City Stadium… it’s chilling as fuck.

Beware of the story-tellers who are not fully conscious of the importance of their gifts..

Stories have been imported en-masse from the USA – and in Kenya, both males and females have embraced this ‘black’ culture – anyone born in the 80’s knows little to nothing about Kenyan History, but can write Memoirs and Essays about American song artists, rappers and lyric writers from birth to their latest album.  Success to this generation is not based on Kenyan benchmarks, but on Black-American yardsticks. Your father, your brother, your neighbor, your uncles, nephews, why is it that Kenyan Women today, when they talk about the men in their lives, often have an ugly sneer to their mouths? And that popular nasty characteristic of demeaning the male figure in whichever way possible? It’s simply not on..   Where on this blue planet Earth did some-body begin to push this Story that black men are so worthless, that you should shoot them on sight –  to maim, or better yet, to kill them dead. There’s an ugly term which in former times was used by the white man and pertained only to the BLACKS in America, “to hobble” a man. This meant maiming him – usually it was done by brutally chopping off a man’s toes on his right foot using a machete.  Today it’s still practiced but in a more modern form –

 - from the ‘Urban Dictionary’ Hobbling

The act of tying someone to a bed and putting a block of wood in between their ankles, then hitting their foot with a sledgehammer to break their ankles making sure they can't escape.

..and who are irresponsible in the application of their art;

Media Personalities have been crafted and fashioned by bent minds in leadership – we don’t have media journalists any longer. Those come jetting in from Europe and America whenever Kenya has a Crisis, and true to form, we’re told ‘our own’ are useless. Beautiful coffee books about this country are written and published by NON-KENYANS. Stories about our people are documented and published outside Kenya by non-Kenyans. Like, really? TV anchoring is no longer about presenting a good story, but rather, about how well-dressed one is, promoting European and American labels and ignoring the home-made brands. It’s potent. That simple message is a slap in the face. Then, News is about hype and gossip – tabloid stories about who’s -fucking- who; sigh, Radio Shows are heart, brain and ear-shock attacks based on revolting and repulsive reports like ‘men who rape goats’ – completely disregarding that CHILDREN sit in common public spaces like mathrees – it’s so ugly. Many shows are never in-depth stories about the beauty of family life, positive role modes, success happy stories about relationships, or stories about development and innovation, jobs for youth, or about anything POSITIVE.

..they could unwittingly help along the psychic destruction of their people.

And now, the idea has been adopted in Kenya that the black man should be punished for – get this – just being male. Nothing else. The black man has been vilified and criminalized. In the slums a woman wept and said she prays she’s not pregnant with a MALE. That he will be killed before he’s 20 by the Police, regardless. Kenyan Men killing Kenyan Men. This then, is a further affront - girls are being told to shoot a man who reminds them of Daddy – words crooned by this  Beautiful Goddess – and she IS Beautiful by whatever account your standard of ‘Beauty’ is -  many in this world do admit she is a stunning woman – so here she is, giving us [especially young girls] a story, a tale – that will repeat over and over and over again and be so deeply embedded in our brain cells that it will leave a footprint in the central neurons of our psyche – “When trouble comes to town, and men like ME come around, Oh, my daddy said shoot, Oh, my daddy said shoot…”

I’m a woman [..and totally hot to boot as well] but I would never ever tell my daughters to ‘shoot’ any man on sight - it’s immoral and downright wrong. Why disparage and hobble a young man’s psyche, why KILL our future? If he’s bad, it’s not our right to judge – that’s for the Policing System. So, you reading this, tell me, why is this idea being banded and pushed across our airwaves so casually? Many women as young girls have a first love – their daddy. Daddy is king, because he’s the adult male of the home and half of her, get this HALF of her, she has 100% of her daddy... I can’t even go into all the inferences of a daughters’ love for her daddy here – neither can I describe the fiery power of the love fathers have for their daughters either, because it will take a whole book to lyric it – needless to say - it’s bombastic, period. Hiroshima has zero on an African Man’s love for his daughters - so here you have a girl who loves her daddy to bits, she’s 16, or 17, or 18 or 19, and she’s singing this song ‘brainlessly’, and when she meets a young man, a boy, a guy when she’s 20, who may remotely resemble her Daddy, two words will stand out – ‘Trouble’ and ‘Shoot’.

She’ll whisper in a hoarse voice to her girl-friends her bff’s, her besties at the local while sipping her beer,  “…..aki - jesu, I met this maaaaan, and my heart is in my throat, and he makes my heart sing, and I’m weak like jelly at the knees for this magnificent man, but aki, he’s TROUBLE’….

And sooner than later, what will she do?

‘Shoot him, oh oh oh’. She will hobble that man to the extent that he won’t know if he’s coming or going, I kid you not. And she’ll do it so well, with such finesse, such grace and elegance, she will deride that man and stick pins into his entire life, and every-single-thing-he-does-or-doesn’t-do will look like it’s his fault. Really. If there’s an eclipse of the moon, let me tell you people, it will be blamed on her man. Look around you and tell me, how many young men are in despairing relationships where they’re desperately drunk/in drugs/in debt or some other hell hole – demoralized, hobbled and crippled – because his woman or women have told him that he’s ‘useless?’.  

How many WOMEN have been blamed and kicked out of their homes and marriages for not getting sons, or not bearing children, for being unable to cook her husbands favorite dish like a top chef, or told some imported STORY from another country to compare her to those women so that she feels demoralized, hobbled and crippled and use – LESS?

Nobody is USELESS.

Nobody.

We’re ALL MADE by God, and God doesn’t make mistakes.

To poison a nation, poison it’s stories.

A demoralized nation tells demoralized stories to itself.

Beware of the story-tellers who are not fully conscious

 of the importance of their gifts,

and who are irresponsible 

in the application of their art;

they could unwittingly

help along

the psychic destruction of their people.

Please, learn to WRITE YOUR OWN STORY; and TELL it to your sons and daughters.

Nyakio N. Munyinyi for the XpenSieve Report© 2016

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