I'll keep my ting brief

It's time to wake up when Khloe Kardashian is at the entrance of Oktobafest grounds, asking me to wait for her. Two things: 

One, I'm not attending Oktobafest this year, and two, Khloe Kardashian doesn't know me (surprise surprise). It's Charles and Camilla who are in Kenya, but even then, they came after Oktobafest and if they cane before, I don't think they'd want to attend and especially bop to Wakadinali. I digress. It was one of those weird dreams and then I woke up to Steve singing "sleeping child" while washing dishes.......at 6:45 a.m.....

 

The other day I'd taken myself out for a solo date. Before then, I was processing some difficult emotions that were making me sad. I thought the time out alone would make feel lighter, but it didn't and I accepted it. It be like that sometimes. Instead, I later met up with a few of my friends who made me laugh quite a bit. Thank God for funny friends. 

I've recently been watching The Kardashians show, (hence why my dreams feature Khloe) and a lot of times I see how convenient life is when one is rich but there's the flip side of being famous that I'd never want to experience. Anyway, as at now, here's some rich people ish they do/ have that I'm not willing to experience.

Silk anything...

Silk sheets, silk pillowcases, silk pyjamas. Those things make me sweat so much. I have one silk top and I've worn it only like twice this year.

Brussel sprouts....

They go out and order roasted brussel sprouts with raw tomato and avocado. All I can say is...yuck! 

If I remember more, I'll update you guys. 

About my, sorry our tomato plant. It's not doing well. Our watchie came to cut our grass, sorry, weeds and then he hoisted the vine on a stick, but it's more to the sun. Previously, when it was laying on the ground, it was more in the shade. There's now less that 15 tomatoes on it because someone (my Dad) has been harvesting them when they turn the slightest red. Which I think is too early, but I'm picking my battles (or none). Anyway as for my tomato billionaire dreams, it's not looking good brev... 

Lately, I've been making lots of chocolate chip cookies. As the days have gone by, I've kept on improving my recipe and I must say, they're really yummy. The probability of me omokaing from baking is higher than me omokaing from one drying tomato plant. 

Writing... I'm looking for opportunities for paid writing. Online magazines etc. Putting it out there, if you see an opportunity, kindly share with me. I'd like to explore that space....

This isn't going to be a long post, as I have cookies to make. Yaay. Otherwise, love and light. But I hear nowadays Mpesa Confirmed.... is the better signing out. I don't disagree. Enjoy the rest of your week my people ❤️

We stan a networking King

There's a random plant growing in our 'garden'. It's a tomato plant 🍅 At first, I thought it was a passion fruit plant cause of the shape of the first fruit when it was green.. Then instead of turning purple, it turned red, I was like oh, is this tomato plant. (I really like passion juice, and have only had tomato juice once in my entire life) This has just reminded me of when we were kids an old would wish that our house could have all sorts of things or our garden could grow all sorts of things. Like there was a time my small brother said he wished the taps would expel yogurt instead of water. Haha as in?  Anywayz....

I googled the kind of tomato variety it was and discovered that it's a Roma tomato plant. 

Why I say it's random is cause it's the by-product of my dad trying to plant grass and that project backfiring a good one. (Hence why it's not yet a garden) For some reason, I'm now invested in that tomato plant. I water it almost daily. 

When the met department said that we were going to experience an el-nino, I felt a little sad because I doubted that the tomatoes were going to survive. Then it rained but it wasn't too crazy and there were more tomatoes and they turned redder quicker. (Four in total) 

Then I dreamt about how I'm going to be a big time tomato farmer. That I'll start by selling them to my girl. Then sell to the shops around, then to zucchini and beyond fruits and them. Then I'll  go around the country giving talks on how to grow and nurture Roma tomatoes and be a billionaire. Then go for dinner with JayZ....cause 2 billionaires hehe. Anyway I woke up...  As of today, they're 15 tomatoes on the vine and I'm proud of them. I'm happy to see them grow.

Since we're on the topic of events that took place around home, I got a discount on sending a parcel the other day courtesy of Steve. Here's the thing about the area where I live, I can never be incognito by virtue of me being Steve's sister. Cause Steve talks to almost everyone in the area and tells them about all his family members. A lot of times, I could walk into a shop or just walk on the road and people will go like "Sasa sister Steve" so I just smile and say hi back. Which means for me to be in my mysterious girl era, I need to leave that area in its entirety. 

So I had this boda guy's number and called him so that he could have a parcel delivered to Eastleigh. I gave him directions to my place and when he got there, why lie, you could've thought. he'd met JayZ hehe. He was so happy. He said "aaaaaaaah sister Steve!!!! Sasa!" so I tried to match his energy but couldn't because I wasn't ready haha. I said "aah poa sana". Then he told me how Steve is his good friend etc.... I proceeded to give him details of where he could have the parcel delivered and asked one of the most asked questions in our capitalistic Nairobi. "Itakuwa how much?" Our guy Simon almost collapsed. He said "Weh ni sister Steve!! Siwezi kulipisha. Weh tu ndio utadecide, mimi siwezi kataa" haha. So I stated a price, he was cool with it. In fact, he was super thankful. That was. a cool interaction, or made my evening that day. I told Steve about it later.

"Your friend Simon said hi'

"Simon mgani? Wa Uber"

"I think so, but Uber ya boda, cause alikuja na boda" 

"Oooh Simon mluya wa Ingotse" 

Haha turns out we're from the same shagz and they're good friends..  

Which reminds me of another day we got free pizza in Kericho. That says a lot especially cause our last name isn't Kiprop hehe...

Steve, my big bro Sam and I are on our way to Nairobi from shagz. That day, we decide to use the Kericho route for the views etc. So we make a stop in Kericho at some mall and go to eat at some restaurant. Immediately we get in, Steve jolts out of our table and goes away. Then he comes back with a guy in his hand and they're both very enthusiastic. Steve's like "this is my brother Sammy and my sister Elizabeth" the guys introduces himself and the whole time he's just like "Steve!!!!! So nice to see you here" So he tells us him and Steve are drinking buddies, and how this is the last place he thought he'd ever see Steve...in a pleasantly surprised way. Steve is also so happy that he's seen a guy from the hood in Kericho. This guy insists he'll buy us whatever we want, plus we have to try the pizza from there, even though we'll carry it as take-out. 

He tells Sam his life story, how he works for gava and all and if we ever need connections, he's the guy to call. He said that if Steve were to ever get married, he'd ensure Steve has police escort and an entourage etc haha. This guy was Steve's guy for real..... It was such a nice interaction, I was so happy for the pizza... and of course to know that there are people who value Steve's friendship. 

This just gets me thinking how he's actually a networking king. We can only stan. Maybe I should make a Jino Tamu tee and have him go places with it, then that's when I'll become a billionaire. No? :) Also, if you want a gava tender, just talk to Steve hehe.

Journal Entry (but a public one)

I've woken up well but I'm not in the mood today.

The morning has come too fast and my sleep has only come 3 hours ago, but I need to be awake. I have work to do and a baking class to teach. I'm in my late 20's and I'm feeling it, which basically means I'm feeling like I've under achieved, career wise, and my heart and chest are full of anxiety. Of course, today is the day I'll remember every embarrassing thing I've ever done or hurtful things I've ever done to others, which will make me feel even ten times worse. 

I need to get out of this funk because my class starts soon and I need to show up for my student. 

Today, I'm not a patient sister:

Before my student arrives, I will tell Steve in a very assertive tone "Steve, when Suzie* gets here, please don't come into the kitchen ovyo ovyo. Please give us space." 

When Suzie arrives, Steve will come in the kitchen ovyo ovyo and it will be evident that I'm not amused by this, so I'll keep saying "Steve, please excuse us". He will, but for all of five minutes, then he'll be back in the kitchen with his many stories. At one point, I'm talking to Suzie about sponge cakes and Steve runs to the sink and comes with a kitchen sponge, to show her an example of a sponge. Today, I'm not in the mood, so I tell him again, "Steve, please excuse us, I'll call you if we need you." 

Next week, when my mood will be much lighter, Steve will come in the kitchen and tell Suzie that she's a beautiful queen and this will make me laugh for a long time. Even as I'm writing this, it's making me smile. Because where did he learn how to compliment like that? Is he now hanging out with Rastafaris cause they're the ones who compliment like that. Them and some Black Americans. I'll be honest though, I'm not a fan of the queen word used as a compliment to me, but the compliment wasn't to me, it was to Suzie. She laughs and thanks Steve. 

I really like Suzie's personality. First, she's Gen Z. You guys know how I feel about most Gen Z's. I love them, because they're what I wasn't in my early 20's. I wasn't as confident, I wasn't as free in saying what was in my mind. I was always thinking about how what I'll say will affect others, even when it's got nothing to do with them. Just now, at 29, I'm still learning how to speak up in a Salon. Yesterday, I did it twice. I stammered the second time. I told her 'usishuke hizi za mbele' in short, don't grab my poor baby hairs when braiding. By the third time when I realized she still was getting something wrong, I lengad. A Gen Z would never, and I can only aspire. 

