I watched the video and what stayed with me wasn’t shock—it was pattern. She was once married. Akatoka kwa ndoa na mtoto. Labeled a FIRST MISTAKE, as if broken systems don’t exist. She had no specialized skills. Akatafuta kazi akakosa. When options disappear, survival starts making choices for you. A bar became the next door. Akaanza kukunywa pombe juu ya stress. There she met a drunkard who promised marriage. He married her, got her pregnant, and left. Another child. Another missing father. With nothing else to trade but beauty and a PUTHÆ, she joined the MASSAGE AND HAPPY ENDINGS ladies. Fast money, no questions. Then power stepped in. Policemen requested to EAT her and her friend. SIX POLICE OFFICERS AND TWO LADIES. She was eaten RAW. Ksh. 500. ANOL AND VAJAINOL BY SIX MEN. Low payment by AVERAGE men turned her off. Exploitation gets old when it’s cheap. She joined another ‘BUSINESS’ selling her SABLENYA to monied men. Even politicians noticed. One HIV positive politician ATE HER RAW without consent. PEP saved her. Later, a man seemed serious. THIFX. He had herpes. Now she has RASHES on her HONEYPOT. Pain ended the trade. Anasema sasa akipeana SABLENYA hasikii kitu. Feelings zilisha, ni uchungu tu. She stopped. She’s asking for a job now. She doesn’t have her kids. She has an infection. She’s an addict. No husband. Worst of all, she sold all her eggs for 50K. Hawezi zaa tena. People say she had an issue because her former husbands are now stable elsewhere. Easier to blame her than the ground she kept falling through. Ukipatana na dem msupuu Nairobi, don’t rush to seduce her. She could be carrying more than you can handle. This isn’t a warning. It’s a mirror.

Martha Karua Questions Kenyan Voters' Choices, Warns of Long-Term Cost of Electing Poor Leaders - Kenyans.co.ke https://www.kenyans.co.ke/news/118498-martha-karua-questions-kenyan-voters-choices-warns-long-term-cost-electing-poor-leaders

"Ode to the Memory of Burns" Soul of the Poet ! wheresoe'er, Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume Her wings of immortality ; Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, And with thine influence illume The gladness of our jubilee. And fly like fiends from secret spell, Discord and Strife, at Burn's name, Exorcised by his memory ; For he was chief of bards that swell The heart with songs of social flame, And high delicious revelry. And Love's own strain to him was given, To warble all its ecstacies With Pythian words unsought, unwilled,— Love, the surviving gift of Heaven The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled. Who that has melted o'er his lay To Mary's soul, in Heaven above , But pictured sees, in fancy strong, The landscape and the livelong day That smiled upon their mutual love ? Who that has felt forgets the song ? Nor skilled one flame alone to fan: His country's high-souled peasantry What patriot-pride he taught !—how much To weigh the inborn worth of man ! And rustic life and poverty Grow beautiful beneath his touch. Him, in his clay-built cot, the Muse Entranced, and showed him all the forms, Of fairy-light and wizard gloom, (That only gifted Poet views,) The Genii of the floods and storms, And martial shades from Glory's tomb. On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse The swain whom Burns's song inspires ! Beat not his Caledonian veins, As o'er the heroic turf he ploughs, With all the spirit of his sires, And all their scorn of death and chains ? And see the Scottish exile, tanned By many a far and foreign clime, Bend o'er his home-born verse, and weep In memory of his native land, With love that scorns the lapse of time, And ties that stretch beyond the deep. Encamped by Indian rivers wild, The soldier resting on his arms, In Burns's carol sweet recalls The scenes that blessed him when a child, And glows and gladdens at the charms Of Scotia's woods and waterfalls. O deem not, 'midst this worldly strife, An idle art the Poet brings: Let high Philosophy control, And sages calm the stream of life, 'T is he refines its fountain-springs, The nobler passions of the soul. It is the muse that consecrates The native banner of the brave, Unfurling, at the trumpet's breath, Rose, thistle, harp ; 't is she elates To sweep the field or ride the wave, A sunburst in the storm of death. And thou, young hero , when thy pall Is crossed with mournful sword and plume, When public grief begins to fade, And only tears of kindred fall, Who but the bard shall dress thy tomb, And greet with fame thy gallant shade ? Such was the soldier—Burns, forgive That sorrows of mine own intrude In strains to thy great memory due. In verse like thine, oh ! Could he live, The friend I mourned—the brave—the good Edward that died at Waterloo !* Farewell, high chief of Scottish song ! That couldst alternately impart Wisdom and rapture in thy page, And brand each vice with satire strong, Whose lines are mottoes of the heart? Whose truths electrify the sage. Farewell ! and ne'er may Envy dare To wring one baleful poison drop From the crushed laurels of thy bust ; But while the lark sings sweet in air, Still may the grateful pilgrim stop, To bless the spot that holds thy dust. — Thomas Campbell #poemoftheday #cityvibes #kericho

