You Don’t Say No To Panda


He was in an almost white stripped polo t-shirt, navy blue khakis and brown chukkas. The shirt made sure to hug his chest leaving no slack. Oh that boy! He had that well-sculpted body that makes me bite my finger while my heart beats like tum tum drums of South Africa. I always know I’m heading for the heads and heels over someone every time my nerves act ill at ease. I kept throwing glances at him. He was very easy to my eyes. Sometimes the heavens just know how to mate attraction; he was looking at me too. We were at Alliance Francaise for Churchill show on 31st August 2018. He was seated two seats from me and every time I turned to him, our eyes met. I rang my heart at once and asked her out of the tizzy because we had begotten ourselves a fancy man to fondle with. A handsome gent with powerful lats and broad biceps. What other dress  would I look most sexy in other than his arms really? For real if he wasn’t going to  let me sit on his laps, I was going to fall for him. Well, eventually both the former and the latter happened anyway.

Saying Philip is a charmer would be  too shallow a description; His  eyes! Alas! They are this swooning eyes – tough and comforting. They are the kind of eyes I have only seen with José María Torre. Eyes that shine downright to fascination letting you know he would be the beams of supporting you. And when they delve in love, Ah! my sister!  They become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life and devotion. His skin color – when Guinness says Black is Bright, he can relate. He has hair that’s as black as midnight on a moonless night and has thinned a bit on the frontal. I think to give him… say about 10years and he will be looking something close to Terry Crews.

The son is a hard audience though. This one, to make him laugh is like trying to sneeze with your eyes open. And if you’re fortunate to knock off his wits, he expresses that laughter with his upper and lower teeth joined. May be because he knows they have the color of the first snowfall. I later asked him why he would pay for a comedy show yet he hardly laughs. And? He said his friend’s worked there, so he tagged along as a show of a warm sense of comradeship.  Philip is a taciturn; exactly how I like.  But when he talks, ah! man! he does so with this natural high sense of self worth you wouldn’t think he uses that mouth for anything else other than eating fish fingers with honey mustard sauce.

We both know what she means with that so we laugh in unison. My mind runs wild and she puts her oar in my imagination by telling me my eyes are burning with compelling fierceness.  So I return.

Milly is a 28 years old single mum. She has this caramel complexion and on this day she had on an expensive blonde wig that hang to her cheeks and she kept swaying it as she spoke. From how she talked about her people, and about their house in Muthaiga, it’s obvious she hails from a loaded one.

So ma’am did he knock you up the same night?

Haha! Wanjiku keep your shirt on; Well, he’s crafty. He did eat from my pot the same night. Because… how dare you say no to Panda? He found himself in my phonebook after the show. He handed me his gadget to dial my number going like, let me have your number so we could go for the next one together. For sure we did. A lot of shows those were. He mentioned he was ending the night at Mojo’s with his friends and requested I join. “It’s not right for this chemistry to go home untapped, ama?” He asked. I smiled then nodded in agreement. They are those boys whose whisky is nothing but a John. They drink black label. We drunk and killed the night. Philip and I left the party at 4am and drove to my apartment in Riara. It was a Saturday and none of us had other errands. We stayed in getting familiar with each other. I have always been extroverted so keeping a conversation with a hermit has never been a hard nut. He left the following day and it felt like we had been in a relationship for life. I found myself looking forward to our next meeting. I  caught myself smiling sheepishly at my screen every time a notification popped up with his name on it. Then he sent me that song, One Shot by Mario Vasquez  and he had me eating out of his hands. I surrendered.

We dated for about 18months then I fell pregnant.

Accidental?

Yeah.. I hate to blame the wine, so I blame the chemistry. I was madly in love with him so I thought I was ready for whatever repercussions. We had gone to a friends birthday party. No! I mean I had gone. Let me not say “we” because he showed up late. Let’s just say he picked me up after the party. That morning when I left the house we had agreed he was to catch up with me in the afternoon. I called him when I realized he was running late and he lied the car had refused to start and that he had to call the mec’. Philip was a pathological liar and I knew it. I don’t know how, but I always knew whenever he was being untruthful. Like one time he came home past mid-night, drenched in sweat and smelling of a mixture of strawberry and spermatic fluid and he said his instructor mistakenly locked him up in the gym so he over-worked-and-wanked. Lame one that one.  I always let him get away with those because I hated to embarrass him. Or could be I was scared we would quarrel and he would leave me. I didn’t want that. So I lead him to believe that I believed everything he said to be the true doctrine. I called him at 7pm. My call went unanswered. I called again at 8 same response. I was so mad. Have you looked a wasp in the face before it stings? That must have been how I looked. I don’t know how many glasses of red wine I had taken before he showed up at 2100hrs. He always had that one look every time he came from sin and I knew it because it had been happening so often over the last six months. My friend couldn’t understand why I was mad; “But Milly, the car broke down, how do you expect him to make it here? Honestly you are getting your knickers in a twist” . She said. In my head, I knew no damn car had broken a damn thing. He must have been somewhere caressing thighs and being a damn mec. I was infuriated. But then I’m not the woman to cause a scene and especially not in public. So I swallowed it.

Babe you must be really exhausted, let’s just go home. I said looking him in the eye.

I’m really sorry I had to miss the fun part. He said turning away and I immediately knew my intuition was right.  We left.

You were unusually quiet the entire way, are you okay?

No! I am not okay Phil. I am angry. When will you stop lying to me?

What do you mean?

That bullshit about the car failing to start,  I don’t buy it one bit. Where the hell was your pathetic lying arse the whole day? He looked surprised. He had never seen that side of me.

Milly I will let this slide because you are drunk.  He said pushing me out of his way.

I pulled him back and pushed him to the couch. I told you he was well built, yeah! He landed heavily and knocked his face on the arm. His eyes shot. He gave me a death glare. I was shaking in my shoes. That was when the alcohol in blood watered down. I knew this was the point where Jason Statham tells the girls that if they are picking the wrong fight, they should at least pick the right weapon. Ah! you don’t go down without a fight anyway. I had come to that point of no return. So in that same spirit of Jason, I picked the cup that had been sitting on the table and moved towards him; “If you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’m gonna press down this cup until it crushes your trachea. Trust me, there’s the after death humiliation of having been killed with a cup.”

Milly please, you don’t wanna do this right now. I am trying so hard to contain my rage because I don’t want to do something stupid.  He gripped both my hands on his left palm and took my neck with the other. He gave me that  look that burns my eyeholes with such intensity that a shiver went through me. “I’m sorry!” He said in my ears. He then leaned forward to kiss my lips. My head was cocked in the mindless gape of love. He carried me to bed covering my face with kisses and apologies. The love that night was hot-blooded. He was intentional, eating it up as though he had been on a dry spell. I forgave him again. I woke up the next morning to crisped bread with butter and sausage and black lemon coffee. He knew I loved that. We had breakfast together but in an awkward silence only throwing glances every so often. He then kissed my forehead as always and left. He never came back that evening. I called him endlessly, I sent him a thousand messages but no response. Two days without hearing from him, I went to his mother’s and no one there knew or his whereabouts except his older sister who concealed insisting it was not in her place to let the cat out of the bag. Three months later rumor spread. I called his mum she confirmed to have heard that her son had moved in with a girl who put to bed.  I don’t know if she had pretended not to have known or she was truthful but either way, I was destroyed severely. Like a soldier shot through the chest. At this time I was eleven weeks pregnant. Our company had closed shop about a month prior and I was waiting on a new job. I could no longer afford to the pay the rent and keep up with the bills. I had to move back home with my folks. I stay with them to date because they won’t let me live a lone after one time I slit my left wrist, here. My parents were sick with anxiety. My dad says the darkest hours of his life were those he thought I wouldn’t make it to hosi. I nearly died by the way and I regret having taken that direction. I honestly can’t tell what I did to that man to deserve that. How hard is it to just sit someone down and tell them you planted a tree somewhere and it bore fruits? Well, I have recovered from all that but I struggle to trust again. I just can’t. And I don’t know what I would do if I ever ran into Philip anywhere. He destroyed me you know. But nothing means more to my life than my daughter. She is beautiful. She has his eyes, his hair, his toes and fingers. But she has my face and complexion. I love her that one.

“Cheers to motherhood.” I said raising my cup of hot lemon.

“Cheers” She winked

Till next week, cheers coms.

The Early Bird Caught The Worm


When Moses came to fetch for me, he bound himself to bring me back in the twinkling of an eye. He stood by his word. It did not take long before I could feel the stretcher on the move down the hallway.

“Move! Excuse!”

That rich husky voice must have belonged to Moses, the charismatic nurse who led me to the Operating Room earlier. Jesus! The lad was an exceptional drawing power. I caught myself staring at him with the lidless gaze of a reptile.

“Sally, yeah? He asked.

“yeah.”

“After me, it is time.”

“Time?” The sound of that sent my heart into my throat without an intermediary.

