The trial of Dr Jakwach: The curious old man

In my youthful days, when I retained a monstrous reserve of vitality, I was often drawn to the theaters and galleries to satisfy my mental dose of poetry and art. In truth, I often found myself in communities and establishments for reasons short of intellectual gain; as several young men are known to wander. I had a good deal of disposable income from employment at the family business. My employment required little of my time indoors and uncertain working hours, which left me a great deal of time, often several hours and at times days apart. Moreover, my father considered my character with trust and left me to pursue unorthodox ventures with a little caution whenever I employed disagreeable company.

In the first quarter of my A-Level vacation, I had the luck – or misfortune as my father considers it – of making acquaintance of a company and an individual; in that order. I had suffered a fever from a typhoid attack and was advised to take a fortnight off my employment as I fully recovered. With too much time than the sun had, I started wandering about the city trying to make new friends and reestablish lost contact. Very soon, I ran into Elsie, an old acquaintance I strongly desired from my secondary school days. Her smile was just as softening and her wit had multiplied without restraint. We quickly took to each other’s liking. I would check in at her work desk and amaze her with stories from the theatre and galleries. She did like to hear these stories since her employer, a ruthless lawyer and yet humorous fellow, often engaged all her time sorting case files and engaging clients. He would come about whenever he saw me and listen attentively, asking very precise questions that often drove me to such detailed descriptions I soon swore I was poet. He would then ask me to describe my day wandering about the city and listen with such attention I could swear he’d lost his mind.

One day, the lawyer invited me to join a rouge gathering of poets. I had two requirements; bring a poem and female company. I took this as a chance to charm Elsie and win her heart. On a sunny Sunday afternoon, I took a bodaboda to the National Theatre, arriving late as was my custom. As I rushed in through the door, I bumped into an old man who seemed quite frail and was barely keeping himself up. I quickly gained my stamina and tossed aside my notebook to get a grip of the old fellow before he could hit the ground. Once I had apologized and we had settled matters, I rushed to the meeting room, interrupting a young lady who was reciting. Another round of apologies paid in full, I took a seat by Elsie who was in no cheerful mood at my appearance and manners. Looking about the room convinced me of the absence of the lawyer. I was soon called to take the stage and recite my piece of literature. I stood up and at that moment I was certain of death by embarrassment; I had lost the notebook and had not engraved the content in memory. I felt Elsie touch my hand and a sudden charge took over me. Walking to the stage, I blanked out my vision and tried to engage mental faculties as I recited everything I had scribbled line by line. My ears picked nary a sound and I was uncertain if I was uttering blather. Once I was done, clarity and embarrassment started to resurface and my palms grew moist whereas beads of sweat moistened my collar. I looked at Elsie, smiling as the room clapped loudly and one or two ladies swayed their hands about. Too embarrassed to stay in, I dashed for the door and no sooner had I stepped out than I ran into the old man again. With a strong grip, he grabbed my coat and pulled me to the side where the lawyer was standing with my notebook in hand.

“Meet Frank. Frank, this man shall be employing your help. I have to go now by the church mission to offer them my aid”

With those word, the lawyer handed my notebook and walked away. I turned to face the old man who was staring at my head with interest and muttering to himself.

“Quite big, that’s good. The shape is rather disappointing. Ah, nature didn’t favor you my dear. Yes, yes. But I believe we can…may I touch your head?”

I was taken aback by this and before I could utter a word he was measuring up my head with his palms and still muttering. Then he suddenly stopped and a look of haste took over his eyes. I noticed his sharp piercing eyes were not those of an old man; a little worn for the day but lacking in years.

“I am afraid, dear, but a matter of haste is at hand. I shall explain to you later. Listen to what I say and do what I ask you to do. Now tell me everything you descried from the moment you walked into the gate.”

I hesitated a little, trying to make judgement of what had ensued since I last had my senses in command.

“Haste, Frank! Engage your wits. I shall explain later. Now now…”

I took a seat next to him and began describing from the two sharply dressed gentlemen I met at the gate who engaged the gatekeeper with cheerful talk, the custodian who was cutting the grass to the left, a broken car that was being fixed by a mechanic next to the two only other cars in the parking lot. He pressed for details and I described each car as vividly as I could recall. He nodded. I proceeded to describe each and every character in what seemed to be a wedding meeting at the garden. He quizzed why and I mentioned the lack of uniformity of background and yet clustered familiarity. Unsatisfied, he pushed me to continue. I was getting rather tired of this conversation which lacked purpose as long as my interest was considered. Once I was done to the point where we ran into each other, he sighed and stood up looking disappointed.

