Forgive me father for I have sinned

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been ages since my last confession. Memories of my last confession have left in me a vivid impression. Memories of my naive expressions, innocent intentions, superfluous emotions that I blubbered out to you sitting in that booth like you always do. No obection, no question, just paying attention. I have returned, seeking your reflection on an affliction of passion that put me in a difficult position. A position where I no longer derive satisfaction even from the simplest of substances, I have become an abuser of substances. I am no stranger to Coke, Ganja, Meth, Heroine, Marijuana, Amphetamine, Acapulco gold, Quartz, Morphine, Crack, Magic Mushrooms, Ephedrine, Alcohol and Tobacco...I want you to forgive me Father for I have sinned...

I have become a sex slave. I crave some. I get some when I want some. Sometimes I don't want it by I get it anyway and sometimes she doesn't want it but I give her some anyway. When she puts up her hand in protest, my grotesque eyes connect with hers, sticky, stinking saliva streams out of my mouth onto her chest then my fist visits her face, not in grace, rather at a pace that will erase any negative idea she has stored up in her left hemisphere and after that, into her I will disappear. Coming out only when I tell myself to do so and seldom do I come out and for this......I beg you to forgive me father for I have sinned

I have sinned father by breaking into forbidden territory. I have broken into hearts, invited and uninvited. I have damaged, maimed and spread mayhem leaving no table unturned. I have left ashes in hearts. I have cremated souls. I have washed brained and I have created holes. I have left leaks, locked up minds and thrown away keys. I lined up love and executed them one by one. I am a hunted man, a haunted man, a daunted man anticipating a Humpty Dumpty type of fall of the wall of life. I don’t want to break, just not yet, servant of the most high, I implore you to forgive me father for I have sinned


For these and all the past sins of my life I am truly sorry

Leave and let live

Saddness engulfs me. It binds me and fastens me to a cold metallic pole. I am naked. The bare metal rod presses hard against my half-beaten back. I feel the warmth of the blood in my wounds fade away and the houseflies on the pus buzz away. My only friends have left me. The wounds are naked. I feebly call out, "No! Come back!Don't go!" They don't listen. It's flogging a dead horse, or maybe flogging what will be left of me by sunrise; a corpse-only this time it won't be talking. Warmth gives way to cold, my hope gives way to despair, my eyes give way to tears, my love gives way to hate and my pride gives way to shame. I am a cold, half-beaten, half-eaten, half living, half dying, half bleeding, completely naked, completely sad, completely hopeless and completely disoriented. The evolution of my character does not cease. I feel the cold inside me. My heart more than just an icebox, it's the top of the Himalayas. But even the Himalayas are happy. Siva dwells there with Parvati, engulfed in love that lasts a thousand years. Himalaya is a blissful place. A place of first love, first date and if you are lucky, first mate. I have had my firsts. I lost it all to her. My youth and youthful treasures, all lost in one moment. The moment when everything was nice and dandy,spick and span, sleek and slide with no sweat, maybe a little swagger to add some spice......yet this same day i got screwed in all sense of the word.

I see her now and my heart is fonder.She knows my inner shame, she knows my inner thought, she has seen me clothed and without apparel and she knows my every shame. I embrace her but I cry. I kiss her but I am in pain. We lie on the ground and engage in elaborate Karma Sutra but internally, we are not one...or maybe we are? My alpha and omega, yet she reduces me to a slave, an object, a tool, a device, a medium, paraphernalia, a handy tool...I am always breaking away but she keeps pulling me back, i feel like Nelly only she doesn't need me, I need her. she defines me and I am because she made me this way.

Teach me; am African too.....just like you

For about a week now I have been exploring my abilities as a linguist in my current residence Tanzania. It may be strange to some people to learn that in Tanzania, a grown, married and possibly retired man has no clue on the first letter of the English alphabet!It's sad and appalling especially in a world that English is fast becoming a necessity in daily activities.


