SKETCHES OF GRATITUDE:thank God for life.

Good morning most beautiful child of the Lord God Almighty?How are you today?Cold huh?An amazing weather this might be.Am blessed beyond measure and believe you too are.I thank God that you can read this message,meaning God has blessed you with life and health,beautiful sight and another day to glorify Him.It is all we will do,glorify God in all circumstances.





DON’T MISS A THING:Sketches into the night.

She laughed warmly and heartily into my ears over the phone as I told her I was still on my numerous glasses of lemon ginger and honey concoctions and had been so the whole day.”I still have my pills in the bag if you want some,”this she said as she laughed on.

I remember telling her the previous day I was no fan of pills or drugs unless it was a puff of pot.She laughed so hard eating off an entire two or three minutes with laughter.Wasn’t counting though as the laughter was quite contagious.Could have been five.

She wiped off the tears at the edge of her eyes as she chuckled down her ebbing laughter,put her nimble yet neat hands on the table.Pretty manicured in a good baby pink I must admit.

She looked me square in the face and asked if I was serious on my pot weeding story.Laughing hard and deep I looked back into her and asked if she knew the kind of effect a good puff of authentically dried and rolled pot felt like in the head?

Her smile lingered on as if in thought or contemplation…her lips moved as if to imagine the feel of its taste on them then she looked back at me and with those beautiful black irises upon a milk white background said no.”Such a pure soul this one is,”I reiterated to myself.

I honestly don’t know where and why I get this strong urges to just pot away uninterrupted.Sometimes I think it is the feeling of doing something wrong that urges me on.Maybe I should fight these urges huh?Ten of you are nodding but the minority strong three are saying no…hahahah all in my head I guess.

On the flipside however,I hear everyone has a poison however good they are on the surface.I wonder what her’s is.Hahaha maybe with long life and God’s grace someday I will sure find out.

So what is your poison and what good or bad does it bring to society,to you or to both society and you in tandem?Ever thought along those lines even for a moment?

While the lady in red ebbed off her hearty laughter over the phone,I told her our friendship had been sadly ended by her laughter and that my cold would sure be gone come the day next.When I met her the other day she wasn’t really in red though save for her inchy red stilletos and with the legs for days she got,they sure blended well into each other.

I look into my sky and the heavy grey clouds behind whips of fading silver linings is un-assumable.Still they hold so much beauty within them.Ten minutes later with a series of overlaps and hooting from other commuters,I am seated at this utility store along Limuru road and staring at the dark sky above in awe.

There are no stars in my sky thus it ain’t the constellations that draw in my essence.Rather,there is an amazing co-relation and an awe in the seamless union between the day and night via the approach of dusk.I would love to catch darkness in the act as she steals away the daylight.I bet non of you ever has.Feels like catching the sun red-handed or is it set-handed as he disappears into the red horizon,quite a fete that would be.

So where once my beautiful grey clouds fought with the silver in an attempt to burst into rain now remains a mask of darkness.The only squeeze they managed was a little drizzle making the tarmac wetter and earth a little damper.

The sweet smell that once came with the onset of the rains is nowhere in the wind.It however,has been swept away into the rivers abroad.The winged termites also must have been eaten away by birds up in the air .

In its place though is this sweet cold air that blows to fill my nostrils and hence lungs with a freshness of a thousand winds.Scientists speak of ocean currents say cold Benguela currents and warm Aghulas currents meeting to breed new aquatic life.I also believe that even winds do meet to spring up new life and strength whilst we aren’t watching.I mean,my soul feels at peace even as I sit and breathe in the freshness of this evening.Not even the scent of gasoline along the edges can beat the ultimate bounce of freshness along my grain.

A little lighting to the streets and am allowed a view of a displaced city acacia tree top.Insects dance to the light as bats whoop over and above.A little mist forms beyond forcing me to reminisce and yearn for the Limuru mist or view of Sagana hilltop’s fog.If you love the outdoors in its full splendour,then would you appreciate what am talking about.

My nose is blocking up and running with a cold.My tenth glass of concoction today is becoming colder and hence I am force to come off my ruminations.

Allow PePa to say goodbye to the evening as I await another day of God’ s blessings and beauty.This Spanish tune of the El Mariachi behind Vicente Fernandez’s Amor Bravio song plays a good note to my ears.



DO NOT BE STUPID: Sketches of gratefulness!

