I am really nosy in nature, maybe that explains why I write. I love gossip threads on the social threads. Especially that including celebrities, powerful people and the people I know. I gossip about people here. I don't do it verbally but I do it in writing. I have been lucky to interact with ladies for sometime now. They are all over me than the male counterparts. While I was in primary school, it taught me a lot, I got to see other girls naked as we showered outside in those early hours of the day.
I got to see how each one was so different. Some had started developing boobs and didn't want to be noticed, so they walked around with bent shoulders as if they were bouncers at a club. Some had really sharp boobs that kept poking one when we were on the queue. Some had flat chests. Some had flat bums, some round bums. Some had it all. I kept observing everything even as we showered some hurriedly splashed water on their lady parts and avoided the cold water from reaching the back. I realized some had pubic hair that covered the whole of their lady parts, some had nothing on that area.
Fast forward, in high school the same thing was happening but here in a more advanced level. Girls were too private with themselves. One would go bathing with a towel unlike in primary school when we would strip naked and go to the bathroom. Here people had started menstruating and things were really moving fast. Education was getting more serious. It happens that here everyone is from different part of the country unlike in primary school where most of us were from the same region.
There is Lonah from Pokot, she's so dark, she never applies any oil on her face apart from Vaseline. You know that shiny face a dark person achieves from applying Vaseline, that's Lonah. Sometimes I am tempted to give her a call and ask if she has started using any other oil on her face apart from Vaseline. I later learnt that she's studying Nutrition at Kenyatta University.
Here is Mercy Chepkorir, this girl is funny. No, she is sick. Yaani every time boys set feet at our school, that evening she gets hysterical. You should have heard her cry out... Owada I was even afraid to come close to her fearing it would be contagious. If I had her number I would jokingly ask her, Mercy umepona? She wouldn't even connect the dots.
Onto Daisy, she is so clever in sciences and maths, her Swahili and English grades are not so cool. She is the complete opposite of me. We are good friends and we have been suspended from school like twice. Later Daisy's bro starts to tune me. So my sister in law to be knows me inside out. No way! Atanichomea.
Then there was Sharon, a well composed girl, a B material, she was neat at all times. Besides, she had the best hips in the entire class. But the problem was ati hana boobs. I checked her WhatsApp profile photo today and I see breasts. So they grew.
Evaline, used to get her grades via the wrong method. She was a prefect and used to copy from exercise books and textbooks. She had a nerve. I don't even know the grade she finally scored in the final KCSE exam, let alone the college she managed to go.
Carren is happy in western doubling up as a nurse. She was amongst the small bodied girls in class. She is born again. Every Sunday on her Facebook and WhatsApp, there are always Bible scriptures posted. She's just good. She is kind hearted.
This brings me to Judy aka Ceejay, the girl with a baby face. She used to be hit on by boys and received letters every other day a symposium was held at our school. Many girls in my class were secretly jealous of her. Judy btw Mizram ako wapi nowadays? Did you guys continue with the relationship?
The girl who sat in front of me Cynthia, she was a pint size, now she's a grown ass woman. We met once at Utawala and she took me to her uncle's house which I highly doubt.
Teclar was arrogant. She had brown teeth. Both her upper and lower incisors were brown. I don't know if it's the water or what. Or maybe someone looked at her with bad eyes when she was young.
I remember once as we were relocating from form three to form four, people ran so fast that one would hurt their legs to book space, where one would sit the entire year, people even cried because of space. I comfortably placed my locker at the far end where I would sleep and no one would bother me. Shule ilinishinda kitambo. (Insert kisii accent). I could see the thirst for education thus the scramble for space.
Maureen was our head girl. And when it came to chemistry she was a badass. Let alone math. She excelled in everything. Sometimes I wondered why she wanted to beat me in kiswahili yet I had left all the other subjects for her. Some years back we met at the University of Nairobi, where both of us are students, the only difference is she's studying medicine while I am at a B.A. (Haters from the Engineering field and Medicine say Bachelor of Anything). Haidhuru. She had a flat bum and a saggy chest.
Beatrice, my desk mate, had just come to repeat after scoring a B upon the first attempt. In the second attempt she scored a clean A-. Mimi hata ningepewa hiyo B first attempt, why would I come back!!!
Lilian was a silent girl who was an SDA official. Since we left school, I have never heard of her. Hata kidogo. She also had kinda a massive chest.
Sometimes I am tempted to ask Joyce Chepkirui if her cousin Lorna still eats cabbage and milk plus ugali because she never touched githeri in high school since she had ulcers. There are some goons who would lie that they don't take githeri only to come and swap a little cabbage and ugali with githeri. And we loved it that way.
I am not mentioning names here. There were two girls, sat together, they used to giraffe on other people's paper during tests. They were always average, they scored B minuses and C+ when things were tough. I wonder where they are now. But one is in one private university in Central Kenya. Rumor has it that she is studying to become a teacher. This one I am sure she'll catch students who are cheating in exam because she was in their shoes years ago.
How can I forget Sheila. When us naughty ones would talk about boys, she looked with Christian Union eyes. She was so staunch. She knew nothing about boys other than what we were taught in class. That diagram showing the male reproductive system complete with balls. She was also appointed as a prefect, games prefect, due to her small, flexible body. When I visited my gang at Kenyatta University last year, I saw Sheila pregnant. Goodness me! I almost lost my consciousness. I remembered those high school days when she led the CU choir that song, Ni wewe yesu nimebaki nawe, ni wewe yesu nitasonga nawe, she used to solo this song so well alongside her cousin who is now a police officer! I wondered where she dropped Jesus.
Dear reader, we were close to 50 something girls in our stream alone. I am in the process of digging out for other members. Thanks for passing by. Always a pleasure seeing my number of readers grow hata kama wengi wenu ni ghost readers. Haidhuru.