“Yeah. I’m sorry it came out like that. Don’t sweat it though, I did not intend to give you a turn. You’re going to pull through. You’ll see. It is a painless process, and I promise to bring you back here in a blink.” He then put on a beautiful grin that sent a shiver down to my stomach causing it to flip over. I averted my eyes from him. I will not dare to challenge the fact that I felt it, the smile, wear off the hollow feeling already welled up in my chest. He trundled to the OR with me following closely behind. I felt like a sheep walking it’s way to the slaughter. Inside there, the sun fell further down than the brim of my bluff. I felt that hollow feeling restore.

“Mount up! Give me your hand, let me help you.” He said showing me to the large nerve-racking table. “Stretch out both your arms. Face up!” Over my head was the monstrous lighthead, staring down on me like it was on a mission to chill my blood. Before I could think to call on Jesus’ father to remove the cup in front of me, I saw Isaac in my mind’s eye. I saw him lying over the altar just built by his old man. I saw him breaking his neck to avoid eye contact with the razor-edged knife, his face covered in cold sweat. That chain of thought did not linger so long as it was brought to a halt by some racking pain on my left arm. Moses was now administering anesthetic into my vein.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

And just as I was about to draw away my arm, he stopped. He waited a while then proceeded. It was then that I must have lost all responsiveness. In what felt like two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I heard voices from a distance. More like the walls threw back echoes of their back and forth conversations. I couldn’t quite make clear their talk but I heard my name a couple of times. And then the stretcher…“Sally! Wake up! Talk to your people. They’re waiting.” Said Moses after they had moved me to the bed. At this time, I was wholly awake, only with my eyes closed and refusing to open. My people who had been anxiously waiting for me in the Ward, I do not know for how long, questioned on how exactly I was feeling. I could feel anxiety from each of their tone. In less than no time, my brain registered the pain on my shoulder. I let out a sigh of agony, stiff with my eyes still closed but my feet began to twist involuntarily. It was unbearable. Later that evening, my nurse, Moses came down to my Ward. I guessed he had come with the intention to bring his grin, hoping it would be transmittable. And that I would catch it.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I have been dissected.” (Trying to put on a grin)

He wore that smile again. Only this time from ear to ear. “But honestly, I feel woeful. I feel like thrusting my fist down his gullet till he can feel my armpit-hairs on his teeth. I do not want to leave him to God like they asked me to do. Supposing he goes to the mountain to fast, pray and repent, will God not forgive him and wash him snow clean and forget his transgressions like nothing ever happened? In the event He does that, will that not be a case ruled unjustly for me, the afflicted? And do not even think to advise me over spilt milk, I’m not about let this pass at all. This shooting pain makes the vein on my neck stick out with rage and I want to break his ugly mug.”

“Wooo! Hold up! Who are we talking about?”

“The douche who caused all this. That’s who.”

“Could you please give me an account of how this came to being. I have to all intents and purposes been burning with curiosity. How on earth did you fracture your collar bone that much? I mean, it’s out of the common.”

“Let’s just say an early bird finally caught the worm.” I said trying to put on a smile. Anyways, jokes aside, some remorseless BODABODA rider hard-heartedly preyed on me yesterday. I swear he caught me with my head in the clouds that I so much want to admit he had all of his ducks in a row. It was about 0745hrs. I remember I had just put back my phone in my bag, a second after I had taken it out in an attempt to call my rider. I realized I still had an hour to my clock. I decided to walk to the bus stage instead. Just before I could say Jack Robinson, I felt a hand on my shoulder where the string of my bag hang. My first instinct was to hold the part of the bag that suspended on my waist to prevent it from falling off. Of course, because I thought it was an acquaintance reaching to me so we could walk together. Dammit! Unluckily for me, and fortunately for him, he already had the string gripped tight in his hand, after which he accelerated hauling me forward. I was forced to let go of the part I was holding and I landed on to the tarmac with a terrific smack. On my left, I had with me a small carrier bag where I had packed lunch. I remember seeing my chapattis flitting in the air like leaves falling off a tree in autumn. They went in to land on the other side of the road following the lunch box which had made an earlier landing, of course due to the difference in weight against gravity, giving permission to all the goodies in it to go separate ways. I get so much bent out of shape to cast my mind back to how sluggish my senses were in processing the turn of events. Before I could scream ‘mwizi! ‘mwizi!’ let alone read the motorcycle plate, the bugger had sped off into the shadows like a fading figment of imagination. I did not make out neither his face nor the color of his gear. And just like that, he got away.

“I’m really sorry. You should report this once you’re out of here.”

“Ah! What for exactly? Except asking to submit my statement, how else will these folks be of help to my case? In fact, I’m certain, if I do not grease their palms, they will forget my face and whatever information I give long before I even hit the frame out. There’s really no point wasting my time and the little that’s left of my reservoir over a goose chase.”

“I know. It is however, of so much importance that you report. Just in case, you never know. If not for anything, for the record.

“I hear you. But let’s just leave it as it is. I am unwilling to take that route. Justice in this our land is sunk in only theoretically. And where it has sunk in practically, it is always in favor of they with the bargaining power. Most often than not, the highest bidder, who is often times the guilty party, is shielded and defended while the vulnerable innocent are let to go downhill without mercy. You see, justice is relative and settles scores for its favorite party.”

“I feel your struggle Sally. I promise, I do. However, it is always better to report than not to. Just do it. Ok?”

“Okay.” I said in half-hearted tone. “Say it like you mean.”

“Yes! Moses, I will.”

“Good! I’ll leave you to rest now… And, lest I forget, the surgery was a success. Both you and your bundle of joy are safe…One more thing, you are not to munch a thing, even if you are fainting from hunger, until midnight.”

“Midnight? Nurse! It is about 1830hrs now and my throttle is all dried up. I need some water.”

“Do not! I insist. It is fraught with danger. The theatre medication in your body contracts the digestive system. Consuming anything now will rupture them and you could die. Your body requires a minimum of 6hours to readjust. Just stay in the course. A colleague will attend to you at midnight, to guide you on what to eat first. See you tomorrow. I hope to find you a bit laid-back.”

“We shall see about that nurse. Thank you, bye!”

“Bye.”

*Day of The Bird and The Worm*

I rose to my feet screaming, “Thief! Thief!” in a bid to go hell for leather in quest for the nitwit. I suddenly felt my whole body giving me trouble and could not move. I watched him take off with my bag secure in his arm like we shared rights. Being a less used road, passers-by were few and one lad who witnessed the occurrence was further behind me. He dashed screaming towards me but no much could have been achieved. The damage had already been done. I involuntarily went on my hands and knees, tears of fury and pain rolling down my face. It felt like a bizarre dream and I needed someone to wake me up from the sleep terror. In less than no time, a crowd slowly began to form around me in response to my wailing. Some screaming after me signaling the direction of the thief, bursting the seams with hope that someone from the same route would manage to catch him. Others were curious to find out exactly what the douche got away with, while a few others stared unable to express. Shortly after, while I was still making an effort to get my head around the set of circumstances coming, I saw a sizeable machine coming from that very direction, I assumed the man inside to be the manager in the Factory just a stone throw from where the incident had occurred. He must have been reporting to his duty post when he realized the state of confusion. He took one dangerous U-Turn with his black Toyota Land Cruiser. Stepping on it with anxiety, he drove after the rider in what looked like an attempt to run him over should he have caught up. Lo! I knew too well his mission drew a parallel with herding cats, but I was still and all, hoping he would return with my bag. I assume he must have taken another dangerous U-turn on realizing he was chasing the wind, and pulled over behind us not so long after. He was a pitch black man, probably in his early-forties. He looked cultured and alluring in a perfectly fitting black English suit. He made his way through the small crowd and bent a little in front of me. He had a buzz cut, most likely taken two days prior and his facial hairs were so nice and clean it was day clear he paid frequent courtesy to one of those high-toned SPAs in Westlands. His skin, Damn! His skin was sparking a noticeable glow like he subscribed to those expensive lotion with Shea Butter. He excused himself from the young man who had been dusting off my pants and feet.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked.

“Here!” I said showing him my palms. He held my hands and began to rub them gently with both his thumbs. They brought off a soft sensation on my very tough palms that feel like they have spent their 26years farming yam and cassava. The pain ceased. “What a conjuror!”

Ouch, here..! I yelled immediately he let go of my hands, showing him to skin and flesh around the humerus on my right arm. He induced the effects of his hands again, this time, trying to poke a little in search for the exact point that could have been injured. None! The pain shifted again, higher up.

