Sublime Innocence

Ready to Go Emergency kit

2012-02-08T02:42:00.000-08:00

Earthquakes, Tsunamis, Bombs, falling buildings, civil war... eehk.

In Kenya, our recent scare is Al Shabab. I overheard a woman at the market say-
"see these black spots I have, what do you know, I got them when Al Shabab started."
You would think Al Shabab was a communicable ailment. Gun shots, especially where I live are common but these days whenever a shot goes off you'll hear someone saying- they have come.
So I've been meaning to write about how to prepare for such an emergency. It is not an original idea, I read about it in the Awake! magazine.

You will need. A carry on bag
A torch and batteries
water
canned food(you can have biscuits, noodles)
A first aid kit(pain killers, antiseptic, scissors, bandages, Elastoplast, safety pins,salt,wet pads and those that can be used on burned areas donno what they are called )
Red cross has medical kits going for ksh.3,000 and ksh 2,000. But it is cheaper if you got them from a chemist.
You can add anything else you think is important.
For me, I would have copies of identification and a list of family and friend's numbers.

I have only done it half way but I'll keep getting the things I need.
When disaster strikes, all that would really be useful is yourself in good shape. Grab that bag and escape.

the link lists comfortable shoes and rain wear as well as an fm radio phone if you can manage (http://www.watchtower.org/e/200709/article_02.htm)

I can't get this off my head

2012-02-06T03:30:00.001-08:00

"How To Save A Life"

Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Gentleman Vs Thug

2012-02-04T07:53:00.000-08:00

versus

The other day my friend said to me that she thinks people generally end up getting mismatched.

yeah, sad. I said

"But that's the way it should be, you fight, you hate each other and have a miserable life, but you are in love and you won't just settle for the nice gentle man who does everything right but you just don't feel him," she said. So I wanted to write something about it.

Well, gentle man, thug which one?

It simply depends on what you are ready to put up for rest of your day lights.
But of you ask me, I would vote for a thug any day.

A thug is not afraid to tell you right out that he likes and you are really cute when you wear you hair like that.

A thug is not wishy washy about what he wants. If it doesn't work out, so what, at least you tried. If you just continue walking on the line, 27 years after 2012, you'll still be wondering why ladies just wanna be friends. A thug won't keep you guessing what's up.

A thug doesn't think the world revolves around him around him. He knows you got stuff to do.

And a thug will walk past your mother to see you when you're sick, he won't care.

So to all the thugs out there. You are special.

My play list this week:

E.V.E and Alicia Keys- Gangsta Lovin'
Agar tum mil jao
Quelqu'un M'a Dit - Carla bruni
These bones- Dashboard confessional
Cinderella-Ali kiba

pictures courtesy of photo stock images

discovering tastes

2012-01-20T00:52:00.000-08:00

pic courtesy of clia.org.mx

Me and my mother's friend are in the kitchen arguing about the best way took ugali.

You just mix it then cover, she says.

But this is flour from the mills, you need to boil it first- I say.

She takes it off the fire before I think it's ready but I don't argue, I was just helping her so, it's her meal.
2010 was a crucial year for me.I learnt the way to make well cooked ugali from Tata. And in 2011 I spent most of the evenings perfecting the skills. My neighbor would tell people.
-her, she only cooks ugali, I think she prefers it to many foods- I'd agree and add that maize products are actually good for a healthy worker's body.

So last night I was making ugali and I realised I do spend quite a bit of time preparing and cooking food. I enjoy cooking, I didn't before, I guess coz of lack of ideas or was just plain lazy.
Spending time with Michelle's mum, Mrs. Yap changed a lot of things in me. I'd pound the ginger, garlic, pepper, tomatoes , onions and green pepper until it was a fine nice smelling pulp to be used in frying the rice, or green veggies.

That pulp is used as a base for all frying as opposed to a single onion.

Now whenever I'm frying even green veggies,I make quite a big deal of it. To make a good pumpkin soup, I'll start at 5 p.m to serve at seven.Then the sink will be full of equipment needing a wash. The other day I made fried rice, the Chinese way but lacked one ingredient- soy sauce. I'll look for it next time I go to the market. It turned out okay and now I know I need a wok, a big one.

