Tales;Moving the block

Writers block, a usually temporary psychological inability to begin or continue work on a piece of writing.Urban Dictionary. It has been a minute y’all.

I have locked myself in this little space (someone will imagine its a one roomed house or maybe a corner at the workplace, just stop imagining. It exists with me alone). Oblivious of what is happening around me (not even the NASA JUBILEE woes). The TV is on and I can hear Sponge-bob talking to Squidward. Today they don’t interest me. On my normal day, I would burn water in the sufuria trying catch up with the mischief at the Pacific’s Ocean,Bikini Bottom. Today I feel like Squidward Tentacles. Spongebob’s childlike noise has triggered my arrogant part. My eyes aren’t fixed to the screen so the slapstick shit doesn’t tickle me at all. My certainty is there is no talking spongy thing at the pacific.

The reason for all these rantings is tied to the fact that I have lost my writing mojo. I cant figure out if it has slipped through the precise spaces left on my laptops keyboard or the ever merciless back space that readily slices every little prose I come up with.i mean, how do i explain the number of words this button has murdered?. Peeping through these cracks all I see is some black space with bits of dust in it (how do you clean that?). My touch pad is clean. It has embraced my touch for the longest time thanks to corel. Corel spoils your prose. No. I makes me want to RGB & CMYK documents, it makes me want to give titles that end up with logo or separation or draft at the end. This is not what I learn in class. Three years of “loneliness” with corel has led to this. That partner who only respects you because you follow all the vector rules and have developed pantones that guide you through the color selection process. If you ask me, am not quitting on a relationship I build for two years. Forever corel. Can I blame my writers block some addictive graphic software? You tell me.

There is something about waking up at three am to do some writing and then go back to sleep because you lost the plot. I call it laziness, some call it the “what nots”. Crazy thinkers will describe it as showing a great lack of intelligence or common sense, stupidity. Laziness can be one mean word so maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up. Who gives two shits anyway? That something that comes close to writing insomnia only that you write things that mean nothing or compared to your class seven composition, you would get a whooping zero two just because you used a pen. Not that the grammar you wrote is bad, but the amount of confused words used matches the value of writing insomnia. When I use insomnia in a sentence,the words psychiatric and unhealthy conditions make part of the thoughts I have. I end up wondering, why on earth would I have have unhealthy conditions when I have a whole world of eBooks and articles in my head and some crazy slapstick.(Does Loud House and Alvin and the chipmunks  have slapstick? The really glue my bottom to the seat.)

Word count, 498. Paragraph? On the fourth. The world wants precise articles. Keeping up with all my thoughts in a limited number of words makes me want to poke holes on the internet lovers .Again i blame us (writers). We so much write our world forgetting there is a reader in another world who will stop where your started. Sad story. Am not one of those guys who will stay under the radar only to resurface with seven part novel that talks about a whole world existing somewhere between my ears-which ends up being defined artistically with silk lines,Flash..At least, not yet. How did it feel for a ninja up like C.S.Lewis when he did released his series of seven high fantasy novels, selling over 100 million copies in 47 languages? How about the fact that he did it each year from 1950-1956? Those were a couple of years where magic, mythical beasts and talking animals were the order of the day. Literature lovers of that day were super blessed.Not even Big Sean’s hit blessing on blessings can describe that. Chronicles of Narnia. The ultimate doze of literature hungry children.(at least I know Mr. Lewis target children but I still wonder, at 23, why am I still going back to these books? Why? Somebody please?). Did I just loose my thoughts? Dang it!

Ngong hills. 2460metres (8070 feet) above sea level. I am around two ladies. The rest of the group has pulled ahead. They have the psyche to conquer the rugged terrain. One of the beautiful lasses is walking like its some wedding day and she is the bride, ‘kona baridi’ is the groom. Here she comes. Nature forces me to hold her hand as we walk up. (A pleasing site people! That’s what we men want, to be in charge and look cool doing it.) My thoughts are not anywhere close to these beauties. I am at peak of constructing paragraphs, thoughts, ideas, stories for my comeback. I want to talk about this hike in my blog. I am still at the point where there is no clue if I will take the third person plural or first person singular in the observing mode. Sentences are drooping. Words are flowing,murkily. Something is lacking, sense. I want to take out my cracked phone and note a few points. It happens. Then nature says, “you are on a hike brother! Keep that electronic thing back in your pocket!” what a better way to do that than blow a strong wind that literally knocks beauty off balance.The wind must have transmitted enough vibration to the tympanum via the ossicles to make this wonderful scene. Awkward moment when you have to choose between your phone ( brothers you know how it feels, right) and a beautiful female species from the homo sapiens community. Shit gets real.

