Wednesday, 21 November 2012

Of Rights and Feelings

Lightning don't strike the same place twice, right? Wrong. Lightning for me is an old feeling that overcame me today... So much to say but my words truly fail me. But as always I am hoping - this time more desperately than the last - that my words will liberate or heal me.

When part of our house was illegally demolished by City Council last September, thanks to one Joseph Macharia Muchiri (I should upload his photo here eh? Just Google him), I got a feeling in my stomach that I cant quite describe in words. I did not want to go home and at the  point when I realized that was not an option, I wanted to walk home from Lower Kabete because I thought if I delayed long enough, then maybe , just maybe, someone would snap me out of reality and hastily send me to dream-land. Of course I did none of the above. 

Today is exactly 14 months since A.N. passed away. Today, the court granted bail to ALL accused suspects. I was not in court so the details are unknown to me. I learnt the news from Mrs. M through a text message... She did not say it explicitly but the minute I read the first two words of her text, that feeling I had 14 months ago arrested my tummy again... But today it was more brutal. It arrested even my heart. I replied momma's message with three words: "You are joking." She didn't reply. Eventually I found someone to spell it out for me. The text read: "... the court allowed bail for all." 

This is the order of events after reading that message. 

I had just alighted from a matatu. I was crossing Ng'ong road. I stopped in my tracks. Almost got hit by a bodaboda. By the way, there is a reason City Council bylaws forbid us from using our phones while crossing the road.  Anyway, I walked back to the pavement, my hand over my now agape mouth. I called my sister: 
Me: Have you heard
Her: Mmmmm.
*Choke on tears*
I hang up

Instantly, my mind is filled with flashbacks of all the court hearings, his lawyers, the demolition, the utterances made by Macharia's wife, Ngunjiri's family and the numerous time we had been here before and had always been the favored ones. 

Tears fill up in my eyes. *Sniff*Sniff*
Mental Conversation 1: Get a grip of yourself, you are in public.
*Sniff sniff* <Wipes tears>
Mental Conversation 2: How could God let this happen? Surely God, you couldn't even let me sit my exams in peace?
Mental Conversation 3: Cross the road. You have class. Go to class. 

Call Maria(my friend)

Me (Hiding from the office watchie behind a tree): * Amidst sobs* Bail was granted! 
Friend: Ati?
Me: Macharia. They all got bail
Friend: Oooh no! Unacheka?
Me: *Laughs out loud*
Friend: Uko wapi nikukujie?
Me: Let's meet on *road X*

I settle down in class. I swear I have never been so absent from any class in my life. EVER! 
I stare at the ground the entire class. Thousands of thoughts cross through my mind. I start to whisper prayers to God.
*Tears well up in my eyes* 

My deskmate: Are you ok?
Me: Yeah I am fine
Deskmate: Are you sure, because you are not writing any notes
Me: Oooh. Ooops. I will start writing. I dont start writing

*More thoughts*
*More tears well up in my eyes*
Mental Conversation 4: Stop being silly. You are in class and the lecturer can see you are not OK  You'll be kicked out of class. Get a grip of yourself or ask to be excused.

I resolve to get a grip of myself.

Me: Whispers prayer of Jabez and declares it upon my family. Also Lord, I would really like daddy to walk me and my sister down the aisle. Please keep him out of harms way.
*Tears well up in my eyes*


Mental Conversation 5: Thank God!!!! I can go home.. Crap! Cant go home. Maybe I should walk, so that I can never get there. *Sigh*

Bail is a constitutional right in the 2010 Constitution but is there really no exception to the applicability of this right because everyone seems to be getting bail these days. EVERYONE! Don't I, the girl who has been threatened twice, have a right to feel safe in the house I have called home for 21 years? I haven't broken any law, yet it feels like the law selective. 

The first time I ever looked over my shoulder when going home was the night A.N. was murdered. It has been instinctive for me to do so ever since that day... Now, well... Now, I guess we take each day as it comes.

On related matters: My heart goes out to A.N's family... This must be so much more harder for them. 

Hopefully, the final verdict of the case shall deliver justice.

Tuesday, 30 October 2012


I seems to be going through a phase where I actually find myself worrying about Kenya; getting upset about the things that are happening and should not be happening. Things I will not repeat because, well, you live in Kenya and even if you have buried your head six fit under, the problems of this our beloved country are not unknown to you.

Of all the things that make me worry and get upset about this country, there is only one thing that irks me beyond belief – the public transport industry in Kenya. I mean, matatu’s have got to be God’s way of punishing Kenyans. Especially 44 matatu’s! I honestly believe the drivers were born with no common sense, no reason and no intellect.

