Love is strange and super mysterious

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The day you fall in love is the day you’ll understand love issues,” my friend Martha told me, putting on a half smile that depicted how my thoughts on marriage and relationships were wrong, well, according to her. Fast forward, five years later, her words still ring in my years only that this time, they bear much weight because of the experiences that have shaped my opinions. That have made me see the light and bring things into proper perspective.

I met this guy, lets call him Juma, two years ago and fell head over heels with him. You see, I’ve never been this woman who loves relationships and stuff. I focus and advocate for women to work advance themselves before they can even think of getting hitched. I always think, why get married just because the society says so and end up with a miserable buffoon in the house who does not even have an iota of understanding on who a wife is to his life?Just avoiding to sound like a feminista over here, am just saying the truth. Men nowadays are something else, that why am praying for my unborn son that he may bear values that will bring a change in the society. I just wish all parents had this thought.

This man Juma was nothing I dreamt of as my ideal man. If I could have peradventure by any chance introduced him to my pals, they would have thought that I was bewitched and or was high on some weed when I said yes to his advances.  Yet, even with his absurd beliefs on marriage and women, I somehow found myself attracted to him. I love intelligent men, he wasn’t. In fact, at times during our arguments on politics or general issues, he would shrink back like a woolen sweater dipped inside hot water and just jet out points for the sake of it. He would then act defensive, as if I was trying to prove that he wasn’t there yet. I would then try to reassure him that it all didn’t matter and that I was simply just attracted to who he was and that we should focus on what matters. However, he wouldn’t let me as you all know, men have an ego. They want to prove that they know stuff and some don’t comprehend that the more you say stuff, the more stupid you sound. But I let him have his way. I let his ego rise like a coastal tide waiting for it to fall down and things go back to normal.

One thing that I loved about this Juma guy was that he was street smart. He knew every corner of River road, where I could get the best deals and knew almost everyone who could assist me get things done. This man was a walking google map and this one thing fascinated and attracted me to him.

Despite the fact that my cold heart was slowly warming up to him, his heart grew colder towards me. I found myself doing crazy stuff that I swore in my life I would never do to a man. I would call excessively desire to chat with him, sometimes call in the mid night hour when the poor man is asleep. Like a gentleman, he would respond sometimes extending to the wee hours in the night just chatting. You see he doesn’t know how to hurt anyone and even if you are getting into his nerves, he’s one of those polite chaps who like the Bible can turn the other cheek when you slap them on the other side.

“Stop bothering yourself dear, I will never love. You are a good woman, but I cant permit you to stay with me and I have all these mess,” he one day told me in the middle of a phone conversation. His hoarse voice, firm  suggesting to me that he had processed the entire thing and that was his final decision.

But I like you a lot, you are not my type but my heart is drawn to you and I don’t know why. I would later reply, in that soft woi like voice, praying to God and the saints in heaven that he just says yes. At this point, I didn’t care whether he would see me as a desperate woman or any other label he had in mind. I was crazy about him and like the crazy soap opera women, was willing to go at length to get him. Aki dont ask me why I was feeling this way. Maybe I was bewitched and I dont know about it. Maybe its just the strangeness of love that makes us do crazy things to someone we have a serious crush on. Or maybe I just wasn’t disciplined in my life.

One year down the line, he promised to meet me only by word of mouth. Sometimes we would plan and he would cancel later, depicting his lack of enthusiasm in the entire affair. And though my sixth sense told me that this man was not mine, I would bounce back a day later trying to reach him and find out how he was doing. He would, as a gentleman reply and ask me how I was doing, forgetting what he had just done to me,acting defensive if I even attempt to ask why he behaved that way, why he was too cold, I think if he lived in Antarctica he would survive the weather there.

“You never love twice Harriet.” he said one day during our virtual conversations. I loved once, and I don’t want to go that path again. Please understand, I don’t want to hurt you.”

But life gives us second chances, maybe it never worked in the first so now this second or even fourth relationship will work. Never give up. I would reply, trying to understand the depth of the hurt in his heart and asking myself myriads of questions as to why he wanted his life to be without a woman.

It is during such seasons that you find yourself forcing things that don’t work. Like I now understand why someone would opt to plant a 310 seed just to make things work in their favour. Why others would travel all the way to Loliondo to drink ‘holy water’ believing that their issues will get resolved and that it will be a brighter day. But well, like my friend said, I will one day understand matters love maybe this dude was sent by the gods to teach me that sometimes love will make you break rules and do some of these crazy things you swore never to do. If you are a woman, you will forget that you can never date a married man, or you never act desperate to a guy you have a crush on, or you should marry people of this and that character. Love just happens, and it did and am still knocking on the door of his heart, do you think he’ll let me in?

