To Live; Fully Or... Almost

This is about my commitment to you, accepting a lifelong challenge; to complement you as well as you complete me; God being my ever-present guide”.

Colourful, superfluous, figurative speech; words that will be just that, words, right? On the contrary, that is one of the most sincere prayers and honest pledges I have ever heard or said. I have said many, very sincere ones. The fact that yours truly said that to the jewel in his crown should not take off the lustre, diminish the credence. It is beautiful, it is solemn; assumes responsibility and cries out to the ultimate powers that be to always ease the load when it tends towards unbearable.

A few weeks ago, I had this unenviable privilege (I know) of visiting The Cancer Institute and the mind-numbing, chilling yet immensely revealing ordeal was akin to a brush with death itself. The visit left me so conflicted about life that I never knew whether to go back home and trudge on with existence (you dread living in the aftermath) or set up camp and church demanding details of my tenancy agreement from God. Unfortunately for me, there has never been a contract between Him and I, let alone the woman that did deliver me into this big, beautiful, terrifying place. Unenviable, check; privilege, please indulge me will you?

See, life is immeasurably, overwhelmingly dumbfoundingly beautiful. Life is all we have, you and I, it is the reason we still tread this equally beautiful, mysterious place. With life come endless possibilities; sometimes as you lay your head down to sleep, you can scarcely believe the things you went through in a space of eight hours. With life comes hope, what are we without hope. Beautiful thing, life.

The astonishing beauty of life makes it most precious, most cherished; we cling onto it for as long as we can and even when we cannot do it on our own, we are aided to. Even as I sit here, waxing lyrical about life, someone is hanging onto a vestige of it. In a poorly lit shelter, somewhere on this vast planet; huddled together, a family cries unto the gods to let their loved one see the light of day again. Their incantations willing their ailing beloved against the dying of the light.

That there is the crux of life, it is so hypnotisingly beautiful we save no thought for its fragility, then when we are lucky enough (yes, lucky) to be confronted by the often sobering ordeal that losing it comes with; we regain our love, our care, our thoughtfulness, those we hold dear cross our minds; the beauty momentarily fades, hope comes tumbling  down and the age old question lingers, “Why are we here?”

For when we are shaken to our core, we realize we do not want to go a day without showing those we hold dear what they are worth to us, lest we recount the words we should have said, times we should have cared; in utter regret. Then again, that is how we were meant to live, letting those we love know their true place in our lives; it will forever be the unwritten commitment, solemn prayer and of course, lifelong challenge. Did you take a second, a minute, a few minutes, to remind someone of their value in your life?

Privilege? (Just look at that invaluable lesson) Most Definitely.

Like Chasing The Wind.

Listen, do not listen to me speak, listen harder, comprehend my thought process, raise your watery big lovely eyes, stare into mine; bore deeper like only you are capable of. I'm screaming, it's written on my forehead, it's clear for you to see, to hear, to feel, you could reach out and cut it with a knife. 

Nothing can be more exhilarating in a day, a week, a month; nothing is as exciting, as uplifting, it is so captivating it's got to be forbidden. It is too good not be forbidden, and on all levels, it bellows forbidden. For in the darkest of crevices it lurks rearing its head only when light struggles, and life with its realities, temptations, desires and pitfalls definitely dictates that more often than not, light struggles. 

In that darkness is where we thrived, with the purest of feelings, love. That is not some sick, cruel joke for in the light, those feelings belong somewhere else, and rightfully so. But here we were, saying all the right things, sharing more than we fathomed one could share, pouring our hearts out to the 'dregs'; a tad too late, a mile off track. Prince Charming from Hades, riding to a damsel's rescue. Only  that the damsel is not really in distress. Stupidity meets futility, one more time in their age old camaraderie. The sense of foreboding is heart rending for the helpless romantic; the pragmatic however waits to be proved right, time always does that. 

So rather than wait for time, the leprechaun 'Prince' will tearfully sever all practical bond and let the damsel lead a full life, for heartbreakingly beautiful and loving as she might be; in the light she chose a life, a beautiful one, and she ought to be given room to lead it in all its glory. Wits should always trample emotion; and Prince Charming is but an archaic Teenage Girl dream.

"We live in the flicker -- may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday."-Joseph Conrad

Altar-ed

Beautiful morning; sun is up, looks scorching already but it’s not, it’s the kind that lures you out to bask and evoke those memories of the golden 90s when all you worried about was where to play from and where you’ll hide your unfinished cup of tea before dashing off to do something more “important” (And I still wonder why I turned out so small). Sunday, it could only be beautiful, hallowed, adorable Sunday. I really think, contrary to the Holy Book I was raised to always read, this was the day on which God rested, but the message got “Lost in Translation”.

The most beautiful thing about Sunday though is not the weather which you are guaranteed 3 out of 4 Sundays in a month; it’s the hope, the feel of joy you get as you trudge, rush, glide or whatever it is you do to get to a place of worship. See, most of us were raised on faith and we strive to always live by it, faith, for without it, we are but a shell, waiting to be filled by anything and bereft of hope in times that we cannot draw from our humanly strengths.

