Yirolese Writers Society

Yirolese Writers Society Contact information, map and directions, contact form, opening hours, services, ratings, photos, videos and announcements from Yirolese Writers Society, Community Organization, Yirol, Yirol.

The Yirolese Writers Society (YWS) is a community of novelists, playwrights, poets, journalists, motivational writers, and literary critics from Yirol and the global Yirolese diaspora.

05/01/2026

Why New Year’s Resolutions Fail

The significance of the New Year is that we all feel the gradual and consistent passage of time, and that sends a message that we are getting older, the deadline on which to accomplish our life’s goals is getting closer, and we are becoming ever more aware of our flimsy mortality. The New Year can rightly be considered a global birthday which, like an individual’s birthday, heralds to us the drawing end of our time on earth. We thus feel like we must make haste and do the things that we ought to do before it is too late.

This feeling of the fast-approaching end makes us too excited and motivated for our own good. We set resolutions for the New Year: things that we must do differently henceforth. During the first week of executing our New Year’s resolutions, we seem to be making tremendous progress, sometimes even effortlessly, and this plunges us even further ahead of ourselves, either to increase the rate at which we are acting on our New Year’s resolutions or to add even more items to them.

Then the first week elapses, the first month follows, and by the second month, the intense motivation instilled in us by the New Year, and the feeling of dread sparked by the approaching end, start to wane. We begin to feel the sting of boredom that comes with the new routine, and the fatigue accompanying the sudden pushing of our willpower to its limits; so that by the third month, we are already either inconsistent in our ex*****on or have given up completely. We no longer read 50 pages a day as we inscribed in our New Year’s notebook, or go to the gym five times a week, or start being the social butterflies we had envisioned ourselves to be, or continue to ask for what we want and be okay with rejection as we postulated earlier in the year.

Instead, we don’t read any pages at all because we don’t want to reduce our 50-page mark and break our New Year’s resolution. We would rather not do the whole thing entirely (which, ironically, is breaking it as well). We quit going to the gym, retreat into ourselves, and stop asking for job opportunities or new relationships. What we become in the middle of the year, in fact, is a version of ourselves that is worse off and more mediocre than our last year’s self.

Why does this happen?

Needless to say, I’m not a productivity expert, but from my own experience, having been a victim of overly ambitious New Year’s resolutions myself, I have a ballpark idea of why this happens.

The first reason is that we don’t seem to understand the simple fact that who we were last year—and last year is from January to December of the year that we just concluded—is not drastically different from who we are in the New Year. We still have the same mental and physical shortcomings as we had the past year. But of course, we also have much of our potential lying dormant within us, which could be woken up with a little bit of pushing. It is this potential that we overestimate and therefore overwork with our ambitious New Year’s resolutions, and the deceptive idea that we are suddenly different on January 1.

This potential, however real and capable, is inevitably strained by boredom, fatigue, anxiety, and fear; and if we don’t give it one dose at a time, we poison it and render it incapacitated. That is why an excited “New Year’s resolutioner,” after being a morning person for the first couple of weeks of the year, reverts even further backward to waking up at 10 a.m. as opposed to his normal waking time of 9 a.m., all because he wanted to become more productive and instead waged war with himself by waking up at 4 a.m.

For New Year’s resolutions to work, therefore, we must not assume that we have no weaknesses, or that the excitement and false motivation that come with the beginning of the year are going to last throughout the twelve months. With that preconception completely abandoned, we can now work with our real selves, and that starts with understanding that we are uniquely different from one another and that our New Year’s resolutions should be equally unique to us. For instance, if this year will be your first time in the gym, your New Year’s resolution should not be to lift 80 kg like the New Year’s resolution of someone you know who has been in the gym for two or more years. Yours should be to simply show up at the gym. Inevitably, you will work your way up the scale. If you make lifting 80 kg your goal, it shouldn’t be surprising if you quit the gym altogether by February, if not earlier. This applies to any other resolution that is overblown, which many of them are.

