Coming Soon Part II

Sometimes back last year, I was in the studio with Ivy, and she asked me whether I see myself ever rapping in Kikuyu and my response was “of course, not like a full song in Kikuyu, (though I can write one if I wanted to), but I will definitely be mixing languages”.

I went ahead and rapped her this chorus and bridge I had wrote a while back, which was a mix of Swahili and Kikuyu… in fact, she recorded a video of it… but I wasn’t taking it seriously… the thing with me is that I will write a song, then keep it till I come across a beat that makes me feel like it’s giving me the best platform to deliver that song.

So at that time I didn’t have a beat that was working out the way I had pictured it all in my mind. I was not even taking that song seriously… and that video that Ivy took is testimony to that.

Fast forward, on a later date, I had an evening studio session, but for a certain reason, I was hesitant to go to the studio… the producer called me and out of respect for his time I was like, “okay, let me go see what I can do today”.

That night everybody in the studio was shocked that I had been holding back such a gem… “like when did you write this song”, “this is fire bro”, “they ain’t ready for this”, “It’s a national anthem”! We sat down the whole night, and on this one, I was more involved than ever before… I executive produced the whole project, from the kick to the melody. I remember having this slight argument because I chose a very mellow  melody, and the producer wanted to use a heavy one and I settled it like, “you can’t have a heavy kick with a heavy melody. You must strike a balance. This kick is heavy and it needs to be equalized by a soft melody”.

By morning, I had a platform(beat) and ready to go. This has by far been the most satisfying song that I have worked on. I had musically grown enough to understand my sound and how I wanted it to be delivered. I had gained enough confidence to take full control of a project and executive produce it. I knew exactly how I wanted it to sound and I was not leaving anything to chance!

Can’t wait for you all to hear the full song.

 

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Hapa Kazi; Coming Soon

I still remember my first time recording; 13 years ago, Calif Records were running a 60% discount promotion. I knew this was my chance to easily record my debut song.

Back then, I was a form 1 student at Nyandarua High School, & I never used to miss the Sunday Nation (BUZZ) and the Insyder. I would forego bread during the weekdays, just to afford the two. That’s how important they were, and it’s via them that I got wind of the Calif deal.

During the April holidays, I talked to mum about the record opportunity, and to my surprise she was like, “okay son”. But that support kinda died once she saw my grades 😂 I fucked up.

I still went to Calif with her support, and what I thought would be an easy few days of churning a hit record turned into this 13 year journey, that I will be sharing with you as time goes by. 

I have taken numerous breaks on this journey, and like all hustles, it has not been easy. At some point, I even stopped talking about my music aspirations, unless it was with people who knew me, from my high school days.

The surprise on my mother when she heard this song is enough to tell how much I kept this a secret. I stopped talking, but I never stopped loving and doing music, she has always been my first love, and not even my flirting with other things could take me away from her for long. I always find my way back to her. And even though our relationship hasn’t been rosy, she has remained my drug, my favorite high. I have been using her as my escape, she is my therapist.

I had a timer on myself though; that by 27 I will have an album out, and as I approached 26, I started working hard in the studio, late nights, early mornings and unquestioned dedication. It made a lot of sense why things didn’t work out back then, I didn’t have the patience, finances and a forgiving heart as I have now. This industry is full of assholes, who think they can do whatever they want and get away with it; people lack discipline and have a very poor work ethic. It’s worse than in the government sector, and perhaps explains why our music industry is not operating at optimum. I think all those in this industry should have an experience in other industries that are well structured, maybe that way, they would have some discipline. In fact, I believe that my exposure within other industries is the main reason that I’m different, and my mission is to bring this kind of work ethic into the music industry. There is a need for proper working systems, and respect across the board. Maybe now you understand why Redsun had to beat up a producer.

Going forward, I’m glad I have survived all those challenges, the numerous breaks, -and it has all been worthwhile. The perseverance, the patience, the unquestioned dedication, has finally paid off. And it’s about time we changed gears and accelerated to a whole new different level.