A considerable distance from my very fruitful formative years, my outlook has been altered; the allure is waning, to me anyway. This is not the place I once sought hope, and reassurance; this is a place of condemnation, master classes in high handedness and that condescending tone you hear from a 4 year old who knows they have some form of advantage over you. It is no longer the place where guilt is washed away, the modern day Calvary but one where judgment, in its harshest, least compromising tone, is handed down.

My brilliant grandfather named me Muliisa. Shepherd, or if you like, “herder”. I know that growing up; someone hoped I would be just that, a shepherd, but exposure to the realities of this world has left me with more conflicting thoughts than a hungry lion, tending to a flock. I continue to pray for whoever harboured that dream for me, pray to the God that their disappointment never touches me with a 15 mile stick. I hope however, they will be happy to know that I built an altar for the Lord.

At this altar you will not see a man in vestments and exuding holiness but one condemned by sin, you will not see a pristine wall with a beautiful cross, you will find one littered with more opinions than a political campaign, you will not hear about the beauty of the Lord our creator only but the beauty of what he has given us as a people living in the 21st century. At this altar, the first sacrifice we shall offer to the Lord is our heads, ours ears to always listen, our eyes to see the beauty he has blessed us with, our lips to praise, pray AND to question; most importantly our brains to discern and realize that we cannot always question.

We shall question for we are equally beset with a host of challenges, we shall compare notes for we all live in these wonderful, auspicious, dreaded, terrible times. We shall find answers for we ultimately live in and by the faith that we were so lovingly raised upon. When we cannot find those answers, we shall always turn to the ultimate Shepherd who leaves 99 of his sheep to seek out the single lost one, for somewhere in this maze, no matter how far we stray, how soiled with guilt and fear our hearts are, no matter who or what we have pledged our allegiance to, He will  find us.

So I built this altar, that all the revelation, the accomplishment, the crisis, the conflict may in their own twisted way exude the beauty of being created in your image and ultimately the struggle to find peace in you.

“Take my motives and my will, All your purpose to fulfill; Take my heart it is your own, it shall be your royal throne”

Not Them; Us.

"May life and sound health abide with you". That is my new way of wishing my loved ones the best as we part. The possibilities are endless, the limitations seem to disappear and the revelations can be mindboggling. The first weekend of May 2015 chucked out one of these mindboggling twists. Strange bedfellows but only because the world had never taken a second look. Astounding. The arrogant, smart, witty Jose Mourinho and the inanely arrogant, hedonistic Floyd “Money” Mayweather. Their stark connection, winning; no moral victories, no holds barred, no saving face; just good old winning. (I miss Michael Schumacher) Unlike that guy I miss though, the two have honed an annoying, outlandishly boring, cowardly but admirable knack for winning by putting up defensive master classes. Loathing the men is easy, but the struggle is way bigger than them. Signs of the times.

I am an ardent football fan, yes; I follow quite a number of sports closely, yes. Sport is an amazing source of entertainment and of course, controversy. (I do not believe controversy is entertainment, pardon my boring nature). I believe there is a lesson to scrape from everywhere including sport and if you stumble upon it, scrape, scrape, scrape and milk it for all it’s worth.

To this day, one of the best things ever to happen to sport is the influx of money, tonnes of money or as the euphemism goes, business. Oil oligarchs, bored ‘nerds’, billionaires are purchasing sports clubs to either get entertained or well, make more money. Some genuinely love the respective sports, others genuinely love the sums of currency being floated about. For a man who has seen Majid Musisi, Leo Rwabwogo, Paul Hasule and many other selfless sportsmen die as paupers; this just gets me in high spirits. Someone needs to live off what they love, live off and thrive. There must be a reward for making others happy, making a nation proud, uniting a people (Kiprotich, anyone?).

So money being an incentive and a major sports infrastructure driver is a no-brainer. Money is also referred to as the root of all evil for a reason and match fixing allegations, world cup hosting rows will just not go away. Oh I forgot, was supposed to use that euphemism, business. I’ll dwell on the seemingly lesser evil though, the fact that business is progressively sucking the entertainment out of sport. Limit your costs, avoid unnecessary leakages, edge your opponent, by all means edge the competition. I recently watched a repeat of football giants Manchester United and Real Madrid tussling it out to a 7 goal thriller (this match made a certain Roman Abramovich venture into the beautiful game) and muttering to myself, “Why is there so much space?” The number of men on the field is still the same but the space has definitely and rapidly dwindled because the stakes are higher. Multimillion dollar contracts, shirt sponsor deals, bonuses, endorsements, money, jobs, money…trophies are at stake. Trophies noticeably come last because what is glory while living as a pauper? We win at all costs, not because no one remembers a loser but eventually, losers will not fend for their families as well as winners will. Simple arithmetic, my father would say.

