Carlos

Architect🇰🇪/CPM🇨🇦/Humor/Constructive Ideologies/Reader

[Carlos @Carlos_Kimeli]

Who's an educated person? An educated person is someone who has developed the faculties of their minds and can ethically acquire all their desires without violating the rights of others.

[Neil Renic @NC_Renic]

They're calling it the most relatable diary entry of all time

[Carlos @Carlos_Kimeli]

@MudgeRulf What's wrong with having debt?

[Encyclopaedia Britannica @Britannica]

Today officially marks the beginning of the late 2020s.

[Okong' Okuna @XivTroy]

In the romanticisation of village life, what’s often overlooked is the arduous labour it commands.

Wake up at 6 a.m. Go milk the cows. Sweep the chicken coop. Wash the drinkers & refill them, mix the medicine. Go to the sheep pen. Sweep. Go tie the sheep. Head to the cow pen: repeat. Fill every bucket with water, pulled from a manual well.

Take breakfast quickly.

Go to the granary. Carry maize out to dry. Head to the farm. Carry 20kg maize sacks on your back, the remainder of the harvest. Back & forth. Back & forth.

Afternoon. Go home. Eat quickly. Take the animals to pasture. I used to fight my brother over this. Only time you'd get to sit down, read a novel. A little nap, and sheep has strayed into the next farm.

Bring the animals back in the evening. Mum forgot to buy salt. Rush to the market. Come back. Milk the cow. Cooking water has run out. Pull more from the well.

It’s 7 p.m.

Go bathe. Eat. Sleep at 8:30.

Midnight, the dogs are barking. Cow thieves again. Join the neighbours outside to chase the thieves, who made away with 3 cows. which you looked for until 3 am, came back home at 4 am.

Put your head on the pillow, it’s 6 already. Cows are mooing. Milk is itching their udders.

I suffered in the village, mam. But there were good times too. And rivers. And lots of sugarcane. And a girl that I really liked. Would I recommend it?

No. Stay right where you are.

You'd never get depressed in the village, though. Too much to do to even entertain the thought. Your only anxiety was whether you'd ever make it out of there, and how much better a parent you would be once you did.

Go to the village in your 40s if you have to. Village life is only good when you're the one doing the ordering around. Telling your kids they are too soft, because at their age you were tilling three acres of land with a hoe everyday under the scorching sun, while raising a whole family.

[Kipkurui Wilbur 🇰🇪 🇬🇧 @wilber1990f]

You’d be surprised to learn that, for many couples abroad, having a second or third child is often the woman’s idea. Men rarely say it out loud, but spending 12 hours in winter enclosed in a one-bedroom flat with a toddler while mama is on shift can make you question everything. 😂

Going round 12 times a small house with a bottle of milk can be brutal

[AirHard 🗽🇦🇷 @hauwech3]

All Time Classic

[Okong' Okuna @XivTroy]

There's a former schoolmate I happen upon once every year in the city, and each time, by the way he dresses, it seems to me that his mental health is deteriorating, and by the way he regards my lengthening hair, I suspect him to harbor similar suspicions about me. It's quite the condundrum, but one of us is, for sure, going mad. We just need figure out who. Fingers crossed, we'll have an answer soon.

[Tim Kipchumba @TimKipchumba]

The Constitution’s values are not in competition with development—they depend on it. We have had the Constitution for over 15 years, yet millions still struggle with poverty, unemployment and low productivity. You were SG for ODM and Senator this all period.

Good senator, please don’t lie. And don’t behave like just a lawyer and a politician. There is a place for just talk. But there is a place for building.

Democracy means little to a young person who cannot find work. Freedom is incomplete when a farmer cannot earn a decent living. Equality is hollow if children grow up without quality education, healthcare or opportunity. Social justice requires more than noble words; it requires tangible outcomes.

That is precisely the point the President was making. The challenge before us is not whether our values matter—they absolutely do. The challenge is how we translate those values into better lives.

The speech doesn’t dismiss constitutional ideals. It argues that Kenya has repeatedly missed global waves of industrialisation while countries that started behind us—South Korea, China, Vietnam and Bangladesh—used economic transformation to lift millions out of poverty. The question posed is simple: what must Kenya do differently this time?

Rights and development are not substitutes. Article 43 itself guarantees economic and social rights—healthcare, education, housing, food, water and social security. Those rights require a productive economy that creates jobs, grows incomes and expands the tax base.

