sphinx-ke

[sphinx-ke]

You know my innermost fear and motivation comes from this certain breed of women. Jobless women to be exact but not just any jobless women. These are jobless women that sit around all day discussing the happenings in their neighbourhood and one of the juiciest topics, the jobless men. Wamama wa ploti... My friends, my foes

Back when I used to live in the ghetto that is Huruma estate, not that much has changed since then, there was and still is in every neighborhood after that, a spot or a place most preferably a corner, where young men would sit almost the whole day just passing time. Jobless corners that's what they were called. Now I don't know about you but the name itself reaks of disgrace, to yourself, to your family, to the community at large. Nobody wants to be seen here. Dante doesn't want to end up there and neither does any other self respecting, good boy with ambitions to conquer the world. But that's not how this cookie crumbles.

As if the bad picture of that settlement wasn't dull already, the occupants had to go and introduce a little green monster to it to entertain themselves. Now they were just bums, hopeless, drugged bums with nothing to their names. And their audience had a blast discussing them, their failures, their falls from glory and the love polygons between their characters and some of the other vile feline that wouldn't sit with them. The last two being where Dante slips in.

Now I know you're wondering, how can motivation and fear be induced by the same creature. Well it's quite simple. Every man fears falling from a pedestal he put himself on and thus he is motivated to balance even if it's on on his toe to ensure he doesn't fall and the pedestal beneath him doesn't chip. But all this holding onto something so that people don't perceive me in a certain way is quickly getting railed beneath me as I get wiser from the literature and attitude adjustment, from the changes I'm making inward and the ones I'm postponing outward.

[sphinx-ke]

Unfinished...

I'm trying to overlook this truth and illusion that others have been privileged or favored into the positions they are in today, positions I want to be in. Getting involved in the "process" as so many have put it is …

I don't really know whether I'm in the process or I'm just going with the motions. I do want to succeed but there are all these things that I am doing that are not contributing to my better self. I hear and read all these articles and books (not enough) that tell me I need to want it with every fiber of my being … and I'm not sure if I do...

My one day therapist

Dr. Faith pointed out how intelligent I am and true to it I have dug myself out of the hole I was in because of that one, but how come I cant dig me out of my own hole... Kinda makes me question my "genius" but then again it doesn't. I heard... or read (cant remember) that a constant state of confusion, not being sure and every other emotion nor feeling I go through is part of the progress, I don't know if its just me but...

Maybe I'm just being another impatient 24 year old, but I feel a need to do something. I'm not settling down, not for another probably 5 years but I keep putting myself in that position.

She mentioned something about setting goals and being consistent, and I feel I am consistent in some things not necessarily good habits but I do come up with an idea once in a while and I seem to manage to keep myself afloat even in the thick of things. There's that book "Atomic Habits" I don't know why I'm not invested in reading it. I will look for the audiobook.

Progress

I catch myself, every time the depression starts to set in, there are normally triggers. Small things that piss me off or even big ones that bring about a bad mood and then all of a sudden, like a heavy black cloud. Now that I've trained myself to notice it before I spiral I do feel good in Dr. Faith's comment.

So far The Dark hasn't had much of a say, my confidence is up a whole new level. I'd have all these new ladies to thank for that but its not really them its ME. Those few books have given me confidence, charisma, a less intimidated version that can stand up to a guy with a machete in his hand and one to know when he's being provoked to act to his own demise or loss.

Honest to the Almighty, I do see the changes in the self and i appreciate and love the new me, or is it just the me that has always been, hidden in the trees.

"If you see something about you that you don't like... CHANGE IT"

So many have said this. I think its time I listen, I think its time to advance, no waiting for signs, no quivering in the dark.

I enjoyed this time to reflect and think and write...

I remain UNFINISHED...

Al-ḥamdu l-illāhi rabbi l-ʿālamīn

[sphinx-ke]

My parents were never in good terms, they were always fighting about something and when it escalated my dad would send us to bed early and proceed to beat my mom to a pulp. I can't count how many times he came in late and drunk, those nights always ended in painful sighs from my mom as he forced himself on her. Sometimes it got so bad we would go sleep at the neighbour's house while they rushed mom to the hospital after he had beaten her unconscious and fled. I wondered why he did what he did especially to the love of his life.