So this weekend has to go to the aforementioned bedfellows. No one has embodied winning at all costs like the loathed Jose Mourinho and his newfound son, or brother if you will. These men are deeply entrenched in the same “cost-benefit analysis” school of sports. The first things they learnt, attain the edge by protecting your Queen, do not blink as you do it, do not wince, just do it. While at it, pick on your opponents' Achilles heel and duly exploit it. Decimate, capitalise, do not flinch at the opportunity. The second; entertainment? Which entertainment? Why entertainment? Have you heard of the WWE?

Overly pragmatic? Yes. Do I blame them? Not anymore. Look about us, with our growing euphemisms language has become cagey; safety measures more stringent, no one is rushing into war, to save or protect; people are less social, competition everywhere is nerve wracking since money is stuck to glory like white on rice. These are signs of the times; this is the modern Darwinian theory of natural selection. This is the trade, these men have mastered it; this is their moment; loathe them not, loathe what we have become. A mechanical, cagey, highly calculative race.

Shoulder, Meet Weight

Name; Isaac Muliisa

Position;         Striker

Shots on Goal; 7

Shots on Target;         4

Goals;         1

Final Score;         1-0

The game of football, or as our North American friends and their sympathizers would call it, soccer, is undoubtedly the most popular game on this planet, by a country mile. There are places on this highly unstable planet of ours where warring factions have lay down their arms to watch teams their teams tussle it out for 90 minutes. This game has an almost cult following. Hyperbole? Ask the mother whose family of 3 boys and their father is glued to the TV from 1445hrs to 2300hrs on Saturday watching European football or goes to the local ground to watch their team play. Please ask her about her opinion on the beautiful game, as the followers adorably refer to it.

The popularity of this game also dictated that for the little boy growing up in Africa in the 90s, the nostalgic 90s, before everything got cut throat serious, the only pastime I had was football. As long as it wasn’t dark and the folks permitted it, I was out there, with a tiny round something, barefoot and kicking with all my might. This happened against boys twice as tall my diminutive self, boys my size and very few times, boys smaller than me. No. Girls.

Growing up, the only defined role was goalkeeper, the ultimate line of defence, your WhatsApp password, your Mobile Money or ATM PIN; and a couple of times when we faced the big boys, my big brother ordered me to stand between the sticks, a gallant attempt at protecting me. We however had the luxury of switching goalkeepers for say, a penalty. By and by, the game gained clarity, positions, roles, rules (save for handball and penalty of course), and demarcations were mastered. You know what they say, the more you know, the better it gets.

The adage, he who loves the roses must bear with the thorns too rings true here, with the popularity of this game comes attention, tonnes of money and as earlier mentioned, an almost cult following. All this will trickle down to the men on the field, particularly, the striker principally because he is paid to push his team ahead of the opponents. The statistics above are a drop in the ocean compared to what the increasingly hawk-eyed media dedicated to sport can come up with. Consequently, there is a constant and if the gods are kind, consistent weight on a player's shoulders. After 90 minutes of posting numbers like yours truly and relief or excitement of the victory has waned off, your performance will come under very close and obviously damning scrutiny. You already know that is not good enough but you have to endure all opinions from the very wise encouraging words to utter moronic dribble.

To this day, I believe the most difficult roles on the football field are the aforementioned goalkeeping role and the highly demanding role of leading the line. I never played the former when the stakes got high but I know any role that is defined by the “one that got away” has got to be an insurmountable feat, a thankless job. That leaves me with a role I have filled, the striker, the leading man. Patience, tenacity and considerable mental strength define the orthodox leading man. He bears with frustration due to either a lack of service or being the brunt of man handling and jibes by the opponents, does not see so much of the ball because he occupies the “dangerous areas” of the field and ultimately whatever chances fall his way, he has to make them count. That is the easy part, because even after failing to capitalize on innumerable chances, he must let go…and start from scratch, a clean slate that is far from clean. The role demands that, after all, he is the leading man. Football is about how many goals a team scores and this role here has “Goals Scored” written all over it. Subsequently, this leading man is my ultimate entrepreneurial mind, he might not be as creative as the men behind him but he combines a considerable portion of creativity with high levels of efficiency, should be as frugal as a single mother raising 6 children on a shoe string budget and after every heavy fall, cynical shirt tug or reference meant to wind him up, he must dust himself off and use his chances to win the game, make the opponent pay.

If you do not see a bit of yourself every time you see a forward toil, you need to shake yourself sober for you my friend are not alive, you only exist. As we go about our businesses, our jobs, our lives, family experiences; to get that extra shilling, to hoist our children above our own lofty heights, to make our spouses smile, to be a blessing to society, we are laden with responsibility that matches or supersedes that of a leading man. Ofttimes we fall under the glare of family or community scrutiny, we believe life has handed us lemons and sometimes bear the brunt of untold injustice. In the thick of the rigours of life, it is unerringly imperative to keep our eyes on our goals, to listen to advice, to ignore the noise of harsh criticism and when we get the opportunities; we emphatically take them for us, for our confidence, for those who spur us on and those that ultimately look up to us. We owe them that much.

I Out, Enjoy the #MayPac Bout