Sometime last week, Safaricom and a bunch of other organizations launched a campaign called TOA SAUTI! The campaign is aimed at reducing the number of road accidents happening on our roads by providing a platform for Kenyans to speak up against reckless driving. Statistics show that 8 people die daily in Kenya from road accidents. I think this year we have lost more than 8 people daily. Anyway, so if 8 people die daily and we have 365 days a year then what we are saying is 2920 Kenyans die each year from road accidents. Those are many people. I saw the campaign in Friday’s paper and skimmed through it. I suspect there must be a number where passengers are supposed to SMS to alert cops on reckless driving. I never read the article comprehensively. I wish I did.

The story.

Last week, on Friday I get to town. Board a 44 mat and sit in front with the driver. For your information, the reason why I MUST sit in front is because it is the only way I will make sure the punks use the service lane and drop me off at the stage and not in the middle of the highway, where I have to jump over rails to get home. This is a lesson I learnt the hard way – after I lost my balance one night attempting to jump the rails and almost fell on the road and there was an oncoming car. Yes, I know… Life is hard when dealing with punks.

So, since it was a bit late, the mat took some time (about 30 minutes) to fill up. The following is a conversation between the driver and the guy seated next to me:

Driver (Holding a bottle of water): Boss, nimekaukiwa jo!

Random guy (Holding a bottle of coke): Pia mimi jo! Ni kubaya leo

Driver: Uko na  <insert a sheng word>  I do not remember what he said. I don’t speak Greek.

Random guy: Unaona ata yangu (the bottle of soda) haina kitu.

Driver: Hauna <insert sheng word>

Random guy: Sijafungua bado

Driver: Wacha ni mwage hii maji uni-sort.

*Random guy takes out a bottle of Johnnie Walker (Black Label) from his bag and opens it*

*Conversation with myself: Aaaah! That sheng word must have been referring to alcohol*

*Driver empties the bottle of water*

*Random Guy pours Johnnie Walker into drivers bottle till it’s three-quarter full*

Driver: Wazi jo! Umeniokoa sana.

*Driver drinks it neat till his bottle is quarter full*


Me (to random guy): Excuse me, wacha nishuke tafadhali

Driver (while pointing at his “water” bottle): Madam unadhani nitalewa na hii?

Me: Ndio.

Me (to random guy a bit irritated now): Excuse me, I need to alight.

*Random Guy Ignores Me*

*I stretch out to open the door for myself*

*Driver locks it from central lock*

Driver: Mrembo, si endeshi hii gari. Nabaki town. Nitaenda ikirudi.

Me: Then you should have no problem with me alighting. Fungua hi mlango na uwache ujinga! And what the hell is wrong with you? You think in thirty minutes you will be less drunk. FUNGUA MLANGO!

Me (to random guy): You must be a murderer. Why would you give someone driving you alcohol?

Random guy: Jaymo!(that is the drivers name), Fungulia huyu mrembo na wazimu zake ashuke

*Jaymo opens the door and I alight*

* I walk away pissed as hell and wondering why the hell random guy gave the driver alcohol*

*Conversation with myself: Crap! What if the mat gets an accident and the guys at the back don’t know the driver is drunk. You should have told the other people that the driver is on Johnnie Walker*

<It remained a thought>

Maybe I was acting all crazy and dramatic but I would rather be crazy than be a statistic than be among the 8!
I wished I had read the TOA SAUTI article thoroughly. Taken down the number and made my voice be heard.

One of my daily mantras is:

I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who endowed us with sense, reason and intellect intended us to forgo their use ~Gallileo Gallilei~

I now know that there is an exception to every rule. Even that one.

Read about TOA SAUTI here.

Have a safe week. 

Monday, 8 October 2012

Of Coffee Tables


He waves at her. Excitedly. To signal where he is seated. He has been waiting for the last ten minutes… He also smiles because he cannot for the life of him hide his thrill to see her. He has never been this happy about seeing a girl in his life. It’s a strange feeling. One he would not trade for anything. It’s a coffee date at the coffee house down the street from his house. He hopes that this time the location is strategic enough… You know, just in case the conversation goes down a certain road… The kind of road that makes her cheeks turn red and makes him shift in his seat. The kind of road that it went the last time they met, and the time before that, and the one before that, and the one before that...


She walks towards the table smiling nervously. Hoping he will notice that 1) she is in a dress and 2) that it is a short dress. She wore jeans on their first date; jeans and a turtle neck. She loved the company. So on all the other dates, she made a point to show more skin; a more revealing top today, shorts tomorrow, a skirt the next time... Msichana ni effort she was told. She wonders if he is smiling because he is happy to see her or  because it’s polite. 

*Mental Shrug* 

It’s JUST a coffee date. He can’t be that happy to see you – besides you are ten minutes late -------- Mental conversation Number 1.  He doesn't care if she was ten minutes late or an hour late but she doesn't know it. You are lying to yourself you know, it is not JUST a coffee date------ Mental Conversation Number 2.