Monday 18 April 2016
Friday 15 April 2016
GOOD OLD DAYS
If this moment someone could ask me what I want them to do for me, it would definitely to take me back to the old days. To the 90s. The time when I grew up, in a village setting. A village full of life, maize and banana plantation, sugarcane plantation, herds of cattle, hard-working people. Oh did I just miss mentioning the tea plantation?
Growing up was fun. City kids brag of a good life with PS games, coloured bikes and visits to recreational places and malls. They have no idea what growing up in the village is like. They only come home during December holidays. Before I go further, houses in the village at that time were plastered by cow dung. There is clay soil in kisii called ekebuse, one could mix it with cow dung then plaster the house with the mixture. The result was a clear smooth white wall. One day my cousins from Nairobi visited, the house had been plastered and due to bad weather it hadn't dried well. So the walls emitted the cow dung smell. To me it was just smelling like caramel because I had gotten used to this smell. One of my cousins held his nose and said to his mum, 'mum hii nyumba inanuka mapupu ya ng'ombe turudi kwetu' another cousin added, mum kwa nini hii nyumba inanuka hivi? All holding their noses.... Gavin and Moraa I am seeing you.
Take me back to those days when we would go fetch firewood from the bush. We would go calling out for other children so that we go play games such as cha baba na cha mama. I remember the kaboy that was my husband in that game. Saa hii hata sijui ako wapi.
I miss the days shortly after breakfast when Mama would allocate duties and everyone was supposed to finish the work before lunch. To one would cut Napier grass for four cows, to another, sweep the entire compound and clear all the weeds around the house, to another pruning vegetables in the garden and watching out for the hideout of porcupines in the shamba, to another making at least 12 scarecrows to sit at the millet plantation. Failure to do so, she would quote the famous Bible verse, whoever does not work should not eat. And you knew exactly what that translated to.
Take me back to the time when ujamaa was alive. How the bereaved family would feel at home. The way we would camp at the vigil waiting for the burial ceremony. Emptying one mug of tea after another. Washing utensils and serving visitors food. How everything else fell into place before mourners would get a renewed energy and scream like no one's business.
I long for those times when I first joined boarding school. As I came back home people treated me as if I was the only pupil who has ever stepped in a boarding school. How those boys would throw mapera and luguats at me while on the tree. I received them gladly. The only language I talked was Swahili only to frighten them and would throw some English words in between. I wonder if they also wondered how someone would forget her native language she spoke three months ago.
Please take me back when our babies were nappied and never got heat rash. When the little ones would poo and what followed was water in a Kimbo container running through their butt. And they never suffered from pneumonia.
Oh my goodness those rainy days that caught me wearing red. And thunder would roar so loudly followed by lightning then my sis would shout 'you'll be stroke by lightning' then I would cover myself with whatever I had.
How can I forget this one. I made it a habit to grow some great tissue around the toilet. There are leaves specifically for cleaning your butt. But sometimes due to high demand they get so finished so fast. We also used old newspapers and maize cobs. Wait! This one is interesting... My bro and I would slide our butts on the grass if none of these cleaning butt agents were not around. That was life then before Hanan and Toilex made their way to the market.
Bread was a big deal then. Not even family size would satisfy all the members of my family. We had great stomachs. So, kids, most of us would make a point of remaining part of your ugali in the evening and preserve it for tomorrow's breakfast. So there was a secret place for everyone in the cupboard where one would keep their morsels and wait for breakfast. One would sleep thinking the other one would pinch their ugali.
Take me back to my Mama. She was one lady that wouldn't give you her money just like that. Even sending you to the posho mill, she wouldn't give you cash, instead she'd give you eggs so that you'd go and do the barter trade on your own. Imagine on your head you are balancing a sack of maize, and on your hand you have five eggs, what if a straying dog or cow comes running after you? Si mayai itapasuka... And if it breaks she'll ask for proof, iko wapi tupike tukule? My mum though...
The most interesting was on Friday evening, starting 6 pm, when everyone would start acting Holly, its Sabbath till the following day at 6 pm. Singing songs and narrating Bible stories. The trying part for my dad was the time when my mum requests him to pray... And he is from taking his bottle. He's sobber, he just took few sips...(sigh)
The planting season was awesome. With maize and beans in my hands, one would first make the holes then drop two maize seeds and four beans. How fun. As we made stories. Pure gossip on the village girls who didn't make it to even class seven and had already tasted the forbidden fruit. And worse still, why would one drop out of school while in form two, si angepata tu mimba akiwa class six basi...one would comment... I heard they used to be laid either in the sugarcane plantation or tea plantations. I never saw one myself.
August holidays were pure bliss. We would go to the camp meeting. SDAs are with me. We would prepare large amounts of githeri and porridge. I remember I was forced to carry the five litre jerry can for quite a long distance. Or on a lucky day some rice and beans. So after sermons we would break for lunch and Ole wako if you prepared uji na githeri! Utajipanga! Even your children would run away from the uji and githeri and go to where chapati and dengu is served. Jioni mkifika kwa nyumba mnakipata pata. Take me back to my childhood days.
Growing up was fun. City kids brag of a good life with PS games, coloured bikes and visits to recreational places and malls. They have no idea what growing up in the village is like. They only come home during December holidays. Before I go further, houses in the village at that time were plastered by cow dung. There is clay soil in kisii called ekebuse, one could mix it with cow dung then plaster the house with the mixture. The result was a clear smooth white wall. One day my cousins from Nairobi visited, the house had been plastered and due to bad weather it hadn't dried well. So the walls emitted the cow dung smell. To me it was just smelling like caramel because I had gotten used to this smell. One of my cousins held his nose and said to his mum, 'mum hii nyumba inanuka mapupu ya ng'ombe turudi kwetu' another cousin added, mum kwa nini hii nyumba inanuka hivi? All holding their noses.... Gavin and Moraa I am seeing you.
Take me back to those days when we would go fetch firewood from the bush. We would go calling out for other children so that we go play games such as cha baba na cha mama. I remember the kaboy that was my husband in that game. Saa hii hata sijui ako wapi.