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We need suitable not perfect mates p1

A first date is something that one anticipates for especially for the singles. You buy the latest cologne, shop for the perfect dress and stilettos to make sure that your crush at least notices the beauty without,  just before your claws begin to show up. This was how Sophia felt when Robert, a tall,  dark but not Sudanese lawyer by profession asked her out. She had been praying for this for long, mentioning it as a prayer petition among her friends  who were also ‘saved’ as they call them in the Pentecostal churches. She had been told for so long to wait on the Lord if she ever desired to see her prayer answered and this is what she has been doing until Robert showed up.

They met in church, were friends for a while before they agreed to start dating. On the d-day, they agreed to meet at the hotel directly. Sophia arrived first, dressed in a short black,polka dot dress with red stilettos to match with. In her right hand, she held her clutch bag tightly and matched confidently to the reserved seat crossing her fingers that she doesn’t trip along the slippery floor. It was the first sign that she met on the door as she entered. She arrived at the reserved seat, looked at her fake gold wrist watch and discovered that she was thirty minuted early before the agreed time. It has always been her norm to be on time. In fact, this is one of the reasons she dumped most of the men in her life. She had this motto,’ If you don’t respect my time, you don’t respect me,’ and would leave without waiting for any explanation. hence, she expected something different from Robert.

“Sorry am late,” Robert said panting heavily. Fury was written all over Sophia’s date, and Robert could smell it. She stood up to give him a hug and a peck which were all distant. Before he could even explain what had happened, Sophia interjected and gave him a long lecture on keeping time and how she has made him wait for one whole hour. Robert’s mood for dinner was just about to be spoilt before he had a light bulb moment on how he could salvage the situation. The comic that he was, he began sharing funny stories which at first made Sophia angry but later on, she warmed up to the jokes and laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. It was the first time a man made  her laugh this much.

“I didn’t know you were this funny,” Sophia told him, smiling shyly, avoiding eye contact with him. She was a shy girl since her childhood despite the fact that she possessed a strong personality which not many people knew about.

“When I saw steam coming from your ears I knew that I had to do something very fast or else I would miss a chance to know you,’ Robert replied, firmly gazing at her face. This criminal lawyer had developed the habit of maintaining eye contact with people trying as much as possible to detect their mood and emotions.

Dinner was served. They both ordered for chicken tikka as they did not have the habit of experimenting things. Sophie opted to eat with her hands instead of using the forks and knives that were on the table. Robert was shocked. “That’s gross, he exclaimed trying to hand her the forks and spoons,his face expression looking as if he was embarrassed by the act.

” I just hate those things. I can’t use them. why should I be forced to use them as I try to satiate my appetite while its un-african to do so?” She responded adamant, continuing to eat in the way she knew how. The truth was Sophia didn’t know how to use the cutlery. Once, during a work party, she wasn’t able to employ them and this made her boss to ban her from all bashes. From then hence forth, Sophia has never used the cutlery and always defended herself with that un-african statement to make her sound as if she knew what she was doing. to save her face from the disgrace of not knowing how to use the cutlery.

Myriads of thoughts cascaded Robert’s mind even as he tried to finish the food which he was regretted to pay. It was mid month, hence paying such a lot of money on food and then throwing it away was not something the he desired. At the back of his mind, he thought of the numerous dinners with the whos and whos in the society and how Sophia would embarrass her with her lack of etiquette and style. That despite the fact that she was intelligent, this one thing made her miss the mark. He thought about her reaction when he came late and justified the reason why she shouldn’t meet her again. This was the first and the last date.

Like a gentleman, he took her home in his posh black BMW which he was heavily paying for it as a loan. Sophia was mesmerized by the fact that the dude had a car and thought of the reaction of her pals when she told them that her “soon-to-be” boyfriend and future hubby was driving and the fact that he was a gentleman and funny and how he was that one man who broke the jinx of breaking up with men who could not just keep time. She was in love. On the other hand, Robert was thinking of how that night was his worst ever. He opened the door of the car for her and gave her a push up to the door of her house and when she noticed that she was expecting a kiss, he gave a lame excuse that he had to run home and that he was going to call. But he left and  never returned again.

 

We need a selfie revolution!!!

Yesterday I received a heart breaking phone call. It was my best pal, Imani (not her real name), who sadly informed me of the demise of her father. I quickly left all I was doing at work and headed to meet and console her. She narrated her times with her father, that despite the fact that he never showed emotions, he was a great man. However, there is one thing that she regrets. He never had photos. I also had the same issue with my grandpa. He passed away with minimal photos. Looking for them was like being given the task of finding a needle in a stack of hay!

The selfie has become a huge part of modern life.Well, at least for me who is addicted to photos.  It has transformed the simple self-portrait into something more immediate and has grown in cultural importance – it’s been linked to identity, self-exploration and narcissism. A selfie is as simple as  putting a camera on the front of a mobile device and capturing the moment. Whether it is real or fake, only you, God and the angels know..

Selfies are everywhere. In 2013, selfie was named the word of the year by the Oxford Dictionary and in the year 2014 a  song was released called #selfie. Additionally, one could also argue that the world would be seeing a lot less of Kim Kardashian and her clan if the selfie had never been invented.

Recent figures show that 91% of teens have taken a selfie and over 1 million selfies are being taken each day.

