My life is a journey through the days

As each day passes I am just walking on through this journey. As the cock crows and sun rises, as I perform the day’s activities; accomplishing some, postponing some or and even neglecting others my journey continues. Before the sun goes down and hides below the sky I cover a spatial space that I can never revert. Each second, each hour and day is a new presentation in in my and in all instances I keep on pushing through this preordained journey. The mistakes I did yesterday serve as a caution to activities still have ahead and good deeds and investments I made serve as a surety for my future.

In this journey nothing is recurrent; every occurrence is a new experience and comes in its own unique way. Though yesterday I slept on the same bed, I had a different dream. Though yesterday I used the same shower, same towel and started with my right foot as I always do, I didn’t use the same water. The soap too was not the same size and the rhythm at which I hammed the hymn Abide with Me too changed. The matatu I boarded too looked older than the one I had yesterday. I can without doubt account for countless things I did a new today that I dint do yesterday or any other day in my life.

So as I sit down today, I try to reflect on my past – my journey – and question they accounts of my journey. How sweet or sour it has been. How bumpy or smooth has it been? How have the changes been and what occurrences have shaped the course of turns I have made till I reached this point in the path of the spatial time. One thing I can tell you from the start of this quest is that my journey has come as a full package. In this journey I have had a taste of all the ingredients that make it whole and complete. Each ingredient; some nice, some bad and some having totally no mentionable taste is what I use to equate what built me, what disintegrated me and what had totally no impact to my person though this journey I call life.

I know the exact day I was born and even a probable time I might have had my first breath. I was born on a Saturday morning just as the sun was striking the ground with its first sparks of light. The day was warm and I cannot forget to tell you that I was a lucky kid. Lucky because I was born on the same day the president was visiting the area of my birth. Bad luck for my mother who could have at that time been queuing by the road side to sing Kanu Kanu to the most powerful man at the county at that time. One man’s ill luck served as a good fortune to me as this was almost a gesture of welcome or rather a honourable inauguration of a life long journey I had just started.  Ha! Ha! Don’t I’m pretty sure you are already doubting my account for this period as I was just a silly infant then. Well to build up your doubt, I attest that I am not sure of them too.

My memory fails me, sorry, I can’t give an account of all the tit-bits of this journey. My first reason is that I was an infant at some point, a silly infant who can’t remember a thing just like any other infant. So I will try fill in those gaps with stories I heard in stories. Some parts of this journey were also too boring, too boring that I can’t waste my time even today to fill your head with. Those accounts should just be forgotten and never be remembered as they neither added value nor deducted a thing in the making of my present person today. These are the neither sweet nor sour ingredients that still had to be part of my whole spicy being.

My name is Sirama. This is a name I was given by my father because on the night of my birth he had dreamt of his grandfather. As a traditional Lwo, I had to take the name as an honour to this already fallen hero. Naming me after him would make me have his blessings and maybe achieve as much as he did. Today I believe that this is just a myth and may never come true at any point in this journey. In fact if my opinion could be asked for in giving me this name I would not take it. I’m am having my own path, a new path, and I know that just by inhering this name cannot make me go through his journey of life as he lived. His might have been a great, but it means nothing to me because mine is not. He was a hero from right from the day he courted the first lady and made her pregnant while mine is a shame and misconduct as not only my parents but the whole society can tell you.

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