Story Fupi

Why am I single? This is the reason why.....

2014-10-30T15:47:00.003-07:00

One gets tired. You know...of being asked the same stupid question over and over again.

Girl (That's me). Let's make that Beautiful curvaceous girl. So yes...girl meets boy (Some guy who is working hard to get beautiful curvaceous girl to like him. Boy asks girl "You are so beautiful (BUT OF COURSE)...and you are such a nice, wonderful woman (Yes I am)...So why are you still single?

Hurrmph! Why am I single? Why is beautiful curvaceous...might I add delicious girl single? Why...Oh why is she?

Let's ask God.

Day I

Me: Why is beautiful curvaceous delicious girl single?
God: Uhh......give me a minute I will be right back on that one.
Me: *Waits endlessly and finally walks away.

Day 2

Me: Say God....
God: Yes beautiful curvaceous delicious girl?
Me: Am still waiting
God: For...?
Me: Your answer? You know...for the question some guy keeps asking.
God: (Playing all naive)..which question again dear?
Me: God...come on....I was here yesterday. I know you remember. Stop pretending
God: Oh yes....now its coming to me. Ah....I think I haven't made yours as yet
Me: Mine? My what?>
God: Yours....you know. Yours
Me: So when are you making him? Will he be all grown? Ready to be a man and all? Will he? WILL HE?
God: See me after a week and I will have an answer

One week later.....

Me: Hey. God. Am back. So...have you made him yet?
God: Him who?
Me: HIM...you know....mine
God: Oh yours. Yes I have.
Me: And?
God: He's broken. He fell off my hands and he is now in little small pieces. I have to put him back together again. With glue. Piece by piece. It will take some time. LOOOOADS of time.
Me: So...when do I come back? For mine?
God: Ah...(looking very vague)...give me some time dear beautiful curvaceous girl. Give me time
Me: But...can't you just wave a magic wand or something and make it be. You are God after all.
God: It doesn't work that way (sounding irritated)
Me: How does it work?
God: Girl (he forgets to use the words beautiful & curvaceous). Girl.....give me time
Me: But everyone keeps asking me this question. What do I say?
God: Just give me time.......

So...there you have it. I am still waiting. Waiting for mine. Waiting for God to fix mine. Comprende? No more stupid questions.

Birthing East Africa’s Next Literary Giants or Stories in the Toilet

2014-02-17T12:06:00.001-08:00

The room is filled to capacity. Men and women of various ages and backgrounds have gathered this early Saturday morning with a common purpose in mind. A burning desire to write…and to write well! The Creative’s Academy at Daystar University’s Valley Road campus is in full session.

The frantic movement of pens, keen eyes trained on the guest speakers, peals of laughter every now and then. These are some of the sights and sounds emanating from the room. The participants look normal…your every day regular guy or girl…but trapped in these minds are stories and narratives of the future..dying to escape these intelligent minds. Stories that will burst forth in splendor. Stories that will demonstrate the mastery of the written word…stories that will touch individuals and capture the attention of nations. In this room are East Africa’s next literary stars. Literary giants of their time! Master wordsmiths!

This is my first session and within the initial 10 minutes , I am filled with a sense of belonging. I am in the right place! I stare in awe at the guests. Beginning with Yvonne Adhiambo Oduor, winner of the Caine prize for African Writing 2003 and author of the recently release “Dust”. A beautiful woman. A sophisticated woman. A most brilliant one! This is more so evident when she utters her first words. She has me completely drawn in and captivated. Oh how great it is breath in the same air with such as she! I breath in more deeply, hoping to draw in some of the excellence emanating from her every pore. She seems to love the word Tyranny. Tyranny of the white page. Tyranny of this…tyranny of that. I forgive her. I love the word too. The tyranny of tyranny it is. She utters the golden words I so eagerly came for…yet did not even know. “Get out of the way of your story”. “Who me?”. “Yes. YOU!”

Alex Nderitu poet, author, creative genius is next in line. He is dressed in a black suit. That tells me…he is ready for business. The business of writing! He holds in his hands a collection of poems titled “The moon is made of green cheese”. He makes me want to visit the moon to see this green cheese he talks about or at best, to buy the book. More importantly though, he reminds me that titles matter. Titles are everything. Titles will get someone to buy the book even though they might be unsure of the weird African-sounding name at the bottom of the book cover. Kiss, Commander, Promise. That is another of his story titles. Am filled with nostalgia as I remember a childhood game of similar title.

From Left to Right: Tony Mochama, Yvonne Oduor, Kinyajui Kombani (Author & Organizer) and Alex Nderitu. Photo courtesy of Kinyanjui Kombani

There is a Kaleidoscope in the room. I look into it and a world full of colour bursts forth in the form of Tony Mochama, recipient of the 2013 Miles Moorland Scholarship asnd 2013 Burt Award for Literature. He is an enigma of sorts. An erratic one (in the most wonderful way). He speaks of Venice & Russia as if they were common place experiences. He too holds in his hand one of his books “The road to Eldoret”. He is the very definition of ingenious. I soak in all his words. He makes us laugh in the midst of dropping gems of wisdom…sometimes delivered in colourful language, bringing the point home hard and fast. We live in a country full of good manure for stories..he says. The stories are right in front of our noses..he says. We need not look too far. That eliminates all those excuses we have for not writing. The stories await us..in our living rooms, over at the neighbors’ house, in the streets of Nairobi, in the chamameetings we attend…even in the toilet. We need only to open our eyes a little wider.

At the end of the session…I am truly & genuinely inspired. I learn that other than reading…being in the presence of other writers was even better inspiration. I learn that my dream is possible. It is within reach. Yvonne’s words echo in my ears “Be submissive to the Art”. I walk away knowing that this seemingly insignificant session will birth many writers…many stories…many awards. The seeds of excellence have been planted. They will surely grow!!

PROJECT FOXY: Awakening the Giant

2013-11-11T10:17:00.002-08:00

The giant is me and no other.

For years, I have done one thing successfully….year in and year out. I have added more and more weight to my frame. Compared to my former self…I am indeed a giant. I know precisely when it started. I know precisely why it started. It is not a complex reason or one that is even justifiable.