I miss the days shortly after breakfast when Mama would allocate duties and everyone was supposed to finish the work before lunch. To one would cut Napier grass for four cows, to another, sweep the entire compound and clear all the weeds around the house, to another pruning vegetables in the garden and watching out for the hideout of porcupines in the shamba, to another making at least 12 scarecrows to sit at the millet plantation. Failure to do so, she would quote the famous Bible verse, whoever does not work should not eat. And you knew exactly what that translated to.
Take me back to the time when ujamaa was alive. How the bereaved family would feel at home. The way we would camp at the vigil waiting for the burial ceremony. Emptying one mug of tea after another. Washing utensils and serving visitors food. How everything else fell into place before mourners would get a renewed energy and scream like no one's business.
I long for those times when I first joined boarding school. As I came back home people treated me as if I was the only pupil who has ever stepped in a boarding school. How those boys would throw mapera and luguats at me while on the tree. I received them gladly. The only language I talked was Swahili only to frighten them and would throw some English words in between. I wonder if they also wondered how someone would forget her native language she spoke three months ago.
Please take me back when our babies were nappied and never got heat rash. When the little ones would poo and what followed was water in a Kimbo container running through their butt. And they never suffered from pneumonia.
Oh my goodness those rainy days that caught me wearing red. And thunder would roar so loudly followed by lightning then my sis would shout 'you'll be stroke by lightning' then I would cover myself with whatever I had.
How can I forget this one. I made it a habit to grow some great tissue around the toilet. There are leaves specifically for cleaning your butt. But sometimes due to high demand they get so finished so fast. We also used old newspapers and maize cobs. Wait! This one is interesting... My bro and I would slide our butts on the grass if none of these cleaning butt agents were not around. That was life then before Hanan and Toilex made their way to the market.
Bread was a big deal then. Not even family size would satisfy all the members of my family. We had great stomachs. So, kids, most of us would make a point of remaining part of your ugali in the evening and preserve it for tomorrow's breakfast. So there was a secret place for everyone in the cupboard where one would keep their morsels and wait for breakfast. One would sleep thinking the other one would pinch their ugali.
Take me back to my Mama. She was one lady that wouldn't give you her money just like that. Even sending you to the posho mill, she wouldn't give you cash, instead she'd give you eggs so that you'd go and do the barter trade on your own. Imagine on your head you are balancing a sack of maize, and on your hand you have five eggs, what if a straying dog or cow comes running after you? Si mayai itapasuka... And if it breaks she'll ask for proof, iko wapi tupike tukule? My mum though...
The most interesting was on Friday evening, starting 6 pm, when everyone would start acting Holly, its Sabbath till the following day at 6 pm. Singing songs and narrating Bible stories. The trying part for my dad was the time when my mum requests him to pray... And he is from taking his bottle. He's sobber, he just took few sips...(sigh)
The planting season was awesome. With maize and beans in my hands, one would first make the holes then drop two maize seeds and four beans. How fun. As we made stories. Pure gossip on the village girls who didn't make it to even class seven and had already tasted the forbidden fruit. And worse still, why would one drop out of school while in form two, si angepata tu mimba akiwa class six basi...one would comment... I heard they used to be laid either in the sugarcane plantation or tea plantations. I never saw one myself.
August holidays were pure bliss. We would go to the camp meeting. SDAs are with me. We would prepare large amounts of githeri and porridge. I remember I was forced to carry the five litre jerry can for quite a long distance. Or on a lucky day some rice and beans. So after sermons we would break for lunch and Ole wako if you prepared uji na githeri! Utajipanga! Even your children would run away from the uji and githeri and go to where chapati and dengu is served. Jioni mkifika kwa nyumba mnakipata pata. Take me back to my childhood days.
BEWARE OF ROADSIDE VACCINES
Being a mum at my early twenties was the best thing that ever happened to my life. It meant that I could no longer meet up with friends at any time just like that without prior planning, and even though I plan, something would come up prior to the meeting. This translates to no partying. No alcohol. It's a plus for me since i neither party nor drink alcohol. Besides, I know motherhood spirit lies in me. The compassion and love mother Teresa had for humanity is all in me.
Motherhood and staying at home mums isn't as boring as some people have portrayed it in the past. It may be a routine, waking up at 6 am or 7 am and sleeping at 10 pm. Daily routine such as preparing breakfast, changing diapers, cleaning soiled nappies, clipping toe and finger nails, folding clothes, bathing the baby, and ensuring the safety of the baby may seem so boring but trust me every day is different.
Watching your baby's development is magical. Today she's crawling tomorrow she's trying to walk while supporting herself on the table, the other day her first tooth appeared...tomorrow could be something else. Maybe she'll call out your name...how about you calling her one day only to hear her first response? Yes mom...
The other day I had the most trying time of my life as a new mum. It is 10 pm. What started at 3 pm in the evening as a simple cough would result to a very bad fever. I thought to myself I could fix the coughing thing. I prepared lemon, ginger, saumu, honey and gave it to her to relieve the coughing pain. At 10 pm and in the remotest part of Kinoo means that no shop or chemist is open. That translates to no mode of transport to and from the main stage. Her fever is so high. I don't have even have a single medicine in the house. Not even Calpol.
Flashback, on Sunday we were at church and she was vaccinated against polio, something I am never used to. Initially, I had to go to hospital in order to get the vaccine. I'd never believed in such stray vaccines. So, the vaccine was administered to her. But I still wasn't to terms with it.
I didn't have even a single minute to log into Google and find out a remedy for fever. All the time I was wondering what way to get this kiddo relief. I held her in my arms. With a cool piece of cloth on her forehead. In ran through my phone's contacts and my nearest friend who we talk often about baby issues lives miles away. I was alone with the baby. The fever was going so high in minutes. I called a Mama Joy, her baby and mine are months apart. Maybe she'd have some medicine because she never lacks it.
