Slv 2012...coming soon

                                                                        Epitome of Legacies                           

While marveling of the times I had during a recent sunrise on a clear crisp morning, upon seeing the golden rays of sunlight on this day, I know the chapter of the book is about to close, the ring signature is about to be endorsed, the stamp is almost being sealed, the season is coming to an end, the 8-4-4 system is fast approaching to a halt.

One season is coming to an end, another is just about to begin for the beauty of the whole relationship that has blossomed, for the glory of the understanding we have for the friendships we have built which over and above us lies. A time that according to me, has been impacting, one that is worth every breath in me and the memories I have can never be erased and even if I tried, it will be like drawing a brushful of correction liquid over a line.

These are the kind of relationships that define us; they remind us of who we are and where we have come from. I am one of the people who strongly believe in walking down memory lane every day the sun rises, it reminds us to keep our focus and each time it sets, reminding us to be thankful of what we have.

It is my sincere prayer that each time you open this book, it will remind you of the times you had in campus, of the friends you made, of the people who were able to reach past the thorns to show you the rose within you because this is the characteristic of love. As for me, I have chosen not to grumble that roses have thorns but to be thankful that thorns have roses. And when the night approaches, I want you to remember that the moon is not just a rock, it is a little piece of magic that comes out every night even when times are hard to remind you that every day has a potential for beauty.

These are your legacies,

Your very own memories,

Treasure them always

And it will be my pleasure, if you will enjoy them.

 

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Purpose is...

...The original intent for the creation of a thing
...The original reason for the existence of a thing
...The cause for the creation of a thing
...The desired result that initiates production
...The need that makes a manufacturer produce a specific product
...The destination that prompts the journey
...The expectation of the source
...The objective of the subject
...The aspiration for the inspiration, and
...The object one wills or resolves to have.

Using Google Scholar and other Google resources for education

Teacher's Pet

It’s amazing how almost everyone or rather everything has something they value more than anything in this world. People have their favorite meals, games, places to visit, presidents or even postures! And many other favorites that you can think of, yes including that one which you are thinking of right now. I was even amazed the first time I heard that parents have a favorite child, and this came from a parent’s own mouth, seriously!? O.k, in some situations, I think I can agree but not fully because even in those situations, more or less you will find the parent(s) must have played a role. Anyway, that is a story for another day.

Just the other day I was watching a movie in which a bank was being robbed or rather, it was being taken hostage because at the end, they had tortured people more than what you can call robbery. The most intriguing thing about this script was how the president of the bank reacted when he got the information that his bank was under siege. His first question was,” which branch is it?”, and that is when it hit me that everyone has his/her favorite. It was his favorite branch. You could tell by all means, his body language said it all. He at some point even asked his secretary if she can ask those guys to go to the other branch which happened to be located one street away, now that was laughable, but the old man was damn serious. He meant every word he said.

As I watched this movie, I started thinking of my own favorites and I ended up with a broad smile when I remembered how I was my teachers’ favorite. This was way back in primary when I was in my lower class, I was my teacher’s pet so to say and I would look forward to those “practical” classes we had with her. Practical here meant those times when you are learning things like, for example, the clock and a clock had to be brought to school for “practical” lessons and guess who was asked to bring such stuff, yes you thought right. The teachers’ pet.

I remember one day, in class two, my teacher sent me to class one because they were making so much noise and I had to go and tell them to keep quiet. Being her favorite, I didn’t want to disappoint her and of course I new those kids would not listen to their fellow kid despite the fact that I was older than them. I had to be smarter than them, I had to be one step ahead of them. I was not going to only ask them to be quiet, that would be mere words leading to no results, I had to motivate them and so I promised that whoever keeps quiet will each receive a piece of paper to write whatever they want. OMG!! I can’t believe I’m actually writing this, it’s one of the most stupid things I have done in my life, that means there are a few others.

To cut the long story short, of course those kids kept quiet and I had to fulfill my promise or else I would be labeled a liar. I plucked the pages of my new homework book which my mother had just bought and distributed to them. I had mentioned earlier that my mother was a teacher at the school in which I was in and what preceded my philanthropic act was a nightmare. First of all, I have never understood how my mother passed by that class that particular day because that is how she found out that her daughter had been kind enough to distribute her book pages to class one children who ended up littering the entire class with papers. That actually made matters worse, I wish they had done something constructive with those pieces of paper, wait a minute, what constructive thing would a class one kid do with a piece of paper?. The whole classroom lay white with pieces of paper. Later on at home, my mother asked me about it which of course I denied not knowing that she knew the truth. I got BUSTED!! What followed next is exactly what you might be imagining.