I have freedom to experiment in my house. My friend Carol rang me the other day and asked what experiment I had for super, and you can bet it was a laugh. I had fried that green shaped veggie- we call it shasha; with beans and the usual spices, then using mashed potatoes I made my own version of a shepherd's pie, it tasted good.

I just googled. that veggie is called chayote, choko, chocho,
or Bangalore brinjal. and it's good for you too. check out wiki-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chayote-

the real shepherd's pie ;)

pic courtesy of snovalley grub blog

in the neighbourhood 2/01/12

2012-01-18T05:32:00.000-08:00

six eyes, and three beautiful girls always meet me at the gate when I get back from a trip. They run upto me screeching:
Auntie Gathoni Amerudi!- auntie Gathoni has come back. They all hug me and almost topple me over and I can't help the warm feeling welling inside me. They carry my bags and we have to spend five minutes looking for the keys, then:

aki tumekumiss... they chorus
then when I'm settled on my bed they ask :umetuletea?-what have you brought us?

I ask what they've kept for me and they will say they didn't know I would get back so soon, but promise to keep something for me when I go away again.

Three girls soon to be unassuming teenagers
Rose Brenda and KUi. Brenda is the oldest but Rose is more outspoken and has seen a lot in life so she is the captain. She is in class one. My friends in the coffee bean neighbour-hood

I once fell sick and was expecting visitors, the girls came and assisted, I simply gave instructions and for the week I was sick, they all came to cook clean and sympathise.

I remember Brenda in the great grandmother's smoke congested kitchen boiling eggs for me-of course we split everything- but she looked so lovable with her tear filled eyes, her pink tights. I could bet a load of firewood she had never had to start a wood fire before that day.

Kui, 4 years old came in and advised me to gurgle salt, it helped, when you are sick you don't think quick enough, and salt is a good antibiotic so with tonsillitis it is bound to come in handy, even a little girl will tell you that.

Rose lives in the same compound so she came in frequently to do my bidding. She's secretly my favourite. Her personality is just a book by itself and she challenges me, like an adult, so we converse one on one like agemates, and she won't take a telling off. She has opinions and reason.

So whenever I'm headed to my house I'm thinking what treats to carry for my girls. This time I had plums. Dear Rose didn't know what Plums are, never had any. I'm glad I lived in 2011 and met those girls.

January 2012

2012-01-14T08:01:00.000-08:00

I can hear my head going tiiiii, after a full day of sign language interaction. Though I guess the tiiii is imagined because after a while you actually begin to 'hear' the signed words.

But I'm craving music, and as I alight from the green city hopper bus and head to the cyber, I'm thinking I need to listen to a few tracks, but before any of that I need to spruce up my c.v. My computer has been on and off the last year and this week I took it to a new technician who put it apart, piece by piece to try find a problem. He found none. So I'm doing the math and thinking- I'm fried. It's hard enough making a blog entry from a cybercafe, leave alone writing anything more that 300 words. Maybe look for work now.

As I sit in the cyber with yahoo, facebook, youtube and my blog on screen, half an hour later my c.v is still undone and I'm not so enthusiastic about the whole affair.
I guess coz the c.v is not much, and whenever I think I'm gonna pull that out in an interview, I just think -aa- let me just get the phone number and call them later- ok, fine? Can I leave now?

I hate the whole process of looking for work, and being academically unqualified as I am, I admit, it is intimidating. Ah, that's the word. I'm intimidated by the whole Human resource arrangement. Even with my experience and skill, they'll still need some photocopied certificate to show you've been to school- how about the school of life? Yeah?

If my computer is out out and I'm fried, can I come for an interview? Yes or No will do.

the little wooden house at the corner of the coffee farm

2012-01-12T05:33:00.000-08:00

There’s something serene about coming home. The blue couch, the wooden walls with smiling faces of friends smiling back. Whenever I go away the set routine gets distorted. Even normal things like praying become staccato.

So coming home I feel the sound of settling: I know I’ll make ginger tea, listen to the Jam on Capital fm, feed my neighbour’s cat before the old lady comes to ask me to find a contact on her phone or check her m-pesa account. I also know that I’ll set an alarm for the following morning.