Only when we understand that we are the same person we were last year, and that we will only be different next year if we practice a little bit each day, can we remain loyal to our New Year’s resolutions. Furthermore, New Year’s resolutions don’t have to be big or extraordinary. In fact, the extraordinary ones are the ones that fail. Let them be just small alterations of your normal self. Over time, they will accumulate into noticeable differences. On this point, I recommend reading Atomic Habits by James Clear, one of the few self-help books I have read and loved. I would go out of my way to add that it should be the only self-help book you read this year, because reading too many of them can be a little confusing and counterproductive.

Therefore, do not overwork yourself this New Year, because it won’t work, and do not be complacent by making no effort to improve yourself, even if just a little bit.

That said, Happy New Year. May 2026 be the year you get closer to actualizing yourself.

—Gai Manoah James

31/12/2025

Happy New Year, writers and readers. How many books do you want to read this year?

Christmas MessageMerry Christmas and a prosperous New Year to writers and readers all over the world. Take this festive ...
25/12/2025

Christmas Message

Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year to writers and readers all over the world. Take this festive season as a time to rest, and to think back on the laborious manuscripts you’ve been attempting to perfect throughout the year.

Perhaps there is a scene or two in your manuscript set on Christmas Day. This is a good time to study how Christmas is lived and experienced within your culture, and to use that lived reality to craft those scenes with greater authenticity.

To readers, these can be busy days. Don’t burden yourself if you haven’t reached your reading target this year, or ruin your holiday by trying to finish your entire “to-read” list. Let the books wait, and enjoy the season.

May this be a truly peaceful Christmas for us all.

— Yirolese Writers Society

21/12/2025

BOOKS

—Jared Makoi Ole Mayen

I love reading. I was introduced to books at a very young age when my maternal uncle, John Malith, used to read to me. I still remember the story of The Little Red Hen. Ever since, I have taken to reading with gusto. I read any book I come across; it doesn't matter whether it is interesting or boring. I just plow through it anyway. Initially, I was drawn to the fairy tales that engross young people: stories of ogres, the lion and the hare, and so on.

I have always enjoyed storytelling. Growing up in the village, kids would entertain themselves in the evenings, especially on moonless nights, with stories, tongue twisters, and "question and answer" sessions. What I enjoyed most was the storytelling; it transported me to worlds far beyond my reach, where mysticism meets imagination. Some stories were so horrific that they gave me nightmares, but most had happy endings. When I found those same stories in books, I could enjoy them quietly in my own comfort without interruptions. I simply got lost in them.

The real turning point in my reading journey came in 2007 during a school break. I had nothing to do, and at the time, my maternal uncle, Peter Makoi, was celebrated as the best speaker in his class because he read so much. He was also a librarian, so he had plenty of books. I wanted to be just like him, but I didn't know how. One day, I came across one of his books and opened its pages. On the first page was the story of King Midas and how everything he touched turned to gold, including his own daughter. That story kindled a fire in me. I finished that book in less than a day.

Next, I picked up Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (or a title to that effect). That book proved less interesting, but having built some discipline, I finished it. I also read Around the World in Eighty Days. Again, I found it boring. The experience of reading those two books had a lasting effect on me; to this day, I dislike books about seas, ships, and the like.

Then came my epiphany: I read Gulliver's Travels. That book profoundly changed my perspective on reading. One day, Ustaz Marial Along found me hunched over it. He called my name, asked to see what I was reading, and complimented me for being such an industrious learner. From that day forward, I decided to be a "reader." The book was quite challenging for a Primary Seven pupil to decipher, but I read it anyway.

Usually, when I read, I would look up every new word, which slowed me down. In Gulliver's Travels, there were so many new words that it was impossible to read two lines without encountering several. I eventually decided to stop looking them up. I realized that if I came across the same word three or four times, I would eventually understand its meaning. I later learned in secondary school that this is called "inference."