"The Devil's Walk. a Ballad" Once, early in the morning, Beelzebub arose, With care his sweet person adorning, He put on his Sunday clothes. He drew on a boot to hide his hoof, He drew on a glove to hide his claw, His horns were concealed by a Bras Chapeau, And the Devil went forth as natty a Beau As Bond-street ever saw. He sate him down, in London town, Before earth's morning ray; With a favourite imp he began to chat, On religion, and scandal, this and that, Until the dawn of day. And then to St. James's Court he went, And St. Paul's Church he took on his way; He was mighty thick with every Saint, Though they were formal and he was gay. The Devil was an agriculturist, And as bad weeds quickly grow, In looking over his farm, I wist, He wouldn't find cause for woe. He peeped in each hole, to each chamber stole, His promising live-stock to view; Grinning applause, he just showed them his claws, And they shrunk with affright from his ugly sight, Whose work they delighted to do. Satan poked his red nose into crannies so small One would think that the innocents fair, Poor lambkins! were just doing nothing at all But settling some dress or arranging some ball, But the Devil saw deeper there. A Priest, at whose elbow the Devil during prayer Sate familiarly, side by side, Declared that, if the Tempter were there, His presence he would not abide. Ah! ah! thought Old Nick, that's a very stale trick, For without the Devil, O favourite of Evil, In your carriage you would not ride. Satan next saw a brainless King, Whose house was as hot as his own; Many Imps in attendance were there on the wing, They flapped the pennon and twisted the sting, Close by the very Throne. Ah! ah! thought Satan, the pasture is good, My Cattle will here thrive better than others; They dine on news of human blood, They sup on the groans of the dying and dead, And supperless never will go to bed; Which will make them fat as their brothers. Fat as the Fiends that feed on blood, Fresh and warm from the fields of Spain, Where Ruin ploughs her gory way, Where the shoots of earth are nipped in the bud, Where Hell is the Victor's prey, Its glory the meed of the slain. Fat--as the Death-birds on Erin's shore, That glutted themselves in her dearest gore, And flitted round Castlereagh, When they snatched the Patriot's heart, that HIS grasp Had torn from its widow's maniac clasp, --And fled at the dawn of day. Fat--as the Reptiles of the tomb, That riot in corruption's spoil, That fret their little hour in gloom, And creep, and live the while. Fat as that Prince's maudlin brain, Which, addled by some gilded toy, Tired, gives his sweetmeat, and again Cries for it, like a humoured boy. For he is fat,--his waistcoat gay, When strained upon a levee day, Scarce meets across his princely paunch; And pantaloons are like half-moons Upon each brawny haunch. How vast his stock of calf! when plenty Had filled his empty head and heart, Enough to satiate foplings twenty, Could make his pantaloon seams start. The Devil (who sometimes is called Nature), For men of power provides thus well, Whilst every change and every feature, Their great original can tell. Satan saw a lawyer a viper slay, That crawled up the leg of his table, It reminded him most marvellously Of the story of Cain and Abel. The wealthy yeoman, as he wanders His fertile fields among, And on his thriving cattle ponders, Counts his sure gains, and hums a song; Thus did the Devil, through earth walking, Hum low a hellish song. For they thrive well whose garb of gore Is Satan's choicest livery, And they thrive well who from the poor Have snatched the bread of penury, And heap the houseless wanderer's store On the rank pile of luxury. The Bishops thrive, though they are big; The Lawyers thrive, though they are thin; For every gown, and every wig, Hides the safe thrift of Hell within. Thus pigs were never counted clean, Although they dine on finest corn; And cormorants are sin-like lean, Although they eat from night to morn. Oh! why is the Father of Hell in such glee, As he grins from ear to ear? Why does he doff his clothes joyfully, As he skips, and prances, and flaps his wing, As he sidles, leers, and twirls his sting, And dares, as he is, to appear? A statesman passed--alone to him, The Devil dare his whole shape uncover, To show each feature, every limb, Secure of an unchanging lover. At this known sign, a welcome sight, The watchful demons sought their King, And every Fiend of the Stygian night, Was in an instant on the wing. Pale Loyalty, his guilt-steeled brow, With wreaths of gory laurel crowned: The hell-hounds, Murder, Want and Woe, Forever hungering, flocked around; From Spain had Satan sought their food, 'Twas human woe and human blood! Hark! the earthquake's crash I hear,-- Kings turn pale, and Conquerors start, Ruffians tremble in their fear, For their Satan doth depart. This day Fiends give to revelry To celebrate their King's return, And with delight its Sire to see Hell's adamantine limits burn. But were the Devil's sight as keen As Reason's penetrating eye, His sulphurous Majesty I ween, Would find but little cause for joy. For the sons of Reason see That, ere fate consume the Pole, The false Tyrant's cheek shall be Bloodless as his coward soul. — Percy Bysshe Shelley #poemoftheday #cityvibes #kericho

