'Starting conversation' Genes

Just like Chero, starting conversations with strangers is not in any of my 23 chromosomes. In fact, I think people with the Y chromosome have their 'starting conversations' gene depleted. I cannot fathom how one starts feeling comfortable around new potentially irritating sapiens. I am not boring and God knows I would enrol for a therapy class to okay this anomaly. Perhaps that's why I have fewer friends. A simple statistical analysis of my social life will reveal that most of my friends were sourced from friends I had (or continue to have). In short I am a friendly thief who steals my friends' friends and assumes that they were mine. Far from that though,  I am a good friend who rarely loses his friends, unless of course you keep telling me 'ebu kata kidogo nakupigia' then go ahead to spend way over 120000 seconds to call back.
Last week was however different and saw yours truly hit a record five new conversations with strangers. I cannot get over the thoughts that there must be some science behind this development. How can it be that after so many seasons of not playing host to the 'starting conversations' gene, it suddenly resurfaces. Is the gene repressive and mine broke the norm to express itself in the same generation? Could be that I have broken the record and achieved two filial generations at one go?
Of the five instances that I chose to come out of my comfort zone, two stood out. Coincidentally, they both occurred in the same matatu environment. Or maybe people from Roysambu are ardent speakers and can't imagine travelling for a 5 minute journey without having to nag the seat-mate with questions such as 'kuna baridi.'
In the first instance I sat next to a fat guy. No, he sat next to me. Certainly because there was no other empty seat. Everyone else was sure to evade my presence but today was his unlucky day. The matatu moves at a speed of 100 meters per seventy thousand and seventy seven hours and in seemingly three days we have left the city centre. Just before we join Thika Highway, the guy starts a conversation that sure catches my attention:
Stranger: Hii mvua ni mob.
Me: /* gives him a stare */
Stranger: Na wanaibianga watu simu hapa
Me: /* gives him another bigger stare */
Stranger: /* Starts to sleep */
And off I embarked on setting new records in expression of my 'starting conversations' genes.
The second instance was less dramatic perhaps because it involved a lady. Again,  it was in a matatu on my way to see someone very important. Immediately I hop into a matatu, I close my eyes and walk to the next empty seat. That evening, I am quite lucky to find a seat next to the window. I remove my phone and start admiring my wallpaper. After millions, no billions, and millions of years, a lady of decent looks walks in and stares at me before occupying the seat next to mine. I start getting uncomfortable and I do not even realize when the matatu takes off. After safely paying my busfare, I spend the next century fighting off the urge to engage her in a talk. Midway through the journey, and after mustering all the courage in the world, I say hi to which she replies and then looks away. I am not convinced and a conversation ensues:
Me: hupendi kuongea na strangers?
Stranger: Apana, but nimesalimika.
Me: Hii njia hukua hivi na jam ama nibleo tu?
Stranger: Ata sijui. I rarely use this route.
/* I am now more alert and interested in this conversation */
Don't you stay around?
No, I stay at the hostels in school.
Uhm, good to know. UoN, right? (There is something about her that screams UoN)
Eeh, but Kikuyu campus.
Ooh, so Unafanya which course?
Agricultural economics. You?
Animal husbandry.
/* We laugh and laugh until we are almost approaching my destination */
Me: we hukaa hii kiti kwa mat? Ntakua nakungojea apa.
She laughs and laughs and then says yes.
Ukikuja tao tena let me know tulipe lunch.
Sawa, sure will. You are too funny.
Utaniambia aje? Uko na postal address? (As I interrupt her laughter) Ama email?
I then request for her mobile number but she insists that I give her mine. I have been taught that ladies will not call you back but I decide to try this once.
The next time I know, I have reached my destination and have to bid her farewell. I alight the matatu having given my contacts to a stranger who I hope will call back. I have waited for the last six days with the patience of a bride but the call has not been forthcoming. I however hope to meet more and more friends in this fashion. (Permanently activates my 'starting conversation' gene)

A Yes to Liberty is a No to Corruption

Author's note: this is not a story to take to the bank; nor is it a narration from my crystal ball.


