When walking around the neighborhood, it is possible to come across a stray dog. It is easy to know that a dog is a stray because of its demeanor: It usually looks thin with a hunched back and trots along nervously with eyes darting this way and that way. Even when on the move, it is mostly sniffing the ground for any morsels of food and if you look carefully, the snout is coated with a reddish hue from the task of digging into the soil to catch bugs burrowed in the ground. When a stray dog approaches, it will respectfully squeeze itself to the furthest corner available and as a result, usually rubs its body against the fence as it hurries past you. All the while it will attempt to look at inconspicuous as possible, lest it draws attention to itself.

If you see a stray dog in the neighborhood, you might give it a big scare by stamping your feet loudly, and it will yelp wildly and bolt like its tail is on fire. But if you see a stray dog in the neighborhood and whistle gently and rhythmically at it, it will snap from its scared trance and pay attention just for a moment. It will briefly look at you as if distracted by a distance memory of love, which it will hurriedly dismiss, and then continue on its way. If you continue whistling and start snapping your fingers in its direction, once again it will stop and this time, it will pause for a longer period. Its eyes will look at you and you will see the doubt that comes with a life of disillusionment. However that won’t take away the miserably hunched back and neither will it thaw its heart, but there will be a slight glimmer of hope. At this point if you bend down from your hip and continue to whistle and snap your finger while making assuring sounds, the dog will cautiously approach you. You can tell that the animal is torn between the desire of its heart to be loved and the fear of its body being hurt. It will decide to give love a shot, yet once again.

And so the stray dog will reach the extents of your outstretched hands and pause there. It will turn its head all the way down in submission and its tail might still be between its legs. At this point, it leaves it all up to you. What will you do? If you make a step forward and start stroking the top of its head, it will immediately warm up, and will expectantly look up into your eyes. In that single moment, it becomes transformed from a stray with all the experiences of being afraid and hungry to a cute dog that knows what it is like to have a best friend. If you squat and continue to pat its head, rub its neck and comb the fur on its back with your fingers, it will come closer and nuzzle inside your open body. And it will have a dreamy look, with eyes half closed, and you might sense a sadness like none you haven’t experienced before; one that might easily break your heart.

It makes you wonder what it might be like to find yourself in a planet of dog. With no one to take care of you, you would be forced to go into the streets looking for food. Unfortunately, each dog that you see might at best ignore you, otherwise, most would be fierce looking and outright aggressive and would chase after you. You might be tired of running every day, and want to give up, but your hunger would still force you to venture into the cruel world looking for food. When things are hard, you might even find yourself digging for bugs buried in the soil.

But then one day you come across someone who might want to be your friend. And that person would call out to you despite your tattered clothes, and caress and hug you despite all the fleas, lice and ticks that have been so prevalent that you no longer feel their bite. What if on the midst of the catastrophe of your life, someone would remind you of what it feels like to be loved and to be wanted and to be cared for? To be kind even if just for a moment?

When walking around the neighborhood, it is possible to come across a stray dog. Be kind.

The discouraged sounds of the birds drew me to the window, and I immediately saw what the trouble was. The two sparrows were perched on top of the frame of the open window and there was debris all along the window sill. The debris consisted of dried grass and leaves and little pieces of sticks, all representing work that had lasted many days. Up till then, the two birds had been building a home, inside a crevice on top of the widow. They would alternate turns to bring in the materials to build the nest. Each bird would fly in with a mouth full of raw materials and disappear inside the crevice. From the shrill twits, one could easily tell that it was an exciting exercise. After a few minutes of construction, the bird would fly off to find another lot of materials and its partner would replace it at the construction site.

When I saw the cluttered debris, I immediately guessed what had happened. The reason is because I had seen this happen several times before. Our Caretaker called Jack had destroyed the nest to discourage the birds from clogging the ventilation holes that lead into the house. Each time that Jack had destroyed the nest before, the birds had perched along the same window frame and consulted in the same discouraged sounds as they looked at their unsuccessful efforts to build a home and raise a family. In the shock of the moment, perhaps they asked each other, “What happened?” or “Where did we go wrong?” much in the same way that human beings do when things unexpectedly go wrong. And each time, they have decided to start all over again.