“I am sorry I wasted both our time. Perhaps the lawyer was wrong. You recall too little to satisfy my requirements. Huh”

At this point I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Elsie. She was still smiling and her eyes seemed to suggest she wanted us to have a moment of privacy.

“Disappointing. Has this city not a single mind that can recall anything but useless gossip?”, he spoke again

“Does the old man speak to you?”, Elsie asked

I affirmed. At this she looked at him with a bit of anger and then she spoke up

“I dare you Frank can recollect his birth. Perhaps you are unfit to make the most of him. We shall leave you to your worries and be on our way where we appreciate each other’s company”

At this talk, that sudden rush of blood came up and I started to recall with detailed precision. I described everyone by element, protracting their moods, motives and backgrounds. This still wasn’t enough for the old man. Just as I was about to leave, I asked if the gateman would be of interest to his engagement. I got his attention and went on to describe him.

“He was about 5 foot 8 inches with a slight limp to his left. His muscular arms were scarred in what seemed to be an arc just beneath the folds of his sleeves. One of his nails…”

“What is the time?”, he interrupted me

“Four minutes to six O’clock”, Elsie responded

“Follow me!”, at which he jumped, tossed aside his walking aid and dashed off towards the gate. We tried to keep pace but he was too fast and Elsie too slow. We turned the last corner towards the gate just in time to see him tackle the gatekeeper. The two men quickly stood up and engaged in a fist fight as two policemen rushed to his scene just before his foe could design a mark on his face. The gatekeeper was restrained. During the fight, his physique and facial facade suffered dramatic. The old man emerged a man in his forties with remarkable strength.He reached for a duffel bag on the ground and opened it, retrieving a remarkable art piece. He then beckoned me to come closer and we strolled towards the administration section.

“Frank, I can tell by your judgement of art that this is a remarkable piece. I have no such interest in beauty but story. This is the “River of Bodies” by Jamil Keniga. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. The man pretending to be the gatekeeper had stolen it”

When we were in the manager’s office, he began to describe in detail what had led to this scuffle. The police had been tipped off by an anonymous source of a theft that was to occur at the theatre. The group responsible called itself the Eclipse. The members of the group believed that only beautiful art should be displayed for the world to see. They stole valuable works of negative art and sold to underground dealers then used the proceeds to fund their operations. The scar on the arm had tipped him off, but it was not an arc. Members of the Eclipse marked their bodies with a round scar; the gatekeeper’s sleeve obscured half of it. We were just lucky to make it to the gate just as the man was about to change shift. The manager walked in and thanked him for his help. It was getting late and I made mention that we are going on a date, at which Elsie looked at me surprised, then smiled.

“Oh, and dear Frank, I am Dr Jakwach. I shall be calling you shortly to employ your facilities. I was wrong, perhaps the anthropologists ought to update their chapters on intelligence and shape of the medulla. Good evening and good luck with the date. Not that you need it.”

We walked into the breezy evening, hand in hand and without care of morrow, as is customary of new love.

A statement on the facts about Dr Jakwach’s recent trial

I have learnt too little to indulge myself in confidence and abandon the pursuit of knowledge. In my lucky years, I have come to appreciate the enormity of the unknown and treated reality with caution. Even then, I have been wrong countless times by regarding the wrong frame. Aye, I have been misled countless times to regard certain individuals through filters manufactured by friends or foe of the character. Every time I am led down that path, it’s been a new chance to reflect upon my own designs on my associates. The reader is probably familiar with recent gossip in the tabloids and newspapers regarding my involvement in the trial of Dr Jakwach. These accusations have left me with muddy boots.

I am uncertain I shall be able to change public opinion of my character but none the less I shall try my best by publishing all the facts about my relationship with Dr Jakwach. The court has verified all these accounts and my confessions are a matter of public record now. I write these accounts because the court documents are bland and grey with official language.In the coming days and more others, I shall publish these accounts without a specific timeline or frequency forethought.

Dr Jakwach is no ordinary man. I have known him for almost all my adult life, since that cold Sunday morning when he helped apprehend an art thief at the National Theatre. During this time, I have come to change my mind countless times about his character, as would be the case for anyone. I am no judge of the High Court and I have no business in the chambers but I stand by the ruling of his innocence. We should refrain from making judgement clouded by our emotions and fueled by the tabloids. I was indeed present when the corporal passed away and I did find my colleague offering aid. Moreover, my colleague never considered death as a rightful punishment arguing that it helps the criminal escape justice; albeit at a risk of his own head!