Apart from Suzie being Gen Z, she is also funny and honest, and she understands all my TikTok references. For instance, when I say "I'll keep my ting brief", do you guys understand what I'm talking about? Shourourt to you if you do, you can come to our next baking class. She's also very accommodative of Steve, Suzie i.e and that tugs at the strings of my heart in a major way. 

***

(I see Biko use those asterisks in his blogs so nimefanya ku copy lol) 

When I wrote the first paragraph, it was exactly three days before my monthly period. Dark times, dark thoughts. Now, many days later, I'm feeling positive again. Feeling like God is with me and He'll always help me navigate each stage of my life. So I'm a lot less anxious and looking forward to my 30's...

I've really missed you guys, hope you're all well :)

The lights are on and everyone's home

You're a 45 year old man and your wife of seven years, whom you share four children with, breaks up with you. You have a mental breakdown and let's give you a name, say Kanye West, your breakdown shall be televised...on social media...

During this phase in your life, you release a song with Xxxtentacion called "True Love". It's a melodious tune. A sort of dedication to your ex-wife and four children. In one of the lines to your children, you say "-I'm the- only neighbor in the hood with a door they can knock on, I leave the light on... daddy's not gone, I leave the light on, daddy's at home" 

That line is beautiful, but it also made me wonder how it perhaps could be, having to live in Kanye's house. I was like it must be quite adventurous, to say the least. Immediately, I remembered that I live in Nairobi and hey, in my mind it's not such a far off comparison. (Key word: in my mind) 

Here in Nai, the lights are seemingly always on, but also, quite literally. And everybody's home....and in your bedroom. That's how it feels a lot of the time. The only time it feels like the lights are dim are Sundays, from morning to around 6:00 pm and then between December 24th and 31st. (Shout out to any one born during that time period. i.e me, my girl Kinesh, Bien, John Legend na wanyama wooote hehe). At this time, the lights are dim, but never off. Not in Nairobi. 

Let me tell you, one of the biggest things that shocked me this year was learning that not everyone is a foodie. That the idea of food doesn't excite everyone. Not everyone goes to bed thinking hmm what should I have for lunch kesho, or while on a date, hmm, what am I going to eat? Anyhu, while still processing that shock, I also learnt that not everyone appreciates slow or moderate paced environments. There are people who absolutely thrive in say New York, the same as the people who thrive in the quickness of Nairobi. 

Here's the thing though, as at now, I'm not saying that I'm ready to move from this city. I appreciate a lot of the convenience here  and the grandiosity and the sometimes efficiency but other times, it's just a lot. It's everyday having to say "ni send money ama ni till number? Ooh paybill. Account number ni?" Or directing a boda guy or an Uber guy "kuja kwa hizi apartments za grey, Lenalita Kang, kuja house number F8" Without even leaving the house, you still experience how fast paced life is. But then again, I can't imagine living somewhere that doesn't have this level of convenience. 

Speaking of convenience, because many things happen here, the other day Harambee Stars had a friendly match against South Sudan at Kasarani stadium. (On maps, it's sijui Kasarani aqua sth or sijui Kasarani Safaricom sth. Like it brought almost 4 options and I was just like mehn, I'm just trying to get to Kasarani stadium, wacha hii maneno mingi) Reason I was going is because my cousin now plays for the team. Harambee Stars, not South Sudan hehe. Even though he's tall, like 6 foot plus tall. So we were going as a family to support and to feel proud, despite SSD winning. 

I know about football alright. I wouldn't say I know too much neither too little. I support Arsenal and watch a lot of their matches and know their manager, many players and the goal keeper (Ramsdale) I've forgotten the other one's name. Oopsie. So anyway when I got home, my pops was like how'd the game go, and what position does said cousin (Anyembe) play. I was like position? He's number 24. Are they not all either strikers or midfielders or goalkeepers? Apparently not. The whole time while watching the game, I'm just like "pass the ball to number 24". Even if say the guys huko mbele, akina Saka of Harambee Stars were about to score, in my head I was just like "pass the ____ ball to number 24". Logic left my head, I just wanted to see my cousin with the ball. 

Anyway, it was an alright game, nothing too exciting. We didn't win, but we try again next time. Which also got me thinking, I'd enjoy watching more matches live, especially if the team I'm supporting is winning, especially abroad where the stadiums have better infrastructure and err, exciting food. Can you imagine in Kasarani, the food being hawked was just peanuts, simsim, and soda, there was no water. No hotdogs, no fries and for someone like my girl Minah, imagine no smokie pasua. Hopefully with time for us foodies, they'll start serving exciting food and the infrastructure will continue to improve. Even on the pitch they'll put the carpet, they'll turn on the screens cause this time to know how many more minutes of the game was left, we were doing estimation. 

Anyhu, in this fast paced city, where the lights are always on, I hope you get chances to just chill. Next Harambee Stars game in Kenya si we go? 

Sometimes mafia bosses wear skirts and have thin eyebrows

"Afadhali ule mwenye anaomba kuliko ule mwenye anaiba. Naomba machungwa!" I don't know how that sounds to you guys, but to me it sounds more like a threat than a request. The sort of thing someone dangerous like a Mafia boss would initially say to you to make it seem like you have an option, but basically they're just letting you know who's in charge now. 

That's how I started my Monday morning last week and probably why I didn't post on the blog here. I was recovering from that threat lol. Okay, I lie. I didn't post because I was in Mombasa, I'd gone to see my two nephews. One spent most of his time sleeping and the other spent most of his time jumping on chairs hehe. One is 3 years old, the other is 3 weeks old. Guess who the jumper was and who the sleeper was. 

Before going to the Coast last week, I'd called a new cleaning lady, to come and wash clothes. (If you have a washing machine and a dryer and/or do your own laundry, you probably won't relate with the sometimes struggle of getting a 'good' cleaning lady to wash clothes. Good is in quotes because it's relative and specific to an individual. For example, for me, a good cleaning lady is one who comes early, is thorough, fast and doesn't have story mingi. 

Anyway, so this one I got, let's call her the mafia boss, came early, was fast but problem is that she had story mingi. So after finishing her work, I called her to the house to have some tea. Whole time, there were like 5 big oranges on the kitchen counter. It didn't even occur to me to offer her just simply because it didn't occur to me. I was in the kitchen frosting a cake so that's probably where I was concentrated on. So MB (mafia boss) looks me dead in the eye and then with a threatening tone, says "afadhali ule mwenye anaomba kuliko ule mwenye anaiba. Naomba machungwa." Guys, please read that with a tone that suggests an order. I froze a little. I wondered why there was mention of kuiba in the first place. In short, this is what I heard. "Hey, you over there frosting that cake. Look at me. I'm only going to tell you this once. Give me that orange. You're lucky I haven't stolen all five of them already. If you say no, I'll have my people come for your head and that cake of yours. And then we'll steal everything that belongs to you." 

Of course I gave her. Mama raised a coward haha. I'm joking. Mama raised a girl who takes time to process things. If she'd have said "naomba machungwa" we wouldn't even be talking about her. Needles to say, I will not be requesting MB for her services again. Also because she had story mingi which I don't want to get into because it will make this post have story mingi. Yesterday, there was a knock on the gate. Who was it, you guessed it. MB. I opened the gate peeping thing. She said "umepotea!" Haha then I said "ah ah, mi niko" Then she asked "hakuna job?" So I said "bado". She looked me dead in the eye "nimekuja juu simu yangu haifanyi na labda umekuwa ukinitafuta". Then I said "oooh. Sawa. Lakini nikikuneed, nitajua kwenye nitakupata. Asante" Then she closed the gate peeping thing. Still ensuring that she's the one in charge haha. Ain't no way I'll call her back. But please guys, help me pray over my safety. Sometimes, mafia bosses wear skirts and have thin eyebrows.

Please read these next paragraphs in a Ugandan accent. For no particular reason. Only because yesterday evening I chose to annoy my small brother by responding to him in that accent, but he kept 'ignoaring' me lol. No offense to Ugandans, but that accent cooks me. (That's how Gen Z's say something tickles them. They say ngl, that sh** cooks me.)

Anyway, it still felt nice to come back to Nairobi to clean clothes. One day, we'll talk about that dreaded feeling of coming back to Nairobi after some relaxed time away. It disappears after like three days. At least for me. Otherwise, have a lovely rest of the week. Hopefully, you don't encounter any mafia bosses. (Now you can release the Ugandan accent)

The stars are aligned

I'm baaaack :) I took a one week break because I'm a millennial and one thing we know as millennials is to take breaks. The generation older than us struggle with such little luxuries like breaks and therapy. Anyhu, in the one week I've been away, I'm now an auntie of two, from one and I have a tiny little tattoo on the base of my leg. The pain level of getting the tatt was a 15/10, I'm not sure I'd recommend. Oh also, I hate my new hairstyle.

