Josh Tymz

05/09/2025

To Y.KMT and Cronies,
(NO HONOUR IN TYRANNY )

Under the vast, starlit sky, where dreams intertwine with reality, I pen this message to you, hoping it resonates with the profound essence of our shared humanity. Our Mother(Uganda), like the boundless ocean, has depths teeming with untold stories and unfulfilled promises. It is within these depths that the voices of the people cry out, longing to be heard, understood, and embraced.
You hold the power to navigate these waters, to guide our nation towards a horizon of hope and unity. Yet, the course you have chosen for seasons threatens to drown the dreams and aspirations of countless souls. In the heart of every child, every mother, every worker lies a story of struggle and resilience. These are not mere statistics; they are the lifeblood of our nation.
There is no honor in tyranny. True leadership shines like the morning sun, bringing warmth, light, and life to all it touches. It is in the gentle understanding of the people's pain, the compassionate listening to their needs, that true greatness is found. The people yearn for an active, inclusive economy where opportunities flow freely, unburdened by the chains of corruption and inequality.
Freedom of opinion, the sacred right to speak one's truth, is not a privilege granted at whim, but a fundamental right. Justice must be the unyielding pillar upon which our society stands, unwavering and impartial. Our collective future hinges on these principles.
Let not the lure of power eclipse your humanity. Remember, you are part of us, not above us. The threads that bind us together as a nation are delicate, yet they weave a tapestry of immense strength and beauty. It is your duty to nurture this tapestry, to uplift the living standards of our people not just in words, but in heartfelt action.
Preach unity, yes, but more importantly, practice it. Show us through your deeds that we are one, that our dreams are intertwined like the constellations above. The coldness of the streets, the hunger in the eyes of our children, the forgotten corners of our society—they all cry out for a leadership that cares, that acts, that heals.
Sink this into your hearts: We deserve better than tyranny. We deserve leaders who walk with us, who feel with us, who lead us with integrity and compassion. The legacy you leave behind will be etched in the annals of history. Choose to be remembered as the harbingers of hope, the stewards of a brighter future.
May this message reach the depths of your soul(if you still got one) and guide you towards the true path of honor and greatness.
Jks
Josh Tymz

04/09/2025

(Beneath the headlines......)

The drums are beating again. The rhythm is familiar,it's Pearl's electoral season once again! The times that are elegant gowned in legality but absurdly pregnant with illegitimacy.
From the perspective of one who has studied the rise and fall of republics, a scholar of philosophy, this is my submission! We are told to be grateful for this ritual. “Look,” they say, “you have a choice. You can vote.” And technically, this is true. The laws are written, the electoral commission exists, the ballots are printed. It is all legal. But legality is not morality; a process is not synonymous with principle. When the playing field is tilted into a vertical cliff face, when dissent is branded as treason, when the resources of the state serve only one party, and when the outcome is enforced not by the will of the people but by the barrel of a gun, the law becomes a weapon. The entire edifice, though constructed from legal paragraphs, is utterly illegitimate. It lacks the sacred consent of the governed.
To 'His excellency the Dictator' and the embattled opposition, I issue this reminder: in this extractive environment, your fervent will to win is being corrupted by a profound lack of honesty and transparency. To the government: your “victory” will be a pyric one, written not in the annals of great leaders but in the secret diaries of a people who endured you, despised you, and waited patiently for your house of cards to fall. Your power is borrowed from fear, and interest on that debt is paid in the currency of cruelty. To the opposition: the temptation to play by the corrupted rules of your oppressor is a dangerous folly. Do not become a paler shade of the same darkness. Your strength is not in matching their deceit, but in embodying the transparent, honest, and principled alternative you promise. The people can spot a compromised ideal from a mile away. And it is the people—the brave, the hopeful, the sacrificial—who truly define this moment. While politicians maneuver, real people face the unvarnished cruelty of the state for the mere act of wanting something better. We must speak their names. We must honour the student leader languishing in a cell, whose crime was a pamphlet and a dream. We must weep for the rural organizer whose small business was mysteriously razed after a campaign rally. We must remember the journalist now unemployed, unpersoned, for asking the question everyone was thinking. Their suffering is the starkest evidence of the regime’s inherent cowardice. A government that is truly legitimate does not fear its citizens; it does not need to break them to feel secure.
This cruelty, however, is also the kindling of a profound and unstoppable power. Tyrants understand the mechanics of power—the arrests, the censorship, the intimidation. But they consistently fail to understand its soul. They do not comprehend that when you push a human being to the brink, you do not always break their spirit; sometimes, you forge it into steel. The mother who loses her son to a trigger-happy soldier becomes a lifelong advocate for justice. The father who is fired for his vote becomes a symbol of resistance for his entire community. This is the raw, unassailable force of people power. It cannot be legislated away, it cannot be fully imprisoned, and it certainly cannot be extracted.
It is the quiet resolve in a whispered conversation. It is the defiant tear wiped away before a new day begins. It is the shared glance between strangers that says, “I see you, and I am with you.” It is the unwavering knowledge, etched into the collective heart, that this legality is a lie and that true legitimacy belongs to them—the people.
The election may come and go. A winner will be declared. But in the silence that follows the state’s celebration, listen closely. You will hear it. Beneath the headlines, behind the prison walls, within the hearths of a million homes—the steady, resilient beat of the people’s heart continues. It is waiting. It is gathering strength. And history, tells us with unwavering certainty: no tyranny, however legalistic its disguise, can outlast that beat forever.
Josh Tymz