Dignity is not achieved by merely reciting constitutional values. Dignity is when a graduate gets a job, a farmer earns a fair income, a business can access affordable power and credit, and every child has access to quality education and healthcare. Our constitutional values tell us why we must pursue these outcomes. Development is how we make them real.

[Carlos @Carlos_Kimeli]

@Kimuzi_ "A jack of all trades is a master of none, but always better than one."

[Author Sakwah Ongoma @CSakwah]

“I know my wife is cheating on me with her pastor. I can hear it in her voice whenever she says his name. “Pastor Mayabi asked me to greet you.” Every Sunday evening when she comes from the church, she says it like she is delivering the greetings from God himself. She says it as if Pastor Mayabi’s Sunday evening greeting will somehow improve our sex life.
Every Sunday evening, she comes home too tired for sex. We sleep facing the same direction as Jesus and the two thieves on the cross. She sleeps in her church clothes on Sundays, so I don’t touch her. She says its for the preservation of her Sabbath purity. When I press harder, she says that we can’t have sex on Sundays because even God rested on Sunday. But I know why she stopped having sex with me on Saturday and Sunday. She always complains of headaches, back pains, neck pains, and knee pains. I don’t know what shape this man bends my wife into for her to come back home with pain in all joints.
My wife shaves her vagina every Saturday evening. She shaves it clean and bald, too smooth that it reminds me of the pastor’s bald head. I once asked her why. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” she said. God’s spirit does not enter dirty bodies and souls, she says.
She hates it when I attend her church. I know this based on the number of times she has tried to convince me how unreligious it is to hop from one church to another. I was born a Catholic. She was born an Anglican, but now attends a church that was started ten years ago by a bishop known more for his scandals, and pastors known more for delivering semens than sermons.
On the day I attend church with her, she introduces me to him with a grim smile. “This is my husband. He came to worship with us today.”
The pastor grabs my hand and squeezes it harder than a normal handshake. He smiles too long for a man who is shagging my wife. I hate that mischievous smile. “What a pleasure. I know your lovely wife. You are lucky to have her as your wife.” He says. His voice sounds bitter, like a man who wishes my wife were all his and that he didn’t have to share her with me. He sounds more jealous than I, the husband.
He pulls me to his wife for an introduction. “You must meet my wife.” I know a man trying to absolve himself from a crime he committed. He wants me to know he is married, so I don’t suspect him of sleeping with my wife. During the sermon, he preaches about husbands providing for their wives and house hold. He called my wife to read the verse from her phone. I watch him walk to where she is sitting to hand her the microphone. I can see their subtle smile. “ 1 Timothy 5;8 - Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”
The pastor picks the microphone, stares into my eyes and says, “You have heard it, a man who does not provide for his wife, and household will be treated worser than sinners. Some of you men fail to lead your wives spiritually and financially, that is why some of them leave you for men who can provide.” There are days when I want to confront him. Then I remember the things he does for my wife. The things I can’t afford to give my wife. Not the sex, I can afford that one.
My wife used to wonder loudly why I didn’t finance her salon visits like other women’s husbands. One day, she stopped complaining and started coming back home with wigs bought in some boutique shops in Kilimani. She reserved Saturday for her hair day. Each morning, she Ubered to a Westland boutique to make her hair, so she could look presentable before her Lord on Sunday. The day I asked how a jobless wife is able to afford all that, she said she works as a secretary in her church. Then unnecessarily, she said, “At least I am working, unlike you.” I have not tried looking for a job. I have. I have sent my CVs countless times. I have bribed job providers, I have upskilled my education, I have even been prayed by this very same pastor. Nothing works. I wonder why she complains that my method of job seeking does not work, and forget that her pastor's promise of a miraculous job offer has not materialized seven months later.
And when she comes back home in the Sunday evening, six hours after everyone had left church, she always carries home chicken wings, thighs, and breasts that taste suspiciously like KFC’s.
She claims it’s leftover food from the church that she carried home for our son and me. But I know what church food looks like.
Church food is githeri, cold, and flavourless. Or leftover cabbage that smells like it’s been reheated too many times. Sometimes, it’s ugali and sukuma, or a rare nyama treat reserved for the pastor. Last Sunday, she brought home chapati and chicken stew. She said the bishop visited her church. She lies. I know how church chapati tastes. It tastes like unleavened bread. I know what church chapati looks like. It looks like the Last Supper’s bread. They break with a cracking sound. They are shapeless because they are prepared by people possessed by the Holy Spirit. People who believe that all shapes are created in the likeness of the Lord.
That was no church chapati. I know a 5-star hotel chapati when I see one. This is food bought by a man who takes his time with her every Sunday evening. After overworking her on hotel beds, he buys her food to bring to our son and me. So my wife does not break her back preparing us meals on Sunday evenings. I love him for that. A thoughtful man. He doesn’t release her empty-handed. My son now eats chicken on Sundays. Even if it comes through the pastor’s bedroom, I don’t mind.
The other day, the pastor and the people of her church, some of whom are her friends, some of neighbors, some of whom are my friends, visited my home. She served him food first, while I was served food by her friends who were serving everyone else. And thereafter, my friends could not stop mocking me, some even branded me as deputy pastor or deputy husband. When I complained to her, she called me insecure and jealous. She said in any setting, a man of God must be given priority, not the husband. She said I don’t know the word of God, which makes the pastor the man of any house that he enters. She said the devil is using me to fight a man of God, and that I should repent my sins. She stopped tourching me, or even kissing me, until I apologised. When my apology took too long to come, she started eating outsider the house. With our son. I don’t where they ate from, but they came back full and happy. And now my own son, who grow up wanting to a pilot, now says that he wants to grow up and be a pastor. He wonders, in my presence, why I don’t have a car like the pastor. Why I don’t buy them food like the pastor. The other day, while they were preparing to leave, he said, ‘dad, why don’t you come with us so we can eat in the hotel with the pastor.” My own son told me this, and I listened to her, and said nothing. When they came back, I apologised to her, for questioning why she gave the pastor more authority than she gave me, in my own house. I never used to treat her like this when I had a job, and money, and she was still a housewife.
I don’t hate her for cheating. She’s made it obvious and prepared me, little by little. I know what’s happening. I don’t even mind the KFC. At least she feeds me on food that my son and I can’t afford. And when the holy spirit possesses the pastor, he sends her home with a bag of shopping. Which is now happening more frequently. My salary cannot compete with the pastor’s miracles.
A long time ago, I wanted to go to church and confront him for sleeping with my wife. Lately, I even feel the strong urge to visit him and show him gratitude. Because the truth is, if Pastor Mayabi leaves my wife alone, we will go back to eating cabbage and githeri every Sunday evening. And I am not ready to return to that kind of poverty