 

It makes me look like a Truphena or Truphosa my brother even said I look like a Petronila. The hairstyle, not the tatt. No offense to people named that. On second thought how do you have such a name? Haha yes offense. Here's what happened: I went to the salon and accidentally asked for the wrong hair color. Instead of color number 2/30, I asked for 30. Throughout the whole braiding process, I'm like something is off, but I couldn't tell exactly what cause you guys won't imagine, they made me help them gawa the braids. Goodness me. I'm definitely not going back there. So I was too busy parting the braiding hair to recognize the color is too rich on my head and struggles to blend well with my complexion. Yikes. Although I'm not one of those babes who will undo the hair if I don't like it. I'll just be a Turu (Truphosa) for the next 4 weeks at least I have a tattoo so I'm still kind of a badass? No? 

Anyway, I'm writing this in the waiting room of a hospital. I've brought my pops for a cataract removal. We woke up early in order to be here early (6:30 a.m) so I'm kind of sleepy. I think we're number one on the line so that's nice, I hope by noon we'll be home. I'm thinking about how sometimes, the stars align themselves. Like being number 1 on the line is a great example if you ask me. 

When the stars align themselves: 

Let's say you're six girls sharing a two bedroom Airbnb. 1 California King size bed sits in each bedroom. Two of the six girls don't mind sleeping in the middle, the rest prefer to sleep on the edges. Each middle girl sleeps in each bed, the other 4 get to sleep on the edges. Because of that, the friendship lasts forever hehe. 

You're about to be late for a 2pm meeting/ date. You're not too sure whether it's a date or a casual meeting, but you kind of have a crush on the guy. You take a boda and arrive four minutes late. He's cool with it. You guys have a good time. You know it was a date when at the end, he gives you a peck on the cheek. Your crush likes you back. 

You don't book an appointment for the salon. When you get there, the hair dresser/ nails lady/ waxing lady doesn't have a client so it's immediately your turn. 10 minutes later, another client who'd booked an appointment 30 mins prior your walk-in walks in (meaning they're 40 mins late) luckily it's them that have to wait and not you.

You're on dinner duty but left the house early thinking you'd return in time for din dins, but you met your friends and the meet up turns into a fire sherehe. Just as you're thinking of leaving to go make Ugali for your (Luhya) Dad, he texts "Don't include me for supper, I'm having dinner with......" in response you text him "aah okay sawasawa. I'll be spending the night at Kinesh's, will be back home kesho.

You give yourself four hours to bake, cool and decorate two cakes. 1, there's electricity throughout and 2. they're both ready at the 4th hour. 

You're at a restaurant waiting for your small brother to come join you. He tells you it will be 30 minutes, so you wait as you write. 30 minutes later, he tells you it will be another 20 minutes sijui he has to add a watermark on his report. Corporate things. In this restaurant, a person you knew in highschool sees you and comes to your table. You tell him you're waiting for your brother, he decides to join you, as he was just leaving but can keep you company. You don't have any small talk in you, you just want to turn into a cabbage so that he can stop talking. As you're thinking of an excuse, your brother joins you, Mr yappa yappa got to go. Yaay.

You borrow "someone's" car and you return it with no incidences despite crazy boda and matatu people. Oh, also, you don't get lost driving round Nairobi and its environs.

You're out of body spray and as you're just thinking of getting another one, a friend's brother, who's now your brother.ish, comes from a Dubai trip with body spray for all his sisters.ish.

When you're playing Kenya at 50 and your teammate shouts "augmentin" instead of "antibiotics" as the answer to "the medicine you take when you have a bacterial infection", but somehow, your team still ends up winning.

You meet a friend in Uni, and you and her become close, then also get close with her brothers, they almost adopt you into their family. You share so many memories, the friendship lasts forever. 

You become an auntie of two sweet boys. 

You're in traffic, hungry as a ....... then those crisps people happen to pass. Immediately you pay for them, traffic is open. 

Those are the moments I could think of for now. Like I mentioned, I'm a bit sleepy so let me see if I can catch a snooze on these hospital chairs, the kind for gawaing shambas. For some reason, this is usually embarrassing but I'm a Truphosa anyway so it doesn't really matter. 

Ehee, for you, what are some instances when your stars have aligned themselves? 

(:

 

Awuoro!

 

This whole blog post was about to be in Luo. I’d heard Okello Max’s songs before, I liked them even, and they were on my Spotify favorites for a while. And then, he dropped his album ‘Boss’ and I couldn’t stop listening, despite barely understanding what the songs meant. There was the usual asking my luo friends what some words meant, but I had to do this slowly before they realized that I was using them and that the friendship was one-sided. 

From Okello Max, I discovered Coster (not Coaster hehe) Ojwang’ through their collaborations and again, I couldn’t stop listening to Coster. Hyper-fixation and dat. Both artists primarily sing in dholuo (I feel like a criaz historian using that word - dholuo). So that’s almost six months of at least listening to one luo song a day. Surely by now, I know some luo. It also helps that in highschool the song we danced to for house dance was a luo one but unfortunately till this day, my proposal to recreate and perform it to any of my lakeside friends has been immediately shut down. 

Anywayz, some time back, I experienced Coster Ojwang' live and had a spiritual experience. Like I always do with intimate gigs. Billy Black is another artist who moved my soul during his live gig. Story for another day.

 

I digress…

 

Awuoro!

Is this the same Nairobi and the same adulting process that our folks went through?

On Monday, I was running an errand for my pops at NSSF. He was finally completing something that he'd started when we were kids. For some reason (pms), it made me feel sorry for him. I thought about how difficult adulting has sometimes been for me, then I imagined being in his shoes at my age, 29. By this time, he was married, with one child who in the next three years, they would find out is autistic. In the next 12 years, he would have five children and be responsible for not only himself, his wife, his kids but also some of his relatives. Yikes! Then I imagined how lonely he might have felt being in a new town, as a first generation Nairobi migrant. Having to go through the whole adulting process. Personally, I'm a softie. Maybe to him, the whole experience of being in a new town was fun and exciting and bursting with many opportunities and he was happy to make it out of the hood. But one thing is for sure, adulting is a lot of the times difficult for everyone, I assume. 

Then I thought about my mum, at my age, she was a mother of two, expecting her third child. By now, she already knows her first born is autistic but this doesn't scare her from getting more kids. She knows God will help her. In the next 10 years, she'll have a total of five kids and be responsible for them, her husband and other relatives. At 29, she's also in nursing school, or has finished and is practicing, she is also in the church choir. Literally, no days off. She's grown up in Nairobi so she doesn't have to deal with the culture shock that is Nairobi. To be fair though, I've grown up in Nairobi but still get culture shock of just how fast paced it is. 

I don’t know how my folks survived adulting. But they did. Obviously if I go to them with these questions and admit how adulting is beating my ass, they'll ask me about the last time I went to church hehe. To be fair though, it's post pms and life is worth giving another shot. It can be difficult but it sure has its many fun and exciting moments and weird moments as well. Like on Tuesday, after teaching a baking class as I was leaving that house, unbeknownst to me, a boerboel would meet me at the door, immediately come in between my legs and lift me with it's head. My entire heart left my body. Thankfully, it did not bite.

KPI/Progress report

There's a difference between knowing your car and trusting you your car. I know my car but I sure as hell don't trust it. I'm well within reason. You know how toddler boys can be unhinged, one day you can find them summersaulting from the top of the stairs. A really nice lady once narrated how she found her two year old nephew on top of the water tank? Okay not quite the tank itself but you know those concrete structures that are built higher than a house so that the water tank is placed there? Yeah that's where the nephew was found. That's an incident worthy to have you almost collapse. I'm not likening my car to a child, but I'm just saying on many occasions, Honda has made me want to collapse. Because of that, we've been on such a long break. I'm the prodigal owner. I'll return to it one day. Mothers never entirely give up on their children.

Now that that's out of the way, I'll introduce you to a conundrum I had on Tuesday. Only on one condition though, that this post will never reach my pops. The oldest person you can share this with should be 50 years old. That's the age cap. Promise? Okay. Thanks guys. We could now proceed. On Tuesday, I had to go teach a baking lesson in Tatu City. (I also had to come back home afterwards hehe). The whole of Monday, Tatu City was registering in my mind as Konza City. I've never been to either place. So the whole of Monday, I'm dreading how far and expensive the journey will be. I'm picturing the whole of Mombasa Road, imagining that I might as well head on to Mombasa afterwards to see my nephew and sister in law. The thought of the commute had me already feeling tired. 