I met and started dating this guy in 2001. His name was John and when I fell in love with him…I fell HARD. We met at an IT Conference. He was one of the panelist and I remember spending most of the time staring at him. When the conference was over, I walked up to him and asked him a question that could have been answered by any other panelist. In fact, he even referred me to someone else. It didn’t matter though…I walked out with a smile having told him where I worked and exchanged email addresses. Those were the good old days of Yahoo Chat. The following day, I got an invitation to add him as a friend. As they say, the rest is history. I learnt later on that he had recently come back home from the UK. After we met, he went back for about a month before returning to Kenya for good.

A few weeks after we started dating, John took me out for lunch and told me that he was engaged to someone he had met in India. This gal was still finishing off her degree and was coming back in a few months time. Inwardly, I must have cracked a little. I sat there as tears ran down my face. Like the sly guy he was…John didn’t break up with me. Obviously, he wasn’t about to break off his engagement either. Rather, he asked me to make a choice. To stay or to leave. It was clear to me immediately. I would stay. For whatever reason, I had lost myself in this man. He was wonderful and everything I wanted. He was even the things that I did not know I wanted. For the next four months or so…I had the time of my life. We spent a lot of time together and many a night were spent in his arms, on the hard floor at his mother’s business premises. We had nowhere else to go. I hardly felt the hard floor nor the cold in the night. Frankly, I have never slept so soundly in my life. Being with him was almost magical. Every time he kissed me, I got lost a little more. When he looked into my eyes, I was tempted to forget my name..I would start stammering and behaving like a little girl. I never thought it was possible to fall so deeply in love with someone. It was ridiculous.

One day, she came back. The minute he told me, I knew what I had to do so. I cut off all contact. I walked away with my head hung low. All I remember about that period of time is that my chest hurt a lot. It was as if the heartbreak was literal. My heart ached…but my chest hurt even more. Eventually, I began to feel better physically but emotionally...the pain was still so real. I missed him so much! One month later, John came looking for me. He looked better than ever and after a long speech, he basically told me that if nothing else, we should be friends. And so it was. During this period of time, I developed a close relationship with food. I developed such a close dependency that has stuck with me all this time. I am finally ready to end it. Just as I am finally ready to end my love for John. He eventually married his gal and I was there for him even helping them plan the wedding as one of the committee members. Nobody knew our little secret other than his best friend. It was the hardest thing for me to do. I still loved him as much as I did before we broke it off but some how I survived the meetings and I survived the wedding with a big fake smile spluttered across my face. It has been 12 years now and I have added 41kgs to be precise within this period. I have been in love again after that but I have never fallen out of love with John nor have I fallen out of love with food.

Don’t get me wrong, it is not John’s fault. It is entirely my fault. I own it all. The folds and folds around my stomach especially. I completely and absolutely own them. Today is significant for me. 11/11/2013. It finally hit me that if I cannot push myself to lose weight, then am unlikely to accomplish this big goal that I have in mind. I want to reach this goal so bad that it is the very focus of my thoughts all day. I cannot fail at it. I refuse to fail. For me to accomplish this goal, I have to push myself way beyond my limits. Yet, here I am carrying around this weight like it is impossible to beat. Am scared of it…I feel like it owns me…like it is my destiny to carry for the rest of my life.

Today, on my own volition, I walked out of my house and headed to the field within our compound. It was precisely 1900 hours. Nobody was in sight and I prayed that it would stay that way. I hoped none of my neighbours would see me. I hoped the security guards would not be interested in finding out who the short, plump figure running around in the darkness was. Thankfully the surrounding trees acted as my camouflage. I don’t know the exact size of the field but it is of fair size. What I did out there was not important (but just to be precise I ran around the field for 30 minutes…just about 10 laps without fainting :-) or having a heart attack. I thank God!). What is important is the fact that I was out there. I have never been a fun of exercise. Of course it shows…everywhere all over me. Any time I have exercised, it has been because someone finally pushed me enough to do it. It never lasted. I have NEVER willfully exercised. At least not in the past 12 years. In high school, I was part of the hockey team and was a scorer. Position 6 to be precise. I loved hockey like madness. Nobody had to push me to get out there. Once, after getting hit by the hockey ball at full speed right under my left eye, I was left with a nasty black eye and half swollen face. Yet…I was out there in the field ready for practice. Hockey practice and the subsequent games were all the exercise I needed. I have never bothered to exercise after that.

As for John, you may wonder what happened to him. He is turning 40 next year. After five years of marriage and 1 child, his wife left him. I was there for him for a while before he disappeared for some time. He keeps reappearing and disappearing like a really bad magic trick. Each time, he looks worse than before. Each time, he has a story or the other to tell about some girl he met or impregnated or who is trying to screw up his life. Each time he comes back, he depreciates in value in my eyes yet somewhere within me, I hope he has come back for me. He still looks even hotter than he did back then (I never thought it was possible)but when I look into his eyes, I no longer see the man I fell in love with. I see dark, long shadows but somewhere in there, I also see traces of a man trying to find himself again. I hope he finally does but in the meantime I too hope to find the girl that I lost 12 years ago. I kinda liked her. I don’t want to be slim and slinky. All I want is to get my foxy back. I want to feel sexy again…I want to look sexy again…I want to be able to look at the mirror and not cringe. I want to see a camera and not want to take off in the opposite direction. Actually, maybe I should get a cameraman to chase me around the field till I lose the 41kgs! Above all, I want to be healthy. Not just for myself but also for my son Levi. I want my foxy back and today thus marks the beginning of Project Foxy.

Yearning for the Light

2013-10-13T14:39:00.004-07:00

I can feel it. I don’t have to close my eyes or reach deep inside me to feel it. It’s right here on the surface, close by. Close enough for me to touch, yet I cannot. On the days that I do not feel it, it is simply because I get too caught up in the present. I see the pain, I see the failure, I see the lack, I see that which I cannot provide. I see that which I cannot offer. I see too the looks from people around me. Some are looks of pity, some are empathy, some are sympathy, some apathy pretending to be empathy. In some of the looks, self pride stares back at me and I see the mockery deep in their eyes. I suppose I cannot blame them. Perhaps life has been kinder to them and they have made better decisions than I. But then, perhaps they really are just filled with the pride of life.

