Back to business

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It feels great to be back. There is nothing mightier or sexier for a writer as coming back to his own home roost. Back home is where his spirit finds peace. Back home is where the tag ‘I belong’ makes deeper meaning than just an identity tag.

Few days ago we blacked out. We have always blacked out due to reasons which only IT guys would best explain. I am updated; in fact I know more IT than other writers who just know how to think with their fingers only. That’s all. They can’t figure out oddities or creases in their blogs when they jam. I strongly believe that all bloggers should at least know something about their blogs than just possessing the little art of uploading content for folks to read.

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When a dude buys a car, (underline a car; Subaru is a toy car), over the months he will start understanding his baby gradually. He will be able to listen to the baby’s engine hum, know when she is thirsty without her heating up and filling smoke all over and stalling in the middle of Ngong Road, meddling with his happiness. He is able to foresee, like a palm reader, what the baby is up to in the future. He should be able to know when the brake pads are going easy, when the oil is draining below standard level, when the tires need a change. That literary turns him to a mechanic. But wait, isn’t that what defines a man?

A man is able to fix broken sinks because he doesn’t have to call a plumber every time or even an electrician to change his bedroom bulb. A blogger should likewise be shrewd, learn the little details of their blog, and know when things are going south, so that they don’t inconvenience readers.

In my case, this blog keeps going down now and then. So I decide to place a call to the guy who hosts me, Peter, and ask him why I can’t open the damn thing. As you can guess, all Peters seem to be like the disciple in the bible, humble and utterly genuine. Unlike another wazzock I had few years ago, Peter is a guy who understands the needs of his clients. He massages them with truth and action. He also happens to be a church chap, but not like a priest. An altar boy maybe, because he breathes words like thank you Justine, God bless you, Amen and the lot.

Every time we chit chat he leaves me examining my faith. He pokes my religious beliefs that are somehow tepid. And God says in the bible, such people will be spat out of His mouth. That is why I get freaked out when I get in touch with ‘hot’ people, those whose dedication to God and humanity is exemplary, though at times they are killjoys.

Peter texts in this language if theirs. That there is a programming code that keeps eating space. He allocates space, more and more space but this shit code keeps swallowing most of it, leading to the collapse of the blog.
Now, this pushes me back to my main man, the programmer who apparently is a virtuoso in the field. To this point he has no clue what his ingenuity is causing Peter the disciple on the other end. He is called John. Damn! Another disciple. John, on discovering this promises me to work hand in hand with Peter to get rid of this crazy jerk code. Just a promise.

Anyway, we are back up now. Isn’t that joyful. I feel the rejuvenated me. You see I am in this Whatsapp group full of writers from all walks of life. A few years ago it wasn’t that aggressive. But while I was away, satan got whipped and there was room for great transformation.

Being in a group of active writers, writing for newspaper and film industries is a big thing . You get to learn from other writers’ experiences. I felt left out because when they were sharing links of their blogs I was there, just transfixed. I missed the bit. I felt I didn’t belong to Writers Counsel. That’s the name. I felt powerless akin a wounded lioness. It was like going to a strip club to watch the DJ. that is how nasty it looked like, like someone stole my puppy and my smiles waned, literary.

Whilst all that happened, I was busy. Writers are always busy and versatile. They don’t survive on blogging alone. They embrace diversity. I am one dude who apart from being a writer is a jack of all trades. I sniff money, and I go for it. I love new experiences, I love new challenges to help me overcome my unwitty fears, and be an all-round person. But if you ask my profession I would look you straight on the face and tell you- I’m a damn writer! Honestly, don’t I look like one?
So what transpired?

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Mzangila writing masterclass I went down.

Some final year students needed little help with their projects. It was a big experience for me.

I did poetry gigs for events and various occasions, for a good pay

Of late I have this incurable urge of being a party animal, not because I like the thing but because I find myself in the middle of all these. On a number of occasions I was asked to be MC for a number of parties. I have been having a time of my life.

I have always told you that I admire photography secretly. I never missed any event. Even in those events where I was the M.C., I was MC cum photographer. The only thing I lack is a good camera, trust me things would turn out good for me. Benevolence is now highly encouraged, gang. Hiyo kamenje.

Here is the thing, I missed you folks. I missed my baby up here. And as Mzangila Group we are sorry for the mishap, we hope it won’t occur that soon. Now that life has been breathed to us, why not live it?

Our gigs will be on Wednesdays from now henceforth. We have a new Swahili writer in the house and soon we will continue giving you a new experience with little jabs of Swahili stuff.

Let us meet next Wednesday
Like our fb page Mzangila
Twitter handle @Omuzangila


Image credit :lisltd

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About Mzangila

Mentor, media consultant, photographer, editor, poet, writer, and counselor.

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