ALL FOR YOU

A month ago, shit was almost hitting the fan. I lay on my bed in that hovel of a room, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to piece my next move in this chess of life. But no move was forthcoming, I lay there for hours, rolling and twisting but still, I drew blanks. I had locked myself in, people came and knocked, “Osoch, are you in?” I ignored. Others just wouldn’t want to go away but they finally gave up.

The ceiling returned my stare defiantly. I saw the walls closing in. I was suffocating, stewing in a frying pan of my own making. If I had chosen a much ‘secure’ career path, maybe this couldn’t be happening. I thought of my mother, telling me how I couldn’t amount to much in writing. Maybe I should try medicine or nursing, serious careers. I thought of my father, telling me to keep on writing no matter what. All this leading to sharp divisions back home. One camp, supporting my writing, the other camp, totally against my writing.

Till then, nothing much had come out of my writing. The future looked bleak; the race was tough. Fuck this! I wanted to say, maybe I should quit! I was locked in a hedonistic mist, fumbling through a concrete blackness.

Quitting writing is not an option for me, I have come to learn. I am so limited in other talents; I suck in other fields. I can’t progress in business; I don’t have that sweet tongue to convince people to buy anything. I certainly can’t be a makang’a, like those Kisii boys who flock Rongai matatus. My undoing will be that I can’t whistle and swing for shit. As such, the media seems to be my only port of call.  All other fields will kill my soul.

This blog is turning a year old today. Happy birthday to Kinasisi, and happy birthday to you reading too. I reminisce how far we have come; this is the freaking 52^nd post. Meaning that for the past year, we have turned up every week, posting a story, you read. I couldn’t be more grateful. The comments flowing in, the flood of emails, all the sharing, sometimes I think that I don’t deserve it. You folks could be investing energy in other things. Getting on with your lives, but every Wednesday, this is your home for some electric minutes.

Starting this blog, I had no idea what I was doing. Mostly I was driven by teenage angst, but mostly I wanted to be a playground. A place where I could come, juggle words around as I prepare to write a kick-ass novel or a screenplay. None of that has happened, but this blog has burgeoned in tremendous ways. Spread its wings to leagues I never thought it would scale. Made me meet people I never thought I would even shake their hands. It insane, see a few weeks ago I was seated in some reception huko Kilimani. Suddenly, on my left, was a presence. Turning around, around, it was Nick Mutuma. It was mind-blowing in a way, one of the highs of this blog. Could that have happened if I never wrote?

It has not been rosy all through. Brands have reached out for collaboration but when I hear the terms being offered, I just coil back to my cave. There is this international company which emailed me on helping promote their product. As payment, they were offering four boxes of their product. I was gobsmacked. Four boxes?? What did they want me to do with those? Kwani they thought that I run some wholesale shop downtown in Riveroad. 

They made me feel like a Kuyo from Kiambu. A mysterious guy who runs a dark stall and to get there, directions are rough, Kuyo like.

“Mwangi, mzigo ilifika?”

“Eeh, mzigo iko.”

“Umefika wapi?”

“Niko hapa Uhuru highway.”

“Nuguhii! Toka Uhuru highway, unafanya nini huko?”

“Nilikuambia ungie moi avenue alafu ukate hapo Tom Mboya!”

“Jinga, ukiwa hapo Odeon kuja straight! Ama hii mzigo itaenda.”

Sorry for those who don’t understand Swahili but you get the hang? Seriously, what did they expect me to do with four boxes of their product?? I am a campus guy. Some crisp thousands could have solved the issue. But since they were playing hardball, screw it. I have been many things but never a corporate whore. My grandfather, the great Maruberi will turn in the grave if that happens. So, I slog away, brand or no brand, stories must be told.

With bloggers, we write for a virtual audience. Folks we don’t know, we might never meet, joined by the bond of stories. I checked my google analytics last week, I was blown away, right out of this galaxy. Each month, it clocks over 11k visitors. Those are souls which can fill up a football stadium. 11k hearts, ghost readers from all over the world. I felt humbled, big time. Of the multitude taking their time to show up in this space. I mean you could be working, you could be meeting people, going out on dates, making children but here you are. Reading stuff from a person you don’t even know.

I celebrate all of you readers, even those who don’t comment on the blog. Analytics tells me of the countries folks are reading from. While Kenya forms the majority, the Kinasisi narrative is in lots of places. An opposition supporter in Uganda, a cab driver in Burundi. I think of a nuclear plant worker in Ukraine, a vodka maker in the Russian enclave of Moscow, all reading. An African student studying abroad, immigrants in the USA and Canada. Campus folk from over Kenya, Pwani, Moi, TUM, TUK, UON, KU, JKUAT, Kabarak and many more. I always get your texts, the shares, and all the love. I have never received a comment from Laikipia though or SEKU, if you’re in one of those and reading, please send me a line.

Sometimes I think of quitting writing but then I read your comments and know there’s is no turning back. One recent night, I couldn’t sleep. Friends on WhatsApp were mocking Man U, I couldn’t stand it. I freeze WhatsApp and rolled into my Gmail. Leafing through messages, I come across one from a fan. It left me reeling with Goosebumps, the guy puts thinks of this blog among the top in the country. Coming in after the who and who, not bad I thought. Even though it’s one of those compliments which gets into your head, makes you feel as if you’re Chinua Achebe. You could go into the world and start lecturing on writing and such. It is a tall order, but it feels good, thank you brother. Another chick said she wants to marry me, I was scared shitless.

Where do I get my ideas? someone asked. Well, sometimes I interview people and I write their true experiences. Most of the time it is stuff which happens in my life which I write about. And when the moon of creativity isn’t shining my way, I shoot smoke. Coming up with folktales which can only be classified as hekaya za Abunwasi. I get my ideas in crazy places. Half the time, I am engrossed in another act, then a spark of creativity lights up. When I respond to a call of nature, bam! An idea. I am in the shower, water rolling down my shoulders, bam! Another idea. I am cooking, yes, I cook, bam! An idea. They are always flying around. And all I pray is that God keeps them orbiting in my galaxy. He knows that I need them, or I will starve.

With this writing thing, I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But then I keep going because this is what keeps my soul alive. It is the only fire burning in my heart. And if it was extinguished, I would certainly die with it.

As a way of celebrating this blog’s birthday, drop a comment below, from wherever you are reading. Something you like or hate, things you would like to see change. Maybe you don’t like how I run the house. Just pour it out, all of it. And thus, we may build a better house for those joining us. And make better coffee.

Until next week, Adios.

Photo credits KOECH KE