Life on the hang man’s noose

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Consistently we wake up ahead of schedule, considering life so important. We wake to hunt for a living. We by and large need more cash for ourselves. It is the main solution that can potentially delight our self-centeredness.

We have gained the same routine of calendars. Awakening, rushing up to catch the 5.am bus to beat traffic and get to our working stations early. We get to tram stations early; we need to catch the first bus to town, back to our everyday working environment.

It is the desire for cash that makes us tick thusly. Consistently we hoard, we ache for and the law of deferred delight stops to inspire us. We make ourselves to accept that by buckling down we will most likely self-actualize our dreams.

Over the years it has been the same trend. From morning alarms, ironing, traffic to piles of work on our desks. We have been accustomed to the smoke of vehicle exhausts in traffic, we have been used to dull fresheners that rapidly ruin God’s morning air for us, and also the irritating figures we often have to deal with on our way to work.

On more events we have been used to the touts’ rancid armpits as they extend their arms to request bus fare. We ceased to gripe. We conformed anyway after almost zero protests. And gladly learnt to squeeze with them in between seats of overloaded matatus. Isn’t it the trend anyway? That we get heaped into an already full mat but still agree to be treated like hogs.

From my point of observance, Kenyans might be quick to fight for the wrong rights such as our women walking naked but fail to fight for the more sensible rights that take millions of lives on the roads. It is Kenya. People who are ignorant. People who fear to be heard. People who want to sit in the comfort zone and move with the crowd. People who are full of themselves. People who think highly of themselves, and feel that the general public owes them something, and not them.

The same people who can add flour to milk to make high profits. People who can cook you a dog and feel nothing bad about it. People who can kill you to take what you have worked for and never feel guilty. People who want have the mentality of a small girl, that they are the most precious thing around, that others doesn’t make a difference. They along these lines, can abuse you as they wish.

I once in a while give careful consideration to what goes on with other people. It isn’t my life yet I am by and large attentive in my subliminal state. A man of my own stature, I am a standout amongst the most inattentive individuals on earth. It is, nonetheless, the character that makes me observe much. In one of my dreamy workshops, I sat down to ask myself what life truly implied.

Amid my first philosophy lessons, Professor Jay Alex, the then white lecturer I had in some school, let us know one thing. That life was to be lived, and not to be analyzed. It is truly straightforward, however on occasion you may resist the aphorisms and try to take after the more dangerous way.

When you are idling the psyche bars with a ton of nothingness. Those side considerations that don’t add get-up-and-go to your everyday advancement. So I began addressing myself about the riddle of life. The entanglement that life hands down, which we simply appreciate not. Also, I asked myself silly questions about life, about God and also about the significance of life

What is the importance of life in any case? That we live, love, blaze, giggle and pass on. The same old cycle that doesn’t stop. Also, I went ahead to ask myself for what reason it must be that way, that we enjoy nothing by being alive.

When you read the book of Ecclesiastes Solomon says that vanity is vanity, everything is vanity. He was the gentleman who God gave knowledge like no other. The most astute fellow of all ever existed on earth. This gentleman had all the riches anybody would need and on his palms delighted in each and every joy the world advertised. One day he came to a point where he needed to question life, pondering what it genuinely implied. Soliciting what was truly the objective of living. He recently inferred that all was vanity.

As I sat down from my typical seat at Galittos again I looked down to men and ladies situated on the jobless corner. All appeared to nurse their own particular difficulties. Just a couple appeared to have joy on their countenances. I observed some as they borrowed a daily paper from one another to scrutinize through the pages.

Greater part wore hard rock faces. It was a basic doublespeak of a vexed life, and basically attempting to make sense of what life detracted from them. That helped me to remember what life took from me; my mom. I imagined her being around me, us having various rounds nearby while sticking to her right hand like it were two lovebirds. I simply failed to get it.

Buses moved into the city, shadows relocated, streets turned out to be full and willowed, and all of a sudden the town was so alive. I dwindled inside. I was sore as I watched a couple of road urchins thrush through the kanjo dustbins to search on the straggling leftovers the rich children had dumped.

Over the road stood two men who from a distance posed obscure inquiries. Their eyes went hand in hand with those street kids wherever they went. Their lives looked like a political scene in which the abused had no sorrow signs on their faces, while the characteristics of the less persecuted were appallingly snaked.

Visually impaired bums with slender long tins moved around intensely. All over I could see their curiosity. They had no idea what other individuals resembled. They were cut from the world. Also, as they moved around looking for help a couple individuals tossed unworthy coins at their tins just to dispose of their unremitting begging syndrome.