25/08/2025

This life is a journey not measured in miles, but in the echoes of the eyes we meet along the way.
I have seen the theater of power and the altars of faith. The politician’s hand, outstretched not for connection, but for a vote—a transaction of promise. And not far away, the faithful, their hands offering not a vote, but a hope, a silent plea for grace whispered with a coin. Two forms of supplication, one ascending, one descending. Which holds more truth?
I have carried the weight of gazes that haunt the periphery of our comfortable lives. The hollowed eyes behind Kamiti cold steel bars, windows to a soul already sentenced long before the judge’s gavel. The raw, guttural cries from Mulago hospital wards, where pain dissolves pretence and reveals the pure, terrifying animal of our being. These are not sights; they are feelings imprinted directly onto the soul.
I have walked the spectrum of human dwelling. The vibrant, struggling Kibra slums, where community is woven from shared lack. The vast, quiet farms of the wealthy in Ngoma, where solitude is purchased with acres. The anxious middle class, in Kilimani apartments bought on credit, ordering a taxi to a future they hope is secure. We all live under the same sky, yet we breathe entirely different air.
I have seen the brutal wrestling match with poverty—a man in Maligiti market,using his body as his only tool, every day a round in a fight he can not afford to lose. I have seen the beautiful, tired woman, her body no longer a temple but a commodity in Kireka, her spirit a flickering candle in a harsh wind. I have seen the little boy in Homabay, his uniform traded for rags, his potential severed at the root by the blunt axe of school fees. In cruel juxtaposition, I have seen the heavy sums allotted to cushion a politician’s well-being. This is not merely inequality; it is a philosophical failure of our collective soul.
I have seen injustice in its mundane evil. On the construction site—the mjengo's in Eastleigh—on payday. The foreman’s mischief, his casual betrayal, awarding a man half the value of his weekly sweat. The stolen shillings are not just currency; they are stolen hours of life, stolen meals from a family’s table, stolen dignity. It is a violence performed with a pen and a smirk.
I have learned that love and hate are not neighbors to wealth or poverty. I have seen profound, selfless love on Nairobi streets, a shared bread roll that feels like a feast. And I have seen icy, calculated hate in opulent Bunga mansions, served on silver platters between courses of bitterness. The heart’s capacity is not dictated by the wallet’s weight.
I have seen our heroes celebrated in bronze and speech—Mandela, a testament to what is possible—while his legacy is worshipped in words and abandoned in action. We commend the precedent but lack the courage to follow its path. We love the symbol but fear the sacrifice it represents.
And then, there are the journeys within the journey. The intimate galaxies of personal connection.
I have seen you, Comrade. I have felt the cold draft of your betrayal, a sudden winter in a heart that thought it was safe. It was a lesson that trust is not a shield, but a gift, and its breaking is a tuition paid in pain.
I have seen you, L'Agathar. In the times when the vision was lost, when the map showed only fog, you did not find the path for me. Instead, you stumbled with me. Your hand still in mine not as a guide, but an anchor. In the darkness, you were not a light, but a presence. And you still wander with me munange! I have learnt that it is the truest form of love—not walking in the light together, but refusing to let go in the dark.
I remember you, stranger. In a moment of unburdening, I spoke not to be heard, but to release. And you—you really listened. You offered no solution, just the sacred space of your attention. You taught me that sometimes, the most profound ministry is a silent heart.
And you, my family. You who belong with me not out of obligation, but out of a chosen, unwavering belonging. You see my empty hands, my status as the poorest sibling, and you look right through it to the brother you claim. You have taught me that wealth is not what we have, but who we have.
So we give thanks. Not to the loud and the powerful, but to the freedom fighters of the everyday. To those who give hope not from a podium, but through a quiet act of resistance: a kind word, a shared burden, a steadfast belief in a better tomorrow for the majority who are still in silence. Their battle is not for glory, but for grace.
This collection of sights is the ledger of my life. It is heavy with sorrow, yet illuminated by sparks of breathtaking humanity.
And I have so much more to see. My eyes are still open, my heart still willing to be broken and mended. I am a student of this world, and my education is not yet complete.
So I journey on, collecting my moments. And I hope, sincerely and with every fiber of my being, that someday, in the eyes of another, in a gesture of kindness, in a moment of shared understanding… I will see a piece of you.
JKS.
Josh Tymz