 

A study conducted by psychologists found three special traits attached to selfie addicts which are  known as the “Dark Triad”. These traits are dark as they posses a seemingly evil connotation that is linked with a callous and manipulative way of interacting with other earthlings.

The journal dubbed,” The Dark Triad and trait self-objectification as predictors of men’s use and self-presentation behaviors on social networking site,” revealed the following traits:

Narcissism: Extreme self-centeredness and a grandiose view of oneself. The journal believes that narcissists have an excessive need to be admired by others and have a sense of entitlement. People’s growing obsession with posting the perfect selfie is evident in the existence of apps designed to allow the user to touch up and perfect their image before posting online.

They’re likely to agree with statements like: “I’m more capable than most people,” and “I will usually show off if I get the chance.”

Psychopathy: These are people who are impulsive  and lack empathy. They are more likely to employ words like : “Payback needs to be quick and nasty.”

Machiavellianism: Manipulative-ness without regard for others’ needs. Those high on this trait tend to have little concern about morals. They pose nude photos.

Self-objectification: This is a tendency to view your body as an object based on its sexual worth. Those high in self-objectification tend to see themselves in terms of their physical appearance and base their self-worth on their appearance.

I’ve heard so many people say stuff about selfie addicts. Mostly its on the negative. Other times, these self righteous, social media experts will label a person who is addicted to this habit as an attention seeker, a person who has nothing to do other than brag to the world of the places they have visited. Other times, they have been called wannabes, and those with the introverted nature have been exalted as being experts.

And with all the negative reports on selfies, today, am here to advocate for a selfie revolution. I’m here to provoke you to defy all the self righteous hawks on social media whose work is just to criticize those who are on the wrong as if they have the manual to teach us on  conduct of social media. I’m here to tell give you the courage to share your moments with the world and show you why you need a selfie for every place you visit; every moment need to be captured. This is because one day you are going to the grave and down there is all silent, at least leave us something to remember  you with. Let us relieve the moments of your short time on this place that’s not our home and feel you near us. And just as  Beyonce’s song, let it be known that you were once here, a passer by, a sojourner to an unknown world.

 

The death of the demi-gods

In the Greek mythology, a demigod was a term used to describe an individual who had special capabilities that were far beyond human strength like the famous Alexandra the great or Julius Caesar. These people had extraordinary powers. As a result, they were revered and worshiped. Just like our fathers were worshiped.

Fathers were a symbol of authority in their homes. Like lions, when they arrived, they roared and everyone was expected to obey. My dad had this particular knock that when we heard, we would rush like lightning to the door just to meet him. He would, on one hand, be carrying meat wrapped in old newspapers, or milk and on the other hand he had either a sweet or a bar of chocolates to give us. He would then sit on his designated leather seat and we would compete to remove the shoes on his feet as there was always a reward for doing so. After his ritual cup of tea, in his special mug by the way, he would ask one of us to tune the great wall TV until we found the correct channel for him to watch the news. By this time my mum would be in the kitchen preparing supper and once in a while she would call one of us to assist her cut onions especially. She hated and still hates cutting onions and all the other ingredients for the stew. Perfect setting.  I thank God that my dad wasn’t and still isn’t Hitler, that famous dictator who made sure that the world know that was there. He was and still is approachable only that as we grew older, things changed in the house. We no longer rush to meet him. We just sit and chat as adults and am glad we have these moments.

If you had such moments, thank God, if you didn’t, create one. It’s still not too late to do so.

My worry is that the description above is slowly fading away like melting ice. There is a generation that will never comprehend what the love of a father is. The generation that probably my Jabali Abishai will be born into is a scary one. I don’t even know whether he will have a daddy or he will grow up with his uncle and his grandpa training him to be a man. I don’t know whether his father will decide to work like an ant trying to make ends meet, desiring for us to live a comfy life at the expense of spending time with him. I don’t know whether his daddy  will beat his mummy each time she made a mistake, or just to prove that he was  a man. Whether he will talk rudely or belittle her just because she is a woman.  And he had to spend all his life trying to protect his mummy from his daddy. And vow never to do that to any woman. I don’t know whether he will keep this vow. Or the demons of his father will haunt him and he’ll find himself  unwillingly doing this to women.

I don’t know whether his daddy saw his father bring women in the house. Young college charlatans masquerading as models. I don’t know whether he had to see him sleep with these women in the matrimonial bed, and slowly this became his norm, his yard of what marriage and  women are. Objects. Tools to be used and thrown away like a tissue paper. And what happens to our girls who are raised by such fathers?Abishai’s sister will suffer. She will think that she is useless, a tool for men to use at their own pleasure. That she has no power to say no and that she has no vision to follow, no drive in life. She will hate men. She will call them dogs. Yet men are not evil, its just that some grew as weeds.