Thankfully, I looked up the maps on Tuesday morning and saw that Tatu City is the one on Thika Road sides, not Konza City. Oopsie. However, it was still far, maps showed an hour drive from ours. So here comes the conundrum. I can't use Honda. I can't boda all the way there, I wasn't feeling like catching pneumonia, plus that's too far a commute for Boda. I could Uber there, but with a discount, it's still more than 1 thousand. So that means 2400/= for a return trip. I'm to have 3 lessons, which totals to 7200/= Can't charge the client that. However, pop's car was around and he wasn't. In his absence, we are forbade to drive it. It's never been said, but it's how in a household, some rules are intrinsically known. Unwritten constitution kind of thing. Fueling it for all those trips would total to three thousand. Now that, I could charge the client. What would you guys do? 

Decisions decisions. I just had to be very careful. Let all matatu and bodas have their way and my chances of returning the car safely would be high. Plus like I mentioned on a post here before, my comfortable driving speed is 70 kmph. So that's what I did guys. I did what a Gen Z would do. I borrowed it without necessarily borrowing from him. Plus it's for work, it's not like it's for sherehe or luxury. (That's what I kept telling myself on my way to Tatu City) 

First things first, can we talk about the Museum hill MTC expressway exit? You avoid traffic all along only to be met with traffic at that exit. To put it simply, it's annoying and sometimes beats the purpose of using the express way. So anyway, once I got past that, I started sweating. Here's why. I was to use the museum hill ramp to find myself on Thika Road. That area stresses me. It has the Muthithi road exit, which if using you have to time properly. It also has the Ojijo road exit where sometimes drivers nyima you a chance to exit. Then you can still go slightly on your left to go sijui where. But this time, I was to go straight to get to Thika Road. Which I did guys. And I'm proud of myself. Because before getting to Thika Road, there's many tu side roads which one can take and confuse you. Especially if you're on the outer most lane, because "stay on the left" could mean you take that ka left that's just ahead of you. Not this time though. I didn't get lost, not even once. And I feel like I deserve a lifetime achievement award. 

I'll tell you this though. Sometimes on my way there, like maybe once or twice, I was the driver on the wrong. Have you ever tried to stand or wave in front of a toddler while they're watching cartoons or when they simply don't want your stories? They ignore you. It's like they look through you by just fixing their eyes on one spot and remain unmoved. How rude. That's me as a driver when I'm on the wrong. You can hoot, make hand gestures, yell, but I won't even for a second, look at you. I'll just look ahead and continue driving. Also, for the longest time, I never used to remember that the keep left unless overtaking was a serious thing until one time I saw Bencyco really ranting about it on Twitter. I was like oooopsss! (you guys should hear Steve say OOPS. It sounds so sincere until it's funny). 

Anywayz, I made it there safely, had a really nice session teaching baking. The best part about me teaching is that I don't have to wash the dishes. That's one of the worst parts of baking for me, washing the dishes. But as a teacher, I don't do that. It makes me enjoy teaching even more. I also made it home safely even though Kamiti Road matatus gave me a number of scares. I just stayed hooting. What's the word for someone who is trigger happy, but now for hooting? That's me. Also, do you guys take speed bumps seriously? Or maybe it's because 70kmph isn't that fast or furious to begin with. 

Also, shourourt to that Twitter image of the Thika Road junction? That professor Wangari Maathai road and the other one. The one that people use to segregate markets. Most recent one was the Sol fest Vip show and the Sol fest fan show hehe. Because I see it so many times on my timeline, I now know which one to take even though maps can be misleading and tell you to continue straight. There's no straight there. It's either a left or a right. Or if you take the nearest straight, you end up on the left side yet you're meant to take the right side. Sigh. 

All this to say, kumbe this is how you guys feel driving long distances and not getting lost. Or not fearing to get stopped by police citing that your car is an unroadworthy vehicle? Hehe. Feels good. 

Have a lovely rest of the week and weekend my guys :) 

This image has saved my life.

I'm Rambling

"There, on April 12 1945, while sitting for a portrait, he collapsed and died of a cerebral haemorrhage" 

My small brother and I couldn't be more different. Despite that, on most good days, he's one of my besties (although he denies this vehemently). And no, that's not who I'm talking about in 1945. For purposes of clarity, my brother wasn't born then, and to be fair, neither was my dad or mum. Although he acts like he was alive during that period. My small brother that is. He is an old soul. For instance, this is the title of the book that he's currently reading : Post American World and the rise of the rest. I could never touch  that book. Even if just to move it, I just couldn't. It would make me fall asleep faster than a joint could. This is the title of the book I've just finished reading : City of Girls. He also could never open the first page to this book. 

The guy who died in 1945 is FDR. Okay, Franklin D. Roosevelt. The then president of the U.S.A. I was interested in this information because in the book I just read, the main character's life is set up just as WWII begins, and she briefly mentions how before the war ended, FDR died and they really mourned his death as America. My curiosity led me to question his death, so, naturally, I asked the guy who knows World History, my small brother, what happened to FDR. He wasn't so sure, but his guess was that it was Poliomyelitis. Polio. So we had to Google. 

Sometimes history stories would sound like story za jaba to me, but after the 2007 P.E.V and the COVID-19 pandemic, they're easy to believe or rather, picture. Especially those of wars and pandemics. Anyway, FDR collapsed and died while sitting for a portrait. That's not so relatable to me (a sitting president dying) because, you may be shocked to find this out, I wasn't alive when Jomo Kenyatta was collapsing in his toilet in Mombasa. (Wait, I've just googled to clarify and it explains that he died in his sleep. Where did I hear this toilet story? And am I the only one who thinks he died while in the toilet? Wait, which story do you know?)

The first sentence of this post is from one of the sites and I've only inserted it there because of how beautiful a sentence it is. 

Anyway, after finding out how FDR died, we just talked about history for a bit then went back to our books. Exciting stuff hehe. 

I discovered a thing only on Monday. Reading a book with the background of 'fireplace' playing on YouTube. There's something comforting about the windy sound of the flames then the crackling sound of the firewood. My Dad once found me in that setting and asked me what's that burning? I said it was just a video on YouTube. He said if only it was real. I avoided his eyes entirely. If I entertained him, he would have asked me to light up our fire place. That sounds fancy and cozy, only that in our house that means to light up the jiko and put it in the fireplace. Ai. I wasn't feeling that story so I didn't show any interest. Thankfully, he didn't pursue that mission any further.

There's no moral of the story to this post. Or something interesting that I have to say. To be quite honest, a number of them have been boring. I'm sorry guys. I just have to post because I know myself. Once I stop, I may stop for a while and right now I'm really trying to build my muscle of consistency in writing. Discipline and what not. I however wonder what advice a Gen Z would give me. Maybe they'd be like writing? Why writing? Just make videos on TikTok or something. Don't stress life. 

Inshallah, I'll be hanging out with a couple of them tonight. (They still make plans despite maandamano). So maybe I'll tell them about the things that I'm struggling with in life then ask for their advice, then come report it to you guys. Maybe that will be interesting...

Otherwise, stay safe my guys...

And for those asking, my Honda is still there, but I haven't touched it in a while. I was meant to wash it last week then I kept on postponing. I still haven't washed it. Maybe I will today. Or tomorrow...

Mhandaji

 

I don’t think I’m the ideal housemate. I’m anal about a lot of stuff and in the mornings especially, I can be moody. Especially on a cold morning. Last week was a particularly bad one to be my housemate because; 1. It was cold and I have the tendency to be umm, what's the word for when you feel  depressed.ish when it's cold? and 2. I was on my period. 

This time round, my period took me out. When Tupac sang hit ‘em up, he  wasn't mincing his words. He was out for blood. Especially at the end when he goes incredibly explicit. Yeah, that was my period to me this time round. I could hear it say “ain’t one of you ni**as got sickle cell or something?” when I was just about to respond that actually it’s low iron, I heard it say to me, very loudly, “well f’ you” and out I was. This time, it won. My period 10 Lizzie 0.

 

So needless to say, I was sad and tired and moody last week. I was a poor housemate. I only left my room to do the very necessary chores and I gave those chores the bare minimum effort. That includes with the conversations I engaged in around the house. However, even when the weather is beautiful and African (sunny) and I’m not on my period, I’m still not the ideal housemate.

I’m what my small bother would call, a mhandaji. I handa guys in this house. And I handa them for a number of reasons. I want us to analyze them together, you guys can tell me whether I'm being unreasonable or you're sighing in relief that we aren't housemates.

 

1.     1. Walking inside the house with shoes that you’re from wearing outside, even if you vigorously wipe them on the entrance mat.

 

2.      2. Leaving left-over food on a plate on the sink or leftover liquid say tea, in a cup on the sink.

 

 

3.      3. Leaving a teabag in a cup in the sink.

 

4.      4. Leaving a serviette or bones on a plate on the sink

 

5.      5. Leaving the door of the room I’m in open. I like closed doors. Even in the kitchen.