Good morning beautiful and most amazing child of God.What can we say but thank you unto the Almighty God?Everyday we come up with petitions and requests,lots upon thousands of requests and demands we put before God,not stopping for a moment and looking back to see all that He has done for us.When we look back all we see are the mistakes lying behind us,but have you ever looked beyond and above to see how good and amazing God has been to us?How many battles He has won for us?How excellent He has been to us?When was the last time you were bedridden?When was the last time you slept hungry?When was the last time you lacked a place to sleep?When did you last lack someone to talk to?And even if there was one such moment,din’t God get you out of it one way or the other?

Do not be blinded or deafened,do not let your senses grow numb to feel.





Narasha: sketches between


Would have passed for Nairoma Asha

She came out like Usher

A translation from Hebrew

Though nothing she brew

Could be the nilotic mix

Or single fix

Either Samburu or Maasai

In her was no sigh

Neither was she shy

A credit to social media

A platform we found here

And in it us you could hear

Year’s down the line though

Never met and never a foe

Friends yarned like never before

No face needed to come to the fore

To seal the deal just like in war

So high she stands out in the Savannah

A true depiction of a runner

No that we live to the high landers

For in her lies a real warrior

I mean warrior queen in Maasai Attire

But a flowing ivory in beauty she is.

Narasha the Usher in Asha I never met

Only time will us hence set.



Part 1:The ruminations that nag

Hahaha,so amazing how these memories decide to flood my mind.I honestly want to sleep but no,they won’t let me.This,I must admit,I was never to go down upon.Not down memory lane.

Especially not memories away from my sugarcane track chases down the sloppy dirt road with my clay toy making pals.Or better still not away from grannies fireside stories after a rainy wet evening.Those would be beautiful nostalgic memories…with tears of remission lingering along the edges of my wet eyes.

But who is memory however?She is the consternation that steals your relief just as you are done putting down the heavy load from your long journey and are ready to sit down and rest.She is that nagging woman who won’t let you sit down and sip hot black tea with your feet crossed as to her that signifies you are thinking about a distant woman.

Remember the leaking roof in a rainy season that never stops dripping even after being closed up?The one King Solomon-the preacher speaks of in that beautiful book of proverbs?That is the kind of persona memory must be,she never gives you rest and isn’t happy when you got some.

She,bagging memory is the consternation that steals your peace till you heed to her cries.Till you recount all the intimate details of your past sorrows.

So one by one they trickle in unattended.All triggered by a single conversation about my past.I love narrating my tales and scales but sometimes they get the best of me.That portion of me that am supposed to be selfish about yet which upon holding back waters down the whole tale in conversation.

In such moments however I find myself letting the lingering tear on the side of my dark eyes form course and drain in their little trickles,reminding my chubby cheeks that they too belong and are close door neighbours.A torrent then ensues and if it ain’t for the sole reason of being a man and holding my own,this could sure be the end of these very sketches.

What are sketches though if they can’t join together and flow into a seamless reality?

PePa:Let me know if I should continue with the narration.This is a trial introduction.

SKETCHES OF LOVE:you are blessed beyond what the eyes can see.

Good morning beautiful amazing child of the Lord God Most High.I am moved to understand His beauty.That the depth of His love is not only what we speak or see.It is engrained in our spirit and moves in our lives every moment.That we have to be keen and most careful not to miss His amazing love and presence at work in our lives.That we must be ever careful not to be so taken in our excitement and overlook His greatness.He is amazingly beautiful and has hidden His glory in creation,not only in Genesis but it lives on…lives on in our daily lives,minds and hearts.That is how excellent our God is and so deep His love for us is.




SKETCHES OF CLICKS:a 1000 clicks and taps is too much love.

As if a hundred plus one was not enough

They couldn’t relent without a puff

So on they clicked and let me gaff

At every punch of like and love

Forgive me if I sound emotional

I bet you’d be even more sensational

In my shoes or still yet intentional

In joy’s wake and take it personal.

See it starts with one and adds another

Hits to three and there’s no bother

By fifty likes I pressed much harder

Din’t loose the psyche even without another

Then come and tell me not to bother

For a thousand likes and not from my mother

These are friends and there’s not my father

For what they did is push me further

So a thousand likes I won’t say thank you

Lest I miss the beauty of all of you

This is more than words could write

Just know that here is where my heart feels right.

Thanks for a 1000 likes on PePa.Let us sketch on with life buddies.

AT THE BANK:Sketches of long queues.

Well organised I may call it for that is the first impression I get right from the entrance.