I don’t know whether his father’s daddy died when he was a baby or a grown person. I don’t know whether his daddy’s daddy ran away. Left them stranded with their mum. And he had to look out for his family, forced to be a man, yet a boy at a tender age. I don’t know whether his father was raised by a proper daddy who took care of him , who taught him to be a man. Or he grew up like a weed, with no man to prune him consequently developing a don’t care attitude, a you can’t tell me anything mindset. Such men are insensitive, they never listen to counsel and as a result they pass on their hard nature to children who later on become citizens and this makes up the society.

Such thoughts scare me. We need a revival, a change of mind, a new breed of men who understand their role as heads in their home. Those who are willing to take charge for their mistakes and not leave a woman to raise a child alone. In fact, me thinks that it is wrong for that these children with no fathers are called bastards. They have no fault. It is the men that gave the seed that should be called so. They are called dead demi gods as they understand not the power they possess. They live beneath their calling. Their actions constantly raise eyebrows. They are a tragedy awaiting for the right time to happen.

 

This world is full of irony..lots of irony

I have this friend of mine whose life is completely different from mine. She comes from a filthy rich background where I would proverbially call the land flowing with milk and honey. I, on the other hand, come from an average family where we hustle to get things. In fact, whenever I feel discouraged about life, I often go to their house just to remind myself that I am soon coming out of this misery, this place where bread is eaten in paucity and Canaan is nothing but a distant land, a mirage, an empty promise.

Joanna, (not her real name) is one happy girl. Well, according to my understanding of happiness. Often, I hear people say that the rich also cry but to her and her family, nothing sorrowful has been added to their wealth. They are all healthy, smart, wonderful beings I’ve ever met. On top of that, Joanna is super pretty. Frankly, I’m not great at describing people but all I can say is that her hair is really long, like those wahindi (Indian) hair  and she loves putting a ponytail or letting it fall on her face. Then she would brush it off to clearly see me each time we were having a conversation. I like the way she does that because she exemplifies this barbie life. Mine, well, weaves are my best friend and even after applying wild growth, haiwesmek. She knows what she does and her English is impeccable, very clear when she speaks, no staccatos. That’s something that I always attempt to rectify each evening am all alone by myself trying to imitate how she talked that day. I do it in front of my oval mirror which by the way she gave me as a birthday present. Oh yeah, si am trying to describe her bado. She has white teeth, like cow’s milk, or wool. I don’t know why they keep on saying that milk is white, if I get those wise men,I’ll ask them why they were so biased when it comes to comparing whats white or not.

I can’t say am not pretty, or intelligent, but as you all know, it varies and its often in the eyes of the beholder. Now in this case, I am the beholder. We finished high school together and I got a higher grade than her. We had this bet that whoever defeats the other should buy a present to the other. I was just lucky that she didn’t win otherwise I don’t know where in my wilderness experience I would have gotten mullah to buy her a gift of her choice. How could I match her taste when what I considered great would be deemed to be trash to her? She was polite, so she would never show the dissatisfaction on your face but you would find your present somewhere under her bed, or with one of her cousins or worse with one of their numerous house-helps. She would then deny that its not your present but for the sake of peace you would keep quiet and observe as what costed you a fortune becomes trash right in front of your eyes. “Isorait,” I would tell myself, to numb the pain but as I matured I stopped giving her presents to save my heart the agony.

So, I won. She bought me a present. A nice golden chain with pretty earrings to match with. I loved them. I always wear them each time I want to look expensive especially when I go out on a date with thee macho guys who look at you from their nose. Who decide that you are not their kind of material wife simply because you didn’t put on the right kind of shoes, or match your clothes or even have the right accent. Such men should rot in hell together with Satan and all his cohorts. They trouble us so called young women. They make us go through that gruesome process only to waste us and get married to a younger, rural woman whose below standards. Let me not start on that. My bile is already rising.

But somehow Joanna has been lucky. She has never experienced such dates, not met such weird men. In fact, each time I tell her about my dates, she laughs out loud and wonders which world I come from. For her, men chase after her and at the moment, she’s trying to choose which chap best suits her. They are all loaded, with wonderful careers, and great manners. Men who my mother will smile from Cairo to Capetown just because they have taken note of her precious daughter. I think that’s a mother’s joy. African mothers, to be precise. Sadly, sometimes it never happens. You find that it’s just the wicked ones who land on such kind of men while the good so called wife material, whose mothers have taken eternity just to groom them to be some man’s help, meet this unfocused, pathetic lowlifes, sorry to call them that. It happens. Or they fail to get children while every second some stupid tycoon is sponsoring a young girl to abort a baby. Someone is always crying at someone else s expense.

She bet me again when she got a job before me. I was as happy as those kaos who have finally seen rain after many years of living in a desert. By the way, whats the story behind drought in Ukambani?Someone give me 411 on this vibe. Benito if you are reading this, kindly share the vibe lol…Anyway, the job was giving her lots that she never expected. A car, a house, she would be traveling a lot and besides, it was the course that she took in  campus. Sasa and they are rich, I ask myself what will she do with another car and her dad already gave her one on her 18th birthday? Am sure if we were using the US system she would have had it earlier. For real, she doesn’t need this things. I, on the other side of town, in my humble abode, I desperately need those stuff. We don’t own a car and I don’t see myself owning one if I don’t get a great job, or get a sponsor to buy it. The last option, is out of the question. Catch me dead if I ever do that. Lower my standards like a rat just like that for some few coins. Well, there are women who would do that and their conscience will not even disturb them. I know that if I tried that, Amadioha would strike me but them who do such, walk scotch free as if they are saints in heaven.

