A peacock’s take on dreams

I have been forced to confront innate truths about myself this year. Truths that warp themselves around your soul and leave you afraid, because they are true, afraid because they were only vague thoughts floating around in your vast nothingness but now you have to confront them and live them.

I will never be an anthropologist. I am tired. Life is hard. Life is especially hard because the people supposed to show us the way, to teach us are causing genocides or Tom and Jerrying with their rivals. Fees are high. Work is rare. I am not perfect and I fear I will never be. Year 23 of not realising any of my year’s resolutions. I have writer’s block. I haven’t read as much as I used to this year.

My Aunt Mary asks me to tell her what is on my mind almost everyday.

“Everything! Everything Aunt. I am tired of this place and I am ashamed of my shame and I am afraid of my fears. I am afraid I will never grow. I am at the precipice of everything and all the little fissures are starting to show and the pressure of plugging them is taking its toll on me.”
But I do not tell her that.

I stare off into the tan majesty of her living room, and the larger than life epoch in its center; a 4 foot peacock statue, reclining on a tasteful dais, haloed in a tasteful glow.He is a grand old thing that peacock, a haughty arrogance as it flares its plumed behind in all of its iridescent beauty.

I find myself talking to him easily. He’s not judgmental at all to be honest.

“Yo Feathers,what’s with the world man?  Do you even know anything about stress? Why is it that the wicked get the money and the righteous perish? why do I keep making mistakes yet I try so hard? Do you know? What do we do that is good and straightforward that is still rewarding?  Am I ugly? Is life supposed to be this hard?”
The monstrosity mostly quirks his eyebrow but he doesn’t answer.

“TELL ME? WHY?” I cry, riled to the bone, unreasonably furious at a sculpture.

“Alright, you nonsensical creature, calm your hysterics” Sometimes I imagine if he could talk he’d say gravely in a dignified baritone,shaking his magnificent tail as he comes to life
“You’re still trying to figure yourself out? are you not? You’re not mad but you are shedding. Like a snake.” here he’d smirk and adjust his crown.
“I wouldn’t be worried if I were you. You’ll figure it out. You’ll have some falls and you’ll pick yourself up, you’ll fail at somethings and you will realize that some dreams belong in your childhood. but if you are strong, and despite your foolish self pity you have an iron core, you’ll realize that you are where you are right now and that is perfect and wherever you get,you will be there and you will have to make peace with that.Do you get it?”

“In truth you know who to turn to for strength don’t you? stop wallowing in that mire you create for yourself and ask for help.” He’d say, parting shots as he hardens back into marble, nothing more than stone.


Aesthetically speaking

As we pray, I sneak a look at her, she is beautiful.

I will never get over how beautiful African women are. I am fickle, Aesthetic, I love beauty even though it is not encouraged to say so.

She is angular, more bone than meat, a harsh vista of sharp slopes and steep inclines. Everything about her is sharp. Her proud patrician nose, standing out from her face in haughtiness supreme. Her forehead, with the hairline sharply defined, with the baby hair tendrils threatening to come out but not quite. her face, a heart-shaped mess with a cleft chin and scars of pimple past. she is beautiful. her eyes too, obey the laws of Pythagoras (I’m assuming that is the god of triangles. if it isn’t, don’t correct me)

Her eyes are slanted, snake-like diamonds on her face, glittering in blistering heat in the withering Ugandan sunshine. Her prominent bones jut, collar,pelvis,femur, knee and elbow, and I imagine in a fight that is all she would need to fight. She’d be a fury of endo skeleton, a raging mass of feathers, light warrior supreme.

Next to her, is me. Madam Pudge, I am plus size for the politically correct. I am where all her meat migrated to. I am the USA of fats and Carbs. the American dream. there are second generation Gluten families residing in the suburbs of my stomach, and they’ve been here for a while.

Do I describe myself too harshly for you? Do you cringe as you read my words? do you think I am being too hard on myself or do you chuckle to yourself, saying ‘good she knows?’ Does it even matter?

It doesn’t. I am just as beautiful as she is, and as we walk, she knows that, and I know that and it doesn’t even matter. Because as soon as you get to know someone, after all the preliminary fake smiles and name forgetting and then meeting again randomly and deciding that you do like this person, after all of that;

You stop seeing flesh. what you think of someone transcends the color of their skin, or the white stretch of elastic when the dress is too small on someone. it transcends stomach fat and shortness. it transcends bulbous noses and gnarly nails.

They become so familiar you see them as souls, as they were originally meant to be. this is why someone says ‘you’re such a sweet soul’ instead of ‘I love your body.’