Researchers both local and international will tell you that the Kenya Police and specifically the traffic department is the most corrupt institution in Kenya. In fact, whenever a report on the subject is released, the position to look out for is the silver medalist because the risible gold medal is rightly so reserved for our men in blue, or is it white? (pun intended). But we ought not be the first to condemn them. We should actually condemn ourselves for sugar-coating and sacrosanct-ing the trade. Now, before you google the meaning of 'sacrosanct', may I remind you that I've been spending lotsa time reading. And what better way to prove this than to inculcate vocables that you've probably never heard of in my pieces. I digress!
A simple chit chat with a matatu crew will confirm this reality; that we have been in support of corruption - albeit unknowingly - all along. Of great concern is the fact that we've been mendacious in combating this vice, ostensibly heralding ourselves as saints. But are we not the same ones who give the bribes to the officers when on the wrong? Are we not the ones who propose to offer the bribes. And have we not made the phrase, 'mkubwa nitoe ngapi?' an accepted tool of trade? A conductor tells me he parts with approximately four hundred shillings on a one way trip from Murang'a to Nairobi. I actually helped him count so the statistics cannot be further from the truth. Supposing the conductor makes six such trips in a day, how many trips are those in a week? And how much money does he have to part with? I'll let you do the maths.
I am told it is worse in Nairobi town. It's not once that I've seen a traffic officer call out one conductor who then goes to collect fifty shillings from each matatu queuing on a specific terminus, say the Kinoo-Kikuyu route for instance. Many attempts have been suggested to curb the vice but they have proved to be futile. Some have been implemented but the vice seems to me like it always evolves to reduce any chance of it ever being extincted. Now, that we are at this point, do we even have a viable solution or should we sit back, accept that corruption is here to stay, and move on? I say NO! No to this pernicious anathema.
We all know and accept that corruption is deeply pervaded within our social system and defended by blind apparatchiks living amongst us. But when we want to solve this two groups of people sprout out. There are those who say it is not possible to rid ourselves off this diabolical plunder against our morals. They detest any attempt to act otherwise, because they have accepted it as the order of the day. To them I say 'step aside and watch as we act.' There is a second group of people who believe that together we can defeat this monster. It is this group that am interested in. the group that will bring change to this country and continent eventually. You can only be in one of the two groups at any time.
It would be utter balderdash if I eschewed at this point without proposing a solution. This I will succinctly give by suggesting that we embrace liberty. Let everyone be free to do whatsoever he/she deems fit as long as his/her actions do not infringe on the rights of other citizens. What I mean is citizens should be give the opportunity of choosing what is right for themselves. Of what business would it concern the government if I choose to travel in an 'unroadworthy' vehicle? Whose right do I infringe on by bringing my vehicle on the road as an option for people -customers - to travel by? Why does the government feel that it should 'regulate' this industry? I'd have suggested that the matatu saccos conduct the regulation but then that would be transferring corruption from the traffic police to the sacco legislators. I believe that we should do away with PSV inspections. We had it the other day and we saw what happened. Corruption was on the rise. If a vehicle is 'unroadworthy', let the people judge for themselves and not travel by it.  Why do I say this? I say this because if the industry is not regulated, then there will be no avenues for corruption. Drivers will be free to operate matatus with no fear of harassment from the police officers and therefore no bribes will be given either. the role of the officers should be to protect the individual, his/her liberty and property. The role should not extend to provision of liberty and property. No!
In the same manner, the government should make it mandatory for matatus to have seat-belts but let no passenger be forced or coerced to fasten the safety belt. I see no sense in forcing me to do something that I can well chose whether to or not to. What makes the government think that it is in a better position to think better for the citizens than the citizens themselves? Is the government not made of persons from the same populace with the same brain capacity? I say the role of the government should be to do those things that I cannot do for myself, otherwise there would be no sense of having a government. By eliminating this regulations, then I will not have to bribe the police officers for 'offenses' committed. I say Yes to Liberty and No to Corruption.