I know, this is just another case of a trashy father and domestic violence to you but I've actually been there, I've seen the glow and guilt in his eyes whenever mom served him food, how he rubbed his hand over her back when they sat together. All these could have been just things he did when in a good mood but there was one thing that stood out.

Whenever mom had a tough day, whatever it was that didn't involve him, he would cool down and sit opposite her and look directly at her for a while. My mom would then fuss around her seat knowing he was looking at her. He would do this until she blushed a little, which would be signalled by her straightening up and looking away with a slight smile on her face.

Then he would smile, wake up and stagger over to her, push the table to the side then take her hand. They would dance to anything that was playing on our old Patrolman radio, anything! I remember one time them dancing to Elinah Sifuna's commentary with me and my little sister just seated there watching them. Somewhere in the middle one would break into tears and soon the other followed.

They would dance and console each other and that night there would be no painful sighs.

And then morning came...

[sphinx-ke]

You'd think growing up in the ghetto would be one of the worst experiences but in truth I relish every single day. There's something about jumping over broken sewerage pipes or taking the neighborhood's dogs to the next neighborhood to watch them fight or stopping by your favorite meat den on the way home from school to down some tasty "mutura" , that binds your soul to this rowdy, treacherous place. Don't get me wrong if I were given a chance to grow up in Runda or Kileleshwa I wouldn't think twice on it, but having lived this life, life in Nairobi Eastlands, Huruma estate which is actually more ghetto than it sounds, being part of this experience, having met these people,my friends, has forged me into the being I am today.

No this is not a story to inspire you, this is not a story to give you hope, but it is a story about true ghetto life, friendship, brotherhood, bonds that were never meant to be broken.

I knew Denno since we were toddlers, there was nothing really special about him but then again I was also just an average guy so us being friends was actually expected. We lived a normal life, did what normal kids did, sure we got into trouble a couple of times but even those we faced together.

There comes a time when normal just isn't enough and you can either realize your ambitions or have them forced onto you. Denno had the latter, his mom fell sick and couldn't go to work anymore and him being the man of the house was a role that was already inevitable since his drunkard father eloped to Mlolongo with their maid. Denno decided to dropout of school and became a tout.

Now, I don't know if he just had it easy or what we had heard from our "faithful" teacher was just bogus but in a few weeks Denno had fully adapted and was making good money. He paid the bills, bought his mother's medication and took care of his little brother. For a fifteen year old Denno was on top of his game, in a few more weeks he was dressing up all dapper, had a Nokia C200 and knew almost all the pretty girls in the neighborhood, even I was seriously questioning my career choice.

Fast forward about 3 months and his mom is well again and back to work and they are making a killing out of it. They end up opening a shop so that his mother wouldn't have to go to work and he could finally go back to school.

He had never been so unsettled, we could tell that he'd rather have been out there making money than seated in a congested classroom trying to understand algebra. So we'd convince him to stay then on our way home we'd buy mutura and use his popularity at the matatu pit to get free rides home.

On that day he was more than unsettled, he was angry and broke. He had argued with his mother who had refused to let him continue working, he had sold his phone and all the gibberish from the teachers just ticked him off even more.

On our way home we didn't stop at the meat den or the matatu pit so we decided to walk home. He walked fast and silent, didn't laugh at any of our jokes, not even a smile. As we were crossing the road from Jonsaga into Huruma we heard a very familiar hoot.

"Wewe kijana ya shule wewe!" called out Jay, Denno's former driver and boss. Of course this was a joke and instantly Denno lit up and hurled an insult to him jokingly. He told us to hop in since he was headed to the car wash and its on our way home.Denno was ecstatic, finally he got to show off his skill at this art that he had come to love.

Part of living in the ghetto, as a guy, involved you learning certain matatu "etiquette" , let's call it. In sheng it's called "kudandia na kudondoka" which mainly involve boarding and alighting a matatu while still in motion. Its simple but very dangerous, one wrong step could mean tragedy.

It felt like a very low bump on the road. Nobody expected it, but it just happened. One wrong step, shouts from a few pedestrians, bump, gone.