Sometimes I just sit and regard the iron sheet roof; the wasps foaming liquid paper from their mouth shaping it to bell-shaped incubators, a pollen footed bee struggling to find a way out, the ever suicidal moths, strings of spider web, termite shelters.

I love my four corners.

Sometimes I come and don’t even notice the blue and yellow curtains that flutter when it rains on windy nights.

Yet, it is within these four corners that I’ve been able to rearrange my thoughts and viewpoints. These four walls have absorbed my fears, my disappointments and utter shock. These walls have watched me laugh, dance, knowing that finally my past has its place, and no longer a frontlet band between my eyes.

Online

2011-11-16T04:09:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about getting offline , pulling off my blog and just, disappearing for a while, but last week convinced me otherwise.
I had a clear way of putting down thoughts when I blogged so I better get back to it before I start thumb printing my documents.

So fans, come back :)

bean season

2011-08-05T03:03:00.000-07:00

2011-08-04T06:57:00.001-07:00

2011-08-04T06:54:00.000-07:00

Nyĩrĩ

2011-07-20T05:31:00.000-07:00

I remember telling Michael, Botswanian Michael as we called him- hey hey not beyond my wrist- when he would shake my hand- poor boy, that must have been so offensive. But I was not fully to blame for such a view point, I had just landed from a society, which still adheres to the code of boys on one side, girls on the other, even in public meetings by the chief, no no now, we mustn’t get too close; yet S.T.Is and Bastards abound, everywhere.

Hear I was, in the midst of Africans, the easy going Naija people who’ll call you brother on their first meeting, the happy beer loving Botswana people who like to hang out most of the time, the friendly Mugambe people, the smart- ly dressed Tanzanians, the Waswahili from the Kenyan Coast, from Oman, the curly haired Sudanese, now northeners, the Indonesians from Florence, the Tamil, and the Stiff Kenyans.

Ivy, from Uganda would tell me- Kenyans are so stiff, you’re like robots, why so serious all the time, fear, perhaps, no no now don’t get too close I don’t want you coming over to borrow salt and chai whenever you feel like. I’m from the highlands, hugs are a new education.

So Michael would shake my hand and give hugs all around. A month later I was a changed woman.

Last week I met my friends, a couple fro long ago and on impulse I wanted to jump in with open arms, but then it clicked, it’s a cheek to cheek greeting for the woman( Man! I hate those!), and a firm handshake for the man, with a slight eye contact for acknowledgement.
I am re-learning what I re-learnt and this time, honestly I feel like bursting out of this town and never coming back , end up somewhere on Ogingo Island or Kamchatka, where people hug and nod to Lady Gaga’s Poker face.

Things I have to remember:
If you have boy friends over- you are a prostitute
If you wear jeans – you are a prostitute
If you wear make up – you are a prostitute
Hug men- you are a prostitute
Wear a short skirt- you’re a prostitute
Wear a long skirt- your religion tells you to wear long skirts

The middle ages I tell you.

Farm Diaries, Jane of all trades

2011-07-13T01:08:00.000-07:00

I got up at 5 this morning, it took effort since I slept quite late last night. See, every evening, I have to milk a goat, cook, food and tea and clear my neighbour's kitchen. A lovely old lady who has many tales. Anyway I really enjoy helping her out. She has experience in a lot of things, like slaughtering rabbits. Last Sunday she got up early so she could slaughter one and get it ready to cook in the evening, it needs to be hang up for drying. She said to me- If I ask someone to help me slaughter this tiny thing, they'll expect meat, so what I'are we supposed to eat if we serve the butcher a platefull?

We cooked the rabbit in the evening, three of us, the young child she is bringing up loves meat, she ate most of it, yeah and last night she vomited in her bed for eating too much, but we love the young one, she lost her mother only two weeks ago and is coping with it in her own way, like narrating funny stories about her mother to us. She told me, when my mother comes back, I'll be big, in my own stone house and I'll never get married. Her great grand said to her- she won't come back, you'll go to her, she said she doesn't want to die.

So when I got up, at 5.15, I made instant coffee and threw in a ginger root into my mouth. I'm not a fun of coffee, but ginger coffee is nice.
When the old woman got up some minutes to seven, I went in to rouse the child, who complained about a tummy ache, but we knew it was from overeating, and she has been looking for excuses to miss school.

