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Asking “Was it molestation?” is like asking “Was it racist?” The answer is probably “Yes.”

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I totally agree. There is a thin line between morality and Immorality ,and this line is all that matters

Punk Mum

I’m going to engage in a full boycott of Lena Dunham’s work until she takes personal responsibility for her actions and admits that what she did was wrong.

I don’t mean she needs to reveal that she’s a pedophile (she’s not), that she traumatized her sister (she didn’t), or that she hasn’t sought help for her character defects throughout her short life (she has). I just want her to admit that she was wrong.

Today, Grace Dunham tweeted in favor & full support of her sister…

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Over the time, I had never been an adventure guy. Potential employees even find my insanity to be on another level when I tell them that unlike many, I am not outgoing. However, I had read in the newspapers about how amazing my country – Kenya was. Primary and secondary school had taught me how we had the best topography, climate and flora and fauna in the whole region. Geography had prooved as hard as math, biology, chemistry, physics, history, CRE, English, Kiswahili and everything else in high school… oh… exept from “foodology”. “Foodology” was a branch of science that was fully practical in our prison, sorry, I meant our school. our cateress was the assesment manager all through the year and we had our tripple lessons just beside the slaughterhouse.

All those years, i had never taken enough interest in touring my Kenya. All I remember is visiting the Impala park and sanctuary in Kisumu when i was eight. I was even too naive to differentiate between the baboon and the monkey, after all, all of them looked like ugly men… just extra hairy and without clothes on. I remember watching “Omweri” – the python, I was told it was the largest snake in the region. Among the residents of the area, it was a god… a protected god.
The oldest tortoise in the region had also found its home here, pale and tired.

Now twenty two, after fourteen years of aesthetic blindness, i find a new reason to be adventorous. Perhaps it comes with maturity. No, it came with the goosebumbs I got when the thought of visiting “The Mara” crossed my mind. My trip was amazing, if I find more ink and paper, I will write you about Me and The Mara.

Posted from Countless Voices by Erick Ricoz Malavi


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They say music is food for the soul,
so i guess mine is already full with tones.,
tones that bump up everytime you touch me…

I’d have your name as a G-clef on my lyric band.,
like a guitar,you’d be stuck on my hand.,
i’d switch off the tape player just to let you read my melody.,
And understand that your love is the only thing that keeps me in harmony..

I’d message your back so your skin could dance to the songs in my heart that my lips wouldn’t say….

Like Rudy Fransisco,
I’d write my first song for you,
About how much i love you the same way I knew how to ride a bike;
scared but reckless,
with no training wheels or elbow pads,
so that my scars would tell the story of how i fell for you..

I’d wish that you were my piano,
so my fingers touched you whenever they felt lonely….
Or maybe my flute.,
so that they touched you whenever they felt thirsty.
I’d let you listen to the beautiful sounds of my heart,
so you understood that you were the inspiration behind my ambition..

I know this sounds strange.,
But everytime, I pray that God somehow turns you back to my rib,
Just so I don’t have to spend another day without you:) ,
so that you feel every vibration of love
everytime i sing for you.,
and understand that you are the lyrics to my life

I heard that love is blind,
If so, then I’d write all my songs in brail;
So my songs would never end,
because your love is endless..

I’d die just to know that my lyrics would forever live in your heart,
your heart,
Your heart is the best place i always wanna be..

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My trip to the Mara started interestingly. I had just completed that Media Law paper and I was all over the moon, literally, like any other Kenyan student would be. Somewhere in Eastlands, I knew my two by three size bed was waiting, waiting to take me for a ride through slumber. But as it happened, my destination and mode of transport would be a little different today. Yes, I got that mysterious call to confirm that I had won a free ticket to visit the Mara. My ticket included a free ride aboard the new transmara shuttle. This was an initiative by my Governor to open up our Tourism circuit ahead of the Miss Tourism – Kenya 2015 edition that would be staged in my county.

Seat No 9, comfortably i took my place. Soon, we were bidding adios to the Green City under the Sun. Uhuru highway was jammed, as usual. We had to take long naps while watching the sun set over the tall buildings of Upperhill. Romantic Kenyans seized this moment, it was love galore watching love birds fly into each other’s eyes on the green grass of Uhuru Park; the only recreational park in the middle of a city. One hour…..two hours, at last, we were off Waiyaki way. Our long, adventurous journey to the MARAgoli hills had started.