It will not last this darkness. I know this. What I wonder however is whether I will survive this. I know I must but will I? Do I have what it takes to ? Only I can answer these questions. Only I can decide. Only I will decide. I see the light. I feel it. I know it. It is familiar. It belongs to me and no other. I want it to come to me. Yet it shall not, for I must go to it. I must leave my seat of comfort. I must get up at the break of dawn. I must stay up late. I must pour myself out completely. I must reach down deep into reservoirs I did not know existed. And when I think the reservoirs are empty, I must reach down even deeper and discover even more of them. The reservoirs. And I must empty them completely. I must do it until I feel spent. Until I feel there is nothing more to give. Only then, will it happen.

I have always thought I understood the meaning of a promise. I seldom have experienced the joy that comes with someone keeping a promise, fully living up to it. I have no recollection of such a thing. I do know though, how it feels when a promise is broken. It is as familiar as one of my family members. I recognize it even when my eyes are closed. This time, I must learn to know the opposite. A fulfilled promise. A promise fulfilled beyond my wildest imagination. A promise fulfilled in ways that I did not expect. A promise fulfilled beyond that which was promised. Only God can do it.. He owns the promise. He is the source of the light that I so desire to reach out to. In the dark of nights, I yearn for the light. It is my promise and He will fulfill it.

Nature's Gaffe

2013-10-12T15:26:00.001-07:00

Taking care of her daughter Zuleika was an easy task. Zuleika's mother enjoyed it immensely. No, she ADORED doing it. Zuleika was a pleasant little girl. Chubby yet not fat, with beautiful round brown eyes and deep dimples on each side of her cheeks. Her mouth was love-shaped and naturally lined as if someone had taken a black liner and tattooed her lips. She had long, naturally soft hair which was always neatly held or plaited. Her mother took great care of this. When she smiled, the world seemed to brighten up. It was as if she was the most important person in the room. Well, to her mother she was. Zuleika was the kind of child who would tempt you to steal her just by flashing one of her smiles. One was immediately compelled to smile back, even the harshest or most severe of persons. Like Mrs Migwe. She lived a few houses away from Zuleika’s home in the heart of the small village of Mukeha. Everyone avoided Mrs. Migwe. She was a widow and a loner. Her children hardly came to visit. No one blamed them. Her mouth was always drawn into a thin line, her face marred by the many wrinkles which seemed to be like little dry tributaries whose source had been a great river. It would seem the water would ran there no more, in these little dry tributaries. Avoiding the well worn paths like the plague and going against the natural direction created by the paths. Even the water it would seem, was afraid of Mrs. Migwe. When she spoke, it was with a crisp monotone devoid of emotion. It was as if she was torn between wondering why she was alive and wishing others were not either. She neither saw the value and joy of life, nor the purpose of the lives surrounding her. Yet, Mrs. Migwe afforded a smile for Zuleika. It was as if the little girl was the only person who existed in her world.

Zuleika’s mother was not exactly beautiful. One would describe her as plain yet homely. She blended easily every where she went…the kind of woman many men would not run after though she was the very kind of a woman every man wanted for a wife. She was motherly, curvy and well groomed. Yet she carried this haunted look in her eyes.. a deep sadness and pain that no amount of soothing would heal. The only time her eyes lit up is when they were focused on Zuleika. It went without saying that Zuleika was the centre of her world. Now 5 years old, Zuleika had come into her world unexpectedly. She had been dating a young police officer who had recently graduated from the training school based in Bulelwago. They were a lovely couple. Zuleika’s mother was less curvy then but just as homely. The police officer was a short, brown man. Looking at both her parents, one would not have expected such a beauty as Zuleika.

Zuleika’s father had soon been posted to the nearest town. They had continued to see each frequently and everyone in the village knew of their relationship. It was expected that they would marry soon. With time, the police officer had visited less frequently and during a surprise visit to his quarters, Zuleika’s mother had been shocked to find him living with another woman. She had returned quietly to her village but soon everyone began whispering about her growing tummy. It was an unfortunate turn of affairs. With her job as the shopkeeper’s assistant, it was difficult to hide from the prying eyes. The village was awash with gossip of her pregnancy. But soon enough, another village scandal had emerged and the pregnancy became old news. Life returned to normal for Zuleika’s mum and despite the impending challenge of single motherhood, she had coped well and prepared as best as she could.

As Zuleika grew, there were hospital visits every now and then. Any observer would have imagined they were routine visits. Zuleika’s mother hardly spoke of her personal matters and would only ask for a few hours off duty at the shop for the visits. Today was one of those days. Zuleika’s mother had risen early to prepare herself and her daughter for the journey to the big city hospital which took about 3 hours. This time she had taken the entire day off and as they would only be back home in the evening. It was Zuleika’s first visit to the city and to this big hospital. Zuleika’s mother had carefully packed the referral letter into her brown purse, careful not to crease it unnecessarily though with the journey ahead, she doubted whether it would arrive in good condition. She hoped the doctor would still be able to read it.

After the long journey and another hour in the queue, Zuleika’s name was finally called out. In her usual manner, Zuleika had charmed several parents and children in the waiting line. She gleefully waved goodbye to them as her mother led her into the doctor’s office. The office was cleaner and fancier than the local clinic back home. However, an experienced eye would quickly see the signs of wear and tear everywhere and the general feel of a government hospital. To Zuleika’s mother however, it did not matter. Her mind was focused on how to explain the problem to the doctor. Where would she start? It was so difficult and strange. The doctor curtly asked her what the matter was and stretched out his hand. Quickly, Zuleika’s mother recalled the referral letter in her purse and after retrieving it, handed it over to the doctor. It had survived the journey well. She sat back to watch the doctor as he read it and observed the frowns quickly form in his face. “Are they sure?” he asked speaking in her native language. Zuleika’s mother was surprised at this but quickly recovered finding it strangely comforting that this man was her tribesman. “Yes” she answered. “Very sure. May I show you?”.