Broken Heart

Growing up as a first born in a family of four, I was the eldest sibling followed by three brothers so that obviously says I am the only daughter of my parents and the only sister to my brothers. It feels great when you know that somehow they all look up to you but it is not all that rosy because that title carries with it a lot of responsibilities. All you first borne out there hope you feel what I am saying . To my parents, I have to be a good role model; I have to set the standards whether it is moral values, academics, almost everything.

This was however far from my imagination as a young girl. I did not understand that I would one day be expected to play all these roles and so the only thing that mattered to me was my playing time, and this is where my hearts’ troubles begun. I grew up in a traditional environment, the traditional setting which is now slowly fading away. This was the kind of setting where all the children in the neighborhood would play together at a set apart community field, there were no restrictions or constraints of whose child you should play with, and whose you shouldn’t play with. There was collective conscience even amongst the young ones during play and that was exactly what happened with our parents when we got ourselves into trouble, they had collective conscience. One parent had the authority to discipline all of us and unlike these days, you couldn’t even think of running home to tell your mother of how your neighbor has caned you because that would mean more strokes of the cane.

Of course, all these was so much fun because you didn’t have to worry about KPLC having to cut out your power when you playing a PS or watching a cartoon because that is how it is with the facebook generation, actually those kids should get a life! Anyway, mine is a different story or maybe it is a big placard conveying the message that should have hit home, I am growing old(er), ouch! That was a hard one but it is the reality.

My biggest issue was, and yes ‘WAS’ is the word because right now it isn’t, that I didn’t have a sister. It was a huge problem especially that I had a brother, mark you, by that time they were not yet three but one, just one and I was already complaining. You can now imagine my disappointment and levels of stress when two more boys were introduced into my life. I wanted a girl to play with, one to tell my stories to and to share my room with, but the most important and “viable” reason was one I could exchange chores with. That did not happen and the pick of all these was when my youngest brother, whom I now dearly love, was born. This I must say was a blessing in real disguise and I know I am only saying this because of maturity. Such a statement at that moment did not mean anything to me.

It all started the day I knew I was going to have a sister, I knew because I had told my mother I wanted a sister and so every nerve in me was convinced that my own mother would never stand me up, I was her girl, so I thought, until that evening when my dad came back home without my mother and announced to us that we have a small baby. It was ‘we’, but the moment he said his name was Brian, it wasn’t ‘we’ again but they, I was literally crushed. You may wonder how a small girl would be crushed, yes they get crushed and that, I can say, was my first heart break. Come to think of it, my own father was actually the first person to break my heart but you can rest assured that he restored it to its original form, something that only he can do. And so with a broken heart I did what every broken hearted girl would do, ran to my bedroom, closed the door and cried and not the silent crying that grown up girls cry but the loud cry for little girls. I remember my father knocking at the door and trying to explain to me that children come from God and you can imagine my answer to him was that he should go back and tell that God to give him another baby and it should be a girl…lol, that was crazy. That definitely never happened and I pray every day that it doesn’t, reason being, I love the way things turned out. I am the only sister and so they treasure that so much because they appreciate the one they have than having none at all and of course she is able to sort them out in the house.

And for the record, I totally love all my three brothers so much and those who know me can testify of this, I would never exchange them for anything because they are part of my world, they make me the person that I am and I live my life to set the best example to them and to the youngest,  Daniel Brian, I love you so much bro and of course you too Wycliff and Obah.

In life, we are all at different time zones. Our clocks read differently though at some point, there are people who are operating at the same hour,either the minute or the second hand would be reading different.
Every new stage or season in our life is a new hour, minute, or second  and should be treated with the humph it deserves.
As young boys and girls, when we are still under the tender care of our parents, it is still the night part of our lives. We are still deep in sleep, dreaming all we want, waking up and demanding what we want because it is our right.Is it?
As for me, my night is now almost over.am at that point when the sleep is the sweetest, the wee hours of the morning when you know the sun will be out any moment but you still wish you could sleep a little more because of the comfort that you feeling.This is what we always feel at that time and in reality, it is what happens when a new season is about to begin in our lives.We have a phobia for change, we fear venturing into new territories, we do not want to move out of our cocoon because it has become our comfort zone but i belief that in order to accomplish our goals in life and to be able to fulfill our purpose, we have to leave our comfort zones and take the risk of trying out the new. I'd rather die trying than die asking "what if?"
Know your time and season, know when to move to a new level, when to take the risk but at the same time, be SMART!

