I spent 12 hours playing video games.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Ritchie Odak. This is the origin story of my relationship with video games.

I am Kenyan. Pause for shock, awe, and dramatic effect. Or no effect.
I get easily amused. And distracted. I feel for you who has to read through this. Thank you for persevering. It gets good, I promise!

So as I was saying: I am Kenyan. What that means practically is that I grew up in a 3rd world country in the 90's. My 1st interaction with a computer (and subsequently with video games) came rather late in life by today's 3-year-olds-with-iPads-and-a-YouTube-channel standards.
The year was 1993; I was 8 years old. This was at a time when our family was among the fortunate few to (a.) Have a colour TV (which was a very big deal when it first arrived in 1989; people suspected my dad of being a drug dealer!), & (b.) Have a 21-inch colour TV at a time when 14 inches was the de facto standard (again, another huge deal). Therefore, it goes without saying that I felt like the bee's knees on the tech front. This was until the announcement came that the computer lab at school would be made accessible to everyone. Everyone!

First of all: we have a computer lab? Moreover, I will have access to it? Computers were things I saw on TV and in the movies! Was it possible that little old me would be able to see or possibly even TOUCH one!? The excitement in me could not be contained! I had to, and so I set about finding out how to.
To my immense glee, it was not particularly hard! Over lunch hour the computer lab was accessible to all students; all of us!

At this point, I must confess: I honestly cannot remember how exactly I ended up in front of a computer. I cannot quite remember what the rules were to get in, I cannot remember whether I had to pay, I cannot remember whether I had to queue, I cannot even remember if I even managed to get in on day 1 or I had to try a few times! This is one of those memories that I probably remember more fondly than what actually happened, but I don’t care! You cannot take this moment away from me! Ever!

Anyway, as I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself: it got to my turn, and I sat down in front of the black screen.Why was the screen black I hear the children ask? Because in 1993, before the windows/mac age, computers ran on something called MS DOS. And it looked like this (kindly look to your left) all the time until a particular program was executed. Still to this date one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century. Man am I old. Sigh. But I digress. Again.

Back to the narrative (for real this time): what I did not know was that everyone that was there was there for one reason: to play the greatest game ever made (up until that point in time): Prince of Persia!

I was just going in there to SEE a computer, and maybe with some luck touch one. Little did I know life as I knew it was about to permanently change as I was about to meet what would be one of the greatest loves of my life! (No, that is not hyperbole; I really do look back to that moment and see how my life's entire arch shifted! Life altering I tell you!)
So 8 year old me pressed play and got his first experience of proper gaming. I was hooked from the first jump/slide/fight/whatever exciting thing happened first.
30 year old me thanks 8 year old me for his initiative and perseverance in getting the opportunity!
Self-five!

It happened that the older kids that ran the lab knew that these youngsters getting their first taste of Prince of Persia would probably not be particularly good at it, and so the rule was that you got one chance: make it count. As soon as you exhausted your 3 lives you were out and someone else was in. And because of the length of the queue waiting, it was unlikely you'd get another chance before lunch hour ran out. Mine was to be a fairytale that deserves its own movie one day; the modern day Rocky!

I sat down at the computer, and having watched others before me try (and mostly fail), I picked up tips I thought would prove useful as I watched them play. I started by strategically positioning my fingers to get peak reaction time when pressing keys on the keyboard.

Like many of my contemporaries, my only experience typing up to this point had been on a typewriter – yes those were still a thing back then – and so hand placement at a 'modern' keyboard was still foreign. Making that little tweak meant I was more reactive to sudden keystrokes. Added to that was the fact that the older kids were literally yelling instructions to whomever was playing. Whereas others were quite irritated by this and wanted to 'prove' that they could do it 'on their own' (which almost nobody did), I embraced the coaching yelled at me like a rally driver listening to their co driver in the mist/fog/snow/dust of some far flung exotic race locale.
I climbed when told to climb, I jumped when told to jump, I stabbed when told to stab, I stopped when told to stop. Like Paul Bearer pulling The Undertaker's strings, I was a marionette for the manipulation of whoever was willing to coach me. I was fortunate to have a good coach and at some point a buzz started to go around the room; people gathered around me watching and cheering me on. Queue the Rocky theme music as this 'young unknown/underdog' had suddenly gotten to the end of level one!
This was it!
IT!
This is what IT felt like!