I don’t want to sound like Beyonce and her lemonade song,lamenting how ironic life is sometimes. I just want to try and enjoy my life as it is. And aspire that one day, Canaan will not just be a mirage, or hope deferred but that it will be a reality. Living my dream will truly be a reality.

Thanks guyz for your support for the past two years….I’m looking forward to many more anniversaries.

The mystery of man and his secret love….

My friend, lets call him Mariano, (coz I have no guy who is my pal with a name like that and am so into soap opera and stuff, so the name settles) requested me to meet him urgently. From his tone during the phone conversation, he sounded troubled. He sounded as if he had something really pressing that he wanted to tell me. I gave the office a fake excuse  for leaving early, ” a family emergency”, I said, and as quick as road runner, the cartoon, yeah you guessed right, I rushed to meet him in the designated place: our usual hotel joint.

I arrived late as usual and the first thing I noticed is that the hotel had changed. It was not the way I had left it, like some three years ago when I stopped coming to have my favorite meal: Fish and kuon bel (brown ugali) like they say it in French. The color had changed from some flashy white color to electric yellow. I guess the new management is Kao or something. It looked bright though and I found new chairs and fans and for once some cool jazz music to entertain us as we eat our food.  I found Mariano seated on a verandah, holding a book, waiting for Miss late comer to arrive. I had never been early  and he knew that. I think he is the only man who knows me for real. We are so tight that sometimes he finishes my sentences especially when trying to explain something to someone. He stood up when he saw me and stretched out his arms to hug me.I stretched mine too and surprisingly he gave me a light kiss which he has never done. Because I have never allowed it.  And he knew it. He knew how my face turned red whenever a man shamelessly did that without my consent. What was he trying to do,  make my bile rise or what? Anyway, for the sake of urgency, I ignored it and smiled as he pulled the chair for me to sit.

“How have you been? Its been long?” He asked, calling a waitress by our table to request for a meal. “By the way, what would you like to eat? Your usual? Its on me.”

“The usual,” I replied ” “only that this time make sure they include black pepper in the soup.”

“Since when did you start including black pepper in your food.’ He asked with a shocked look on his face.

“Just since.” I replied trying to evade the question.

” So, why did you call me so urgently?””Is it something serious?” I asked concerned, trying to check whether his face had some clue, something to tell me why he wanted to meet me. After all we had parted ways after he told me that we could no longer be friends. that he had found the love of his life and that it was best for us to break the whole thing.

” Harry, do you know that men have secret loves?” he asked

I was surprised. I didn’t know whether the question was rhetoric or whether he wanted me to give a definite answer to the question.

” Really?” I replied, a million and one questions racing in my mind as I tried to ponder where that question was going. I knew, from my psychology class, that men never speak in straight lines. They hint a lot. They see how they”ll score when they throw in one word , or two at most.

“Yes, I have a confession to make.”I have always loved you.” he said.

Food almost chocked me when I heard those words. I was as shocked as a tipped cow.

” Then why did you marry her?Why didn’t you say this when we had everything going on?”

” I’d rather have you as my friend than my lover because lovers have fights and they break up and I cant afford to loose you. I want you to stay with me forever.” he replied, looking straight at my face.

I never understood the relevance of this statement until I joined another statement that another boy pal of mine told me. That men never marry their true loves. They always marry someone who is less and their heart is always somewhere else.

“Wont you say something?” He asked, trying to take my mind off cloud nine where it had slowly began building empires and not castles of questions. “Why would you do that? Why would you subject the rest of your God given life to live with someone you have no iota of interest in? Why would you want to torture yourself like that? Doesn’t life have many more things that are super frustrating like an annoying boss, a nagging mother in law, a stupid exam that you are supposed to cram and you have no idea what the teacher was talking about….such stuff..After dealing with such madness, I need someone I can lean on, not someone I endure because I was afraid to say something or afraid of taking a risk in love and see how it goes. ”

” Its not that bad Harry,” Mariano retorted,” men are wired differently, we can bear it, just spend the rest of our lives buried in work, make sure that wify and kiddo are alright and life goes on. Yeah, life always goes on. And I will always have haunting dreams at night of what it could have been if I just took the step of saying this words to you, oh what joy it could have brought me to have you in my arms. But for now, this is what’s best for us. I cant bear loosing you. I’d rather this than not have you at all. ”

The shock that I had could not keep me seated for long, so I ordered the waitress to pack the food for me. It was cold already, and I had already lost my appetite. I wanted to sit and ponder, try to understand why exactly men do this. Is it the curse of cupid or is it something that we bring upon ourselves? Mariano desired to offer me a lift home, but I declined as I wanted to continue meditating on this horrifying phenomena. That you can have a man’s ring, but not have his heart. Is this really true?

