If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.

dalai lama

I did not take a break from writing.

Simple things in my life have been quite hard to get by. I have been endlessly procrastinating for a while now. I have idled and wished things away. But even when I tried to marshal enough energy to start writing or doing some other stuff, I found everything more complicated than it usually is. Working, learning, walking, and even sleeping demanded more effort.

I just couldn’t write, no matter how much I tried, because writing is usually very hard. Someone thinks they can write until they start writing. On many occasions, I planned to churn out content, but I never got the least mojo to get started typing.

Even the largest avalanche is triggered by small things.

Vernor Vinge

This story might be offensive.

Depending on the type of dog that you are. A village dog will find this easy to relate with. While a typical town dog may find it disgusting and offensive. And so will a village dog that completely abandoned its former life. Even though I may bruise your ego or contravene your animal protection beliefs, there’s nothing personal about this story. As a matter of fact, you may help me know my unique doggy pedigree.

To be honest, I do not know what type of dog I am. All I know is that I have always loved dogs since childhood. I was a passionate village dog keeper who had mastered everything about dogs back then. I knew dog sounds for all seasons and occasions. Listening to them growl in the thick of the night, I could tell if there was an intruder in the homestead or if the moon was full. I knew when dogs were introducing each other or about to pick up a brutal fight in the day. I could tell if they were teasing or just about to have some from their howls. And when they did, boy, didn’t I love to watch them perform the dramatic act!

There are two ways to be rich: one is by acquiring much, and the other is by desiring little

Jackie French Koller

Being alive is unpredictable.

Every day provides its fair share of challenges and opportunities that can turn a life around in seconds. This cannot be truer than what we experienced in this pandemic. But what matters is not what happens, but how prepared one is to respond to lack of luck. The response primarily comes from preparation. Even those who seem good at it were not born with it. They have knowingly or unknowingly learnt to cope better. Those prepared for hard times have found it easier to survive and spring back. And a recent, random visit to Kitui reminded me to remain prepared.

Kitui, the land that humbly separates progression from isolation in Kenya, has triggered me to retrace my evolution. My first time in Kitui was during my early college life. Back then, I was an active, roaming volunteer. I got to widely travel and discover how beautiful Kenya is and how wonderful its people are. I spent most of my college holidays backpacking and hitchhiking to help develop remote villages across the country. And Kitui was one of the places I loved.

The greatest tragedy for any human being is going through their entire lives believing the only perspective that matters is their own.”

Doug Baldwin

I have come a long way to learn and practice forgiveness.

Even then, it has been hard to forgive Dar es Salaam. It has been hard to absolve this beautiful coastal city, full of life with its wonderful people and splendid sandy beaches. A town with a warm heart that majestically opens up the doorway to world-class, spicy islands that imprint unforgettable love and experience to whoever lands on them.

Surprisingly, I picked up a tiff with Dar some twenty years ago, in the days of my unlimited curiosity and Vasco da Gama type of desire to explore the world. Because of the violations it meted against my youthful destitution and identity of origin. My grudge with this town has remained undiluted after I vouched to never step on its soil again.

Success is fine, but success is fleeting. Significance is lasting.

beth brooke

There lived the most muscular man in my village.

He was the king of the most prestigious village arena, the ford. A place where we experienced the joy of our childhood by playing all known kiddish games. Where we learnt to test the power of the human body. Wildly cheered wrestling and boxing bouts were the sure way to settle scores. We tested the sharpness of eyesight by searching silvery coins under the muddy water. We paddled broken plastic basins and boated empty jerricans. We raced, caught, and drowned each other. It was the place where prestige from money, cows and bodies were displayed. New underwear, manhood size, physical prowess, and fighter bull contests. This pool was the place for village show-off. And such an impressionistic venue naturally begets a self-crowned prince.

He was the bravest and most revered person I had ever seen. Whenever he approached the ford, everything changed. The ear-piercing screams slowly simmered, and eventually, the place went dead quiet. The boys he did not like hurriedly jumped out of the waters, grabbed their clothes, and sped away naked. Their tiny things whipping up and down, like an enraged cowherd’s cane. The ones he liked remained behind but stayed clear of the rocky pool. His unwritten rule was known to all boys from both sides of the river. That he never shared the pool without granting permission, and only after a moment of solo splashing. And respect demanded sitting on the stony bank to watch him leisurely strip naked.

Life’s all about choices. Everyone’s destination is the same; only the paths are different.

SUSHMITA SEN

I have spent my adult life in a constant, predictable way.