I recently joined a couple of friends in a project that involves teaching English to voluntary students in a shack somewhere in Dar Es Salaam. I call it a shack not by choice but by obligation because that is what it is,an open shelter covered by only iron sheets at the top. The lessons pull individuals from all walks of life ranging from age 16 to 60 all eager and willing to learn. The tragedy is that most of the teachers are international students volunteering there part time. These students will eventually leave the country for their homes and the fate of the "English Center" is too detrimental to contemplate. It is high time we took charge of our own people as Africans. The elite in Africa should help the illiterate gain literacy and the launching pad for this would be learning English.

Tanzania is just one among the many countries faced with acute lack of literacy on one extreme and extremely educated citizens on the other.When will the latter look at their needy counterpart?We can only wait and hope....

Where logic doesn't apply

Logic...a basic human requirement.Its just like common sense which is not so common anyway(cliche I know)..where I call home currently, the entire concept of logic ceases to exist and the human race is governed or driven by needs and wants I can best describe(subtly of course) using words like greed, ignorance, hunger, cunning and others of the same family.....on the other extreme, cannibal would be a good word to describe these behaviors.

For the millions o African citizens who depend on the ever so glorius public transport for thei movement, lack of reason is not a stranger. In African states, the fare for tranport is more or less not fixed. It may have a range, which is often between two very extreme values which qualifies to be counted as not fixed though they insist the rates are. Anyways, the paradox first hit me when on one hot afternoon(all afternoons are actually equally hot here) I had to go for get my regular rice and meat at a small shack about 500 metres from my dungeon of labor. On this particular day, I decided to treat myself to public transport fearing the sweating and drowsiness that would result from the sun. Normally I'd pay 250 Tshs from home to work(abt 6 km away) and typically I thought I'd pay 100 for the 500m I would ride the bus.

When the conductor approached me, I ever so confidently fished out of my pocket a shiny 100 Tshs coin.(I had just been paid-why else would I choose to ride the bus today?) he grabbed the coin and proceeded to shake the millions of coins in his hand making a sound that was familiar to any regular bus rider "Need more money!Need more money!Need more money!"-now imagine coins making a sound to those words.I looked at him feeling rather embarrassed and surprised,but mostly the former. What now?He demanded full fare...full fare!!250Tshs for 500m?! Then as usual being the smart ass I am, I tried to reason with him and apply some logic."I am riding only 500m. How can I pay the same fare as the person who has come all the way from the city centre which is about 20km away?" Typically the conductor wasn't listenong and after my emotional breakdown he still shook the coins."Need more money!Need more money!Need more money!"
Being the economist I was, I had already budgeted my fare and luch and had carried along exact money.I I added some more money, that would mean a forfeit of rice and meat, something I wasn't about to settle for. I decided to play cool and reason further-by this time I had gone way past my stop and was now heading towards the final bus stop.-I hadn't noticed this.When am reasoning I like to think that time stands still so am oblivious to time.

Anyways, after the long dialogue with the conductor, he did let me get off without adding more money but since I got off at the wrong stop, I had to ride another bus back to work and this would cost me!I ended up not having my rice and beef until later after work which didn't have quite an effect on me as it would at lunch time.

Now that I come to think of it, I also lost contact with logic at some point.I should have given him the money and walked back to the office for more but noooo I just had to argue for 6km. I'm tempted to draw another picture but I fear that in these instances I may also have been a victim of the "no logic between his/her ears" syndrome....

Have a logical time,won't you!!

Fancy some poetry?

I am not a fan of poetry..sorry did i say not?Okay, so maybe I have room for a little poetry in my heart.This is mostly because of the traumatizing high school English lessons I had to endure reading poems and trying to identify various styles, tones and all other questions the examiner would have wanted to add to the "torture list". However, I have come to appreciate the value of what may seem gruesome, since I now look at poems in a different way therefore enabling me to be part of the world the poet is trying to portray and how the poet feels about the world at that time...............hoooooooooold iiiiiiiiiit...Don't tell me you believed that!Gotcha!
Honestly I don't really care what a poet puts down, who knows where the poet was when he/she wrote the poem or what he was doing.I have often tried to imagine the many weird incidents that may inspire me to write a poem and came up with a few ideas or rather..INSPIRATIONS..