 

 

A letter to grandpa…

I had never imagined that a day like this would ever reach. Where I’ll be forced by nature to say goodbye to someone very dear not just to me but the many relatives that I have out there. To recollect and digest all that is happening around me, I’ve decided to write this letter as a tribute to him. Maybe it will help me heal and come to terms with what’s happening. More so, it will help me deal with grief. Its all part of life.

 

Dear Grandpa,

Hope you are well in heaven, where I know you certainly are, considering the numerous preaching that you gave us  and the devotion you had towards God and fellow mankind. You were a great soul to many people. Only endless praises fill the mouths of those who knew you. They will praise your words of advice, your assistance and  how you were such a rock that they would lean on. Why wouldn’t Peter not open the heaven’s gate for you? Why wouldn’t God in heaven say to you the famous words,’Well done good and faithful servant. You’ve fought the fight, you’ve finished the race. Enter now your rest.”

Can you imagine that on the day I received that heart breaking news of your departure was the first day I got published on the newspaper! I had that melange reaction  of being as excited as barren woman whose just received news that they are expectant  and being sad. You always asked me during our phone conversations about my work and what I did. I never told you that I write. Or lets say its work in progress. That staying up late at night and telling stories is what makes my heart ticks. Not working in the hospital and seeing blood and sick people everywhere. or being in a courtroom arguing cases. To you that seemed prestigious and something to be proud of and maybe you just wouldn’t understand this passion. But I know you would have been happy to see me happy.

That day of your death, I had some sought of premonition, though I kind of don’t believe in such stuff. I prayed for you as usual in the morning. That had become my ritual. When I was told of your recovery, I was ecstatic, I knew that the day that I will travel all the way to the village I would see you again, and you would tell me your numerous stories which never ceased. And I would be energized, I would look at life with a fresh perspective. But hey, you are gone now. Maybe you waited for me and realized that I may never come, just as I always said but never fulfilled. Frankly, it just Nairobi life guka. Life happens so fast. Pressure, deadlines, all that crap just makes it hard to find time and see people. See you in particular. I regret that. Please forgive me.

There’s one thing that you always desired me to do. In fact, it was the first thing that you always mentioned in any conversation that we had. “When are you getting married?” You would ask. Or in your own words,” When are you joining the CCM party? (Chama Cha Mapindusi). The politician that you were, you would always see thing with that political angle. Si you loved politics aki. I guess that’s why I also kinda love politics. Though I don’t know whether it will be hard or soft. I know you will laugh till you resurrect, now that you are dead, when you hear about that ambition. You would say,”Harriet, or Elizabeth, that is not for you. You are not that strong for that.” And may be I would vow within my heart with that determination of a lion that I will prove you wrong lol. Anyhow, anyhow, somehow I must change this society. Please watch over me, people are wicked, make sure my course does not take a detour.

Back to the CCM thingi. I met this ja imbo guy.Smart, dark, tall like an African giraffe. I haven’t settled that its him yet babu but am sure if I told you this secret before dad knows about it, you would ask me a million and one questions. Not the 50 cents 21 questions song. You would have been his competition with your rendition. You would have told me to just go ahead, not to waste time as time is not on my side. But imagine today we had a serious argument.I don’t know if he’s coming back ama he’s left coz I can sometimes be a mule just like you. So I’ll just say its your fault for gene’s sake. Please guide me. You are in heaven now and can see the white teeth that can turn into black hearts. make sure I join CCM party well and with the right man, whether black or white!

I dreamt of you walking me down the aisle, with dad on the other side coz you’ve always wanted to see that day. So when it comes, i will make sure you are present. And maybe I’ll have a name change of my son as well. I’ve always wanted to name him Jabali but I’ll add your name Abishai in front so that he knows how much you truly wanted to meet him. Don’t worry now, you’ll live inside of him. And maybe he’ll be like you. But please make him not be stubborn. I don’t know how I’ll deal with that. Make him wise and strong and God fearing and loved by people and……many more and as long as it’s positive. It will make me happy.

I have so many things to say. But its best I keep quiet now as am already tearing up. The memories are flooding my mind. Am just scared of the day they’ll lay you to rest.When you’ll go down six feet under and it will finally hit me that you are gone. That you will never call me to say that i should call you, or ask me for the tithe money for church, or tell me that you miss me and you want me to bi dala (come home) and just say hi. Its not goodbye, its till we meet again…

Kisses

Look…there’s only 50 cents in my pocket!!!

One word that I can use to describe this day is pressure. Excruciating pressure. The one that makes you curse the day you were born into this cursed continent called Africa, where the most prevalent hobby is stealing. Hardly a day passes by without hearing some powerful person in some sort of scandal involving billions of shillings. Its like we are in another scramble for Africa only that this time its the scramble for mullah. It’s sickening. It’s depressing. It has sapped all the hope that I had for this nation. That one day it will develop and become prosperous again. At this rate, I would like to say that the dream ain’t valid. My day was under pressure because of work.

