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!!!
Thursday 10 March 2016
WHATSAPP GOSSIPING
Don't I just love WhatsApp groups? There are those days you really feel so down and you need something to cheer you up. Look no further. The group, is consisted of ladies above the age of 20, with a little in their 40s. We don't really know each other because we have not met. Maybe one or two know each other. Now here is the fun of it. You can talk about everything and anything without feeling judged. Who knows me either? I don't have a profile pic, or even better my profile picture is some downloaded image from a certain soap opera. We have been texting for weeks now and feel that we have the green light to speak on any subject matter.
We assume that we know each other and voila, we start talking about sex. Who doesn't love sex? Everybody is having sex. So we start being real, some say they are married, some are single, some do not really know their status because the guys are playing games.
One posted; I really want to improve my sex life, it's so boring, I would like to bring something new in the bedroom, any positive advice is highly welcome, wrote Chebet*.
Another said, Khai mine too is too tired to perform, everyday, he comes home tired and I don't want to suspect that he is having an affair outside our marriage.
A third one said; Hehehe, my hubby is a pastor but ikifika bedroom, anaacha upastor kando, kwani what's sex for, it's a gift from God, so? Said She. (My hubby is a pastor but when it comes to bedroom matters, he puts his calling aside).
From the blues after 10 minutes of silence, Chemu says she is in a dry spell, for quite sometime now.
I am following the conversation keenly, of course I am not spilling all my beans today. I want to act like my Union is perfect for today, just today only, because I don't have a concern on today's topic, I am just spectating.
I have been faithful to my dildo for the past two years since I parted ways with my baby daddy, said a confident Lisa.
Immediately, someone asked, dildo ni nini? What is a dildo? I laughed. Some people really need to befriend this one friend, Google. I never ask questions anyhow, I must pass through Google for clarity of some issues. I don't want to look old whereas I am only in my 20s. Google can make a pro out of you.
Lisa answered the lost member that a dildo is simply a sex toy. A sex toy is used to pleasure someone sexually. Before then I thought dildos are meant for old women or people who are single and don't intend to enter into a relationship or any kind of commitment.
Lisa confessed that her 'man' has been there for her every time she wanted him, every time she needed to be on cloud nine. Lisa even shared photos of her 'man'. She added that dildos come in different shapes and colors. They are made of rubber and silicon.
I seriously need to have one right now, this cold is killing me, I just messed up my relationship and now I am in deep shit, lamented Avery.
Comments of interest toward acquiring a dildo spilled in. Ladies wanted to know how it works, where they can find them, and if it had negative effects.
Lisa, the enlightened one here, offered to educate ladies in the group how to use it and even sent a video. Steamy, right? Even vibrators comes in handy.
I, being the administrator, urged ladies who are staying with men in their houses, not to use sex toys in their absence because they could have replaced the role of the man in that relationship.
Typing
Typing
Typing
Typing
This is how the group's chat is active.
I use a sex toy but for foreplay purpose and my husband loves it that way, said Bibi.
I muted for sometime. Let the crème de la crème speak their expertise.
Bibi is the only member apart from the pro, Lisa, who came out clean saying she uses it sex toys. By 11 PM people were still logged in and beating their chests and convincing each other to buy sex toys.
The modern age woman is so sharp, she has a job, let's say a well paying job, she pays her rent, drives her Vitz, buys her drinks, pursuing her Masters, she doesn't have a kid yet, she needs sexual pleasure, but she doesn't want to commit to a relationship, men are so naggy to her, she doesn't have time for them, she thinks they are all losers, with a dildo she's sorted, what do I need a man for???
We assume that we know each other and voila, we start talking about sex. Who doesn't love sex? Everybody is having sex. So we start being real, some say they are married, some are single, some do not really know their status because the guys are playing games.
One posted; I really want to improve my sex life, it's so boring, I would like to bring something new in the bedroom, any positive advice is highly welcome, wrote Chebet*.
Another said, Khai mine too is too tired to perform, everyday, he comes home tired and I don't want to suspect that he is having an affair outside our marriage.
A third one said; Hehehe, my hubby is a pastor but ikifika bedroom, anaacha upastor kando, kwani what's sex for, it's a gift from God, so? Said She. (My hubby is a pastor but when it comes to bedroom matters, he puts his calling aside).
From the blues after 10 minutes of silence, Chemu says she is in a dry spell, for quite sometime now.
I am following the conversation keenly, of course I am not spilling all my beans today. I want to act like my Union is perfect for today, just today only, because I don't have a concern on today's topic, I am just spectating.
I have been faithful to my dildo for the past two years since I parted ways with my baby daddy, said a confident Lisa.
Immediately, someone asked, dildo ni nini? What is a dildo? I laughed. Some people really need to befriend this one friend, Google. I never ask questions anyhow, I must pass through Google for clarity of some issues. I don't want to look old whereas I am only in my 20s. Google can make a pro out of you.
Lisa answered the lost member that a dildo is simply a sex toy. A sex toy is used to pleasure someone sexually. Before then I thought dildos are meant for old women or people who are single and don't intend to enter into a relationship or any kind of commitment.
Lisa confessed that her 'man' has been there for her every time she wanted him, every time she needed to be on cloud nine. Lisa even shared photos of her 'man'. She added that dildos come in different shapes and colors. They are made of rubber and silicon.
I seriously need to have one right now, this cold is killing me, I just messed up my relationship and now I am in deep shit, lamented Avery.