I call her phone twice and she isn't picking. She's in the kitchen cooking maybe, I tell myself. At that time, my daughter is rolling on the sofa restlessly. She opens her eyes and closes them quickly, sometimes, she throws kicks, I undress her completely and try to call Mama Joy again, this time she picks and I glady head to her door to pick the medicine. From the way she says the medicine helped her daughter get well in a matter of few hours. I raise my hopes and pray that Atieno will be well. On arrival at the house, she's just sleeping and the heat on her body is just way beyond normal. She's at 39.1°C. I cried when I saw the thermometer reading. I was broken. How could such a young beautiful soul be tormented by fever worse still at 10 pm in the night when I cannot take her to the hospital since the nearest is closed and it's miles away??
I give her the medication and she eventually goes back to sleep after fighting for a while. Children and medicine might not be the best friends. In the meantime I had contacted a friend of mine in Umoja, Nancy, so she was just wondering how Atieno is faring. After about one hour after the temperature dropping to 38.5°C I began feeling a relief. Soon she was back at 37°C. I dressed her and tucked her in bed. Sigh.
I couldn't wait for the next day to take her to hospital. I just realized how important it is to always have baby medicine in the house.
Through and through I thanked God for saving my baby's life through a neighbor friend.
So the next time someone comes knocking at your door to vaccinate, your baby, think twice.
Motherhood and staying at home mums isn't as boring as some people have portrayed it in the past. It may be a routine, waking up at 6 am or 7 am and sleeping at 10 pm. Daily routine such as preparing breakfast, changing diapers, cleaning soiled nappies, clipping toe and finger nails, folding clothes, bathing the baby, and ensuring the safety of the baby may seem so boring but trust me every day is different.
Watching your baby's development is magical. Today she's crawling tomorrow she's trying to walk while supporting herself on the table, the other day her first tooth appeared...tomorrow could be something else. Maybe she'll call out your name...how about you calling her one day only to hear her first response? Yes mom...
The other day I had the most trying time of my life as a new mum. It is 10 pm. What started at 3 pm in the evening as a simple cough would result to a very bad fever. I thought to myself I could fix the coughing thing. I prepared lemon, ginger, saumu, honey and gave it to her to relieve the coughing pain. At 10 pm and in the remotest part of Kinoo means that no shop or chemist is open. That translates to no mode of transport to and from the main stage. Her fever is so high. I don't have even have a single medicine in the house. Not even Calpol.
Flashback, on Sunday we were at church and she was vaccinated against polio, something I am never used to. Initially, I had to go to hospital in order to get the vaccine. I'd never believed in such stray vaccines. So, the vaccine was administered to her. But I still wasn't to terms with it.
I didn't have even a single minute to log into Google and find out a remedy for fever. All the time I was wondering what way to get this kiddo relief. I held her in my arms. With a cool piece of cloth on her forehead. In ran through my phone's contacts and my nearest friend who we talk often about baby issues lives miles away. I was alone with the baby. The fever was going so high in minutes. I called a Mama Joy, her baby and mine are months apart. Maybe she'd have some medicine because she never lacks it.
I call her phone twice and she isn't picking. She's in the kitchen cooking maybe, I tell myself. At that time, my daughter is rolling on the sofa restlessly. She opens her eyes and closes them quickly, sometimes, she throws kicks, I undress her completely and try to call Mama Joy again, this time she picks and I glady head to her door to pick the medicine. From the way she says the medicine helped her daughter get well in a matter of few hours. I raise my hopes and pray that Atieno will be well. On arrival at the house, she's just sleeping and the heat on her body is just way beyond normal. She's at 39.1°C. I cried when I saw the thermometer reading. I was broken. How could such a young beautiful soul be tormented by fever worse still at 10 pm in the night when I cannot take her to the hospital since the nearest is closed and it's miles away??
I give her the medication and she eventually goes back to sleep after fighting for a while. Children and medicine might not be the best friends. In the meantime I had contacted a friend of mine in Umoja, Nancy, so she was just wondering how Atieno is faring. After about one hour after the temperature dropping to 38.5°C I began feeling a relief. Soon she was back at 37°C. I dressed her and tucked her in bed. Sigh.
I couldn't wait for the next day to take her to hospital. I just realized how important it is to always have baby medicine in the house.
Through and through I thanked God for saving my baby's life through a neighbor friend.
So the next time someone comes knocking at your door to vaccinate, your baby, think twice.
Tuesday 12 April 2016
THE DILEMMA
God just give me a sign. I just can't imagine, even in my wildest dreams, that I am going to be pregnant again. I cannot fathom. I just can't bear the guilt and shame of being pregnant again. I have a baby who is still breastfeeding. How now! It's seven days over due. My period could have happened like six days ago. Hell no! Hell no! I just cannot stand the stress of another pregnancy! Another nine months. God! Why me? I know I am at fault for clinging to that myth which says while breastfeeding you cannot get pregnant again! I was stupid to let that guy in without protection.... A girl's mind is full of these unending questions. If there is one miracle I need right now is wake up in the morning and get my white sheets with red patches of blood. After that, I will never do it again! Never!
But hey chic, let me relieve you some load. It's normally assumed that both the man and woman are responsible in planning the family. Truth is, it is the woman who is tasked with that role. For example a woman is required to visit the hospital at six weeks after birth so as to vaccinate the baby and in the process, a woman will either be injected or given her own family planning method preference.
Never wait for a man to speak up on matters related to family planning. He doesn't even remember Hun. Talk of a missed period, he wouldn't even be bothered. Instead he'll take you for a dumbass who doesn't know her cycle and it's none of his business.
These days women have embraced family planning as a way of living. I do not see a reason why you should sit somewhere alone thinking or guessing that you could be pregnant. If you are not ready to go the family way, I beg you, get to know these things.
