Tales of BABU MKOSH...

Title: Don't Be So Stiegget.

Babu Mkosh always said, “Don’t be so Stiegget.”

He never raised his voice to insult. He never used harsh words to shame. Yet when Babu Mkosh spoke, silence followed — not out of fear, but respect. His words carried the weight of lived experience, the kind earned through dust-covered roads, empty pockets, and unbroken dignity.

“Stiegget” was his word. His gentle substitute for stupid. A polite shield wrapped around a hard truth. He understood something many never learn: truth is best heard when it does not wound.

Babu Mkosh was a father of four — M, S, R, and F — and a devoted husband to SH. Their home was humble, but their values were rich. There were no shortcuts in that house. No excuses. Every day demanded sharpness of mind and clarity of action. Life had no mercy for carelessness, and Babu Mkosh made sure his family understood that early.

When M once rushed into a deal with friends, blinded by excitement and quick promises, Babu Mkosh did not scold her. He listened quietly, nodded slowly, then said calmly,

“Don’t be so Stiegget.”

He explained how haste steals wisdom, how excitement can disguise traps, and how thinking ahead is not fear — it is intelligence.

When S ignored advice and repeated the same mistake twice, hoping for a different outcome, Babu Mkosh simply shook his head.

“Stupidity is doing today what hurt you yesterday. Don't be so Stiegget.” he said.

That lesson stayed longer than any punishment ever could.

R learned it during chores — when cutting corners meant doing the work again.

“Effort done carelessly is wasted effort,” Babu Mkosh would say.

“Don’t be so Stiegget.”

And F heard it softly, almost lovingly, when emotions threatened to override reason.

“Feel deeply,” he advised, “but think clearly. Emotion without thought is Stupid. Don't be so Stiegget."

His voice had authority — the kind that didn’t need volume. When he spoke, ears leaned in. He didn’t command attention; he earned it. Because every word came from scars, from hunger, from having learned the hard way so his children wouldn’t have to.

To Babu Mkosh, stupidity wasn’t lack of education.

It was ignoring lessons already paid for.

It was refusing to learn.

It was choosing comfort over growth.

It was repeating mistakes and calling it fate.

And so his message was never cruel, never proud — only firm:

"Don't be so Stiegget."

Life is already difficult. Don’t make it harder by refusing to think.

Learn. Pause. Ask. Reflect. Improve.

Because the world is unforgiving to those who won’t sharpen their minds.

Don’t be so Stiegget. Don’t be so Stupid.

In loving Memory of 'Mzae', Abdallah Mukoko.

Title: Tunza Punda Akutunze

Babu Mkosh used to say “Tunza punda akutunze” with a soft smile, never loudly, never to impress — but always to remind. To him, the phrase did not mean selfishness. It meant wisdom.

The donkey carries the load. And yet, it is often the most ignored.

Babu Mkosh understood work. He woke early, laboured honestly, and gave generously. But unlike many, he believed that those who work hardest must be cared for most. “If you exhaust the punda,” he would warn, “who will carry you tomorrow?”

He lived this belief quietly. His suits were few, but they were always clean, well-pressed, and carefully stored. The brown suit, in particular, was his favourite. It was not the most expensive, but it had stories — meetings attended, journeys taken, responsibilities carried. After every wear, Babu Mkosh brushed it, aired it, and folded it with care. “Kitu kinachokuhudumia, nacho kihudumie,” he would say.

That same care extended beyond clothes. He looked after his tools, his health, his home — and most importantly, his family. He rested when rest was needed. He repaired what was worn before it broke. He understood that value is not created by neglect, but by maintenance.

Babu Mkosh taught that we are often the donkey in our own lives — carrying work, dreams, people, and pressure — yet forgetting to pause, to restore, to protect ourselves. Tunza punda akutunze was his reminder that self-care is not weakness, and preservation is not laziness. It is strategy.

Because when the punda is cared for, the journey continues.

And when we take care of ourselves — our bodies, our tools, our assets, our families — they, in turn, take care of us.

In loving Memory of 'Mzae', Abdallah Mukoko