The Standard | Online Edition :: Skipping meals could lead to chronic illnesses

The Standard | Online Edition :: Skipping meals could lead to chronic illnesses

The Standard | Online Edition :: Times when boys were hardened

The Standard | Online Edition :: Times when boys were hardened

My first love letter!

Disclaimer! Read it at your own risk. Anyway, just kidding but it is true and I hope you will not be the person who will be disappointed after reading this because someone has to be.
The one thing i have come to learn about life is that, there always is a first time for everything. It was my time to receive my first love letter and i know right now you almost skipping this line in order to find out when this happened, shock! shock!...I won't tell you. A hint though, i was in high school and yes, in my second year.
In my high school, letters sent to students were read out every day at supper time and this specific one came on a Friday evening and it is specific reason being I was used to my mother's letters like twice in a month but the handwriting a top this one was nothing like my mothers'. Definitely it wasn't my dad's, not because I did not have a good relationship with my dad, actually I was what you can call "daddy's little girl", but because my dad wanted to be the receiver of the letter which really did not happen,( I was not competing with my dad). Most of the time, dad always came to mind when am broke, or when visiting day is around the corner, or when am sick and i have to go home. Do not judge or misunderstand me, i love my father so much, and thanks to technology now days a day or two does not go by without speaking to him.
The letter at hand was from a totally different person, someone I wasn't familiar with and so I decided it can wait till after supper, after all it was on a Friday, so what better way to pass prep-time than to read an anonymous letter. Immediately after supper, i headed to class and filled with curiosity, I opened the letter and of course the first thing to check is the sign out name, I couldn't identify it but the school it came from was familiar, this was a person who definitely knew me and he had the courage to write to me. Again, don't jump into conclusions in spite the fact that your conclusions might actually be right, o.k, you may be right. I am the kind of girl who has this "i know what i want in life" face and an attitude which I can say has been on top, so no entertaining "crap". What was all that about anyway?! No regrets though because they really worked out for me and am proud of it.
That already tells you what was in that letter, a love story, one filled with nouns, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, very good use of the stylistic devices, a good command of grammar, well structured sentences, in short, it was a well composed letter all directed to one girl who was apparently supposed to be swept off her feet but sadly, the reverse is what happened. My feet stood their ground more than ever, and don't think otherwise, I have feelings, a soft heart for that case.
The truth of the matter is, that letter didn't even spend five minutes in my palms, it ended up being soaked in a bucket of water in the next few seconds. Ouch! I also don't like what i did but that is life, I have never told him this, but i guess now he'll know.No hard feelings at all, just being a girl

I am the author of my life

Sometimes the cover of the book can tell you what is contained inside the book but many times it may not. In many situations, the person who designs the cover page is not necessarily the author nor even the publisher. Many people are involved in the production of a book, from the editor to the publisher, then there is the cover designer, the assistant editor and others, but the person who mostly stands out is the author, the writer of the book, the person who communicates the content.This is the person who always takes the credit or the critique. My life is my book and i am the author so i determine what content gets into my book, though many a time this is not the case because we sometimes allow other people to insert a sentence or paragraph, other times they post on our wall, others tweet and retweet as they follow you in your life's journey while still others post a whole blog page in your life. We live in a social world where these social interaction is unavoidable but you have the right to choose. It is how we react to other people's scripts in our life that determine whether our life is worth being read by someone or not.
The designer of my cover page is God, the title of the book are my parents and they are also the people who wrote the first page of my book, and yes, they did the book preview but from CHAPTER 1, I took the pen from them and decided to do my own writing because it is my book. I endevour  to produce a book that will be read world wide by choosing the right kind of editors, these are the people who influence my life positively without forgetting that there will be critiques also. Everyday of my life is a writing day,an editing day, a publishing day and a marketing and selling day of my book, there is no room for correcting the past but there is room for making the next letter, word, phrase, sentence, paragraph, page and chapter better than the previous one.
This is my vision and purpose in life, to leave life a legacy!

I may not remember the day I said my first word neither the word itself, I may not also remember the first step I took but I certainly remember my first day in school. Every moment I walk down memory lane, this has remained to be the most vivid memory inscribed in my mind. That first day when I walked through that gate and it seemed like the whole world was revolving around me, I was excited to go to school, I was going to spend the day away from the house which was usually boring when everyone else goes to school because that is what was the talk of the house every evening at home and I felt left out though I really didn’t understand. Thanks to my nagging and loud cries in the morning when the rest of the family is preparing to leave, I was taken to school. Little did I know that I was actually jumping from the pan to the fire, which is what I later learnt after my first day in school. This is how my first day was like, and please don’t laugh because I think of it now and it actually was funny! At that time it was no laughing matter but a  matter of life and  death, anyway, what are memories made of if not such situations in life.