There are morning after pills, rings, IUDs, the famous jadella, mirena, yaani you'll be spoilt for choices. You can even tie your tubes if you already have your desired number of babies. If such methods are way too much for you, there are male and female condoms. I am just sick and tired of friends who text me to ask for advice on what to do with their three months old foetuses. Keep the poor things.
But hey chic, let me relieve you some load. It's normally assumed that both the man and woman are responsible in planning the family. Truth is, it is the woman who is tasked with that role. For example a woman is required to visit the hospital at six weeks after birth so as to vaccinate the baby and in the process, a woman will either be injected or given her own family planning method preference.
Never wait for a man to speak up on matters related to family planning. He doesn't even remember Hun. Talk of a missed period, he wouldn't even be bothered. Instead he'll take you for a dumbass who doesn't know her cycle and it's none of his business.
These days women have embraced family planning as a way of living. I do not see a reason why you should sit somewhere alone thinking or guessing that you could be pregnant. If you are not ready to go the family way, I beg you, get to know these things.
There are morning after pills, rings, IUDs, the famous jadella, mirena, yaani you'll be spoilt for choices. You can even tie your tubes if you already have your desired number of babies. If such methods are way too much for you, there are male and female condoms. I am just sick and tired of friends who text me to ask for advice on what to do with their three months old foetuses. Keep the poor things.
Wednesday 30 March 2016
FUCK OFF
There comes a time in life when you should stop giving a fuck about people's opinions. Life is already fucked up. So fucking it any further ain't helping anyone here.
A time when a grown ass woman or man needs their space for once. Away from the rumormongers and gossipers. That time is fucking comfortable. You feel on top of the world, when you fart and no one questions, you walk around naked yet there are no spying eyes on you. Of course while in your own house. When you poo in the loo and don't flash immediately because no one is getting in there, it your fucking house. You pay rent.
Most of your exes are happily married with kiddos and submissive wives. You wonder, what the fuck did you do to yourself! The guy you've been crushing on gave you the surprise of your life when you saw him clutched his arm against that of some lady you are jealous of right now. You say, karma is a bitch! How the fuck didn't he see my effort? Trying to seduce a man.
Remember Kevo, the guy at the movies who introduced you to Jaymo, after breaking up with Sam because he was too broke for life. So you move in with Jaymo only to find that he is even more broke than Sam. Karma bites again. This generation has been fucked up. Hell yeah!
Adultery and fornication is no longer a sin. It is fucking practiced on broad daylight. Who the fuck cares? It's the 21st Century. A time when everything has been turned upside down. I tire for this generation ooh (Nigerian accent).
You are fucking tired with life. You will survive the storm sweerie. All the efforts have gone unnoticed. Don't give a fuck on the biological clock. You no longer trust church, the preacher if the day looks familiar, a friend of yours showed you his photo as they were getting cozy, the day before Church day, religion has been fucked up in a way.
The government is corrupt, the health system is fucked up, education system too, people have become imbeciles, religion has been exaggerated, dowry and marriage has been overrated. I need a sabbatical break.
#Ends#
A time when a grown ass woman or man needs their space for once. Away from the rumormongers and gossipers. That time is fucking comfortable. You feel on top of the world, when you fart and no one questions, you walk around naked yet there are no spying eyes on you. Of course while in your own house. When you poo in the loo and don't flash immediately because no one is getting in there, it your fucking house. You pay rent.
Most of your exes are happily married with kiddos and submissive wives. You wonder, what the fuck did you do to yourself! The guy you've been crushing on gave you the surprise of your life when you saw him clutched his arm against that of some lady you are jealous of right now. You say, karma is a bitch! How the fuck didn't he see my effort? Trying to seduce a man.
Remember Kevo, the guy at the movies who introduced you to Jaymo, after breaking up with Sam because he was too broke for life. So you move in with Jaymo only to find that he is even more broke than Sam. Karma bites again. This generation has been fucked up. Hell yeah!
Adultery and fornication is no longer a sin. It is fucking practiced on broad daylight. Who the fuck cares? It's the 21st Century. A time when everything has been turned upside down. I tire for this generation ooh (Nigerian accent).
You are fucking tired with life. You will survive the storm sweerie. All the efforts have gone unnoticed. Don't give a fuck on the biological clock. You no longer trust church, the preacher if the day looks familiar, a friend of yours showed you his photo as they were getting cozy, the day before Church day, religion has been fucked up in a way.
The government is corrupt, the health system is fucked up, education system too, people have become imbeciles, religion has been exaggerated, dowry and marriage has been overrated. I need a sabbatical break.
#Ends#
Tuesday 29 March 2016
LIFE AIN'T FAIR
I really do not know what's wrong with me.
Could it be because I never grew up in town or could it be because I was too timid to be me, to do me. Nancy, Nancy! Why are you this way? Even after going through campus, you didn't pick a thing or two about wearing makeup from your friends? Briefly, I am that kind of person who could take 50 selfies, scan through them and still lack one to out up as my WhatsApp profile photo. So I repeat the process twice and still nothing comes out. On one photo, I didn't smile properly, on another I showed too much teeth, and another my eyebrows looked way too bad, I never thread nor tweeze them. So they're like a poorly weeded flowerbed. But I swear I am not a perfectionist.
Now this is not a major problem because I can always find cute baby photos from the internet and put them as my profile picture. My troubles began way back in primary school, I was never that clever nor was I a book warmer. I used to fail math test like every other time. I remember my KCPE mathematics results was a 55%, and it was a C+. I was really overwhelmed. I remember a test where I scored a 38% and the person I followed had a 78%. Literally in the whole class, three streams, East, North and South, I was the last one. Mathematics to me has always been a nightmare, I hate it and I hate it that I let it sit on me and make me feel as if I have nothing in my brain. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself for not making it in this subject whereas I shone in other subjects such as Swahili and French.
I remember one time in high school, my maths teacher, Mrs. Mong'are told me that she is praying for me to excel as much as I did in Swahili. She even wondered, Nancy, who can you do so well in Swahili, write inshas everyday, good ones, yet the same brain cannot solve simple maths problems? I thought to myself, this teacher thinks maths is easy! Naah! She even asked me to really try hard and solve 10 sums everyday and take to her for correction. I did but guess what!
