When will they learn? Beauty is unmerited. Beauty is luck.

She is constantly posting pictures of herself across social media platforms. Pictures of her lips pouting on Facebook. Pictures of her butt on Instagram, pictures of her eyes on Facebook and Instagram, pictures of her bellybutton on Instagram and Facebook. Is it insecurity I wonder, is it driven by a compulsive need for compliments? Who knows, perhaps it is pride laced with mediocrity, perchance it is a superiority complex. A never-ending urge to look, appear, do and be better than the next man. Or in this case, woman.

With her pictures come all manner of affirmations. “Self-love is the best love.” Who said so? Or “Stay slaying.” Whatever that means. Or “Life is too short to not have fun.” Fair enough. Or “Meeee.” As if me with one e isn’t good enough. Still, the most pathetic affirmation of the bunch is the ill-disguised lonely state of “Crushing on myself.” Who does that? Who crushes on themselves?

I told her not to be self-absorbed. She told me to go get a life. I asked her if she already got that life herself, she said, “Whatever.” I told her beauty is unmerited favor. Beauty is luck I said. It is not a talent I rationalized. I told her she shouldn’t be good only at looking good. There would come a time when she wouldn’t look as good. What would become of her then? She answered with “You are a hater.” I said, “Am not hating, am empathizing.”
I asked her what her future aspirations were. She gave me a vague answer, “I want to be in a happy place.” I told her there is no such place and to be more specific. She said she wants a happy family. I asked her a question then. I asked… “Who would you like to marry you?” She said she wanted a loving, loyal and financially stable man. I asked her another question then. “Are you loving, loyal and financially stable yourself?” She answered with silence. “Then why should a loving, loyal and financially stable man marry you? What does he have to gain from the arrangement?” She wasn’t able to answer yet again. I smiled and went on to tell her a simple truth. One as universal as the sun, a truth as sure as the rain.

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“Beauty is luck, No one works for it. Don’t let looking good be your defining feature. Beauty can get you places yes, it can open some doors for you I agree…but beauty fades…and when it does…go figure. In the meantime, it hasn’t. If you keep using it to get the things you think you want but which in real sense you don’t need, then you are no better than the prostitutes that line the streets at night. Indeed in your hypocrisy, you are worse than they.

In conclusion, no one respects a beautiful prostitute, but everyone respects a beautiful singer, lawyer, actor, teacher, author, business woman. You get my point. Get something to be good at and be good at it. Let not your beauty be who you are, but rather let it compliment who you are.”

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YOU ARE MAGIC, a romantic tribute. 

You are Magic.                                             Your legs are bewitching in their bewitchingly long elegance.                 What I wouldn’t give to follow the path they lead.                                                     Even blindfolded I would reach my journey’s end up where they end.

You are magic.                                                     Your waist is a sensual creation sent from dreams and drunken visions to fuel my imagination.                                                 I don’t care much for dreams and drunken visions…Still my imagination has a mission to get from your waist an occasion for a sensual lesson. 

You are Magic.                                                     The unrepentant swell of your sweet ass terrorises my every waking moment.         The way it wiggles…The way it rises…       The way I whistle…                                           Wherever they lead I will follow.                 Forever to rise and fall shall be my motto.                                                                   Because in their movement I see a better tommorow.                                                         I just need to spank and see, to hold and feel…to squeeeze and feast.                           Its illegal how they move.                               Its magic how they look. 
You are Magic.                                                     Or your boobs are…                                           Or I think they are…                                         Like dormant volcanoes they sit.                 Tipped by two nipples.                                     Like live pistols to touch them is to enact an enchantment.                                               Suck them and watch with merriment the rise of sleeping giants.                             Squeeeze them and witness a feeling outside the bounds of science.  

Aah my love. You are magic.
That’s how I know you are mine. For I believe in magic.   

                           

I WANT A WIFELY GIRLFRIEND.

Its not an easy thing being with a girl. And no one knows this better than yours truly. Obviously, if you’ve been reading this blog for any decent amount of time you are no doubt aware of my ratiocinations concerning the human female. If not, well…time and blogs wait for no man. You may want to scroll down to the previous articles and let your enlightened betters continue with today’s story. The subject of which is clear. As the tittle brazenly suggests, I want…I need a wifely girlfriend. 