*Peck on the left corner of her lips*

“You look AMAZING!” He whispers in her left ear.

*MENTAL HI5* He noticed *Leprechaun Jump* ---------- Mental Conversation Number 3.

“Thank you. You look good too” she responds.


Conversation! Conversation! Conversation!



Conversation! Conversation! Conversation!

Her cheeks turn red. Maroon even. He shifts some more in his seat.

Grab her hand and "read her palm" --------- Mental Conversation Number 4

He leans across the table and gently reaches for her hand. She does the shifting this time round. He listens to the voices in his head and starts to read her palm. She surrenders to his words, (though she knows he is bluffing), to his eyes and to his touch on the lines on the palm of her hands…

He finishes bluffing. His eyes meet her now red eyes...

It was never JUST a coffee date but the table between them made sure it just that.

Monday, 24 September 2012

1001 Rules for My Unborn Son - Walker Lamond

September is definitely a good month wouldn't you say... This is my THIRD post. That is a record this year... Something I am not particularly proud of but then again, no pressure.

Today's post is going to be, errmmm, not-original but only because I stumbled upon this site: and the content thrilled me sooo much I just had to share. Now, before I do share: I am explicitly stating that the content that shall appear here is not my original work but it is by Walker Lamond's the author of the book: 1001 Rules for My Unborn Son. Don't want to get slapped with a plagiarism-suit like Caroline Mutoko. 

Anyway, I am not a mom, not about to become one but I read nearly all 1001 rules and below are a couple of my favourite (in no particular order) 

Hope you enjoy.

  1. Nothing good ever happens after 3:00 a.m.
  2. Offer to carry a woman's bags, especially your mother - she carried you for 9 months
  3. Never spend too much on a haircut. They don't last. :-)
  4. At the end, LOYALTY trumps AMBITION every time.
  5. Be a well-informed voter.
  6. Honking your horn won't make them go faster.
  7. Keep your eye on the ball AND follow through; in sports and in life.
  8. Spend time with your cousins. You are more alike than you think.
  9. FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS. You will be done in half the time.
  10. Never be afraid to ask out the best looking girl in the room. You will be surprised how often it works.
  12. Return a borrowed car with a FULL tank of gas.
  13. You only get ONE chance to notice her new haircut.
  15. SUCK IT UP!
  16. If you are good at something, never do it for free.
  17. DO NOT under-estimate your fertility! Hehehe.
  18. Sometimes your best bet is to bet on her.
  19. If she asks for your help opening a jar, you better damn well open it. :)
  20. Never under-estimate the power of taking out the trash without being asked... To put this in the Kenyan context: Never under-estimate the power of doing something without being asked.

Have a blessed week. 

Monday, 17 September 2012

Mirror Mirror...

*Mirror Mirror on the wall, who the hell is that staring back at me?*

Have you ever looked in the mirror and been unable to recognize yourself? What do you do when the person staring back in the mirror is a familiar stranger? When you have an out of body experience? Do you pinch your elbow? Try to touch your nose with your tongue? Or try to put your fist in your mouth? How does one snap out of self-surprising moments?

In the last couple of months I have managed, quite successfully and effortlessly, to literally drop my own jaw leave it on the floor and walk away from it… As one of my sisters would say “I forgot to pick up my jaw.” The thing about growing up is that you learn to be less judgemental - and to some extent more accommodating - of other people, of behaviors you would have thought as absurd in the past, of comments made by people. Growing up for me is teaching me to be less judgemental… Something about taking a walk in someone’s shoes blah blah blah…. It’s complicated. Standing on the outside looking in on your own life is complicated. It’s  hard. It’s  foreign.  

I have managed walked myself into situations which were just plain silly…Utterly silly infact! Then I have found myself, while offering my friendship to an unexpected person, between a rock and a hard place. I have found myself going against almost everything I believe in because sometimes in life you just have to be a friend, to support someone when they are going through shit a really rough patch; because sometimes all that is required of you is to shut up and hold someone’s hand. There are times when your opinion does not matter. These shoes I find myself walking in are not mine. They feel so big and are quite uncomfortable; yet you would think if they are big, they should be easy to slip out of; Right? WRONG!

