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, “youtried, 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.
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. 😊
“he left my right hand clavicle terribly fructured.”
I could hear the voices from a distant. Almost like someone was calling my name from one end of a tunnel and all I could hear was his echo. I was in some kind of deep sleep and so I actually thought I was having a bizarre dream.
It didn’t take long before I could feel the stretcher moving down the hallway.
“Move!, excuse us a bit. We’ve got to trasfer her to the bed.” Said the nurse to the people who had been anxiously waiting for me at the Ward – It must have been that handsome nurse that had led me to the operation room earlier. Jesus! He was quite a charmer. His striking stature nearly made me forget I was headed for the scalpel. “Goodness gracious!” I thought. “Am headed for dissection.” Some person that has revised science inside out, is going to cut open my shoulder in a few, like we used to mercilessly do to insects during biology practicals. And here I am thinking about how enchanting this man walking centimeters from me is.”
Did I get off the targent? Sorry Sir, lemmi pick you up from where I lost you. So the two nurses finally moved me from the stretcher onto the bed like they do in movies. By this time I was already 80% awake. I could make out voices. “Jenny wake up and talk to your people.” Said the nurse. I tried opening my eyes but they felt too heavy in there, the lips and the tongue too. Then came the pain, the unbearable kind. The kind of pain that makes it difficult for tears to make their way out. This, for me was the most painful moment of my life. If you thought heartbreak was painful, try breaking a bone, then have it fixed with a knife. That’s besides my point anyway.
About two hours before this, I’d walked myself to the operation room. Laid on that board-like bed under that scarely light-head that looks like it can see right through the skin. That was when I forgot all about the handsome skin that was now injecting anaesthetic into my vein and “sorry…sorry…” were the last words I heard.
Mr President, the last three weeks have been for me what we call ‘storage’ like the sacks of maize under NCPB. I have had to just sit, eat, sleep. Because my right hand is temporarily incapacitated. As at now, you and I have a thing in common, ‘the left hand‘ the only difference is that mine is a lazy one. My days have become long and nights even longer. It feels like a year has been snatched off my hands. My hustle has had to come to a stand still. Stagnation is the word am looking for here. But why? Mine is a case of a ‘man eat man society’. Mine is a case of robbery with violence. Mine is a case of a Mismanaged Sector of Public Transport where motorcycles (bodabodas) fall into the hands of the wrong guys, the unlicensed, lazy-asses, underage, irresponsible, thieves….name them. And by the way, it’s a thing that has become a norm and there seem to be no lasting solution within the locals.
Mine is a case of National Insecurity in general, which I believe was in your agenda. Well, this is to ask you, “What are you doing Kijana? What will you do in cases like this? What is your Administration planning?
Mine is a tragedy that caught me unprepared in the morning of 7th November. One atrocious bodaboda rider who hard-heartedly took off with my purse leaving me at the mercies of passers-by, with a broken shoulder.
“I felt the hand on my shoulder. My first instinct was that this could be some douchebag pulling a damned prank on me. My quick reaction was to hold tight my bag. Unfornately for me, and fortunately for him, he had it held tighter. Pulling it forward while accelerating, resulted to the force that led me to the tarmac. (This is an incident that never leaves my head. To me it’s like it happened yesterday and the fear is ingrained, maybe permanently.) I can hardly explain clearly how everything happened. Yani, it doesn’t add up in all possible imaginations.
At first, I had turned down the suggestion of rushing to a doctor. I thought it was just a fall and that the pain would ease. Lo! It got to that point where hospital was no longer an option but the only option. Things got even worse immediately I saw the doctor’s expresssion on seeing my shoulder. I knew the situation was more critical than I thought in the beginning.
“Jeniffer come with me,” she said leading me to a room behind her office. She administered an injection that she explained was a painkiller. She then handed me a form referring me to the X-Ray Room. I followed. The man I met there looked at me with a lot of sympathy while asking me how old I was. “What’s wrong doctor? How bad is it?” “Wanjiku your clavicle is badly broken.” He said. “What are my options doc?” “You’ve only got one, surgery. The clavicle can only be fixed through operation. Don’t worry much though, you’ll get through it, people do…” My blood shot, my heart was in my mouth. “Surgery?” “Yes.”
He held my hand and led me to a seat outside this room. My thoughts were out of place at this moment….
Well, yes, mine is temporary damage. Mine is a matter of time, probably a few months. Mine is no big a deal. But Sir, am in distress for he whose day could be far much worse. For he who might fall in the hands of a far much ‘insane’ savage, leading him/her to permanent damage. An irreversible damage.