At first, I told myself that this writers block saga will stop. I still believe I have to stop it or else kill another passion. Again, I wonder when will it come? How will it use its Jedi sword to cut through the word wars in me and get me to the stars.

This is me moving the block.

Enough of me.

Writers block.

Erick Ashihundu.


Life Tales; Wedding Tingz

How about another story?

Cool Friday. Everything is suave and wonderful (yes, I wake up some days and I feel wonderful). I happen to
have plans to crash a wedding. Yes, that is how crazy I can see things. Meanwhile first things first. I report at work and make up a few arrangements for AshuWear. Which included a shirt for one of the guys at the wedding (actually, he had planned to attend the wedding like a normal office day; please don’t dress that way on someone’s wedding. It’s a happy occasion not some everyday office time.) My plans are in place and off I am to the wedding.

As you would expect, I got there at thirty minutes into ten. The wedding hadn’t started so I get time to say hi and catch up with a few hominids (they are just a bunch of good guys who keep my some of my weekends on the high note). As we would put it the event was colorful but what I would highlight was the music. I hadn’t pictured the Worship Team had such sweet heavenly sounds in them. I won’t forget the instrumentalists, the drum guy particularly. He played with some extra appetite. I would see the stick rolling in the air creating a helicopter-ish feel as he hit the hi-hat (the other day I tried that and almost dropped a beat. But trust me I will get it, soon). The pianist was something close to Mr. Keys, (if he actually exists). He hit some soft notes that if you were the lead you would end up in heaven and lead the entire flock with you. To say the least, the wife-to-be of the day had everything to love about this wedding.

The most valuable part was closed. Someone was pronounced husband and wife and as the tale goes, the mafisi Sacco had lost a potential member and a meal too (it sounded better in my head). Oh by the way, the presiding pastor (or bishop, honestly I confuse the two.) was some cool guy who never asked if there was anyone against the wedding. Actually I agreed with his when he dismissed such ideas. I mean, where were you earlier? And for what reason would you want to spoil an elegant wedding (I read a senior guy’s post that well planned weddings are a show of extravagance, I wonder why would he have such a ‘mean view of things.)

A few photo shoots at the venue then guys leave for the reception. This is where socialism meets morality. You may not control who will dance how but you may have to control yourself. But then it comes into your mind that it’s a wedding and it’s a happy thingy, so just get into the mood and party all the way to heaven. That is how I ended up in safari park along Thika road. The ambiance and serenity of that place was one hell of a ride. If you heard of guys who paid hundreds of thousands for that venue trust me, they deserve the treat, especially in the borough jungle where tranquility is a story told in blogs.

For hors d’oeuvre we served some green soup (I haven’t cracked the name yet). They said it was a sneak preview of what was coming (well, it was beyond a preview and the coming was *insert the Whatsapp emojis with one eye closed and tongue out*). Nothing was further from the truth. This is where I saw this girl. Habitually stories go around of guys meeting girls at wedding and a resemblance is that both know the bride of the groom in some way. Today it’s a different twist. I know the newlyweds from church but this girl is a caterer employed by safari park (well, that is my assumption). She had dressed in some black and white uniform which made me realize that girls in uniform have some mystery in them only they can understand. She is the one who served me with the soup. So with my witty (or is it stupid) ideas I decide to ask her, “Does this soup contain some pieces of meat?” well I didn’t get an answer from her.

I think this lady was assigned to table fifteen. So she was wholly close to my vicinity. She is one dark lady with that African aspect in her. From my angle she didn’t have any make up( I happen to be a natural junkie.), her eyes were glittering from her sockets with a plate full of humility and kindness as the main course and love for dessert. The more I looked into her eyes the more I wanted to talk to her. I am among those guys who aren’t good with first times. So I curved myself back into the shell and acted as if nothing is going on in my mind.