In 2008, I read The Girl Was Mine; I still have that copy today. Moving into secondary school, I read many books by Kenyan authors and by Ben Carson. Aside from Carson’s work, I hadn't yet explored genres outside of fiction.
The first time I encountered political literature was when I read Political Education, a book that was allegedly banned from Uganda’s secondary school curriculum. I remember that day vividly because my brother, Maciim Dantez, saw me reading it during the break. Normally, during the holidays, students don't touch a book until school reopens. He asked for the book, scanned the title, and said, "No wonder you stay ahead of your classmates. You always prepare in advance." I was flattered. The next book I read was Unbowed by Wangari Maathai.

A few years ago, I decided to stop reading self-help books, with the exception of The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari, which I could read over and over again.

I have read close to two hundred books, perhaps more, but I haven't always kept a record of them. Last year, I followed a debate about whether or not it is beneficial to keep a reading log. In my opinion, the side in favor of documentation won. Additionally, since former President Barack Obama shares a yearly list of his favorite books, music, and movies, I believe there is no harm in sharing what I have read.

Below is the list of books I read from January 2025 to December 2025:

1. Not Yet Uhuru by Jaramogi Oginga Odinga
2. King of Greed by Ana Huang
3. The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides
4. Wizard of the Crow by Ngugi wa Thiong'o
5. Twisted Lies by Ana Huang
6. Conclave by Robert Harris
7. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
8. Tomorrow Died Yesterday by Chimeka Garricks
9. As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow by Zoulfa Katouh
10. Africa Is Not a Country by Dipo Faloyin
11. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
12. Life of Pi by Yann Martel
13. Africa through the Eyes of a Patriot by Mansour Khalid
14. The Politics of Betrayal: Diary of a Kenyan Legislator by Joe Khamisi
15. Fixing Failed States by Ashraf Ghani and Clare Lockhart
16. Africa 101: The Wake Up Call by Arikana Chihombori-Quao
17. Consent to Kill by Vince Flynn
18. Spare by Prince Harry
19. Yellowface by Rebecca F. Kuang
20. Patriot by Alexei Navalny

I am sharing this list to inspire others to read them, to invite you to judge my taste in literature, and perhaps to ask for recommendations in similar or different genres.

21/12/2025

Just by reading 20 pages a day, you could read 7,200 pages by the end of the year, and since most books average 300 pages, you will have read about 24 books.

15/12/2025

Move on, my son



I have the sand under my feet
And rain falling harshly on my face
Still I go upon these piercing thorns
To toll the bell of living in wilderness.



What they say about me I don't hear
Although I move in these blue streets with unknown fear,
I believe life is what you try to make
Out of something unknown.


As my lips kissed twinkling stars in darkness
It is that poor merit in life is a struggle you shoulder
To keep the moon on that dimly mountain,
Where men come and dig deep to the fountain.


O my son, said mother.
How many papers have you wasted applying
For jobs?
Getting up every morning to walk down with sun,
Come home and sit in your mud cave----


I know these papers if they were poems on them
You would have blown on this valley a fire
Making good minds for little children or to inspire.
But my inner self was never at rest,
If we hold these pens and papers believe
There's something to address.


I passed the snowy streets
And by the roads are liberators beseeching.
And my heart throbbed down
And pushed my feet in the suncity,

Seeing stone houses crumbling,
Seeing school children standing with deep red eyes
And masked faces waiting lift to their stations.

Never more my consciousness got encouraged,
Where someone in me cried terribly to that idleness
And forced me to move on with those fading lights,
The world is yet not owned.


Today as we sit here counting the days we lived,
We must move on the world is yet not owned.

As we sit counting our feet on the sand,
Move on the world is yet not owned.

As we recline to decline our emotions,
Move on the world is yet not owned.

As we cheeked our hands thinking of gone comrades,
Move on the world is yet not owned.

As we drip tears on the tombs of our children,
Move on the world is yet not owned.

And as we leave our ears with questions unanswered,
Move on the world is yet not owned.
Move on the world is yet not owned.

Riak Marial Riak, published on 20.2. 2018 with 3 other poems on Kalahari Review.
Check them out on Kalahari Review.

13/12/2025

O’Brien’s from George Orwell’s 1984

'Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is this. The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others ; we are interested solely in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness: only power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from all the oligarchies of the past, in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were- cowards and hypocrites. The German N***s and the Russian Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just round the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power. Now do you begin to understand me?'