“No! This is where…” I said showing him to my shoulder. And just when he placed his tools of trade ready to massage, I let out a shriek that scared him off me instantly. I was shocked at my reaction. He drew back putting in a plea for a few persons to assist him place me in the back of his Toyota. I took the seat of honor, the back left. He got into his car in the company of one of his colleagues and drove off. Bet to nearest infirmary. Somewhere along the way, he asked if I could dial my family from his phone. I remember looking for just one of my relatives contact from the back of brain but none came. They were all amiss. I guess one woman amid the crowd who had recognized me, must have informed my people, they met up with us at at the hospital later in the hour, in Doctor Mirriam’s Consultation Room. It’s not often you meet such well favored specialists, and especially not in government institutions. Those ones are often troubled or unfriendly, or both. Mirriam was different. I felt welcomed and energized in her presence. She had glittering eyes, lifted cheek lines and rounded brows. I thought the world of her disposition and her expertise in making me feel so relaxed while I put in words my situation. She walked up to me and pulled my shirt off my shoulder immediately I was done explaining. On seeing the expression on her face, I knew things had already taken a South.

“After you Sally.” She said signaling me to a room behind her office. Just when she was just about to administer an injection, I interrupted, “wait! u-m… I’m pregnant. Is the injection safe for my condition?”

“Do not be anxious, the stuff in this syringe is meant to cease the pain and yes, it is safe for both of you. How far gone are you?” “I’m not certain, but three months I guess.”

“Well, it is very important to disclose that kind of data prior to any sort of medical attention.” She said handing me a form referring me to the X-ray Room and a blue arm sling. “Those radiations can be very risky for early stages of pregnancy, since at this point, the foetus is still at the very sensitive stage of development.” She went on to explain. “Once an individual withholds that sort of information, they risk exposing the embryo to very fatal effects which can be avoided. It is so proper of you in these circumstances, to have spoken up. That way, we will proceed with caution.” All the while, I was following behind her down the corridor, every stride giving me all the heebie-jeebies. I suddenly felt a whirling sensation and a rush of nausea so great, overwhelmed me. “Don’t panic Sally, those are effects of the injection I just gave, they will pass.” She said supporting my back. We got to the room at the very end of the corridor. There, we met Martin. I knew his name from the form I was holding. He kept throwing sympathetic glances at me while the lady doctor was filling him in. Thereafter, she walked out assuring me everything was going to be fairly good. Martin then directed me to the X-ray table, covered my abdomen with a black sheet and dragged the machine over to my shoulder. In two ticks, he dragged it back instructing me to get down.

“How bad is it Doc?” “Your clavicle is badly fractured.”

“So! what are my options?”

“You’ve only got one, the scalpel.

“Surgery you mean?”

“Unfortunately, the only way to fix this bone (pointing at the x-ray image) is by fixing an implant here. Do not get worked up though, it is going to be so smooth you won’t even realize it. He held my hand and led me outside, referring me back to Mirriam. There I was again, up the same corridor. Only this time not with spells of light-headedness but like a cat on hot bricks.

“Operation…? What if they forget a needle or blade inside my flesh..? What if there occurs an error in administering anaesthetic and I wake up during the surgical procedure or even wake up three years later..? Worse still, what if I die..? What if my baby…. No! God forbid!” I felt weak-kneed. In less than no time, I got to Dr Mirriam’s holding the imagine from the X-ray. She looked up to me with a sigh and said, “It’s what I thought it was. Sally, I have to admit you for surgery.”

“When?” I enquired, sounding all nervous.

“Now. Fill up this form.”

“Can’t we do this tomorrow, or the day after? Doc, I honestly do not want to go through that right now.”

“I get it. It is strange and you had not anticipated this much, but there is no alternative, you just have to go through this procedure. To ease you up a little though, I could schedule your surgery for tomorrow.”

“Yes please, do that.”

“Okay. Now, go ahead and fill that up.” She insisted. “That is so considerate of you Doc, Thank you.” But can I go home and come back tomorrow for the surgery? I promise I will be early.”

“a-a! I have to admit you today so we can monitor your blood pressure overnight. I can however, allow you go home now and come back by 1700hrs. Take the next five hours to get in control of your feelings.”

“I’ll take you up on that. I should be on my way out Doc, be back later.

Later that day, I reported back to doctor Marriam’s office felling a bit relaxed. Could be I was somehow feigning composure because, in all honesty, deep down I was worried sick with the stench of slaughter sticking too close to my nose. I filled the form after which the nurse on duty escorted me to the Ward where I spent my night with a small flat screen TV fixed to a wall, tuned in to a local channel airing News throughout, as my only companion. And with my mind trapped in the eerie silence of the night. I had a hard time falling to sleep. I spent the better part of the night shifting glances from the screen to the ceiling…From the ceiling back to the screen…

It Was Not Planned


“…Timing ya shetani! ni maridadiiii…! That’s where the show begins with Mkurugenzi for me. I don’t know about you, but this guy Abel is my cup of chai latte served with fruit scones. There’s just this thing… about his tone that is just stupid with humor in it. I will always laugh at his dry jokes, always.” She said.

“Well, I love Abel too. I agree, he can be off his head, in a good way, yeah!”

Hello Com’s! So today Eunice and I finally got the guts to unveil this story. She was a bit skeptical about it because she felt she was exposing herself a little too much more than she could shoulder. She still needed the cat solid in the bag. It’s in my obligation then to ensure she stays incognito until told otherwise. And so Eunice is not her real. She met me on Instagram. Ladies and gents, this is the point you get up to brew yourself a cup of coffee. You will need it because I’m about to cause you some cold sweat. And if you are an emotional wreck like myself, you’ll need a roll or a double shot of whatever rocks your boat. Brace for impact brethren!

Eunice is turning 24 in a month. She said that so comfortably I wonder whether she’ll be wearing the same boldness six years to come. I haven’t had time to think why when we were young, we looked forward to growing up so bad but when we’re here, we want to halt it. Typical of humans. This girl is my definition of an out-and-out chocolate-box. Bro! She’s the girl who will be running in and out of your kitchen in a dera, drawing your attention to all this right fat around her hips and behind. Her face beat always perfect, her nails often manicured with inky-black polish, offset with a strip of gold foil. And her hair, ah! she on every occasion has this pineapple afro from the photos on the gram. Damn! she’s spellbinding. At least from what I see on her social media. I’ve not met her in person. She hardly posts her son and when she does, she’s sure to do those with his vertebral facing the camera. I’ll bet my last shilling on her being one of those moms who cower from posting their heirs on social media because the population there is ruthless. People behind the keyboard got some balls. You need to buy another heart to deal with. They can make some crazy arse remarks; like how much your kid’s bumpy nose and broad forehead resemble the dad’s. Such audacity these ones! And they gon’ say this with so much insensitivity towards the indifference you’ve had to deal with ever since the jagoff said “No, Thank you!” to the pip he plonked in your womb. If not, she’s in the lot who believe by posting, you make it easy for bloodsuckers to trace prey. Or she may be in this last category that suppose, that your child could be irked you put them on social media without their accord?” Wai.., whaa..? come again Shantel! I wanna get that right. Okay! can we role play this eh, you’re Nish right now, you’re thirteen and you’re mad at me because…? Oh! I posted you on social media, ten years ago, without what?… ah young las! You joke a lot. Can you just take a seat or go pee Boo-boo! find something to do, anything! Because… I am not sorry. Know why? Because… here’s why… until you’re eighteen, I… am at the wheel whether or not you like. So shut your little baby face and suck it up princess.

So anyway, Eunice and I have been silently following each other although double tapping from time to time. This one time on my daughter’s birthday, after I posted that “aaww-they-shoo-cuute” photo of both of us, surprisingly, that shoot took us at most twenty minutes. Imagine! I know right! Well, my two year old is as snappy and unaccommodating as any other, but with balloons and toy cars, ah! you have her under your thumb. So just like that and we were done.

Eunice slid into my DM. She really did toot my motherhood horn with all those honeyed words. You know them yeah? Of course you do. those comments y’all make; “both of you look so adorable. How lovely a mom you look. Aaww… I loves your bond with Nish. (Nish is my daughter, Eunice nicknamed her)

“You make it look so easy. Me, Wanjiku, I honestly don’t know how I got here.” She said.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“So you can write about it? No, thank you.”

I honestly didn’t see that coming. It hadn’t struck me as a story I’d pen but when she mentioned, I thought it. So I sent her that face imoji with tears running from the side of the cheeks and she sent two back. After which I typed her a long text hoping it would foster some sort of fellow feeling.

“Well, I love to post photos of me and my offspring, because, why not? But don’t be fooled to think it’s greener on this side. We don’t go announcing our setbacks to the world. It’s not always as graceful. I have days when I don’t want to go home to be a mom but to just eat and sleep. I have days when I’m sick of the tantrums. I have days when I’m anxious about her future. Because yes, I don’t have it all together. Not every day is a beautiful day. Some are sunrise, others like the January sun, others are dull while others are total gloom. But after everything is taken into account, I’m that mom who’s shaping up every day.”

“aaawww, Thank you Wanjiku. Honestly thank you for those words of encouragement but I’m still not letting you in on my story. At least not for now.”

“Haha! Fair enough”

“What do you mean?”

“At-least-not-for-now, means you will talk about it. So whenever you’re ready Miss. I will be here.”

“Okay, Thanks…”

About two months later, she came back to my DM. Not with sweets this time but with a , “can I get your number?”