Mr President, I am Wanjiku, both metaphorically and literally. I am a voter who vouched and voted for Tano Tena because I was a sucker for your Agenda. It is my desire that you prove to me that I was not literally a sucker for believing in you. For that Sir, remember your committment.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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!
Am aware I had made a commitment to make a post every Tuesday. Am also fully aware I failed to do so last week. Well, there’s a good reason I should say. I wanted to post about my 25th Birthday experience and since I had two consecutive weeks of celebration, I figured it would be absurd to make two posts whilst I could hit two birds with one stone.
“How does it feel to be 25?” He asked. I got confused for a moment. Was I to feel something? I mean, do people feel things at 25? Is there a Eureka moment here? Something like, “there’s a tickle behind my neck. Aha! Am now 25.” Or, “there’s a stretch in the backbone, or an increase in the thickness of the gum or something.” What’s the feeling? Because if there’s one, then am lost. I don’t feel nothing new.
Let’s say I was juiced up to turn 25, not because there’s any feeling from the ordinary. Like, it’s just like turning thirteen (teenage) or eighteen (Citizen/Voter) or twenty (end of teenage) It’s not like you grow another liver, or start chewing card, a.a there’s absolutely nothing new. But of course, there’s a change in age. I’ve heard them say 25 is the beginning of responsible adulthood. That most, since not all, women get into that bracket of marriage and babies… I agree. Nowadays, I get along with babies more than before, I actually never fancied marriage that much except that one time I mentioned on an earlier post. I had actually started envisioning a large life on my own with babies, artificially inseminated, whisky and a piano at a corner in the living room to slow down the brain during those days. Yeah. I saw all that.
Enough of that. Back to why I was steamed up over turning 25. I was in a tizzy for a whole two weeks. Like I said earlier, there’s no special feeling about 25, only that I have become self aware. I know I am growing older. Now I have come to believe in one of my old folk’s philosophy, “If you say a firm YES to one thing, a firm NO will always come out easily to something contradictory.”
What is Yes and what are we saying yes to?
If you say Yes to a dream, saying No to setbacks will be easy. And so I said Yes to Kijani Daima. I said yes to knocking on doors, and embracing opportunities, to taking advantage of situations/people for my own good. I mean, if Uhuru is still accumulating wealth to his family name up until now after all his father bagged home, yet, he’ll still get voted back in as President, who am I not to use you? Whom am I not take advantage? I say yes to using you, use me too when you can. I say yes to demanding respect over my rights as a woman as well as a Citizen. To lobbying and yelling if it comes to that.
If you say Yes to yourself, saying No to the world will never be a puzzle, and so I said yes to me. I chose me, I chose my happiness, I chose my hearts desires, I chose my wants, my needs, my life, my loves, myself first. I chose me. I said yes to who I am and who I will be. I said yes.
Trees for birthday campaign
If you say Yes to a committed relationship, saying No to games and jokers will be no mare’s nest. And so I said a big YES to him, I yes to us, I said yes to a present and future together, I said yes to a commitment… I said Yes.
The other day bae was teaching me how to play chess, I figured that’s how life should be after all. See it ahead of the other.
My old folk said, “first learn how to say ‘Yes’, then saying ‘No’ will never be a struggle. And so I said Yes to adulthood. Yes to 25, yes to the past, yes to present and a loud yes to the future. I said yes, I can, Yes I shall and Yes I will. *cheers to ‘yes’.
Whether you have premeditated a separation or you’ve been ruthlessly dumped from left field, a breakup burns. Not the hot-coffee kinda burn, not the frying oil either. It’s the explosive tankers in Vin Diesel movies kind of fierce furnace. The amount of collateral damage left behind, no insurance company can ever make up. The heart is not like a car that you’d knock it off a post, dump it, or set it on fire and pap! A brand new one from the Insurance guys. The heart is like an egg. Of course we all know whatever happens should you drop it either intentionally or otherwise.
First, what is Love? No need to define. We all have our different definitions but even before dusk, the difference is the same. Queens, lemmi talk to you like a 25year old whose been to hell and back (ain’t I just so proud to refer to myself as a 25year old, sighs. I have waited so long for this moment like the groom awaiting his bride) Well, I may not have experienced much as at now – not been through a broken marriage – but I believe I have enough to educate you on how to LEAVE and LET GO. Am not saying it’s easy. It’s never been. It is the toughest individual journey under the sun. Why, because it affects not only the heart, but the brain twice as much. I say to you today, if your pain doesn’t grow you, doesn’t strengthen, inspire, motivate or push you upwards, you have a problem my sister. You’d better go hang yourself on a banana tree.