I wonder what goes through employers mind when they delay your salary. When they make you watch them bank in hundreds of thousands in their bank account and act as if your hard earned salary is not part of their agenda. It’s an AOB in short. When they brag of the schools they take their children to,their investments, the wealth they have accumulated over the years stealing from their hard working employees in the name of conservation, or it’s a growing company. I wonder how they sleep at night knowing that one of their workers, who by the way has five children, all in high school, each demanding school fees and food to eat, has been kicked out of their mud wall,mabati roofed house, in some dingy slum somewhere. This man, by the way has other dependents, mostly his relatives who have this notion in their heads that he’s making a lot of money. That because he is in Nairobi, the land must be flowing with milk and honey. So his ten thousand salary is split into ten tiny pieces to feed some of his lazy bum fat cats who are waiting for manna to drop from heaven. Manna in the form of the sweat of a hardworking, frustrated man.

He works hard men. Harder than the busy bee trying to make honey or even an ant trying to gather food for the queen bee. But this woman or man, in the name of a boss doesn’t see that. Doesn’t care at all. She only notices when things go wrong. When end month is near and she suddenly realizes that there’s this tiny winy mistake that he has done that deserves some sort of ‘punishment.’ He wakes up early even before the cock crows. He leaves late, so late that by the time he arrives home, his children are asleep. They have learnt to live without him. They just know that papa is working somewhere but I wish that work could translate to a better living, to going to a good school, eating fine cuisines. After all, that’s what his work produces.it makes the madam drive the latest Mercedes, S class to be precise. She said that she imported it from Germany. She had them design one specially for her. And so on that day when it arrived, the madam made sure that everyone was there to see the car, to get in and ,’feel’ how great it was to be in it. She says,’Its for the company’s image.How can people see me driving a probox or a vitz when am a whole MD. They look at their shoes which are now torn because of the frequent use of route 11. The workers look at each other mischievously and laugh quietly lest she hears and thinks that they are laughing at her. Remember, she has still not yet paid their salaries yet they are expected to show their white teeth and pretend that they are really happy for her. As if it will pay their bills. As if it will take their lives a notch higher. They look at each other with this who cares look. Raising their eyebrows, deep in their hearts they are cursing and shouting with a loud voice saying,’ Go to hell maam. Get a life.”

 

 

 

My friend told me the same thing about where she works. Pressure.  Pressure with meagre pay. Once, things were so bad that I almost thought that she was quitting her job. And then I saw her go back to work again the next day, her clothes neatly pressed like one of those army guyz. She has these  black , shinny shoes which she always wears each time she heads to work. They are her trademark shoes. She loves wearing them coz there is a long story behind them. I’ll not delve into that right now. The thing is that she’s broke. She’s overworked. She wants to quit that fu* job but she cant coz of bills.

In conclusion, working for someone is the most frustrating thing on earth but starting your own business is not easy either. I think maybe what we need is patience and time. the time and chance that happens to all men and transforms their life for the better. Yes, hopefully things will change for the better.

Jesus wept too boo boo

I have always been curious to find out what the abbreviations INRI stands for. For the chap chap guyz who got 30 out of 30 in CRE, they immediately know where am heading to. For the slow ones, just follow through. You’ll  learn what it means,shortly. Kuuliza si ujinga (asking is not foolishness). Its the Latin form of Jesus king of the Jews i.e

Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum”
Happy Easter chaps!!!
Once, I had an argument with a male colleague in the office. It was about a story we had heard on radio of this lady who was complaining about her supposed “unromantic” hubby . You know the latest trend of complaints that Nairobi women have is on their once upon a time prince charming turn frogs. So this guy was saying that Kenyan women should understand that their men are not white but that they are African and that they should stop expecting them to act like white dudes. He added that  they should with immediate effect stop watching soap operas and all those series which have brain washed their feeble minds to believe that love is all about having the car door opened for you, being cooked for dinner, having flowers everyday in the office…….I can see you day dreaming woman, and am not through yet!
 
I stopped him before he could even finish. I couldn’t deal. Realizing that this mindset has presently duplicated itself in the minds of many  Kenyan men who think that love is all about them getting this woman who can cook sumptuous meals, give it to him when he wants it and pop kids like popcorn, I went back to work because such minds are in most instances contumacious, but was slowly contemplating on what this phrase, “am an African man” means.
Me thinks that it’s an excuse, it’s that escapist word that men pull when they want to be in their comfort zone while still enjoy the kingly benefits(if you know what I mean). It takes me back to the garden of Eden when Adam blamed the woman for making him eat the apple to cover up his absenteeism in her life. Not knowing that this woman needed someone to talk to, someone to who could tell her everyday that she’s beautiful, an emotional connection that is. That was Adam’s mistake. It costed us a lot. This is something that the so called African men  haven’t understood yet.
It’s a good thing that we are on Easter mood, reflecting on what Jesus did on the cross. Most of these “African men” will be flocking in churches, singing hallelujah to Jesus, to cleanse their guilty conscience. For the ones who will not, they will raise their glasses of beer and toast to a life of peace and happiness without women. Since Easter is all about Jesus, and my entire Facebook wall is flooded with millions of Easter messages on this reflecting on Jesus thingi, let me help men reflect on something that most have never thought of except when they were in class four and were asked of it during exams. What’s the shortest Bible verse by the way?