As one of my weaknesses, any good music makes me forget myself so I end up dancing. At any wedding there is this line guys make as they dance along to traditional tunes. Mostly it’s for mamas, girls and young men. So being in the category of young men I had the best of me going in. The music was some live vocals and a background of traditional instrumentals. The feel was that of Kayamba Africa. The voices were well trained. (Well, you know that if a guy who can sing an Akamba song, the key is always high.)

Enough with the dancing. The speeches were on point. By that I mean the advice you would read in Google can never be delivered as perfect as from mature and well experienced groans in the field of marriage (That word scares me). Yes, that’s the point of a speech, to attach a particular emotion (not like whew hats app emojis), a particular voice variation and on a lighter note, a dance move that even David himself might have a hard time practicing. Yes, that which you can only do with your two left feet and hands akimbo (sounds Scottish but at least they got a right and left.)

You see, the table fifteen girl is still here. And I have this peculiar thing in my head. I want to hear her talk again so as she is collecting the plates I pop the quiz,

”So what’s your good name?” I think my facial expression was overdone at this point. Weird me.

“Tracy.” her voice was one of those mishmashes of some classical solo and an African beat.(by the way is there any classical with afro fusion in it?)

“Nice name…and thanks for the good work.” The truth is, I am trying to hold a conversation with someone who is working. My bad.

“Anytime Sir.” Oh God!! That was how the story ended. Please, never make a conversation with someone who is busy working. Chances are you will end up hanging or ruin their work.

The wedding came to a close and as usual, the guys and girls (including me and some Mluya called Mash) joined into some purportedly salsa dance. Not that we were noble, but the ladies loved it. Oh and by the way, by this time no one did care who salsa-ing with whom is. That is always a story for another day.


As we were leaving the atmosphere of safari park, I decided to put out my confession to our youth patron, Mr. Kim (yeah he has a cool name).

“You see that girl,” as I am pointing at her direction, “is one of the most amazing ladies I have seen.”

Mr. Kim laughed it out and said nothing. (For the record sir, I am still waiting for your comment on that.)

As for me, her face is still in my head. I won’t go to safari park to look for her, but I will walk in these boulevards hoping one day I will see the same eyes again and hear the same voice again. And if I don’t, I will join the bandwagon of those who never united with their three hour crash on some other human. That is the beauty of life. Nobody can reckon all the steps and do exactly as the arithmetic in your head.blog art 20 may wedding tings.jpg

For the new couple…let it be another real happy ever after. Not the design of a Disney channel or a Telemundo (or is it Telenovela?) in the making.

p.s. There is a likelihood that you will ask why I am not talking about my wedding, don’t worry, I was told to take it slow (don’t ask who) so the best I can do is discern and tell stories.


This is Ashu. I call myself that because I agree with those who said once in a while, loose it. My Love for words is just another need for expression in a more simple and serene way. Writing is the…

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Life Tales; Edd’s Story

I have had many angles to life (not as experienced as the older ones). This is a segment I have thought about as I was trying to move the writer’s block. The block is still there. As long as I have a passion for filling in blank pages it will still creep in. it is like the way life is, you clear one fault you find another and you have to deal with that one. The down side is there is no running away but on the other hand, it is a nice ride on a roller-coaster (I just know it from movies)where it terrifies you like hell at the same time you have fun and by any chance you don’t want to get out of it.

Enough of my life talks…

Welcome to my zone…


“Son, I need you here. This work is too much and there is little help. I can’t afford to employ another person and at the same time afford life as it comes. The hassle is real and I am not in a position to hold all those pillars. “

He read that text and as expected he wasn’t sure what he meant. Immediately he had thoughts running in his mind. He is calling me over to his work for what purpose? To use me? Yes I guess he is. From my standing point he can’t afford to make me an employee that makes me a volunteer. Will make it in the city if I am a volunteer? What if I become like those magicians who went to Fillory? He was one smart guy. In his late teen he had managed to stay in their little town and do some hassle here and there. He is one natural business guy with utter passion in management and design. The design aspect in him is strong. At the age of ten he stitched his first denim bag with a manual machine (any tailor can tell you that it is the hardest to use and especially on a hard fabric like denim.)