Let’s part here today and next week I shall publish my first escapade.

Sobriety, Chastity and the Devil’s sister

Hi. You’re quiet. It’s been two days and one night of such torture. Pray tell me what motion or notion of my doing sparked such response. I have been aware of your presence since the last night. Is it the Canadian? Ah, but it’s becoming a matter of habit to draw words out of me for your own sake! Flint’s pint! I am not in agreement to such methods, my dear. Why, I ask, am I always subjected your judgement; as it is that you’re an existence of my making? Do I not have the freedom to wish for my genitals and liver as I desire? I have been in possession of these faculties by two decades and a half. I assure you there was never a moment either rebelled nor raised an alarm to signal objection. Piss off!!! The Canadian had it coming…

Listen, my dear. You observe the elephant from one side. I can tell you, in shame, that she was not quite the first experience. I must confess to the employment of an inappropriate application called Tinder. This tool is of the devil’s making. By Gar! The women of fair skin and silky hair from the far lands use this tool to hunt down and prey on men with inappropriate hair like mine, when they visit. Remarkable but quite elementary. Fun, too. Perhaps you’ve indulged in secret observations of my weaknesses. If indeed you did, then you surely know I am better at cooking anything but lies. Dear me, the noose gets quite tight about my neck! It’s a requirement to lie in order to please these ladies. I have sworn by the gods that I am only a tradesman of weed. Imagine then when I told the Canadian I wouldn’t drink because of a girl and I am a research assistant at the university. Perhaps I ought to have considered her Latina bloodline. I only wish you were there to observe then you’d surely pardon my drinking. I have seen no such fury and I assure you the devil would drink too.

Now of course I agree that I had no business attending her Saturday party. Whatever was to become of me that night? Curiosity I suppose is the slave of the Grim Reaper. Perhaps Curiosity merely lured the cat to the traps laid by Death; let’s reconsider passing judgement upon Curiosity. Ah, I am in my own defense here not Curiosity’s. Indeed it was Curiosity who tricked me back to the Canadian’s dominion. If my memory is to be relied on – and I advise against this – then I suppose it was about this moment that you showed up. I was still distracted by your presence when she propositioned. I believe there’s no proper act a man can put forth to turn down a lady. I say this with utmost certainty because I have scraped the depths of reality and fiction and found nothing. I hit blank. I drunk again! I deleted Tinder! I drunk more!!! Now judge me or piss off!!!

The questions, reality and time

Hey. It’s been a while. Why aren’t you showing up anymore? A lot has happened in your absence. I have been really eager to share with you and yet your absence has been certain. Now that I give thought to it, there’s not so much I’d like to put to your education. Besides, I am damned if I am not just mumbling to myself. Did I tell you I had embarked upon a journey through H.G Wells works of literature? I don’t think I did. Well, I have read his works by the dozen and one now. By Gar! Such a man must have indicated very distinct features on his mental warehouse. Ah, but I lose my self to admiration yet again. But for a good reason I tell you. His narrative skills are of such excellence I was drawn in for hours, oblivious of the bare fact that I was merely reading. I can tell you that in *The Island of Dr Moreau* I was quite lost in the experience that I lost my immunity to shock. Imagine my embarrassment then when I was so shaken by such scenes as I have never experienced in movies nor reality. I say too much! Perhaps it’s only because I am doubtful you’re listening anyway; your absence though dislodges my foundation of reality.

I don’t suppose I have the necessary qualifications to argue about reality. I have read the works of men so great their thoughts have stood the test of time. I wonder if such men were educated of the vanity of time. I have failed to wriggle free of the ever tightening grip of time. It’s surplus to pain that my moment’s thoughts are as valid to one as their personality and placement is to mine. It’s all just reckoning. Too much logic. But I insist upon my shameless paucity of qualifications on the subject of reality. The blame, my dear, is squarely upon your bearing. Your existence both terrifies and excites me. Indeed I have observed extreme sparsity of realities; your random existence – or my elusive ability to notice you – addresses my faculties of reason with injustice.