I have dated enough girls to know better, I have had enough sex to learn I have a talent for it and I have done enough self evaluation to know I deserve better. After all, this world we find ourselves in demands you put yourself first, otherwise no one will. That said, the wifely girl I need should possess the following traits.


SHE SHOULD HAVE A HIGH LIBIDO.

My wifely girl should be possessed of an animal need for conjugal mannerisms. Because I like having sex, I don’t like not having sex and I don’t want to look for sex elsewhere when am already committed. That would amount to cheating. The logic behind that requirement follows therefore…one rationale leading assuredly to the next until we unequivocally come to the last. High libido. 

P.S: It goes without saying that a high libido should come with an affinity for bedroom matters. Or in absence of sensual skills, a willingness to learn. 


SHE SHOULD BE VISIONARY.

I don’t want to date a girl who is materialistic. I am a man of little means trying to be rich. And Rich I will become. That said, I don’t need a girl who doesn’t see past her nose.
I have enough bills to handle without a girl going and adding her list of luxuries to my list of needs. And that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you, I do. I just need you to be visionary enough to know it won’t always be this way. 

But of course if that is too much for you to handle, feel free to be with a boy who takes you swimming and buys you presents. Just recognize that the said boy gets his money from his rich sponsor of a dad. Moreover, even his undergarments are bought using money from his mother’s purse. Enough said. 


SHE SHOULD DRESS SEXY.

If you don’t dress sexy when we are dating, whose to say you will dress sexy in the future. A leopard never loses its spots. And please, PLEASE, don’t come to my place in trousers unless of course you are on your menses. Otherwise, that’s like saying you want to switch roles and be the man. 
A lady should look lady-ish when she goes to visit her man and nothing looks more feminine on a lady than a dress or a skirt. 


SHE SHOULD BE RESPECTFUL.

In this context respect doesn’t mean you curtsey whenever you see me. It means treating me as an asset rather than a liability. If I call and you miss it, call back. If you can’t, call back when you can. If I text, reply. If you are busy, text back saying you are busy. Don’t wait for me to call always, call too. If we make an appointment, keep it and keep time, if for some reason you can’t, inform me well in advance. If you are in the wrong, don’t just text a miserable sorry, show you are sorry. And please, don’t use the universal respect is earned thing on me, you are not a Job to be done and to earn anything as recompense. 


SHE SHOULD NOT STRESS ME.

You are here to be my companion through life. My partner in crime. My stress reliever. My lover. My best friend.
You are not here to be my investigator. My judge and jury. My highschool principal nor my university dean. So play your role. 

In conclusion…I want a wifely girl…with whom…for one moment…for just a little while I can be more than just me…with whom I can connect on a level undefined by expectation, unencumbered by explanation….well…you get it…am not a bloody poet.

WRITTEN IN MY HEART’S OWN BLOOD. TO MY LOVE

When next you knock on my door, I will stop whatever I was doing, shout out a breathless…”Coming.” Hastily tidy up…spray a quick whiff of lavender into the air, plaster onto my face my best its-so-nice-seeing-you smile and rush to welcome you in my love. That is what I will do.

I will hold your hands and pull you into the room, then envelope you in a hug-so-tight-it-leaves-you-breathless-yet-you-feel-so-happy-nibble your ears-lift-you-into-the-air-spin-you-around-set-you-down-and-squeeze-you-some-more kind of hug. I will hang your bag on a peg and usher you to a seat with a humble…”I would have said have a seat but a bed is all there is…so have a bed dear.” That is what I will do.

I will pour you some refreshment…hand it over…tell you to sit proper…and throw myself down beside you…I will rest my head on your lap and breath deeply a heady whiff of your intoxicating body scent…I will be content then…NO…not just yet…I will open up my note book and read you that love note  I have been working on. I will play some soft tunes and sing along to you using my cooking stick as a mic. I will make you laugh. That is what I will do.
When am done making you laugh…I will make you wet. That I will do by first asking for a dance when an especially romantic tune plays. With a bow I will say, “Baby, can I have this dance?” Then I will whisk you around the room taking special care not to step on your toes…I will look you deep in the eye and tell you how irresistible you are. That is what I will do.

And while the song continues to carry us on its rythmic currents…I will push you up against a wall, pressing your body with mine…moulding your soft planes with my hard angles. I will place both hands on your cheeks, tip your head back just a bit and plant a most passionate kiss on your lips. I will kiss the upper lip, suck on the lower, I will bite on it, so gently it won’t hurt. I will run a finger so slow down your spine the motion will leave a tingly feeling sneaking up that shapely spine. Meanwhile I will be kissing that spot on your neck that has a pulse. Then I will lift you up and carry you to my bed. That is what I will do.