11^th January 1994,

07:00 hours, I am already up and crying, this time round not because I was being left behind, but I was being ignored. Everyone was dressing up and it seemed they were forgetting that I also need to dress up, and of course my dress was new. The previous night, as far as I can remember, I had gone to bed in full uniform from head to shoe only to wake up without it but at least it was lying beside me.

I finally get the attention I was looking for and within minutes I am ready to rush out of the house only to be stopped half-way, apparently because I was suppose to have my breakfast, but that was contrary to what I knew or rather, have seen. People in this house seldom take breakfast especially on school days and when I asked my mother, she simply said she was running late and I wondered because it was so early in the morning. Now it was my turn to skip at least one meal, I was running late for school!. To be honest, I had issues with food and so this looked like my breakthrough and I was not going to let it slip out of my hand just like that, actually this was one of the reasons why I looked forward to school. Of course, I did not get away with it, my first day in school had begun at home but I was still optimistic of the rest of the day.

08:00 hours, a tall man walks in to what I later learn was our classroom and literary orders us to go for assembly or was it called parade, at that time we had no clue what that was nor what he meant. We silently followed  him as sheep going to be slaughtered as his voice had sounded more like life taking than giving, this was to be true for me as the morning unfolded.

We end up finding ourselves in a large crowd of people others much older than me but I was offended because they had all bought the same dress as mine, they were dressed like me and I wondered why their mothers could not buy them a different dress from mine and even worse, their shoes almost looked like mine, actually there were others with the same shoes as mine. “Copycats!”, I thought to myself, but I really did not care, mine was new and I would tell my mother to get me a different dress so I don’t look like the rest of the girls in school, yes that was me at the age of six (6), I had girl pride. Do not look at me like that, I was just being what every little girl wants to be, the center of attraction, to feel that her and only her mattered in the entire universe. Is this even realistic or does it just happen in the land of dreams and fantasies, a land where castles are built, only that they are built without any foundation or pillars so they technically hang in the air.

What I forgot to mention is that my mother was a teacher at this school and this boosted my ego even more, I was the ‘madams’ daughter. By the time I was getting myself back from day dreaming in to reality, the assembly was already half way and it dawned on me that my mother was not in the teachers line up. It was at that point that I realized that no one around me was familiar, all of them were strangers. Everybody was quiet apart from one lady talking at the front, i became tense, I could not hear what she was saying, the world was literary spinning and I could hear loud voices screaming at me, I simply was not concentrating. I thought of my usual simple way out, cry. It was the one thing that had never let me down, it could get me out of any situation and out of the assembly I went. I was led to the staffroom and asked what the matter was, and even if I was to give you a thousand days to guess what my answer was, you wouldn’t because it was beyond ridiculous. I said I was thirsty and I only take water from home because my father had warned me of taking water elsewhere apart from home. They tried to sweet talk me into drinking their water but on the contrary it was my catalyst in crying, definitely I was not thirsty, I wanted to go home. That is how I earned myself a ticket back home on the second hour of my first day in school, and that was my first day or is it hour in school. To this day I am proud that I at least took that first step which has taken me a thousand miles into life’s journey. A woman who is now proud of herself and her achievements so far.

In the quiet hills of Marakwet, along the banks of a river that traverses the ever green villages as it winds its path up to the river Turkwel in the Kerio Valley,men and women are soaking their feet in water in search of gold. Real gold it is, but the cost is too expensive. It is an adventure that was discovered just the other day but has sent even children to spend the entire day apparently, “digging gold”. Laboring ten hours a day knee deep in freezing water produced only meager rewards, if any.
As splendid as the slopes adore the highland area, as the trees dance to the rhythm of the cool breeze blowing, as the birds chip and nestle after a night of heavy down pour, the people of Nam village are awakening to some sad news. Around a homestead that looks deserted are clusters of people talking in low tones, gestures are being made, heads are bowed down as the talk continues and it seems like they are not even fully informed of the happenings around them. Questions without answers are all these people have as they try to recount the events of last night.
The rains had started early last evening and had continued till just before dawn. No one had heard anything throughout the night, not even the closest neighbor who is about two huts away. It had been a still night but the rain had pounded heavily, water sliding down the slopes, dividing into tributaries then surging together again. For the families who had iron above their heads, whenever it rained, the sound of each drop magnified exponentially.