People Need The Lord - Reflections of a Young Man™

An Honest Appeal!

To help maintain and promote this website as well as to enable me lead a decent life, I am scouting for businesses to advertise on this website of mine. So please hook me up to one such business now by clicking here. How about that?

People Need The Lord

This is the majestically vaulted main sanctuary of All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi, a wonderful church I joined after I left Starehe Boys' Centre in April 2007. Photo courtesy of my friend Joyce Kayima.

As you might already know if you have been reading my previous stories in this website, I loved attending church at All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi during my first year at JKUAT in 2007. I joined the church as a tactic of improving my chances of getting accepted at Harvard College which admits students who excel not only in academics but also in extra-curricular activities.

So for many days, I attended the church with high hopes that I would eventually fly to America for undergraduate studies at Harvard College which I imagined to be of the same high standards as All Saints Cathedral. I would at times gaze at the majestically vaulted main sanctuary of the cathedral and visualize myself doing the same at Harvard.

But it was not only my desire to study at Harvard that glued me to the cathedral. I also loved being part of the church's 9.30am English Service Choir, with which I sang tenor and played the organ, because of its spiritually enriching songs and its buddy-buddy monthly fellowships.

Of all the spiritually enriching songs I learnt in the choir, there was one that touched me most. It began as follows:
Everyday they pass me by,
I can see it in their eyes,
Empty people filled with care,
Headed who knows where?

On they go through private pain,
Living fear to fear,
Laughter hides their silent cries,
Only Jesus hears,
People need the Lord,
At the end of broken dreams,
He's the open door,
When will we realize,
People need the Lord?
So much was I inspired by those lyrics and their accompanying melody that I found myself singing them aloud to myself. I even sang them to my first semester room-mate at JKUAT hoping to change his Casanova lifestyle. Imagine he once brought a woman in our room in the middle of the night from a partying session and screwed her right below my bed where I was sleeping and from where I overheard their sexual intercourse friction noises.

But what I didn't realize back then was that I was the one who needed to heed the advice of those inspiring lyrics because of what I underwent in 2008. I was rejected at Harvard College; then I ignominiously dropped out of JKUAT and stopped attending church which led me to be forcefully admitted to hospital.

By the time I was getting discharged from JKUAT hospital in late 2008, I had grown fearful, hopeless and overweight which led to depression. I tried to resume attending church at All Saints Cathedral but I found myself feeling so alienated and demotivated that I began to miss the days when I was full of high hopes. And then I would pity myself and wonder what on earth had happened to me.

My mother coaxed me to continue attending church at All Saints Cathedral by giving me bus fare to Nairobi but I would at times instead go sleep at Uhuru Park next to the cathedral where I was on one Sunday incarcerated for almost two hours for urinating on a fence. Eventually, I gave up attending church and for several years, I didn't sing or play the piano.

But I have now long since sprang back into good shape thanks to the Lord my dear God. He has guided me back to the path of eternal peace with His amazing grace. And all I can say now is that people need the Lord at the end of broken dreams. He's the open door for shizzle.


Sharing is Caring

Like this story? Then share it on:

Leadership Lessons

This is the 2006 Starehe Boys' Fire-fighting Squad which used to conduct a more than four-month gruelling physical fitness test for new members. Photo courtesy of Fred Kithikii, the 2006 Squad Commander.

Bear with me, if you will, as I recount on yet another wonderful experience I had at Starehe Boys' Centre. I am just developing a hobby of reflecting on my past days, the good as well as the buttock-clenching ones, with the aim of either gleaning valuable lessons or enjoying my life again. And that hobby, which I am finding more refreshing than watching a wacky movie, is inspiring me to live an honourable life while still a youth so that I can get to enjoy it again when I grow old through beautiful memories.

I joined the Starehe Boys' Survival Club in my first term in Form 1 back in 2002 after magically passing an interview conducted by commandos - as the club leaders were called. And with time, I came to enjoy the camps and hikes we had in the club. Well, I didn't enjoy the hikes because they involved a lot of trekking through hilly countrysides but the camps, during which some commandos wore stetson hats that made them look like American cowboys, were quite another thing in that I enjoyed them especially the night camp-fires around which we would sing funny ditties while making fun of commandos who were selected in Form 3.

Like one Survivor teased a commando on one of those camp-fire chants by saying, "You see the grandmother of Commando 'X' - she grew thin and thinner and thinner and thinner and thinner until she disappeared!"

So much did I come to enjoy being part of Survival Club that at one time, I wanted to be a commando in the club. I however gave up on the ambition when I realized I couldn't withstand joining the Starehe Boys' Fire-fighting Squad (see photo above) which Survival Club commandos were expected to join. But with all the confusion and timidity that Starehians saw in me, I doubt whether I would have been selected a commando anyway.