We will tumble down together, wherehence I will reach behind you to unclasp your bra. Thereafter I will lift up your top and expose the sensual promontories of your bust. I will love your boobs with my eyes…and then I will love them with my hands…But before that, I will make sure to get an eyeful, for remembrance…to keep me warm in future cold nights. After I get that eyeful, a handfull will suffice…I will grasp them both, feel their silky softness, their hot readiness. I will explore them…tease…careress…and just when your nipples get brazenly erect, I will take each into my mouth and savour their tangy taste like so many lolipops. That is what I will do.

And whilst I continue to discover the pleasures of and encumbent. I will slide down my hands behind you to grab your ass…Now don’t get me wrong, there is holding, there is grasping, there is handling, and there is grabbing. And grabbing is what I will do.
Thereafter I will careress your legs from the knees up. I will spread them open to get to your moist inner thighs…I will move up so slow you will be wishing to speed up my hands…to get my hands up there faster. And then I will get there and you will be wishing I never leave. I will rub you through your moist pant…I will hold on to you as surely as any olympian has ever held his gold medal. That is what I will do.

And just when your river of pleasure is ready to burst its banks. I will slip a finger into the pant and hold your leash. And then I will commence my dance…symalteanously rubbing the leash and penetrating a finger into your silky wetness. Slowly at first…then faster and faster. And as pleasure mounts, I will unwrap you…throw aside the wrapping, open up your legs…push your thighs apart and suck on your center of pleasurisation. I will tease it with my tongue, flick my tongue on and in it…and then we will unleash the beast on it. I will use it to rub your wetness…And then I will endevour to usher you to the utmost crest of love. This is what I will do.

The Human Female.

DISCLAIMER; The comparison in this article is fabricated, done according to the present state of mind the author is in. That said, the contents of this piece/article cannot/will not be used against him at any future convenience. Proximity to real human beings is entirely coincidental and cannot/will not be blamed on Author.

The human female is a creature that defies reason and logic. All my life I have studied and observed animals in their natural habitats. I have done this in an attempt to better understand the human female’s motivations and character traits.

I have studied the cat. The closest character trait the cat shares with the human female, I must say, is it’s tendency to reveal its nails just when you thought you could trust it, scratching and sabotaging all that is good and whole in its immediate vicinity.

I have observed the Peacock. I have studied the Giraffe. The Lioness. The Arachnid. The Tick. Even the Mosquito. All these animals, after a fashion, share character traits with the human female. Yet after much study and consultation I have discovered one thing. All the mentioned animals follow some natural order, ultimately they can be understood. Not so the human female.

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The human female, I now know, follows no pre-ordained order. She is impulsive, unpredictable, incorrigible, obtrusive, petty, overly prone to misdirection and impossible to please. What you think she will do she does not. What you think she won’t do she does. The things she does are not the things she should do and the things she should do she doesn’t do.

The study also showed that the human female cares only and above all for herself. She cannot love for she understands not the concept of love. Everything she expects to revolve around her. It’s all about her or it’s not about anything. Therefore and as a result the love she claims she has is a covertly planted seed of intricate planning and subjugation that in the end will benefit one and one person alone…the human female.

In addition, the human female hides under a manipulatively constructed façade of “weaker sex” She parades herself unrepentantly as dainty, fragile and is evasive to all things that require brawn, muscle and hard work if she can avoid it. So while the man strives desperately in a bid to appear manly and eligible to the…(you guessed right) human female, she on the other hand is submerged in devious plots of gossip, betrayal, corruption, brazenly exposed fraud and all other kinds of fuckery meant to make man’s existence a living hell.

She pretends to be misunderstood yet continues to lie about herself at every turn. How will we understand that which we don’t really know and of which our knowledge is based on lies?

She acts all heartbroken when she is the victim of rejection yet gives not a thought to the hundreds she has rejected herself.

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She says all men are dogs yet she sings the universal human female dinge… “Bad boys are no good. Good boys are no fun.” She can’t make up her mind.

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She thinks men are lucky to be with her yet stops not to consider, even for a second, whether she is the lucky one to be with the said men.