Edd is his name. He is one of those boys who lived with his mum for obvious reasons. Dad is in the city trying to hassle for the family. It’s just another typical today story. Staying with his mum has made him one of these fine boys who appreciate ladies. He has lived with the downside of his mum as well as the peak of her life when everything is going on almost perfectly (I am aware life will never be perfect in the eyes of any human.) life with mums is quite a good ride. Even in the jungle mums are the best (not disregarding Dads).

“Edd? Where are you?” A high pitched voice calls from one end and without hesitation,

Edd responds in a deep hoarse voice, an indication that he is from a long silence.

“I am here mum!”

“Your dad has called me and he wants to know what you have decided.”

Edd moves out of his room and his face looks pale. The look of things doesn’t make him a happy little puppy. “Mum, do I have a choice for that matter?”

“Edd, it depends on what you really want but your dad needs you more than I do at the moment. Just go and help him out. When things get to normal you will have your say on what to do next.”

At the back of his mind he is pretty sure mum knows he doesn’t want to go. For reasons best known to her.

” mum I will call him tomorrow and let him know what I think. I the meantime I have to sit this one out for a while so please, don’t tell Sly I am around.”

Sly is one of these fine ladies. They have lived in the same hood for a long time and have given each other titles, the best friend forever thing. It was Sly’s idea. Girls are just girls.

“Edd, why do that? Sly is your friend and besides, I cannot keep her from you. You guys understand each other better. Not that I can be in the middle of your sit outs.” Mums tone was quite clear that she will not do as instructed and chances are, she will direct sly to him.

“ok mum. Are you getting late for work?’

“Yeah, am leaving in a moment. Meanwhile, I assume today you won’t do anything. So I have left some food at the kitchen counter. Make sure you eat. And please, dad is expecting your call.”

Mum goes ahead and without any response, Edd goes back to his room. What he clearly knows is he doesn’t want to move into to the city and the scare is that he is has a new start waiting on him. He had made a niche back home. All that is going away. Edd loves serenity. He knows the city won’t offer that. It is just another typical urban jungle. The existence of tall buildings with all kinds of fruits dropping scares him. He remembers his cousin Jude who is now a city dweller. He has never come back home since he cleared university. The last time they had a conversation was when he had had his firstborn baby. Edd doesn’t want this to happen to him. He thinks of his mum and he doesn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. Yes alone. Edd has two siblings who are now in high school. Both are boarders, you cant expect them to leave school and keep mum company.

As he is deep in thought he notices some movement is his room. It is sly. Just another reason why he is scared to move. These two have nothing going on but both have something in their head (or is it heart) that is not very clear.

“Edd, I have been standing here for the last twenty minutes. You look disturbed. What is going on? Are you ok.” She sits next to him and feels his fever with the back of her hand. Edd feels a tickle in him that sounds odd. He had never thought of anything beyond them being friends. The thought of him leaving her behind has a roused a new kind of feeling. That expression that means, staying away from you is scary. he knew he couldn’t hide the new developments from her so he fumbles with words;

“sly, dad wants me to join him in the city.” The face sly wore has never been seen before. It had a thousand expressions. Why? I will miss you. We had something going on…the list is endless.

“Edd, are you going?”

“I have not decided yet but from the look of things I only have one choice.” Edd has never been this vulnerable in the presence of sly. The range of emotions was very high. His heart was beating fast and he was shaking. It was clear to him that he was not prepared for such a change and besides being able to handle himself in the presence of sly, his intuition what damaged today. It is one crazy moment.

Sly rests on his chest and she is also on the downside of things. At this point, the teachings become very important. blog art 12 may

The phone rings. And a soul is saved.

“Hello dad……


PS. Names and characters do not represent actual people. The events are derived from past experiences and others are fictitious.

Well keep tabs…

Erick Ashihundu.