“Why? you want to use me as your guarantor on Asap Kash? Haha! if they call me I will tell them I don’t know you.”

Haha! I want to start sending your daughter’s dowry.”

“Which kuyu mum hates dowry?”

So Eunice calls me one Saturday evening towards the end of July.

“Hey Wanjiku…” Said a cracking voice from the other end. “Wrong timing?”

“I have just put my daughter to sleep, poured myself a glass of whisky with honey and a thin slice of lemon. I was just about to pull my shawl so I could YouTube and chill. I watch a lot of AGT and BGT because I love Simon. Ah that man!

“I watch those too, sometimes though.”

Also, I am smitten with Howie Mandel’s unrestrained laughter. His expressions too, Oh, my god! I would indulge and vest in him so much power by letting him leave as a demigod. This guy! ah! ah! By the way there’s not a time I see him and not think about my friend Charles. They’re a mirror image of each other; Same bald, same lips, same eyes, same charm, now the golden parachute is that petite goatee beard that Charles won’t even let me touch. Not for anything.

“Would you marry him?”

Who, Howie? If that was a option, off course.”

“I meant your friend but that there is an answer too.”

“haha”

“Anyway, do you want to listen or should we talk more about your friend, Allan?”

“Charles!”

“Yeah! whoever.”

I bet she rolled her eyes there.

“Okay, Eu… talk to mama. How was it you got here?”

“You gave me your number.”

“Haha!” I mean motherhood, bonkas!”

“Oh! hehe! It’s quite a story.”

“And that’s why you’re in my space tonight. I love stories.”

She started to sob. I could tell from how her tone changed. At this point, words were barely coming as intended, so I jumped in.

“How old is your son now?”

“He turned 3 same month your daughter turned 2.”

Hmm! meaning you got knocked up at 20?”

“Haha I knew you’d do that.”

“Hot adolescent blood huh!”

We both laugh.

“How was it though? Not the act, I mean the pregnancy, was it something you wanted?”

“Haha… Wanjiku! whoever wants to get pregnant at 20 really? I guess every girl at this point dreams of the convectional good-life. You know, the one where you graduate, get a good job, get married and live happily ever after!”

“I know right? look at us now…haha. So how was it?”

I remember Tish and I had gone for thrift at Gikomba that day. We used to sell mtush in campus. I suddenly experienced some type of lightheadedness. It’s a feeling I had never experienced before so it caught me off guard. It prolonged for sometime then I past out. When I came back, I met faces, vague faces, then Tish calls out,” Eunice, uko poa? twende hosi?” I get up, dust off and take from a keringet bottle that the vendor shares with me. My stomach is bloated and my tongue is sour. I ask Tish to take me home. I used to live with my aunt and her husband and their two kids in a double room house in Umoja. One room served as the living room during the day and our bedroom at night while the other was kitchen cum master bedroom.

So did you ever…. your aunt and uncle…. you know… at night…?

haha Wanjiku!

What? it’s my imagination you know!

I know…

Ehe… So you leave Gikomba…?

Tish gets me home. My aunt never liked her. She often insisted Tish was bad influence. That she was teaching me how to drink booze and walk naked. Haha! You know how parents are, yeah! They’ll never see blemish in their own. They will always look for who to blame for their kids misdeeds. This time aunty noticed the tension. It was obvious she wanted to ask only she didn’t how to. Tish shot at my aunt going on about how I gave her a scare at the market, how she felt I should see a doc…yada, yada, yada! Aunty gives me that glance. You know that look that asks you, are you pregnant? who is responsible? are you going to talk or should I make you? Young woman if you don’t start talking I will do something stupid that we both will not like. I was dumbfounded. My knees suddenly felt numb. That headrush comes back only this time I don’t pass out, I’m brought back by a hot slap in the face. Ni ya nani? She asks. Everything turns blurry. Tish looks at me with remorse. Looking back, I almost sure whatever was in Tish mind at that point. I wouldn’t be wrong to believe her mind was going something like, f**k my big mouth!”

I started to count my dates since my last flow. I couldn’t remember when. I had always had an irregular flow. Missing ones or twice before had never stressed me. This time I had lost count of how many times I had missed. My aunt gripped tight my afro and angrily jolted me like a defibrillator jolting a dead body saying she’s going to kill me if I didn’t start talking. I remember her asking us whether we didn’t know about condoms and contraceptives. What sort of dunderheads are you? Na mnaenda shule kufanya nini kama hamjui kuzuia mimba? Eunice hapa kwangu huwezi zalia. Utaenda ukafufue mama yako huko kaburini mzalie huko na yeye. My heart was bruised. I couldn’t come to terms with those words. I went down on my knees with tears running down my face in disbelief. She had mentioned my mum, her sister in such bad taste (her tone changes again and she starts to sob) I feel my eyebags swell heavy. I put the phone on speaker and sip a big one from my glass to control my emotions.

Eunice ukimaliza kulia uchukue takataka zako zote utoke hapa kwangu. Sitakulea na nikulelee. That was the moment my life took a turn and I’m still recovering from that to date.

“Lucas and I met at a club in town. It was on one of those full-life Friday nights when you’d meet girls queuing outside that famous strip club along Kimathi Street. They closed though. Damn! That was life man! It was our girl’s night out. We took our seats at a corner we loved so we could steer clear drunk and uncontrollable men at same time be in the way of potential sponsors for the night. We always ordered a bottle of famous grouse. Just after we order our mzinga, at around 9.30pm, this guy comes. He’s tipsy but very smooth. He’s that guy who makes girls laugh not because his jokes are funny, not even because he looks like Luwi Capello but because he smells like Jimi Wanjigi. He looks like those guys who have bought an apartment in Kileleshwa and watch how they say it kile‘ with an attitude. Those you find in the club talking about tenders and lands. For that, we let him joins us. We were four ladies now with a gent. He pulls a seat from the table behind him and places it between me and Tish. I notice the grin he wears. I smile back. Wanjiku, when whisky starts getting sweet , you know the party has began.

We drunk and made merry. Also we took turns to go watch the strippers because it’s never wise to leave a table unmanned at the club. So when it was my turn, Lucas joined me. I remember him placing a hand just few inches below my waist and my blood was singing. He asked to dance. You never say no to goosebumps. We danced. Danced too close to each other. We touched. Our lips touched. We kissed a little. Then I turned to walk back to the table and he followed. He pulled my hand signaling me to sit on his laps. It was a moment. long story short, we ended up in the gents with my dress high up and his pants way down.

Hot! I can only imagine.

We both laugh.

So now here you are, very pregnant and your aunt throws you out. How longs after the night? And where is Lucas?

I became aware of the time after Tish and I went for an ultrasound a week after my aunt showed me the door. I was eight weeks heavy. About Lucas, that’s not even his real name. Nothing became of us after that night. We never exchanged contacts and I do not even remember what he said his name was. It was just a Friday Night Out.

Hmm! So this Tish, took you in?

Something of the sort. Let’s say she took me to Mark’s (her boyfriend) two bedroom apartment in Nyayo Estate. Tish was also as young and living with her parents. In my condition, there was no way she could’ve taken me to her parents. She managed to convince her man to house me for couple of weeks before we could figure it all out. It didn’t last long though. He came at me one night. Tish had exams so she spent the night in campus with her friends. Mark hit the door to the room I was sleeping in so hard it flung open with a bang. Before I could come to senses he was all on me attempting to tear apart my attire. Wanjiku I begged him. I cried. He gripped my mouth so tight I couldn’t make a sound. Soon I was losing breathe. I was losing strength. Whenever he let loose my mouth, I would beg him in the name of Tish my face covered in tears. I asked him to let me leave his house instead if it was getting to that. If there are things that really move God to tears, that must have been one because, girl! The dungeon shook, the chains fell and the demons in Mark left him. I imagine there’s a herd of pigs that drowned that day. He began to cry. He apologized pleading with me not to tell his girlfriend insisting it was the alcohol and that it would never happen again. But I had to leave you know. I couldn’t stand him after that. I knew that was no longer my safe haven and I just didn’t know how to tell Tish about it. I didn’t sleep that night. I packed out the next morning without a word. I guess he called Tish to tell her that he threw me out because I tried to seduce him or something and she bought it. Tish without a question sent me one long text calling me a homeless pregnant whore and a husband snatcher and a gold-digger and that I deserved everything happening to me because I was an ungrateful fool. My heart sank. I did not reply. I deleted it and deleted her number.

I was now out in the street of Nyayo Estate with only a hundred bob I had taken from Mark’s kitchen. I didn’t know what exactly to do with it. If you have experienced hunger when pregnant then you know it’s not the usual. It’s total emptiness in the abdomen and it gets painful the longer the deficiency of food. It was either one of two; eat and walk to town, or catch a matatu hungry. I choose the former. After taking a roadside meal I was left with thirty shillings and transport to town was seventy. I had to negotiate. Good luck the kange was sympathetic. I actually didn’t have a destination, I was just following instincts. when I got to town, I figured my next haven would be my grandmother’s in Gatanga. Now my only problem now was how to get there. I scrolled down my contact list trying to find who I would call on but no one. Through my years in the streets, I knew of a place where they bought dead phones. I knew I’d make a killing with my Tecno Spark 2. So I walk there. They offered K.sh 1500 which I disputed insisting it was only four months old with no damages but they were bent on it. It’s not like I was spoilt for choice anyway. I was desperate and it was obvious. So I had to bite the bullet already. Sometimes life throws a saddle on you before you are ready to run.