The human female continues to defy reason, and studies into her mannerisms are inconclusive at best. Maybe she will never be completely understood. Maybe it can’t be done. But who said we shouldn’t try?

At the moment, as a result of my study, I see past all the miserably ineffective pretensions of human females…past the batting eyelashes meant to distract, through the moist eyes meant to deceive, I see past the exposed bosom meant to capture the eye and shoot straight past the wiggling derriere meant to bewitch. I see past all these to the darker side. I can’t be lied to…I can’t be distracted. I see the human female for what she truly is…a manipulative, dangerous as fuck creature that if not duly studied and out played, can cause the worst of catastrophes.

Till next time. It’s Bujabs the philosopher.

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ELDORET TOWN …THE COLD, THE HOMELESS AND THE PROSTITUTES

No one’s worse is worst.” Bujabs Dennis.

Eldoret town, better known as the city of champions is home to some of the world’s greatest track athletes. The likes of Vivian Cheruiyot, David Rudisha, Ezekiel Kemboi and Eliud Kipchoge just to name a few. But the home of champions isn’t home to champions alone, or so I have come to learn after staying in the town for a little over two years now. Living in Eldoret is a lesson in humility, perseverance, determination and strength against all odds. I say this because a walk through the streets of Eldoret is a walk through the grimy and brazenly exposed murk of poverty and struggle…the lowliest state a human being can endure is endured by many in Eldoret each and every day.

I write this article because I must, in addition I write it to educate the blissfully ignorant people living in every corner of the world that what they take for granted in their lives are blessings of a magnitude they could only comprehend by witnessing abject dissolution and poverty. I write to enlighten…to motivate and most of all to remind everyone that your situation isn’t the worst there is…trust me…it can be much worse. And the best way to figure that out…is to take a walk through the streets of Eldoret as you read this article. Walk and read, walk and learn. Walk and be grateful.

THE COLD

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Eldoret town exists at an altitude of 7000 feet. Now it goes without saying that such an altitude is cold. But then the word cold is relative…so I’ll be more circumspect. Eldoret generally has hot days and cold nights. By cold nights I mean shiver inducing, goose-bump growing, teeth rattling, dick-shrinking, blanket-penetrating, you-cannot-sleep-without-socks-on-plus-a-marvin-plus-two-blankets-or-alternatively-with-one-hot-as-fuck-lady-type of cold. That’s how cold the cold nights in Eldoret get.
And yet as cold as that…people sleep outside. Yes…people. Human beings with bipedal mannerisms. That said…thank god you own a bed, or your parents bought you one. Because your nights are warm. Some people aren’t as lucky.

THE HOMELESS

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Our earliest childhood memories, those that steer us, are grounded on home. The people who remain most important to us are those we share home with. It follows therefore that our deepest affections, our base, our sense of belonging and community, the very foundation upon which we build our lives…gravitates around a home structure.
Without it we are reeds floating in the sea, lacking a sense of direction…lacking an anchor and lacking continuity because it knows not where it goes. Yet millions all over the world are without a home.

Every day on my way home from work, I witness abject poverty in the homeless street families that line the streets of Eldoret. Most often than not, these same families are invalids…the result of accidents or sicknesses. Their state is absolute misery.
The only familiarity they know is familiarity to hunger. The only companions they have are the weather elements under which they are exposed day and night. By day they suffer the noon day sun and by night they endure the cold without bed or bedding. Such is their life.
THE PROSTITUTES

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I never really understood prostitution until I came to Eldoret. I knew the definition…and I saw prostitution on Hollywood movies and the like. But the reality of the trade escaped me because I hadn’t interacted or met any prostitutes. My ignorance didn’t last….
We all know what prostitution is…or we think we do. But do we really?

Do you understand the gravity? Could you explain the desperation that causes one to take to the streets for the purposes of selling their virtue more often than not for a pittance?
To be honest, the money doesn’t even come into the equation for me. It is the act of vending your essentials to complete strangers, without regard to self or to the state of the stranger. Because like in all businesses that deal with consumers, the customer is boss. So whether said customer is as smelly as a rabid dog, or uglier than a combination of machete and lady Brianne of tarth…the prostitute can’t refuse to sell. The reality of the trade is dark, and cold and dangerous and painful.

I see them each night. Paraded along the darkest streets of Eldoret. Young girls as beautiful as summer roses. Girls as young as sixteen. Going about their trade… whether it is because of poverty or desperation I will never know. All I know is to be grateful for each and every thing I once took for granted.