This was not the first time I had seen a dead body, but the mere fact that it was someone I had known since the age of three... But at least you were happy.

Jay took off and we remained there, shocked until the police came.

Still wouldn't trade it for anything...

[sphinx-ke]

Imagine waking up to the screams of your twelve year old banging on your door begging you to open up. A twelve year old that you have not seen for the past two days at that. "Why bother?" you think, but the sound of the angry mob coming makes you rethink.

The boy bursts through the door onto your arms and tackles you backwards. You try to push him off but he stays on you mumbling and you can't make out what he is saying because of the noise from the mob that is getting closer. All you can do is call for your older son, Abu, who immediately shows up and throws the door shut.

What you didn't realize is that a shout at 5am in the morning and a door banging actually pulls attention. The crowd is now banging on your door meanwhile Abu is trying to pull Bilal, who is now crying, off you. "Mwizi! Wewe mama ndio unafuga majambazi huku! Huyo tunamaliza leo! Fungua!" (Woman! You are the one that is bringing up gangsters. We will deal with that one today! Open this door!)

Gangster? What are these people talking about? Your mind starts spiraling, you grow weak and your whole body goes numb, you're not sure if this is you coming to a realization or just a confirmation of what you already knew. Finally Abu is able to pull Bilal off of you...

Women are a strong breed, probably even stronger than men. When you think of all the things that ladies put up with, the height of it being child birth you wouldn't think anything could beat that. But what meets your eyes as you turn to Bilal...

You are covered in blood, you can't even recognize this young man who is crying out to you. The door is banging but not as loud as the thumps of your racing heart. To his side, something is sticking out, something that even Abu is not willing to touch, something that makes Bilal arch to the opposite side in pain. All these things build up in your brain and the actual realization of what is going on sends chills through you and your whole body regains feel.

BOOM!! The door flys open...

[sphinx-ke]

A while back, I had one of the best experiences of my life. To me, next to my photography the only other thing I'm obsessed with is BIKES!

So when I got a call from the Whistling Morans race track to come in for a shoot during a race event, I was beyond words. I was so excited I started asking my friends for extra equipment so that I could make the best of the shoot.

On 24th July 2019, 7:30am I was in an Uber from Kitengela headed for Athi River, with a bag full of equipment. I don't even remember what excuse I made to get out of going to work all I knew was that it was going to be a phenomenal day. I was so excited I'm sure I my Uber driver was a little freaked out, here you are enjoying your normal day then this guy boards your ride and starts talking about 85 mil lenses, M4 exhausts, frame rates and stop times; I know, it's a lot.

We pull up to the venue, I meet the manager,Nabil, who is in a hurry and he just points at the route to the track.

Now I don't know if it was the empty track or the fine morning breeze, but I just felt home , I was meant to be here. I got to meet Ras, who showed me where to keep my equipment as I went around looking for the best spots for shots. Ras is maasai, I mean deep root maasai so his English and Swahili are a little faulty but we have a casual conversation as we walk around. Then it happened.

The revving, the smell of burning asphalt, the smoke; the riders had started coming in. So I cut off Ras and start heading up towards the sound. I hadn't seen it but I had already started guessing the make, the model, the year, the engine type.

Have you ever had that feeling where your stomach drops so low you are almost convinced that it fell off. I get there and it's two other guys trying to bring and old quadbike back to life. The grey-black smoke doesn't even ressemble the puffy white smoke of tires burning out.

A few hours later and there is no biker in sight but Ras assures me that the races start in the afternoon, at least that's what I got from all the mumble.

It's almost 12pm and the only thing going on on the track is ... nothing. I'm getting worked up and almost immediately Nabil walks in, I walk up to him and ask about the race. He looks up from his phone, gives me a confusing look and bursts outs laughing.

I'm angry, hungry and confused, then this guy is in front of me laughing at my face. I open my mouth to speak but Nabil pulls up the event poster from his phone then says "Check the date"

24.08.2019

I couldn't help laughing at myself, but I felt that Ras must've been playing along just for the laughs because immediately we started laughing, he and his maasai friends broke into laughter.

Now, since I had made up an excuse to not go to work, spent over 400 on fare and was already there, why not take some killer shots. Plus their mbuzi choma is off the chain, so ...