Since leaving college, I got myself into the rut of career, wealth, and family building. Getting a job in town was a milestone in realizing the common dream of every young urban African man. Graduate from college, get a white-collar job, marry a beautiful girl and sire two English-speaking kids. Then buy a home in town, build a bigger one in the village, build a barn and some rental houses, and breed a Zebu herd. Retire from the profession, nurse a debilitating lifestyle disease, and die sooner to give your wife and kids a well-deserved break. To date, I am still struggling to break free from this exhaustive societal trajectory.

This predictable self-actualization routine demands sacrifice. Abandoning what you genuinely value and brings joy to you and your loved ones. Switching to spending time on economic and egoic gains at the expense of physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Devoting endless time in office, travel, and social places.  At times, being in places you do not like and with people who do not like you. Leaving little to no time for rest and recovery or for loving and caring for you and others. This life trains you to put money and possessions as the most essential of things in life. While your humanness and well-being are dumped, sometimes never to be reclaimed.

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not but rejoices for those which he has.

epictetus

Today I am celebrating my 50^th birthday.

This is a big one worth throwing an all-white party. Sadly, I am not good at organizing parties. I am the guy you will always invite but will hardly make a return. For this reason, I will not summon my lifetime friends and partners in crime to help me rejoice in crossing this line. Besides, there’s the downside of turning fifty. It is a definite halfway to the grave! Nothing more, and it sucks. But that is how life is. There is always an opposing end of the stick.

So today I have a choice, to celebrate my making it to half-life and feeling like I have won a prestigious prize.  Or worrying about what I have done with this portion of time and contemplate the reality of my imminent mortality. The certainty of death in another 50 years at most. Well, none of these two is easy for me. I have chosen to do both in moderation. Reflecting on the reality of my impermanence, but most importantly, being grateful for every little thing and experience that I have been given over this long-life period.

The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts.

marcus aurelius

It is hard to see any good today.

Our world is a scary and depressing place full of bad news. Politicians and conspiracy theorists live to generate petty propaganda. That makes politics and associated deceit look like the most ingenious and influential occupations in the world. Haters have more energy than we can deflate. They give us sleepless nights and remotely control our daytime emotions. Imams and pastors make it worse by reminding us of inevitable afterlife fate, that this world is not meant for enjoyment. That it is a transitionary testing ground only meant for a heavenly or hellish ending. From all we see and hear, this place called earth looks like it was made for endless misery.

Our homes, our workplaces, our commutes and our leisure dens all make us somehow unhappy. We are miserable when spending time with the ones we claim to love. Grunting when doing the jobs we claim to enjoy. We stay restless while sleeping in homes we built to find comfort. We rage when driving the cars that others would die to take a ride in. Our minds don’t find peace while eating sumptuous meals we spend so much time preparing. Why so much mental torment? Why is this world such a stressful place for some of us and not for others?

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

rumi

Our default position is that of perfection.

That we are flawless, the standards of what a human should have been at the Garden of Eden. We believe that we are the embodiment of virtuous people, living in a world of imperfect mortals. What if others were as good as we are? What if they all came from wonderful families and were imparted with the enviable values we live by? Couldn’t this earth be turned into a bit of heaven? So we judge their genes and gender, tribes and races, religions and cultures, even their education levels and occupations.

When we cannot figure out anything else, we blame the serpent. That horrible creature that sweet-talked an innocent woman to eat a sacred apple. And slyly turned a magnificent world into an evil dwelling. That is why we must toil, beat drums and chant to overturn that sinful haunt. And if we are genuinely committed to overturning this wrong order, we convert others. To become enlightened and pious as we are. That way, we can lead a happy life and help them do that too. Today’s society has embedded the culture to judge and incessantly change other people out of religion and other self-righteous systems. Mainly for our own good, not theirs.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step

lao tzu

Everywhere you go, there is a code of unspoken language.

The way you dress, the style of your hair, the way you walk, the tone of your skin, even the heaviness of your tongue. There are societal measures of belonging or not amongst any group of people. Whether going out for drinks with friends or going to a place of worship. You are subjected to judgement by waiters and worshippers alike. If you do not belong, they will figure out the faux pas in your dress code.

And so was to land in the city dressed as a villager. The choices of village fashion are distinct and frowned upon by town people. They make you stand out and declare yourself an immigrant—a novice of fabric tastes and other things in life that sharpen and spice up your social standing. You not only become a victim of silent ridicule but of town vices. Especially frauds, errant cops, muggers, and pickpockets. And before long, you learn that the only way to survive is to become unmarkable by reforming the wardrobe and upgrading the walking style.