Meetings That Pay; Climate Change Bill

Imagine yourself at a four star hotel where ambiance is the order of the day. A place where the waitresses are super beautiful and equally benevolent. A place where you'll meet the entire county government administration because that's where they profligate the county's resources - having sumptuous lunch. Where food that you never knew of is served in plenty. A place where your intestines are for the first time introduced to their Mr. Right in terms of food. The many cuisines we have around and they are for some time saved the grappling from ugali mix or worse still matumbo. What a major breakthrough! Thanks for imagining. Now stop (and move on like....)! That's how I spent my weekend, the fact it was just for a day notwithstanding.
On 30th May, I had the pleasure of representing AYICC-K at the Murang'a County consultative forum on the draft Climate Change Policy and Bill details of which can be downloaded here. A bill that is in Parliament currently awaiting its second reading, the first having been on 6th March 2014. Hotel Nokras was a perfect choice of venue by KCCWG (the event organizers) as you can see from my introduction. Anyway my first task was to find the three ladies who had invited me; Susy Wandera, Annette and Wanja. Shouldn't I just act normal and say that they didn't disappoint, both in their beauty and later on their presentations. I am a man (a straight one for that matter) for Christ's sake and there are some things I can't help but write in a blog. The meeting was called to order by Ma'am Cecilia Chege after a round of introductions. I must say at this point that we really struggled to get someone to pray for us until the rapporteur saved the day. Bad- mannered Murang'a people.
Our main guest Governor Mwangi wa Iria's absence however was accentuated by the empty seats at the front. That didn't kill the spirit though as Hon. Albert Mwaniki welcomed us all to Murang'a County and, being a Friday, stressed that we shouldn't be in a hurry to leave. He promised most importantly that his county would be the first to implement the Bill if it became law. He then excused himself as he had other commitments to meet and so he left. These politicians! The chairman of KCCWG was next in line accentuating the dire need for streamlining of climate change in our development plans including the Vision 2030. He however sent shivers down the members with his jokes on jiggers and occasionally forcing grins from us. He at one point joked that he was shocked not to see any of us barefoot. We almost stoned him. He then gave evidences of climate change including unreliable rainfall and the melting of ice at Mt. Kenya. I can second him on that as some time back we used to wake up and go out to sunbathe in the sun but nowadays the rays of the sun wake you up. To further prove this, there is talk that the boom in tourism around Mt. Kenya and Kilimanjaro is because the tourists want to see the snow before it melts completely. <== I cooked that up though.
The speaker then talked of the many opportunities presented by climate change ranging from selling solar lights to carbon trade. Or is it not true that every disaster provides an opportunity. He summed up by saying that Africa being the least contributor to climate change at 3% is the most vulnerable and suffers the most. My take however is that we shouldn't just sit down and watch as our poor children and women suffer just because we're not the cause. We need to respond by adapting to climate change and mitigating where we can. With that, our stomachs demanded a tea break to recuperate from the agony of sweet smelling delicacies. And delicacies we were served! I am still laughing at the thought of those many guys who - given an option between coffee and fruit juice - chose both. Yes, that's who I am, a morbid snitch! I'd let out a diabolical laughter - albeit silently - as women and men in equal measure struggled to use the cutlery not knowing on which hand to hold the knife and on which to hold the fork. I remember my first time using such 'complicated apparatus' I ended up with more than half of my meal in the dustbin. Chops of meat would slide all the way to the floor. But that was then. At least now I know that the fork should be held in the left hand and the knife on the right. I digress!
