Today, the cowards in power didn’t know exactly what to do when the courageous youth they’ve hired as new interns assured them that they’d keep confidential only the good deeds of the Government of Kenya.

They assured the power honchos that they’ll be working for, and learning from their time with the diverse public institutions while hoping to be of positive influence in the service to the public.

But hell No!, The youth declared today: They will never promise to look the other way when it comes to official corruption, and that they will be avid whistleblowers no matter the consequence to their careers already sinfully delayed by the same corrupt mongrels entreating them about the Importance of the Official Secrets Act.

We must wonder how come there are so many brave and upright citizens alive in Kenya today, yet there are being lorded over by a so small number of cowards in power!

It will take score years to quantify the cubic meters of fart the GOK officials released to the universe today because of the simple and crisp assurance from the young people they hired with the obnoxious, arrogant hope that the young Kenyans would sign up to new slavery. The officials realized too late that they had opened their armories to pissed-off citizens already armed with advanced anti- BS detection and response systems.

And how so encouraging that the destruction of the cowards in power shall always be self inflicted.

Me I am hopeful and I love what the near future holds for Kenya.

The days of criminal complicity as governance and the state are numbered.

The day of slaughter of Kenya’s fattened bandits is nigh.

And the knives won’t even need to be as sharp for them to work.

No if but when…

I saw as I had seen instantly that everyone knew everything about the same thing in ways that everyone else of them didn’t know anything about on the same thing that everyone of them thought they had known in the same way

Today it rained heavily my end of the city.

Looking outside I marveled at the nourished raindrops. A sense of nostalgia about the rainy days of my childhood set in and quickly overwhelmed me.

I wanted that downpour on me. And it was urgent.

So I decided to get out, embrace the rain, kiss it, hug it and get wet and totally drenched.

I dressed down to my shirt and track pants, then stepped out excitedly and strolled into the rain. No inhibition. No turning back.

The nourished rain drops, interspersed with feebler companions greeted me in a decisive frenzy of direct hits and passing smooshes.

The larger drops hit me like forgiven stones recently turned into water in their new sin-free life. The feebler ones touched my clothes, face and hands like tiny angels guarding the water stones for triumph on occasion of sin.

Initially the hits on me were loud, rowdy and bouncy. Within seconds, I was all wet, shirt and pants clinging onto my body in an indecisive copulation of shock and excitement. The hits changed tone and manner and they now fingered my body like a distracted lover.

I stood in the middle of the small field outside and let the raindrops have me and soak me all they wanted, how they liked.

Oh the strokes. The nourished ones hit me with oomph. The feebler ones caressed me with gentle sprays of wetness that appeared to merge and disappear to irrigate and resurrect any dying cells and nerves deep inside me.

Or may be the feeble raindrops were just tricking me into forgetting their hopelessness and failure in delivering the kind of strokes that would leave me gasping in awe and pleasure. But their gentle manner actually worked.

My body quickly noticed and danced in tipsy swings from its warmth a moment past to the cold hugs, kisses and strokes from my beloved raindrops.

In the rain, the child in me took over. The rain drenching me triggered ticklish sensations from head to toe. I soaked it in gracefully and relished in the delirium spreading all over my inner cosmos.

These sensations got me laughing freely as I started strolling across and around the little field to interact with more diverse raindrops and experience a more pluralistic drenching and stroking.

I laughed at my foolishness of thinking that I could collect all the rain in the palms of my hands and create a lake to water the seed of revolution.

I was lost in the bliss of being rained on. I did not notice neighbors wondering if their fellow earthling had an issue of an undisclosed type.

My present joy hypnotized me. My childhood soul with all its memories of being rained on from school filled me. I am a child of the nourished rains of Kericho and the kinkier ones of Koru Farm in Kunyak.

Spending ten minutes under the spell of the kisses of a heavy downpour was the best way to end my day.

The wetness, the internal warmth of my body and heart and the cold caresses of nature outside. The spread of these sweet sensations all over my soul and body, the which I have no words for.

My teary laughter in the rain remembering my childhood, and the blending of the tears and the raindrops, streaming down my cheeks to find the edges of my lips and tempting my tongue to a tasting festival.