The road looked different, Of course it should have. It had been four years since I took this road. In short, it had been four years since I visited shags. That is what urbanization and campus life had transformed me into – a prodigal son. But I couldn’t wait to be there, maragoli. It was the circumcision festive time, and you know nobody parties harder during this time like luhyas do. Oh… Lest I forget, it was harvest time so the fire places were blazing, roasting amaduma (maize) for “I don’t know how long”

I think our driver would have done equally well as a music selector too, or DJ as you’d wish to call it. On our journey, he sends us through a musical journey also, ironically. From the twists of twisti, to the woes of skelewu and in between there, my favorite Nameless reminds me that “I am Coming Home….home where I belong”. It is night time but I can’t stop but realize where we are, yes… the Great Rift Valley View point. We beg the driver to make a short stop here, we are the bosses so he obliges. Whoa! The Valley looks scary at night, with small spots of light here and there, perhaps from the huts down the escarpments. I was not going to leave without getting myself a Maasai shuka here. “Pesa ngapi” I ask, “mia tano tu ero!”

Our journey resumes. We transverse through the beautiful sloppy terrain of the rift…up…down…up again…down, amazing craft of nature. Most of my colleagues are dead asleep. The cocktail mix of their snoring sounds and cricket chirping fill the air. Soon, we are at Narok. Nyama choma and kachumbari on my mind. As usual, I am never disappointed by the delicacies here. The fact that you can have a taste of pieces of meat from each stand makes it more interesting. I have enough for myself and some snacks here and there in my leather bag for the “dry season.”

Somehow, I join the “Romans” and snore my way into slumber. Dreams…In my dream, I am dreaming about the girl of my dreams. However, the wind blowing against my window cuts my adventure short. Wow! The tea plantations somewhere past Kericho look like the Promised Land. The floodlights are erected all over, may be to offer security but today, they offer something else – beauty. Through the acres of Greenland my eyes can’t blink, maybe because they don’t want to miss any drop of ‘awesomeness’. By now, I am cursing myself for not travelling during the day, seems like I am missing alot. Unfortunately for us, we have to take a diversion, dusty and long since the Kericho ~ Kisumu ~ Kakamega highway is being constructed – another one from Whu Hi.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz……. I head back to my calling.

“Erick…” somebody calls my name. It’s my seatmate – Odongo. Shockingly, it is day break. Guess where we are, yes, your guess is right. I am at the footsteps of the Maragoli Hills. Somehow, I missed on alot along the way, thanks to Mr. Sleep. I missed on the Sugarcane and sukari nguru at Muhoroni, the swamp and rice plantations at Ahero, the view of Lake Victoria and the ngege and mbuta at Kisumu. Don’t worry though, I will make sure I stick my eye lashes and eye brows together on my way back, atleast so I could write to you about those places and about my adventure in MARAgoli. As for now, let me climb up this stones and hills. Who knows, maybe I will finally touch the sun.


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They tell me not to cry
you are not a baby
I keep my feelings inside
and build walls around
I am not to show emotion
because I am simply a man

I grow up without guidance
because everyone has kept some distance
Theres no one to talk to
nor cry to
I am not supposed to go wrong
I have to figure it on my own
but whose to correct me anyway??

My intention
is to reach their perfection
But again I am human I plead
love,understanding and attention is all I need
I may not be weak inside, or girly perhaps
but sure thing I need a pal

Before all goes wrong
before I throw in the towel
Before i stumble down the shovel
Before i am forsaken by the world i call home
I just need a chance

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Worth Sharing…. Worth Reading!


You know that feeling when you arrive into a room and you feel like you are imposing?

Say you end up with a group of people who know each other really well. Everyone is polite and attentive. And then the conversation might fall into the charm and ease of familiarity. A falling, a rolling: shared memories that come up because just a word can be enough to bring them up. The chuckle when she said that, a chuckle that can ripple through the group, accompanied by sideways glances of affection. You don’t mind this at all; you might be sitting back and enjoying that roll. But someone looks up and notices you are not being included in the conversation. There is a checking; a feeling of being checked. And someone else might turn to you and ask you a question. It is such a polite question; the atmosphere becomes more formal. And this tonal shift is a shift of…

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At an instant, our eyes met., and there was
a flicker of something kinder electrical that
made me believe the feeling would last forever.

The moments of closeness.,
the thought of her warmed my hands
her thought hastend my heart for her return..

I was sitting on the bench next to the anxient
my heart in her palms and my love in her eyes,
and all i could do is fall and fall in love..,
i couldnt see the wind,
but i could feel it blow..
i couldnt see the love,
but i could see it glow….
in her eyes,
i could feel it in my pulse..
i’d find the words to say
but my words were worthless,
i couldnt say a thing in fear of her a
but atleast i could whisper ‘I LOVE U’.
Yes I do.

It came from my heart,
From deep within..
From my life
I felt like i had kissed the moon..
far away in the sky,
So myself fly without wings..
yeah,it was real,
It was true

but wait!..
not all poems can rhyme,
and not all stories have perfect ending because this