Comments of interest toward acquiring a dildo spilled in. Ladies wanted to know how it works, where they can find them, and if it had negative effects.
Lisa, the enlightened one here, offered to educate ladies in the group how to use it and even sent a video. Steamy, right? Even vibrators comes in handy.
I, being the administrator, urged ladies who are staying with men in their houses, not to use sex toys in their absence because they could have replaced the role of the man in that relationship.
Typing
Typing
Typing
Typing
This is how the group's chat is active.
I use a sex toy but for foreplay purpose and my husband loves it that way, said Bibi.
I muted for sometime. Let the crème de la crème speak their expertise.
Bibi is the only member apart from the pro, Lisa, who came out clean saying she uses it sex toys. By 11 PM people were still logged in and beating their chests and convincing each other to buy sex toys.
The modern age woman is so sharp, she has a job, let's say a well paying job, she pays her rent, drives her Vitz, buys her drinks, pursuing her Masters, she doesn't have a kid yet, she needs sexual pleasure, but she doesn't want to commit to a relationship, men are so naggy to her, she doesn't have time for them, she thinks they are all losers, with a dildo she's sorted, what do I need a man for???
PARENTING HURDLES
I am longing for a united nation. Seems like a cliché there. Long ago, our parents were very conservative, marriage was a thing that was paid attention to so closely and keenly. Virginity was valued. Chastity was practiced. Bride price aka dowry was negotiated according to the virtues of the girl. Cases of extra marital affairs were so minimal. Birth control methods were a thing of Western nations. They even didn't hear anything about it. I am speaking of pre and post independence babies. Discipline was a communal thing. If someone's child was caught messing, in the absence of their parents, one would be dealt with by neighbors, even passers by. I tend to believe most women the age of my mum and aunties were married while still intact.
Nowadays virgins are as rare as gemstones. We give in too fast. Single mums are on the rise. We have a wide variety of contraceptives to choose from, from implants, to jadella to pills, name them. Sex has lost its meaning. I wonder why weddings? I thought a wedding is holy. No one should have seen the nakedness of another. But hey, I am not questioning, it is the 21st century. They say you must take a car for a test drive, just to be sure of its functionality. No one is willing to talk things out. Today I break up with someone tomorrow I am in a relationship and flaunting it. Abortions are on the rise. Teenage pregnancy is now on fire. Men are leaving naive girls pregnant. They never get to see even the face of the baby, let alone knowing the gender. Things are upside down. Who pricked planet Earth? Parents upcountry are not tilling the farm because they are taking care of a grandchild who came way too early when they thought their only daughter was due to graduate, only to find out she dropped out of campus to take care of the pregnancy. Why would a parent work so hard, incur debts only to be disappointed at the end? Where is SexEd? Is it in the curriculum or one figures it by their own? Maybe they should Google that too?
Flash forward, today's parenting has completely changed. If my grandma, Robina Kwamboka, may her soul rest in peace, wakes up from her peaceful sleep, she will wonder what the world has turned into. She died peacefully without even owning a cell phone. Nowadays, kids are given access to almost everything, thanks to the accessible internet and Google. Parents no longer have time for their children. Weekends are meant for chamas and get together. We have left nannies in charge of everything, they take care of our babies, feed them, nappy them, put them to sleep, we hardly find time for them. What a pity! Are you even sure that your baby is being fed the right amount of food? Is the baby having enough sleep? Maybe all the food goes into the bin.
Worse still when nannies have taken a French leave, we drop our babies at daycare. The baby will spend the whole day with that mama. Daycare is a business, there are lots of kids checking in from time to time depending on the parent's schedule. Any mum or dad reading this post, please feed your child properly, even if it means waking up earlier than the usual time. Your baby is yours, not your pastor's, not your maid's, neither your mother in law. Please take that responsibility. At Daycare, I am talking about a normal daycare, an average one, where you pay shs 100 when you've accompanied the baby with food, or shs 150 when the baby will eat there. Those babies are subjected to 'torture' while eating. You see a normal baby loves to take their time while eating, at daycare it's a Marathon, spoon after spoon, sometimes they vomit all the food. And as soon as they vomit, even if the baby had managed to eat only four spoons, it's a wrap for mama daycare.
These children at daycare I learnt that most of them, 6/13, are taken care by one parent, mother. Basically daycare should be the last option, it seems cheap but the repercussion of it is harmful. Depending on the structure of the house, mostly the houses are not quite big to hold at least 15 children. They are put in one room and if one has flu, all of them are subjected to it. Poor babies. Some parents even don't treat their young ones of flu because they say it's needless as the baby will get it again from another child. Good Lord.
Potties are arranged in front of the toilet door. So the older kids can use them from time to time when they want to. Mama Daycare is in the kitchen, busy warming some food for younger babies, so babies are unsupervised, one baby goes to the potty, it has urine, she starts to wash her hands and face with urine. You see babies' skin is too sensitive, urine consists of urea and other components, it can pose serious itchiness and damage to the skin, my say.
Why did our parents insist so much on same tribe marriages? Did they see something amiss? For example a Luo has married a Luhya girl, all these tribes trace their roots in Western part of Kenya. The couple has been blessed with a child. Traditionally, if a child is born, s/he is supposed to be given traditional medicine or charms to protect one from evil eyes. And also on the other side Luhya they do so in a completely different way from the Luo. One is left wondering what is best for the child. I am no believer of traditional things, charms and the rest, I believe that God is above all things, living and non living.