Like the sparrows, each one of us has been in a situation where they are faced with failure and wondered what to do next. “Should I quit or should I try again?” What makes it tricky is being in a situation where one does not understand why they didn’t succeed. When the birds ask themselves, “Where did we go wrong?”, it is because as far as they knew, they had followed the rules of successful home building to the book, so why didn’t they succeed? And not understanding that their choice of site had consequences beyond the bird kingdom – and hence Jack’s intervention – their only conclusion might be what any human being might easily conclude in their frustration, “I am not made for this” or “There must be something wrong with me.” And of course when anyone says that there must be something wrong with them, they will search for it until they find it.

The problem is the location of the nest, and not the sparrows themselves, just as it usually is our approach to problems that make us fail, and not us who are the problem. Should the sparrows wallow in self pity forever and give up building a home for the rest of their lives? Should the sparrows start blaming each other and fighting because their efforts were unsuccessful? Should they blame the lack of building locations in the neighborhood?

The sparrows are now gone, and I sincerely hope that they found another spot where they can comfortably build a nest. And to the rest of us, may we have success in our endeavors.

Each day we are called upon to join the relay team and often we reach out for our crutch and watch as the team sprints down the tracks. And as they disappear around the corner, we throw aside the crutch and continue doing whatever it is that had been interrupted. But as we busy ourselves with something we do not even enjoy doing any more, we feel a little guilty and a bit bad for the choice we had just made and we promise to join the team the next time we are called.

Soon enough, we are given another opportunity to join the relay team and just like the previous time, we hastily reach for the crutch and put on a wounded look on our face.

But for how long can we allow ourselves to let opportunities pass us by, knowing that we are bursting with potential? How long can we continue reaching for the crutch knowing fully well that not only are we whole, we are even capable of winning for the relay team? How many times can we bear to hear the cheers for the winning team knowing that we could easily be in that team if we just refused to reach for the crutch for once?

When we look at the crutch – a career, a job, a relationship, a level of education, an addiction, an attitude, a tainted memory, or a weakness of any sort – can we stop blaming our circumstances and accept our responsibility: That it is time for us to let go!

Let us join the relay team.

There is a man in town who is known to his close friends as Mr. Keys. When I was introduced to him by one of my friends, I sought to find out why they called him by that name. And my friend told me the story of Mr. Keys.

Mr. Keys is a wealthy sophisticated gentleman in his 50 now. My friend told me that Mr. Keys has very little formal education and when he first came to Nairobi from upcountry, he leant the trade of key cutting from one of his friends. That is the trade that sustained his existence in the big city for many years. Looking at the man and the clout that he commands within his circle of equally wealthy friends, it is impossible to imagine that such a polished guy could one day have sat on the streets with a tiny booth similar to the ones that the downtown key cutters occupy in Nairobi, hoping that a passerby might have the need for a duplicate key. I was curious about how his fortunes changed and when I asked my friend, he looked at me and said mysteriously, “One day, Mr. Keys made a key that enabled him to open the magic box into riches.”

Well, that is all that my friend said, and I had to walk away with that explanation. Taken literally, Mr. Keys’ is a story as fabulous as that of magic beans or a goose that lays a golden egg or finding a genie in an old lamp. It is the kind of story that we liked to indulge in and that fueled our young imagination as children, the kind that we call a miracle as adults. It is also the type that many people are ever in pursuit of – even though few will admit it. Anyway, may your goose lay golden eggs, may you find magic beans, and may you craft a key that opens the vault to fabulous riches! And may your story have a happy ending!

The Japanese monkey, Macaca Fuscata, had been observed in the wild for a period of over 30 years.

In 1952, on the island of Koshima, scientists were providing monkeys with sweet potatoes dropped in the sand. The monkey liked the taste of the raw sweet potatoes, but they found the dirt unpleasant.

An 18-month-old female named Imo found she could solve the problem by washing the potatoes in a nearby stream. She taught this trick to her mother. Her playmates also learned this new way and they taught their mothers too.