All the time, Zuleika had been perched on her mother’s knee quietly playing with the multi-coloured beaded necklace her mother wore. “Place her on the bed” the doctor said gesturing towards the hospital bed covered with a thin, cotton sheet with faded stains. Zuleika’s mother quickly obeyed and placed the young girl on the bed. Zuleika lay quietly with her eyes transfixed on her mother. Uncomfortable but unafraid, as if she was used to what was coming. Zuleika’s mother pulled up the little girl's dress and then proceeded to pull down Zuleika's panties. She spread the girl's legs slightly and stepped aside whilst reaching out for her daughter’s hand. The doctor had taken a quick step closer and peered. He seemed to remember something and had gone back to his desk to pull out some latex gloves. On his return, he spread Zuleika’s legs further and used his fingers to get a closer look. Then, he seemed even more perplexed and peered even closer. No amount of peering would change what he was seeing. Everything seemed normal until the problem seemed to reveal itself. Where the little girl’s vagina opening should have been was nothing. Zuleika had been born without one. It was closed off completely, as if it was not intended to be.The doctor shook his head and stepped back. Strange indeed. Nature had produced yet another unexplainable anomaly for the medical fraternity to solve.

Wacu

2013-07-19T04:39:00.003-07:00

She stared out of the window, with tears running down her face. Oblivious to the stares from other passengers in the No. 46 City Hoppa from Kawangware, she was lost in her own thoughts….in her own pain.

Her rural home in Nyeri seemed so far away. She felt misplaced in this big city of Nairobi. This thought immediately reminded her of her parents. If only they were alive. The HIV virus took both of them years ago. Wacu barely remembered her mother. She had a vague memory of her and her maternal grandmother had brought her up since she had been only 5 years old when her mother died. Wacu’s other siblings had remained with her paternal grandparents. Luckily, they had lived only half an hour apart from each other and had gotten to see each other often. Nderitu now lived and worked in Mombasa. Whilst Mumbi was now married and a stay at home mum. She and her family of 4 lived in Nyeri. Of her father, there was nothing. It is as if he had never existed. This was understandable since he had left the country years ago for the US and had only come home once a year. It was during one of those scarce visits that Wacu was conceived. It was also during one of the visits that he had infected her mother with the HIV virus. As Wacu thought about him, she wished he had never come back. At least mummy would still be alive. But then, that would also have meant that Wacu would have never been conceived. Such is life. She sighed deeply. The thought of HIV brought her back to reality. Back to the reason why she was crying. How will she tell him? What will she do?

Wacu has relocated to Nairobi 2 years ago to pursue her diploma in nursing. She had performed well and gotten a job within a month at one of the upcoming private hospitals. She was also engaged to Mutiso, a Chef at a city hotel. A loving, caring man....Mutiso made Wacu finally felt like she belonged in the world. To have someone love her so! They had met through a mutual friend whilst she was still in college and had been dating for the past 1.5 years.

Back to reality again. The bus had now arrived at the city centre and it was time for her to alight. She wiped her tears away and disembarked along with other passengers. Still day dreaming, Wacu walked towards one of the city buildings and soon arrived at the 4^th floor of the same building. It was almost 5.30pm. Time to start the meeting. As she walked into the room, her eyes met with Mutiso who was seated at the far end of the room. He gave her a big wide smile…truly everyone could see the love in his eyes. A few of the other wedding committee members were already there. As Wacu walked towards Mutiso, she wondered how she would ever break the news that she was HIV positive. She was a virgin and that had made Mutiso confident about her status. He had never brought up the issue of both of them getting tested. Knowing her status, neither had she. She was relieved by this and had hidden her anti-retroviral drugs very well and he had never come across anything suspicious. The wedding was now 3 days away. Whilst other brides were usually preoccupied with finalizing the planning at this stage, Wacu was lost in her own world…burdened by the dreadful secret. Only her grandparents and siblings knew the truth. It had been a heavily guarded secret all her life. Since she had never suffered from ill health so every one had assumed that she had been lucky. But it was not so..it certainly wasn’t so. Her grandmother had called her aside during one of the dowry visits and asked her if she had told him. She answered to the affirmative and the matter had been laid to rest. Not a mention of it again.

Wacu knew it would only be a matter of time before the big secret came out. She couldn’t stand to loose Mutiso but how could she bear this terrible secret into their marriage? Wacu walked up to Mutiso and kissed him on the cheek as she said hello. It felt to her like she had just given him the kiss of death. Just like Judas had done to Jesus.

I dream

2013-05-30T15:17:00.003-07:00

I dream of writing a book. A wonderful literal masterpiece like no other. I truly dream. I imagine myself at the book launch…signing off hundreds and hundreds of copies whilst swathed by fans from all corners of the world. I see myself at a book reading or at a cocktail hobnobbing with Chimamanda Adichie or Binyavanga Wainaina…or this literal genius from Ethiopia whose name I forget but who wears a beautiful afro and looks as mysterious as can be.

But what I must tell you is this….it is a tough dream to accomplish. Writing a book requires one to pour themselves into the book..completely. It is is difficult for an author to disassociate from their work…because writing comes from the depths of depths. Writing exposes the depth of the author’s knowledge or the shallowness of the same. It exposes their ignorance, if at all and applauds their intelligence…their astonishing imagination..their humour...their...their...their everything!

I dream ..I dream of being a writer and hope I am worthy of the honour!

PS: I must admit...this is the height of laziness and/or lack of creativity....writing about writing! I honestly needed to just post something....anything!

Blind Date

2013-03-27T05:24:00.002-07:00

I wrote the below piece whilst I was heavily pregnant and dying with curiosity about the little being I carried within. That was back in 2008. I came across it today (27/03/02013) etched on a rough piece of paper and stacked in between piles of paper cleared from old house.

Blind Date

I wonder what you look like
What colour your eyes are
The shape of your mouth
Your smile...mine or his

I can't wait to see your beautiful dimples
your lovely thick hair
I can't wait to hold you close to me
And rub your face against mine
It will be a moment I will cherish foreever

I can't wait to hear the sound of your voice
And the sound of your laughter
I can't wait to see your eyes twinkle with glee or mischief

One day you will crawl
Then you will walk
And then you will run
But I know you will always be close to my heart
You are the love of my life.

------

Dedicated to Levi Kamau Kipkorir Choge

"RE"

2013-01-09T06:49:00.003-08:00

I sat...waiting for you to arrive...wondering what you brought in your wake.

A part of me was a little afraid...but on the whole, I was extremely excited! I had heard good things about you. That you came with reprieve, restoration, renewal, rebuilding and all good things that came with the pre-phrase "RE".