Being a workaholic, probably explains why my first song is titled “Hapa Kazi” but I can assure you it’s nothing boring, if we are to go with the feedback that I have been getting. It will be playing on a medium close to you in a few days, and you can be the judge 😉.

Cheers to more growth, to chasing dreams and like I say in this song, can’t stop, won’t stop, no stress, press on, till I get it all. Cheers to fulfilling your heart’s desires.

#hapakazi    #nowira   #makmansa

 

What is the Root of Money?

#WhatIsTheRootOfMoney

“Money ain’t everything, Nigga speak for yourself.” ~ Joyner Lucas

“So you think that money is the root of all evil?” said Francisco d’Anconia. “Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can’t exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil?

“When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears not all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been gold, are a token of honor–your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money, Is this what you consider evil?

“Have you ever looked for the root of production? Take a look at an electric generator and dare tell yourself that it was created by the muscular effort of unthinking brutes. Try to grow a seed of wheat without the knowledge left to you by men who had to discover it for the first time. Try to obtain your food by means of nothing but physical motions–and you’ll learn that man’s mind is the root of all the goods produced and of all the wealth that has ever existed on earth.

“But you say that money is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? What strength do you mean? It is not the strength of guns or muscles. Wealth is the product of man’s capacity to think. Then is money made by the man who invents a motor at the expense of those who did not invent it? Is money made by the intelligent at the expense of the fools? By the able at the expense of the incompetent? By the ambitious at the expense of the lazy? Money is made–before it can be looted or mooched–made by the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he can’t consume more than he has produced.’

“To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will. Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. Money allows no power to prescribe the value of your effort except the voluntary choice of the man who is willing to trade you his effort in return. Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are worth to the men who buy them, but no more. Money permits no deals except those to mutual benefit by the unforced judgment of the traders. Money demands of you the recognition that men must work for their own benefit, not for their own injury, for their gain, not their loss–the recognition that they are not beasts of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery–that you must offer them values, not wounds–that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of goods. Money demands that you sell, not your weakness to men’s stupidity, but your talent to their reason; it demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best that your money can find. And when men live by trade–with reason, not force, as their final arbiter–it is the best product that wins, the best performance, the man of best judgment and highest ability–and the degree of a man’s productiveness is the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what you consider evil?

“But money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires. Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality–the men who seek to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind.

“Money will not purchase happiness for the man who has no concept of what he wants: money will not give him a code of values, if he’s evaded the knowledge of what to value, and it will not provide him with a purpose, if he’s evaded the choice of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or admiration for the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgment, ends up by becoming the victim of his inferiors. The men of intelligence desert him, but the cheats and the frauds come flocking to him, drawn by a law which he has not discovered: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

“Only the man who does not need it, is fit to inherit wealth–the man who would make his own fortune no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him; if not, it destroys him. But you look on and you cry that money corrupted him. Did it? Or did he corrupt his money? Do not envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one, would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its root. Money will not serve the mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

“Money is your means of survival. The verdict you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the verdict you pronounce upon your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men’s vices or men’s stupidity? By catering to fools, in the hope of getting more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment’s or a penny’s worth of joy. Then all the things you buy will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you’ll scream that money is evil. Evil, because it would not pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is this the root of your hatred of money?

“Money will always remain an effect and refuse to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of virtue, but it will not give you virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will not give you the unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is this the root of your hatred of money?

“Or did you say it’s the love of money that’s the root of all evil? To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men. It’s the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money–and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it.

“Let me give you a tip on a clue to men’s characters: the man who damns money has obtained it dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it.

“Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil. That sentence is the leper’s bell of an approaching looter. So long as men live together on earth and need means to deal with one another–their only substitute, if they abandon money, is the muzzle of a gun.

“But money demands of you the highest virtues, if you wish to make it or to keep it. Men who have no courage, pride or self-esteem, men who have no moral sense of their right to their money and are not willing to defend it as they defend their life, men who apologize for being rich–will not remain rich for long. They are the natural bait for the swarms of looters that stay under rocks for centuries, but come crawling out at the first smell of a man who begs to be forgiven for the guilt of owning wealth. They will hasten to relieve him of the guilt–and of his life, as he deserves.

