The Sands
Sand grains of life drifting in an endless sea of time.........
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Name: Sandman
About me: please visit www.KenyaImagine.com
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  • The World's most protected man...
  • The Prodigal
  • This present disillusion
  • Introducing the Kenya Imagine blog
  • Name Change: The new Dilemma
  • Lady in Red
  • The Mountain and the molehills
  • now about this tagging business...
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Thursday, January 08, 2009
The World's most protected man...
Here is the Obama inaguration security detail (at least what we know)




4000 DC Metro police department
4000 Police officers from around the country (Snipers, K9, Bomb squads etc.)
11,000 Military personnel (Navy, Airforce, Special Ops, Coast Guard)
FBI, Secret Service/NSA – unspecified number of agents
Hazmat units (Bio, Chem & Radiological)
Satellites, Sensors, detectors, CC surveillance cameras
His ride - Armor plated (Anti RPG/Rocket), 6+ inch thick bullet proof windows, specialized run flat tires, a chemical/gas threat sealed interior…probably EMP (Electro-Magnetic Pulse) proof



Needless to say he'll be say, he couldn't be safer if he was on the moon - see ya'll at the bash, Jan 20th. Si Se Puede!
 
posted by Sandman at 9:47 AM | Permalink | 1 comments
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Prodigal


Promised a few people I'd back....consider my promise fulfilled. And yeah, I missed you too.
 
posted by Sandman at 8:10 AM | Permalink | 1 comments
Saturday, April 07, 2007
This present disillusion


Once upon a time, a father sent his daughter and son to the market to sell the family donkey. This was the most important task that the two children had been assigned to this point in their lives and each of them wanted desperately to make their father proud. He gave them each a map and separate directions to the market so that if one lost his map or forgot, the other would be able to remember.

So the two set out on their journey, aware that the road was long but comfortable and assured in the knowledge that they had each other. On and on they went past streams, over hills and through forests with one single mission in mind. They would often fantasize about their father’s happiness when they’d return and what a large feast their mother would prepare for them.

One day they came upon a stream which crossed their path. The boy proposed that since there was no need for both of them to get wet, he would carry his sister across the stream, and the donkey would follow. She thought it the most selfless offer she had ever heard and mused about how wonderful her brother was. So she climbed on his back and he, with the ass in tow, proceeded to ferry his sister over the bubbling brook.

The girl, though much lighter than her brother, made for a difficult load. He had never carried anything this heavy and progress across the stream was slow and haggard. Finally he got to the other side and on setting his sister down, collapsed and fell on his back on the muddy bank revealing the soles of his feet which were bruised and had several small bleeding cuts. The girl quickly tore off the sleeves of her shirt and wrapped them around her brothers feet then using the red ribbon she had got for her birthday bound the cloth.

Several days had passed and the shadows appeared to get longer and the wind a little chillier and the grass along the path was turning a deeper yellow with each passing day. The bread that they had carried for sustenance was starting to get stale and the grape wine they had carried for thirst was starting to turn bitter. Their long, animated conversations began to shorten and ultimately changed into curt, abrupt phrases from sterile voices and expressionless mouths.

After a week and a day virtually all conversation had ceased and each regarded the other with a kind of hostile contempt. All the boy could feel was the searing pain that shot up his leg with each step he took. Every time he would think the pain had reached its max, the next step he took would quickly change his mind. The girl could hardly move her arms which were now swollen from scratches and plum red from mosquito bites. The itch she felt was almost maddening in intensity and it was all she could do to not scream in frustration.

A few days later, they came upon a fork in the road which split into three different paths. At this point each of the children took out their maps for consultation. It’s the narrowest path the girl announced triumphantly. No, it’s the path on the far left the boy answered resolutely. They proceeded to argue for a while each growing more confident of the position they had taken, and growing angrier with each uttered word.

What an ungrateful little kimbele, the boy thought. After I injured myself carrying her across the stream this is how she treats me!

What an ungrateful little mdomo, the girl thought. After I ripped my shirt to bandage his wounded feet this is how he repays me!

Left, the boy insisted.

Narrowest, the girl persisted.

Eventually the girl stormed off taking the path on the far right and the boy stormed off, taking the path that was widest. After a day of walking along their chosen paths, each started to doubt the decision each had made and decided to head back to the fork in the path. The girl reached the fork after another day to find the boy crying standing next to the dead donkey. They had both stormed off in anger and forgotten the donkey which, already exhausted, had died of thirst.

They sadly made their way home, without donkey or money. When they got to their father, they each narrated how the other had refused to follow the directions and map they each had been given. Each blaming the other for being a kichwa ngumu and a mjuaji.

"Alas!" Their father said. "The path on the far left is also the narrowest path. If you only had taken the time to hear each other out and understand what the other was trying to say. Your pride and arrogance killed the donkey!"

 
posted by Sandman at 8:24 PM | Permalink | 2 comments
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Introducing the Kenya Imagine blog

Imagine the Possibilities...