I got to Gatanga. The atmosphere there is pure bliss but I was angry to be there. I broke down when I saw that old woman. What have I brought on to myself and now to her? The tea she grows hardly pays her enough. And now here I was. With the intention of interrupting her budget and not alone but with child. I didn’t know how to tell her. I just left it to time to expose. You know, your grandmother from your mother’s side is literally your mom. She can never turn you away. Regardless. “I know that Eunice.” I bet you do.

Wanjiku I wanted to get rid of the pregnancy. I would put on very tight jeans with a very tight belt hoping the embryo would die a natural death. One time I took a full mug of unfiltered black tea because I had heard from experts that tea leaves cause miscarriages. I would overwork myself and go for prolonged period without food and water. But the pregnancy kept growing Instead. In my last trimester, I would sleep flat on my back in bed with the hope that the baby would choke on umbilical cord and be born dead. That’s also another thing I had heard. But guess what? I gave birth safe to a healthly bouncing baby boy. And I wasn’t happy. I have heard a lot of women saying how their baby’s brought joy to their lives, oh! how they forgot all their anxieties when they first heard their babies cry, anga how they felt a warmth of real happiness… Me… I was bitter. I was angry. The air was cold against my skin and every time he cried, my head was bursting in frustration and I wanted him to shut up so I could sleep. Then when he slept, I would stare at his innocence and cry. I wanted so bad to feel some type of affection towards him. I wanted to love him. I really tried. But he very often shattered a dam I had built in my mind, freeing a river of thoughts that I was powerless to overcome. He reminded me of my reckless behavior, my mistakes, of how all my plans for my future came down in flames .He was going to be a scar arousing bad memories throughout my life. And hated that. Whenever he got fussy, I would try to carry him around singing him ba ba black sheep… only I got fed up too soon. I would then leave him in bed to cry till he slept. Then I would return and cry in remorse for having left him unattended. I knew I was doing a shoddy job with him but I couldn’t do better. I even avoided that eye contact when breastfeeding every so often because it caused me this hollow feeling in my chest. It made me feel guilty of toxic parenting. To date, I can barely spend much time with him because I do not want him to notice my cold heart.

So where is he?

I left him in Gatanga with my old woman. I call often to ensure they are doing well and not lucking of anything. I just can not be physically present and it’s the best of both worlds; I get to act like I love him and not show how I really feel. Whenever I visit and he comes to hug me, I whimper, yearning to love him with the same intensity he does me.

*She sobs*

I sip from my glass holding back tears.

So, what happens when he starts to ask after his dad?

I don’t know.

How much did you say you’re sending as first installment? My daughter’s dowry you know.

She laughs.

Anyway Eunice, I’m really sorry about what you’ve been through and still going through. My voice starts to quiver so I hang up and pour myself another glass.

Me – I Don’t Listen!


Listen, I don’t listen!

I read a post from a Kenyan man on twitter some time ago that said, “women love watching movies with subtitles because they don’t listen.” I took it literally. Me I don’t listen. And don’t come here telling me that I said you shouldn’t use ‘me’ and ‘I’ together in a sentence. I know I say that often, Ok? I chose to anyway. Perhaps because it tickles my fancy or because I have learnt too well that wine is sweeter than water and that rules are more thrilling when defied; just like most of you have your masks hanging somewhere between the neck and mouth only to pull them up in sight of an officer. I wonder how hard it is to just wear it right or not wear it at all. I remember distinctly back in those science lessons where we were told cannabis is a harmful drug but oh well…hehe! Sijasema kitu mimi.
Oh shoot! Sorry I’m straying from the point. Let’s come back.


I’m not a movie person; except for a few of Tyler Perry’s. I’m a poor listener too. Truth be told. And yes, I love to watch movies with subtitles because my concentration span, with regards to listening, ah! It’s so damn wanting my guys. I’m uncertain whether this has anything to do with me being a woman or it’s just me as a person. I get easily distracted, especially once I fail to get the drift in the first three minutes; I start to receive random memories; Like how as a kid, I thought I was a good dancer and that the congregation at Restoration Church Mutuini watched me in awe. Lol! It was until I watched myself dance from a videotape taken during my auntie’s kamweretho where my cousin and I felt the urge to show off our prowess, that all my self-esteem drowned and the body was never recovered. I also start remembering how a certain teacher made me believe I could toa nyoka pangoni when he nick-named me JLO. Kumbe ’twas because of my name Jeniffer and not because I could sing like Jennifer Lopez. Poor child!

Have I digressed again? Sorry guys. I’m trusting you’ve not lost the drift. I am so certain we’re now clear on why I’ve never watched GOT. Also explains why I’d rather watch Tyler Perry’s series; these ones you grasp even on mute. Also explains why I prefer gengetone over hip-hop, ah! I just can’t listen that much. Alafu that English huni-suffocate. Ah, I can’t!Remember on an earlier post where I said me dating an extrovert is a Chinese puzzle? these lot talks too much and I just cannot concentrate. Most of us introverted hermits just want total silence sometimes. Other than that, we love descresion with most, if not all of our affairs, but these extroverts just don’t know when and where to draw the line. I’m not saying they’re bad people anyway. I know you know what I mean, yes? Yes.
Do you guys remember my blogger boyfriend, (the post before the previous one) that one was an extroverted extrovert, jesus! You don’t wanna know the number of times he embarassed me infront of friends with his never ending talks. To him it was no big a deal but then he forgot too many times of our contrasting personalities. Worst of all, he failed to read all the signals I’d throw at him indicating that he was entering the ‘No-go-Zone‘. Lo! I concluded that all extroverts are poor line drawers. So after we broke up, I swore to never compromise on extrovercy and introvercy. Me and extroverts, we’re immiscible. They make very good friends though, especially when you need to break the silence.

As I conclude, let’s all agree that extroverts are great company even though I said what I said. Tap yourselves on the back for annoying us with your noise and making us laugh till we cry.

Pen down, Bye guys. Have a great week!

Out To Uncover My Boaz


It’s a new dawn

“…I found total happiness in your smile
I can’t hurt you, haina faida for gown white ya snow ikifagia floor…” King Kaka

Weeh! Si mtu tu aniandikie such words mahali.
Yani I’m so ready for someone’s son to sugarcoat some mere words ndo tu nijue if my heart is still working.

I have in every way been comfortable being single; or rather I thought I was, until I heard that You song by Tokodi ft King Kaka. I have it on repeat mode and it has been making my stomach flip over every time it’s on play.
This song comes 3rd on my playlist after Alikiba’s Dodo and Otile ft Meddy’s Dusuma. Not by order of merit though. It’s by date of release from 1st. I don’t understand which criteria Ezekiel Mutua uses to determine which songs to ban, but I strongly feel some of these artists should be considerate while writing songs to their women. Gosh! They should know that some of use are single and that we will be jealous once they produce such sounds, damn! This song has my blood singing and my body thrumming as though rushing on mojito.

My committee members, is this a sign indicating that the waters are receding? Is this when to send out a raven or just save on time and send out a dove right away? After 28 months of singlehood and with no entanglements whatsoever, I feel it’s good time I walked in on my Boaz, uncovered his feet and just lay there till he wakes, cause ah! He seems to be making very slow moves abi!
By the way, in case you’re wondering, I love to count my time in months instead of years same way I count my weight in pounds instead of kgs to make them sound more.


To be honest, this is for me the longest I’ve been single. No, I’m lying. If I were to be really really honest, out of the 28, I’ve been truly single for the last 8. I spent the other 20months very much tender towards Sam, my ex boyfriend. (not his real name) I spent them wading through and reliving our memories. I spent them recalling the day we broke up how we stupidly lied to each other how we were not going to move on too soon; he specifically insisted I was going to move on before he even blinked because wasichana wa Nairobi move on to the next barely two months into breakup. Here I am 28months later and I cannot say the same about him lol. I don’t want to tell you how I cried myself silly when I heard he married barely 6months later. Wasichana wa Nairobi huh! Ok! While I spent my 20months collating every lad that came knocking. I’d be like, ah! This one doesn’t text like Sam, pass! This one doesn’t laugh like Sam, pass too! This other one, he doesn’t call my name like Sam, ah pass! This one doesn’t look at me like Sam, bruh, si you pass! I gave them all a kick in the teeth, except one. Let’s call him Sammy II (not his real name either). His is a story for another day but just so we’re clear, I didn’t date him, I simply allowed my heart go a little nuts about him without his knowledge or consent. Perhaps because he had similar traits to those of the first Sam.