So as I sneak looks at my best friend, it comes as a surprise that I haven’t really looked at her in a while.

By God she is beautiful.


Girls of all kinds can be beautiful – from the thin, plus-sized, short, very tall, ebony to porcelain-skinned; the quirky, clumsy, shy, outgoing and all in between. It’s not easy though because many people still put beauty into a confining, narrow box…Think outside of the box…Pledge that you will look in the mirror and find the unique beauty in you.’ Tyra Banks


A speech on my awards ceremony

The self recognition award


I would like to thank me for not faltering. I would like to thank me for getting up and dusting myself off when I have been thrust about by life. I would like to thank me for accepting that I love me despite the many flaws that I have. I would like to thank me for discovering the power in prayer, I would like to thank me for letting God be God in my life and for reaping peace and happiness. I would like to thank me for letting go of toxic habits and even more toxic friends and coming to terms with the fact that I do not need to make anyone happy.

This is my award. first of its kind. I have won this award through sheer tenacity and faith, through trust and tears and laughter and bone crushing anxiety. This is an award to my soul. I win this. My soul is my own but also not my own because now it is in safe hands with Him.

I am thankful to the friends who stuck, texting, saying little prayers, sharing sorrow and shame in equal measure. I would also like to thank my parents because they have been sponges, absorbing my pain,cleaning my mistakes and giving me a clean slate to start again.

I have already been nominated for this next year. I think I may win again.




Im in the claws of a really bad writer’s block. I can not write because the words hurt. I feel afloat, living life in autopilot, just eating and sleeping and working. I feel like all the words have been said,songs have been sung, the party has been abandoned.

Nothing is sadder than the morning after. Party poppers slumped,balloons laying in tattered ruins on the ground, the stray solitary balloon looking down at its brothers in a haughty silence.

That is how I feel right now, the forgotten guest, prostrate in alcoholic fugue, without friends to offer them a ride home after a real banger.

My friends, the voices in my head that dictate my fingers have abandoned me. I think they liked Julie Muffin because they went with her.

I have seen beautiful eulogies from everywhere and some for her. She touched so many lives,changed people’s perspective on life, made it worth living.Nights

I surf the internet, eyes blurry with unshed tears as I compulsively read blogs by Patra,Alex and many many others and I am grateful that they put in words what the lump in my throat means. Sometimes,as in the case of Patra’s blog, I just turned the pillow over on its cool side and cried, torrents of salty pain,disgustingly, taking gasping breaths and keening loudly, feeling her pain, people’s pain through her. I felt like May in Secret Life of Bees, who felt the burden of the world’s pain. I could feel the pain in everybody’s heart at that moment because I was channeling it. I know it sounds crazy, but that night,I felt like that.

I am no stranger to sadness, my birthday is painful for my mom because even as she loves me, she lost 9 siblings on the same day. genocide. imagine feeling a sense of acute guilt all your life about something you really don’t know that much about.

So, when Julie passed away, I felt that same sense of guilt, a lingering thing that makes me susceptible to dark moods. I am no king of Israel but I could use a young David, harping away on strings, chasing the sadness away.

Why do I feel guilty? I wish I could have seen her before she passed away. I wish I could have called her just once that day. I wish I had known her better, more so than I knew her. I felt like a fraud because I didn’t know she wrote so eloquently.

I know some of this guilt is a carryover, and the more cynical will say, hasn’t the sadness gone on for far too long?  but perhaps I write this to lessen some of the grief I feel.

At the root of all of this perhaps I just want Jesus to breathe life into the Lazarus voices in my head, so I can write again. I miss them like I miss Julie.

Acutely, so much so that it steals your breath sometimes.



Ingrid is speaking in the background, my chatterbox roommate. It seems all my thoughts are peppered by the sound of her voice, annoying little pop ups that warn me when I’m erring on the side of error. Ingrid has a terrible past. Her nervous system betrayed her and for a year and three months she lay, paralyzed as her nerves lost touch with her body, and the muscles gave in and she gave up, waiting for when it would reach her lungs and she’d die. Her muscles atrophied out of the blue, All of a sudden. But she lived and in some weird Karma play, she’s my roommate.

Tragedy hollowed out Ingrid, and it cleaned out the old person, the petty trivial people we are when we are privileged enough to have nothing really bad happening to us in the course of our life time. But as she filled out once more, her eyes twinkling, her arms regaining muscle, her body accepting her once more like the rains in a starved desert, welcoming, dancing, bringing with them new life, she is also reborn, The phoenix in all its fiery rebirth.