I therefore left the club in Form 2 but after having gleaned the following leadership lessons which I hope to apply in my future family of which I will be the head, God willing:
  • Rise early
  • Be physically fit
  • Ensure everybody in the family has a meal before sitting down to eat
  • Create some time for family fun in which everyone is free to tease each other
  • Keep disagreements with wife and bedroom affairs out of notice by children
And how did I glean those valuable lessons? Mostly in Survival Club camps in which I would observe among other things that commandos projected a spirit of unity and had us wake up early in the morning for physical exercises.

Later on in 2012, I became interested in memorizing the values and mission statements of Survival Club as they may have been outlined by the club founder in 1989. So I visited Starehe Boys' only to find that the club had been displaced from the cottage we used as headquarters in our days to a small room partitioned in an old classroom.

With that kind of change, I sensed the club had lost its glitz and glamour. I informed Ken Ogutu, one of the commandos in '02, about the change but he didn't seem surprised. He just told me they used to refer to the cottage we used as Survival Club headquarters as the Bush Embassy. I found that Ogutu's remark amusing because it implies that if you wanted to go to the bush, you first had to get a visa from the Survival Club headquarters.

And by the way Ken Ogutu, who I have approached to be my legal advisor, went on to study law at the university and was accepted at the renowned Harvard Law School for a post-graduate course. My friend, that's the end of my story, and I have had a nice time telling it. Thanks for bearing with me.


Sharing is Caring

Like this story? Then share it on:

Grace in the Morning

After leading a life of low moods in the past one week, I found myself awake early today at around 3.00am and began listening to the sound of mosquitoes buzzing around my bed. I chose to stay within the cover of my blanket, safe from the mosquitoes, since I was not psyched up to do anything at that hour. From my bed, I overheard my slightly-crippled mother asking my father if he had left the milk and sugar we needed for breakfast. And after answering 'yes', my father left for work at that wee hour of the morning. He always prefers commuting at that hour to avoid heavy traffic and exorbitant peak-hour fares.

About an hour after my father left, my mother received a call that someone was at the gate. She asked me to go find out who was there but I refused. You see, these days I don't do voluntary work; I always ask for payment for even doing such mundane tasks as teaching someone how to navigate through an android smartphone. And since Mum couldn't pay me for going to check who was at the gate, I refused to go. Period.

When our house-girl woke up later on at around 7.00am, Mum asked her to go confirm if there was someone at the gate. She went. And when she came back after quite some time, she informed us that somebody had been killed near our gate. Alarmed like an antelope that had spotted an approaching predator, I sprang out of my bed and sprinted towards the gate to confirm the sad news.

And alas! I was greeted at the gate with a sight of villagers milling around a dead body. As I approached the dead body which was partly covered with a red sheet, I saw from the protruding arms that the deceased man's pullover resembled that of my father. And that made my heart pound heavily in my chest. Could my father have been killed when he left home early in the morning? It was frightening.

My fears were relieved when I finally neared the dead body close enough to see that the deceased wore blue jeans. Since my father doesn't wear jeans of any kind, I was certain beyond doubt that it wasn't him. Composed, I inquired from one of the women guiding the scene, "Have you known who the dead man is?"

"Yes!" she replied, "He is my son!"

I was slightly embarrassed for brazenly asking such a sensitive question to the bereaved woman but I could tell she sensed my total ignorance. All I said back to her was "sorry", and joined the men in the scene who appeared less shocked. I have always tried to resist the craving to mill around accident scenes like a fly on a piece of shit. But today morning, I couldn't resist that craving because I wanted to know the identity of the dead man killed in a neighbourhood I know so well.

Those around me informed me that his name was Kinyajui but I couldn't remember knowing such a man from the home I was told he hailed from. But I figured out since I am a frequent user of the murram road on which he had been murdered, I must have known him by face - if not by the name Kinyajui. I wished to uncover his dead body to know his identity but feared angering or scaring the shocked villagers. So I chose to stick around till I got to see his face when the police arrived. But the police seemed to be taking forever to come.

I was pleased though when two confident men arrived at the scene. From their rolling gait, I could tell they were going to uncover the dead body to find out for themselves what had happened. So I followed them. Uncovering the body, they did. And I was somewhat glad that I didn't know the deceased man by face either.

With a smile in my heart, I left the scene immediately while trying to hide my joy which sprang not for mockery over what had happened but for realizing the grace of God in my life. Because as far as I could tell, I was in good health; so were my family members and close friends. For what is grace? It is a gift to enjoy life's important blessings such as food, health and friendship without having paid God for it.

For me, realizing the grace of God in my life brightened what would have otherwise been a dull day. I have felt inspired to continue striving to fulfil my dreams at this time when I have health. So I am back to Operation Lose-Weight. And watch this website! I might be posting here an inspirational song in the next one month.


Sharing is Caring

Like this story? Then share it on:

← Newer Stories  ||   Older Stories →