Many times I pause and think,hmm today was another funny day, like the night when a strong wind blew and fell several avocados on top of my neighbour's roof. She is a teacher, lives with her daughter and a househelp, they begun screaming to the ends of the earth, and I, the good neighbour helped them. When other neighbours came with sticks and rungus, we thaked darkness that hid our embarassment. But that happens when women live alone,among coffee plants; they get hallucinate.

So today I'm going out to buy a thermos, and garlic if my budget allows it, I might get a heavy curtain too. I keep thinking a thief, banana thief,they are plenty where I live might come peeping one evening, I'm not ready to scream like that day.

cooking a fish

2011-07-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

I’m a lover of fish, infact for a very long time I couldn’t forgive my uncle for not letting me taste a fish he once brought home, bought off a boy who had caught it in a river. I was six or seven, and I promised myself when I grew up, I would go to the Indian Ocean and catch myself a fish. I grew up and learnt that grand ma had said to uncle not to give the child any fish, incase I died and he’d be blamed. A lot of people won’t eat fish for a number of reasons. Fish smells bad my friend Mel says, the fish bones will kill you according to a lot of people in central province, majority have no clue what to do with a fish so they just opt for other meat.

When I lived on an island, I ate a lot of fish, different fish and when I came back to the mountains, I longed for the days I had bought 5 medium sized tilapia at Tesco for Rm.2.50 on holiday sales.

So when my friend suggesting a fishing trip, I could have jumped up and down.
I live in Tetu, and you can see a lot of Wangari Maathai’s green belt movement’s efforts. Trees are more than the population, unlike most places in Kenya, the beautiful surroundings are a treasure. There are a couple of public dams around my area, not many people make good use of them though and discovering the dams have been happiness itself.

I must say the scenery was more enthralling than the actual fishing itself, especially when the sun begun to set; the green reeds were reflected into the water giving the dam a soft green luster. The long legged white birds with the black, red breasted diving ducks, the kingfishers all completed the ideal setting for a fishing afternoon.

We arrived at 1.00p.m and at 5.30 none of us had caught a single baby fish. But you should have seen the determination. Someone caught a tiny one, which we threw back later, honestly, you can’t carry home a finger’s length fish and tell people you went fishing.

On another fishing trip at a different dam, on one Kamanda’s farm, the wife hailed her workers who came and dragged the net in the dam and caught us five fish-yeah!. We disappointed them though because immediately after we continued throwing our grasshopper baited hooks lines into the water. They left us to our mad experiments, and Maureen, by accident, haha, caught one, for which we celebrated.

Fishing is fun, as much fun as learning to play a guitar. I think you get the same excitement as you do when you learnt to play two notes of Snow Patrols’ Chasing Cars. I need about 15 more lessons before I can at least get a fish out of the water.

To cook a fish, unless it’s fish balls you’re aiming at, don’t boil the fish, like potatoes.

Fragrance Of Rice

2011-06-29T07:54:00.000-07:00

I brewed, I harvested, I met, I fished, I sat for hours trying to understand written text. I wrote poetry, yes I am writing poetry once again.

June has been a good month, thinking about it this morning in the train, I felt a sense of satisfaction, and smiled. The girl opposite looked at me perhaps wondering what was there to smile about. She should have asked, I would have told her- honey, you have one option every morning,initiate happiness which will reflect on others' faces.

Radio was playing- lifestyles of the rich and the famous by good charlotte. My mind was humming a one man guitar I heard earlier: You gave birth to a daughter, my mother's name won't simply disappear, and you've told me you're preparing yourself to have another, our house will expand- totally inappropriate to be humming such songs in the morning.

Anyway June didn't help to make my mind more organised, actually I've had to write down the things I need to do more than before, but I end up forgetting where I put the list, so much for organising myself.

Looking back though, June has been a great month. I learnt something important to look at another human in the eye and ask: what did you do that for. Well, not exactly but I've learn to ask.
I always preferred to just wait and see the turn of events, to be polite but June has taught me to fight, and how to harvest potatoes without piercing too many. It's been really enjoyable, harvesting potatoes. I like it when I pull out a wispy stem and discover six big round ones attached.