I walked back to the house feeling refreshed, cleansed and happier.

Rain therapy. That was my evening.

In my dream I felt a sharp itch on the side of my rib cage. When I reached to scratch I noticed the source was a wormlike lifeless creature that was leisurely snacking away on my skin. A painless uncomfortable sensation is what I felt, spreading from the surface of my skin, inwards and sideways in all directions.

Then I tried, urgently, to pull out the lifeless wormlike thing. I believed this would end the itchiness and discomfort. But the wormlike figure reacted fast, it’s mouthlike end spreading like a gush of jet fuel on nylon all over my body. I kept pulling it off my skin but its reach already effortlessly clung all over my body like a cocktail of a wet tee shirt, lubricated latex and kitchen cling foil.

I escalated my urgency to peel off the cocktail that had now engulfed every inch of my skin. Nothing was spared, even the difficult contours and folds and intrusions and extrusions that capitalism invented clothing for.

At once I arrested the wormlike figure in a good grip in an effort to peel off the clinging film off my skin. Then the film suddenly broke at my elbow where for the first time I realized it had been a constituent of my skin. I was left with a mass of film in my hand as I reacted to the shock of my now bleeding skin, painless at the point, on my elbow where the transparent film had broken.

Then right before my eyes, scales, like those of fish or snakes or lizards started forming as if to instantly repair the bruised, bleeding skin. But the scales formed fast and moved in a frenzy to cover all parts of my body that I had liberated and firm up those I had not reached yet.

Hurriedly, I pinched a yet to be scaled up portion of the cling film on my loins to launch a new liberation attempt and zone. It snapped quickly and bled, this time more viciously but still painlessly. My loins were attentive. But fearful.

Then I woke up in a feat. I quickly explored every touchable inch of my body to ascertain its state. Was there cling film anywhere? Scales? Bruises? Bleeding? A wormlike creature? Anything’s cocktail?

Nothing. There was nothing. Except a generous spread of perspiration. Maybe out of fear or I had overestimated the state of the weather outside before I gave in to sleep. Also a full bladder from my devoted hydrating habits even when there’s no apparent reason.

I jumped out of bed and off to the loo with the sole objective and urgency to empty my bladder. But not so soon.

A spider and a cockroach were in a vicious fight, roiling and tumbling over each other in murderous rage, right there before my pressed self. I had never seen this before and probably will never see such, ever again. The creatures fought, each taking a turn to disentangle for a fresh maneuver or flight. But the determination was of equal measure.

Did these two creatures have a mutual desire to make dinner out of the other depending on who succumbed first? Or was it a mere flexing of muscles by two exoskeletal idlers? What would they be fighting over? Territory? Water points? Access to poop? What?

I watched in creepy amazement as the duelers schemed, angled, attacked and tried to disentangle for a fresh round or for surrender. Who could tell?

Then suddenly the two dashed off in different directions as if ashamed of being caught in a stupid fight, in a loo. Was it my shadow? Was it my sweaty odor? Or was it the smell of my own adrenaline being as it is that I had just come from a weird, clingy, scaly, bruising and bloody dream – a daymare?

The two desolate fighters scampered and vanished before either could win or lose the duel they seem to have promised their all until one was minced and dispensed with. Is this what they always do in the loo when I’m away? Was this one a chance encounter or was it a sign?

What if my loo is also an arthropoda gladiatorial arena although capitalism sold it to me as real estate square feet? What if that’s the ruling party and the opposition in their arachnid forms roiling for access to public resources? Don’t they always stampede away to hide and reposition whenever citizens stumble upon them in the act?

who knows?

the secret of the mystery of your life could be a lonely sand particle in the desert’s expanse

why do you fear getting out to go try find it?

who knows?

the answers you seek may be tucked in the ocean’s wave?

rushing to the shores as if to be in time to find you and kiss your feet

angsty and restless every day for finding you long gone

rising to hug you but finding rocks instead

losing strength and collapsing to be drawn back again to try again another time

why do you fear joining the wave for a hug

a dance

a swim

and flow?

from where you’d open pages full of the answers you seek?

who knows the sand particle soaked in your mystery and secrets

and the wave laden with answers to your many questions

ain’t me?

who?