There was this yellow math book, Solving Problems, by C. Muturi. It had nice math problems, according to gurus. I only did the examples because I couldn't figure if out to even get to halfway on a real maths question. I had two books. One I used to scribble the sums whereas I used the other to cover the already solved maths problem. When I could get stuck, I'd peep to see how it goes, then cover again then peep until I finished. Sometimes I even scored a clean 12% in a math paper. There came a time I even no longer felt sorry for myself. I could say maybe I was bewitched or something. My high school math teacher even preserved a seat for me at the front, she thought as I sat behind maybe my eyesight had been interfered so sitting in front could save the day. But nothing.
Flash forward, I am going to town from Kikuyu, a matatu tout tells his passengers, wenye wako na coins tafadhali nisaidie, niko na shida no lose change. (Those who have lose money please help me, I have a problem with lose change). It's end month, I don't walk around with coins, at least for this first week. I am loaded and this morning when I got out of the house I didn't bother to check and see if I have lose hundred shilling note. I carried my cards and my purse full of a few thousand notes. I quickly tell the tout, boss manze, niko na thao, sina lose cash. (Hey boss, I have a thousand Bob and no lose money on me). He tells me, sawa madam maintain. (It's okay madam just wait). He does his rounds in the matatu and later comes back to me.
In his hand, I can see a five hundred note, and some two two hundred notes. Fare to town was around 60 Bob unless he had hiked it to 80 Bob. I was unsure. He asked, uko na fifty nikupee mbao? Do you have fify shillings so that I give you twenty shillings? I was so confused, I had given this chap 1000 Bob to remove either sixty or eighty whatever he could charge was not my problem at this time of the month, my only problem was, why is he again haunting me with something that has haunted me for the rest of my life. Math has always been a problem to me. Even the simplest of them all. I told him I don't have any other money. Because what I would do next would be an embarrassment. I was to go the the calculator app and start the math. A cute guy was seated next to me, so it could be a turn off if he knew that I couldn't do such a simple math on my brain without the help of my fingers and toes or even a calculator. 1000-60=940. If at least the fare was at least 100 Bob, a round figure, I knew my change could be 900. I am not that bad though.
A number of times I have been given change and thought that the seller has given me excess money. So in my little brain I say to myself, run, it's your day, only to find it is the exact amount or even it us lesser.
Now back to the main story, I am chocolate in complexion. I do not have any pimples on my face. One or two pops on my chin during those days, when I am menstruating. They are usually big and visible. More reason during those days I stay indoors. So my greatest things in life I have ever wanted to do is to walk around with a face covered in make-up. I couldn't want to fix the fake eyelashes, but just the ponds or face powder could be OK with me. I tried it once with my makeup artist and the result was awesome. I wrote a lengthy post on it on my blog with a title, MASHUJAA EDITION: MY HERO.
A number of times I have tried lipstick, one day I gathered courage and wore lipstick. So in the office, a colleague approached me and exclaimed; Nancy of all the people today you've applied lipstick... For a moment I was unsure, did I apply it the wrong way? Was the color too bright? I was confused and immediately took a serviette and cleared the lipstick from my lips. Then I thought to myself, this thing is not meant for me. I looked how I was dressed and acknowledged that that look was way too high for me. All I needed was Vaseline, I didn't even need face powder because makeup makes me look like another person. Maybe I bought cheap makeup, fake makeup that makes me look like an alien. Maybe I should try Black Opal or a Maybelline lipstick. I heard a real Black Opal goes for sh4000. I rest my case. Some people may not find me beautiful, but I swear I am not ugly, I am just broke.
#Ends#
Could it be because I never grew up in town or could it be because I was too timid to be me, to do me. Nancy, Nancy! Why are you this way? Even after going through campus, you didn't pick a thing or two about wearing makeup from your friends? Briefly, I am that kind of person who could take 50 selfies, scan through them and still lack one to out up as my WhatsApp profile photo. So I repeat the process twice and still nothing comes out. On one photo, I didn't smile properly, on another I showed too much teeth, and another my eyebrows looked way too bad, I never thread nor tweeze them. So they're like a poorly weeded flowerbed. But I swear I am not a perfectionist.
Now this is not a major problem because I can always find cute baby photos from the internet and put them as my profile picture. My troubles began way back in primary school, I was never that clever nor was I a book warmer. I used to fail math test like every other time. I remember my KCPE mathematics results was a 55%, and it was a C+. I was really overwhelmed. I remember a test where I scored a 38% and the person I followed had a 78%. Literally in the whole class, three streams, East, North and South, I was the last one. Mathematics to me has always been a nightmare, I hate it and I hate it that I let it sit on me and make me feel as if I have nothing in my brain. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself for not making it in this subject whereas I shone in other subjects such as Swahili and French.
I remember one time in high school, my maths teacher, Mrs. Mong'are told me that she is praying for me to excel as much as I did in Swahili. She even wondered, Nancy, who can you do so well in Swahili, write inshas everyday, good ones, yet the same brain cannot solve simple maths problems? I thought to myself, this teacher thinks maths is easy! Naah! She even asked me to really try hard and solve 10 sums everyday and take to her for correction. I did but guess what!
There was this yellow math book, Solving Problems, by C. Muturi. It had nice math problems, according to gurus. I only did the examples because I couldn't figure if out to even get to halfway on a real maths question. I had two books. One I used to scribble the sums whereas I used the other to cover the already solved maths problem. When I could get stuck, I'd peep to see how it goes, then cover again then peep until I finished. Sometimes I even scored a clean 12% in a math paper. There came a time I even no longer felt sorry for myself. I could say maybe I was bewitched or something. My high school math teacher even preserved a seat for me at the front, she thought as I sat behind maybe my eyesight had been interfered so sitting in front could save the day. But nothing.