I am in the habit of saying “It’s never that serious” BUT I am beginning to think that sometimes it is serious. It gets serious when you are incapable of recognizing yourself or remembering the things you once stood for. It gets serious when you do silly things in the name of hope; because hope is a treacherous illusion. It gets serious when you become numb to the very things that define you as a person… When guilt is no longer your lover, THEN, you know it is serious. When you detach from your conscience…It is serious.
It’s been quite a couple of months. Maybe I will stop making my own jaw drop, maybe I won’t. It’s never that serious... Hehehe! :-)

On the real though, here are a few of my personal lessons and realizations from the last couple of weeks:
  • I have learned that you never really know yourself; self surprise is real. Self awareness can be painfully cruel when it creeps up on you
  • I have learned that when you break someone’s heart – whether a friend, lover or family member, and you want forgiveness, you have to be patient with them and you have to work at it.
  • I have learned to accept that people will do things differently for the very simple reason that they want different things out of life from me. It is really that simple.
  • I have learned… I lie…. I am learning, at such a slow pace, it’s not even funny, that I should manage my expectations of others people, especially men. :-)  (In my defense, I already learned how to manage my expectations of women.)
  • I have learned that I have NEVER learned to be carefully what I wish for or mumble under my breathe as wishes. Sad truth!
That’s about it for now. I need to go and meet myself... For the umpteenth this year. *ShakingMyHead*

On unrelated matters, I am beginning to honestly believe that this country will be better off ruled by a woman… Why? Because I honestly believe if this country was being ruled by a woman the amount of blood that has been shed in TanaRiver and Isiolo would not have been as much. Simply put: Because I think women are more rational than men. Thing is, I don’t think the right woman has come out yet, so if you are reading this and you have political ambition, and you are a woman… Tokelezea!

P.s. If you tried pinching your elbow or putting your fist in your mouth or touching your nose with your tongue… Judge yourself harshly. :-)

Blessed week folks.

Thursday, 6 September 2012

One Year Later...

It's September... Again. I once told a friend of mine that September was my least favourite month of the year. So much used to happen in September... Most of which I cannot remember now but at the time, I just didn't like the month. It was seldom a happy month. The year I told her that, she told me September was her favourite month.... That changed for her the same year. I suppose my bad streak rubbed off on her. I now know for a fact it is her least favourite month.

It therefore came as no surprise when I had a September from hell, literally speaking, last year. I think it is probably the reason I don't remember what ever happened in the years before. In a couple of days - three to be precise - it will be exactly one year since The M. family i.e. us had their own version of 9/11. Read here.

I don't even know why I am blogging about this. Here is the thing... For starters, I cannot believe it has been one year - 365 days - since some sic bastard decided we didn't need our home anymore as we had known it for 23 years. Time really does fly. Time is also grossly overrated when it comes to healing wounds and such stuff. I can tell you that for free. You see, there is not a single day - not a single day - that has ever gone by that I don't think about what happened - yes, I know that is messed up on many levels but its the truth - and though my siblings or folks, especially folks, don't say it I know the same thing applies to them.

I think about all the planning that went into making sure that our house was demolished. I think about that sic sic bastard who camouflaged himself as a good neighbor, a man I served breakfast numerous times on Sunday mornings, I think about his evil twisted mind. I think about the cops at Kasarani Police Station and I still want to throw up. I think about City Council and Al-Shabaab like thoughts fill my mind... Literally! I think about that sic bastards crazy wife and I shiver. That lady is the equivalent of King Ahab's wife (read 1Kings 21). I think about my momma's tears and my dad's reaction, my brother's words and the look on my sister's face as we resigned ourselves to fate and to the reality that we would sit through the demolition till 1:00 a.m. I think about the overwhelming support we got from friends and some relatives and the words THANK YOU seem inadequate and gifts of appreciation seem somewhat lacking. 

But the thought that inevitably comes to my mind when I think about all this is always Anthony Nahashon(A.N.)Ngunjiri. I think about how he was beaten and eventually murdered in cold blood by someone we had once welcomed into our home... And my heart cries for his family, his daughter especially. I think about his daughter. When I think about A.N. Ngunjiri, I find myself asking God time and time again if this was how he was supposed to die... It is said that when God created us, He already knew how we would die... and I wonder if this is how God saw his death the day he created him. Was this  really how it was supposed to happen? He died a brutal death, a painful and undeserving death on 21st September 2011.

The thing about the Macharia's is that they thought money is everything and that it could buy freedom and justice. His wife actually once told us that: "If you think you have money, or you know people, then we will show you just how much money we have and the powerful people we know.If it means we shed blood for this land, then we shall..." True to her words they did it all. 

On September 9th 2011, they showed us they had money and contacts of powerful people... I actually still believe there was no one who could help us. But on the day they murdered Ngunjiri in cold blood, on that day they realized money isn't everything and neither are the telephone numbers they had been flaunting in our faces on 9th. I say this because I know for a fact, Mr. Macharia and his puppet brother never thought they would be in jail (remand) for this long... They knew they would pay their way through the justice system. He once appeared in court on a wheelchair to seek sympathy from the judge so that they could get bail...  Disgust doesn't even begin to describe what I felt. It didn't work. 

But here is the thing, even if it did work - I know deep down that that man, his wife and the nut-heads attached to her hips, his brother, the police at Kasarani(I wish I could name names) and his workers, will never know peace and they will pay for everything they did - especially killing Ngunjiri. 

