njagi kithinji

Life! Ha!

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

Language is the apparel in which your thoughts parade in public. Never clothe them in vulgar and shoddy attire. -George W. Crane

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@tekinsaeko Fish and water? Just right...

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

Lucky you! My supervisor(s) and I forgot we exist - now a decade plus

[~Make Times Precedented Again✨🌸📜•••• @Ciku_Yegon]

My supervisor called me yesterday to tell me about a new strategy she is adopting to prevent me from being a deadbeat student again 😂😂😂😂

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

Fatherhood or any other role isn't a dy but a lifetime service. 

Wish me not. Am content.

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

Happy mother's day is universally accepted ritual. Understandable, women live for performance. 

Now, unfortunately, we are mainstreaming father's day as an additional ritual to be seen and performed. 

This is the age when everything and anything done not only be done but seen

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

All roles and duties are to be seen , to fit a certain preset criterion, mainly social media standard. 

Post. Subscribe. Like 

Am not boarding. Father's , children's, parent's women's day? My foot! We also have tree's day and you won't catch me.

[Imtiaz Mahmood @ImtiazMadmood]

Randy, the painter, often thinned his paint to make it go further.

The Baptist Church decided to restore its biggest building. Randy put in a low bid and got the job.

He bought the paint, and, yes, thinned it with turpentine. Well, Randy was painting away, the job nearly completed, when suddenly there was a clap of thunder. The sky opened, and the rain poured down. It washed the thinned paint off the church.

Randy fell from the scaffold, landing among the gravestones. He was no fool. He knew this was a judgment from the Almighty.

Randy raised his voice to the heavens, crying, "Oh, God, forgive me; what should I do?"

And from above, a mighty voice roared: “Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more!"

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

Sometimes fate delivers a better choice than anything we can come up with ourselves

[Chioma Amadi @Chioma__Amadi]

There are unsaturated and less popular sites that hire remote workers daily with little competition. Pay range is between $130-$250/day, and you won't be expected to join any calls.

Here's a quick list for anyone interested:

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@ivymuthe Replaced all mine with plastic

[myTradeSignals @mytradesignals]

@georgediano You can do a comparison on @CashBackApp_Ke

https://t.co/Ps45eV6xm4

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@Kvaati Mwingine alimwambia areduce food to zero!

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@IanECox @KaranjaMatindi I know this is intellectually light but the same boiling water that hardens an egg softens ngwaci..

[Lexa W. Lubanga @Lexa_Lubanga]

The team at the Malindi Museum Society has organised a book drive to get all of Meja Mwangi’s publications, including translations, under one roof.
I am truly grateful, over the moon, and everything happy about this initiative as it is the best gift for any community!!❤️📚

[Julian @julianblacks_]

This is going to be long.

Last semester I suspected I had a major issue with use of AI in my survey courses, so I inserted what is known as a trojan horse (not the virus kind) into the directions of a paper assignment. As it turned out, I did in fact have a major problem, and a post on Threads about it accidentally went quasi-viral and ultimately became a Huffington Post article and an NPR interview. (Links at the end)

[Julian @julianblacks_]

Only a handful of people chose the art project, but something happened that I did not anticipate – nearly every person who produced a piece of art chose to depict historical moments in either the women’s rights movement or the gay rights movement. Consider that I am at a small regional university in the Texas Tech system and this might not need further explanation.

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@Lexa_Lubanga Meja Mwangi forever...

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@Lexa_Lubanga

[DismasWaTabu @DismasWaTabu]

Meja Mwangi wrote "Down River Road" in 1976.

He was writing about Nairobi then. He is somehow still writing about Nairobi now.

The novel follows Ben and Ocholla: two construction workers living in the margins of a city that is growing rapidly and beautiful on the outside while consuming the poor on the inside. The city needs their labour to build its skyline but has no intention of letting them enjoy it. They build the buildings they will never live in. They construct the roads they cannot afford to use. They are essential to the city's growth and invisible to its prosperity.

Sound familiar.

Nairobi in 2026 is still that city. The skyline is more impressive. The buildings are taller. The infrastructure announcements are louder. But the Ben and Ocholla of today are still in Mathare, in Mukuru, in Kibera building a city that keeps moving the finish line further away from them.

Mwangi understood something that Kenya's political class has spent sixty years pretending not to understand. That a city, and a country, that grows without including the people who built it is not developing. It is just decorating.

The construction worker still cannot afford rent near the building he constructed. The matatu driver who moves the city cannot afford the fuel to move it. The farmer who feeds Nairobi cannot afford to eat in it.

Down River Road was not just a novel.

It was a prophecy.

And we are still living in its pages.
#RejectHighFuelPrices

Dismas wa Tabu. Dreaming in installments. Billed in full.

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

Ouroboros reminds us that in every moment, in every instant, in every event, is hidden the past, the present and the future. Eternity is hidden in every moment.

[njagi kithinji @NjagiK]

@AIRTEL_KE But your network is baad!

[Farida Bemba Nabourema @Farida_N]

@EmmanuelMacron ,
You stood in Nairobi in 2026, in a summit you convened hastily to salvage what remained of France’s African credibility after the continent’s most dignified populations had organised themselves with remarkable clarity and expelled your soldiers, your bases, and your flags from their soil, and you declared, before a room full of African heads of state who had the historical misfortune of sitting there in silence, that “ you are the true Pan-Africanist”. I have been trying, with genuine intellectual effort, to locate the precise category of moral and cognitive failure that produces a statement of that magnitude, delivered with that degree of composure, and I have concluded that it does not fit neatly into any existing taxonomy. It is its own species and it requires a name that has not yet been invented, something that sits at the precise intersection of historical illiteracy, institutional shamelessness, and the specific brand of civilisational arrogance that your republic has refined across five centuries into something almost indistinguishable from a natural disposition. Allow me to offer you what your education, expensive and celebrated as it undoubtedly was, clearly failed to provide: a history lesson.

Pan-Africanism was not born in Paris. It was not theorised in the corridors of Sciences Po or the salons of the Fifth Republic. It was born in the holds of slave ships, in the plantation fields of Saint-Domingue in the exile of men and women whom your republic and its predecessors hunted, poisoned, shot, disappeared and buried in unmarked graves precisely because they had the temerity to believe that African and African-descended people deserved to govern themselves. Pan-Africanism is, at its most fundamental, the political philosophy that said no to everything France spent three centuries saying yes to: slavery, colonialism and noecolonialism.

Read in full here https://t.co/LVsPsG9YmE