After a series of running away from blogging i find myself in the game.I figured out that either way i had to do something with the few skills my English teacher taught me and the passion i have for words, keyboard/pen and blank spaces.Filling in thoughts, ideas, opinions and anything that can be expressed in writing. so welcome to my zone……


According to oxford English dictionary a word is a meaningful element of speech writing used to form sentences with others. Words can stand alone or with help of others. Just like humanity. You can be humane alone or with other humans. The good thing about that is the more humane people together more the more the world makes sense to us.

Someone may wonder why I took the topic words as my first blog. My first venture into a field I only dreamt of. Honestly I may not have the best reason to suit everyone but only one explanation; A word is that thing that is part of us forever. It has existed in every generation. We use words to express our innermost fears, words to win over business propositions, among many great uses of words. So how about we appreciate words as they come?blog art 11 feb..jpg

Many times we hear of guys having fewer words to put out there or excess words put out there. How about those who have enough? For instance C S Lewis has all these words out there. Are they excess? Well, I see them as enough. His words are fit for kids and adults too. The thought in my head is that he really had enough words to feed the world with utter imagination and deep critical thinking (well if you read his works then you’ll agree) Have you ever survived on fewer words? I have many times and its cool to ether but rarely do you get your way. Having few words can be that fun right? How about having to answer a question with one word when someone needs a whole sentence? That can hurt many parties especially the potential control freaks. I                 have to agree with lots of thinkers that words are very important and the right amount will keep you safe. So let’s embrace the safe mode, enough words.

Are there right words? And if yes what are their measures? This guy says yes because he doesn’t want to hurt another person by the word NO. To him saying NO is a wrong word. But the reality on the ground he starts by saying no to saying yes? Well, we fear hurting other people with words. Yes, that’s the beauty of a good heart. The good heart itself should be that which will tell you no when it’s meant for that. This is where my argument comes in; having the right words is just like a knife. It will cut the meat into great pieces but also, cut you if you direct it into the wrong way. That is how words work. The right use will lead to good outcomes and the wrong use will hurt us. I agree with those who tell us when we go wrong and further give us possible solutions. They are always on the speed dial of a messy brain trying to save itself. The use of words in the right manner always suggests that someone is composed and hence, a mature human. That is just how things work. Or let’s say the rational way of doing and seeing things.

There are these words that will always have an emotional reaction. I love you, thank you; I am sorry…naming it. I remember that day I got this card saying I love you with the senders name on it (yes, my first love sent me a card). Those words were kept somewhere sacred; my wallet. Anytime I would access my wallet I would meet this card and as a puppy I would make those faces of joy; yes that face. That is the effect of these good words. Reality stood that maybe I wasn’t ready to see these words or maybe I was too ready for them. Sometimes that is how we should use words that will create an epitome of emotions. Perfect timing is very important to us. The right moment of saying sorry will save you from the wrath of the offended. The way we put out the words also matters. If we say sorry without empathy or that thank you without appreciation it’s just nothing in the ears of the other party. This is to say that anything that rolls with an emotion needs the right emotion to air it out. I agree its ok to be sorry and appreciative. That is the other basic necessity to words and their value to words human relationships (I hear they say it’s part of social rules). Let’s say it’s just the good values we get if we choose to be good.

Sometime back someone got carried away by emotional recklessness. The reason behind it was very absurd I call it. The guy was told some bitter truth. The delivery was harsh (of which I personally don’t like) but the message was quite clear. That is how words with truth words and of there is no truce then someone ends up being wreck-less hence airing themselves as that childish. No one is morally allowed to keep the truth from anyone. At least from the moral dictionary I learnt. The same case applies to the recipient of the message of truth. We got no time to consider reacting negatively because we were told something that didn’t please us instead I agree with those who accept reality or better still, sit down and either explains for clarity or apologizes.

Summing up, a word will be very important if it is well said and for the best intentions. If we use words to hurt the other parties it means we will be in constant conflict with life itself. The sweetness of a word will keep tracking the ear that wants to hear it. Words are the basis of many forms of expressive art; music, spoken word, poetry, debate among others. So let’s agree to use words to build humanity. The more positive words around, the more serene and peaceful zones we have and the more we own the sense of humanity.

I rest my case.

Erick Ashihundu.