I get a similar excitement when each evening, I realise, a foundation takes time to build. It costs time and needs thought. I'm learning, slowly to accept help, to give way to others and not look at it as interference. So bottom up, I'm getting stronger. And when my young cousin, all by his own initiative came to visit me, the word -worth- came into my mind. He brought his friend along, and we had a blast, I admire the vivacity of teenagers. He's grown up, that boy, and he was looking cute, I didn't tell him, but I said- the cream you're using is making you nice and lovely, his friend said it was make up. He said he was discovering what's good fro his skin.

A little girl once said to me: why don't you stay here, It's better when you're around. I didn't want to be a burden. I later went back, and as much as I wouldn't admit it, I needed that young girl , and she needed me, and together, we managed some emotionally difficult days. She wasn't a small girl, she was 20,but she knew a few things about life.

I would like to wish July won't be so cold, but that's a dream, I've got to get another blanket.

Maybe I'll catch a fish this July, but if I don't I'll keep practising. I wanted to learn how to ride a bicycle but never got the time. Maybe July will provide the opportunity.
Posted by Ciss at 7:52 AM

Coffee berries and the cappuccino query

2011-06-28T09:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday around 10.00a.m, when the drizzling subsided, we went to the coffee plants to remove suckers. I didn’t know what a sucker was before. Now I understand the weight of the insult- you sucker. Ever painted a high wall with a roller or fixed a few light bulb holders? De- sucking is the same pain in the neck. I can’t say I enjoyed the job. The coffee plants are long and with the morning drizzle, the minute you pulled the plant towards you got a wet splash across your face. See, 100gm tin of ordinary coffee goes for ksh.200. A kilo of raw coffee beans is selling for ksh.106 at the moment, the highest pay they say. At times they get ksh.20 per kilo.

Yet the farmer prunes, weeds, de-sucks, harvest for that kind of cash. Somethings have me puzzled. A farmer grows coffee he cannot afford in its final form, yet lives in a lopsided, temporary shelter. I’m trying to put away the thought- how much does a 500gm tin of Java or Nescafe coffee cost? A small cup sold for ksh. 120 four years back.

So as we de-sucked the coffee plants and got wet from the dew, I kept thinking about sweet potatoes and terere(pig weed) you are better off planting every inch of your land with those.

After that neck biting task, we beat some macadamia to snack on as we warmed lunch.

Macadamia has two outer hard covers. You can tell it is ready when the outer green cover breaks to reveal the harder brown shell. If you roast them for a while, when you break the hard cover, they come off the shell easily, the heat enhances the taste too.

I read in an Awake! Magazine that Macadamia nuts regulate blood pressure. Funny, I live in a place where every third person has issues with B.P or diabetes, or both, they all have macadamia trees, which is a children’s snack. The rest is carted off to the international market.

One day, I might understand farmers’ logic. The patience, the hard work, the undying hope. I never met a farmer who didn’t believe in God.

Some days shine, some days glitter, some days are as bright as yellow curtains, inside my heart

2011-05-20T04:45:00.000-07:00

Radio played my favourite song. That is significant because, I was feeling quite low, so sipping Rosemary tea and thinking about getting into bed, but not yet, I wanted to write a poem feeling that the moon rising earlier that evening should be honored with a poem, but the kind of poetry I've been composing lately involves my camera.
So shiftening channels on my uncle's transistor radio, they played Corrine Bailey Rae-Records On, I didn't think that station knew her, they play Luther and other dead people like the dude with a bass which John from Ally McBeal used to impersonate, what's his name- my first, my last, my everything, that guy.
Anyhow. I had gone from wishing I had a brother, or a father, to wishing I was man, to concluding that God must be a superwoman long story that. I had to go somewhere in the evening so I couldn't go alone, my aunt was not around otherwise she would have gone with me. I needed company, preferably male with the rise in rapes and muggings .

On further thought, I realised even if I had either, a brother or a father, they'd probably not want to go with me. If I were a man, I wouldn't get the chance to wear flowing cotton skirts and ballet shoes so that thought didn't last.

So I decided that either way, thank God God is not a physical ,an and since no one has ever seen God, I'm free to imagine him as a superwoman: Kind, patient, helpful,with a smile, hardworking and tough, yeah.