Life is a series of choices and all we can do is make them. – Kamal Ravikant #motivation #inspiration #growthmindset #success

Is Hard Work Enough to Make You a Tycoon? Lessons from the Late Chris Kirubi We’ve all been told, “Grind harder and success will follow.” But look at Chris Kirubi’s journey—from selling gas cylinders to becoming one of Kenya’s wealthiest entrepreneurs—and you’ll see that grit alone doesn’t guarantee a fortune. From Shell Salesman to Self‑Made Investor Born in Murang’a County, Chris Kirubi lost his parents young and worked every school holiday to support himself and his siblings. His first “real job” was repairing and selling gas cylinders for Shell—a role that taught him salesmanship, perseverance, and the power of customer relationships Spotting Opportunity in Neglected Buildings In the early 1970s, Kirubi started buying run‑down buildings in Nairobi and Mombasa. He poured in sweat equity—renovating, then renting or reselling these properties. What began as small real estate bets soon turned into a thriving property portfolio that generated steady cash flow Diversifying with Bold Moves Hard work laid the foundation, but strategic choices propelled him forward: Haco Industries (household goods) became a regional manufacturing powerhouse 98.4 Capital FM gave him a stake in media—and a platform for influence. As the largest individual shareholder and former director at Centum Investment Company, he rode Kenya’s capital markets to new heights The Kirubi Formula: Beyond “Just Working Hard” Chris Kirubi didn’t just out‑grind everyone—he: Learned Continuously (INSEAD, Harvard, real‑world lessons) Calculated Risks (buying distressed assets, expanding into new sectors) Built Networks (from bank loan officers to government officials) Reinvested Profits (growing every business line) This blend of hustle, smarts, and strategic risk‑taking transformed a petrol‑pump salesman into Africa’s business legend. Takeaway for Every Kenyan Dreamer ✔️ Work ethic gets you in the room. ✔️ Curiosity, connections, and courage close the deal. Next time you’re burning the midnight oil, ask yourself: “Am I just clocking hours—or am I also learning, networking, and making bold moves?” #ChrisKirubi #WorkSmart #KenyanSuccess #InvestInYourself #HardWorkPlusStrategy #EntrepreneurMindset

You don’t need a title to be a leader. True leadership isn’t about authority—it’s about influence. It’s reflected in how you treat others, the way you handle challenges, and the impact you make, no matter your role. 10 Signs You’re a Leader (Even Without a Title): People Value Your Input ✔ Others trust your perspective and seek your guidance. ✔ You’re known for offering honest and helpful feedback. You Take Initiative ✔ You don’t wait for instructions to solve problems. ✔ You step up when something needs to be done. You Inspire Those Around You ✔ Your actions encourage others to do better. ✔ People naturally follow your lead. You Stay Composed in Tough Situations ✔ Pressure doesn’t rattle you. ✔ Others rely on you when things get challenging. You Support and Empower Others ✔ You help people grow and reach their potential. ✔ You celebrate others' wins, not just your own. You Lead by Example ✔ Your actions reflect the standards you expect. ✔ You’re willing to do the hard work alongside everyone else. You Take Ownership ✔ You acknowledge mistakes and focus on solutions. ✔ You don’t shift blame when things go wrong. You Earn Trust ✔ People know they can count on you. ✔ Your actions align with your words. You Communicate Effectively ✔ You make complex ideas easy to grasp. ✔ You listen actively before speaking. You Celebrate Others’ Achievements ✔ You give credit where it’s due. ✔ You take pride in seeing others succeed. Leadership isn’t about a job title—it’s about the choices you make every day. What would you add to this list? Let’s discuss in the comments!