I realized I was born in the wrong continent when I had a five shilling coin transformed into a note then back to a coin. If you didn’t go through the twenty shilling note and five hundred shilling Moi note, it is illegal for you to be perusing my blog. You should get out of those diapers and get some big girl panties or big boy pants (non-existent). Many escapades passed that confirmed my doubts about this country’s prospects. Only one sets me off till this date; writing is a janitorial work.
The only people who consider writing as a source of income are writers themselves and landlords. They are the two lots who get paid through writing. I saw your warning Bwana Chela (landlord). The rest of the population dismisses it as gum stuck under their shoe. Writing is considered uncool almost placed on the same level as reading. Thank God the odds are over and not draw. (See what I did there). Most people would rather watch a dog chase its tail in demented circles than hold a book.
Kenyans don’t read; they Instagram, they Tweet, they Snapchat and occasionally visit my blog. Typical. Everything we do involves reading or writing which is a tad too ironic. Using hashtags, setting locations, putting down captions, setting statuses, updating quotes; come on people. Then after all that; you’ll hear Njoki WA Wairimu saying in that fake Briton accent; “I don’t like reading”. Ms Wambua and several other writers pull the trigger one after the other, others also willingly go to flooded areas; sorry Huruma.
The worst feeling a writer has is to write a five hundred word article only to achieve five views. This is the number one cause of suicides among the artists behind the words. Worse still is to write a whole novel and no one shows up at your book signing apart from your mom and siblings. A book only a mother could love is averagely not a very good book. It gets worse when you forward your friends links to your work then get asked what are these stuff you keep on sending. It’s worse than onions next to your pupils.
Being a writer has so much encompassed but very few know the struggle that comes along with it, most don’t give a damn. Well, we also don’t give a damn. You readers are selfish and the worst human beings on earth. I should probably take that back before my page views become ancestral.
Reading is not limited even socialites read; remember Huddah Monroe realized it was Prince who died? We read for the most part of our lives and it makes us better people, more interesting and diverse; try it, it won’t kill. As for my fellow writers, we may not be Biko Zulu or my personal favorite Oyunga Pala but who wants to be them anyway?