It's been a year of court cases, bail applications from their end which would always send us on our knees for prayer, of constant hurtful memories, of painful conversations and flashbacks, of prayers and mostly of seeing God's favor through the justice system in our country. I said in the last post about this whole drama (read here) that I hope the justice system will restore my patriotism... Well, its not fully restored, but its not as bad as it was one year ago.

P.s. Justice delayed is not always justice denied. I can tell you that no matter how long it will take to have Macharia convicted for murder, on the day the ruling will be made(God willing), I know I will cry tears of joy because justice will have been done. 

I pray this September will be good to me and my folks and siblings.

Have a blessed month y'all.

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

For Peace Sake....


I BEG Mzalendo Kibunjia and his team to do their work thoroughly; without fear or favor. It is hypocritical, dangerous even, to bury their heads in the sand when politicians like Jakayo Midiwo and Cyrus Jirongo make inappropriate remarks to the public. I acknowledge that there is a thin line when it comes to "freedom of speech" however, I wish to point out to the NCIC that the daily sessions/baraza's held outside City Hall are on the thin line and it is up to you Mr. Kibunjia, not to arrest or prosecute them, but RED CARD them and their utterances... They probably don't know better - maybe because you haven't done enough civic education on what amounts too hate speech or inflammatory remarks... I'm just saying!

I BEG ODM, specifically Ababu Namwamba & Otieno Kajwang' to STOP misleading Kenyans. To STOP suggesting/demanding for a manual system to be used during the next elections. I beg them to STOP raising eyebrows. The camera never lies and I'm sure if the media dug deep into their archives they would find something on ODM speaking harshly against the same system they now advocate for - especially in the last elections. The Manual System has been used in Kenya ever since independence and as far back as 1988, the system has failed us (except in 2002). It especially failed us in 2007/8. The country burned down because elections were not (seen to be) free and fair... That is why we had 97% & 100% voter turnouts. I get that the two mentioned above (plus many others who aren't mentioned here from both sides of the political divide) do not know how badly the violence affected  Wanjiku and in as much as I respect your freedom of speech I am politely requesting that you SHUT THE HELL UP! Let IEBC do their work... ALONE! They MAY need a watchdog but God knows it's not you!

I BEG the IEBC to settle their differences (preferably away from the eye of the media). I beg them to go to great lengths to re-assure Kenyans that the elections WILL (not MIGHT) be FREE & FAIR! Again, preferably not MANUAL! Peace is expensive - and Kenyans get that. So, please... Go to Naivasha like our MPs do when they need to go all bare knuckles on each other - do what you need to do - just make sure you work together for the good (and peace) of this country. As Eugene Wamalwa put it: You must be  like Caesar's Wife: Beyond Reproach!  You have two options: To get it right the first time or get it right the first time!

I BEG Uhuru Kenyatta not to run for president. I know it is your democratic right UK but here is the thing: No Kenyan wants an away president - This is of course assuming you will continue to co-operate with ICC. 

As Gado rightfully put it...... This is what an "away president" would look like:

In the likely event that you have a change of heart and decide not to co-operate (read as refuse to go to Hague), Kenya will go to the dogs... Kenyans will be ripped apart by the dogs UK! We will become a pariah state.. We will sanctioned on just about everything and anything. Our economy will suffer and all the gains your mentor has made will be washed down the drain. YOU will become like Bashir - fortunately for you, your mentor has lobbied African states to support Kenya against the ICC... Lucky for you. Unfortunately, Gadaffi is dead and the United States of Africa dream died with him. Catch-22 eh? Investors will pull out - except China, of course. Development will slow down. It is said, there is no peace without development and no development without peace. No brainer what I'm trying to say. 
So, Mr. UK for the sake of peace, I BEG you not to run for president, withdraw before the court declares you unfit to run - it may just work in your favour... Let the rumours from the political grapevine  be true and support Mudavadi NOW. Then, do us a favour and co-operate with the ICC. Miguna Miguna said There is no absolute defence like the truth... IF you really are innocent you will be just fine. Life is not really as unfair as people think.

I BEG the media to step up their game and give politicians who have nothing constructive, wise, sensible or objective to say a black-out. Believe it or not, Kenyans really do not like listening to or reading about politicians and all their political talk. However, IF you must air their stories, do this country - which by the way, you guys also live in - a favour and give us the facts... You know, the ones which politicians always seem to omit - they suffer from selective amnesia you know... Please don't let that bug (of selective amnesia) bite you guys too! You under estimate the power you have to change the destiny of this country.

Kenya is messed up BUT it is my country and I want PEACE... Not just after the next elections but FOREVER! We cannot afford to fight again...We just cannot. So, for those people who think it's an option... Go to Syria!

For the sake of peace!!!