The next presenter was none other than the wonderful Susy Wandera whose aura of captivation tethered us to the presentation, not to blink away. Susy is one of those people who you'd want to precede your presentation because she'll successful excite the public for you, and talks longer thus saving you much time. She talked about the roles of the 2nd Medium Term Plan (MTP2) - something I never knew of - and the County Integrated Development Plans in aiding climate change mainstreaming. The Bill, tabled in Parliament in 2002 was discussed in detail with the focal point being the establishment, powers and functions of the National Climate Change Council as proposed in the aforementioned bill. The role of the council to both formulate and implement such matters as pertains to climate change was questioned owing to past failures by other similar bodies. The speaker was however precipitous in clarifying the clearly defined powers of the Council. The presentation deserved no further questions due to the clarity and lucidity conferred to it by the speaker.
Mercy Mburu from KENAFF (Kenya National Farmers Federation), a body that prides itself with representing the interests of about 2 million farm families, was the next speaker in line. She exhaustively talked about the impacts of climate change with a special focus on the farmer. The impacts ranged from droughts, water scarcity, conflicts over resources and the sprouting up of climate change refugees. Agriculture was termed as one of the sectors affected by the climate change menace among others such as biodiversity conservation, energy, fisheries, health, forestry, tourism and water supply. A closer look in many treatises revealed that energy, industries, forestry and agriculture are leading in contribution to climate change.
The discussion was then scaled to the plenary session where many issues on both the Bill and the Policy were raised. Of particular importance was the choice of response Africa had chosen with regard to climate change. there were questions as to why Africa, and in particular Kenya, should be involved in mitigation measures when it's total contribution to the same was a meager 3% half of which came from South Africa. The clarification was that African countries had focused on Adaptation while developed countries opted for Mitigation as their respective responses to climate change.
To sum the session up was Paul Murage from Kenya Meteorological Service whose presentation was mainly on the responses put in place combat to climate change. He briefed us on the Early Warning systems at his organization including monitoring and prediction tools, dissemination of information, risk knowledge and response citing a case study of the landslides in Kiriko-ini village in Murang'a. He advocated for the need for long term solutions top replace the short term solutions that are currently in better as a better response to common hazards within Murang'a. These hazards include: droughts; floods; landslides & mudslides; rising temperatures; and fog. The County is faced with the challenge of meteorological stations with only one station that is at KARI, Thika. The role of the media in early warnings and response was also emphasized. With that presentation, the session was brought to a halt. But not without a hand of appreciation, that was way above commensurate with our participation, from the organizers. We all queued in line to get a token that was to cater for our travel expenses. I don't know about the rest but mine was enough to spend for the Madaraka Day celebrations and lasted till this morning to cater for my fare. I am still in awe. I mean who gives you Kshs 2000 to just sit and listen to them? Not unless these guys at KCCWG have political motives.
With the money safely in our pockets and/ wallets depending on where one found safer, we were then invited for a buffet details of which I won't reveal to avert the dangers it would cause to you. To AYICC-K I say thank you for that chance. To the organizers, KCCWG, I say thank you too. I'd have followed you to Vihiga (the next venue) just to pocket the 2000 were it not that JamboJet doesn't fly that route.