I felt a rush of adrenaline; I was literally shaking with excitement! The energy in the room was palpable! Older kids that would never have looked at me twice if we had crossed paths in the hallway were now patting me on the back and rubbing my head. In a short life with few momentous achievements, I think it is safe to say that on that day I had peaked as a human being! (I have since achieved far greater successes, just FYI).
This was what the TOP looked like.

"Hello mere mortals. I have left you all. I am on a different plane of existence."
{insert royal wave}

I'm probably remembering this a lot more fantastically than what actually happened, but my memory has embedded itself this way, and quite frankly I wouldn’t have it any other way now!
Riding this crest of adulation and achievement, I set my sights on conquering level two.

You can probably tell where this story is going.

Scarcely had I taken three steps (in game) than the bell rang signifying the end of lunch hour.
To say this was probably my first heartbreak may seem a bit extreme, but you cannot measure the volume of sadness I felt when I was tapped on the shoulder and told to stop playing. If I were not so scared of losing face in front of my newly acquired fans and admirers, I would have cried.

In the prime of my life, at the peak of my powers, with the admiration and respect of all my peers, holding the hope of a generation in my hands, I was forced by father time to retire.

Moment of silence.


Epilogue:
A lot has happened between then and now, and I will try as much as possible to fill that gap in time in future posts. But suffice it to say that to this day I am still chasing the high I felt on that day; that sense of achievement, that feeling of victory and invincibility (did I mention I finished level one having never died once? Well I did. I was so awesome).

This is my never-ending story in search of greatness.
I will never be a world-class athlete, but I can conquer the world from the comfort of my sofa/office chair/cell phone.

When I say I spent 12 hours playing video games, that isn't one particular day I'm talking about; that's every weekend and off day I have (whenever I have the time to and other life commitments allow me to).
One day I WILL get back to the mountain top.

I spent 12 hours playing video games, and that's OK.

My gas just ran out.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Ritchie Odak. This is a story of by friend Barrack Obaga. It is taken from his Facebook profile verbatim.

This is my fourth gas cylinder. I bought it two days ago. For anyone who started out from the bottom right after campus, there are two things that will always last in your memory as far as the gas cooker is concerned.
One, you'll never forget the feeling you had the day you bought your first gas cylinder together with the burner and the stand that holds the sufuria (saucepan) in place as you cook.
Two, you can forget the first reason above BUT you'll never forget the way gas runs out on you. Never ever. The embarrassing moments that result from this will haunt you forever.
I bought my first gas cylinder on 30th June 2013. I still have the receipt stashed somewhere. This was almost a full month after I'd left campus and moved out into the bedsitter which you are, by now, familiar with. It was the small 'house' that would make a chic raised in a castle ask: "Kwani where's the rest of the house?"

