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29/10/2025

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18/07/2025

Habari zenu

15/07/2025

Countdown of a Soul – Day 15: The Truth (A Dream)

The light of morning crept slowly across Mzee Juma’s face, warm and tender like a mother waking her child. Birds chirped in the mango tree outside. His breath was steady.

But something felt... strange.

He opened his eyes.

He was still in his room. The same old blanket. The familiar wooden window. The clock ticking softly.
He looked at his hands. Still shaking — but very much alive.

> “I'm... still here?” he whispered.

He sat up slowly, confused. The last thing he remembered was saying goodbye to Salma, feeling his chest grow light, and drifting into a silence that had no end.

He looked around.
On the table — no letters.
No mangoes.
No list.
No folded poem.
No bundle of final words.

The pages were blank.

The tree he planted?
Gone.
The boy with the radio?
Never met.

> “What is this?” he whispered again.

Then it came to him — like a wave crashing gently against an old shore:

> It was all a dream.

Every visit.
Every forgiveness.
Every goodbye.
A dream wrapped in fifteen days of imagined grace.

He sat still for a long while, heart torn between disappointment and a strange kind of peace.

Then he smiled — deeply, quietly — the kind of smile only someone who had seen what he had seen could wear.

> “Maybe it didn’t happen,” he said, “but now I know what I must do... while I still have time.”

He rose slowly, reached for his pen, and pulled out a fresh piece of paper.

This time, it wasn’t a dream.
This time, he would write the list for real.

*THE END*

14/07/2025

Countdown of a Soul – Day 14: The Dream

That night, Mzee Juma couldn’t sleep.

The kerosene lamp flickered beside him, casting dancing shadows on the cracked walls of his room. Outside, crickets sang and the wind whispered gently through the banana trees.

He lay on his bed, hands folded on his chest, eyes wide open — not from fear, but from a strange peace.

Then, somewhere between thought and silence, he began to dream.

He was standing on a quiet path, barefoot, dressed in white. Ahead, a wide field stretched to the horizon, glowing with golden light. And in the distance, people — faces familiar and gone — stood smiling: Amina, Kito, his mother, even Baraka, younger now, waving.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

He walked toward them slowly, each step feeling like a release. The pain in his knees, the heaviness in his chest — all gone. He was light. Whole. Timeless.

As he reached them, little Kito ran forward, arms outstretched, laughing just like he had the last day they were together.

> “Baba, uko tayari?”
Are you ready?

Juma knelt and embraced his son.

> “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m ready.”

And just then — he woke up.

Back in his room.

The lamp was still on. The breeze still blowing. But something inside him had changed.

He sat up slowly and smiled.

> “One more day,” he said softly. “Then… we’ll see.”

He looked out the window at the moon — full, bright, watching him like an old friend.

14/07/2025

Blue for life💙