My Steps to moving forward
•When getting into a relationship, expect a breakup. Prepare for it. That way, if it comes, it shall not catch you by surprise. You are two different people, from different backgrounds, brought up differently, with different perspectives, believes, opinions, characters, personality traits… Therefore, you are bound to disagree. Expect it.
•Never blame yourself; swity, it takes two to breakup. Your partner is equally to blame as you are. The one killer question after a vital separation is “what did I do wrong?” Never find yourself there. If anything, the question should be “where did WE (both of you) go wrong?” I mean, any breakup, come what may, is, has and should never be a one party’s fault. This is so because, regardless of the wrong done, if the other party really meant to stay, they will, at all cost find all the reasons to stick. Should he leave, then he was never there to stay anyway. Let him go.
•Block him (on WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram etc) and delete his number. This may look like paranoia but it is by all heavens advisable. This is meant to assist you resist the temptation of stalking him. You need that wound to heal sister. Do whatever it takes. Even if the world thinks it’s immature to pull this, it’s your heart and mind at stake here, not theirs. Believe you me you’re not ready for notifications with his name or photo on your timeline. This not only opens, but also cuts deeper a healing wound. Block him!
•Cut off links with his friends and family if you had met any. The only thing they do is remind you of him. We don’t want that.
•Cry if you must; Please, I implore you,if this pain triggers tears out of their bags, let them flow. Do not pretend to be OK if you’re really not. It is OK to cry. What were tears meant for anyway? Let them stream down your tummy, cry a river if it comes to that. Just don’t lock them in, it hurts the more.
•Talk to someone. It helps.
Call that friend you’re comfortable sharing with. Tell her (let it be a ‘her’ I insist) how you feel, whether or not she understands, it doesn’t matter. The point is to let it out. If you can’t call, text. If you really, and I mean really, can not share, get a pen and paper, write all what you’re feeling down. Then, flash that shitty paper down the toilet immediately to avoid the temptation of sending the ‘letter’ to him. (cliche but it works for me) The point is the same, to let it out of your system. Not to seek sympathy please. Should you realise you’re seeking attention by doing all that, trust me your guilty conscious will alert you, drop it all together and hit the road. Run like a mad woman then take a cold bath. Not a shower please!
•Watch a kungfu movie (preferably yenye iko na DJ Afro) or any action series whenever you’re alone in the house. Gets your mind off romance and plus it keeps you entertained. You need that at this point.
•You can’t be friends yet, Period!; he who said ex’s can be friends, has a special place in hell. The truth is, there is always one who might be genuinely after friendship, and another that is after more. Probably at the back of their mind, hoping they could rekindle the relationship. It’s all fun and games until you break a leg trying to chase a dead-case-relationship. Not until the wound is completely healed, to the point where we can call it afire-gone-out, you can not be friends. Turn down that proposal should he suggest it. That’s the voice of the devil right there.
•Last but not least, give it TIME. The major mistake we all make, is to rush it. You want the pain gone as soon as yesterday. I totally understand. No one wants to live with that kinda pain. You will know it’s unbearable when you see a man crying. Trust me no one would hack it. But it’s absurd to force it out like a flash. It doesn’t work like that. In fact, it could take twice as long as the relationship lasted. But one thing for sure, it eventually goes off, trust me. I know. It fades off given ample time and proper care. Give it. There so much time in this world. However long it will take, I promise you it ultimately goes away, until you nearly forget it ever existed. In some cases you completely forget it. Allow time take it’s course.
All said and done, just so you know, am not telling you all this because am perfect at it. No! It’s never been easy for me to walk over a breakup. I’ve had relationships in the past that were difficult to accept that they were over. I’ve cried. Not once -sometimes in the bathroom so that no one would know – now I look back and wonder how dumb I must have been. (Laughing) Why the hell was I even crying? Was I insane or something? Some of these silly boys were not even worth a drop leave alone a river of tears. Don’t pity me, arousing sympathy is last of thing intended here. This post is meant for that sister going through a breakup right now while am typing this. If you’re in this situation, pick a lesson or two from this and move forward. Life has so much besides love. So much you can barely consume.