I see the arbitrary arrests (#FreeSamwyri btw) and the pointless cash squandering and the pandering sycophant nincompoops who are so far up the Leopard’s Anus, they are in the digestive system.

I see the world and the absolute chaos in it, War, Hunger, Pride, Avarice, and Bloodlust, pointless killing of animals, deliberate pollution and all this once more reminds me of Ingrid’s story.  We will suffer, Life is the epitome of equilibrium so it will not tip in our favor, but and here’s the important thing:

All those things never break our spirit. We continue living, and we get up and fight and slowly the atrophy recedes. And when we reach our tipping point, something shows up to tip the scale in our favor.

And we shall arise, renewed, reborn, the heroes from the gladiator pit, Samson in all his dreadlocked nazirite beauty. Just like Ingrid.

And that is fucking wonderful.

The Hunter’s guide to Mythical Creatures

Mythical creatures. Do they exist? Some say that in the Amazon, Vampires lurk, among the strange plants, strange bloodsuckers waiting for blood and a tasty human morsel to abate their insatiable thirst.
Late in the night, when you hear dogs howling, you enslaved by insomnia but tired enough to hallucinate, do you imagine werewolves baying their violent and lonely souls out with the dogs.
Are you like me, wont to sudden bouts of imagination? Do you imagine what you would do if there was a sudden apocalypse where even your loved ones became glassy eyed and started walking slovenly towards you muttering “Braaainnnsss” like a hyper realistic Plants vs Zombies come to life?
I mean you can hardly escape the stuff. TV feeds us a balanced diet of sarcastic humor, nudity and mythical animals. 40 year olds can not wait to get back home and hook on to the latest GOT episode.
We are hooked on to this mythical creatures scenario because it could not be far away from the truth and it does not scare you because, well,’myth’
Now, what if I told you you’re living or have interacted with these creatures? Let me show you how below:
Werewolf: Akin to the mythical creature in European lore, Werewolves only turn at the full moon. The full moon in this instance can be a metaphor for problems.
When you’re having problems of any sort, the werewolves will come out of the woodworks. The fake friends who tear you apart, the Satan you are dating who erodes your confidence “Guys, give up. You just cant do it. “even me I have not done the coursework, “guess who I saw with who” and so many more.
Werewolves show their true colors soon enough happily.
Remedy: Weed them out. Cut off connection with all suspected werewolves.

Vampires: Vampires are much harder to detect because they are clever, mask themselves so well. The vampires in your life are well attached to the aorta and are slowly draining your lifeblood.
Vampires are what we call the influencers. They are the first step to a bad decision. If you had a friend and they suddenly went off the deep end, went crazy and all for one person, that person is a vampire.
If you have a partner and the partner suggests that it is better to give them your tuition money for a trinket or a night out, Vampire! If every time you do something to impress someone but after that you feel dirty and awful, vampire!
Vampires make you addicted to seeking for their approval; you feel like you should live up to their standards and these are usually the shallow, self seeking, self effacing standards. Vampire I tell you.
Vampires drain you of soul. They date you, emotionally feeding off of you, financially draining you, eating your spirit until they leave you the shell of the person you once were. They are never grateful, never satisfied.
If you have ever dated a person and you don’t remember any happy times, hello, Vampire! And true to the Vampire tradition, contact with a Vampire may leave you one. (Ergo,50% of the fuckboys and fuckgirls you have met were turned by Original fuckpeople)
Remedy: Cut them off as soon as you know. If you feel sad because so and so made a disparaging comment about your physical features, it is not worth it. IT HAS never been worth it. Madea once made a comment I resonate with, “if someone controls your mood, they control you.” If you have a friend who is being courted by a Vampire;save them. Become a hunter and protect your own.

Most of you usually have a person among your friends who is annoying,uncouth,disorderly, and who serves no particular purpose except to feed off of you.
The one who turns up, urges you all to go and drink and somehow you pay. The inveterate borrower in the group. “Some 1k Ill pay back in December” but December never came. Do you know that person your friends ask why you’re friends with them but you have no real answer? Yeah,they the walking dead.
They have no real goal in life except to eat and drink and make merry and will not develop themselves or advance in life. Compared to Vampires and Werewolves these are harmless yes, and most of them are delightful people. But that which you find so attractive about them “they are so free” is not freedom but lethargy, laziness. They are caught in a mind trap, People who they say “Oyo atambula naye muffu.” If you associate with them for too long, they will eat your brains too. Trust me.
Remedy: If you love them and want them to stay in your life. Kick start them. Have a sit down and tough love the hell out of them. If you don’t want them around; the curb awaits your kick.
Thank you for reading this far. You are my favorite reader.