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Paper Love

I have been, for lack of a better word, struggling with writing in the recent past - "Struggling" because, of late, words come to me suddenly and they fail me just as fast. My phone has about ten drafts - ten incomplete drafts; some make sense, others, not so much. So in short, what I am trying to say is that I have been struggling with blogging. But despite my "struggles" this post has been lingering at the back of my head - itching to get out - for a long time now. You see I have a mild case of CDO (in case you're wondering what that is, it's  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder- OCD -in alphabetical order) :-) I love order... Heck! I live for order and perfection. Chaos is... just to chaotic for my liking! :)

In the midst of my struggle I found myself wondering why failure to post something every so often actually gives me sleepless nights... So, to cheat myself into sleeping, I began to write lame ass poetry... Then I thought about deleting this blog all together... But that seemed far too DRAMATIC & UNCALLED FOR...  And here I am... This post is a desperate call to myself for myself... 

I blog because writing means the world to me... My fingers are the most treasured part of my body.... and my mind and my heart. They are my writing. When I write I am in my element... I am drowned by my thoughts, by my emotions and by my words... My words are my release. Its kinda like farting after being bloated for hours... Not that I would know :p 

I write because; 

My words liberate me (Fungua Roho Yako...Ongea------> True Story)
I often need to communicate things that I cannot otherwise say out aloud.. 
Word play is waaay more fun on paper
Written words, unlike spoken words, can be taken back (read as deleted and/or edited)
Writing is escapism for me
My words are a fusion of my mind and my heart... and,

Sometimes, I use my words as a silent cry for help...

But most importantly: 

I write because PAPER HAS MORE PATIENCE THAN MOST PEOPLE; because paper will never tire to hear me out or get lost in my words... And because paper has more patience than people, I will continue to struggle with blogging/writing until I can struggle no more....

Monday, 25 June 2012


“...Has two brains; one is lost and the other is out looking for it..."

I get lost in my own thoughts,
I get lost in my own dreams; confused senseless dreams,
I get lost in my own feelings; happiness, sadness, sorrow, peace, joy...

I get lost... 
In thoughts of you,
In confused, senseless dreams of you,
In my meaningless feelings for you,

I get lost...
In a rush of emotions,
In a skipped heartbeat,
In my racing heart,
In my incoherence,
In my fingers playing with my hair and
In my foot drawing maps; Africa to be precise and all her 54 babies,

My eyes tell of this story,

The story of how I loose myself in......


**********THE END**********

P.s. The silence is broken Madam Dama :) :*

Tuesday, 15 May 2012

In His Likeness

Growing up, I was always told that man was created in the likeness (image if you please) of God. That hardly made any sense to me back then. My little mind thought that God looked like all of us. A section of his nose looked like mine, the other like Obama's, the other like Oprah... e.t.c. However, that made sense to me on today. As I spent the afternoon with my mom, I had an epiphany that truly, this is what God must be like. I also thought that this would make for a good post. Celebrating momma.

But, I was thinking about this post, I had a different mind not to put it for one simple reason. A friend recently lost his mom, and as I crafted this post mentally, I could not help but think how cruel life can sometimes be... To have the world, well at least 74 countries, celebrating mothers at a time when his mom had just passed away........ *Sigh* It's very sad. I had a good mind not to put this up but I remembered that if there is anything the cruel hand of death has taught me is that wisdom is saying the things that matter, like I love you, to people in your life when they are still alive and so, I intend to give momma a copy of this post. I digress.

I spent the evening with momma watching reruns of our favorite local show - MALI - and gossiping about my siblings i.e. wondering to each other why in heavens name they are not getting married already! Geez! *HINT*HINT*

My mother was created in the likeness of God. My mental view of God is that He is BIG. He is not black or white. He has a BEAUTIFUL  smile and when He laughs, it is a HEARTY laugh; one that fills the world with joy and makes the hearts of angels warm and glad. In my head, He is a really really good FRIEND and He cares deeply about His own. He is SMART - genius smart - and also very very  wise; when He speaks, the words that stem from his mouth and mind-blowing (if you are in doubt His wisdom, read the Bible). To me, God doesn't pry into our lives - when something is wrong, He knows, because He is God and I suppose that He too, like momma, has a strong sixth sense. 

In my head, God is BEAUTIFUL... Yes, Beautiful. He spends a lot of time thinking about His children; wondering WHY they behave the way they do. He has a strict face - a serious face, but one that is gentle and warm. He has a sense of humor and is thrilled by sarcasm. He is KIND and when He gets angry, He takes time to cool off and calm down - become rational. I think He is an encourager (again, if in doubt, read the Bible) and is ever helpful. He is super-duper loving - I mean, nothing in this whole wide world can compare to His love. Its literally overwhelming. He wants nothing but the best for His children and for people He loves.

