They call it the motherland
I call it my mother’s land
To them it’s another land
Soon it’s my brother’s land
No bank to build a brand
Can’t wish for magic wand
Gotta toil for a few rand
To supplicate the work of our hands
The Fourth President is firmly in control. He has practically rearranged the entire game board.
Sifuna is OUT OF the ticket.
The ticket is now Kalonzo and Ruaraka Land Thief.
Sifuna, will be offered Foreign Affairs. He is happy.
Meanwhile, Jofri made a quick attempt to court Natembeya, but the Trans Nzoia governor politely declined.
Natembeya is focused on defending his seat and positioning himself strategically for the 2032 succession politics.
The chessboard remains active, and the dice continue to roll.
Within the SKM centre, there is considerable scepticism about the Ruaraka land thief as the running mate.
Their view is that he muddies what is otherwise a Mr. Clean ticket while adding little political value to the equation.
The only problem is that coalition is looking for a godfather, and with the Fourth President appearing to be their most realistic source of sponsorship, dissent will remain muted.
For now, sina mengi ya kusema.
Anne Hathaway has FIVE movies out this year and has watched her two favorite sports teams snap long title droughts. Also, she's Anne Hathaway. Might be working on the best year in recorded history
Stateside, a gas station. I drank a frozen blue beverage too quickly, and was struck down by a punishment this entire nation knows, and accepts, and has named.
The drink is called a slush. Ice, sweetness, and a blue that does not occur in nature. The day was hot. I was thirsty. I drank like a soldier at a river.
The pain arrived in my skull like a war horn.
Behind the eyes. Above everything. Total. I gripped the roof of my car. I may have made a sound.
"Brain freeze," said the cashier through the door, with no urgency whatsoever.
It has a NAME. The affliction is so common it has a household name, like a cousin.
"Tongue on the roof of your mouth," called a man at the pumps. He did not look over. He prescribed the remedy mid-pump, casually, the way one mentions weather.
I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. The war horn faded. The healer nodded at his pump, finished, and was gone in a Chevrolet.
In my land, punishment follows crime by way of courts and seasons. Here, the sentence is instant. Drink with greed, and the ice strikes the mind directly. No trial. No appeal. Perfectly fair.
And here is what moves me. EVERYONE has felt it. The cashier. The healer. Children. Elders. An entire nation united by the same small lightning, all taught the same cure, all passing it on to strangers at gas stations, free of charge.
You cannot fully distrust a country once you know it shares one pain.
The freeze does not punish thirst. It punishes haste.
I finished the slush slowly, like a scholar. Blue tongue. Clear mind.
Then at the door I forgot everything, drank deeply, and was struck down again.
"Tongue, hon," said the cashier, without looking up.
Discipline is a journey.
Ahead of tomorrow’s rally in Thika I sat down with your favorite podcast @micchequepod . Its been two whole years since I was last here na vitu mingi zimefanyika in that time so I was abit all over the place but hope you enjoy it when it comes out 😁. Tupatane Thika kesho!