Yes, I need some REPRIEVE. Reprieve from my past mistakes and messes, for the wrongs I have done to others and the big man upstairs...reprieve from myself...by myself.

I could do with some RESTORATION too! Restoration of all I have lost in the past years....physical loss, spiritual loss, emotional loss, financial loss. Yes...I definitely could do a LOT of restoration.

RENEWAL..now there's a word I like. Renewed mind, body, spirit and soul. My body and spirit especially. My body more so! I could see it in my mind...the new me. The new me..FOR REAL. It must happen this time.

Ahhhhhh REBUILDING. Past relationships that were destroyed...broken down...crashed. Not all of them of course. Some of those relationships should have never been in the first instance! But oh yes...one or two...I would like to see rebuilt.

So I waited...I waited for the first sighting of you...and when it came, I was not disappointed!

2013...YOU SURE ARE JUBILANTLY BEAUTIFUL!

The Jubilee Year is here...AND I have every intention of claiming all my "RE"s...ALL OF THEM.

Happy New Year!

I woke

2012-11-28T04:06:00.002-08:00

From a deathless death...and a sleepless sleep
I woke

Without realising death had been so close
Threatening to swallow me, to consume me, that I would be no more
I woke

To the light of my destiny
And to God's purpose
I woke

To a beautiful life
Never ending joy, energy abounding, desire to be
I woke

I woke
Because the Almighty wouldn't give up on me
Nor give me up to a deathless death and a sleepless sleep
I woke

Because he lives
I woke

Remember me? Am the one who loves you

2012-11-28T04:01:00.003-08:00

The letter

My love,

It has not been easy to love you. This is so because it is not easy to love a person like you. I apologise if I hurt you by those words or any other I utter herewith. What you must remember is that I love you.

You make it quite difficult. We agree to do things. Important things. Things that will change our lives for the better. Things that are good for us. But what do you do? You go ahead and sabotage our plans. You do the completely opposite. You puzzle me but still I love you.

I know life has not been easy on you. But it rarely is easy on anyone. So fragile a being you have been. Easily hurt, easily swayed, easily loving, easily hating but...BUT easily bouncing back....easily accomplishing! You remind me of that advert...you know it.... the "Never say die" one. It's their motto and I think it has inadvertently been yours too.

I write to remind you of this. That regardless of what you have been through, regardless of your successes and failures...it is not the end. Strive to do better...strive to do more...strive to be more.Shut down the bad memories. Yes, you need to face the past but there is no need to constantly persecute yourself with it. Deal with it once and for all and move on. Shut down the voices of despair. The ones that want to divert your mind to see...to listen only to the negative. Shut them down. Neigh...shoot them. Aim to kill... because these thoughts will only cause you more harm.

Arise! Wake up to your full potential for you are in slumber. Arise and Be. You already posses in you everything you need in order to become who God intended you to be. Lock into his vision for you....OF YOU and you will be amazed. It's not even a question of becoming...FOR YOU ALREADY ARE. You only need to shed off the current perceptions (self & others). Lay off the false cloaks and emerge.... you creature of absolute beauty and splendor. HE created you astonishingly!

In your darkest, trying moments, try your best to remember me. I am the one who loves you.....

Your Always Love.

Down River Road Part III

2012-10-19T07:44:00.001-07:00

"Toa Nguo" says Nixon.

To his amazement, Millie's initial look of fear seems to disappear. In it's place is a calm, far away look that he cannot understand. She gets up from the floor and proceeds to undress. Slowly, calmly...methodically. She folds each item and puts it neatly away on the old, shaky stool next to the bed. She then sits on the bed and looks up to him for direction. Again....that far away look is present in her eyes. Expecting to deal with a screaming, scared girl, Nixon is perplexed. "This is too easy" he thinks though not relenting from his initial resolve. For the next 3 hours, he proceeds to rape Millie repeatedly. In between "the sessions", he takes time out to tell her his life story. How ironical. As if it would interest Millie at all. At one point, he even breaks down and cries. Then he "requests" Millie to wipe his tears. She does but never looks him in the eye.

Millie on the other hand lies listlessly..silently. Her body is present but her soul isn't. It is as if it has retreated into a dark room. A cold dark room. Her soul cannot face what is happening. It refuses to be present during such an ordeal. Millie is naturally introverted and even in difficult circumstances in the past...her real reaction is delayed. But this time...its bizarre and strange. In her mind, Millie keeps asking herself "Shouldn't I scream? Shouldn't I ask for help? Shouldn't I fight him? Shouldn't I...SHOULDN'T I??? No answer is forthcoming. Her soul is silent. After sometime, it's all over. Yet it's not.

THE AFTER

Nixon remembers the day from time to time. On most days, it doesn't bother him at all and rests somewhere at the back of his mind. But every now and then, something will remind him. A gal of Millie's age then. A sermon on seeking forgiveness. A counseling session on rape with one his parishioners or a rapist confessing his sins in the booth. He has spent countless hours asking God to forgive him, yet he feels unforgiven. Nixon the jail bird, the black sheep, the rapist.... is now Father Nixon.

Millie's story is difficult to tell. She tells no one about the rape and blames herself. Would anyone believe her anyway? Yet, the impact of the rape shows itself in her day to day life. Her actions seem random, unrelated yet ultimately interconnected. She does not hate men...not at all. She hates herself instead. A deep deep hatred that lashes out and hurts the people around her.

Each Sunday, she sits at the back of the church with her family in tow and listens to Father Nixon deliver the sermon..never letting any emotion show on her face. She is a good parishioner.

It is simply absurd.

*Based on a real life story.

Dedicated to Wangari Githu who gave me a nudge or two to finish this story. Thanks Wangari!

V. E. W.

A MOMENT....

2012-09-20T03:08:00.001-07:00

Inspiration comes from the least expected avenues.

I watched the video above this afternoon which I picked up from someones post. As I watched, so many things struck me at once.....it was one of life's moments that occur to us every now and then. Sometimes, we are too involved in the moment, that we never even recognize anything has occurred. Other times, we are so engrossed, that we fail to see the lessons and they pass us by, without any impact, without any lessons. Instead, we focus on the activity happening and we think the activity was everything. We see nothing else. Once in a while though, we pay attention....and we see the moment for what it truly is....a life changing lesson....and we note it...we listen...we watch...and we allow that moment to change us and gain true meaning. That certainly happened to me today.