Please visit www.kenyaimagine.com or the blog at www.kenyaimagine.blogspot.com
 
posted by Sandman at 2:51 AM | Permalink | 2 comments
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Name Change: The new Dilemma

Name change after marriage can be an emotional and volatile issue for newly weds. After reading this article “Should I change my name?” on Majonzi I decided to write this post.


Let’s first look at it from a woman’s perspective first.


Women have become more independent with more of them getting married after already establishing their careers and achieving various social and intellectual accomplishments. Although modern society still has a ways to go in the recognition and practice of sexual equality, it has come a long way and a woman can no longer be considered her husbands property. Even the tradition of paying dowry is not as automatically practiced as it once was with more couples joining the union as equal financial partners.

There’s also the issue of identity. A Woman who has used one name all her life will see that as part of who she is. It’s a bond with her family and a link to her cultural and ancestral heritage which should not be neglected. It can’t be easy to just drop what has been a distinct part of her identity to adopt another without feeling some sense of loss.

A woman not wanting to change her name would argue that if her husband was secure in his manhood he wouldn’t be threatened by her keeping her maiden name. He would realize that it doesn’t mean she loves him any less only that it is something that would be important to her. If marriage is indeed an equal partnership then no one should have to give up anything they are not comfortable with.


Now the men.

For a lot of men, the issue of their wives adopting their name has more to do with a chauvinistic family view where the man is the unquestioned leader of his family. Unfortunately this is the main reason why many men insist on their wives taking their name after marriage, no ifs ands or buts. Most modern families still have the man as the figure head of the family unit but with both partners having equal say over family decisions. For most men, this issue would raise questions of commitment and what it would really mean as a couple.

There are legitimate reasons for a wife to change her name to her husbands. Even thought most traditional practices are unsubstantial and arcane not all of them should be discarded. The tradition of a woman taking a husband’s name is as deeply rooted as the one of children taking their father’s name. One of the social characteristics of a family unit is that they typically all share the same name. It’s not wrong for a man to want that which he views as an important part of universal culture. Having everyone in the family share a name is indeed as old as Adam and Eve.

Marriage as a compromise

As with any other pact, compromise is the key. When people get married, it’s important that they realize that it’s not about them as individuals anymore. It is about them becoming one and wanting to share everything about each other. There’s no-one-size-fits-all solution to the name change dilemma but there’s one solution that seems to be gaining popularity. The wife keeps her Maiden name but takes on her husbands name as well. She then can opt to use her maiden name for her professional career but use both names for social and personal business dealings. Just my tongolo mbili.
 
posted by Sandman at 12:25 PM | Permalink | 10 comments
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Lady in Red



The lady in red is dancing with me
Cheek to cheek
There's nobody here
It's just you and me
It's where I wanna be
But I hardly know this beauty by my side
I'll never forget the way you look tonight
The lady in red
My lady in red

excerpt from Lady in red by chris Deburgh
 
posted by Sandman at 8:24 PM | Permalink | 5 comments
Monday, September 18, 2006
The Mountain and the molehills

So is this it. That wasn't a question. Was it? While dreaming of mountains I will fail to see all the molehills that dot my path. I have a choice to make. The goal is clear. The mission has been briefed. The choices understood. I can lower my gaze from the sky and concentrate on my path or I can hold onto my fantasies and blindly stumble along the way in the hope that I'll somehow make it through unscathed. The sands are almost all gone. I have to choose before the rain comes and the choice is made for me.....run! There's the mountain, beautiful, majestic and proud. Then there's the path of molehills, very clear, very present and real. The wind is blowing now, it has been for a while, to try and force my hand. It is known that you cannot resist the wind, not for long anyway. Her campaign is unrelenting, her goal but one, her destiny forecast. She whispers caring words in your ears so you may not fight her, eventually she will have her way. she always does. listen to her, I know she loves me but she doesn't know me. If she knew me at all she would leave me to my foolish ambitions. She would leave me to wallow in this murky cesspool of indecision and blow on her merry way. But she doesn't, She is real. The path is real. The molehills are real. The mountain is but a mirage and I am but a shadow. Yet the sun does not shine. Why isn't anything simple anymore. I remember yesterday when I was flesh and blood. The pleasure of breath, the sweetness of every heartbeat. For a moment I picture my tombstone, gray, weathered and chipped. The words have darkened and I can no longer make them out. What will I do, will I truly be reborn? There's no way I can let my dream go. There's no way I can hold onto it. Yes there is but it's a painful, sacrificing, martyr choice. And the wind will not understand. Yes they are blowing from all directions now. Can I just live? Ha! If it was only that easy. This is my Ka. This is my An-tet. This is my path and I have to walk it. Yet I know he's watching.
 
posted by Sandman at 11:47 AM | Permalink | 7 comments