Tribalism will not be ended by a Kikuyu marrying a Kisii, tribalism will end when we will all believe that we have one God who by all ways is fighting for each one of us. Marrying a Kikuyu and still doing things traditionally i.e clinging to beliefs such as circumcising girls with a mind that it helps them to delay getting married is evil and barbaric. Tribalism will not end by us electing a President from a marginalized community. Oh no! I am afraid to say so. That is when a common goal for unity will be achieved.
My take. XOXO
Nowadays virgins are as rare as gemstones. We give in too fast. Single mums are on the rise. We have a wide variety of contraceptives to choose from, from implants, to jadella to pills, name them. Sex has lost its meaning. I wonder why weddings? I thought a wedding is holy. No one should have seen the nakedness of another. But hey, I am not questioning, it is the 21st century. They say you must take a car for a test drive, just to be sure of its functionality. No one is willing to talk things out. Today I break up with someone tomorrow I am in a relationship and flaunting it. Abortions are on the rise. Teenage pregnancy is now on fire. Men are leaving naive girls pregnant. They never get to see even the face of the baby, let alone knowing the gender. Things are upside down. Who pricked planet Earth? Parents upcountry are not tilling the farm because they are taking care of a grandchild who came way too early when they thought their only daughter was due to graduate, only to find out she dropped out of campus to take care of the pregnancy. Why would a parent work so hard, incur debts only to be disappointed at the end? Where is SexEd? Is it in the curriculum or one figures it by their own? Maybe they should Google that too?
Flash forward, today's parenting has completely changed. If my grandma, Robina Kwamboka, may her soul rest in peace, wakes up from her peaceful sleep, she will wonder what the world has turned into. She died peacefully without even owning a cell phone. Nowadays, kids are given access to almost everything, thanks to the accessible internet and Google. Parents no longer have time for their children. Weekends are meant for chamas and get together. We have left nannies in charge of everything, they take care of our babies, feed them, nappy them, put them to sleep, we hardly find time for them. What a pity! Are you even sure that your baby is being fed the right amount of food? Is the baby having enough sleep? Maybe all the food goes into the bin.
Worse still when nannies have taken a French leave, we drop our babies at daycare. The baby will spend the whole day with that mama. Daycare is a business, there are lots of kids checking in from time to time depending on the parent's schedule. Any mum or dad reading this post, please feed your child properly, even if it means waking up earlier than the usual time. Your baby is yours, not your pastor's, not your maid's, neither your mother in law. Please take that responsibility. At Daycare, I am talking about a normal daycare, an average one, where you pay shs 100 when you've accompanied the baby with food, or shs 150 when the baby will eat there. Those babies are subjected to 'torture' while eating. You see a normal baby loves to take their time while eating, at daycare it's a Marathon, spoon after spoon, sometimes they vomit all the food. And as soon as they vomit, even if the baby had managed to eat only four spoons, it's a wrap for mama daycare.
These children at daycare I learnt that most of them, 6/13, are taken care by one parent, mother. Basically daycare should be the last option, it seems cheap but the repercussion of it is harmful. Depending on the structure of the house, mostly the houses are not quite big to hold at least 15 children. They are put in one room and if one has flu, all of them are subjected to it. Poor babies. Some parents even don't treat their young ones of flu because they say it's needless as the baby will get it again from another child. Good Lord.
Potties are arranged in front of the toilet door. So the older kids can use them from time to time when they want to. Mama Daycare is in the kitchen, busy warming some food for younger babies, so babies are unsupervised, one baby goes to the potty, it has urine, she starts to wash her hands and face with urine. You see babies' skin is too sensitive, urine consists of urea and other components, it can pose serious itchiness and damage to the skin, my say.
Why did our parents insist so much on same tribe marriages? Did they see something amiss? For example a Luo has married a Luhya girl, all these tribes trace their roots in Western part of Kenya. The couple has been blessed with a child. Traditionally, if a child is born, s/he is supposed to be given traditional medicine or charms to protect one from evil eyes. And also on the other side Luhya they do so in a completely different way from the Luo. One is left wondering what is best for the child. I am no believer of traditional things, charms and the rest, I believe that God is above all things, living and non living.
Tribalism will not be ended by a Kikuyu marrying a Kisii, tribalism will end when we will all believe that we have one God who by all ways is fighting for each one of us. Marrying a Kikuyu and still doing things traditionally i.e clinging to beliefs such as circumcising girls with a mind that it helps them to delay getting married is evil and barbaric. Tribalism will not end by us electing a President from a marginalized community. Oh no! I am afraid to say so. That is when a common goal for unity will be achieved.
My take. XOXO
Tuesday 8 March 2016
MUSINGS OF A 30 YEAR OLD LADY
90s babies are slowly becoming mothers. I mean some born as early as 1995 are now mothers either by choice or by default. I am a 90s baby and already my munchkin has turned a year old. I threw a worthwhile party for her and I was happy. At least I know what it feels for such a milestone.
There is this cocoon of babies born in the early 80s, some are in their early thirties, some are turning 30 this year. Some have lost count of their years and have now started it at 26, again. As a lady you do not want to turn 30 when two things have not happened in your life, a well-paying job and a man, or a baby. At 23 you are praying at least Good Lord don't let me turn 25 without a job, Lord give me a man who will give me a dream wedding before I clock 29, Lord at least by 30 give me a baby, my biological clock is ticking, and my face is no longer glittering like a 18 year old, you know how many layers of make-up I apply just not to look my age, I am concealing a lot of wrinkles under make-up. I fake a smile every now and then just to brush off my sorrows. Before 30 prayers like, Lord give me a God fearing man, one who my parents will give a go ahead to marry me, give me a financially stable man, he should have a good physique and good looking.