04/12/2025

Ahmed, who killed the bird?

i am rising tonight to hear marginalised voices, Ahmed,
if i may find the bird weary of starvation,
i will pick it up,

placed it at the placenta
of my palms,
slowly fondling its ears,
slowly wiping dust out of its beak
and asked the bird to love life again.
the moon will cast its wing into water
and my room broke to music of sacraments
after the bird
rasped feathers
to steam of night rain.
i know how body survives pain
of estrangement,
how lips become petrol
making words
smoke spilling into desert.
although these bodies
were smashed
by wars
will still be awaken by songs of a holy bird
and will fly east
with dusk blankly cleaved.
Ahmed, the bird is quiet tonight.
will i give it kiss
to feel warmth and crawl to life
or is it the stars that will make it see forgotten home?
i opened my door
to allow fireflies
carry in their lights,
i will to be lend
some to look the bird in the eyes
and i remembered for these years
it was free life that weakened the bird.
my room plays
no lulling dirges
and for that Ahmed, i will wipe my tears
and leave this room.
years later i will arise to sword of justice and live.
because Ahmed, the bird is quiet for life.
someone struck it and lied at my door lifeless.

—Riak Marial Riak
Broken Maps, 2019.

The hills were alive with wildflowersAnd I was as wild, even wilder than theyFor at least I could run, they just died in...
30/11/2025

The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run, they just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow
So I ran fearing not where I'd go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don't care where they grow

And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew
Were content to be lost in the crowd
They were common and close, I had no room for growth
I wanted so much to branch out

I uprooted myself from home ground and left
Took my dreams and I took to the road
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don't care where they grow

I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free

Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend
I just let him decide where we'd go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

Wild Flowers by Dolly Parton

26/11/2025

Which books would you recommend for this Christmas holiday?

An Excerpt from a Short Story Titled "The Will"I arrived at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, and I was immediately m...
26/11/2025

An Excerpt from a Short Story Titled "The Will"

I arrived at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, and I was immediately met with that inexplicable disgust I've always felt toward Africa; that nerve-racking feeling I smelled in the air and heard from the unintelligent noises all around me, and the poor architecture blocking my vision. But I had better things to worry about that Christmas week. Makuei had already hurried to Yirol three days ago to manipulate Baba into agreeing with him on how the will should be written. I knew Mama wouldn’t allow them to conspire against me, and that was the only thing keeping me sane during the two days I spent in Nairobi waiting on Africa to be more efficient with how it handled travels—with how it handles everything, frankly.

I stayed in Kilimani for those two days. Laat, my fiancé, was bugging me about abandoning everything and running away with him. “You like to travel, and I like to travel. That’s how we met in the first place. Come travel the world with me. Let’s see the pyramids of Giza together, the Great Wall of China, Taj Mahal, Victoria Falls...let’s wonder at the world. Together.” I had never heard Laat speak with so much passion and humility about anything before. Laughter and noise had always drowned our flashy lives. Perhaps Laat never had the opportunity to reveal this side of himself.

“We can do all this later, boo. I need to get this right. I know you have the money. But it is not about the money for me. I must show Makuei and Baba that they aren’t the s**t they think they are.”
Laat, of course, wasn’t very argumentative when it came to things like this. If you imagined an innocent and loud person, it was him. Given his usual joyful and loud nature, you'd think he'd stand up for himself in a fight. But he did not like conflict. He had always avoided conflict. With me, and also with his family and friends.
I had no energy to visit and listen to the advice of my relatives in Nairobi. As soon as I arrived, I got myself a new SIM card and only called Laat. I had already deactivated all my online accounts. None could reach me unless I allowed them to.

In the morning, Jomo Kenyatta international Airport roared with the busy people getting in and out of the country. The thick Kenyan accent mixed with the polished British and American accents punctuated the atmosphere of the day. The class divide was evident in the facial expressions of the travelers at the lounge. Some struggled to belong, while others, like me, easily fit in or even look down upon these spaces.