PS. The Draft Climate Change Bill can be downloaded here

Then I went to school

Picture this scenario. It's somewhat around 5 am in the morning. A bell rings in your mind and that confirms the dreaded fact. It is yet another of those days. A school day. Allow me at this juncture to warn you that this is a long piece. The 'x' generation had better quit now before it gets interesting. I digress! Anyway, you finally manage to jump off the bed after a couple of 'snoozes'. You wake up albeit reluctantly for you dread the many cane strokes that accompany lateness. Children rights is you and your nyanye, as Shoba Harrison would put it. You rush to the kitchen and pull your not-so-clean uniform from 'itara' where they'd been left to dry the previous night. (Well, assuming you didn't decide to sleep in your uniform and that 'rain' in baby Emily Wanjiru's poem irrigated your bed and by extension your uniform.) Now, 'itara' is that place where firewood is kept to dry just above the fireplace. You dress up then run to the tap where you subject your face to running water and apply soap on your legs. Soap because lotion and/or vaseline are unheard of. Your feet are not to be thoroughly washed as they'll tarmac and get dirty anyway. By now it is some minutes to six. You then dash back into the kitchen where mama has packed your lunch in a kasuku, those that pack cooking fat. Talk of reusing, recycling and reducing wastage. You gulp your cup of tea with the ugali that remained yester night as the accompaniment (that's if you had ugali say na uji ama na maji ya chumvi the previous night). Once in a while, you'll have chapatis if you're lucky. Lucky to have been cooked chapatis and also lucky to have not eaten all of them the previous night. You then say bye to mama, who has now gone to milk, and start a 3-5 kilometers jog, depending on your proximity to the school. That unimaginable life is what thousands of children brace themselves up for, day in day out. I came across them on my way to Nairobi. They were dressed in pink shirts and green shorts and some have green sweaters. Children as young as six years (well, assuming the height doesn't underestimate their age) 'walk the talk', each carrying water in a 5-litre jerrican and a bag that makes them look like astronauts. It pains me because nothing much has changed, except perhaps the introduction of shoes into the equation. That life you're trying so hard to imagine is what I went through for five years. The only reward to calm you down was the famous maziwa ya nyayo gift hamper. Our mamas were caring enough to buy us those woven 'kofias' that covered all your face except the eyes and mouth. We call them 'boshoris.' Despite the 'care', they only found their way up to a few meters from our home. We'd hide them in a bushy area and wear them on our way back home so mama wouldn't know about it. Tragedy would befall us if say you forgot the exact location where you hid it or say you forgot to pick it on your way back home. I see them being worn by watchmen nowadays, or is it boda boda operators. We would carry water for cleaning the classrooms before lessons started. That meant we had to get to school earlier than normal. The banana stem was our innovative duster. That curved part known as 'ngoto' was cut and used in the same way as a squizzer, if you've used one before. This was done as we fought for space with bats. Eventually we'd win the fight over the bats and use the classrooms.
After getting to the level of second to godliness we'd then go for our lessons. Some would start eating their packed lunch as early as the first lesson and be done by break time. Over lunch hour, they'd be begging food from us who saved ours. My primary school best friend John Çhegeh always reminds me of the day I carried a new packet of cooking fat which I had confused for my lunch box. I was lucky to have a cousin as a best friend who also doubled up as my partner in crime. I remember we were to have chapatis that day and I was super excited. Come lunch time, my friends and I gathered at our usual eating spot where I was to unveil my special lunch. Shock on me! On opening the kasuku, I shed tears. I had unconsciously carried cooking fat for lunch. I couldn't even eat the food my friends had offered me. I had lost appetite. Or maybe my appetite was only for chapatis that day. To cut that story short, I spent the entire afternoon depressed and waiting for the time to go home. I was in a school where pupils from lower classes were allowed to go home for lunch. That extra freedom was at a price however, as they were required to bring 'doro' or matope to school. This, they were to use for moulding different objects. Our mamas would make the matope for us as we were having lunch. I know a boy, Peter who'd call his mum mama peter. We'd here him say to his mum, 'nyina wa peter, twerwo tushoke na doro' (mama peter, we've been told to go back with doro.)
Life was beautiful as we knew it though. We looked forward to sitting our kcpe so that we could be so near to a policeman. The teachers lied to us that kcpe would be watched over by policemen to avoid cheating, something that we obediently believed. Well, poor me I was transferred at class four and didn't get to see the policemen. Back home, the teacher was an administrative post going by the powers endowed upon them. He/she would solve disputes both in school and at home. He was called to beat pupils that had dropped out of school back to their senses. The teacher had powers over what time one was supposed to be at the shopping centre. He would chuck you from the video centre, and punish you for that. Stanley Mbiri, John Chege, Steve Mbiri and one Evans Mbiri will tell you the teachers would beat pupils bare buttocks. Yes! you'd be forced to lower your viraka prone shorts to the knees before the 'medicine' was administered. And it surely hurt, with the same magnitude as that of an injection. Now, you can imagine having to bear the pain inflicted by multiple strokes. Their word was an indisputable law, and we feared them. Actually, if a teacher were to visit your home, you verily knew trouble was bound to unfold. In a nutshell, that was the life we enjoyed then, but one that I detest now.