[Carlos @Carlos_Kimeli]

@TimKipchumba @Zena_Cheruiyot @ArapTilingi sasa ukienda hii area lazima uzunguke nayo

[Carlos @Carlos_Kimeli]

@Makiadi_ si hivi ndio the Lord mutai alainza ama namna gani 😂

[Alcuin Press @AlcuinPress]

Leonardo da Vinci's greatest paragraph

[PropesaTv @PropesaTv]

Kenyans welcoming Ebola patients

[Eric @amerix]

Keep your babies safe.

As we approach elections, wicked politicians are rushing to offer human sacrifices to their gods in return for a hypnotised society and electoral victory.

[Rasna Warah @RasnaWarah]

Is this the plan?
1. Kill agriculture
2. Kill the informal economy
3. Kill SMEs
4. Defund education and health
5. Kill the people
6. Share land and loot with foreign corporates.

[Carlos @Carlos_Kimeli]

@Limo_kipkemoi hiyo ni mawe ya ravine?

[Njeri 🇰🇪 @rtunguru]

Here’s a link to Harvard’s free, self-paced, internationally recognized Python course

https://t.co/OqLilbLlD1

[Thirsty Kipsoiwet 🇰🇪 🇳🇱 @Makiadi_]

Sisi watu wa downtown don’t have the luxury of showering together with our lovers kwa bathroom. Ni vitu huwa tunaona kwa movies and we’ve made peace; tutaenda mbinguni without experiencing it.

Shower head zetu ni zile low quality; ukiingia kuoga ni kama kuweka bet pale SportPesa—either ufaidike ama ikumalize kabisa.

When one partner is showering, mwingine anazunguka hapo karibu na switch just in case wire zishikane and you are converted into live earth wire.

Universal signal ni nduru; ukipiga, Bibi anarukia switch, then anafungua mlango kukutandika na mwiko just in case Kenya Power imekataa kukuachilia.

[Rasna Warah @RasnaWarah]

I said it before, am saying it again, one day someone will look at Kenya and say, here lie the ruins of a country destroyed by greed.