Home, hot food, sweaters, blankets, beds and mattresses.

MORE SIGHTS AND SOUNDS FROM THE CITY OF CHAMPIONS.

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The tallest building is still under construction.
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An aerial shot of Eldi.
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Enough said.
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Zion Mall. Where I go to work.

MOST OF US

If you want a man to be great, put him where the fight is bitterest. He will either die and be forgotten. Or he will come into himself and become legend. (Bujabs Dennis)

 

We find ourselves in this world by no choosing of our own. We are here, and here we must stay…for a while at least. Before we depart for the unknown as is the fate of each and every man who sets foot here. The most important thing therefore, is the legacy we live for our children and for those that will outlive us. “How will they remember us?” That is the question we must endeavor to answer.

MOST OF US DO NOT CARE FOR THE LEGACY THEY WILL LEAVE BEHIND.

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The truth of the matter is, most of us don’t give a butt how they will be remembered. For them life is simple. They live for the fun…they live for the moment, most of all they live for themselves. But such is their choice. And who am I to judge, I say live and let live.

MOST OF US WILL NOT BE REMEMBERED.

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If truth be said, then most of us will be forgotten the moment our caskets hit the dirt and the grave is covered. Heroes and warriors of lore the likes of Alexander and Spartacus died ages ago…and sad though it may be…the truth is most of us live mundane lives…most of are born in a normal setting to normal parents. Raised in a normal home, schooled using the normal curriculum. Most of us finish school and get normal jobs…then marry normal spouses…lead normal boring married lives…die normal deaths…and are not remembered at all. But who am I to judge…I say live and let live.

MOST OF US CARE ABOUT OUR LEGACY BUT ARE TOO COWARDLY TO SEIZE OUR POTENTIAL TO BE GREAT.

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Yes…most of us dream… Almost all of us want to be great. But want is not the same as need. And in this case as in many others, need trumps want. Sadly…dreams will always remain dreams. If you really want to be remembered…grab your manhood. (Sorry ladies.) Push out your chest and go out and seize your glory.
All heroes of legend are men and women who stepped out of their comfort zones. Men and women who dared to achieve that which everyone else deemed impossible. And in achieving it…they became a standard after which everyone aspires.
But to those of us who are too cowardly to stake a claim for themselves… I say, live and let live. After all, who am I to judge?

MOST OF US ARE FOOLHARDY. WE THINK A MIRACLE WILL HAPPEN.

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No such thing will happen. No greatness is achieved without struggle. If it were so…all of us would be great. No…greatness is achieved through sweat…and bone breaking struggle. Through several failed attempts. Through hundreds of rejections, underestimation, hate, and plain servitude. That is what it means to be a legend.
And for the sake of posterity…. I will define the term. Not in the conventional terms. But as I see it. A legend is he who pushes through the murk, through the unbelief of self and peers…and against all odds, surpasses that which everyone else though his potential.
But for those foolhardy enough to think a miracle may happen along the way to push them through the massed ranks of competition to the pinnacle of greatness. Who am I to judge? I say live and let live.

MOST OF US ARE NOT THE STUFF OF LEGENDS.

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Not everyone can be great. Because others must lead while others follow…. And if that were not the way…then who would the leader lead?
We admire greatness because only a few can and may be great. Most of us are destined to sit in the sidelines to watch others become great. Maybe even to help them along the way…. But to remain forever behind.
And to those that are not what legends are made of…who am I to judge? I say live and let live.
In conclusion… life was given us…and live it we must. But as we live it…lets live the best we can live. And as for Bujabs Dennis…. I will never be most of us.

RAW AMBITION

Never stop wanting what you want. (Bujabs Dennis)

At this time…a young man someplace stands in the rain. The icy prickles of the rain his only companion. Reminding him of that which he would give anything to forget. That he is human. He stands in the rain…and dreams about the future. Hoping with everything he holds dear, that it is one worth living.

Else-wise, all the strife would have been for naught. And that, according to him, is just fucked up. He contemplates that which he doesn’t want to think about…that which he has no power over. What if the future isn’t bright…he doesn’t even want to think it. But think it he must. And if after everything he’s been through that happens to be the case. Well, that would be fucked up in all kinds of fuckery.