I was excited at the idea of starting to cook. I'd missed my own cooking. I used to buy food from Tuskys Supermarket at T-Mall, that kitchen of theirs. Since I didn't have a microwave, I'd give the packed food to the guys in the main house from whom I was subletting my small 'house' to warm for me. I still don't understand where I got all that money to survive on supermarket pre-cooked food.
At the time, I was lucky to be dating a chic that's seen through the hard start and she'd occasionally pack up some food and forcibly deliver it to my official residence. I'd save some coins and notes on such days.
On other days, since I was still attached to campus, I'd pass through Senses aka Student Centre after dropping my job applications all over the place. I'd call up a few pals who were still in campus and we'd eat a meal and wash it down with sodas. Then I'd stroll into town, full, focused on sleeping upon arrival at the house.
One day, I bought mutton and vegetable rice from T-Mall. That was the day I said, nay, I declared that enough was enough! It tasted so bad that I threw all of it in the bin. I did the math. I multiplied, added, divided, subtracted and I realized that I'd wasted cash buying ready food. I'd have comfortably bought a cooker.
So on 30th June, armed with cash, I walked to the guy selling gas near the entrance of Langata's Onyonka Estate.
"Nipatie hio ya 6kg (Gimme that 6kg one)" I said. I gave him the cash. He delivered it to the house.
Setting it up was drama. But I got it right. It had been long since I had last used a gas cooker. So I did all the installation outside. This was a safety precaution.
"Just in case it explodes," I lied to myself. "The whole world should explode with me"
The good thing with this single burner is that you focus on cooking one dish at a time. With the singularity of focus your bachelor meal deserves.
I couldn't stop talking about the first meal I'd prepared in my house after leaving campus. That was the tastiest meal ever since I left campus. And I couldn't stop toying with the idea of making meat, chicken or fish stew in the days to come. That feeling lingers in you forever too. Hehe...
Fast-forward to a random Saturday. Remember all my Saturdays were set aside for laundry and chores. Then lunch.
On this particular day, I decided to make ugali, sukuma wiki and eggs for lunch. That's the staple food for anyone in campus and fresh from campus. It never gets old.
I can't recall the order in which I was preparing them, but when I got to eggs, I failed to realize that I was taking too long for them to cook. I thought maybe the perforations on the burner had blocked.
Long story short, I was left with eggs that were barely halfway cooked.
"Why does this gas decide to run out right in the middle of the month?" I pondered.
The middle of the month is relative. Often, it's determined by the time when you have money only enough to shuttle you between home and work. And maybe eggs and veggies once in a while.
You know you're smack in the middle of the month when you don't have cash to refill a cylinder of gas. You know you're knee deep in starvation when, upon noticing those last kicks of the dying flames and all you can say is: "Lord, please, not today. Not now... Please... Please..." But those prayers echo back to you. And the fire dies off. And there's nothing you can do. Nothing.
The second gas cylinder ran out when I was cooking ugali. I was left with a crossbreed of porridge and ugali; a substance so thick that a snail would outpace it if they were to race.
I laughed at myself. I laughed at my folly.
Somewhere in between the first and the second one, I got a microwave from my friend Jose. This appliance became a big asset in the kitchen. While I was waiting for the next cash to come in to buy gas, I'd always throw any food that's eaten warm into the microwave. Milk. Tea. Some chapati I bought. All in the microwave.
Anyway, the third one ran out when making tea. Thank God, it was at night. I knew that the next morning I'd have had to rush to the office early and fix a mug of coffee before anyone could read the problems I had in kitchen back at home.
This is the fourth one. Many meals later. And to many more ugalis before the wife comes into my life and throws it out.
Hey, every time it happens it makes for a great story, and so it's OK.

I'm writing again.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Ritchie Odak. This is the story of my blog.

People that have known me for a while know that I used to write a blog. That was about 4 years ago, and it was exclusively about sports. The story of that blog and its demise shall be the subject of a future post (← click the link to read), but for now what I will say is I want to get writing again.
Why you might ask? Even if you didn't ask, you've stuck around this far so thank you and continue reading. I love to tell stories. I think I have interesting stories to tell. I've also gotten it into my head that I have an interesting story telling technique. I have an odd world perspective and a blog is the ideal platform to tell these stories, and to get things off my chest.

This post serves as an introduction to my writing style. I'll introduce myself in a series of posts, so that I have stuff to post! I speak to myself a lot, and what this is my conversations with myself written down and shared with all of you and I'm hoping it comes across that way. I have a rough idea for what my posts will look like (the title, the intro, the structure, the outro), but other than that expect a free-for-all. The title – for example – shall make more sense as time passes. The opening line is a wrestling reference which we shall get into at a later date. As the blog description states: I'll write about things that interests me. Beyond that, I'm not quite sure where this is headed, but you can expect stories and/or rants, and the occasional opinion piece. At least. I think. We'll see.

As far as introductions – or rather re-introductions – go, this has gone on quite long enough, so like a Stonecold stunner, this one's over! Please like, share and subscribe!

I haven't written anything creatively in years. But I'm writing now, so that’s OK.