This cultural innovation was gradually picked up by various monkeys before the eyes of the scientists. Between 1952 and 1958 all the young monkeys learned to wash the sandy sweet potatoes to make them more palatable. Only the adults who imitated their children learned this social improvement. Other adults kept eating the dirty sweet potatoes.

Then something startling took place. In the autumn of 1958, a certain number of Koshima monkeys were washing sweet potatoes — the exact number is not known. Let us suppose that when the sun rose one morning there were 99 monkeys on Koshima Island who had learned to wash their sweet potatoes. Let’s further suppose that later that morning, the hundredth monkey learned to wash potatoes.

THEN IT HAPPENED!

By that evening almost everyone in the tribe was washing sweet potatoes before eating them. The added energy of this hundredth monkey somehow created an ideological breakthrough!

But notice: A most surprising thing observed by these scientists was that the habit of washing sweet potatoes then jumped over the sea…Colonies of monkeys on other islands and the mainland troop of monkeys at Takasakiyama began washing their sweet potatoes.

Thus, when a certain critical number achieves an awareness, this new awareness may be communicated from mind to mind.

Although the exact number may vary, this Hundredth Monkey Phenomenon means that when only a limited number of people know of a new way, it may remain the conscious property of these people.

But there is a point at which if only one more person tunes-in to a new awareness, a field is strengthened so that this awareness is picked up by almost everyone!

- From the book “The Hundredth Monkey” by Ken Keyes, Jr.

I heard about the term “mirage” when I was still a kid from my Dad. He explained what a mirage is. He said that it is a body of water that appears in a desert at a distance. When a traveller sees that body of water, it looks so appealing that they stand mesmerized by its beauty. And in that moment, they become thirsty and think how nice it would be to take a cool drink of fresh water from the lake. And with that as their motivation, they start walking towards that body of water. However when they come closer to it, it disappears, and then immediately appears a further distance ahead. If a traveler does not recognize a mirage in the desert as an illusion, he is bound to follow its appearance until his own water runs out.

I think back then I didn’t know what a desert was, and so I had to see it through the eyes of my father. Now many years later, I seem to understand what a mirage is, even without the benefit of going to a desert. Right here in this city, I have often set out on my journey but sometimes ends up as mesmerized as that traveler in the desert in my father’s story. I ended up diverting from my path in order to follow the vision. And I believe that I am not alone.

Right now, the hottest thing in the Kenyan market is real estate. When one is with friends they talk about the recent venture that involved purchase of a prime piece of property. When one talks with relatives, they brazenly want to know whether you also are investing in the property market. If it is not property, it is a husband or a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a wife. Other times it is jobs and careers and MBAs and evening classes. Other times it is the nice cars that everyone else but you is driving, and so on. And that list is endless.

So what happens? One forgets what he or she was doing, or where they were going and starts to think, “Well, if so and so has made it in online forex trading, so can I!” and off they divert from their tangent in pursuit of so and sos dream. But then they realize that the online forex trading cash cows is not as easily milked as so and so claimed, and they decide to go back to what they were doing before. But soon after, someone else points to something else and off they go into the distance to follow a mirage.

Does that mean that we should not go after opportunities? Not at all! What I am pointing at is that whatever it is that we are doing is quite right for us, and we just need to pay attention and see it through. You see, everyone’s efforts are good enough and always materialize into something. My friend’s efforts might result in a lot of money, whereas my efforts might result in wonderful human relationships. Your friend’s efforts might result in academic honors whereas your efforts might result in well brought up kids. What I am calling an illusion is disregarding or even abandoning my relationships because I want to be like my friend, or you trivializing the role of bringing up a family because your friend graduated from the university once again.

But you might say that these opportunities are real, and everyone else is taking them and making it big. Why not take the risk? Yes, let us go ahead and consider them. But also let us consider why we are in the path that we are in right now; how did we get here, and what has kept us here all this time? Is there something that we should see that we haven’t seen in a long time? Then we can choose wisely.

Remember that the greatest and the most rewarding risk that one can take is betting on themselves.

Walking along Muindi Mbingu Street in Nairobi, a gust of wind unexpectedly blows noisily around the City Market. It stirs some debris around the feet of a woman walking from Tuskys Supermarket across the street and she protectively presses the two plastic shopping bags held in each hand on her sides, to prevent the skirt from being hoisted up in the melee. Within a few moments the wind is gone and so is the look of panic on the woman’s face and she confidently disappears in the crowds of people walking on the sidewalk on a busy Nairobi weekday.