Have I become a god? Are you a god? But I bore you with unnecessary rumblings of a man whose wits have escaped him. I only wish you were here today, even though you never say a word. I understand you just enough. By the way A’tha left. That’s just a few weeks after Rita left. Jesse is still in Nairobi so I cannot really go out since Bulets always has an excuse; besides Rita never really gave a nod to that. So yesterday I just took to a slight intoxication by the will of a half of Uganda Waragi. You know this is really the first time I am telling you about my friends. Indeed I have friends and you may get to know the others as we go along. Do you have any friends? Ah, but you’re not here. I have tales by the barrel to share but I shall not risk murmuring to myself lest I am restrained for fear of madness. Please, come back…

The dream, the murders and the devil

I know this feeling; the slight taste of panic with an aftertaste akin to blood. Yes, blood. The bottom left of my neck hurts if I tilt my head to the right. Both shoulder joints are cursing my every yank of the arm with slight piercing aches. I am no stranger to this feeling; even the numbness in the foot. Curse Flint. It’s not quite pleasant waking up in the middle of the day. But what’s a night owl to do? Yesterday I set the alarm for 5:00AM at around midnight. The alarm went bananas on noticing I was still awake by time T; the next two alarms at 7:00AM and 8:00AM were not amused either. But alas death sent his cousin to shadow my day at the hour upon which I was to depart…

You came. I know it was you because you are still here. It’s rather unusual a thing for me to recall my dreams. It must be your doing. I could narrate so accurately the succession of events that a pair of calipers wouldn’t pick up an air gap missed. What’s in a dream? The men of science puzzles say a couple of confusing jargon to give me an understanding of this thingamajig. A wise man once said nothing. I am however interested in three events; the two murders and the thing with dad. How odd, drinking beer with dad while watching a rugby match. Don’t mess with me. Here is a list of things we don’t do together; watch anything, drink anything, do anything e.t.c Now how about the murders? Let’s talk about the first one. That was odd. How did I smell a decomposing body in my dream? Jebus of Niggareth! A murdered decomposing man in an incomplete house we adventured into? Ah, yes the second murder was even more interesting…

It was Maddeus! Look, I don’t know why you’re bringing someone I last knew in my senior 4 class in O-Level. How do you even know him? Do you have the ability to time travel or something? Do you? Oh, we shall talk about it later then. So how come you made Maddeus kill me? Which family was that they had come to murder and why was I stuck with them in that tiny room? I must say I was thrilled when he offloaded lead into my chest with that semi-automatic. I always thought I would die in a blast but have it your way. I smelt blood. How did that happen again? I can still smell blood. It seems like you hardly answer any of my questions. Just say something for once. Why did you let Maddeus murder me when I’d only drunk with dad? Are you…are you…the…devil?

I only ask this because I am becoming certain that I created the devil. I know I am not the devil. I am a coward. The devil is a beast of will. I don’t know if I created you too. Tell me if I was dreaming or I was in my devil costume. Please tell me since you’re the only one I can trust to know this. Am I the devil? Is it my alter ego that’s the devil? Don’t leave… please answer me. I know that when a man with thoughts as mine acts upon them, anarchy is the least of worry. Am I the devil? Is there an other me? Halt, brother and answer me or I swear by the ghost of Walumbe you won’t live to see another day. Halt!…

Drink, the devil and the girl

You’re back. Of course you are. I need you and you’ll always come back. I think you need me too. I don’t know why. All I know is that you keep coming back. I do envy you; you’re immaterial and your existence is bound by no parameters. Curse Flint! I suppose you’ve explored the outer realms of our galaxy. Did you find man there? Ah, this really is you. I can tell from the obsession you have with wild cleavage. Tell me where you have been. Oh yes I do seem to recall. Yesterday you were quite unusual; we were. Who was she? Let’s not think about her. She’s the devil’s fairy.

I had had one too many. Ah, whom am I kidding? Remember how she walked in and we were stunned. Did she even notice us? I know she ignored us on purpose. Why, hugging everyone so tightly, when she approached us she only smiled and did the “I’m watching you” with her fingers. By Gar! Oh, wait a minute. Does she even know you? Does anyone else really know you? She may like you more than me. Obviously, I am her least favorite person. But that doesn’t excuse her dragging that guy to where I was having my peace and kissing him. I was staying away. She could’ve done it anywhere else. Why? Why? Why? Did you say something? Oh yeah, why do I care?