 

6.      6. ‘Unguzaing’ / burning food that you’re cooking for everyone.

 

7.     7.  Making a mess in the kitchen or bathroom and not cleaning up after oneself (only applies to Steve)

 

8.      8. Leaving dirty socks in the crevices of the couch.

 

9.    9.  Leaving shoes in the middle of an entrance to a room or the house. Previously I used to kick them away but I went for therapy and now gently put them on the side

10.  Hoarding many dirty dishes in one’s room then when you're looking for a bowl or side -plate, you can't find

So these are just a few of the things I handana for. And when I'm complaining about these, my tone is harsh. Which means I'm not the most popular person in that house. I understand that I also have my fair share of flaws or things that annoy people of the household. Here’s some of the annoying things I do; 

 

1.      1. Can wake up Moody Awori which happens a lot.

 

2.      2. Play my music loudly especially when getting ready

 

3.      3. Have a favorite cup, plate, bowl and glass that I expect nobody else to use. I bought them for me.

 

4.      4. Use the blender, hand mixer and stand mixer a lot, all are very loud.

 

5.      5. Talk very loudly especially if I’m in a good mood.

 

6.      6. Talk and laugh very loudly on phone especially when talking to my girls and a story is very funny or juicy.

 

7.      7. Handa people for the reasons aforementioned

 

8.      8. Open doors with a lot of vigour, aka fujo.

 

9.     9.  Kumbe sometimes my open hair sheds when I comb it then I don’t catch every strand as I clean up. Oopsie.

 

110. I can't figure out the 10th one. I'm almost perfect hehe.

 

 

Anyhow, as I’m approaching 30, I’m thinking a lot about moving out to a space of my own. There, the only person to handa is going to be me. And I won't feel like an a** about it. Plus I won't do things that annoy me lol. 

 

Are you the perfect housemate?

Also I'm just not ready for the July weather. I'm okay if global warming makes the sun stay this month and the next. 

Also, shout out to all my girls for being the sunshine in my life. Love y'all to death.

Ma's sweet tooth

 

Now I get it. How inconveniencing it can be to leave for work in the morning, then just before noon, get a call from your child’s school that they are unwell and you have to take them to the hospital. This is the early 2000’s in Nairobi, pre-superhighway so we can’t even talk about the expressway. That means as an adult Nairobian, who works far from home, a good number of hours in your day are spent on the road, certainly not in the musician's way. But bless my mother, the few times when she got those calls from my primary school, she would come for me.

I remember her  coming for me and taking me to the hostol (nang’o my Luo peeps). On our way back home, we’d pass by the supermarket and as a ritual she would get me Delmonte juice or Dairy Fresh and a slice of Swiss Roll. She introduced me to Swiss rolls, and for the longest time, that was our thing.

 

As a young child, I have vivid memories of watching her make banana bread in the kitchen using a food processor and then letting my brothers and I lick the batter off the paddle fixtures. We would always fight over it. Kids are almost always fighting over something. She didn’t know it then, neither did I, that her simple act of making banana bread with so much love was inspiring a whole career: mine.

 

There’s a supermarket which we frequent with Ma, that has a section of desserts and on the wall it's written 'Temptation Corner'. She is always tempted by it. By always, I mean just that. Always. Btw, I'm glad to report that she received her slice of cake the other day, that Steve didn't get to it. So alikula both story and cake.

Perhaps you can already tell from this that Ma identifies as a sweet tooth hehe. (Okay and as a good Christian pentecostal lady. Added that for her incase she ever reads this blog) Anywayz. When I started my baking business and had to name it, it was a no-brainer for me that I’d either name it after her or by something inspired by her. Sweet Tooth was what was most obvious but there are 54 thousand other businesses called that. Because I’m Luhya, you guys already know that we love our Kiswahili, ndiposa I translated sweet tooth to Jino Tamu, ilimradi the essence of it being inspired by her remains.

Running that business has been one the most challenging things I’ve done in my 20’s for a number of reasons. I'll definitely get into those with you guys some day. On the flip side, it's had its fare share of exciting moments. Till today, I still enjoy the act of baking; measuring the ingredients and mixing the batter. Pouring the batter into the baking dish then inserting it in the oven. (Wait, do I sound like Aunty wa keki? Damn.) You get the drift. A business is however more than that and involves washing a lot of dirty dishes if you're solo. 

A few years back, I used to teach people how to bake, the innocent act of it. And I used to have a lot of fun. It would take me back to the days in the kitchen watching Ma bake for us and being amused by how the cake would rise in the oven then settle into a beautiful golden brown color and come out smelling heavenly and tasting really yummy. Over the years, I've developed my recipes especially so that they don't use so much sugar. Some cakes can chock you from being too sweet which takes away from the experience of enjoying a treat. Americans are wild when it comes to sugar and really everything else lol.

In short, I'm back to teaching again, and I wanna share the fun. If you're interested or know someone who's interested, let them hit me up. Especially Gen Z cause Gen Z are fun to be around. Haha. But even baby boomers are welcome. 

Boring my company, not Elon's

My cakes don’t talk back. That never stops me from speaking to them. As I place them in the oven, I tell them things like tembea na Yesu or see you in an hour, or please don’t backfire on me. To be fair, I also don’t take *things that make the baked goods seem like they talk back. Hehe. When they’re out of the oven, I douse them in words of affirmation especially cupcakes, those cute little things. I tell them that they've done a good job and how proud I am of them. On the other hand when they backfire (which happens a number of times in baking) I say to them 'I can't believe you've done this to me. I'm both mad and disappointed'. I'm always the victim even if I'm the one who maybe forgot to add in the baking powder. 

By now, maybe you can tell that I spend most of my working time alone, talking to inanimate things that don't talk back. The result is this: 

I’m slowly growing into an even more boring conversationalist with people.

It’s a painful realization and what’s even more painful is when I just know that I’m out of stories in the middle of a conversation.

At the beginning of this year, I went for an interview for a position that’s client facing therefore it needed someone who is bubbly. I tried and pretended that I was the perfect fit, saying how my friends describe me as extremely talkative and that they are always begging me to shut up, which is a lie. Okay, sometimes my friends usually beg me to shut up because I’m the type to use a phrase repetitively and incessantly when I learn of it. I used “cut the cameras, deadass” for almost everything when I first heard it. So in such instances, they're like "okay Lizzie we get it". Having conversations with my friends isn't too hard because well, they're my friends. Other times, there’s this juice we take that causes us to talk a lot, but that’s a fair playing field because it’s everyone who’s talking a lot. But sometimes a call with a friend can go like this

Hi Liz, 

Hiiiiiiiii, how're you?

I'm doing great, you?

I'm good. Yeah I'm good. 

Ehee, what have you been up to? 

Umm *silence* baking and writing. *Silence* I'm good. Yeah... Mmh... *Silence* Been good.

Haha okay that's nice to know. Sawa, was just calling to check up, bye. 

Bye

Yet another person I've bored with my 'many exciting' stories lol. 

 

Anyway, back to the interview, one of the ladies interviewing me could see right through my bull because guess what guys? In the middle of the interview, I ran out of stories halfway and I couldn’t redeem my 'bubbly' self.

 

About a month ago, I went for lunch with a former colleague and after he finished updating me on his life, for like an hour, when it came to my turn, I had little to say. I felt sorry for him. I tried guys, I did. The muscle is weak! What has made it even worse is that I apply the notion of hearing to listen rather than to respond more often than not. So what happens is that as someone speaks, I'm processing what they're saying to me, getting their perspective.

People I haven't seen in a while are the ones who suffer the most. Sometimes with strangers it's easier cause you can tell them anything, you can make up your own story. Like with Uber drivers / boda guys. I'm always a different person. A doctor or I work with refugees or I'm a manager of a very big musician in Kenya. Anything. I back up my knowledge with what I've heard from podcasts. I spend a lot of time listening to podcasts as I bake and clean.

Sometimes my small bro will come from work and ask me how my day was. I sometimes go like "men, I feel like a 1954 old school traditional house wife cause there's nothing stimulating I can talk to you about. My red velvet today didn't talk back, so you just tell me about your day. Mmelipwa?" Lol

All of this to say, my company has become boring and not the Elon Musk one. It’s made me fearful, that I’ll always be like this and leave the legacy of being a boring person, that's all I'll be remembered for. 

Remember Liz? 

Liz, which one?

The boring one. 

Of course I remember her, she was boring AF.

Sigh. I even have a feeling that this story has bored you. I'm sorry. Is there like a dawa one can take to help with this? This is my cry for help. If I haven't called you in a while, it's because I don't want to bore you. I'm protecting you, and my legacy. Otherwise, non boring people, please give me tips...

Enjoy your holiday guys :) I hope this is the only boring thing you get to interact with today.

