I just flipped the page that said I was two years shy off the third floor just the other day. I’d like to re-read the return policy. Kindly Sir, can you take it back? It seems this wasn’t what I signed up for. Any address perhaps that I’d return it to sender? And press rewind all the way back to 2019? A time like this last year I told myself that I have at least three years to get my acts together because back then it seemed a lot of time.

You know how ka thatee seems to be the deadline of most upper 90s generation, you get the drift? Then rona happened and all my plans went the way how Peter jumped Jesus hence coining the phrase, “kurukwa kiPetero kiYesu“.

There are very few instances I cared about turning a new leaf. If anything, most times I didn’t even notice at all. I never bothered about turning ten or eighteen. 21 seemed to slightly say Hi. I had all the time in the world. So I spent my early twenties on the folly of youth and its flimsiness. The decade that chunked out my campus years. Friendships were made and lost. Our education system on the other hand was more about memory and not understanding. A month after I had graduated, pops passed on. It was devastating to the very most. Then the years passed in a blur. Then 25 hit, I was not keen on it at that point. It was around during that time that this space was born. It had little people in here. Then I began writing tons and tons of them. In between works, studying and plenty of other things. Hectic it was. The old woman wasn’t convinced that the writing thing would grow. We had tiffs about it. To be honest at that juncture I was not in heart with the IT field. She never spoke to me about career issues for the rest of that year. It was also during that while whereby my relationships were never stable. They never held much water anyway.

27, this found me home away from home. The covid pandemonium was raging, cessation of movements and stringent laws. It came as a surprise. Had its own fair share.

Speaking of writing there was a time I was enthusiastic, this space wasn’t doing badly at first. It was among the top websites viewed. If you asked me what happened I truly don’t know what to tell you. I would tell stories and leave y’all in suspense yearning for more and more. It was okay, wrote a small book: Boonies, then added another one: 88,000 Acres of bad shit. Two more are in editing mode. People would come in here read, comment, share and subscribe.

I started an online bookstore in this place and christened it, MAKTABA. Heck even heaven needs a library.

They usually say it’s not wise to judge your art by the praise it gets. But when you guys disappeared, a little bit of the confidence got eroded. Even heaven undergoes a little bit of renovations from time to time. A till number was pegged here to support the blog and also be able to cater for the needs of those who’d wanted to purchase the books. I wondered if the stories were becoming boring. If you guys were no longer impressed or if my craft was sketchy. So I started writing less. And less. My attention was focused on data analysis, machine learning, and AI. Taking pictures for some traveling blog and moving around lots and lots. And before I knew it, my editor wanted out. We happened to break the stalemate during one of my Sunday rides. Some guys whom we meet and ride together for a couple hundred kilometers. This space was in the ICU with no hopes of resuscitation. We managed to bring it back to life just by a whisker.

I wonder if I would have stayed long enough were it not for the money. Chasing the asphalt, wind, and tarmac. Bills have to be paid and this space also needs ink and quill. It’s time to adapt. Friends get engaged, some have kids, or they’re chasing that government 2 billion up for grabs. There is love.

The type of love that has got me thinking of going to state my case at someone’s homestead. The person has been there for a while.

I look around and look at the few achievements I have made so far. Started a few things up and I hope I see them through. I hope you guys give me the support in my books and this space. I hope I don’t fall on the tarmac while riding off to some remote town. It’s also time that I should finish that Cisco.

I accepted that I was going to hurt some people in life. I am not a good man. I am a trying man. A thinking man. I have had to take the punishing choices for the right ends. Regardless, I always came back to indemnify, to correct. My only hope is that it is never too late. And that the old woman would stop nagging me about kids. Just a little bit more to see it through.

If this piece feels allover the place, mangled up, like its come a long way only to be stopped due to curfew hours and the cessation, yet it lacks a sense of plan and direction, then good.

That is exactly how it feels being two years shy off the thirty mark.

NB: Amwadeghu Blog is now also accepting support from M-Pesa. 5338319 is the till number. Whichever the amount will be gladly appreciated to keep this space running. You can also purchase 88,000 Acres of Bad Shit & Boonies from Let’s keep this little heaven alive.

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