I don’t know. I think I am trying to replace the one who left with her. But they are different. By Gar! If memory serves half the better, I know I wanted both at the same time. Maybe you need one and I need the other. You know sometimes I just don’t trust you. You have a way of hypnotizing me to do your duty. I feel hungry. I hate this feeling. It makes me think too much. Like about her. Oh, I’m not letting that go yet. I have no need for her. In fact I always forget her the next day till we meet again. This is the first time I am thinking about her today. Yes, she is fun…and a bit reckless with character. I have no place for her in my life. Ha ha ha…mbu “my life”. Look I know you know something you’re not telling me. Do you know what I envy about you? Nothing. And that’s because I am naught of the variable forms of feeling. It is only the insane man that shall invest logic in trying to deduce another’s cause. Man is random. You’re random too. Please leave…

The puzzle, the gods and the men

Ah, it’s the little birds again. The chirping at the break of dawn. It’s funny I can actually hear their wings flap, all the way from inside here. I wonder where the other two with melodies are today. Perhaps they’ve worked all night, like me, and are just retiring to bed too. But birds are creatures of habit; bats stick to the nights and those with sweet melodies fly out at dawn. What if a vampire bat bit them and they turned into nocturnal hunters with blazing red eyes and… shiver my timbers! Here they come. How unnatural they sound. Such perfection one ought to wonder if they are man-made!

Here it comes again. Nature against man. The unnerving subject that has been clogging my mind of recent. This makes no sense. It’s elementary to me. Man is greater than the gods. If I had to, I’d worship and fear man. I once worshiped a god but I got tired of excuses. A man enters a church and slaughters hundreds of believers praying to their god to rescue them. I was told that’s god’s will. Curse the gods; man won. They told me nature was crafted by the gods. I have seen man alter nature. I have seen nature defeat man. Man is greater than the gods. The gods had no hand in nature. I read a brief history of religion. It’s possible man created the gods. Nature has strength but it’s too random. Man didn’t create nature. Man is too random and aesthetically unpleasant. Man didn’t create man. Nature must have created man. Man loses against nature?

No. That’s not the point. I think I know the point. I should stop running away from this. This will drive me insane, probably. I don’t know a word for it. Perhaps I know but I am avoiding it. I hate the way certain words label us. Labels are the first step towards grouping. Ah, there’s me drifting away yet again. Blasted sawbones! I may as well take it by the horns. The puzzle. Yes, the puzzle.

The puzzle is beautiful. It’s what academics, scientists, lawyers, engineers, artists and others have created that take up our days. See the intricate beauty that those potholed roads are; the significance! Then bikes, cars, planes, trains, boats… The government and the laws that keep us functioning as society. By Merlin! The complexity and necessity that the economic systems are!!! The puzzle, folks. The puzzle!!! Dear me! I love the puzzle. I study the puzzle and I forget to stare at the stars. The puzzle breaks me. The puzzle makes me want to be part of a greater body. I cannot. I know I only feel that because I want to claim contribution to the puzzle. I know I have not. It makes me feel empty. It makes me feel weak. I have stolen from other men. I have amassed much knowledge and contributed none. I know it. I cannot “unknow” it.

I cannot. Can it get worse? Yes. I have occasionally trashed the works of great puzzle men. I apologise to those who created gods. I have no right to dismiss such perfection. I do acknowledge that there’s faults in your creation. I only wish you had a platform for bug complaints. Mercy, folks. Mercy. I am just waking up to my fallacies. I shouldn’t have this much if I am to fight nature. Man versus nature. Is the puzzle meant to protect us from nature? Here it comes again. Perhaps some of us are only as good as gods or less. Only the men of the puzzle are greater than gods. I want to add a piece to the puzzle. Maybe just a button. Or a data port. Perhaps a curse word. I need some sleep…maybe…

Knowledge for a chicken; Goodbye Mr Oketha

“Mr Oketha is not with us any more…”, read a status update on Facebook. I scrolled past and continued down the page. After a while of endlessly scrolling about, I noticed my focus wasn’t on the sleazy picture of some city socialite or the badly cropped selfie of… I was fixated upon a mental image of that status update I had read. I scrolled back to that post and reluctantly clicked on the comments to make certain of my imagination. It was true…I reached for a phone and dialed mum’s number but it was off. I couldn’t think of who else to call. “The chicken!”, I thought.

Ever since I can recall, I have always had very little respect and tolerance for teachers. I grew up painting them as the agents of terror and a bunch of bloody idiots. This is mostly out of good reason – and ignorance. I read widely and learn relatively fast. I favor practical approaches to examinations. I also have a blinding boost of ego every now and then – which makes me come off as a Kanye West. So naturally teachers that didn’t recognize and appreciate my philosophy were nothing but idiots to me. What irked me the most were teachers who were less proficient of their syllabus than I was.