First off, they share the first name. It’s no wonder I’ve staged them here under the same name. Secondly, they both have dominant traits of melancholics (something I adore in my men) and with same stature. Although their physical appearances are strikingly different, they somewhat stirred-up matching fieriness within me.
Albeit, in all respects, I wonder whether it’s possible to love two people at the same time, and with equal intensity. Or, it could be that I was loving the first Sam through the second one, since they felt much the same to me. I don’t know.
But whatever the case, the last 8months, all that ceased to be a bother.

“So I am searching?” “For my Boaz, yes”

Monday Bluez – Beat Them From Here.


I’m a fan of gengetone.
“Huh?”
“Yeah.”
Not that it tickles me as much as Bongo flava.
And neither do I love them like I love hot lemon. I’m that fan with contrasting expressions from verse to verse. But I love creative art; I’m an ardent lover of deep poetry, like that of Mufasa Poet. I also think Sauti Sol is the sauce of Africa. I believe it when King Kaka says he’s a wordsmith. I love Nadia Mukami’s beautiful vocals. Oh, and Otile’s, and Nviiri’s and Bensol’s…the list is long but bite my tongue should I leave without mentioning my good friend Evelyn Muthoni. Yake ni ile ya kutoa ‘ pangoni. Damn! She’s good.


Do I think Professor Hamo is funny? “Of course, yes.” His sight cracks me up even before he opens his mouth to crack the joke.

I love literature; I still hold Ngugi wa Thiong’os work in high esteem. Guess what though, my predilection for literature doesn’t go way back. I’d be lying. In fact I didn’t know I could put words together and wow people, until I was 21. Well, I knew I wrote good compositions back in Primary School, but not good enough to have our Teacher read them in front of the class. So, I never took writing seriously. In High School, I hated writing Minutes, Assays, Official/non Official Letters… But I enjoyed those “write your composition beginning/ending with this words…” those were my thing. But still, it failed to occur to me that I’d be here today scribing. It was until I dated a blogger. One evening, he put me up to a challenge. “Babe, let’s each do ‘An Open Letter to Our Unborn Son‘ then compare notes later.” I took the challenge. So like me. No offense, but I’d never envisioned myself mothering a boy before then, and so, I did mine as ‘An Open Letter to My Unborn Daughter.’ It wasn’t as good as his. Weeh! He was good. (PS: I’m using past tense not because he’s an ex but because he stopped writing) He was really good with words. Especially because he’s the life of the party type of son and in some kind of way, he’d transfer his humor to his work. There was no way you’d read his pieces and not laugh till you cried. When he read my letter, he wasn’t wowed. I saw it from his face. But since he didn’t wanna hurt me, he said, “You can write.” I took offense. To date, I actually hate it when someone comments “you can write.” On my work. I feel sort of insufficient. More like they’re trying to say, “you tried, you can do better.” But then, I didn’t stop at that. I wrote. And wrote. And wrote… and that’s how I landed on this site in the year 2014. I started this blog. I saw myself grow from piece to piece. I taught myself how to tell stories from my own experiences and sometimes change persona.


But then, I too got to the point where I stopped writing. You guys have no clue how amazing it feels when you slide into my DM asking why I stopped writing. I feel appreciated. Thank you. here’s what happened; I became too self conscious, I began to feel the starkness in my pieces and thought I was unmasking myself a little too much, and for free. Unlike my ex, I didn’t nip in the bud. I just stopped posting, brought down some of the posts which I felt exposed me too much and started journalling intead, and extensively, with the hope that one day, I will gather the courage to post all the stories I have written in pencil. Let’s hope together.


Moving on swiftly, this year, I have come to love Kinyanjui Kombani. Google him. And I think it’s time I met Brian Mbanacho. I might wonna buy his books as well; The Honourables first. Then we could exchange a few notes in the process. By the way, Brian is my favorite writer on Facebook. He’s good.

Oh shoot! Were we not talking about gengetone before I lost the thread? Poleni. But you remember I said I’m no fan right? Haha! Well, I meant I’m not such a big fan, though there are those few sounds that move me intinctively. Not that I even pay a lot of attention to the lyrics or the video content, sometimes I just close my eyes (literally) and just listen. I especially enjoy, those ones of Miracle Baby and the crew. They remind me of how much I loved Nonini when I was a little girl. Gosh! I feel old. By the way, I knew all of his songs word by word specifically ‘Mtoto Mzuri‘. Now I can only imagine how our folks would sit and wonder the hell their kids were listening to. Same way I look at my teenage cousins today, singing along to some of these songs and wonder. “Can’t these kids even feel a bit of shame on them?” I go like, “from where do y’all even get the nerve to sing along out loud and in public.” Then I swallow my words after I suddenly remember how I’d sing along to Nonini. But honestly, some of these songs are just too extreme that they give bad taste to this genre of creativity. But well, what do I know? To every man his own. Ama namna gani my frens?

See you soon!
Yours favorite,
Sign.
Wanjiku The Writer.

An Open Letter to my Daughter


Daughter

Dear Love,

You are my ideal baby.

I feel like I have already said enough with those few words above. I mean, that should tell it all.

My love, I have no one word for you. However , I describe you as my Seventh Heaven from the kind of emotions you aroused in me the first time I set my eyes on you. My actual feelings that very moment cannot be explored let alone be explained. Don’t get it twisted though, mine was not a love at first sight. Babe, I loved you long before I saw you. There’s not a single moment I look at you and fail to remember those days you lived in my belly with so much nostalgia. In fact, I remember the excitement that clouded my entire being the very day I learned I was with child. I felt like a dog with two tails and I had a grin from ear to ear. That is not to say it was all glamour though. I’d be lying if I said it was. Somewhere inside of me, I did experience feelings of fear. Hell! I was scared. I did have many long days and nights wondering the kind of mother I’d make given my shortcomings. I had many conflicting emotions within and I questioned myself, literally. I was scared of failing you as a mum and a role model. I was scared of failing to give you enough. I was scared of giving you too much. I was generally threatened by motherhood. I felt insufficient in all aspects.

Today, am utterly proud of myself for having laid on the side of courage. Am a clam for having let you live in my womb then finally move in with me. You have given me yourself as a good enough reason to do life with the joys of spring. Everyday I pray prayers of Faith and speak words of Wisdom over your life. “Baby, you shall find unmerited favor in the eyes of God that those of the World. Your hands are blessed and everything you touch shall blossom. Your feet are gracefully fitted and everywhere you go, your name shall be Good. Good health is your portion. You shall lead a full life. Victory shall find a home in your home. Your mind shall birth great ideas; talk of inventions and innovations. When they’ll be talking of great women, you shall be on their lips. Your name shall be scribed in History Books. And, you shall be like that tree planted by the river, bearing good fruits and your offsprings shall be blessed.

Baby, you shall not take after me or those before me. No! Rather you shall take after Christ. Do not follow my footsteps. Yes, I will lead you, ’cause am your mama, but I shall have you walk beside me creating your own steps.

Babe, you’re smart, you’re strong, you’re powerful, you’re lovely, you’re wonderfully made, you ooze with confidence and wisdom. Superiority Complex is no where in your vocabulary. You sparkle, more like a diamond. You blow me off my feet with your astounding beauty, you melt every frozen part of my heart with your heavenly smile. And you’re eyes! Girl, they set me ablaze. I think God must have spent a little more time on you.

You are beautiful my love.

You are a phenomenal woman.

The day you sit to read this, I hope you feel all the feels I need you to feel. I hope it will elate you to know just how happy you made me. I hope my words will guide you as you tread through life. I say again, ponder upon Christ.

In good times and in bad, you’ll always be my little bubba. 😊

I love you.

Yours Momma,

Sign : Wanjiku the Writer

New Generation Womanhood, Don’t Just Get Pregnant!


There’s quite a lot about womanhood to learn that is not taught in schools, from homes or even churches. Only life itself has these lessons. Some of us learn through our own experiences so that others can learn from us. So if you’ve learnt the hard way, don’t worry, you are someone else’s mirror. Although stories are different for everyone, there are those that are general for all women. And as iron sharpens iron, so should man, in this case, woman.

Lemmi narrate a brief true story of this girl, Naiva. (Not her real name) am glad she’s not active on social media, she never even visits my blog and so she won’t know I wrote about her. Am also sure none of those who know me will know who exactly Naiva is. So am safe.

Naiva is a young village girl. She’s in her early twenties if am not wrong.
Naiva is with child.
Naiva is not just pregnant, but pregnant for a man, Dan (not his real name too) who is neither willing to marry her nor take responsibility. In fact, he broke it off with her the very day he learnt of her pregnancy. Nonetheless, she is excited about the whole pregnancy idea simply because he is the guy she loves. Love!! Ok, I wont deny they had a beautiful thing going on. I saw them, I saw what they shared; how they’d play like kids, make funny/dry joke about each other and still laugh, went shopping/market together, and at  one point I envied them. I desired that kind of a connections. It was not until pregnancy came between them, that every colourful thing turned grey.
He said he wasn’t ready for diapers and all other expenses that come with babies.