Jesus was such an enigma, for those who believe in Him. He was all that powerful, that lion of the tribe of Judah who roars and the whole world trembles, yet was humble enough to wash his disciple’s feet, he even cooked breako for them, can you imagine? And  a man who goes to church every Sunday dangling a Jesus cross on his neck has the audacity to say that he can’t do that because he’s African. Whatever that means.Then me thinks that you should wear skin, and sleep in a mud hut, walking on your toes since you are African. You should also make sure that you don’t shave your beards, and that stupid accent that you have, replace it with a shrub, that too is African. You should also stop going to school and bragging to us that you have a Masters degree from Harvard, and you should  stay in Africa and not use an airplane naaa….Si a white man invented it, Kwani?Si you are an African man. Lastly, stop bragging about that cheap probox that you are driving and the money stashed in your bank account. You are African, use barter trade, money is a white man thing. Am not hating, just saying, to make  you sober.

Jesus had  the entire world at his feet, yet chose to live in this filth called earth, living with men who have white teeth but black heart. And he knew it, yet loved us anyway, to the point where He died for us. In short, this nature should be in men and women too, but today am talking to men. If they are instructed to love their women as Christ loved the church, then this is the nature of service that they should bear. It’s not being Alehandro, it’s just having emotions, its the love language of a woman.

 

My African men, Jesus wept. Whether His stature is black or white, as long as its the same Bible that we are using, He wept to show you that you are not a robot. You have emotions, express them.  It’s not a white thing, strong men cry too.

The little girl behind the mascara

This is a story about a woman in my neighborhood. Her name is Rahab. Not Rahab  the Bible character. I admire this lady alot. She’s one of those chilez (its allowed to call her that coz she’s like 35 years, ama can someone tell me if that word  suits her?), those alpha females who know where they are going, brilliant, tough, no nonsense. She’s killing it in her career and has a solid network of highly influential chaps to rely on. She’s the epitome of my kind of success. There’s nothing as brilliant as a woman with confidence and ambition.

I read the other day in the Oxford dictionary that she can be described as  a strong, majestic female. Frankly, this depicts who she is. I hang around her a lot since am one of those ‘weak’ individuals who require a little strengthening here and there before I find my way. She keeps telling me,” Harriet, never be intimidated by anyone, never let anyone look down on you, never be afraid to ask for what you want in life.”

I nod, keenly, making sure that I learn all I can from her. I totally admire this girl. Wooiii

But there is one thing that she hasn’t changed my mind on.  Make up. She loves makeup. I don’t. I love the natural look.For ages, Rahab has attempted to sway me on the other side, giving me all the reasons why I should try and look “girlish.” I throw her  those eyes that suggest she has many miles  to walk before she gets me there.

“Maam, kuwa mpoole na mimi,” (Maam, be patient with me)  I often tell her, disinterested in the lessons and the magazines, imagine she buys me all that plus tutorials just to get me to wear makeup. Siwesmek (I cant go there).

I have many reasons why I hate make up. Here’s one of them:

In case you don’t know how to apply them, you’ll end up looking like that. A clown. The worst part is that some of these ladies who do this think they look super cool while they are not. Kwanza when they put on these weaves that look like mops. The look is disastrous..Can I get a hallelujah from men reading the blog..

 

 

Number two. Its my philosophy that most women who wear makeup hide something about themselves. Not all, some. There are these super obsessed ladies who are always conscious of whether their mascara is okay, or they need a little bit of touch ups on their foundations. Waahh, I tire oooo,…I can’t deal with that anxiety. Worse is if you buy these cheap makeup kits and foundations that wear out when in contact with a little water. Utakionea mambo (you’ll see things). LOL

Those are just a few reasons why I don’t do make up. I feel like just like the way women cover up their flaws with make up, most people do so. Like Rahab. I admire her but she later on told me something about her life that I gave thanks to mine. I know you’ve heard this over and over again. About women who have been raped in their childhood by some man, their cousin, an uncle. Rahab was raped by her uncle. That changed her life for good. She became this tough lady, who loathed men with all her heart. She climbed through the ladder of success by stepping on them, using them when necessary. She has made this vow never to get hitched, never to have kids or if the biological thingy is too much, she often tells me,” I have cash, I can do artificial insemination or use one of them to have a baby and kick them out of my house.” Strong emphasis on my house.

But she’s hurting. She’s not as tough as leather as she thinks or makes people like me to think. I know that she’ll break one day. She’s a ticking time bomb.