As I watched it...this is what came to mind.................

LESSONS FROM THE AFRICAN WILD

FROM THE BUFFALO

1. It's all well and good to take up a challenge. However, make sure you have your game straight before you go out and pick an opponent. Their seemingly weakest point might turn out to be their "killing" angle.

2. Recognize when you are in too deep EARLY enough. If you need to run, running at the last minute won't help you.

3. Know that even though your opponent is outnumbered, it does not mean that you will necessarily win

4. The people you thought would stand up for you might

a. Put up weak efforts to do so

b. Kick you a little in the process of pretending to "help"

c. Finish up the job of killing you once your opponent is gone

BE CAREFUL ABOUT THE PEOPLE YOU KEEP AROUND YOU

FROM THE RHINO

1. Be confident and know your plan well

2. Numbers don't always count. Strategy counts MORE

3. Know your strength (even when its only ONE) and use it consistently and hard. You will WIN

4. Do not be intimidated by the enemy. Focus on the job at hand

5. Once you hit your enemy's weak spot once....keep hitting it again until he goes down or runs

6. You do not always have to kill your enemy. Once they concede defeat...walk away in Victory.

7. Your opponent may have many tools at their disposal but they may not know how to use them. Know your tool/s well...and use them with force regardless of how few they are.

ONE PERSON CAN MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE IN ANY SITUATION BUT OF COURSE...WE ALL KNOW THAT. DON'T WE?

V. E. W.

Down River Road - Part II

2012-06-26T00:30:00.001-07:00

Inside Moonlighter...a brief argument ensues. She shouts at him asking why he forced her into the Matatu. Nixon quickly tries to calm her down. All the passengers are now staring, curious about the spectacle. The driver shouts back at Nixon "Nini uchokozi? Wachana na huyo manzi". To the gal he says "If you are going to town....just relax. Tutakufikisha tu". The gal finally takes a seat in a huff after giving Nixon a piece of her mind.

Meanwhile, Nixon feels safer now...more confident. The gal is now on "his" turf. Her anger seems to spur him on. A scheme of sorts begins to spin in his mind. He's got to have her and he's got to have her today. He looks over to where she is seated, carefully studying her face. You can still see the anger from the severe frown on her brow and the tightness of her lips. He laughs! She briefly glances at him and then looks out towards the window. He realises he needs to change his game plan to get her to be more co-operative. He decides to follow her when she alights. Moonlighter swiftly jets into the hassle and bustle of the City centre. With pedestrians every where, littered streets, loud hoots from Matatus and hawkers lining its streets, it is still a place to behold. Nairobi is at it's height and peak.

The gal alights at one of the roundabouts and Nixon swiftly follows her. It takes her a bit of time to realise he is right behind her. She stops and arms akimbo proceeds to give him his matching orders. Nixon manages to interrupt and out comes his story..."Madam, please I need your help. I need to explain to my dad where I have been for the past two days". She pauses.."And where do I come in? That is your own business". Nixon continues to weave the tale,. "Siwezi kumwambia nilikuwa ndani. Please please just help me. Just take me to him and I will explain that you are a friend of mine and we were celebrating your birthday in Mombasa with your family and just got back. Please Madam...just help me. It won't take long". Nixon then puts on his best "pity-me" face. "Please madam...nakusihi tu". The gal turns around as she says "Apana" and walks off. Nixon follows her, begging and pleading. A few people pause to look at the two but then walk on.

Nixon decides to give it one last shot. He tags at her arm, pulling her and causing her to stop again. "Madam, please tafadhali tu. It will only take you 5 minutes and you can be on your way". The gal seems to consider the idea seriously, keeping quiet for a minute or so. Finally, she says "Sawa. Lakini I don't have time. You had better make it quick. Where is he, na ulikuwa ndani kwanini?". Nixon gives a wide big smile and proceeds to tell her how his dad is based down river road, not too far off where he has one of his many offices, this one specifically to take care of his matatu business and other interests in the area. He begins to guide her towards Ronald Ngala street as he asks her her name. It's Millie. Nixon converses with her as they walk briskly, repeating severally how kind she was and how she must a wonderful person. He tells her that he was arrested on his way home for alleged "Loitering". "Siunajua hawa makarao. Wanapenda kuonea vijana sana. Plus they wanted a bribe and I had no money other than bus fare on me". Millie nods her head at his stories and explanations as they walk down, never saying much. She seems to believe him. Nixon thinks about the real reason why he was arrested but swiftly moves his thoughts to the task at hand. No need pondering over such unpleasant thoughts when his day was looking up, he thinks.

Nixon plans his next cause of action. Fact is, his dad is no where near his River road office. He only comes once a day at between 12.00 noon and 1.00pm. It was now headed to 2.00pm. Knowing his dad, a stickler for time, Nixon was sure he had already made his visit and went on to take care of other matters. He has no idea what he wants to do with Millie. All he knows is that he has never gotten a gal this classy and polished to even say hello to him. It was turning out to be an awesome day.

They are now deep into the heart of "downtown" Nairobi and arrive at one of the busy matatu stops. Nixon stops to say hello to a few of the touts milling around. They all know him, for he is a familiar face there. One of them even gives him a congratulatory tap on the back as he gestures towards Millie, who by now is standing a few feet away looking uncomfortable and constantly glancing from left to right, as if she was on the lookout for an attacker. Nixon quickly finds out if any of them had seen his dad that day and finds out that he had been in the area about 45 minutes prior to their arrival.

He walks over to Millie and informs her that his dad was on his way and that they could go across the road to a place owned by his Uncle to wait. Millie shakes her head and proceeds to walk away saying that she had done all she could and did not have any more time to waste. Nixon follows her and grabs her hand whisper into her ear "If you don't do it, you will be in trouble. Nitakuitia hawa machali wengine tu kufundishe lesson". She stops in her tracks. Unknown to him, this is Millie's first visit "downtown". She lived a sheltered and protected life and hardly ventured out on her own. Being in this part of town made her nervous and scared. She takes Nixon's threats seriously. Turning around, she allows Nixon to guide her across the road towards a narrow doorway with a board above it that says "Kirimwe Boarding & Lodging". Millie concludes that she is better off dealing with this one "ruffian", than a group of them. She decides to cooperate. As they go up the stairs, Nixon explains that his uncle owns the place and that they would only be waiting there. "One of the touts will call me when dad comes" says Nixon.