Smelling cats

2011-05-20T04:08:00.000-07:00

Tata, Me, picking plums

My aunt thinks I am mad. I saw the look she gave me when I asked her to smell the cats. I had shared some insight, which ofcourse I’ve researched on, that cats have a certain scent especially those with a bit of fur. Two of our cats- Kilucy and Kamau have the scent, I like it, it is like a warm frumpy duvet(Not

that I’m thinking of making a blanket out of their fur, although, I wonder would grow back if I shaved them?)

The othe r two, Sox and Ming ming have silky hair which doesn’t smell at all. So she picked them up one by one, that’s when she gave me the look and I regretted saying somethings out loud.

“A, a, I can’t smell.” She said.

We had been slashing away at a field of overgrown sturdy pigweed the sun hitting us had, it wasn’t enjoyable so I offered to bring Tea and Githeri.

Things are bad when tata thinks I’m mad since she is the one human who has had my back over the years even in my mad schemes. If I called her and said- hey tata, I want to go to Pluto- She would send me pocket money for the trip. So I told her never mind it’s probably my nose.

But tata is mad too, probably why we get along. Her madness takes another form- Unimaginable positivity, that’s the best phrase I can come up with to describe her take on life.

I remember one time someone came and packed up her chicken, all her laying chicken . The next day she went out and bought others. A week later, she was getting about six eggs a day .

I guess, if someone planted a mountain infront of tata, she would not blast a way through it, but she would find a way round it, maybe by negotiating with the mountain to please make way. She is the woman mentioned in proverbs 30.

Kamau and Ming Ming

harvesting macadamia nuts

2011-04-29T05:40:00.000-07:00

this morning, as I was blowing hard at the fire and making no progress, I stopped to pull out a thorn from my finger. Dry macadamia leaves are full of sharp thorns, and I have plenty in my palms since I started using them. I paused to think that in a short while, I've become so comfortable it's hard to tell the difference between me and the locals, which is an advantage to me, fitting in, blending in and getting on with it. So I listed myself as one of the weirdest people I've met, and pounded on a single macadamia nut . My new set up makes me think of a doll house, playing house(cha mama) fire that doesn't really cook, evenings that end without the usual climax of a steps and orders household, it's all about doing what seems best at that time.

Last night, when I put on the cheap rice to cook, I knew we were set for an amazing super, which turned out just so, half cooked half burned, and sticky, but there is always a solution to such meals, plenty of black pepper, hot pepper, and avocado, then wolf it down in minutes.

Well, I had to check how ripe my recent passion fruit wine was getting on, just to clear the former taste. I must say this new wine could see me become a mututho dealer ( http://www.kentv.net/kentv-news/1-latest-news/3179-misery-in-kenya-as-mututho-law-bites), but dreams of self employment are still a length away.

This morning I attended a funeral, my friend lost his father to a disease, he is younger than me,my friend, and now looking at him, I can't help feeling the weight on his shoulders, and seeing the vuta nikuvute(push and pull) from the extended family, I have this thought in my mind: We live only for a short while, if we make it until 70, the rest of the years are filled with misery. So why can't we all move an inch, just an inch so that we can all fit in within the time limit we have to breath. The speaker at the funeral, an aged brother left no doubt that all those in Jehovah's memory will be resurrected.In God's new earth, everyone will have the freedom to live as they were meant to be, in perfect health.

I'd like to share a soundtrack from Juno, the movie, the only movie I have watched ever so many times, only seconded by Pareneeta, but this computer won't allow adobe flash, so I'll just keep humming this song:

You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be
No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise
The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw
Something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end
But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize
When he catches his reflection on accident ..

It's by the band Death Cab for Cutie, can't get it off my head. Brothers on a hotel bed, and this here is wild rose, Endarasha's finest.

a poem

2011-04-11T00:53:00.000-07:00

Thank You

2011-04-03T05:56:00.000-07:00

I spoke with an old pal yesterday. He said I inspired him to write after he saw my collection of handwritten books, that was in ’06 I think, so he has been writing and he wanted to know, what to do with the volumes? I told him I have mine locked up in a box, for which I misplaced the key.

I had texted him to ask-was he alright? We are very alike so I haven’t been too worried that we haven’t communicated in a while. I tend to take a break from communication sometimes, and from friends and family, then while I’m getting on with life thinking all is alright, someone shows up at my door wanting to know- Is something wrong?