Jacky* is 30+ years, rumor has it that since her hubby engaged her, they have been trying for a baby for some time now but for two plus years their efforts have bore fruits. Jacky has a friend, she is Maureen*. Maureen is a good close friend to Jacky since their heydays in campus. Maureen even helped Jacky secure a job in the same company. Things friends can do for each other.
Soon Jacky gets pregnant. Flash forward, Maureen creates a WhatsApp group for Jacky's baby shower. Friends and fellow office workers are invited for the surprise baby shower. Thanks to today's calibre of women, we just want to do things the Western way. I shall throw a gender reveal party for my second born, if God isn't done with me yet (giggles).
Luckily Jacky gives birth to her baby boy via a caesarean section and it's all joy to everyone that was waiting for the baby.
Maureen's problem isn't men, she has friends, even she is a friend to her ex-boyfriend. Fishy, right? Her ex's wife sends photos of their baby to Maureen. And she acknowledges. Who does that? I wouldn't want any connections with my ex moreso when he has already moved on, and wait a minute, when he's happily married with a kid. Maureen's problem is that she doesn't want to give birth, simply because she thinks her punani is going to be too big thus making her husband seek services elsewhere. She also says she has a friend whose punani never went back to its original shape and size and it has really taken a toll in her marriage. She adds that she will never have a vaginal birth, she rather goes the Cesarean way. That's Maureen.
Maureen turned 30 last year. All along she has been saying that since she hasn't clocked 30, she still has time. Menopause is calling from a distance. When you are 30 and haven't figured out things, it takes at most three years to date before you settle down. For her she wants a wedding, her boobs are saggy, her belly pouch is hanging, she is so bitter with life, her face tells it all, her legs cannot support her on wedges shoes, leave alone heels, her fashion sense is so gloomy, she is stressed up, her friends are doing so well, some invite her to gatherings and occasions. Did I forget to tell you that her parents are well respected people in the village? She is doing it for them, she does not want to let them down.
Her WhatsApp status know Jesus more than ever, full on inspirational quotes, Lord I am waiting upon you, Jesus wept, No weapon formed against me shall prosper, God give me faith to be a victory. She has joined almost all prayer cells, has set an alarm to wake her up at 3 am, if you pray at 3 am, it is the most powerful time to pray, your prayers will be readily answered, don't ask me how I know this.
Sometimes I stop and think; why is she so desperate? Why haven't men seen the good wife in her? She has it all, by the way she has a Masters, could it be the reason she's not finding a suitor? Did she waste her whole time in campus in Christian Union group? Is she arrogant and selfish? Or his kind of guy has not crossed her path? Or she has a condition in her private part and she hasn't spoken out? Is her bride price outrageous?
The more something stays in the market, say a cloth, the more it depreciates in value, due to the harsh conditions, it's value goes down. A nice cloth attracts the buyer's eyes, say one buyer is attracted to it, comes fits, finds that it is big, it's waist needs some adjustment, another buyer comes and the other, at the end of the day, the dust and the sun exposure makes the garment more blurry, if the first buyer comes back to see the garment, boy oh boy, it is so bad. The buyer even doesn't know why he got attracted to the garment in the first place.
Same to the 30+ year old. You are not appreciating in value any longer. There is no need to hang in there. Being single is lonely, it is good, you have the freedom in your two bedroom house, but the loneliness is hell. You can fart at the slightest opportunity, walk around the house with only the under garment and still no one would question you. Your neighbors are your worst enemies, they have loudy kids who even come and knock at your door, you hate it, why would a grown ass woman let her kids bang my door so loudly! But hey, kids are kids, let them be, you will understand it when you will finally cross the line and land on the other side called motherhood Lane. Here things are lively and lovely. Loneliness is a word of the past.
Happy Women's day.
There is this cocoon of babies born in the early 80s, some are in their early thirties, some are turning 30 this year. Some have lost count of their years and have now started it at 26, again. As a lady you do not want to turn 30 when two things have not happened in your life, a well-paying job and a man, or a baby. At 23 you are praying at least Good Lord don't let me turn 25 without a job, Lord give me a man who will give me a dream wedding before I clock 29, Lord at least by 30 give me a baby, my biological clock is ticking, and my face is no longer glittering like a 18 year old, you know how many layers of make-up I apply just not to look my age, I am concealing a lot of wrinkles under make-up. I fake a smile every now and then just to brush off my sorrows. Before 30 prayers like, Lord give me a God fearing man, one who my parents will give a go ahead to marry me, give me a financially stable man, he should have a good physique and good looking.
Jacky* is 30+ years, rumor has it that since her hubby engaged her, they have been trying for a baby for some time now but for two plus years their efforts have bore fruits. Jacky has a friend, she is Maureen*. Maureen is a good close friend to Jacky since their heydays in campus. Maureen even helped Jacky secure a job in the same company. Things friends can do for each other.
Soon Jacky gets pregnant. Flash forward, Maureen creates a WhatsApp group for Jacky's baby shower. Friends and fellow office workers are invited for the surprise baby shower. Thanks to today's calibre of women, we just want to do things the Western way. I shall throw a gender reveal party for my second born, if God isn't done with me yet (giggles).