(Words from a wise man) Sister love, there’s more to life than love. Never let love stop you from living your purpose, your dreams…. In short, never let love stop you from living life. If your dreams are too big for him, drop him and move on. If his are too big for you, leave him be. If your standards are not being met, leave him and move on. You’re not meeting his, leave him be. It’s that simple. It’s time to grow up friends. Love yourself more, remember your priorities and your interests count too. I believe the minute we mature in love, breakups will no longer be Pandora’s box… Let’s grow up women, it’s never that serious after all. Now I know better.
Off the tangent, come this Sunday the 26th, I will be turning 25 – did I just mention 25 again? he he – I have never really been so excited over my birthday like I have this year. May be it’s because I have found love again. Or may be because am not afraid to love despite past heartaches. May be, may be not! All I can say is, I am walking in to this relationship with an alert mind, open eyes (with the bigger picture clearly visible) and a receptive heart. Wiser than before.
I recall of a post I made late 2015 where I said I was available for lunch, dinner, movies, ice cream dates, get a ways…etc. Well, Now am not. I am fully taken.
Adios single gents! Adios!
English taught us that ‘Honesty is the best policy’. I want to believe she meant that you should always tell the truth, even when it seems as if it would be useful to tell a lie. Hmm! Then CRE came and said that honesty is a virtue. That’s not all, she further went ahead to stress on how the truth sets one free. I never objected. Not even once. On the flip side, while I have always believed these facts, life has been tireless at teaching me the complete contrary. What is life! (Sigh)
Leviticus 19.11
“You shall not….tell lies.”
My understanding is that lies exist. Yes they do, but the Christian Bible warns against using them. Lemmi not delve much into that because the last thing I would do, is get controversial with the Word of God. I choose to leave it at that.
Let’s take things as they are. I mean, let’s be more realistic. Would you rather spend your entire life in pathetic state of joblessness? Try being honest. Want to serve a lifelong imprisonment? Tell the truth. Want to lose a prestigious position in the government or in a company? Tell the truth of the matter. Working in a Marketing/Sales Agency and want to lose a client? The secret is to tell him the truth. Write down you’re Curriculum Vitae and tell them the truth, my friend! Take it from me, you shall land a job only on the tarmac. Inject honesty in to your traits and I guarantee you a prosperous life. Haha! Of course am joking.
There’s literary no single place on this earth where prosperty is built on honesty. Not even in churches where this Bible is preached day in day out. Here, pastors will call out for honest offertories (not bad) which supports their large living while honest givers languish in real poverty. I am judging no one, in fact am in no position to do so. I should say am the worst person to do so. I am simply saying, honesty is broke.
Let an officer catch you on the roads drunk-driving, without your license, or driving an overloaded matatu. That right there is entry fee to some shabby cell. Which by the way should be the case. (But even in those cases, honesty will never get you out, in fact it creates a mountain out of a mole-hill) Simply hand that commiserable man a two-hunderd note, free pass to freedom. smh! I am not judging our officers, am saying, honesty is broke.
Dear Marketer, tell your potential customers that; Black Label causes quite awful hangover, or Nivea causes no different changes to the skin from Lady Gay despite it’s overwhelming prices, Sunlight is no different from Omo, or that Bidco cooks no different from Elianto, end of business. Try something like; “Nivea makes the skin lighter (because am avoiding the word bleaches) or it evens the skin tone, lol. ‘Nice and Lovely’ make the hair longer and tougher, Elianto turns white ‘chapatis’ brown. Yani, something of the kind. Then every day will surely be end month. I am not judging marketers, I’ve been one before, am saying, honesty is broke.
Tell the electorate you will load your Bank Account with tax payers money, buy your wife a TX, take your kids to Hill Crest then to South Africa for Tertiary Education, take a flight to London to see a doctor over a stomach upset may be or some mild chest pains, erect a dynasty for yourself, grab land for future security, invest in China, take your family to the Bahamas – you know your list of ambitions – that is the honest truth, we all know. But I promise you, try it and mark the end of your political career. I suggest you try something like, you’ll start a ‘zoo’ to house the jobless and provide free food, erect a Spire touching the sky, Introduce less hectic Biology and simpler Physics or may be ban Chemistry and Kiswahili from Education System, install free Wi-Fi in all homes and promise to start a initiative giving allowances to families every end of the month. Mr Politician, kura ni kwako. (All votes are yours) I am not judging politicians, No! Am saying, honesty is broke.