So my Pal, he’s the one who suggested I get on blogger since I had trouble posting on my webpage.

When he called, I thought it was one of my editors asking why I haven’t sent a story I had opened my mouth to say I had but can’t get round it, so I was pensive, until he laughed.

I guess it’s because of the ease at which me and this old friend can talk. After a year, 3, we just continue from where we left, no pressure, no questions, or judgment on the other’s choice of life.

-So you decided to become a fish trader in Lake Victoria? Fine, what have you written lately?

Whenever I feel unsure or unsettled about my writing, on instinct I end up tracing Ken and if we meet up for a chat, I end up getting any pilled up energy and writing. He taught me that writing, being an art should be taken seriously, we were looking at the art displayed at the Hilton Art shop one evening . “ We are all artists, when humans don’t discover their artistic side, they turn to the basic art of creating.”

Onetime, as I was writing my 2^nd novel, I caught malaria and was struggling to write between sick spells. Ken came over, we chat over kahawa no.1( Rough coffee that needs extensive boiling to taste like coffee). I felt better after, and finished my novel.

So this week when I called Ken, we chat and I finally managed to write two stories from my last trip, which is a relief.

.....just get on a bus

2011-03-25T03:21:00.000-07:00

after high school I was still a rioting teenager suffering the effects of a troubled mind. I cut ,my long hair but it grew back in offense like kei apple that has been burned to the ground.. I had trouble maintaining curly hair which I wanted to have but I only went about looking like a Somali shepherd boy or like a male Ethiopian athlete like Tlotlego likes to put it.

There was this period I didn't have shampoo, or conditioner and was washing my hair with course bar soap and using coconut oil( you don't smell it after a while)haha.
I mentioned to someone I knew in college that I needed to wash my hair but wasn't really eager. Would you believe it he said- come over I'll wash it for you-so sweet. It wasn't a trap either, his sisters laughed, I think his brother thought it was tacky.

I was thinking about this when meditating abut Nyeri men. Not a single gentle man exists among them. My aunt explained this fact to me."They love money, are contemptuous and useless, they think property is what makes a man."
Earlier, I only thought they had an ego, but now, as I make my calculations, I could count the gentle men I've met in this region in our hand. One of them was this young man who came up to me after high school and asked- are you alright? With real interest,like he would take what was bothering me and give it a good thump. I had just realised we weren't as rich as I had always assumed, and I was moving away from my family.
Perhaps it's the Hero factor.

Another thought, very people around here(Nyeri) marry. They have girlfriends, with three children, 3 years down the line; if they make it that far and that could be the third wife- ah.

So anyway. This morning I was walking fast to reach town quick, I got a lift from a friendly shop owner on a motorbike! ( I told him I was recently married nearby), I was so excited, it was my first and I had a 10 o'clock interview but I had been listening to stories by my friend's father, he's the old man I was talking about, he told me his dog- Popi, sleeps the kind of sleep a drunkard sleeps and I laughed like a mad person, he said laughing is good, but he stopped laughing a lot when he realised laughing too much is also stupidity, he also told his wife that he will die soon, and they'll meet on the other side of the valley. I found that very funny, he has been sick and is faintly worried about not being able to do the things he used to do as a young person, like just, getting on a bus and heading to Arusha.

I think I'm just gonna stay in Meru

Animal Tolerance

2011-03-24T04:10:00.000-07:00

He was holding a small brown lamb which made a perfect picture of a shepherd boy. I asked if I could hold the lamb, I've never held one for than three seconds
He handed it to me, said it was docile because the mother had rejected it after giving birth two twins.
"It chose the white one, so we feed cow milk to this one."

Soon after, I saw the boy grab the mother's right hind leg.
"Come and suckle, he called to the lamb, who understood the urgency or the times for he came quick and suckled with all his might.
"Let me catch another one for you, the boy said to the lamb. And he fell another mother sheep. " You, come over stop wasting time," said the boy to the lamb. The lamb run.