That is my mental image of God... and today, sitting with momma, I could not help but tear at how much she was created in His likeness... Because she is all that I have described and more. She is my friend, beautiful, smart, wise, kind, sarcastic, funny, strict -with a touch of gentleness..... She is His image, His likeness and I thank God deeply for sending me the best version of Himself. For blessing me with the BEST version of Himself in my life. 

Mrs. J.M. Mathenge: I love you! :-) :-*

P.s. Whereas this realization melted my heart, the fondest memory of today was my grandma calling momma just to wish her a Happy Mother's Day... Sweetest thing ever! I hope momma took notes and will call me when I am old and grey with little brats like myself around. Most importantly, I hope the apple didn't fall far from the tree, because if I become half the women momma and her mom (my grandma) are, then I know I will have been truly blessed by the Almighty and I will be the BEST likeness of God to my children.


P.s. Read Proverbs 31: 10-31

NB: I wrote this on Sunday, but had not internet, hence the delayed posting.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Justice Delayed...

When  I was younger, much much younger, about 8 or 9 years old, my dad and uncle started a newspaper - "STAR". It was a newspaper termed as gutter press by the then Moi regime for the simple reason that the paper was anti-state, anti-government. It would only be a matter of time before the government caught up with them. I remember I was home for the holidays when cartons of paper, cartridges and plates used for printing were brought to our house. My momma called home and  told us not to let anyone into our compound or house that day. I was too young to understand it then... You see, as was the trend back then, people who spoke against the government were detained. But I was too young to understand. I learned later that night while watching news that my dad had been arrested and detained at Kasarani  Police Station... I'm now glad it wasn't Nyayo House.

He wasn't at Kasarani for long. I went to visit him once. I remember it took long for him to come out and when he did he had a huge smile on his face, similar to the one he wore when I saw him on television the night I learned he had been arrested. Smiling as though nothing had happened. As if he was home... I smiled back, probably because, I was too young to understand. With the innocence of a child, his last born girl, I asked him where he sleeps... On the floor, he responded. - on the mattress momma brought me. I asked him how they shower... With cold water! I was more sorry that he showered with cold water than the fact that he slept on the floor. We had made him breakfast, my sister and I. Toasted egg and tomato sandwich... I don't remember if he ate it.. I didn't care if he did because at that moment: My dad was a HERO! The greatest HERO in this world. He came home  a few days later. The "STAR" continued to be published, but not for much longer. I was too young to understand the injustices at the time.

In my post "The Conclusion", I mentioned in passing that lawyer, A.N. Ngunjiri had been murdered in Mr. Joseph Macharia's compound, after he had been beaten into a pulp. Three gunshots emanated from his compound - which led us to conclude that A.N. Ngunjiri had been shot three times.We've been in court... Hence this post "Of fears and love." The case was near conclusion, or so I thought until we resumed and were informed that we have to start all over again... START!!!! I must have zoned out when noticed shit was just about to hit the fan... Why is still a mystery to me. 

Here is the thing, I was too young to understand that it was an injustice for my dad to be arrested for exercising his freedom of expression. I was too young to understand what an injustice is... I am not too young now to smell injustice from miles a way! I never really understood the statement "Justice Delayed is Justice Denied"... Until today! I wonder if the judiciary is aware that cases are not like pens to be shared or moved from one judge to another... Here is my take on it: Cases being moved from one judge to another is like playing broken telephone... At some point, the message, and in this case, the truth will get distorted... and the innocent suffer when justice is delayed.. They are denied justice.

A man's life was cut short by some greedy bastards for crying out loud... That man was working FOR the state! How can the loved ones of this man be failed by the same state through delayed justice????

I wish the justice system in Kenya would work!

As what is left of my patriotic juices fade away.... I pray for the family of A.N. Ngunjiri and pray that justice prevails and God's favor be with them... be with us through this entire time.


Monday, 16 April 2012

How Do I Love Thee - Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth B. Barrowing

Poetry by Elizabeth B. Barrowing gets me... This Sonnet is amazing. 

I am not sufficiently inspired to write this week hence this post. Enjoy it :)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways;

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace

I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle light

I love thee freely, as men strive for right
I love thee purely as they turn from praise
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood faith

I love thee with a love seemed to lose,
With my lost saints

I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life;
And, if God chooses, I shall but love thee better after death!

P.s. Are you thinking Valentine's came late for me? Yes? Me too! :))

Blessed and LOVEly week. :-)


Thursday, 12 April 2012

Pick me

Writing this post, is going to leave a bitter taste in my mouth because its not my kind of writing... AT ALL!!! I'm actually posting it under coercion from a friend. 

A brief history of the post: It was written at 4:03 a.m after my oh-so-beautiful niece woke up screaming and hurriedly returned to sleep (turns out she was never awake in the first place) thus leaving me and my thoughts awake. *Big Mistake Dear Niece*

So, this post is what transpired at four a.m. - thanks to my thoughts.... or not!