Because the truth is…the young man has been through a lot. And every once in a while he sits down and curses by all the curses he’s learnt. He stands and dances all the dances he remembers. Sings all the songs in his head and prays the only prayer he knows. “God, please don’t fuck me up. Please do not fuck me up.”

He does all these things, not because he is in any way mad. And not because he is a fool. No, the young man is no fool. He does this things…in an attempt to understand…to make sense of the fuckery that is his life.

The young man is no fool. Neither is he an idiot. Indeed all the things you think he is. He is not. What he is…is desperate. He neeeeeds to understand, he needs his question answered. “Why? Why not him? Why not now?” These are the questions that refuses to leave his head.

The young man has tried. And continues to try…to be the best version of himself. He figures that if he works true…he must succeed. Till then he will do everything, anything… to get his fuck on. Because he has realized one thing, his life depends on it. And with it the meaning of it.

The future cannot afford not to be bright. Not for the young man. He will fight every fight. Run every race…hell, he will beg and lie and steal and fuck and plead. He will do these things and more…. So if you know what’s right for you…you will stay out of his way.

I am your number one fan.

Sometimes life treats you in ways you would be completely justified to call mistreatment. Why? The things you want so bad don’t seem to be coming your way anytime soon. And the worst part of it all is, no matter how much you try…nobody seems to notice. Nobody appreciates the enormous amount of effort you put in. Well, if you can relate to these words. If in any way they resonate with you…then am here to tell you… The night gets dark before it gets darker. Hell it gets darker before it gets darkest but even the darkest night must dawn.
I know you are trying, trying is an understatement. And even though it don’t seem like it right now. You are a champion in waiting.

 

IF YOU RISE TO YOUR FEET EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU FALL

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How many auditions you been to…all to no avail? How many times have you left home to attend an interview, smiling as bright as the noon day sun… and still you can’t seem to land that job you need so much?

So you feel your singing dream is a waste of time because it’s so hard to be a professional these days amidst millions chasing the same dream. Maybe you’ve been told the music industry is full of cons and cheats and to make it out of the murk is an effort that even at the best of times rarely comes to fruition.

Maybe you want to be doctor, or engineer…the problem is you cannot imagine where the money is going to come from. You put your head down and think…and think…but thinking never raised no money before. And now you feel like giving up. You tell yourself not everyone is a doctor and maybe that career path wasn’t meant for you. Yet fire burns in your heart and as usual you refuse to give up. You tell yourself you will find a way.
The way of a warrior is in finding a way. There is no shortcut to success. But succeed you will. If you want it real bad. And I am your number one fan.

 

IF YOU DO EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER TO GIVE YOUR CHILDREN THE BEST.

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The strongest human beings on planet earth are single mothers. Forced by circumstances to play two roles at once. That of father and mother.

Her name is Naomi…she is a nurse at a local hospital near the rented one bed-roomed shack she calls home. She has five children. All of school going age. Two just finished high school and are looking to her to pay their university tuition fees. Her eldest, Ruth just delivered twins. More mouths to feed.

Naomi’s monthly paychecks are full of subtractions. And if the pattern continues her net salary may just go into the negative. She now borrows loans from one bank to pay her loans in other banks. And the circle doesn’t look to be ending soon. Why would it end when her husband, now dead for five years isn’t likely to resurrect and come to her rescue.
The balancing act she does is starting to affect her health. She now suffers from ulcers and the occasional bout of coughing. She has committed no crime. She is just a mother looking out for her children.

And I am her number one fan.

 

IF YOUR DREAM IS YOUR EVERYTHING.

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They say, expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. Expectations, after all, only breed disappointment. Well damn them all, I say. Expect nothing and you will get nothing.

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His name is Moses. He is eighteen years old and all he wants in life is to be famous doing what he loves…dancing. His parents think his dance a waste of time so nowadays he doesn’t dance in the living room. His friends tell him that dance is the most competitive and least rewarding art in the world. They don’t understand him at all.
See everyone thinks Moses is dancing to compete with other dancers. But no. Moses is dancing because he is in love with the music. His whole universe is in sync when his favorite music genre comes on. He forgets everything when he steps on stage to dance. To Moses, not to dance is not to live. Life is dance and dance is life.
So no matter how many times he gets punished by his drunkard of a father. No matter how many times his friends tell him otherwise. Moses has vowed to dance.

