Have you ever heard of the ancient saying, “even an old train stops someday “? It’s meant to sound like a lot of work making jack a dull boy. But my train didn’t even stop. It stalled; the driver took a vacay unannounced. In one of the stations, he parked it on the rails .silt collected at the tyes where we parked. There was even some undergrowth. It became home to some animals. Unfortunately, they’re going to be homeless because we have to come back. We sought a mechanic, and we are back to the rails; my mechanic is among the best in town. His name is Kima. How excellently he does his job. If you have your car, I will refer you to Him. He only trusts one type of engine oil and hasn’t used another for the past 25 years. Kima celebrated his birthday early in the year. His cake was shaped like that specific engine oil container with spanners at the side. The cake was such a look at… let us say, unlike so many people in Kenya, Kima loves what he does. That was how he got us back to writing.
I have many pending stories to tell, like my head is full every day is fully booked. Now, like the streams on snowing mountains, I must flow. forgive me if I dash out uncontrollably .writing to me is therapy; it is my drug, I get high when writing I get low when I’m writing I get real and tangible, I get rough and smooth, I show you my edges, I tell you of my love stories, true and imagined ones my tragic breakdowns, I tell you of my guilty pleasures, I might lie to you as I talk but, As I write I come alive, at the moment a part of me is not very alive, im in my writing socks, sipping coffee brewed whisky, with a loaded head, too much for one person, so I tense, I get anxious, I want to run and fly away like a dove be free to be away, its a first response to having so much, i’ll tell you things I’m battling, thank God its no disease, we are in perfect heath, only a loaded head But because I can write so, I shall write.. and in perfect health, I begin…