One old man said to be the other day- I only have 1,300 days left to live. I laughed. He is a funny man, he said no one should kill wasps, because wasps eat spiders.
"No one will ever die from a single wasp sting, but a bite from a spider will kill you instantly."
So he won't chase away the wasps sheltering under his latrine, because they have a purpose, even though they sting him several times a weak.
"You know in China, they use bee stings to for stroke therapy, so I have a feeling, the wasps might be useful to the nerves."

He also said to me, " don't despise frogs for their look, they eat snakes, but in my life I've never heard that someone died from a frog bite."

I have seriously been thinking of getting a gun. I'd round up all the donkeys on earth and end their misery.

fires

2011-03-17T05:22:00.000-07:00

I have a hard time getting a fire going.

Be it wood fires, stove fires, charcoal fires any fire. It’s like Math. My uncle says he has a solution for it each time he finds me going crazy in a smoke filled kitchen.

“It is simple, tell Nyawira to bring me a goat of fire”

translated, he means to say that according to custom, my mother ought to give him a goat on my behalf, so that I can be able to make fires. Mburi ya mwaki he calls it. I should pursue that idea, not for any superstitious reasons, but to find out if say I got married, would the groom be asked to bring along a goat of fire along with the blankets for my mother, the sodas for the cooking women, the lesos for the aunties and the guard of wine for the uncles.

Last month I saw a woman get into a taxi with 2 sheep. She was taking them to her maternal home as dowry since her husband died before he finished off the dowry price. She is in her early 50’s, surely.

I’m told if I was to get married the groom would be asked for my mother’s dowry too, since she isn’t married (hahaha. Lolz) sorry. I told cucu, when that time comes, I’ll elope and come back a month later with a marriage certificate from the D.C;s Office.

We are out of firewood most of the days, and we have to use maize stalks, maize cobs and other debris about the house.

Soon we might be using cowdug. I have a mind to pray for daily firewood. I was going to tell auntie we ought to be saying- give us this day our daily firewood but changed my mind in fear of a lecture against blasphemy.

But seriously we are getting our daily maize meal we might a well expound on our prayers.

Things which facilitate the getting of our daily ugali.

Steady as she goes

2011-03-08T00:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I stopped in the middle of the street to laugh. There was this dude singing very loudly, don't stop me from singing, this is not your town. So he looks my way and starts to sing- young girl, why be proud of your two breasts, a dog has eight and it doesn't boast-
I like such characters, maybe because inside me, I sometime am that kind of carefree character, who despite being different, resisting the society's norms, still finds her way, as everyone would were they to live, and not just imitate. Many times I don't quite understand the paths I take though distinct, but relying heavly on instinct like the animals I love, who love me unconditionally, and so far so good.

Last few weeks I've had to look at decisions, weigh them, try to pick out which is the most exciting, fresh,risky. Well, not exactly, but along those lines.

I was staying with my second family for the weekend, a simple, lovely set up. The father of the house loves loud music and everyone goes along with it, the son, just turned 16, in my mind he's stil 13 and a half. He likes to dance and he taught me a few moves. He's in high school so he knows what's in, and we played J Bloogs song- Let's do it again- over and over, late at night, and it didn't bother the sister, who was studying math, or the newest visitor- they always have someone new, everyday- who was reading some magazine half asleep. So we danced, then listened to a classic fm, and sniggered like two school girls.

But in the back of my mind, I have this decision hanging loose like the soot laden strings of old cobwebs in my aunt's kitchen. They become part of the room, that when it rains and they dissolve, you somehow miss them, though you always knew, at the back of your mind, they are not permanent. Perhaps it's the resistance to change. It has been six months and even though I knew they would be over, I resist, despite the warm thought of getting out once again on my own, living a quiet life, reading numerous books and making soup out of this and that every other day, listening to Colbie Caillat, David Tao and Matchbox 20 at the highest volume.
I guess it's the feeling that, these six months will never be repeated. I have to get set up, and as much as I have enjoyed the evening laughs with mama, the late night heart to heart talks with tata, photography sessions with my cousin, he's got quite good at it too, and guessing cucu's mood everyday, it was a season in my lifetime.

I have to leave eventually, and every day of my life I'll remember this stage of my life, like the sign language class I took at the university some years ago, the trip to an Island some few years ago, the saree clad Mumbai ladies with such quick feet the saree seemed to flow. Memories.