I was oblivious around then. On my table lay nothing other than a bottle of madiaba pop. I had effectively finished my meal. A bit of gravely cooked pizza. It was the first occasion when I ate pizza, and disdained. I needed to change to nonattendant personality mode to forget it. From that day I stick to my beef burger. A huge one. It is sufficient for my stomach.

Yet with every one of those distinctions we all breast fed different distresses. I don’t know a significant part of the visually impaired homeless guy. Anyhow, he too may have been battling with entanglements. I felt tears filling my eyes. Astringent tears. For a minute those tears made me think those were first world problems that you could simply weep for nothing or simply because you are on a full stomach. In any case, then I knew I was in the third world class, which needed to get some answers about this thing called life.

There is nothing with being a miso theist for some time. It permits you to gain answers.

I took a gander at the buses. The countenances in those buses were not all looking cheerful. Some due to the occupation that waited for them, others irritated by their wives at home, others uneasy that they may be late and get sacked, others having no idea what they came to do in town while others continued speaking with their accomplices wishing to win their hearts.

Others gazed upward to where I was seated close to the window. They may have seen my troubled face as well. Or just though what I was doing up there, if I was eating a meat pie, hot dog or burger and how it tasted. Others continued taking a look at the people in the streets who had no clue that they were being looked at. Others kept window shopping as their cravings surmounted much more. Others were the admirers who kept stretching and twisting their necks to seek a panorama of heavily-assed lasses stroll by the streets with suave; being butts, buttslinger. All their certainty was in their butts, they could influence, and group mafisi would get high.

Across the streets crowds of people surrounded some kikuyu guy with a turban. They squandered their lives upon that gentleman who was persuading them that he could recuperate every one of their issues. They seemed to enjoy hearty laughter from jokes shared by Dr. Kiarie. More and more people flooded in and their day swung by mysteriously.

On one corner a big crowd of men stood, all being political enthusiasts. Their work is to discuss politics from dawn to dusk. They just board a bus, tell their wives they are going to work and head to town just to shout on top of their voices. Most of them being Kisiis, you expect a considerable measure of commotion.

Their politics are highly regarded. They are smart asses. If you follow up closely you will realize that the proposing team members support Manu while the opposing group members are Arsenal diehards.

There is one thing that I fail to understand. That we are so lazy yet we expect so much. We infuse less endeavors and hope to harvest in wealth. That we stay in the same cocoons we ended up in. that we accept much in fate than the truth of life as it is at this time, that we accept much in our vocations that we neglect to accomplish our own objectives. We are anxious about losing cash. Apprehensive about losing cash, we hold tight something that gives us just 10% joy. We stick to the working class express all of our lives.

These are the demerits of middle class members: they have the most needs, consequently they are the most broke individuals. Broke asses are the most stressed individuals. The most stressed individuals drink a great deal. The most consumers waste cash. Most cash wasters take gigantic bank credits (working class are in obligations dependably). Advances are the greatest wellspring of hopelessness in life. A hopeless man with loans will never flourish due to the same cycle of activities.

Such individuals age quickly. A large portion of them drive Toyotas on the grounds that they aren’t fuel guzzlers. They are the same individuals who battle to awe; a large portion of them drive Subarus. They live in fair houses however in terrible neighbourhoods. They never have time for their children. So the children grow up to be hooligans and sugar boys and gold diggers.

These people never save. How can you save when you owe the same bank a lot of bucks? So they finally settle for a mortgage at 60 to build a house since they have no money to build a house. Part of the loans helps them to start business, as they have retired, to sustain them and also continue paying the mortgage.

They later pass on. Every one of their lives were spent working in some office for the same pay, confronting the same dissatisfactions, sitting on the same work area and utilizing the same PC, seeing the same faces until they turn out to be far-fetched foe companions.

When they kick the bucket they scholarly leave their children dove into various obligations… … .such an awful existence of a working class laborer.

It is my challenge to you today. That you refuse to be stagnated in that same place working for someone for years. Make a smart move, save and start a different life. Join hands with willing friends and do something. A combined effort of many hands bears good fruits in colossal amounts. Create job opportunities for those guys at jobless corner. Create a forum to enlighten people on self-employment and job creation opportunities. If you have a venture, include others, mentor them and help them rise.

The beauty of life is holding another person’s hand to help them rise. You rise together, and blessings will come your way always.

I do not want to write much about what we can do with our abilities. I have been a consultant for years, I have been a mentor for a while, I have been a peer educator for ages, and I have been an idea monger till today. All these have honed others, helped them realize their abilities, and guided them to stardom. I fill the bliss.

On that note you can always count me. I am the guy to help you reach your dreams.

If you believe that we can do something before you hang yourself, hit me up on my number 0716503589, we meet and get you something to lean on…..

Gracias, adios!

-photo credit:galleryhip

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About Mzangila

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

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