Luckily Jacky gives birth to her baby boy via a caesarean section and it's all joy to everyone that was waiting for the baby.
Maureen's problem isn't men, she has friends, even she is a friend to her ex-boyfriend. Fishy, right? Her ex's wife sends photos of their baby to Maureen. And she acknowledges. Who does that? I wouldn't want any connections with my ex moreso when he has already moved on, and wait a minute, when he's happily married with a kid. Maureen's problem is that she doesn't want to give birth, simply because she thinks her punani is going to be too big thus making her husband seek services elsewhere. She also says she has a friend whose punani never went back to its original shape and size and it has really taken a toll in her marriage. She adds that she will never have a vaginal birth, she rather goes the Cesarean way. That's Maureen.
Maureen turned 30 last year. All along she has been saying that since she hasn't clocked 30, she still has time. Menopause is calling from a distance. When you are 30 and haven't figured out things, it takes at most three years to date before you settle down. For her she wants a wedding, her boobs are saggy, her belly pouch is hanging, she is so bitter with life, her face tells it all, her legs cannot support her on wedges shoes, leave alone heels, her fashion sense is so gloomy, she is stressed up, her friends are doing so well, some invite her to gatherings and occasions. Did I forget to tell you that her parents are well respected people in the village? She is doing it for them, she does not want to let them down.
Her WhatsApp status know Jesus more than ever, full on inspirational quotes, Lord I am waiting upon you, Jesus wept, No weapon formed against me shall prosper, God give me faith to be a victory. She has joined almost all prayer cells, has set an alarm to wake her up at 3 am, if you pray at 3 am, it is the most powerful time to pray, your prayers will be readily answered, don't ask me how I know this.
Sometimes I stop and think; why is she so desperate? Why haven't men seen the good wife in her? She has it all, by the way she has a Masters, could it be the reason she's not finding a suitor? Did she waste her whole time in campus in Christian Union group? Is she arrogant and selfish? Or his kind of guy has not crossed her path? Or she has a condition in her private part and she hasn't spoken out? Is her bride price outrageous?
The more something stays in the market, say a cloth, the more it depreciates in value, due to the harsh conditions, it's value goes down. A nice cloth attracts the buyer's eyes, say one buyer is attracted to it, comes fits, finds that it is big, it's waist needs some adjustment, another buyer comes and the other, at the end of the day, the dust and the sun exposure makes the garment more blurry, if the first buyer comes back to see the garment, boy oh boy, it is so bad. The buyer even doesn't know why he got attracted to the garment in the first place.
Same to the 30+ year old. You are not appreciating in value any longer. There is no need to hang in there. Being single is lonely, it is good, you have the freedom in your two bedroom house, but the loneliness is hell. You can fart at the slightest opportunity, walk around the house with only the under garment and still no one would question you. Your neighbors are your worst enemies, they have loudy kids who even come and knock at your door, you hate it, why would a grown ass woman let her kids bang my door so loudly! But hey, kids are kids, let them be, you will understand it when you will finally cross the line and land on the other side called motherhood Lane. Here things are lively and lovely. Loneliness is a word of the past.
Happy Women's day.
Wednesday 24 February 2016
MADE OF BETTER
It is four minutes to three. A message on Skype pops up in the Skype group, please hold on. Do not leave after three (sic). By now I am dead sure that something is up, something wrong.
Minutes couple up, then a fellow colleague is called into boardroom. Three minutes, five minutes, 10 minutes she comes out, her facial expression is not good, her contract has been terminated. I harden my spirit and wait for my turn, haiya, it's me next..
I make way to the boardroom. In front of me is Alex, our boss. He avoids close contact with my eyes because he is delivering some bad news to me, something he's been knowing but has never given an hint. So Alex wants to shake my hand as I sit down but is overtaken by events. Nancy, how are you? Of course the answer is I am fine, even if I have a thousand and one problems you ain't going to be of any help. As I sign the contract termination papers I am so worried, the question that lingered in my head all through is; What is my baby going to eat?
As I leave the boardroom, tears rolling down my cheeks, Mtoto wangu atakula nini phrase still on my mind, I sit on that desk, knowing that this is the last time ever I am sitting on this desk, it was the last time I was in possession of that office laptop. Maybe, it is the last time I am working under someone. As I quickly but carefully transfer my documents to my flash disk, I ponder on why of all the people, it is me that is being shown the door, I know I gave my best. I remembered what Alex had told me in the boardroom that led to my dismissal but I couldn't connect the dots. If it was translation, I know my kiswahili was good, colleagues can attest to that.
Fast forward, I switched off the laptop and headed to the kitchen just to return the glass of water. That afternoon I felt so dehydrated, more reason as to why I thought that day was not to end well. By this time I'd wanted to ring my friends and narrate the story to them but I was so teary. Every time someone told me; it's going to be OK, don't worry, God will see you through, tears filled my eyes each moment. More colleagues were called in, they came out with not so familiar faces.
I said good-bye to fellow workmates who I met along the way as I headed to the gate.
Of late, there has been new people being called for interview, yaani people conduct interviews to replace you when you have no idea. Haidhuru.
So me and other colleagues who ply the same route boarded the matatu. One offered to pay my bus fare. Kwani Nancy utanikumbuka na nini? She said. By this time my feelings were so hurt, you just lose a job that way, I asked God a lot of questions. Mola mbona iwe Mimi? Kwa nini Mola iwe hivi? After trying to ask for my leave days twice and I was denied, now they've dismissed me for good, not even a three months notice!!!