The gust of wind can go unforgotten if it was not for the piece of old newspaper that was lifted from the ground by the initial gust. Long after the wind has died down, the piece of paper is still raising up in the air. And as I watch, the silent current of air drives it even higher and it is soon above the tallest building around, and still raising. And within a short time, it is soaring the height of the eagles that hang around the City Market mesmerized by the smell of meat coming from the butcher shops.

I imagine that before the wind came, the piece of newspaper being trodden underfoot by the stream of strangers with no care for it must have bemoaned its predicament in life. It must have remembered bitterly just a few days ago when everyone was interested in what it said and held it fondly in their hands. And now that the news that the paper carries is no longer current, no one will even spare a moment for a small glance. Such a disgrace to be treated like old news! And so it just laid there watching as numerous copies of the newspaper with the current news were briskly swung past in the hands of their owners, it once again felt the crushing weight of doom at the unfairness of life under the shoe of yet another passerby.

But as if to jolt it from its hopelessness, a sudden gust of wind swept by, carrying small pieces of debris and the old newspaper thought to itself, “That’s just great! Being swept with the rest of the filth in the street into a gutter is all I need.” But then unexpectedly, it felt itself being lifted above the ground, above the cars, above the people, and unbelievably, above the trees! While still absorbing the shock of what was really happening, the newspaper felt the power that was below it and realized that the power was still not done with it! Above the short buildings…above the tall buildings…above the tallest building. Wow! It was still being raised up. With eyes popped all the way and an unhinged jaw, the paper found itself soaring at the same heights as the eagles. And that is when it was obstructed by a building and I lost sight of it.

Even as I wonder where the old newspaper ended up, I know for sure that it will never be the same again. For no matter what happens to it after today, it has seen what few papers have the privilege of ever seeing in their lives. On this day, it knows that it has soared higher than even the most colored newspaper with the hottest news can ever hope to soar. And to think that just a while ago, it felt as if it had exhausted all meaning of life!

Well, that is what happens to an old newspaper that might think that the only thing that can make it feel worthy in life is to be held between the hands of its owner and admired. What is there beyond what we think makes our lives worth living?

I was recently walking with a friend called Njeri in town when her shoe strap snapped in the middle of the street. Limping with one shoe on her foot and the other in her hand, we walked to the nearest shoe store in order to buy a replacement. Fortunately we didn’t have to walk for long since there was a Bata shop a street ahead, that we were both relieved to duck inside.

While inside the shop being attended to, she pointed to one of the shoes on the rack and said, “That shoe made me cry so much!” It was a kid’s shoe with a low heel and black patterned leather fronted by a small belt that was held in place by a brass buckle on the side. Njeri wanted a pair of those shoes when she was a kid, and her mother insisted on buying her a less glamorous pair of shoes. Hence the tears that are to be remembered many years later.

As we went back to walking in the street after getting a new pair of shoes, I narrated to my friend about my desire to have brown shoes when I was a kid. Back then, we knew of only 2 shoe retail shops in Kenya; Bata and Tiger. Bata shoes were cheap and easily affordable and catered for the needs of students and ordinary Kenyans with a modest shoe budget. And perhaps as a result, the shoes were black with unimaginatively dull designs. On the other hand, Tiger shoes had a variety of colors and looked very cool whether in the shop window or on the foot of a wearer. They also had an image of a Tiger printed on the insole (as opposed to the same old Bata logo), were a bit more expensive, and if you wore a pair, you were definitely ‘with it’. One of my cousins owned a pair of Tiger shoes, and I used to think that he was the happiest kid alive. Of course my Dad would never hear of Tiger shoes especially since Bata shoes were guaranteed to last for a long time, and just required a replacement of shoe laces once every few months.