The special house

This is how it’s been happening; by Sunday, I have a rough idea of what I want to write about. Stray sentences start to form in my head, they float about. By Wednesday early morning, all the words have already settled into the womb of my mind. The doctor declares I’m 10 centimeters dilated in words. I push as he pulls out the baby, he then cuts the umbilical cord and these sentences are freed into our tiny world of this blog. So I press publish. However, that’s not what happened this time round. By Monday morning, I still had no idea of what I wanted to write about, my mind was shooting blanks, nothing had been conceived and so I started to panic. I lay in bed helplessly for a while, my head rested on my bicep.

I then started scrolling through my phone lazily. I wanted to retrieve some information that I knew was in the text messages between Davie, my small brother and I so I started going through our exchanges.

 

On Saturday, Jan 14 19:55, one of the text messages from me to him read;

‘Please keep for me my chapos’

 

I smiled at this message. Sometimes, the text messages or even phone calls between housemates can be peculiar and they only make sense to those living in that house. Am I right guys? And they can sometimes be embarrassing if someone who doesn't have the context stumbles upon them. I was asking for my chapos to be spared on that Saturday because one, I’m a certified foodie and two, I was going to be late getting home. Sometimes the biggest mistake you can make in our residence is be late kwanza on a weekend, so people will assume that you’ll be sleeping out, then they'll just eat your chapatis. Gosh.

 

Speaking of conversations that only make sense between housemates, the chapo one is a very mild one in our house.

 ***

I always grew up knowing our household was different. There was no exact moment that it hit me, but I always knew it, just like how I always knew I was a girl. I knew it was different because of my big brother Steve, and more importantly, I knew he was different. He was different in the way he spoke, the way he acted when he was angry, sad or happy or anxious. He expressed himself differently. There were no other kids like him in the neighborhood, or in my school, or in Sunday school. Neither were there any family friends or cousins that were similar. And so with his difference, came a difference with the way things were run at home. As a young girl, I used to think that this was something to keep secret because all I wanted was to be like everybody else and have the same experiences.

I always measured the closeness of my friendships as to whether I’d told them about my brother and in turn how our house system runs. Then, as I grew older, I realized that many of these differences come with a lot of vituko. The more my friends enquired, the more I realized how interesting things really are.

  

Davie, works an 8-5. I can’t tell you how many times to date, I’ve called him  in panic mode, not caring if he’s in a meeting or not. He says he usually leaves the office to pick my calls, thinking it’s a matter of national urgency. "Msee, mi hufeel ka Jimnah Mbaru niki step out of the office, thinking you're about to ask me something serious like to dispose my shares (which ones? hehe) or something, only to be met with `we msee, tomato sauce iko?'" Haha.

Naturally, you guys keep your tomato sauce in your kitchen right? Either in a designated cabinet or on a designated tray sometimes placed on top of the microwave, or most times, in the fridge. I know this because when I go into people’s homes, those are a few of the things I take note of. A few of you, like my mum in her house keep them on the tray in the middle of your dining table, together with tea bags, jam and coffee sachets and other condiments.

All those placement positions make sense, not in our house though. I’ll tell you where we keep ours and why.

Where

In the corner of my room, sit four musketeers: the laundry basket, a humongousgous suitcase, a yoga mat and a beautifully colored kiondo. They keep each other company all year round. The yoga mat is supposed to be excusing herself at least three mornings in a week for 20-30 minutes but the owner (me) hasn’t done yoga in a while so she just chills there waiting for the day she’ll be commissioned. *Bombastic side eye*. The laundry basket usually leaves once every two weeks when the cleaning lady comes to get it and returns it almost 1 hour later. The suitcase is forever there, it's where duvets and bed sheets za wageni are kept. Then there’s the V.I.P: the kiondo. In there is where you'll find our tomato sauce, ketchup, jam, peanut butter and sugar. These condiments are then covered with my mum’s maroon shawl that smells like her throughout the seasons.

Why

We have a gentleman in our house called Mr. Stephen. This guy operates on an abundance mindset without ever reading any self-help book. Everything, especially sweet, is to be had in triple if not quadruple portions. If it’s tomato sauce, he puts it on everything. And by everything, I mean every. damn. thing, including ugali/managu, yes, even on chapati/beans or dengu as well. He kent be ciriaz. The real problem here is the quantity. Guys, half a bottle is just about enough for one meal. So if you want the sauce to last for all of one and a half days, just leave it in the open.

***  

You know what I wanted to be so badly when I grew up? A shop keeper. Why? So that I could eat sweets all day. Patco was my thing. Kumbe God was to answer my prayer haraka upesi, not so much to be eating sweets the whole day, but to keep certain items in my room and dispense them to Steve while monitoring his movements very closely haha. (Heh! Okay God, now I’d like to be a successful writer and baker).

So this is what happens if you need any of these items: you come to my room to get them on a need basis. My room is the most secure because I work from home and spend a lot of time there. If you live in our house, you get used to this system pretty quickly. Sometimes, someone, let’s call him Davie, will carry say tomato sauce to either the sitting room, the dining room or their bedroom, (if eating from there) where he has his own hiding place of said items. Because mambo ni mengi, it’s very easy for someone to forget to return the sauce to my room. So when I'm ready to use the sauce and it's not in the kiondo, instead of going through the hustle of trying to find out where it is, it’s easier to call him -even if he’s in the middle of a presentation- just to ask him where it is. If he says he left it in the open, uuwii, Mayday! Mayday! We just count our losses and take that L haha.

Let’s not even talk about sugar because that’s Mr.Stephen's favorite thing in the whole world. He can take three tablespoons of sugar in one cup of tea. Dead ass.

You may want to woiye us, but there’s no need to. You may also feel relieved that you don’t have such a dynamic in your household, fair enough. If you live with an autistic person or someone with a disability or disabilities, you know how you guys operate and how you're used to that system. Do you ever get used to the system though?Many times, Davie and I find ourselves laughing at ours. On the other hand, Steve will tell us live live "weka hii in your room (sugar), because someone can be tempted to finish it". Haha umm hello? Someone is you. 

I’ll be honest with you though, when I think about moving out, I always imagine of the freedom I’ll have, of leaving certain items in the open; abandoning my career in shop keeping. I’ve already decided where I’ll put my sauce, in the fridge :) I won’t have to hide my sugar for baking, wow, I’ll be such a free girl lol.

  

I was talking to my girlies the other day and I was telling them about how one time, a non-related housemate was finding it difficult to have to deal with the logistics of coming to the ‘shop’ every morning to use these items. So they aired their grievances to my folks. This is what my mum said to her and I’ll never forget: for as long as we’ll have a special-needs person in this house, this house will always remain special, even in the way we operate. I really liked that, it stuck with me. The acceptance of it. It is what it is and we’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.

 

I’m writing this from my bedroom. We just celebrated Dad’s birthday yesterday night and there’s some left-over cake that dad has purposed to carry and take to mum later today. Let me just go and confirm that the piece I hid for her nicely behind a sufuria in the fridge is still there and that man like Stevo didn’t find it last night. Otherwise, itabidi tu mum amekula story. Lol bye my guys…

 

Also, if you live with someone with autism, especially like in their teens or older, I'd really love to connect :)

Sh*t, real sh*t

Nothing ever prepares you for the moment that you find sh*t in your desk, especially when you’re 13. Sorry for the graphics on this Wednesday morning but then again, am I really sorry? Hmm, I don’t think so. I’m the one who had the pleasure of bumping into the crasness of stool sample that morning. For the record, no I was not a lab technician then. I’m still not one and I doubt I’ll ever be one.

 

Before we get into that, I have something to say. Thank you for reading. Really, thank you. You guys also give me feedback and it’s humbling until it’s almost embarrassing. At some point in time, when I allow myself to be more vulnerable on this platform, I’ll explain to you guys how in my teens and early twenties, I thought that I could probably be a writer, but as I settled into my 20’s, it reached a point where I had accepted that writing would be one of those dreams that I’d die with. I had made peace with that fact. Writing and playing the guitar. (Guitar is a story for another day) For me to have revived this blog and to have you guys read it, it’s like, in Steve’s words, maji baridi kwa the soul. When I omoka, I’ll buy you guys something nice. Promise.

 

Back to the matter (literally) at hand.

 

There’s something heartwarming about bumping into primary school mates especially if your primary school experience was great. If like me you struggle with initial conversations, the clurrb is a great place to bump into people you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s already noisy so more often than not, the interaction has to be brief. It also limits the time for someone to realize wow, she’s still quiet and boring. Most likely, the both of you have taken some happy juice, so you’re just happy to see each other.

 “Oh my gosh, Elizabeth Litali?”

“Haha yeah, hi *Edwin Mwamba”

You always remember your primary school mates by their two names.

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d recognize me, kwani I haven’t changed much”

“No haha, you still have the same face. It’s so nice to see you”

“It’s so nice to see you too, my goodness. What do you do now?”

