Barnoty©

This performance was straight fire 🔥🔥🔥🔥, the energy tho, never thought I will pull such. Jah bless

Another day to urge you guys to rally behind one David Maraga…in him lies,integrity,transparency,constitutionalism et al

Be nice

When I imagine David Maraga as President of Kenya, I see an end to corruption.

Nonsense

Patriots are rallying behind David Maraga

The damage being done to institutions especially in the health and education sectors by that 222222 paybill will take us ages to recover from. KNH, KUTTRH and universities are a tip of the iceberg

I really get that doctor's rage. That's how angry we all should be, for not having access to basic needs

Pure greed akwende

Surround yourself with inspiring people, and your life journey will become more beautiful and destinations will become brilliant.

Says someone who can't even govern a single country properly!!

Change, not chains.

Kipnyogaat is woken by the distant sound of children singing, “Matam Cheringisiet Kisae taman ak muut, si kesich Cherono…” Their voices rise and fall in rhythm, carrying across the open fields. He slowly opens his eyes and pushes the window of the small mud-walled house. Outside, he sees children playing, clapping, and dancing to singing games. The fields are green and calm, a sharp contrast to the pounding in his head. “Kumbe umeamka,” his brother says from across the room. Mingiin Buuch is seated on an old armchair, watching him closely. He had been there all night, ever since they picked Kipnyogaat from the roadside. Kipnyogaat stretches slightly, then winces. He looks around, confused. Mingiin Buuch stands up and switches on the light. The room brightens slightly, though the evening gloom still lingers. He opens the door to let in fresh air. Kipnyogaat’s face is swollen. One eye is blood-red, the other struggling to stay open. Even the light seems too much for him. “Unajisikia aje?” his brother asks. “Mgongo na miguu… zinauma sana,” he responds weakly. As Mingiin Buuch bends to check his legs, someone clears his throat outside. Moments later, their father steps in. He had also been waiting patiently for his son to wake up. He looks at Kipnyogaat, his face carrying both relief and disappointment. “Unaskia aje?” “Mgongo na miguu zinauma,” Kipnyogaat repeats. The father sighs. “Ulikuwa na bahati ndugu yako alikuwa off duty…” Mingiin Buuch quickly hands Kipnyogaat some water and painkillers before the father continues. “Maisha ya fujo si mazuri. Hiyo si njia ya kuishi.” Kipnyogaat lowers his gaze. He had moved to town in search of a better life. But things hadn’t gone as planned. Jobs were scarce. Life was harder than he expected. Slowly, he drifted into new circles, new friends, and dangerous ways of surviving. He had settled not far from his brother, Mingiin Buuch, who, despite having a degree, ran a small chapati kibanda to make ends meet. That week, there had been a political rally in the area. The grounds were buzzing with anticipation. Mingiin Buuch, sensing trouble, decided not to open his kibanda that day and instead kept his distance. Rumours had already spread that goons would be present. By midday, the crowd had grown. When the much-awaited leader of the Wakenya Waamua Party arrived, chaos followed. Groups of goons emerged, attacking anyone dressed in party colours. Police responded quickly. Teargas. Gunshots. People scattered in all directions. In the middle of the chaos, as Mingiin Buuch tried to find his way out, he heard someone crying near a roadside kibanda. A man lay there, weak, pleading for help. Something felt familiar. He hid briefly behind some sacks inside another kibanda as the gunshots rang out. When things quieted down, he rushed back to the man. The jacket. He recognized it instantly. It was Kipnyogaat. Beaten. Injured. Barely conscious. And worse-he had been part of the goons. But he was still breathing. Without hesitation, Mingiin Buuch lifted him onto his shoulders. A few metres ahead, he spotted a boda boda. He shouted for help, and together they rushed Kipnyogaat to a nearby chemist The injuries were not fatal. He was also heavily intoxicated. Mingiin Buuch knew he couldn’t leave him there. He called a neighbour, a long-distance lorry driver who had just delivered sacks of cabbages in town and was heading back to the village. That is how they made the journey home. When they arrived, Kipnyogaat was still unconscious. They laid him on the bed, and the family waited. Now, as he sits there, listening to his father and brother, the weight of everything settles in. He survived. Narrowly. And for the first time, he understands. Life had almost slipped away-not because of bad luck, but because of the choices he made. From that day, Kipnyogaat chooses differently. He stays in the village. He starts again. And slowly, he works toward completing his diploma at a nearby TVET. Because sometimes, life gives you one warning. And if you listen carefully… it might just be enough. #HekayaZaVillage

Juliani, Octo and Kaa La Moto are dope live performers... They don't disappoint but they can diss a point

One thing this regime has mastered is the art of mocking . Like ???

We mzee

Someone told me something yesterday. You should care about the state of KNH. If you don't care about it because KNH serves lots of Kenyans, care about it because if something happens to you today, before people find out who you are, you'll be taken to KNH as "unknown African".

I just paid an M-pesa paybill from Airtel money and i got the transaction costs back as airtime. Catch me using M-pesa app again!

SPA Bogoria

Shenzi

Why would anyone send goons to a voter registration drive? Politicians are weirdos