That night friends checked in on WhatsApp, Facebook and other social media platforms to give a sister an encouragement that all is not over, they didn't cut my legs nor my arms, at least I can always find another job, but the timespan until I get that maiden job is worrying.
So I search the internet on a daily basis to check if my qualifications meet any advertised post. Sadly on a bad day I do not find any. But hey, just the other day, I went to a certain company, an insurance company, for a sales representative job, the interview went on well and happily I was overqualified. So today I was to report for training, I reported there at 8:25, I always arrive earlier to familiarize myself with the surrounding. So since 8:30 I waited for the unit manager, the lady who was supposed to show me things around but she didn't come. Come on, I do not have a whole day to wait for someone, hata kama I am so in need, plus ni kuuza insurance on commission, meaning there are bad days when I will tarmac and even miss lunch, hii jua nayo inichome. It's never that serious.
As I sat on that chair waiting for the lady, I realized that I am not that desperate for a job. My state of lacking a job can be turned into something better, something better than walking up and down selling life insurance, knocking door to door, convincing people with a fake smile, oh no! I am made of better, better than being employed. And being paid a shameless 20K.
I realized how rich I am, God has bestowed me a fleet of abilities, I can write well, I can create stories, write poems, write mashairi, short plays, compose songs, but I can't sing, how about turning this into something that can earn me income.
I refuse to be a plagiarist. Something I was compelled to do in the past one year and a couple of months for that company. I am not bitter because I lost a job, I am bitter that all this time I have been sitting on gold. If I had put my abilities into practice, si aki ningekuwa far sana by now!!! I am not going to wait for tomorrow, kama si sasa ni sasa hivi.
Minutes couple up, then a fellow colleague is called into boardroom. Three minutes, five minutes, 10 minutes she comes out, her facial expression is not good, her contract has been terminated. I harden my spirit and wait for my turn, haiya, it's me next..
I make way to the boardroom. In front of me is Alex, our boss. He avoids close contact with my eyes because he is delivering some bad news to me, something he's been knowing but has never given an hint. So Alex wants to shake my hand as I sit down but is overtaken by events. Nancy, how are you? Of course the answer is I am fine, even if I have a thousand and one problems you ain't going to be of any help. As I sign the contract termination papers I am so worried, the question that lingered in my head all through is; What is my baby going to eat?
As I leave the boardroom, tears rolling down my cheeks, Mtoto wangu atakula nini phrase still on my mind, I sit on that desk, knowing that this is the last time ever I am sitting on this desk, it was the last time I was in possession of that office laptop. Maybe, it is the last time I am working under someone. As I quickly but carefully transfer my documents to my flash disk, I ponder on why of all the people, it is me that is being shown the door, I know I gave my best. I remembered what Alex had told me in the boardroom that led to my dismissal but I couldn't connect the dots. If it was translation, I know my kiswahili was good, colleagues can attest to that.
Fast forward, I switched off the laptop and headed to the kitchen just to return the glass of water. That afternoon I felt so dehydrated, more reason as to why I thought that day was not to end well. By this time I'd wanted to ring my friends and narrate the story to them but I was so teary. Every time someone told me; it's going to be OK, don't worry, God will see you through, tears filled my eyes each moment. More colleagues were called in, they came out with not so familiar faces.
I said good-bye to fellow workmates who I met along the way as I headed to the gate.
Of late, there has been new people being called for interview, yaani people conduct interviews to replace you when you have no idea. Haidhuru.
So me and other colleagues who ply the same route boarded the matatu. One offered to pay my bus fare. Kwani Nancy utanikumbuka na nini? She said. By this time my feelings were so hurt, you just lose a job that way, I asked God a lot of questions. Mola mbona iwe Mimi? Kwa nini Mola iwe hivi? After trying to ask for my leave days twice and I was denied, now they've dismissed me for good, not even a three months notice!!!
That night friends checked in on WhatsApp, Facebook and other social media platforms to give a sister an encouragement that all is not over, they didn't cut my legs nor my arms, at least I can always find another job, but the timespan until I get that maiden job is worrying.
So I search the internet on a daily basis to check if my qualifications meet any advertised post. Sadly on a bad day I do not find any. But hey, just the other day, I went to a certain company, an insurance company, for a sales representative job, the interview went on well and happily I was overqualified. So today I was to report for training, I reported there at 8:25, I always arrive earlier to familiarize myself with the surrounding. So since 8:30 I waited for the unit manager, the lady who was supposed to show me things around but she didn't come. Come on, I do not have a whole day to wait for someone, hata kama I am so in need, plus ni kuuza insurance on commission, meaning there are bad days when I will tarmac and even miss lunch, hii jua nayo inichome. It's never that serious.
As I sat on that chair waiting for the lady, I realized that I am not that desperate for a job. My state of lacking a job can be turned into something better, something better than walking up and down selling life insurance, knocking door to door, convincing people with a fake smile, oh no! I am made of better, better than being employed. And being paid a shameless 20K.
I realized how rich I am, God has bestowed me a fleet of abilities, I can write well, I can create stories, write poems, write mashairi, short plays, compose songs, but I can't sing, how about turning this into something that can earn me income.
I refuse to be a plagiarist. Something I was compelled to do in the past one year and a couple of months for that company. I am not bitter because I lost a job, I am bitter that all this time I have been sitting on gold. If I had put my abilities into practice, si aki ningekuwa far sana by now!!! I am not going to wait for tomorrow, kama si sasa ni sasa hivi.