“I sell cakes” (and I’m now … you know … a writer. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, you feel shy) and you? What do you do?”

“I’m in tech. I should get your number, I’m always eating cakes”

“Yeah sure, I should also get your number, I’m always using tech haha” *crickets*

Then you exchange contacts and never talk again, but it still felt so nice to see and recognize someone from your childhood. I remember my primary school days with a lot of nostalgia. Apart from a lot of homework, I mostly enjoyed my time there. Our school had a lot of visa na visanga.

 

At the beginning of this year, I received an Instagram DM  from one of my former primary school classmates (Hi Steff) with a link to a WhatsApp group for our school year. Umm, immediately yes. I joined the group when it was still a bit new so there was a lot of reminiscing going on, especially about the visa and visanga. Fun times. As I'm there laughing at other people recount their escapades, ala, kumbe my time was coming.

“Btw who’s desk was sh*t on?”

It was mine people. It was mine. And in case you’re wondering whether it’s because we used to study in fields so that a bird would take a dump in my desk, you’re wrong. Even then, a bird would have to open the desk with its beak and then conduct its business, which seems like a lot of work for a bird born in nature. Such bad manners sounds like what a monkey would do, but no, it wasn't the monkeys. Also, we didn’t have our desks in the field, we had them in classrooms.

 

It’s 2007, I’m in class eight, spending a lot of my time doing things that class eight girls do. Reading, having a boyfriend in the next class, having friends, going to Nakumatt Junction on the weekends (to just walk around), complaining about a lot of homework but still doing the homework, you know, just typical class eight girl things. At some point in time, pranks have become a thing in our class. Fake fart spray is the in thing and one time, my desk falls victim to that, but after a few hours of airing it, the smell is gone. I’m irritated, but it’s nothing to stop my life. One day, I find dead kumbekumbes in my desk, this time it’s just not my desk. We’re kadhaa. Maybe we mention this to our class teacher, or we don’t, I forget. I don’t even mention it to my folks at home because I don’t want the drama of them coming to school, I figure that this is something that will be handled by the teacher.

Then one morning, I get to class early as usual, before assembly time. There’s a few people in class, doing class eight people things, mostly reading. Then as I open my desk, OH MY GOODNESS! THERE. IT. IS!

I scream

“SH*T!”

Then my classmates look at me, so I scream again

“REAL SH*T”

It’s there, smeared all over my books, and then on the side, a nice gift of a dirty piece of tissue and a dirty handkerchief is left. Btw I’m really sorry if you’re eating or drinking something at this time. But then again, am I really sorry? Hmm... Anyway(z), I instantly shut the desk then go to the window to process what I’ve just seen. Kupunga hewa. (Hi *Minah.) This time, my classmates have also come to bear witness of the surprise left in my desk. There's commotion now. So after catching some air, I go to look for the teacher on duty and find him charazaing some boys in the stair case corner. Teachers were always charazaing boys in that school. I say to him that I need you to come and see something. He asks what it is and I just tell him to come. This time I look visibly annoyed. So he follows me and once he opens the desk, he immediately slums it shut. Nothing could prepare anyone for such a sight.

Then the questions from the teacher begin, who did this? I don’t know. When did you find it? Just now. Oh my goodness. Are all your books messed up? I think so.  We need to have this desk taken to the field (hehe) as we figure out how this happened and who did it. Okay. For today, sit with a friend as we figure this out. Okay, but can I call my mum? Just give us some time to figure out how this happened and who did it then you can call your mum. Okay. Could it have been a scorned ex-boyfriend? No, I don’t have a boyfriend or an ex (a lie, because dating those days was a criminal offense) Are you having problems with anybody in the school? Not that I know of. Are you having problems with any girl because of a boy? Haha no. Okay, has someone asked you to be their girlfriend and you have refused? You know what, come to think of it, there’s someone who asked, I refused, and they seemed to take it badly, they even stopped talking to me. Okay what’s his name? I tell them, they write it down.

For the whole day, it’s a pandemonium. That’s all everybody is talking about, I’m in and out of the principal’s office, being asked the same questions. The school turns into a police station, people being questioned everywhere. Major suspects as well as minor suspects. Mostly it was boys. Nobody comes clean and nobody snitches either. At some point, we were even called for an assembly to address the matter. The drama! Whoever did it won’t pass their K.C.P.E unless they come clean, our headmistress threatens. She was/is lunje haha

Despite all of this, there was one item that was 'unfortunately' giving away the suspect. Remember the OJ Simpson trial, if the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit, us guys had our glove in form of the handkerchief. It was a very unique and expensive looking handkerchief, the owner had to be from a certain tax bracket so that was a big giveaway. If the handkerchief doesn’t match, you must acquit haha. On that day, no suspect was charged with the crime.

 

The following day, my folks came to school, made noise, I was asked if I was okay, if I needed a break from school, I didn’t. Back then, school was the only place you were guaranteed to see your boyfriend vizuri, so no I wasn’t going to take a break from school. Apologies to me and my folks were made and the school got me a new desk from their workshop and new books from their bookshop lol. I remember I was only angry for just a while but more than anything, the overwhelming feeling was that of inconvenience.

 

If we were in the States, I could have stated that I suffered from emotional distress, we  could’ve sued and gotten compensation. Ama we could have even settled. A quick one wakilis, can I still sue? How can we lenga the statute of limitations? Lol I’m kidding. Hmm, but am I really?

 

Remember how the headmistress had threatened failure on the culprit? Just before K.C.P.E, the culprit came to me, confessed and apologized. I accepted the apology. He was quite remorseful.

But since then, I've never said no to any man who's asked me to be their girlfriend, lest I find poop at our house haha. I'm REALLY kidding.

I used to tell people this story all the time, especially in high school. Also during those “tell us something that people don’t know about you” moments. Those awkward questions. So in the WhatsApp group when guys were like whose desk had been pooped in, I remembered this story haha. (Heh, 'I’ve suffered in this world for 19 years')

Shourourt to my class of ’07 Makini people. When is the reunion? :)

 

Also, I ‘fixed’ the comment section. Now anybody can comment, even anonymously. You have to stan women in tech.

Don't fight it, man

Ummm guys, yaani your Wednesdays went on kama kawaida? You guys didn’t feel like it was missing something? Perhaps a blog post from yours truly? Damn… A lot of my internal talk yesterday was like oh my gosh, I haven’t posted today, people are gonna be so devastated, then worried, they’ll blow up my phone asking if I’m okay and wondering where their post is, let me even put my phone on silent because I’m sure the vibrations will be too many. And then… nothing! Haha not even 1 person texted regarding that. Heh, earth is hard yo. Anyway, I’m baaack, like I never left. Yesterday the cow had refused, but milk, sorry, joy comes in the morning.

Something my pops don’t identify as: Jeff Bezos. Which is fair enough because neither did his pops identify as Miguel Bezos (Jeff Bezos’ step-father. I was going to use his biological dad’s name here but it doesn’t have Bezos at the end, and I like that name, Bezos, so I chose his step-father instead). As you’ve correctly guessed, my birth certificate doesn’t’ read Liz Bezos. All of this to say, capitalism is beating my ass, inanitwanga. In between running a baking business and writing, because I’m now… you know… a writer, I’m also searching for a part-time gig. From how I’ve already explained my family tree above, my career as a professional international people-watcher has to wait. It’s my dream to travel around the world and just watch people and sometimes come up with stories for them in my head. Then other times, listen to their stories, kind of like the Humans of New York guy. Then I’d write about them, but in my own format. Oh, another job I imagine I’d enjoy, writing lyrics for artists on streaming platforms especially spotify. Whenever I’m listening to a song then go search for its lyrics and don’t find them, I’m like they should have given me that tender. Who usually writes those lyrics btw, anybody know? 

Realistically though, to add some color to my life, I’ve been reading more articles, blog posts and books. I really enjoyed spending my time in between … the pages of Will, the book. I easily found my laughter across the chapters. I without a doubt like Will Smith the writer because he is funny, silly, reflective, real and there he doesn’t tell us to you know, keep his wife’s name out of our f**king mouths. I’m not quite fond of Will Smith the slapper, especially because it was Chris Rock on the receiving end. Chris (first name basis) is my guy ever since Everybody Hates Chris. He was the master of exaggeration on there, which makes it one of my top favorite shows to date. Also, to me, his body size is just so woishe. But we move, innit? Especially because even though they’re not from the Bezos family, both their bank accounts are prime targets for fat shaming.

The story of how Will comes to be a very rich and famous guy is quite interesting and it’s thanks to all the cliché attributes of hard work, discipline, talent, luck and all those nice things that Malcolm Gladwell talks about in Outliers, the book.

