You know one of those expensive mistakes, the ones that flip your life upside down? the ones that get you to Kawangware, straight outta Lavington ? the ones that make you enjoy divorce? the blunders that chorus the voices in your head like a motivated Catholic choir? I’m not talking of the mistakes that made you fail titration in high school or when you lied to your mother that Jane wa mama Jane was just a friend. No, I am talking of life-changing lapses; the ones that made you what you are but not what you wanted to be. That party gal who made you ditch Jane, only for Jane to become a better party gal, but you already left her and you don’t look back, you say. The poor decisions you made in Campus when you decided to try Mary Jane and in the process erased real Jane’s memories. Yeah, the sweet memories; the ones when Luda Chris had hoes in different area codes and you and Jane knew all T.I songs by the heart. The ones when Kibaki’s upara was funnier than his speech, before he coined the mavi ya kuku slug. Well, I have been told it’s not healthy to reminiscence on past mistakes but when you still see the mistake, it’s hard to ignore it, really hard! especially if you live in the mistake. You call the mistake your motherland, your are loyal to its soil, your forefathers shed blood for it and you would still shed more if only to protect its sovereignty. You could be given a million options, and still chose your county time and time again. Well, not me. If only Trump gave me a call. I would tremendously like never before be the very best happiest decent most beautiful human being. I would be very good! Of course, this was not the feeling until my President signed that BAD bill into law. Thanks to Mr. President I can finally relate with my employed friends when they drop that often-abused phrase, ‘ NI KUBAYA ‘because times are hard , and it’s harder being a Kenyan, even an employed Kenyan. I won’t even talk about the jobless millions, Rotich is about to tax their hopes!