“Then you will see the rise of the men of the double standard–the men who live by force, yet count on those who live by trade to create the value of their looted money–the men who are the hitchhikers of virtue. In a moral society, these are the criminals, and the statutes are written to protect you against them. But when a society establishes criminals-by-right and looters-by-law–men who use force to seize the wealth of disarmed victims–then money becomes its creators’ avenger. Such looters believe it safe to rob defenseless men, once they’ve passed a law to disarm them. But their loot becomes the magnet for other looters, who get it from them as they got it. Then the race goes, not to the ablest at production, but to those most ruthless at brutality. When force is the standard, the murderer wins over the pickpocket. And then that society vanishes, in a spread of ruins and slaughter.

“Do you wish to know whether that day is coming? Watch money. Money is the barometer of a society’s virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion–when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing–when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors–when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don’t protect you against them, but protect them against you–when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice–you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that is does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality. It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot.

“Whenever destroyers appear among men, they start by destroying money, for money is men’s protection and the base of a moral existence. Destroyers seize gold and leave to its owners a counterfeit pile of paper. This kills all objective standards and delivers men into the arbitrary power of an arbitrary setter of values. Gold was an objective value, an equivalent of wealth produced. Paper is a mortgage on wealth that does not exist, backed by a gun aimed at those who are expected to produce it. Paper is a check drawn by legal looters upon an account which is not theirs: upon the virtue of the victims. Watch for the day when it bounces, marked, ‘Account overdrawn.’

“When you have made evil the means of survival, do not expect men to remain good. Do not expect them to stay moral and lose their lives for the purpose of becoming the fodder of the immoral. Do not expect them to produce, when production is punished and looting rewarded. Do not ask, ‘Who is destroying the world? You are.

“You stand in the midst of the greatest achievements of the greatest productive civilization and you wonder why it’s crumbling around you, while you’re damning its life-blood–money. You look upon money as the savages did before you, and you wonder why the jungle is creeping back to the edge of your cities. Throughout men’s history, money was always seized by looters of one brand or another, whose names changed, but whose method remained the same: to seize wealth by force and to keep the producers bound, demeaned, defamed, deprived of honor. That phrase about the evil of money, which you mouth with such righteous recklessness, comes from a time when wealth was produced by the labor of slaves–slaves who repeated the motions once discovered by somebody’s mind and left unimproved for centuries. So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was little to conquer, Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers, as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers–as industrialists.

“To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money–and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice, freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man’s mind and money were set free, and there were no fortunes-by-conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being–the self-made man–the American industrialist.

“If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose–because it contains all the others–the fact that they were the people who created the phrase ‘to make money.’ No other language or nation had ever used these words before; men had always thought of wealth as a static quantity–to be seized, begged, inherited, shared, looted or obtained as a favor. Americans were the first to understand that wealth has to be created. The words ‘to make money’ hold the essence of human morality.

“Yet these were the words for which Americans were denounced by the rotted cultures of the looters’ continents. Now the looters’ credo has brought you to regard your proudest achievements as a hallmark of shame, your prosperity as guilt, your greatest men, the industrialists, as blackguards, and your magnificent factories as the product and property of muscular labor, the labor of whip-driven slaves, like the pyramids of Egypt. The rotter who simpers that he sees no difference between the power of the dollar and the power of the whip, ought to learn the difference on his own hide– as, I think, he will.

“Until and unless you discover that money is the root of all good, you ask for your own destruction. When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of men. Blood, whips and guns–or dollars. Take your choice–there is no other–and your time is running out.”

~ Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

Happiness is…

Exactly a month ago, Ivy asked me what happiness means to me and whether I am happy…

I don’t know the RIGHT definition of happiness, but I told her, that happiness to me means being able to do the things I love and want to do. It means having an ability to make choices, and to be free while I choose my chains.