Last but not least, be that doctor who prescribes Piriton for insomnia and your clinic cum pharmacy will forever read zero. Try something like advising your patient that her lack of sleep is due to Chronic Agitation -whatever that is – or tell them they’re suffering from Chronic Flu, wait! What the devil on earth is Chronic Flu? smh! Complicate their ailments or give them scientific names. Like, tell them they’re suffering from binomial nomenclature. What’s that I just said? (Rubbing nose) I mean, this is how you keep them coming back for drugs and injections. That way, the clinic’s Account continues shooting upwards. I am not judging these doctors, am saying, honesty is broke.
I had that stupid smile all over my face when I saw his name on the screen of my Infinix Hot 3. He had sent me a text message on WhatsApp. I felt my heart in my mouth, I felt my pulse stutter.
“…that was the beginning of a very complicated start.”
I liked him, it was obvious. Even the more, after days of endless chatting. Prior to this, Jess and I had met on very rare occasions and managed very minimal conversations. Nonetheless, I knew I wanted him for my ‘keeps’. I wanted to make him mine and me his. I longed to just close my eyes, drift away and the next moment I opened them, I would be tightly embraced in his arms. I felt that deep desire to touch, hold and kiss him. It was so intense that it would no longer feel like only a desire but a reality in my dreams. I did so every night in my sleep. And, when I woke up the next day, I wanted to slap myself out of the sleep terror. But something stopped me, I could almost swear the feelings were mutual. I knew he liked me too. The writings on the wall were both legible and in layman’s language.
Saying Jess is a charmer is too shallow a description. His mahogany-brown eyes! Alas! They shine downright to fascination. They are tough and comforting. They let me know he will be the beams of supporting me. And when they delve in love, my guy!! They become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life and devotion.
His face is full of kissable tinctures. His lips! Jesus! Risqué is the word for them. His dental formula is my classification of perfect alignment. His teeth are as white as the first snowfall. Jess is as handsome as himself. His skin color – not too black not brown; just somewhere in between. His hair is as black as midnight on a moonless night and below these features is a lean lush body that reduces me to ashes. The bones of his flesh are perfectly shaped and adding lemon to the whiskey, his height is just what I take satisfaction in, tall.
“Beng!! This is it.” I thought to myself when he finally asked me out.”
His style of dressing knocks me dead every passing day. I love to admit that it’s simply enchanting. He has quite a seductive taste for shoes. Funny thing, he has more shoes than myself. In fact I actually believe he has more than all my female friends. We! He’s one big threat there. If there’s one thing I would outrightly pin point as what tickles my interest recurrently, is his impeccable grooming; his body hygiene is up to snuff. He’s not only neat, but also clean. And by the way, I somewhat find Jess too clean for a man I should say, very organised, detail-oriented…etcetera etcetera. He is a melancholic to be precise. Jess has the kind of cleanliness that I could still squeeze tight to my chest, cuddle, kiss, rub… at any time of the day. Even in January, when the sun is closest to the face of Nairobi and sweat drips profusely like the December rains in Kinangop. Topping up the bonuses, the confidence in his steps -he hits that ground with some gentle but provocative pride – renders me unconscious. Whenever we’re walking together, I make it a point to intentionally slip slightly, like two strides, behind him just to watch him in awe of admiration. I absolutely love it.
Beneath all these alluring features, beneath his steel cum iron nature, beneath some ‘typa’ self imposed arrogance, lies a true and sweet heart. He is a well-disposed man and has his heart in the right place. Although he has erected a thick high-reaching wall all around it, I can tell he is a fair-heared boy. He hardly shows it, but it’s clearly visible if your keen enough to look through his eyes. He has quite a character. The irresistible kind, though difficult to understand. Jess is aggressively hardworking, focused, intelligent, goal oriented and extremely smart. He won my heart. He’s that man any woman would want be with. But well, am a pig in the mud to be his choice.
His presence makes me a little hysterical. The warmth of his body, his breathe under my neck, his lips over my ear lobes, flood me with euphoria, till I want to scream so hard nearly losing my voice. And, when his hands wrap around my waist, my nerves get uncontrollably jumpy, my heart beats way too fast and my blood boils to it’s last degree. He pleases my senses aesthetically.
However, he lacks in perfection. In fact I see way too many flaws to deal with. I see imperfection. Then I remember my very own and love him the more. I remember good men do not come fluttering down like raindrops, they are made out of love. I see two imperfect hearts beating in perfect prime. I love him all over again…