Flash forward, I am going to town from Kikuyu, a matatu tout tells his passengers, wenye wako na coins tafadhali nisaidie, niko na shida no lose change. (Those who have lose money please help me, I have a problem with lose change). It's end month, I don't walk around with coins, at least for this first week. I am loaded and this morning when I got out of the house I didn't bother to check and see if I have lose hundred shilling note. I carried my cards and my purse full of a few thousand notes. I quickly tell the tout, boss manze, niko na thao, sina lose cash. (Hey boss, I have a thousand Bob and no lose money on me). He tells me, sawa madam maintain. (It's okay madam just wait). He does his rounds in the matatu and later comes back to me.
In his hand, I can see a five hundred note, and some two two hundred notes. Fare to town was around 60 Bob unless he had hiked it to 80 Bob. I was unsure. He asked, uko na fifty nikupee mbao? Do you have fify shillings so that I give you twenty shillings? I was so confused, I had given this chap 1000 Bob to remove either sixty or eighty whatever he could charge was not my problem at this time of the month, my only problem was, why is he again haunting me with something that has haunted me for the rest of my life. Math has always been a problem to me. Even the simplest of them all. I told him I don't have any other money. Because what I would do next would be an embarrassment. I was to go the the calculator app and start the math. A cute guy was seated next to me, so it could be a turn off if he knew that I couldn't do such a simple math on my brain without the help of my fingers and toes or even a calculator. 1000-60=940. If at least the fare was at least 100 Bob, a round figure, I knew my change could be 900. I am not that bad though.
A number of times I have been given change and thought that the seller has given me excess money. So in my little brain I say to myself, run, it's your day, only to find it is the exact amount or even it us lesser.
Now back to the main story, I am chocolate in complexion. I do not have any pimples on my face. One or two pops on my chin during those days, when I am menstruating. They are usually big and visible. More reason during those days I stay indoors. So my greatest things in life I have ever wanted to do is to walk around with a face covered in make-up. I couldn't want to fix the fake eyelashes, but just the ponds or face powder could be OK with me. I tried it once with my makeup artist and the result was awesome. I wrote a lengthy post on it on my blog with a title, MASHUJAA EDITION: MY HERO.
A number of times I have tried lipstick, one day I gathered courage and wore lipstick. So in the office, a colleague approached me and exclaimed; Nancy of all the people today you've applied lipstick... For a moment I was unsure, did I apply it the wrong way? Was the color too bright? I was confused and immediately took a serviette and cleared the lipstick from my lips. Then I thought to myself, this thing is not meant for me. I looked how I was dressed and acknowledged that that look was way too high for me. All I needed was Vaseline, I didn't even need face powder because makeup makes me look like another person. Maybe I bought cheap makeup, fake makeup that makes me look like an alien. Maybe I should try Black Opal or a Maybelline lipstick. I heard a real Black Opal goes for sh4000. I rest my case. Some people may not find me beautiful, but I swear I am not ugly, I am just broke.
#Ends#
Tuesday 15 March 2016
A MAN'S MID-LIFE CRISIS
Being a man is tough. Being a man has no choice, if you are a man, then you have to be a man. Being a man comes with responsibilities. A man is supposed to be a breadwinner. A man ought to provide everything and anything that a wife or a baby needs. Whether you have the means or not. Being a man involves sweating, grinding teeth, sacrificing your most basic needs for someone. Being a man is not a calling. You are either a man or a woman. Being a man is not a joke, laughing and smiling comes only once, maybe when you have fulfilled your duties or when out in a pub watching Arsenal lock down horns with the Great Manchester United.
But hey, here is a dude, in his mid 20s, say 23. He is struggling to fit in. He just cleared his Bachelor of Arts from the university, a year down the line, he hasn't been lucky to get a job. Job application after another, sending resume every time an opportunity chances. He has never got any call or even an acknowledgement email to say that his CV has been received. His B.A in Journalism is nothing in the market. All journalistic positions have been filled in by other graduates from the Engineering field or even Law School.
In a time where college fees shoots up to half a million, for two and half years, covering at least 48 units and studying for six days a week, at least three hours each unit, with take away cats, group work and other unnecessary course work, one is expected to get a job immediately after graduation, or better, while still in year three or four.
When a man has clocked 25, a lot is expected from him, starting from himself, from the society, the parents, friends, and everyone. At least you should be having a good job, you should have accomplished something and have something to your name. I am talking of those fast learners who by maybe 16 they were out of secondary school. Lacking something most crucial as money can be a blow to almost everything you want to do. You cannot dress up properly to attract a girl, you cannot eat in a high end restaurant let alone the average Pal's restaurant, you cannot rent a proper apartment in say Pangani Estate, you cannot date, you are broke. You think you are too ugly to date a woman, No, you are not ugly, you are simply broke.
Desperate times calls for desperate actions. As you log onto your Facebook account, it's been long, a whole two weeks! So you are expecting that some friend of yours inboxed you while you were away, maybe some pending friend requests, or even someone might have tagged a photo of you or even liked your photo or commented on your status. To your shock, none has done so, so heartbreaking. And the way you were so sure there is some activity on your timeline. Haiya! Haidhuru!
As you scroll down and read some posts, you come across a post seeking individuals for some online job, it says that you can earn 7,000sh to 15,000sh a week. You say, oh my goodness, why can't I give this a shot? Even the person that posted the advert says he is reachable via WhatsApp or SMS. And clearly you didn't have airtime, you can use the sms service. Let's go.
Peter: Hi, my name is Peter Omba, I have seen you advert on Facebook concerning an online job. It is not clear because it has no job description. Would you please clarify. I am interested to work for you. Thank you.
After a short while a long message comes, it reads;
Congratulations! You have been shortlisted for our ONLINE Work Opportunities for People with Basic Computer Skills to Earn Ksh 7,000 - 15, 000 WEEKLY. I therefore give you an appointment to Attend a 2hours Seminar Wednesday 16/03/2016 @11:00AM at our Head Office and learn how you are going to work with us online.We are located at Commerce House 4th Floor Next to Kenya Cinema, Moi Avenue.