If I was taking a poop and I begin to constipate, I will definitely have to struggle to push it out and in the course of this struggle my eyes might become teary and i might feel some pain but in the end I will succeed in what I want to do...can you guess the theme of the poem I would write?....of course..THE STRUGGLE TO SUCCESS....Now if this poem was taken to my ever so glorious high school and given to the students in an ever so torturous exam and a question on the theme is asked, the majority would talk about how the poet struggled through life and torment and how the poem is metaphorical for success after a long struggle...don't you just pity these students??

I am tempted to give another illustration but I would rather you keep your lunch in your stomach so I will not disgust you further.However, a friend recently sent me a poem. I doubt whether that friend(I am intentionally avoiding the pronouns he/she for security reasons-my security) is the true author as I would have expect something far from this world...Have a go at it and try to decipher it at your own risk.Cheerio!

Something must be wrong with me
with all this hurt inside,
always bursting with anger,
and never any pride.

Something must be wrong with me
if all I do is cry,
I can't stop this pain
all I want to do is die.

Something must be wrong with me
if my emotions run wild,
all this confusion does
is make me feel like a lost child.

Something must be wrong with me
with all these terrible things,
always there and never gone
depression is what it brings.

Something must be wrong with me
if I can't stop these thoughts,
all this pain does
is turn my stomach in knots.

Something is truly wrong with me
when I think there's only one way out,
'Let this pain end,'
is all my heart will shout.

Something Must Be By Oblivious

Had an age fight?

If you are one of the "smart" kids in a family of two,(which basically means you are smarter than your sibling) you must have had many many many talks with your parents. Well, for boys there are the usual soccer game discussions where you and your dad argue about a player who you will typically never see, unless of course you plan on going abroad someday. Most of these discussion often end up with one party rather frustrated as a result of being down-talked or watered down by the other party. Typically,that would be the son, who will lose, not by virtue of ignorance but by virtue of age.

So age rules and I have had one too many instances where age has thoroughly condemned me to eternal(actually temporary) frustration which has resulted in near tears-Big Boys Don't Cry, no pun intended. Today I was heading to work which is actually an internship that has now become an unavoidable ritual, seated on the co-driver's side of my father's Prado-yes we own a big car.Anyway, the other night my dad had said something about a queer smell coming from my room and I had ridiculously looked at him saying there was no smell in my room but after he had insisted I gave up knowing that age would work against me anyway so he won a battle that was more a matter of how efficient our noses were, rather than how old our noses have been around this world.You would think that new brooms sweep clean so a younger noses would pick out a smell better than an old one but noooooooo, age comes in.

So this morning the issue came up again. "Brian,I want to ask you something." my dad said. My mind went "Oh crap!Age is going to win again!" I knew this would be one of those lectures that the smart ones in the family needs to keep them in line since the family's pride lies on their shoulders.Typically the next question was whether I was smoking.Okay, maybe I said that too casually.I was not surprised because being the genius I am, I had figured this out since yesterday so I just sat there and counted how many minutes I had to where I dropped off hoping the traffic would ease up so that I will have served my sentence of "parental advice until you drop off".As any typical teenager I was defensive and like any typical argument AGE again took over and the younger one had to listen to the elder one.I gave a lame reason for 'the smell' saying that maybe my amp had blown but again the more you defend yourself the guiltier you are(another concept I have come up with)

I finally reached my dungeon of toil and I had never been so relieved to arrive at work so early in the morning. I'm not sure I was on the right or wrong but I have learnt to avoid arguments where I will definitely lose eventually due to the age factor. I think I will go find myself a kid who is 13 years and impose my age factor on them too, maybe I can blow off all the steam on them too!