Am I happy? Yes I am, because I wake up every day, and do something, whether big or small, that is in line with what I love and the direction that I want my life to stay on.

She then asked, “what about money? Does it figure anywhere in your happiness?” and I said yes it does. I have been without money, and I have seen my limitations, but I have also been with some money and I have seen the difference it can make, but with or without it we must act, because we cannot be alive without progress, progress is happiness, progress is joy, and that is the essence of life as from the book of Mansa 😀. Dream, Act, Stay Alive!

First Love

Music has always been my first love, Our first proper meeting was 13 years ago, but you know how elusive they can be, first loves!

Reminds me of something I wrote years ago, Chasing Winds, that’s exactly how our ‘relationship’ has been.

I’m not one to give up, though sometimes I think I should learn how to give up, because men who don’t give up end up like Gatsby, dead, with a past heavily inscribed on their tombstones, despite the many options that lay in their future.

But what is life if it is not to fight for what we love, even more, -to fight for who we are!
Music is not something I do, it is a part of me, it’s my interpretation of my world, it’s my way to express self.

So I guess we are stuck in this race of chasing winds, but who knows, one day she might get tired, Stop, embrace me, and then we will kiss, we will laugh over the journey that has been, we might even make love and birth history!

Strangers and Chokers

“Excuse me Ms…”, she looked at him, his greasy hands a huge contrast against the white spotless long sleeve shirt he was wearing. It was not the first time that she was looking at him, she had been throwing glances at him for the last 10 minutes that he had been sitting next to her in the matatu. But now that he was talking to her, she could comfortably look at him.

Her mind wondered how one could manage that, greasy hands and a white spotless shirt, but before she could figure it out, she found herself saying, “yes please”. “I like your choker”, he said with a gleeful face, and before she could absorb and respond he continued, “there is something about it… it has a wild allure”.

Her mind shifted to her choker, she wanted to touch it, as if she did not know it, as if she was not the one who had chose it from her wardrobe that morning, as if she did not spend enough time at the mirror to be aware of her dressing, as if the choker was a stranger to her, whom she now wanted to get acquainted with. It was no different from other chokers, but here was a stranger complementing it. She wondered, “who goes around complementing chokers?” This was by far, the most weird compliment she had ever heard.

“Thank you”, she managed to mumble, adding a sly smile to hide her mixed thoughts; of curiosity as to why he had complimented her choker, and discomfort at the slightest thought of why he might have complimented it.

He looked at her choker and by now, she had got used to seeing his eyes pay attention to it, more than anything else around. It was a black leather gothic choker with a ring, and to him, that ring was everything. It drove him places beyond the matatu… in his current world, he had attached a chain to the ring and was pulling her around like a man does with his dog.

He did not want to escape this world, he wanted to stay in it, to see her willingly submit to him, with every inch of her body. To obey his word, to quickly respond to his slight effort whenever he pulled the chain, to walk and stay by his side, to feed only when he allowed it, and to lay on his lap, just like a good dog does with its master.

He looked in her eyes, they looked harsh, questioning, and curious as to why his mind was on her choker, unlike the submissive eyes in his other world. He thought how she would be offended and furious to know his exact thoughts, chain on her choker, an object of satisfaction to his sexual whims.

The bus weaved itself through the traffic, and before his mind had sobered up, they were in town. He looked at her for the last time smiled and said, “have a wonderful day”. He wanted to add, “I will miss you, as I do you in my head” but thought that would be too much for strangers. She looked back at him, her eyes still curious, perhaps, a look they would carry for the rest of the day every time she thought of the choker that she was wearing. But before she could wish him a good day or even get his name, he was gone, out of the bus and lost in the sea of people. Her mind went back to his greasy hands, his white spotless shirt; It made sense now, the greasy hands, an extension of his filthy mind.

Home Going; a product of our times

How much of who you are is by your own doing? Your own choices? Your own hard work? Your own dreams? Your whole being!