REQUIREMENTS
-Note Book & Pen
-Ksh 200 Seminar Fee.
-Your National ID
-Casual smart dress code. Please Confirm Attendance now by telling me if you will come so that I Reserve Your Seat By (name withheld).
As you scroll further, you meet random posts from your friends in Facebook, one reads, I remember the days I prayed for what I have now. This post gives you some hope and courage that even you one day you shall remember the days you prayed for your needs. Scrolling further is another post which reads, accept and move on, the post is a long one but the content is about a brother who has been dumped by her long-term girlfriend. He didn't see it coming. You console yourself that in this boat of tough life you are not alone.
Your friends are well off by now, most of them, some have kids, some are working, they have real jobs, some graduated and after missing out on job opportunities they became auctioneers and are having the time of their lives. Business of selling second hand goods is booming. The girl you tuned in first year is now very far, far away, she got a green card and is now grazing the American pastures. The ugly girl in class, the one boys didn't bother with is now a proud CEO of her own company.
Sites such as job web, Kenya moja, brighter Monday, career point, are filling your email with spam messages. You no longer have faith in these sites anymore, how come out of all the 1,999 jobs you have applied, how come I haven't been interviewed even for a single post, even the least job I applied as a cleaner! Life is not fair at all, at all.
It is 4 pm, in your pocket is 40sh, you do not want to mess up since you may miss the 4.30 PM train to Dandora, if you miss it, you have to look for another 40sh to take a matatu to Dandora or wait until 10 pm.
Life is just a dream. Row row row your boat. Gently down the stream, merrily merrily merrily, life is just a dream. Wake up!!!
But hey, here is a dude, in his mid 20s, say 23. He is struggling to fit in. He just cleared his Bachelor of Arts from the university, a year down the line, he hasn't been lucky to get a job. Job application after another, sending resume every time an opportunity chances. He has never got any call or even an acknowledgement email to say that his CV has been received. His B.A in Journalism is nothing in the market. All journalistic positions have been filled in by other graduates from the Engineering field or even Law School.
In a time where college fees shoots up to half a million, for two and half years, covering at least 48 units and studying for six days a week, at least three hours each unit, with take away cats, group work and other unnecessary course work, one is expected to get a job immediately after graduation, or better, while still in year three or four.
When a man has clocked 25, a lot is expected from him, starting from himself, from the society, the parents, friends, and everyone. At least you should be having a good job, you should have accomplished something and have something to your name. I am talking of those fast learners who by maybe 16 they were out of secondary school. Lacking something most crucial as money can be a blow to almost everything you want to do. You cannot dress up properly to attract a girl, you cannot eat in a high end restaurant let alone the average Pal's restaurant, you cannot rent a proper apartment in say Pangani Estate, you cannot date, you are broke. You think you are too ugly to date a woman, No, you are not ugly, you are simply broke.
Desperate times calls for desperate actions. As you log onto your Facebook account, it's been long, a whole two weeks! So you are expecting that some friend of yours inboxed you while you were away, maybe some pending friend requests, or even someone might have tagged a photo of you or even liked your photo or commented on your status. To your shock, none has done so, so heartbreaking. And the way you were so sure there is some activity on your timeline. Haiya! Haidhuru!
As you scroll down and read some posts, you come across a post seeking individuals for some online job, it says that you can earn 7,000sh to 15,000sh a week. You say, oh my goodness, why can't I give this a shot? Even the person that posted the advert says he is reachable via WhatsApp or SMS. And clearly you didn't have airtime, you can use the sms service. Let's go.
Peter: Hi, my name is Peter Omba, I have seen you advert on Facebook concerning an online job. It is not clear because it has no job description. Would you please clarify. I am interested to work for you. Thank you.
After a short while a long message comes, it reads;
Congratulations! You have been shortlisted for our ONLINE Work Opportunities for People with Basic Computer Skills to Earn Ksh 7,000 - 15, 000 WEEKLY. I therefore give you an appointment to Attend a 2hours Seminar Wednesday 16/03/2016 @11:00AM at our Head Office and learn how you are going to work with us online.We are located at Commerce House 4th Floor Next to Kenya Cinema, Moi Avenue.
REQUIREMENTS
-Note Book & Pen
-Ksh 200 Seminar Fee.
-Your National ID
-Casual smart dress code. Please Confirm Attendance now by telling me if you will come so that I Reserve Your Seat By (name withheld).
As you scroll further, you meet random posts from your friends in Facebook, one reads, I remember the days I prayed for what I have now. This post gives you some hope and courage that even you one day you shall remember the days you prayed for your needs. Scrolling further is another post which reads, accept and move on, the post is a long one but the content is about a brother who has been dumped by her long-term girlfriend. He didn't see it coming. You console yourself that in this boat of tough life you are not alone.
Your friends are well off by now, most of them, some have kids, some are working, they have real jobs, some graduated and after missing out on job opportunities they became auctioneers and are having the time of their lives. Business of selling second hand goods is booming. The girl you tuned in first year is now very far, far away, she got a green card and is now grazing the American pastures. The ugly girl in class, the one boys didn't bother with is now a proud CEO of her own company.
Sites such as job web, Kenya moja, brighter Monday, career point, are filling your email with spam messages. You no longer have faith in these sites anymore, how come out of all the 1,999 jobs you have applied, how come I haven't been interviewed even for a single post, even the least job I applied as a cleaner! Life is not fair at all, at all.
It is 4 pm, in your pocket is 40sh, you do not want to mess up since you may miss the 4.30 PM train to Dandora, if you miss it, you have to look for another 40sh to take a matatu to Dandora or wait until 10 pm.
Life is just a dream. Row row row your boat. Gently down the stream, merrily merrily merrily, life is just a dream. Wake up!!!
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