New found love

If I had a daughter, or a son, I'd start a blog exclusively for her or him, as the case may be. Meanwhile, allow me to bore you with stories of my nieces and nephews. Though she'll be 1 year old on 18th April, Beaty is the latest addition. Today I was at their place, after somewhat a long time. One would think she had forgotten me for being such a bad uncle. I found her being fed lunch and on sighting me, she decided she had had enough. I am that guy who makes her lose her appetite. She is one person I'd not doubt if she pulled that line of 'hata chakula sikuli nikikuwaza' And my sister Egrah Njoki. Then I made the mistake of disappearing into the washroom. The little girl can cry. I guess I took long in there. In the washroom! I always spend my time well there. We all do afterall, or at least those of us who are not ashamed of admitting it. I've had friends who find the toilet more peaceful than the bedroom. I digress! Now, after I came out she ran to me and wanting me to hold her. She actually wanted me to notice her 'smartie'.  That's how she refers to all her tops and dresses. She believes all are beautiful. Shock on you if you try and say yours is. She will shake her head in disagreement. I know am quite observative, especially with kids. I'd have told you of a story of a little girl who came to sit with me in a mat to talk me up but I already did. She was bold enough to ask me my name first. Maybe she was bored of her mum. I think kids know that I love them and they don't shy away from reciprocating the love. I digress, again!
I am served lunch for two but Beaty is there to help me. You know how kids will not eat their food but wanataka ya mgeni. We manage to finish half the food as the other half ends up on the floor. I've realized that kids prefer food that has spilled over on the floor to one served on a plate. Beaty will bear me witness on this fact. She actually does it herself; transferring food from the plate to the floor before eating it. Just when I thought I'd had enough she surprises me when she leads me to clap for her after she brings me her new toy. An aeroplane! I conclude that she just wants to show off. I clap for her albeit involuntarily. Uncle is too full and wants a rest. She doesn't notice. She holds both my hands and makes me clap as we count. The zeal she does this with would cheat you into believing she understands anything am saying. I taught her how to clap and am happy she hasn't forgotten. There are a couple of other things I've taught her that I won't mention. Like sticking her tongue out and making that 'wawawawa' sound with her mouth.
The girl makes faces when I pick my bag to leave. Faces that seem to shout in caps. 'Can't you see that I missed you, Or am I not doing enough?' She seemed to ask. Am sorry dear but uncle has to go and study so he can have a bright future. Soon enough she'll start believing, like her other cousin Dennis Mbiri, that after university one automatically buys a car. It's like a grant that we're entitled to. I wish it were the case but sorry honey, your uncle is not an MP. At least not when they're still referred to as MPigs.

My idea of parenthood

Dad.

Yes son.

I want a dog for a pet.

Only that.

Yes please.

Okay. I promise to get you one.

A German shepherd please.

Where did you learn that from?

What? The pet?

No. The German shepherd breed?

Dan has one.

I’ll see to it.

Thanks dad.

I can tell that he is happy. Extra happy! That conversation goes on in my mind at exactly 1500hrs today. I am on my way home after a somewhat disappointing exam. Disappointing because I had read so much and only a portion came. You know, the feeling of being wasted. Like you put too much effort when you could have used less. Let’s say the effect was too much that I started talking to myself as manifested in this successive conversation, in my mind too:

How old is this dog? (As I stop my car)

It’s six weeks old. A German shepherd.

How much is it?

Hii ntakuuzia bei poa boss.