Monday 8 February 2016
THE BASH
First birthdays ought to be memorable. I decided to give her a treat, a treat that she will remember when she grows up and the rest of her life. I love her, my daughter.
The Cake
It was a white forest from Valentine Cake House. It was so sweet.
The Tutu Skirt
The Cake
It was a white forest from Valentine Cake House. It was so sweet.
 |
The White-Forest Cake -Yummy     |
 |
| Shuneta's friends staring at the cake |
 |
| Me helping Shuneta cut the cake |
This was my first DIY Tutu Skirt, it kinda fitted her too well. She was happy in it and was moving around so quickly, I wouldn't get a really perfect shot but these ones carried the day.
In attendance, was her aunt, and cousins
 |
| Shuneta sharing a portion of a cake with her dad |
 |
| My Darling Daughter giving me a taste of her birthday cake |
 |
| My cousin has to taste this cake, come on Moraa |
 |
| My cousin Brayo, must taste this |
 |
| I love you auntie |
Tuesday 2 February 2016
MERCI BEAUCOUP
In a society of ‘nipe nikupe’ and everything ends there, rarely do we find an opportunity to come back and say, thank you, by the way I found that product useful. Or maybe you should adjust the pointer of that product because it is not 100% effective. So today being my daughter’s birthday, I drafted this note, rather thank you piece to thank all these wonderful people.Early days
Today marks the day my darling daughter was born, 02/02/15. I would like to thank the staff of Metropolitan Hospital, Buruburu, Eastland’s finest hospital, you did a great job, she is now a year, pass my regards to Dr. Mbaluka, he is a good gynaecologist. To my Insurance Agency, Resolution Insurance, for footing my bill, a whopping 0.075 million for my delivery, more reason for my readers to insure their health, thank you. The three days I spent there were awesome. I ate good food, the nurses were warm, the caterers and above all the services were satisfactory.
Baba Shun. This guy has been with me through thick and thin. My oh my! One day I will write a long post about him.
Mama mbogas. These women/men who sell us groceries were also key in our growth. Waking up in the morning and bringing vegetables from the market thus reducing the distance I would travel on my own is such thumbs up. Continue doing your thing.
The journey has not been easy but with these partners every milestone; every step on my baby’s growth is/was well sorted. Pampers gave my daughter a good sleep time. Then came Huggies, Huggies hugged her during those cold nights. Bouncy boosted her bum, Snuggles shone Shun during the sunny days, yet again when my pocket became so deep, I used the low-budget diapers such as Phoenix, Bebe-Dou and Softcare.
Momeasy products, such as bottles, feeders, breast pumps also boosted me. The pump was so useful when I left my maternity leave came to an end. It helped me pump and store milk appropriately.
When she clocked six months, I knocked at Kirinyaga Flour Mills door. Who doesn’t know this place when it comes to milling the finest flour, name it, uji flour, ugali flour, cereals, sugarcane juice, the list is endless. Rice porridge is sweet, I prepared her and she grew chubby. Thank you. Until now, I am a proud, faithful KFM customer.
Biashara Street has always been my favourite spot whenever I am in town, more specifically Roopam Shop. The shop has all baby items that you can ever think of, from baby walkers, hair bands, diapers, shoes, socks, basins, clothes, and wet wipes, basically everything. It has been my partner all along.
Open air-markets. When things were too tough, I resolved to buy some items from the market, particularly Gikomba. Babies outgrow clothes too fast. You cannot imagine buying a romper at Sh1200 whereas you can buy a whole bale of rompers at that price, not being mean but thinking like a tight-budget person.
There is this hospital in Kawangware, Nyina wa Mumbi Hospital, where I check in on my monthly routine visits. It gives me joy that when I place my munchkin on the weighing scale, she has always added something, like 0.2 grams, or better a kilogram.
All PSVs from day 1, Umoinner, 103, Kinoo route, the list is endless. Uber taxi...
All the advice I got on google, mama, grandma, from friends, family friends, sisters-in-law, father-in-law went a long way. Thank you.
Will expound on the list, am a little bit excited, wouldn't type a lot. It's her birthday.
Monday 1 February 2016
SURVIVING THE LOSS OF A NEW-BORN
As you rant about your inability to sleep because your baby is stubborn, someone somewhere is having bigger problems than sleep, just take a minute and think about a mother somewhere, whose nursing a loss of
a child, her breasts bursting with milk, sore nipples, an open cesarean wound
that is yet to recover, or still on sitz baths, she is asking God a lot of questions, Why me? God did you have to take even my rainbow baby? You gave me,
why did you take him so fast? Why was my joy short-lived? For how long? How am
I going to cope with this? When will I get pregnant again? Isn’t this tab too bitter to swallow?
It is all joy when one receives a new-born, in those warm blankets, warm mitten, and new is written all over the face. Maybe it is a girl, everything is all pink, maybe a boy, and all is shouting blue. Little is known about a mother who had a still birth, a mother that saw her kid alive then after thirty minutes or so, sad news, it is dead. Or worse, a mother exited the hospital joyfully, giving thanks to the hospital staff for making it a success that the birthing process turned out well. On reaching home, six days later, the baby dies, God why? It was her rainbow baby (a baby after a miscarriage).