Today, he is that guy who will only act supportive during those ‘erectile’ days when he desperately wants to get laid by the heavily pregnant Naiva. During these days, he’s present with ‘two shillings’ for the unborn and after the encounter, he disappears till next season. Whoever knows when the next season will be is none but himself. In the course of his absence, whatever Naiva eats or how she pays her bills is the least of his worries. Depression befalls her then. She has to hustle her way out to feed her pregnant self and remember, she won’t be pregnant forever. The baby is definitely coming in a few months. That means she has to prepare. I believe y’all know what preparing here means. What is love really? (Shaking my Head) In all these however, I do not blame Dan. I blame Naiva. Am not picking sides, am not saying it’s OK for men to impregnate us and run, a a! Am saying, sometimes it’s our fault as women. We are to blame.

We are also to blame for letting men use us and get away with it. It’s crystal Dan is using Naiva for his own gain. It is clear, even to her. Deep down I know she feels he’s playing hide and seek but because she thinks she loves him, she let’s him play with her psychology while she drums along. She believes that because he comes around once in a bluemoon, there must be a chance that he still loves her. Crap that woman!

I know we get emotionally carried away. But don’t be as dumb as not to know that men know this too. They know how to play around our needs to get what they need at any given situation. In Naivas case, Dan knows she needs money and so, he knows exactly what to do to have her eating on his feet.

Another thing I know is, any woman knows when she’s being used. We all know when he isn’t genuine. I can guarantee you Naiva knows this but she ignores it out of stupidity. Most of us, if not, all of us have been stupid at one point. There’s that voice deep down asking you to run but you keep shutting it down. Stop it! That voice is called intuition and it is always right. If it says he’s using you then it’s because he is really using you. Run!  Don’t make a mistake of getting pregnant for him thinking he will get serious, he wont girl. And if like Naiva you’re already pregnant, please, don’t entertain him on his horny days. If you really must take him in because you want upkeep money, then please, make sure it’s good money. Make your stand firm, be the one to give him the figure you want and stick to it. If it were the school teaching this, they would tell you to leave him. My friend, real life says, use him back. Serve him a dose of his own medicine. Play him to his game and make sure you’re the winning team. If he can’t compromise, then don’t either. Flee from the devil. Let him go high and dry. You won’t lose a leg or your nose by being a single mother. In fact you become wiser and stronger. The only way we can reduce some of these silly mistakes we make is by learning to listen to that voice. Like I said, some of these things; like distinguishing between a jerk and a good man, is something you’ll never learn in school. Listen to your intuition.

Girls, don’t just get pregnant. Please don’t!
I’ve been talking to mothers and pregnant women about the in depth experience and believe you me, it’s not as easy as it looks from outside. Yes, the end result is an innocent life added to the family (some call it a bundle of joy) it’s a human that will fill your heart with joy when you see them smile, grow, walk, run…but behind that joy is mountain of depressing and peaceless moments. Any sincere woman with a child will tell you how hard it can be.

It’s not just about how beautiful you look in a swollen belly, how much good cravings you get while pregnant, or how amazing it feels to have them kick from inside, it’s not about how beautiful the baby looks, how they smile at you, not even how well they eat or how much hair they grow. No! That’s not all there is to pregnancy and babies. There are sleepless nights during and after pregnancy, there are funny shifts in moods, petty to serious complications (for some), heavy expenses, I mean that baby is growing every day. His needs are increasing by day. They said “mtoto huja na sahani yake.” Well yes, they were right. I do not object. But guess what they didn’t say honey! That that plate is just that. A plate. An empty plate. It’s you up to you to fill it. Fill it with food, diapers, health, education, love, discipline, responsibility…etc That baby will be crying all night in the house while you really want them to shut up and sleep so that you can handle your chores or run your part time job so as to afford diapers. It’s a task. And it’s not for the faint hearted.

Get me right, am not saying having a baby is a burden, am saying, don’t just get pregnant. Don’t get pregnant because he says he loves you. Men say a lot of things that they don’t really mean. Don’t get pregnant because your circle of friends are all having babies. Everyone’s story is different. Don’t get pregnant because your family feels your running out of time. You’ll be working your ass up, day and night to provide for the kid while they’re watching from distance. Don’t get pregnant because baby bumps looks fancy. There’s more to just having a baby/babies. There’s more.

Get pregnant when it is time. You will always know it. Accidents happen yes, but in this day and era, they shouldn’t. In this generation, there’s nothing like it just happened. Women are evolving, women are getting exposure, they are taking control of their uteruses and getting pregnant at the right time for/with the right man. Have you ever stopped to think about why men fear the ‘am pregnant’ statement, yet they’re not the ones carrying? Well, if you haven’t, please start now. It’s not because they hate babies, or they don’t love you, it’s because they know the cost. It’s not just about carrying the pregnancy

I don’t understand people who  believe money isn’t a factor to consider when getting pregnant. Sweetheart! Don’t be fooled. It is. It actually should be the number One factor any woman should consider. And not just your man’s financial status, yours too. Things happen. He could lose his job or his business, then what? Will you stop the kid from growing and having needs? Do not bring forth a kid only to punish them or burden your parents with your recklessness. Am not condemning anyone that has made this mistake before, am sure you have learnt a lesson. There are the fortunate few whose things work out well for them after the baby has come, but don’t let that carry you away as to forget that there are a majority whose lives come to a stand still, others the gear takes an automatic reverse turn. So please, of all the risks we’re advised to take, this one should never be one. Never! How is your financial life? Can it sustain you and the baby? Then you’re good to go.

Number two factor; who is that man you’re conceiving for/with? Is he worth the trouble? Is he worth the hardships that come with pregnancy and raising kids? If he’s a jerk, whether you love him or not, don’t even dare it. Kara King says, “Be very careful on who you share you’re DNA with.”  Some women have very difficult pregnancies and require assistance around it. And most of the time, it’s not necessarily the physical help, but the emotional. They need to walk these journey with a man who understands them and is completely patient, or knows how to fake the two. Carrying life is very delicate. Problems could be as little as eating something unpleasant to the baby, having funny craving and shifting moods every now and then. Or as big as accidentally knocking yourself against the door, stumbling on the pavement, falling from the stairs, you know, things that can cause shock. You could probably say you can hire a help but a woman is a woman, there’s no better feeling to any one woman in this stage, than having the help of that one man. Until you have that kind of man, don’t get pregnant.

One other thing, don’t get pregnant for Mr Sponsor. Never ever. If you really must, then there are two instances I would advise you to do so. (1.) If you are financially and psychologically ready for the task or (2.) If he formally takes you as his wife (second or third) Only then. Otherwise he will leave when things become too thick and he can’t handle it anymore. Or still, it could be you’re just fascinated by his money or the way he treats you. Then it finally dawns on you that you didn’t really love (if I can call it that) this man. Don’t let it get there when you’re already knocked up by him. Don’t!

This is that generation where women are taking control of their uteruses. Take control of yours.

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Be that woman

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JennyShiquthewriter.

Maisha ya Nairobi – Part III


Hey people! It’s been a day yeah? Haha, I know it’s been sometime. Sorry for the silence. You know, it’s advisable to recharge and that’s precisely what I was doing while I was away. I trust y’all have been well. You have, yes?

Okay, I don’t know why I never posted this earlier, so do not ask. I want to believe this is the best time for it. Probably why it took me this long to finally get some sort of inspiration from the experience.

Yesterday, for reasons I can’t explain, I happened to remember an incident from 2012. I cannot quite recall the exact date or month but am certain of the year because I had just completed Secondary School. And so, my life, as they had said, was in the hands of the cruel world.

The streets of Nairobi were new to me. Like I had mentioned on Part I of ‘Maisha ya Nairobi’, where I grew up, visiting Nairobi town was occasional. Mark you, the occasions were once in a year and sometimes, even that once had never for another name. By the time I was clearing Form Four, the only place I was familiar with in town, was TimesTower. And bytheway, that is because I used to see it from a matatu during the occasions we went town. This was also the case for most of the kids I grew up with, although some benefited to get their way thoroughly through the streets because they were privileged to enroll into Secondary Schools outside Nairobi. That way, they had to go through town on their way to and from school. Me on the flip side, my school was along Ngong Road, actually it was and still is in Dagoretti Constituency. (Back then it was just Dagoretti. No South nor North. Hii! I must be very old..hehe) This girl was born and brought and schooled in Dagoretti, wololo! I should get married elsewhere for a change yawa!

As I was saying earlier before I went off the tangent, 2012 came and I was learning my ways through town. This particular day came back to my mind as I was flashing back to my experiences in the City because it was my first encounter with a con. As I was walking along Mama Ngina street, (I just learnt the other day that that is Mama Ngina Street, lol.) just outside the 20th Century, before I could crossed the road towards Jubilee Insurance, I bumped into this fine man. He must have been in his late thirties or early forties. From his face I could tell.