Let’s go back a minute, “your whole being”! What is that? What makes you, you? Are we self made or just but a mere product of our times and the times of our family tree.

Home going is the story of two sisters, Effia married to an enslaver, and Esi who finds herself a slave in the cotton fields of America and what becomes of their generations.

It’s the story of unjust and delayed thirst passed from one generation to the other, for identity, freedom, roots and wings.

Yaa Gyasi has achieved what I will call miraculous, by walking her readers through space and time from one century to the other, from West Africa to the United States, with every word gripping and constructing a scene so vivid, that the whole read feels like a time machine.

She has profoundly proved that as human beings, we are not just a matter of self made, but largely hedged or moulded by our family tree, we are an accumulation of our family tree’s times. One will be amazed by how crafty she juxtapositions the positive effect of privilege, and the negative effects where privilege is absent, achieving a very striking and delicate balance in telling the story of both sides, without making any side uncomfortable. Despite her balanced approach, Gyasi has managed to stir deep thoughts that challenges the reader to be compassionate and thoughtful of where others are coming from, where they are and the effects of their journey, before passing judgement. Perhaps, there lies the secret in healing.

This is a book you should read, and most likely reread. It’s a book that all of us should read, to understand where we are from, and also the importance of making well calculated decisions and moves so as to direct our future generations in the best way possible.

Yaa Gyasi has blessed us with an amazingly powerful read that will transcend time and evolution.

I Missed You…

He looked at his watch, it was 12 noon, then back at her, as she leaned on his dressing table, like a fortress waiting for him to conquer! Leo shook his head, “I’m sorry dear, I only have an hour with you. I have an appointment in town at exactly 1:30pm, which means I have to head out in an hour’s time. Damn! Wish I  could have more time with you but your ass was late”, he said, a slight frown spreading across his face. She gave him a half smile and sensually bit her lower lip, as if she was wondering why he was still sitting on that armchair instead of being the beast she was used to. After all she had come here to feed and to be fed. “It’s okay, we can do a lot in an hour. What’s my punishment for being late?” she asked as she teasingly moved her ribbed black bodycon dress up.

“What are you doing? Stop it! Don’t take your dress off! I want to watch you just as you are! Stand there and don’t make a move, I want to feed my eyes on you! Fuck! I missed you!” Leo said as he leaned back on his armchair like he had all the time, even though the clock was ticking pretty fast. “You like it when I punish you, don’t you? Huh? That is not how punishments are supposed to work hunnie”. He stared at Wambui! She was looking gorgeous, she always did, but today she was prettier, or maybe he had missed her too much, and he was growing fond of her, or maybe this was part of it, what he considered as the perfect show.

This was the first time he had seen her in such a dress, long and hugging her body like it had been tailored on her… His mind wandered to all the people who had seen her on that day, entangling him with a tinge of jealousy as he thought that they all had perhaps shared in this filthy thought… of running their fingers down her curves, reaping her dress off, grabbing her ass, of slow sensual kisses, the kind that say I want you but I’m taking my time with you, of accelerated heavy breaths, and neck bites that leave behind hickies screaming, “pleasure was here”. He snapped back to the present. Wambui was still standing there, still smiling and waiting for him to make his move.

Leo stood up and walked towards her. He ran his fingers on her bare arms as she flinched from his sensual touch. “You’re looking gorgeous, this is how you are to dress, every time you come to me, okay?” His voice came out, softly, yet heavy like a command. Wambui nod her head in agreement! He pulled her off the dressing table, one hand on her neck while the other run down her body, and leaned as if to kiss her, only for his lips to levitate on hers, making just enough contact to scream his desire, but not enough to turn the moment into a kiss. Wambui was getting anxious and overwhelmed, which is exactly what Leo wanted. She was drowning in the wait, she wanted him, now, not an extra minute, otherwise she would explode and attempt to take charge, which would be against his will. She leaned forward in an attempt to complete the kiss, but Leo moved back, denying her the victory she was aching for. He liked control, he enjoyed seeing her eyes dilate and beg for him while he tortured and pushed her to unbearable extremes. But to her luck, time was against them, but not without a little play.