At Kirimwe, they find two ladies seated behind a drab reception area, busy chatting and looking as if they had just woken up. Nixon says hello and they clearly recognize him. "Perhaps he is telling the truth" Millie thinks. As she familiarises herself with the surrounding, she wonders how her day has turned out to be so different. "I am supposed to be at Aunt Wairimu's place by now" . Kirimwe looks like a scene from a bad movie. Paint peeling off the walls, dirty, smelly corridors, old broken down furniture. Millie wonders how a place like this can still be in business. Glancing at her watch, she notes that time is swiftly passing by. "How long will your dad take to come?", she asks. Nixon responds and says that it will be just 15 minutes and she needed not worry. He converses to the gals in his mother tongue, Millie can't quite tell what he is saying and one of the gals points towards the right, nodding her head.

He leads her towards a long corridor and stops outside one of the rooms whose door stands ajar. She hesitates and pulls back. Nixon turns around "Don't worry, I will leave the door open, just have a seat as I get a cup of tea for you. Please...relax". He steps back and allows her to walk in, as he walks back towards the reception. Millie gingerly steps into the room. A chill goes down her spine...." I really hope this guy is trustworthy", she thinks. Just then, Nixon walks back into the room and swiftly pushes her towards the bed, as he gets into the room and shuts the door behind him, turning the key and locking it.

He pulls out a knife and faces Millie who is now on the floor.

THE FINAL PART OF THE STORY NEXT WEEK: Down River Road - Part III.

A Jailbird, A Cabinet Minister, A Biker & An Engineer

2012-06-21T02:38:00.002-07:00

This is not a joke. Rather, the life story of a Woman I have observed for years. A friend, a mentor, a wonderful woman of God. She is elderly now and her life is ebbing away. As I sat by her bedside, I couldn't help but remember the men who had come by her life...yet only one remained by her side. He truly was the last....and truly was the best. Not just the best of them all...but a man of honour, valour, great dignity and character. A man any woman would want to have as her husband.

As I thought about her....the men in her past seem to pass me by...as if in a parade.

THE JAIL BIRD

Ex-prisoner and Rapist. He raped her and stole her innocence. Enough said

THE CABINET MINISTER

Back then, he was a businessman who was just starting off. You could see the signs of success. He was very social. So social that he had a string of girl friends from here to Timbuktu.

THE STUDENT

Campus student so bright....so loving...so devoted...so young. She wanted a more mature man and failed to see the love in his eyes.

THE BIKER

Bad bad boy! Hot Bike...hot body....hot everything!

MR HANDSOME

Extremely good looking....amazing personality...good character...A CHARMER. She fell...and fell hard. He soon married someone else.

THE FRIEND

...turned lover. Turned Enemy

THE PARTY ANIMAL

..Who soon lost all his money.

THE LAWYER

Stole her heart and took off with it in a jiffy. So typical of Lawyers.

THE ENGINEER

Gentle, pious, a gentleman....a dog!

THE BIKER...again.

JOHNY-COME-LATELY

Insecure..is all he was.

THE MANAGER

He too raped her.

THE UNMENTIONABLES

Here in lies 3 or 4 who deserved no mention, for they were just fleeting, unmemorable moments.

THE RHODES SCHOLAR

Intelligent and had his life figured out and all his "i's" dotted. Unfortunately, she hadnt' figured herself out yet and off he went!

THE GENTLEMAN

Oh...what a loss!

THE OLDER MAN

He loved her....and loved her to bits. She failed to see it.

THE NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR

He adored her. She failed to see it too.

THE CRUEL

He broke her heart ruthlessly.

THE ALMOST

He almost made her happy but not quite

THE ONE

He was standing at her bedside right now. As I gazed at him, I wondered where had been all those years when she struggled and made oh so many mistakes. He knew everything...yet judged her not. He came to her life to love her, accept her, lift her up, carry her when he needed to, loved her some more, honoured her with his all, loved their children to bits, was everything she wanted and some more. He wasn't perfect and had messed up in the past too. But he had finally recognised she was his...made for him....he had kept her by his side...never letting go....never looking at another....never leaving...never failing. And as she passed on right before our eyes....he never removed his eyes from hers....he never stopped loving her...even in death. He honoured her fully. It was enough......

Down River Road - Part I

2012-06-08T09:26:00.000-07:00

Approximately 30 minutes after he had been released from the Industrial Area remand prison, Nixon is seated at the bus stop. Aimlessly watching both the human and motor traffic pass by. "It is a busy stage this one", he thought. He kept glancing at his watch as he restlessly waited for his dad's matatu on this route to come by. It is his only choice of transport since he does not have a coin on him. Nixon's dad is a local tycon, owning a fleet of matatu's on several routes, several real estate properties and a plush home in Muthaiga. Looking at Nixon, one would never tell.

He is rough looking, with a cleanly shaved head, free of charge as provided by the Prison Warders at Industrial Area. He has on a grey t-shirt with streaks of dirt on it. His black trousers are worn and dirty too. On his feet, are a pair of bata slippers that have definitely seen better days. His hands were "stained"...the kind of hands that look dirty all the time no matter how many times they are cleaned.

As he sits waiting at the bus stop, his attention is drawn to a young lady of about 16 or 17 years alighting from a matatu. She is dressed in jeans and a trendy black & white top. Her face carries with it a sense of innocence that he had not seen for a long time. She is a "black beauty" and walks with a slight swaying of the hips, not too provocative but enough to catch the attention of any one keenly looking. Her hair is long and thick, held back in a sort of side pony tail. One or two tresses run loose giving her a teasing look. Her has a full bust and her behind is generous enough. She walks westward away from the bus stop.

He gets up from the makeshift seat at the bustop and follows her thinking "hmm...I could get myself this one". Eventually he catches up. "Sema manze" he belts out. He tries to look as cool as possible. She ignores him, never turning her head or acknowledging that he was now walking besides her. "How dare she!!", he thinks. He tries again "Sema siste. Unakaa poa. Nikuzindi?". Nothing...dead silence. Who does she think she is? He will show her who is boss. He then throws a myrad of insults at the girl. Only then does she turn to look at him with a puzzled yet fearful expression on her face but she keeps walking still.