“Hey!” He said.
“Hey.”

From his body language, I could tell he wanted me to stop and converse. And so I did.

“Would you know any Cooperative Bank around here?”
“OK! Is this guy being serious right now? This fine guy is a in a SUIT!” I thought. That’s a full statement by itself. I mean, a man in an English Suit, well fitting for that matter and in his early forties maybe, should know better than a naive high school leaver. But again, I brushed it off. “May be he’s new in town too.” I justified.

“I do not know any around here sir.”
“OK thank you anyway.”
“You’re welcome.” And I started off.

I had hardly made my third step, when he reached to me again and said, by the way, my Company is recruiting young boys and girls, preferably form four leavers, for Accounts training, after which they’re guaranteed employment, if not in the Company, a good recommendation to other companies.”

“Is the training free or at a fee?” I asked.
“It’s absolutely free. It’s sort of a youth empowerment program, fully funded by the Company.”
“Hhmm, what a good deal!” I thought to myself.
“Are you a form four leaver?”
“Well, yes.”
“Would you be interested in the program?”
“Of course yes.” Who wouldn’t be interested?
“OK, follow me. Our offices are here.” He said pointing 20th Century.

When we got to the entranced, he stopped. Holding his chin, he said. “Sasa hapa huwezi ingia bila ID.” (You can’t go in without your ID) Wait, now that am talking about it, how did he even come to the conclusion that I did not have my ID? I do not recall saying so or even him asking whether I had it. Saitan!
“Ok, What we’ll do though, since I really want to help you, I’ll call my boss, know which room he’s in, as we speak, then I’ll leave you here and get the application forms for you to fill. Sawa?”
“What the devil on earth is wrong with this guy? How could he not know where to find his boss? Whose boss never has a specified room anyway? What kind of a boss would that be?” I thought. But then, whom am I to question here? What do I know? Furthermore, am just a form four leaver. And so I just said sawa. To his suggestion.

The son of this cruel world took out his gadget and made it look like he was up to making a call while heading towards the entrance. Before I could lose sight of him into the building, he came back. “Madam simu yangu imeisha charge, siulete yako nipige nayo…” I suddenly felt things in my stomach. That is normally how my intuition talks to me when things are not about to be all colorful. I could immediately tell there was something fishy about this son. “Yangu haina airtime.” I said. “Leta nikanunue pale, nipige, alafu nikuletee.” He said pointing to an imaginary shop. I couldn’t see it but apparently there was a shop where he was pointing at. “Let’s go together, top up, call him, then you can proceed and find me here.”
“OK, msichana ni kama huniamini. Fanya hivi, simama hapa kando ya hii gari ni yangu.” He said pointing at one of the cars parked right outside the Building. By now, I was already certain this son is after something unpleasant. So I decided, since am just a form four leaver, I have all the time to play along his game. “Nipatie funguo nikungojee ndani ya gari badala ya kusimama hapa.”

I think he ran out of time. This is his occupation after all, and so, if he wasted more time or ‘prey’ that was not willing to become dinner, he just might have ultimately lost potential dinner. He looked me with hidden rage.

“Sasa wewe inaonekana hutaki kazi. Hii yetu inatakanga uaminifu. Unajua tutakua tukikuaminia pesa yetu? Lakini sasa kama huwezi niamini na simu yako, hata sisi hatuezi tukakuamini.” Ama? He uttered.
“Enyewe mimi ni kama sitaki kazi. Wacha tu niende.”
“Sawa.”

That is how I would have lost my Nokia 6210. You remember those Nokia slides? That was one of the luxurious phones among my squad back then. Haha! I would have gone craze.
Luckily, my intuition saved me from the jaws of a pathetic con.

Most people, have fallen naively into these kinds tricks and worse. People have lost money, phones, laptops etc into the pockets of such psychology manipulators (conmen/women)
These sons ‘up’ their game every passing day. Some are prophets. They will come asking to pray with you over your troubles because apparently, their lord has spoken to them about you. Others are lost women seeking directions and before you know it, they’re gone with your all. So many kinds of cons, all kinds of humans.

If you’ve fallen victim, good for you. You have first hand experience. You’ve learnt. If you haven’t, take caution. No one is your friend in town. Bytheway, some of this cons know you even before they meet you. Your very own friends/acquittances set you up. (I have a friend that was set up by a friend) Be careful of such sons. Nairobi is a City of survivors. And survival is of the fittest. It’s a-man-eat-man City.

Take caution!
Kaa rada!

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JennyShiquthewriter.

Am Saying, Shame On You Bully!


Google says cyber bullying is the act of harassing someone online by sending or posting mean and or embarrassing messages. Whenever I thought of cyber bullying, I always had teenagers in mind. Like, it’s a game played by insecure adolescent boys and girls. Turns out I was wrong. It recently happened to me. The traumatic experience I went through is beyond words. Anyway, I got over it.

About two days ago, I was chatting with this young man on Facebook, let’s call him Ell, who was terribly bullied on this torturous group, ‘Kilimani Mums’. In fact, I remember after that thoughtless cruel flow of comments, I immediately left the group. Note: I have nothing against Kilimani Mums, furthermore, everyone has a right to freedom of speech/expression on matters around them. My bif is though, when this freedom is used to intimidate and humiliate others, what do we call that? And this ‘Kilimani Mums’ of a group is where cyber bullying has become prevalent. And there’s a new one, ‘Kilimani Mums and Dads’…lol! Apparently even men have been enrolled into this modern day gossiping system. (Sigh) Anyway, what do I know? But like I said, I have nothing against ‘Kilimani Mums’ there are those days when there are amazing stories to read, hilarious reads that make a dull day bright… But then again, I wasn’t the one who said, “one rotten fish makes the whole catch stink.” Most of the shares there are just pathetic. Sijui my husband cheated with my house girl, mara oh! My best friend/sister lungulad with my husband, sijui my boss did what, my neighbour came at me… How helpful is the exposé at the end of the day really?

Lemmi go back to my guy Ell;
“For a while I thought myself in hell as I read through the unforseen mean comments, leave alone the post itself.” He said. “Imagine waking up one morning to find a photo of you trending among a bunch of ruthless women, with it exposing my name, where I live and ‘my HIV status’. I almost died of the heated desire to kill every grown woman that participated in the conversation. It took me days to recover.”

What happened to “do unto others what you want to be done unto you?” I mean, it could be your son, daughter, mother, father, husband or wife or even yourself being bullied. How would you feel? Whether the rumor was true or false, is it really indispensable?

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Sometime last week, I was cyber bullied by one villager. I never knew how it felt until it happened to me. “Only the bearer of the shoe, knows where it pinches.” They were right. Just when I had decided to take a short break off Facebook, I had even uninstalled the App, the devil himself decided to visit my ‘premises’. I remember I woke up to a mysterious missed call. “What on heavens does this person want from me?” I asked my inner me. But then, out of courtesy, I called them back. “Jenny kwani ni nini mnaulizana na Nanii?” She asked. “Why?” I quickly responded. “Niliona post alikua amepost kukuhusu.” I hurriedly hanged the call and logged in to Facebook, using Opera Mini. Haraka haraka! searching for Nanii’s timeline only to find that whether it is they had posted, they had brought it down. Luckily for me, I missed the the original post plus the hurtful comments that am certain had been made. Especially by women. Why am I certain there were comments, especially by women? Because it is not the first time Nanii had posted idiotic messages about a woman and thoughtless women flooded his post with idiotic comments.

Less than a month ago, Nanii had bullied another lady the same way, (and it wasn’t the first time either) and so I wasn’t surprised. And that is how Ell and I begun conversing on inbox. Unfortunately, he had seen the post, made a screen shot and sent it to me. And not just him, several others had too. Why I chose to chat with him is because he had been a victim of cyber bullying and he knew best how it feels.

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I was devastated for a while. I hadn’t seen it coming to me and so it hit me so hard, I could barely hold back emotions. Out of the heat of that moment, I called Nanii. The dwanzi had the guts to pick up. He even threatened to do another post of which he did. And this time he made it on my timeline. I was dumbfounded. I wanted to retaliate. But then I thought, “why should I compete with a desperate loser, a village dunderhead, who is in so much pain and thinks by causing it to others will heal his own?” And so, I gave him the free pass to my timeline, to post whatever he felt will please his low self esteem. It took me a whole 24hours plus… To recover. But I eventually recovered.

Why do bullies bully anyway? (I have learnt)

“Jealousy: When folks are jealous of you, an inner demon takes them over. Then they
defame, harass and discredit you.

Insecurity : Remember that bullies are often lacking something crucial in their lives and they seek pain in others, so do not fill this void for them by gracing them a reaction.

Intimidation: You are something they can never be or doing something they can never do. Hatred and envy sets in and the bullying begins.”

Folks! who will teach our kids how to settle disputes amicably, if we, the parents of today are desperately competing with teenagers on cyber bullying?
To every cyber bully out there,(anonymous or otherwise) Shame on you!