He made her turn around and face the mirror, while his fingers moved and lingered on her boobs, nakedly screaming his hunger for her. Wambui could feel Leo’s dick pulsating on her ass, and the sensation made her want him inside. Leo leaned forward and kissed Wambui’s neck and whispered, “tell me what you want”. “You know what I want”, Wambui replied. “And what exactly is that? I want to hear you say it”. “I want you to give it to me! I want your dick inside me”. Leo hissed, his warm breath, hitting Wambui’s neck in a sensual way. “Is that all you want? My dick inside you?” “come on babe, you know the package. I want your fingers too, and that magical thing you do with your tongue. You call it playing the harp”, Wambui said, her head leaning towards the right side, as if the thought of him “playing the harp” was driving her into a frenzy. “Look in the mirror, see how gorgeous you are? Dammit! I’m gonna give it to you just as you want”. She turned around so that she could face him, and to her amazement, was met with no resistance. This time round, they lips met, perhaps because he too could no longer wait. He had reached his tipping point, he wanted her right away!

Her dress was no longer tightly hugging her body, but lay on the floor like a fallen flag in a conquered land… The kissing, grabbing and lifting accelerated perhaps because they were both aware that they had just a couple of minutes to bathe in pleasure. Today, control was not their thing, the moment was in control. She liked him this way, his guard fallen, high and drunk in pleasure! She could tell that he was not in charge which was unlike him; but neither was she, pleasure was.

An hour later, Leo walked into Intercom’s boardroom office a file in his hand, and a pitch to make. It was going to be an intense afternoon of business after pleasure. He was smiling, the smile that make strangers stop you in attempt to appreciate and discover the source of your glow. But no one could stop Leo, he was in his own world, the flash backs were still very fresh and vivid. The heavy breathing, lifting, cursing, biting and nails digging into his skin was still giving him a high. He was drunk in pleasure but he had to calm himself down. There was a pitch to make, after which he would have the rest of the day to dive deeper into the flashbacks.

Monogamy Vs Open Relationships

So let’s talk about this…Monogamy, first of all, we can all agree that it is not a natural thing, it’s something we force on ourselves… So does it do us good? Or does it turn us into deceptive beings?

First time someone asked what I thought about open relationships, I didn’t know what to say, so I replied that I don’t know what to think about them. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense… it’s like Kanye raps in the song No Church in The Wild, “love is cursed by monogamy… we formed a new religion, no sins as long as they’s ‘permission’, and deception is the only felony, so never fuck nobody without telling me”.

The idea of open relationships also brings in the question of freedom; because freedom is both a gift and a curse; a wise man knows that freedom is best enjoyed when you put limits on yourself, otherwise you will drown in it, you will look yourself in the mirror and not even recognize yourself!

So which is which? Monogamy or open relationships? Personally I think both should be acceptable options. Of course monogamy has always been acceptable, it is well internalized in our culture as the only ideal relationship. Open relationships on the other hand, are more like a taboo. They shock us! What’s ironic is that they even shock partners who are pretending to be monogamous but seeing other people out there… You see, that’s deception right there! And who are you deceiving? Yourself? Or your partner? Or both of you I guess! Doesn’t sound like a wise thing to do!

Why not free ourselves? So that everyone feels okay in choosing whatever works for them… I personally think that open relationships are too much work (again, I think, so I might be wrong). The idea of seeing two people at the same time sounds exhausting to me. But if my partner wanted to see someone else, I would be very okay with it. Hii kitu sio sabuni, ama ndizi… haishangi! As long as this is done in a very organized manner and there is mutual respect amongst all involved, why not! She can go ahead and have a good time out there, I will see her when it is our time… And by the way, the good times are not always sex, there are many things we can give or feed off others. It could be a listening ear or just spending time together. Open relationships offer you a ground, where you can almost be perfectly satisfied, which is impossible in a monogamous situation.

What do you think?

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