Mental Duet: Glee but for blogging

Jason and I have flirted with the idea of writing a joint blog for a while now. The way life is though, we have not yet gotten round to it. The first idea we had when we discussed the joint blog was on loving something so much it destroys you. That the thing you love would be the first to destroy you, the same thing you should fear. Think of loving somebody. I like thinking there is destruction because I’m a pessimist but Jason is sunshine and rainbows so he thinks what you love cannot destroy you. I kindly beg his pardon. It does. Devastatingly, drastically, fantastically.

When you fall in love, the world stops and a very fancy old English orchestra plays in the background. Tis him. Tis her. They are here; your soulmates, the ones you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH Hallleeeelujahhh.

Man, there is no talking about your Bae. They are the best behaved, most thoughtful, fantastic lovers on earth. Sometimes I used to fear that he was inhuman because surely how can a person this handsome, brilliant and considerate be single. And why me?? What did I do to deserve this otherworldly creature gracing my life?


Anyway after sometime the endorphins wear off and you start to realize he’s fantastic but very human. The snores start to annoy you and blabla but you still love him. Lol.

The same can be said for a phone, a computer or even a place. You love the place so much that you go there every day then the diminishing returns law kicks in and you still love it but not with the newly discovered ardor.

The sadness though is that these things do not reciprocate your love, to them you’re just another human. A phone will work for you in the same way it does for the rest of the other 6,9,99999999999 people in the world. Your favorite place does not understand exclusivity so it will not close up and vanish until you come back like the room of requirements in Harry Potter.

We don’t own anything really. Not even money. So why do we let these things destroy us? Why do we relate success as the imprisonment of things that are not really ours in the first place?

Why is it that most of the reasons for war in the world make relation to people trying to change the laws of nature?

The Rwandan Genocide is a very sad story of ‘WE WERE HERE FIRST, SO GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM.”

Actually, most of Africa has felt the greed of snatchers, people trying to ruin nature by taking without replacing, without consideration. Sigh.

Anyway, the whole point of this was to say that if you love something, and you think it’s going to destroy you, let it go.



If you are reading this it means Grace and I have finally overpowered the procrastination to come through with this blog. Hasn’t been as easy as these words may establish.

Oh she lied… she really did; I actually believe that what you love can destroy you… It really can. But that’s on the face of it and should remain on the face of it. It should never really destroy you. With lessons learned, you should be quick to brush it off and be ready to try again.

How can you let bad experiences and the wrong people bring you unwarranted doubt about the good out there even with so much? There are indeed so many good people out there; they just have this defensive savage shield up to guard themselves against the wrong people.

How we gon’ get married and be happy my nigga, feel normal for once by loving someone and not have to think that there is detriment at the end of it all when it’s not to a point of certainty that it will even be there in the first place? We can’t start our lives on some sort of pessimistic outlook. It all falls back on perspective.


When we gon’ quit the running from what we really feel and the people we start to like? Planes are disappearing out of detectable air space but does that stop us from getting on them? Does that stop us from dreaming that we gon’ travel the life out of the world one day? How we gon’ let that terrible past always win and dictate how you are going to carry on with your life? Well it’s understandable if you got trust issues or those other curtailments if they are not creatures of your past bad experiences. Whatever you do, like I said, you can’t let your past always win tell you what you can and can’t do, make you miss out on the right people when they actually come your way, make you doubt whether it’s real, make you forget the difference between trash and what’s real.

They say your dreams should scare you, and getting back on your feet rubbing it all off and keeping your dreams and expectations for better high enough should do just that but it should also be the order. Yeah who wants to be 60 and alone, with the only thing in their fold is a pile of trust issues, remarkable mileage of running…running away from what they ever felt, a great count of these good people they curved, these feelings they never acknowledged nor embraced because once upon a time they got hurt and from then on the bad experiences dictated how they lived their lives and made it clear to them them they would never be happy, they’d never see anything good come their way.

They say love fades, that’s if it doesn’t die out…there is never a point of certainty. But who is worried about that when you can decide to live each moment as it comes, one day at a time?

I started with the intention of saying that if you love something and it destroys you, lessons should be learned, that’s key. But that shouldn’t define how your life is always going to be, it shouldn’t be okay to be scared about ever trying again. Such snags should never win. Happiness comes from within and there is no greater device than hope.