24/06/2025

Tomorrow, you step onto the streets not just for yourselves, but for the soul of this nation. You march for the voices that have been silenced—for Ojwang, whose life was stolen in the dark corners of Central Police Station. You march for the disappeared, the tortured, the ones whose only crime was daring to speak truth to power. You march for the generations unborn, so they may never know the weight of chains we bear today.
This is not just a protest. This is an act of love. Love for justice. Love for freedom. Love for a Kenya where no mother has to weep over her child’s body, dumped in a morgue after an abduction. Love for a Kenya where no father has to beg for answers that will never come. Love for the street children who are treated as if they are invisible, as if their lives do not matter.
You are not invisible. You are the fire that will light the way.
They want you to be afraid. They want you to feel alone. But look around—see the strength in each other’s eyes. You are not fighting for today; you are fighting for the tomorrows of those who will come after us.This is your legacy.
Stand tall, even when your knees shake. Speak loud, even when your voice trembles. Because the greatest revolutions are not born from the fearless, but from the brave who refuse to stay silent while the world tries to break them.
They may have guns, cells, and lies—but we have something they can never take:our unity, our truth, and our unbreakable spirit.
No matter what happens tomorrow, remember—you are the history they will write about.You are the hope they tried to bury. You are the dawn that will rise after this long, painful night.
Forward, fighters. Forward, believers. Forward, Kenya.
Your courage will change everything.✊🏾🇰🇪

07/06/2025

“in essentials unity, in non essentials liberty, in all things charity”.JKS

07/06/2025

https://youtu.be/HF-jNh9X-dY?si=GHPKQpFuk_MYhrKb

19/05/2025

Extractiveness of East African Politics

24/03/2025

It's a sad reality
The vulnerable is accused of trying to scream for justice, judged,persecuted for asking the fundamental right of human,life yet still killed.
The scars are deep.
Where's humanity?
Josh Tymz

21/03/2025

06/03/2025

Activists, freedom fighters, and dissidents are not rebels against governments, we are warriors for truth, champions of fairness, and voices for the voiceless. Our fight is not born of hatred but of hope. We stand against extractive politics, nepotism, and sectarianism, not for personal gain, but to demand a world where leadership serves the people, not the other way around.
And this fight is not ours alone. Across the globe, countless others rise with the same passion, the same fire. From the streets of Nairobi to the hills of Kashmir, from the squares of Cairo to the avenues of Caracas, from torture chambers of Uganda, to Sudan massacres,the cry for justice echoes. We are united by our yearning for a world where truth prevails, where justice is not a privilege but a right.We are fighting for the simple yet profound idea that no one should be killed for their opinions, no one should be silenced for their dissent, and no one should be denied their humanity for daring to dream of a better community. This is a fight for democracy-not just as a political system, but as a way of life. Democracy is not merely the act of casting a vote; it is the assurance that every voice matters, that every life has value, and that every citizen has a stake in the future of their nation. We yearn for inclusive politics, where diversity is celebrated, not weaponized. We demand an inclusive economy, where opportunity is not a privilege reserved for the connected few but a right extended to all. We need services, not promises; action, not rhetoric. We need unity, not division. We need a future where our children can grow up in safety, with hope, and with the belief that their lives can be better than ours.
To those who stand on the frontlines of this struggle, know this: your passion is not in vain. Your courage is not unnoticed. Your fight is not just for yourselves but for generations to come. You are the architects of a new world, the writers of a new story-one where justice prevails, where freedom rings loud, and where the truth is no longer silenced.And so, we write ourselves to freedom. With every protest, every speech, every act of defiance, we inscribe our demands on the pages of history. We write with our voices, our actions, and our unwavering belief in a better tomorrow. We write not just for ourselves but for all those who have been silenced. And so, we write. We write with our voices, our actions, and our refusal to back down. We write with every protest, every petition, every act of defiance. We write with the hope that our words will inspire others to join us, that our actions will spark a movement, and that our struggle will one day lead to a world where justice is not a privilege but a right.
I will write myself to freedom. These words are not just a declaration; they are a promise. A promise to keep fighting, to keep believing, and to keep writing until the chains of oppression are broken and the light of justice shines for all.
Nothing to lose but chains!
Josh Tymz

17/01/2025

😂
JJosh TymzTJosh Tymz

17/01/2025

“If you hold a gun and I hold a gun, we can talk about the law. If you hold a knife and I hold a knife, we can talk about rules. If you come empty-handed, and I come empty-handed, we can talk about reason. But if you hold a gun and I only have a knife, then the truth lies in your hand. If you have a gun and I have nothing, then what you hold in your hands isn’t just a weapon, it’s my life."

"The concepts of law, rules, and morality only hold meaning if they are based on equality. The harsh truth of this world is that when money speaks, truth goes silent, and when power speaks, even money takes three steps backwards. Those who create the rules are often the first to break them for rules are chains for the weak and tools for the strong."

"In this world, anything good must be fought for… The masters of the game are fiercely competing for resources, while the weak sit idly waiting to be given a share.”
Nothing to lose but chains!
Josh Tymz