I had called my friend, Atoj, who works at Supreme Airline, and she had assured me that my flight to Yirol would be ready in two hours. That meant I’d be in Juba for just over thirty minutes, and that was long enough to make me sick of the city, which seemed to get older and more unclean every time I visited. I landed one and a half hours later and tried to avoid goats hitting me on my way to the small aircraft that would take me to Yirol.

Thank God the pilot spoke good English. He assured me that there was nothing to worry about. When I arrived in Yirol, I saw my relatives on the airstrip after the landing dust settled. What possible reason could have brought everyone there? Nonetheless, I was happy that I was welcomed with such joy. I kind of liked the atmosphere in Yirol. The wistful feeling that engulfed me as we drove from the airstrip past the old prison and Yirol West County police station, the containers of the Relief and Rehabilitation Commission, and finally Yirol Boys Primary School. You could see the lake while standing by our gate. It was so nostalgic. It reminded me of the days when we were young, and I would always accompany my aunty to the market and help her carry the empty gubo she used to carry kudhura and dried fish.

Mama and Baba had slaughtered a cow for my welcoming. The house was peopled to the brim with both my maternal and paternal relatives and well-wishers. I could sense their eyes on me. I had leggings on and a long gray sleeveless shirt, a brown Brazilian wig, and brown shades. My lips were glassy with lip gloss, and my nails were long. I could hear them whispering about how I looked, walked and talked like a white lady, despite being a typical African woman. Our house help would later tease me about how children argued that a girl that looked polished like myself did not s**t or fart. I would laugh to tears. Adeng and I were that close.

People danced, celebrated, talked and ate. I even danced Kubulo, Bulpuony, Dany and Anyada. I was a spectacle that day; everyone was laughing their lungs out at how I danced.

Makuei stayed out until evening when he drove in with his friends, had dinner, greeted me reluctantly, left and came back God-knows-when because I only discovered him in the morning.
Baba had been quiet since the previous night. Mama had lectured me in my room after tea about how I should be mindful of what I told my father, because he had diabetes and could drop dead anytime. I told her I didn’t care. I mean, I loved my dad; I’m not saying that, but he had used his health long enough to bail himself out of tough conversations, and that ended up giving Makuei the upper hand. I’m not falling for that trick again this time.

—Gai Manoah James

What to Do with the Book You Have Already ReadA book that’s already been read should not be carelessly discarded or give...
24/11/2025

What to Do with the Book You Have Already Read

A book that’s already been read should not be carelessly discarded or given away simply because it has been consumed. It is to be treasured; protected against moisture, wind, toddlers, and the elements; displayed with reverence; and preserved in an almost superstitious manner. It is to be visited every once in a while.

With each visit, hopefully, one will remember their first impression: what motivated the acquisition, how the reading changed that, the main idea of the book, and how that idea has evolved, if at all. It will also, hopefully, remind one of the sound of the wind the day they first read it, the smell of the air, and the emotions felt.

One should share their thoughts on a book they’ve read with zeal and without restraint. They should speak passionately about why it is a masterpiece or a failure. When chance allows, one should read the secondary literature on it, if it is great enough to have been analyzed that much. Quote it wherever necessary. Finally, it is to be gifted for love or for consolation. Only in this way can a book be truly impactful.

The End.

The question that may be in your mind after reading this is, "We read dozens of books a year; do they all qualify for such a level of reverence?"

The answer is no. They will not tick all the boxes listed above. In any case, every book read should be stored and revisited whenever necessary. Not all books will linger in our memory, begging us to visit them, but you never know when you will need to return to a paragraph, a page, or a chapter for research or just for nostalgia.

That is why it is important to keep every book you read, if possible. Lend them only when necessary, and only to those who will make an effort to return them. Or, if given to be owned, ensure the new owner has the depth and understanding to appreciate: though perhaps not in the same way: the important ideas it contains.

—Gai Manoah James

Address

Yirol
Yirol

Telephone

+211929996503

Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Yirolese Writers Society posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

Share

Category