Hello👋,

So, let’s start here. If you wonder how I ended up being a journalist, I have a story for us. Let’s say,
we are starting here, what title do we give this story? Hmm...maybe Stories Untold? Maybe City
chronicles? Street boy? Which one sounds better? Absolutely you will let me know in the comments.

Aha! Yes, before we get into naming session, let’s find out about this guy, that’s me, who has a
passion to hide behind the keyboard and tell us sweet tales, tales that will make us reflect on our
past, show us where we are and challenge us on our next task.

Can I start by describing me as a talkative, joyous and friendly country boy? Hmm... well, that may be
on you to decide too. Now, here I am, before the streets chipped in, I was just a country boy, my
childhood was inspired from the petty games we used to play upcountry. And yes, this journey will
be boring as that maize flour porridge we used to take in highschool on Mondays if I fail to mention
one very important person to this.

Now, there is this guy, Wesley, my brother, my friend. We share a lot in common, from sense of
humour to love of arts. This one, let God slap him with blessings pa pa paaa! This guy...hey, we met
when 5 years old. There is this day we were asked to go to church with a friend, those local pastors
those...ha! Anyway here I was, my close friends were catholics, in an era when church was based on
what catholics do wrong against SDA’s. Here I am, my “friends” have rejected me being an SDA,
fearing what the pastor might do if I do not turn up with a friend for sabbath school lessons. Little
did they know they have opened a path for me for a faithful, loyal and long-term friend, whom am
proud to call my brother. Wait, did I tell you how we met? Ha! This little head of mine....Wesley,
then called Enoch...you with your names bure kabisa, was also stranded in front of their gate,
wondering whom to take as friend to that sabbath school lesson.

I didn’t know him by then, but from the look of things, Wesley was just as me...we had a lot in
common, you could tell that from the way we had dressed, (mind you we would be bathed naked in
the sun outside where everybody could see our bahookies basking after that sweet momma’s bath).
Ile mafuta tungepakwa uso...hii yenye mtu wa IEBC anajipaka kipara yake ni kidogo, and then our
moms had to tie an handkerchief in one of our trousers’ belt locks that could hand all day long.

So I didn’t bother to ask Wesley what his name was, I assumed he knew me and so did he. We
exchanged a few greetings as we made clear our intentions

“Hey, huna rafiki wa kupeleka church vile pastor alisema?”

“Hapana, hata mimi sina. Si nikupeleke niseme wewe ndio rafiki yangu?”

“Ee...tuende hata mimi nikiulizwa niseme ni wewe ndio rafiki yangu.”

I really wonder how this memory sticks to my head, because I remember certain episodes later after
I was ten or so.

So here we are...bouncing like two kangaroos to the church, hands locked around our necks, that
was friendship of then. If you are friends you must lock your entire arm around your friend’s neck
and they do the same. Wacha sasa upatwe umeshikilia shingo ya msichana....khai, should I say or
just exclaim and go? Let me just exclaim.

My media personality dream was born on this day. Our church had a TV, tulikuwa tumeomoka na
tulikuwa tunaweka Hope TV. Here, I saw a child the age of mine hosting a show, he was black,
something that amused me because I only knew that these kinds of shows were only hosted by
white kids who were so learned and genius than us the blacks. Am not being racist, but this was the
case if you could ask around.

After the lesson, I was boring Wes with this thought all.way back home. If I forget to mention that us
SDA’s used to cook githeri on Fridays to eat on sabbath that would be so unfair of me . As we were
running back home, to eat Githeri at Wes’ place which was near, I would tell him about that kid, and
told him someday I would be in that TV, a dream that he laughed at when he was little due to the
literal meaning of entering a TV he had that one had to be squeezed into that wooden box yenye
ilikuwa na mgongo, and by the way we had none, which according to him was impossible.

Allright....with this 18 year’s memory, I will be back with more. Allow me jump to our highschool
days when I used to be a debator, a prefect and a “news announcer”. I guess you know why I quoted
that if you schooled in one of these local fun schools.

......to be continued......