@MoRidez Kuna mtu alisema ati alipata celeb kwa electronic shop, so celeb anangoja asalimiwe but jamaa alibuy vitu zake na akaenda bila ata kumwangalia😂 hio inakuanga kwa my bucket list
The guy who delivers our groceries has started leaving little notes on the bags, except they're all very ominous and poetic? Like the first one said "The apples were soft. I chose differently for you. Trust is circular." And I was like okay, weird, but he did get better apples than I would've picked so maybe he's just really into fruit.
But then it kept happening. "Three avocados. Past, present, future. One will betray you." Or "The milk expires Friday but don't we all." One time he left a note that just said "They didn't have your brand of salsa. I have made a choice you will understand only in time."
My husband thinks it's hilarious and has started leaving notes back. Like "Thank you for the bananas. Your wisdom travels with us." They've never met, just this ongoing weird note exchange on our doorstep.
Last week the delivery guy left a bag with a note that said "I have been transferred to a new zone. Another will come. Speak not of me." And I was like oh no this is kind of sad actually? I didn't realize I cared but I did?
The new delivery person showed up yesterday. Very normal, very efficient, no notes. Just groceries. It felt empty.
But then I unpacked everything and at the bottom of the last bag there was a single note that said "Greg briefed me on your journey. The eggs are fragile. As are we all."
My husband wants to invite them to Thanksgiving.
we, as a society, have fallen out of love with the process. everyone wants the reward, but nobody wants to bleed for it. you have to become addicted to the daily, unglamorous work of stacking bricks. you cannot bypass the ungodly toll it takes to become undeniable. fall in love with the relentless pursuit.
Ann Mathu posted this photograph and I have struggled to get it out of my head.
Four out of the five graves in her family are alcohol-related deaths.
Look at that photograph again.
Four out of five graves in one family.
All alcohol.
This photo should have shaken this country awake.
Sadly, It didn’t.
Let me tell you why.
If Ebola killed these four members of one family, the world would descend on that village. Doctors. Cameras. Emergency funding.
If it were famine, politicians, churches and every camera-loving preacher would be there holding somebody’s child for a photograph.
But alcohol?
Silence.
But it’s alcohol.
Not drinking too much, NO NO NO it’s ALCOHOL POISONING.
Kenyans dropping dead from toxic drink sold openly on our own shelves.
Literally toxic alcohol is killing people who sometimes don’t even know what chemicals are inside the bottle they are drinking.
You could be drinking a VSOP whiskey 🥃 but a few hours later you’ll be in ICU trying to save your liver or kidneys
And because it wears that word, the world looks away and calls it a lifestyle choice.
At home it’s worse. President Ruto doesn’t drink, so it doesn’t touch him.
Gachagua doesn’t drink, so he won’t raise his voice.
And the government collects its “sin tax” on every bottle, so why would the people profiting from the poison ever move to stop it?
So the graves keep filling.
Family by family.
Village by village.
In total silence.
Who will save Kenya?
Or do we wait until the last Kenyan is buried before the world finally admits that alcohol poisoning wiped out a generation while everyone looked the other way?
The world stepped in for Rwanda’s crisis.
Kenya is dying the same death.
Where are you?