Mid last year, 2015, I met a friend, Jessica*. By then, she was expecting and her bump was really big. It was her last trimester. Climbing up and downstairs was proving a monumental task attributing to her curvy physique. We even made fun of her often about the bump and guessed the baby will be a boy. And true to the guess, it came out a boy.
So, the big day came and she went to the hospital as soon as the contractions beckoned. She was later admitted and two days later, I received the good news that she had given birth to a baby boy. Immediately, I knew my daughter soon could find a cheerful and playful playmate in him. She came home and after settling visitors came to see her and bring goodies to the new-born. It was all joy as we took turns to see the baby and joke on how his nose resembled his father’s, how his hands and feet were like mother’s and so on.
One morning, I receive a call from a neighbour, her tone is sad, her voice shaky, I thought she was informing me that my house-help had done something wrong to my baby or something related to that. I was wrong, she said ‘imagine mtoto wa Jessica* ametuacha,’ (sic). My body became cold, it was only last evening that I went to check on them for the first time, I left there very late, only to hear the following day that the poor boy had gotten his wings to fly. He even did not have a chance to wear a vest that I had bought him. It was really sad, he lived only six days of his life, he was six days old.
The couple had less to say on the cause of the baby’s death. Upon arrival at the hospital, the doctor examined the corpse and said the possible reason for the death could be Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). The boy was born healthy and never showed any sign of illness. Friends and family made contributions and the baby was laid to rest, a week later.
Since then, it has not been rosy for Jessica. But I must say she is one strong woman. Although sometimes, when boredom engulfs her and she has no book around her to read, she says that she wishes if her baby could be alive, she would be changing diapers and doing laundry.
Death or any loss of a loved one is painful, it defies the natural order of life. It is worth noting that at all times avoid using your own experience as a way of connecting with a bereaved couple. Just listen instead, even if you find the urge of sharing your bereavement story.
Here is a list of what you should never tell a grieving parent;
I know how you feel
You really do not know how s/he feels. This phrase betrays a lack of understanding of what the bereaved is going through.
Time heals all wounds
No matter the amount of time one is given, you will never be the same again when one of your children is dead. This is a wound that will be open for a lifetime.
Move on
This already adds salt to the existing wound.Instead of telling a grieving parent to move on and let go the memories, assure them that you will be with them in every walk of their life.
Everything happens for a reason
Sometimes things just don’t happen for a reason. People who get affected by bad things are the most loving people, people who won’t hurt even a fly.
Instead of telling a grieving parent that everything happens for a reason, try to console them by giving them encouraging words such as; You don’t deserve this pain. I wish I could take it away from you. It breaks my heart to see you suffering.
It is not okay for you to be so curious by asking what happened before the death of the baby. It’s just not ethical. It is like opening fresh wounds.
 |
| Photo Courtesy |
Mid last year, 2015, I met a friend, Jessica*. By then, she was expecting and her bump was really big. It was her last trimester. Climbing up and downstairs was proving a monumental task attributing to her curvy physique. We even made fun of her often about the bump and guessed the baby will be a boy. And true to the guess, it came out a boy.
So, the big day came and she went to the hospital as soon as the contractions beckoned. She was later admitted and two days later, I received the good news that she had given birth to a baby boy. Immediately, I knew my daughter soon could find a cheerful and playful playmate in him. She came home and after settling visitors came to see her and bring goodies to the new-born. It was all joy as we took turns to see the baby and joke on how his nose resembled his father’s, how his hands and feet were like mother’s and so on.
One morning, I receive a call from a neighbour, her tone is sad, her voice shaky, I thought she was informing me that my house-help had done something wrong to my baby or something related to that. I was wrong, she said ‘imagine mtoto wa Jessica* ametuacha,’ (sic). My body became cold, it was only last evening that I went to check on them for the first time, I left there very late, only to hear the following day that the poor boy had gotten his wings to fly. He even did not have a chance to wear a vest that I had bought him. It was really sad, he lived only six days of his life, he was six days old.
The couple had less to say on the cause of the baby’s death. Upon arrival at the hospital, the doctor examined the corpse and said the possible reason for the death could be Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). The boy was born healthy and never showed any sign of illness. Friends and family made contributions and the baby was laid to rest, a week later.
Since then, it has not been rosy for Jessica. But I must say she is one strong woman. Although sometimes, when boredom engulfs her and she has no book around her to read, she says that she wishes if her baby could be alive, she would be changing diapers and doing laundry.
Death or any loss of a loved one is painful, it defies the natural order of life. It is worth noting that at all times avoid using your own experience as a way of connecting with a bereaved couple. Just listen instead, even if you find the urge of sharing your bereavement story.
Here is a list of what you should never tell a grieving parent;
I know how you feel
You really do not know how s/he feels. This phrase betrays a lack of understanding of what the bereaved is going through.
Time heals all wounds
No matter the amount of time one is given, you will never be the same again when one of your children is dead. This is a wound that will be open for a lifetime.
Move on
This already adds salt to the existing wound.Instead of telling a grieving parent to move on and let go the memories, assure them that you will be with them in every walk of their life.
Everything happens for a reason
Sometimes things just don’t happen for a reason. People who get affected by bad things are the most loving people, people who won’t hurt even a fly.
Instead of telling a grieving parent that everything happens for a reason, try to console them by giving them encouraging words such as; You don’t deserve this pain. I wish I could take it away from you. It breaks my heart to see you suffering.
It is not okay for you to be so curious by asking what happened before the death of the baby. It’s just not ethical. It is like opening fresh wounds.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)