And I am his number one fan.
In summary. My name is Bujabs Dennis and my word to you is. Do what you do because no one else will do it for you. And in whichever way you pursue your dream. So long as you are pursuing that dream. Bring it on. I am your number one fan.

Kisumu City; The heat, the girls and the mosquitoes.

Yesterday I was in Kisumu. That’s a beautiful lakeside city in Nyanza province, Kenya. The roads are filled with bodabodas and Matatus. Both being affordable means of transportation for the larger population that for various reasons cannot afford their own vehicular means. Being in Kisumu, like any city reminded me that life is bigger than any one man. I mean, what better way to broaden your perspective than to stand in a city street and just watch as hundreds and hundreds of strangers’ stream by you. People you have never met and will in all likelihood never meet ever again, chasing that elusive self-actualization, each in his own way. But that is neither here nor there, life was given us and live it we must.

Kisumu is the third largest city in Kenya, with a population of approximately half a million, give or take. The number doesn’t seem that much considering Nairobi, the capital city whose population has sky rocketed in recent years to near five million. Still, a visit to Kisumu will reveal that the number is substantial. This article is one man’s story of his experience and observations. This man, Bujabs Dennis is a writer, a lover of life, art and women. Dig in.

THE HEAT

I arrived in Kisumu at noon. My immediate reaction to the naked noon day sun was to shield my eyes, crunch my brow, swallow some spit, spit it out and with enormous agency, seek shade. The heat in Kisumu is unforgiving, ruthless, relentless, searing and unyielding in its intensity. At least during the noon day period. The sun continues to scorch until well past 1500 hours.

And with the heat comes the dust. Dust that penetrates, infiltrates, suffocates and correlates with the ensuring body sweat in an annoying symphony of hateful suffering. If one P.M should find you in Oginga odinga street. The main street of Kisumu. I swear you would give anything, including your virginity for a bath. It’s that hot.
But it’s not all bad. Sweating is healthy…all the filthy, grimy, greasy, body waste comes out so when you shower later you are left feeling healthy, invigorated and happy. Trust me. That’s Kisumu for you.
THE GIRLS.

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Damn me to heaven and back. The ladies are fine in Kisumu city. And that’s fine with a capital F and an exclamation mark. If any normal young man whose loins are firing with the juices of sex starved lustiness made a sojourn to the lakeside city, he would do like I did. Do a jig on the street and sing in praise of the girl paradise that is the city by the lake.

My people, I saw big bouncing booty. Voluptuous booty. Small jutting booty. Just right for holding booty. Please just grab me booty. You know you want to spank me booty. I love that you are looking booty. You can’t look away booty and I know what you are thinking booty. As if that was not enough, I faced optical torture in the extreme. I witnessed heavy boobs. Brave boobs. Achingly swollen boobs. Brazenly exposed boobs. Burgeoning boobs. Eager boobs. Full boobs. Honey soft boobs. Plumb boobs. Thrusting boobs.

The beautiful diversity mixed with the color variety would make any man divorce his wife. Or seriously consider divorce. I saw ebony lasses. Honey brown lasses with just the right pinch of the color. Black ladies burned by the sun into goddesses of the sun. I saw Muslim ladies in Hi-jabs that did nothing to hide that figure of wonder. You know what am talking about? You do.

If you are a man anywhere in the world. Trust me, you want to visit Kisumu. Trust me. You want to.

 

THE MOSQUITOES

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A night in Kisumu is a lesson. A lesson in types of mosquitoes. Maybe the reason mosquitoes are so many in Kisumu is because…duh! The second largest fresh water lake in the world sits just right there on the suburbs. All mosquitoes are descendent from that place.

I say this because there are gold digger mosquitoes in Kisumu, they just want to mine that blood. There are socialite mosquitoes who want the attention. Why else would they spend the entire night going zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz in and around your head? There are obese mosquitoes, drunk from the blood of unsuspecting idiots, Oh sorry, human beings. There are slim, malnourished mosquitoes looking to get into the blood. There are dons and crime bosses that sit back and delegate the biting to lesser minions.

There is even some mosquitoes from the ghetto that do their biting in the lesser estates. The big affluent ones do their biting in high society.

The good news is, rarely are anopheles mosquitoes found in Kisumu. You know, the ones that transmit Malaria.

That’s that. For the best in sunshine, girls and mosquitoes. Visit Kisumu. Am out.

 

More GIRLS from kisumu

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More sights and sounds from kisumu city

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