Mr Oketha was different. I first met him in my primary three social studies class. He came of as a highly knowledgeable guy. This was a time when I had just started picking interest in short stories and scampering about mummy’s novels. He told me of amazing places like the Great Wall of China and the River Zambezi. He told me of the roaring Victoria Falls and places far off. One day he gave me a geography picture book on two conditions; the first was that I return it after class and the second was that I shall give him a chicken as appreciation. The child in me took condition two as seriously as the former. This was the beginning of my first friendly relationship with a teacher. He never stopped asking for his chicken even when I was in secondary school…What Mr Oketha did was make me read about all kinds of places on Earth. When I met great reading friends like Amnon in my upper primary, it was just dessert.

So I find myself today in a situation where I might be referred to as a teacher. I do not favor the craft nor the methods of rating used. But I spend countless hours trying to understand the abilities and interests of a small group of budding engineers and give them a proper approach to learn the right programming tools and techniques to make them practical folks. I do this merely because I feel there’s a need to equip our society with breakers and makers – the necessary catalyst for a science and technology puffing society. Maybe Mr Oketha had an equivalent motive. Maybe it’s just the thrill that comes with it. I should have asked…

He had never crossed my mind in a long time. Partly because I am quite disconnected with the home town that raised me into what I am today and partly because of my ego issue. But now I regret never having given him that chicken. I still don’t like teachers. I am going to miss Mr Oketha. Whatever lies beyond the last breadth, may it be to your liking.

The Charge of The Light Brigade

This is one of my favorite poems ever. Written by Lord Alfred Tennyson about the Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava during the Crimean War

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
“Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Someone had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made,
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

How to innovate and win tech awards

Hello there. Have you entered into competitions every now and then but never won? Do you ever feel that your idea was not good enough even though your implementation was awesome? That is probably why you are not winning. Do you want to change your luck forever? Do you want to win next year’s Imagine Cup and ACIA awards? Really? Well then my good friend, read on. After years of Kung Fu training, sniffing through CIA intelligence, fasting and idling on tech blogs and news sites, I have finally unlocked the secret to “innovating” for awards. We are going to come up with an award winning tech innovation in less than 1 hour. But before we start, let’s get some guidelines that will help us along the way.

  1. Thou shalt NOT think outside of the medical field
  2. Thou shalt NOT research NOR work on the implementation
  3. Thou shalt make use of a smartphone (because of course!!!)

Okay folks, now that we have our rules all set we can begin “innovating”. But first let me grab a cup of coffee. Oh my stomach! Jesus I was just from the bathroom a few minutes ago. Okay I am back and I think I have my idea. So I was in the john and I got to think — hardly — if there was a way to diagnose diarrhea. See? We could save millions of lives of people with smartphones could be able to tell irregular bowel movements before it gets to the pants. Let’s all have a moment of silence for this light bulb florescent moment! First off we need to make sure it’s non-intrusive diagnosis. A simple way is to acquire audio signals from the lower abdomen. For this we need an electret mic with a pre-amp. There is this one on SparkFun. Now we connect it to the 3.5mm jack pinout on the smartphone. For portability we shall fit the mic on a belly belt. I couldn’t find an appropriate one for all sexes on Amazon but I hope we can design one. The next stage is of course writing our android application. Let’s keep it simple. Remember rule number 1? Yes that’s right, we must not overdo anything because that may mean we risk losing to some guy who has done less. Okay so once someone has tied our belt and started out app, it shall bring a form that asks a couple of questions and then run an “algorithm” in the background to assess your weather conditions. home page Ladies and gentlemen! We have an award winning innovation. Now let’s just apply for Imagine Cup, ACIA and Orange Community Innovations Awards! Please let me know if there are any other awards I can apply for.

PS: APK for Android devices to come soon.

Update: I lost this APK and source code. I’m working on another and I’ll make sure it gets to the Playstore this time around

Limping for food – true story

Limping along the dusty road

Shivering beneath the cold night sky

Frankie wandered about the dark

Searching for a bite to buy


Hours ago he fell for a nap

Broken by the weight of the day

“Two hours and no more”

He closed his eyes but midnight clocked


The blaring of music from room next door

The screeching of a child denied whatever

Pierced through his body and woke him

But none more than the riot in the belly


And now he limped back to his abode

Bearing buns and scratch phone cards

In the lonely scary night he says

“I shall write about this if I live”