At this point, he gives up and allows her to walk on. He slowly goes back to the bus stop. Feeling angry, rejected and ashamed. "She should see me on a good day. I don't always look like this. Maybe it's the shave that scared her. Am not so badly off..ama?" he thinks. He takes a sit again and starts looking out for "Moonlighter". That's the name of his dad's matatu.

Another 15 minutes pass, with Nixon listlessly staring ahead. Still no sign of Moonlighter. Suddenly, he notices the girl close by walking back to the busstop and he quickly jumps up to his feet. "Another chance has come. This time, she has to acknowledge me" Nixon thinks. His ego is somewhat bruised by this young thing. As she gets closer, Nixon suddenly notices Moonligher approaching the bus stop. He thinks quickly and waits. As the she gets to the busstop, Moonligher draws to a stop and passengers begin alighting. The whole process is so synchronized. It is as if the gods had planned it. Before the girl can react, he pulls her towards the matatu. She begins to protest...though weakly. "Leave me alone!" She says. "Unanipeleka wapi?". As the last passenger alights, Nixon forcefully pulls her into the matatu saying "Si unaenda town siste. Wacha tuende nitakulipia". It happens quickly and swiftly. And with that, Moonlighter speeds off towards the city centre.

The nightmare has just began.

Look out for Part II & III of the story to learn what happens next.

A LEGEND BREWING

2012-06-08T07:45:00.000-07:00

When I first met this little boy, I introduced myself as the woman he would never be able to get rid off for the rest of his life and then I said hello. He opened his eyes really wide and pursed his lips together. I burst out in laughter for I often did this! It was my signature move. “Now that’s my son!”I happily thought.

Levi is now 4. I must say it's been a crazy journey. He is hyper, curious, extremely “destructive” but also one of the most intelligent kids I have ever met. Here are some of his adventures.

At 2 years, he attempted to milk a cow by himself. Yes, he got the cow into the milking shed!

Conquered “child proof” caps severally and consequently landed in hospital. NO, am not a careless mother, he is just a very special, intuitive childJ

Frequently “Undresses” remotes by eating all the buttons

Has taken 9 BP tablets AND lived to tell the story (or rather lived to allow me to tell the story)

Accidentally drank paraffin consequently resulting in very “fiery” breadth. He survived that too

Contributes madly towards economic growth in various sectors e.g ICT, manufacturing, the motor industry etc. By him contributing, I mean that I have contributed by having to replace items over and over again

Put enough coins in my car’s CD drive. I would not be surprised if it started belting out “Money Money, I need some Money!”.

Frequently sits in a pail of water fully clothed with a bunch of dirty clothes as companions

The list is endless. You can never leave anything unattended or not watch his every move. Leave him in your room and he will remove the roller off your roll-on, drink your lotion, apply nail polish, oil his hair, eat your earrings, pour all your perfume and carefully dismantle your beaded jewellery and attempt to eat the beads. He will add water to your boiling tea till it spills over and there is only water in the sufuria with a hint of milk! Sometimes, he will put salt in your tea and you will only realize it when you take your first sip. He will draw on every surface including the TV screen (our TV is truly a colour TV!). On one wall, you will find what looks a very big smiley face drawn with a black marker. He also frequently puts his hand into the car’s exhaust pipe and rubs soot all over his face. These are things that kids typically do but I can assure you, Levi can combine a number of these things & then some into one day and into the shortest time possible. Please note though, he is never without a minder or a family member to watch him.

Levi has a knack for seeing things that others don’t. On a huge KWS poster of a Cheetah, Levi sees an Elephant. There is none in the background. Take a look at the KWS logo and you will understand. He can make formations out of anything. Give him toothpicks and pieces of cabbage and you will have a train. He is good at puzzles too. His social skills are wanting though and in response to a “good morning” you are likely to get a loud “NO”. He prefers not to greet people completely. Levi detests wearing sweaters or jackets. He cries if you force him.

He is the most interesting person I have ever met! Whatever you think Levi cannot do or is beyond his age HE CAN & HE WILL DO IT. As someone recently told me, Levi is a LEGEND BREWING, probably a savant. Am determined to help him channel all that energy into something that will make the world gasp in wonder.

*Levi was recently diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome (AS)

SHE

2012-05-31T09:31:00.000-07:00

I first met her about 10 years ago. Actually..that’s probably not true. I had seen glimpses of her when I was 18. But for another 5 years, she kept at bay. Never coming near….never making her presence known, yet plotting and planning all the while.

I do not like her, you see. Her face is chubby though still beautiful but chubby still. She has a double neck….and if she not careful, it will be a triple one soon. Her shoulders are bulky and thick. Her arms flabby. Her breasts full .Too full and saggy. What a bad combination! Her stomach….her stomach is the worst of it all! It has three layers or should I say three floors. The basement, ground floor and level 1. One would think she were six months pregnant. Her thighs give thunder thighs a good name. Even thunder thighs would call her thighs fat! Her legs have been mercifully saved and sheltered from the "fat onslaught", still looking pretty much the same. Still beautiful. This, I tell you, is the not worst part of the story. For she is not ugly on the outside but rather on the inside.

She has no self control and no sense of discipline. Am not sure she can even spell the word. She loves food excessively…planning her day around meal times and where she can get the best buys. She is happy at the thought of food. HAPPY I tell you! Many times, eating food is never to satisfy hunger, at least not physical hunger. I wonder if she has another type of hunger that drives her so. A soul hunger perhaps which cannot be filled by any amount of chocolate or fried chicken or Farmer’s Choice sausages.

I once heard a psychiatrist say that people like her….they have not learnt to process difficult situations or circumstances. Instead, they end up “eating” their feelings and frustrations. In the end, the eating begins to consume them….kill them from the inside out…and from the outside in.

Over the last one year, I have come to know her well. She is now one of my closest friends. On some days, I come close to hating her but I cannot because she is a pretty much a part of me. Am working hard to save her, before she kills herself. It’s a difficult task because she is a stubborn woman. I have to be stronger, firmer, more watchful, and ten times more tactful. I have to win the everyday wars and I have to win the battle eventually.

You may wonder who she is. She is simply the woman who stole my life.

By V. E. W.