One of my favorite parts in the book is when he’s in his early 40’s. His movies are doing so well, they’re the highest grossing at the time, he’s successful. He also has a ‘perfect’ family. This should mean him and happiness wake up together smelling each other’s morning breath, right? Wrong. After Jada’s 40th birthday party, things between them start to really fall apart, mambo yanachemka and they decide the best thing for both of them is to take a break from each other. During this break, he calls his ex-girlfriend who they’re still friends with, and tells her that he needs a favor from her; he needs to borrow her husband, to take him to Trinidad. The ex-girlfriend’s husband, Scotty, is cool with it and it’s the first time in years that Will travels somewhere without security or delegation, he has to carry his own luggage lol. Anyway, this is what got me, the first day he got there, he spent the night at kina Scotty’s friend’s. The people in that house especially Scotty, didn’t treat him like he was a famous guy, in fact at night, Scotty left him there and he (Will) slept in the guest room on a platform bed (love those), nothing too luxurious, not what he’s used to. In fact, the curtain in there was a white bed sheet. That night, he slept for 12 hours straight, something he hadn’t done in a long time. For some reason, that spoke to me. It all seemed so pure. Maybe it’s because I struggle to get consistent long hours of sleep, but that’s not it. I guess it was the simplicity of that human moment, him being away from being a VIP and just being another guest in someone’s home. Think Uhuru spending a night without bodyguards, p.a’s and all, okay for some reason that’s easy to imagine. Think Beyonce, away from all the hype and glitter or Obama just being in your SQ or guest room, or even on a mattress in your living room, away from all the noise, wearing red patipatis to go to the bathroom lol. 

Anyway, so while on this trip, one day Scotty takes him to the ocean where they’re just there to chill in the ocean, but Will Smith, because he’s a guy used to a lot of stimulation and is also competitive, starts to ask “ehee, what’s the plan? Where are the jet-skis? Let’s do something.” Then Scotty tells him that that was the plan, to just chill in the water, but he uses Trinidadian lingo, ‘recconectin and limin’. Will Smith, who’s not a great swimmer at the time and a bit foreign to the concept of just chilling eventually dips himself in the water and the waves start to slightly toss him around. Then Scotty says to him one of the most profound things, according to me. He says, “Don’t fight it, man. It’s a flow. It’ll carry yuh out, but it’ll bring you back.” I really liked those words. So much. I feel like that’s what I should always remind myself when I’m feeling extremely sad or experiencing hard emotions or even sometimes, extremely happy emotions, “don’t fight it, man. It’s a flow. It’ll carry yuh out, but it’ll bring you back.” To keep afloat in this world, sometimes all I have to do is surrender.

What a beautiful book Will wrote about his life and his healing journey. … and then afterwards, he slaps Chris Rock. Lol. I guess healing isn’t linear. (Also, not arguing with those who thought that Chris was on the wrong) 

 Acknowledgments

 1. To my home girl for life, Masich, who in a heart-warming turn of events texted me to ask me where the blog post was yesterday (this is after I was already done with the draft copy of this post) You sweetheart and avid reader! 

2. To my friend who gifted me the book. Always nice connecting with words.

May I waste your time?

 

Tell you what; some words were born knowing what their life purpose was going to be. In their 20’s, they didn’t wake up at 3:37 in the morning, their bodies drenched in cold sweat, feeling like their hearts were going to explode out of their chest. They didn’t have to regulate their breaths while having to whisper to themselves ‘be still my beating heart’. They didn’t stay up all night or morning wondering if their dreams would one day love them back. In one of the sessions with their therapists, they didn’t break down about their job path/progression, and then be told that they needed to separate their identity from their career. No, they knew exactly how and when they would achieve their purpose, and that’s exactly what they did. These words married within themselves and named their children after them, no suffix ‘jr’ at the end, and their children named their children after them. They were simply born into generational self-actualization. (Stay with me Mirish*, I’m heading somewhere with this, I think)

 

I have this thing where there are words that mean exactly how they sound while others, not so much. Take the word diarrhea for example, such a violent word. You can’t confuse it for any other action than… err, diarrhea itself. The act is just as strong as the word. Let’s say you’re in the waiting room of a train station, and then you happen to eaves-drop on a conversation between two friends.

 “Babe, you look so tired kwani what’s up?”

“Heh! I’ve been having serious bouts of severe diarrhea”

 

Even the non-English speakers will know that something nasty has been mentioned. Everyone who happens to hear this, you included, will contort their face and try to ambiguously move one step further from our poor babe. In the train, after our girl visits the toilet, no one goes in after her. Even though woiye she was just in there for a short call. Nobody is willing to risk it. Simply because of a word that means what it says. For purposes of historical record, that’s the time period that people came up with euphemisms for the word, because for all her life, the train girl was known as diarrhea girl and lived an isolated life. No one else wanted that trauma, so from then on, people referred to it as driving, the runs, but my favorite is: I was riding round the block. (Also, there’s no need to Google this, I did my research well). 

Another word like that means how it sounds is Kisirani. The Swahili word. It’s not a word that I would say rolls off one’s tongue, it more of summersaults out of one’s mouth to immediately attack the person on the receiving end. The last time I heard this word, I was in the salon, two weeks ago. Thankfully, it wasn’t directed towards me because otherwise I would have needed said therapy, to be told to separate my identity from the word.

 

First of all, at that salon I went to, the women there were savages, not only to my head, but also to each other. I went to those Kenyatta Market types of salons, the ones where there’s a main lady who does the installing of braids, then the others who are in a paid partnership, do the finishing up of the braids. I love it because it means less time in the salon. Anyway, while they were working on my scalp, I could feel that there was a bit of power play going on amongst the ladies. The main babe would keep commanding the others, “songa hapa”, “malizia hizi kwanza” and from her tone, these others weren’t particularly feeling her vibe. So they’d all sort of stay in one section together, which meant for a bit of the time, my hair was really being pulled. Remember that fahali wawili methali? Okay, let me remind you, since I’ve been doing my research (and also I got an A in Kiswahili, plus I’m Luhya, we know our Kiswahili, ref: Bien). The methali goes like ‘Fahali wawili wakipigana, nyasi ndio huumia’. So in the salon, my poor tiny head was the nyasi at different points in time, but I didn’t really care because they were moving quickly. It was the cost I was willing to pay because of this methali : mapema ndio best.

 

Okay, back to the kisirani word. One of the ladies had come with their baby, about 2/3 years old. At some point, toto started getting fussy and would rub her eyes while crying loudly. She continued this for a while and that’s when the bomb-shell was released.

 

“Huyu mtoto wako anakuwanga na kisirani, si umnyonyeshe”

 

Whoa! I felt that one. Everyone in the salon went quiet for a while, even the baby. The mother didn’t say any word back, nor did she breastfeed her baby, but I could tell from the silence that it hurt her. Thank God my head was bent and I didn’t have to meet her eyes in the mirror at that moment, because I don’t think she would appreciate me telling her ‘wah, pole’. Moral of the story, don’t tell me or my kids (which ones? lol) that we have kisirani, no matter how kisirani.ish we behave. This also means that my esteem wouldn’t survive one day as a Coasterian, or worse of, beefing with one of them because we all know they're the heavy word champions.

 

Moving on swiftly, we have another word: blouse. It just sounds like a… blouse, and something I never want to wear. It sounds like wearing something that has too much print and makes you sweat easily despite the weather.

 

In this world of many scares, my biggest nightmare is this conversation ever happening, and me having to hear it;

 

“Did you see Liz in the afternoon?”

 

“Eish, yeah, si she was the one wearing that purple blouse?”

 

“Yeah, kwanza the way she was complaining in that gava office, she usually has kisirani”

 

“Sana. By the way, I even heard her say to her friend that she was battling severe diarrhea?”

 

“Oh goodness, not the runs! I understand being unwell and getting impatient at Nyayo house people, but I wonder what life has thrown at her that she had to wear a blouse, kwanza a purple one”

 

Guys, how sad is that exchange? Three triple threats used in just one conversation. This world would seize to be my home.

 

There are other words like the ones above, they sound exactly how they mean. They do what they were born to do. Some of them are not necessarily harsh. I have a list of them, like onus, staccato, (I love that word, but when can I ever use it in a sentence?) clumsy, temptress, etc. I would have gotten more into them but I feel like I’ve already wasted enough of your time on a Wednesday morning, plus I imagine you guys are trying to beat deadlines before tomorrow’s public holiday. However, do you guys have such words? The ones where when you instantly heard them, you knew exactly what they meant without even having had to be explained to.

I know the comment section here is messed up for some reason, but you could dm me on IG. I’m curious to know.

 

Assuming this a book, since I’m now.... a writer, here’s the foot note lol

 

Mirish*- my home girl for life, who texts me the sweetest things on Tuesdays e.g. ‘today is Tuesday, which means tomorrow is Wednesday which means we get a post.' So if a post has 10 views, 9 are mine, 1 is hers.