Here goes:

Pick me from your array of pastries,
Pick me from the white and black forests,
Pick me from the chocolate fudge... and any other fudge cake,


Just pick me

Pick me - your old fashioned vanilla cake with no raisins, cream or strips of chocolate which you love so much
Pick me for my simplicity

Pick me from the exquisite bouquet of flowers,
Pick me, 
Not the Daffodils,
Not the Lilies,
Not the Carnations, 
Nor the Birds of Paradise,
Pick me - the old fashioned thorny rose from your exquisite bouquet of flowers,
Pick me for my pricking thorns

Pick me from your bouquet of flowers,
From your sunflowers and;
From your white tulips
Pick me because I am a thorny rose

A thorny rose;
Whose scent shall but last a while,
Whose beauty shall surely fade and;
Whose colourful petals shall but wither
Leaving me bare

Pick the rose from your fancy bouquet of flowers,
Pick the vanilla from your platter of black, white and fudge pastries





Tuesday, 20 March 2012

The Time Traveler's Wife

This is a different kind of post, which I have been writing for one week now. A book review; I'm venturing into new territory and I want to be just perfect at it… I want to be perfect at it because the “Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger” is a FANTASTIC BOOK and I want to do it justice. In fact, I had a mind to look for a review of the book online and post it here as my own writing J but I was taught better… Plagiarism is a crime.

To meet the love of your life (a librarian) at the age of six, he is butt naked and thirty years older than you, is not any girl’s fantasy or ideal romance story. That is how Clare Abshire met Henry DeTamble. He was butt naked and trespassing into her secret place at the meadow. Henry has a gift, super-power if you wish, of time traveling. He was coming from 1991 to 1977 and every time he time traveled, he found himself naked, sometimes injured and always hungry. Clare is as innocent as six year old come. She believes his story immediately and  stocks up her secret place with food and her father’s old clothes for future meetings. Here is the thing: Henry knew Clare. He had come from the future and she was his wife… But here he is, meeting the six year old Clare. He knew all these things about her life but he hardly ever divulged information on the same, which just goes to show the truth in the statement that men can keep a secret. I suppose if the shoe was on the other foot, Clare would have spilled the beans on his entire life… A scenario that eventually happens in 1991 and Clare often finds herself struggling to withhold information about Henry. (Maybe its because for every 1000 words a man talks, a woman talks 3000 more.)

Clare at Eight: Are you married
Henry DeTamble: Yes, I am.
Clare: Is your wife a time traveler
Henry DeTamble: No. No. Thank God.
Clare: Do you love her?
Henry DeTamble: Yes, very much. (I am astonished to see tears streaming down her face). What’s wrong?
Clare: Nothing! It’s just that I thought, maybe you were married to me.
Henry: It comes out so quietly that I have to ask her to repeat it.

She goes through teenage waiting for Henry… waiting to be old enough to be his, eternally. She is always being left by Henry…
Clare: “It’s hard being left behind. Its hard always being the one who stays.”

Clare and Henry get married in 1994. Clare is 22, Henry is 30 and 38. Henry time travels on his wedding day J and the 38 year old Henry shows up for the wedding instead. Later, at the reception, 30 year old Henry shows up. Their life is as normal as it can possibly get, well at least for one party:
Henry: “When you live with a woman you learn something every day. So far I have learned that long hair will clog up the shower drain before you can say "Liquid-Plumr"; that it is not advisable to clip something out of the newspaper before your wife has read it, even if the newspaper in question is a week old; that I am the only person in our two-person household who can eat the same thing for dinner three nights in a row without pouting; and that headphones were invented to preserve spouses from each others musical excesses. <------- I suppose these are sentiments many, if not all, married men share.

Clare wants to have a baby… But she can’t bear one to full term. They have five miscarriages.  Henry suggests that they should adopt. Clare wants her OWN child. They argue about it. Fight about it. Henry storms out and leaves. He gets a vasectomy behind Clare’s back.  While he is away, a younger version of him travels through time to Clare and gets her pregnant. J They get a time-travelling baby girl, Alba.

Clare: Honey do you know who is that playing with Alba?
Henry DeTamble: That’s Alba
Clare: Yes, I know. But who is that with her?
Henry DeTamble: That’s your daughter at 11. She is time-travelling. Is it too weird for you?
Clare: No, it’s actually kind of magical.

The Time Traveler’s Wife is a love story, a fictional love story that blends perfectly with reality… The reality of all the emotions wrapped up in relationships , the reality of death, the reality of friendship, reality of love and family and the importance and/or lack thereof of time when it comes to love; It is an unreal story that sparks untold emotions with just the right amount of humor.

“Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?” ~ Audrey Niffenegger ~