A security guy welcomes you most often than not with a garret security scanner.Most times with a smile and in others a serious look.A sign to sure let you know they mean business.Used to fear approaching them in my younger years..Same old years cropped by fear of police cars and even passing near chief’s(county) camps or even police posts.

If you honestly ask me what I feared so much about these officers and security guys I would honestly not tell you.In my mind though,I always knew they could tell whether you licked mama’s sugar from the jar atop the shelve last evening or if you did some other bad manners by looking at the neighbour’s daughter while they was having a bath…Somehow in my mind these were men with all know-how of everything around them and a flinch of the eye would always sell me off.

So yes,here I walk in and as they pass the garret over my body I reminisce those days with a smile on my lips as I walk in.Inside is these new age array of seats not common in the last few years.We used to make queues for close to an hour just to reach the teller and withdraw a thousand or two dollar bills.Don’t ask me why we never opted for the Auto Teller Machine,I mean it was faster but out there very few guys ever spotted you as you go get your money.

Did you know going to the bank back then could have been an actual ceremony as even having a bank account itself was celebrated?I mean to be honest not many had one,at least not in my age group.

I love this array,with another security guy courteous enough to show you round the hall in undertones.Everything seems quite organised to an extent I literally wish my pockets were this organised.Perils of new age economic slumps these are.

I calmly sit down in the business section cautious not to be noticed as not belonging.In my mind such a small banking hall is frequented by regular guys well known by the banking managers and even tellers.You know when you visit these places day in and out,you tend to look like you belong?

But who am I to be moved?After all this section has more comfortable seats than the regular retail section and notch added,the queues are much shorter.My lazy bum is not about to strain on the retail section.

For a moment I am wishing for a superfluous cashless transaction system.Like I wish I could do all transactions lying on my back or better still sitting up on my seat for exercise’s sake…Exercise on my seat,goodness! Call me the epitome of ultimate lazy wizz.

Good thing with banks is when you enter when all tellers have just had there breakfast or say lunch.This is mid-morning however but the smiles they are exuding translates to a warm mug of break tea in this cold weather.

Makes you want to bank millions and just come say hi,request your balance that is normally slipped into your fingers through those huge bullet proof glass panes,you look privily into the scribblings of this a little bit longer piece of paper,see the many zeros,look up and return an appreciative smile and as they ask what else they can assist you with you nod a no and say thank you.Smile and walk out of the hall with your nose to the ceiling.

My other main attraction in this set up is the quiet and composed posture everyone takes.You can never tell who is banking millions today or just coming to do a few thousand withdrawals like myself.

The calm reminds me however of those days in our queuing episodes.Where a man came carrying an odour-filled polyethylene paper bag say full of money(he is a fish-monger and everyone must carry their wares of trade you know?).He would walk up and down the queue as though he was initially there,don’t miss the sweaty under-arms and torn shirt back as he forgot to wear his apron to the bank.

He would hold up his sweaty under-arms and make long loud phone conversations to an Onyango or Kamau from Karatina.Tell them to await there deliveries as Njoro is a very fast pick-up track driver hence the fish will arrive safe and fresh.I think some of these scenarios with the lingering fish stench has contributed to my not being able to eat sea food to date.

Well,thank modernisation for obesity,high blood pressure and even claustrophobia as we now don’t have to make those long queues…Or is it thanks to medicine?

Well,my time is up in this hall as my turn is come.Hope they won’t turn me away at the counter as I don’t belong to the business class.No,they don’t turn clients away nowadays…they just charge you more….

Still I miss the automatic ticket number counters I hear in other banks…”Ticket number,one hundred twenty two,please go to,counter number seven!” I love that especially when they direct me to counter number seven as seven has always been my favourite number.

Thank God for the end of bank queues.The same should apply to voting queues,don’t you reckon so?


A SKETCH OF ME AND YOU:-thanks for 101 follows.

For a hundred follows

It would seem so hollow

Like a sparrow in sorrow

If it came with no halo

Its halo however

Comes nigh with no fever

As it shrouds with a quiver

Full of nothing but favour

Favour borne in love

Of persons I now have

Never known them before

But now they come to the fore

Front filled with nothing but love

This I scream my lungs out

In joy filled with hype and a shout

To the many beauties all out

To make my heart crouch in joy

Thanks to the hundred follows

Of not just numbers but pure bravos.

Who love sketches hence had to follow

And see beauty begin to harrow

And lay roots of a better tomorrow.

Thanks for loving PePa,PePa loves you back for together we grow.Let us make a better world full of beautiful sketches.PePa