Ngapi?

The guy doesn’t even talk. He shows me four fingers.

Si unifanyie elfu tatu boss.

Haha. Nimesema 40k.

What? Kwani nanunua slave?

Off he goes. He must have thought I was not a serious buyer when I really was. But not at that extortionist price. I was actually tempted to ask if the guy was selling the dog to me or to my sleek car. A six week old dog for forty thousand shillings? Ya Kenya ama Zimbabwe? Not in my conscious state. In our days, dogs were given for free. FREE! Forgive me son but your dad is an economist by birth.

These thoughts, coupled with the fact that I have been an uncle ever since I was in class six make me yearn to be a father. That must have been at the age of 12, just after the free education program was introduced. This must have come as good news to my eldest bro. I actually, am tempted to think that this was part of his motivation to sire children. And so for the last ten years I’ve been an uncle to an ever increasing number of nieces and nephews (currently eight of them). Through this experience of partial parenthood, I feel I can do it now. I want to be the next in line. The thought of fatherhood excites me. I hope I’ll be an awesome father. Not necessarily a dad as you’ll come to learn.

I want to be the best father that a kid can ever have. This I know must start with me being an awesome husband. I don’t want to be the type that complains all the time of how they can’t take it anymore because their wives are all over their business. What business? The moment you get married it ceases being ‘my business’ and becomes ‘our business’. It is the business of both of you, collectively. Your wife will be all over your business like it’s normal. No more personal space. You gave that up when you said ‘I do.’ Whether it was at the altar or in Kariorkor kwa chief.

I want to be a king, and that’s why I must marry a queen. Someone that can complement me and make me want to achieve more in life. A woman that can help me in decision making, by providing alternatives and not just barking down every decision that I make. I promise to never beat up my wife but on one condition- that she’ll also refrain from beating me. To this end, I’ll avoid chiqs from you know better. I can’t fathom the idea of someone beating up my daughter, and so I’ll beat no one’s daughter just because she’s my wife. Man! She was their daughter long before she became your wife. Respect her!

My first assignment will be to teach my children the ways of God, long before they start talking like they are in an sms conversation. It is our duty as parents, a commandment actually. I’d have quoted the Bible but am convinced you all know the scripture. I rarely quote the Bible anyway, except out of convenience. Like a drunk driver would quote John 2:3 to a traffic officer with the alcoblow as the microphone. Sunday school will be a must and family Bible study will be compulsory.

I want to play games with my children and be there at all their stages in life. I want to be the one to teach them how to tie their shoe laces, how to ride a bicycle and how to apply cutex on their nails and fingers. That last part applies to my daughter though, not Mbiri jr or Kamau. Hell, I ain’t raising no Binyavanga’s in my house. I want to be this father who knows when their homework is due and how they fared in class every day. It’s really important that we be there at all developmental stages of our children’s lives.

On a dissenting opinion, I believe that children are not to be reasoned out with, not at their juvenile state. They needn’t say that am a reasonable dad. No! God didn’t call us to be friends with our children. He called us to be parents. Correct them when they are wrong. Parenting is not for cowards, it is for those brave enough to exert their authority where need be. In the words of my pastor, ‘evil is growing because good people are not willing to condemn it.’ We are teaching our children not how to fear God but how to love Him. The results are children that don’t fear committing sin.

As a parent, you have to command your children to do the right things, not just requesting them. A request is two way, it can either be granted or denied. When you command, it’s two way too, it’s either fulfilled or denied with consequences, and then fulfilled. The difference is that it takes a longer route in the second instance but it’s still fulfilled. It’s a shame when your child throws tantrums because he/she wants a laptop that you can’t afford. Or those expensive toys that requires you to seek both financial and legal advice before purchasing them. How about when she demands that you buy her clothes that only a blind parent would approve of. All these situations require you to command them. Exert your authority and let them know that you run things.

When is Father’s day again? It’s time I was celebrated. Hehe!