One of my buddies called Dan told me his shoe story that still makes me laugh to date. Dan came from a very poor background and in the school where he went, only a single kid had a pair of shoes. As a result, all the other kids admired this one ‘rich’ kid and did everything to be in his favour. The best that would happen when one was in Michael’s good books is that he would let you wear his shoes during the 40 minutes break time between morning lessons. Within a short time of joining the school Michael was so popular that he had a line of students waiting to wear his shoes each break time. He came up with an ingenious solution; one kid, one shoe. As a result, Dan ended up being one of the kid’s who regularly enjoyed wearing one of Michael’s shoes over break time.

When my Dad got his first pair of shoes in his late teens, it was several sizes smaller. Coincidentally it happened on a day when he was going on a group field tour to Ngong Hills. Excited to show off his new shoes, he put them on and went to climb a mountain. You should watch his face when he tells that painful story!

One of the reasons why we tell such stories is to remind ourselves where we are coming from. Coming from a place where something would seem so out of reach and then being in another place where that becomes something to laugh about gives hope that there are still many great things to come. Why do I say that? Because it is an assurance that all the things that I might think are beyond my reach right now, will soon be in abundance, just as the pair of shoes that anyone who has ever cried about are right now. Can you look back and see your little achievements over the years, no matter how trivial they might seem? They say, “He who does not thank for little will not thank for much”, so get ready for the much by thanking for the little.

When it became apparent that I won’t be traveling as much as I used to several years ago, I went into a gift shop in Nairobi and bought myself a globe. I then took it home and set it up in my living room so that the tip of my finger could travel to any country in the world from the comfort of my seat. Up till a few days ago, the globe was set up on a pedestal and propped up on a semi-circular metallic bar that enabled me to rotate the miniature world around its axis – just as the real world. But then Wanderi changed all that.

Wanderi is a 3 year old neighborhood boy that I hang out with once in a while. While I was outside watering some plants, Wanderi sneaked inside my house and I heard something crash. When I quickly went inside, I saw the pedestal from where the globe was propped on the floor separate from the circular ball still attached to the semi-circular bar that enables it to rotate. Wanderi was holding the ball with both hands and when he saw me, he excitedly said, “Ball!”

So, I extracted the globe from his hands and told him it is “World” as I tried to fit it back on the pedestal. However, the damage was permanent and the little world would not be the same again. Wanderi repeated “Ball!” and I said, “World” and shoed him out of the house to avoid further catastrophe.

When I looked at the globe later, the only thing that remained to be done was to unscrew the semi-circular bar and let the globe become a ball – just as Wanderi had wanted. When I look at the ball now, I realize that I can look at the world in many different ways that I hadn’t considered before. For example I can look at the map of the world upside down and when I turn it at an angle, Australia takes the shape of Africa.

I guess it takes people like Wanderi to come into our neat orderly lives and turn one or two things around, and then we are able to see the world from a different perspective. Then an ordinary world that rotates in a single direction at fixed periods of time, can become transformed into loose and carefree ball that can become fun to play with.

Once in a while, we watch someone on TV who is good at what they do. We watch a top business man and woman giving expert financial analysis, we watch a relationship guru giving incredible dating advice, we watch a footballer being toasted after scoring a crucial goal, we watch a top actor giving a performance that moves us to our core, we watch stories or ordinary people that suddenly became heroes overnight over some fluke of fate. When such viewing catches us in a moment of weakness, one might once again stare out into the wide horizon of life and wonder when their ship will ever come. One looks at all the years of blood, sweat and tears and wonders if all has been in vain?

But the thing is, in such instances we look at the people who are good at what they are doing at that particular moment and judge our entire life based on that. Rooney is good at scoring goals, but what else is he good at? When Rooney is so good at scoring goals, and I have never kicked a football, does it mean that I am not good at anything? That Rooney is good at scoring goals, does it make me worse at what it is that I am good at? Up till a while ago, everyone knew that Tiger Woods is good at playing golf, period. Is it fair to judge a man’s whole existence on the fact that he can grab a stick and follow a little ball whacking it over and over again towards a hole with incredible precision?

Despite my failures, what am I good at? Maybe I am good at making my bed, and that might never make it on TV, but it does not mean that my bed making skills any worse now that a stranger with a skill that I do not have has made it on TV. And neither is it fair to myself to judge all the other areas on my life based of a single thing that is not working right, is it?