An encounter with Nairobi

It's November 2001, a year when Christmas unexpectedly came early to
us. It was not normal for my father to break the family news, that was
a reserve for my mum. But this day, the tables had been turned,
perhaps owing to the magnitude of the news at hand. Yes! We were
moving to Nairobi, permanently. This had to be the news of the
century. Wait, I forgot I hadn't lived for a century. Anyway they
were the news of our lives.
Nairobi was a city I only visited during my school holidays, a beautiful place. My father only took us to
Nairobi if you were among the top three in your class, and he would
keep his word. Now I proved more of a nuisance than a blessing! I
never tired of the numerous trips to Nairobi as I came out tops in my
class in consecutive terms. I remember counting all the oncoming
vehicles and keeping a record of all the overpasses along the way. And
dad never forgot to take us for lunch at Riverside Hotel, then a 'five
star' hotel just next to the Nairobi river bridge as you approach OTC
from Kariorkor. It was a darling to me. No, my stomach. I loved their
ugali, shaped in a bowl to form a unique shape that delighted my
stomach day in day out.
So yes, I couldn't help but imagine a new life
in Nairobi, the promised land! My mother, sister and I usually
gathered at the fire place singing children songs from the golden
bells. And we would sing till late in the night. This day was
different. We just sat and imagined how life would be in Nairobi.
True to dad's word, we moved to Nairobi, Mlango Kubwa to be specific.
I still have photos of our first Christmas in Nairobi, then in class
four. We would spend our evening learning Swahili, and men, weren't we
poor in it. To add salt to the injury, dad imposed rules to the effect
that Swahili was a mandatory language in our house. No more Kikuyu,
not in Nairobi. One night we were fighting over a blanket and then
Steve my brother introduced the term 'mlingoti' as the Swahili word
for blanket perhaps inspired by the Kikuyu word 'muringiti'. The next
year, we all enrolled at Park road Primary School to the surprise of
finding Indians, Arabs and Somali classmates. And we became the
laughing stock owing to our frequent lingual shrubbing or what was
better known as 'kung'oa'. I remember reading a story in a Kiswahili
class and ended up sending the wrong signals. To me, mukurima and
mkulima sounded the same. Rori was similar to lorry. It came with a
blessing though, I got a new nickname in 'mukurima'. Incognizant of
this fact, that I barely knew, I still insisted on reading literature
to the class. My hand always up and feeling disappointed on not being
selected to read out stories in class. I guess I confused the laughing
and mockery for applause.
With time we got used to Nairobi life and became 'wajanja' but not for
long as you'll get to learn shortly. My father run a small retail shop
and we would help during our free time. I remember stealing a slice on
each half bread to balance the equation. At times I would end up
eating the whole bread to cover up. One evening Steve and I were at
the shop as the rest were watching TV when hell broke loose. We were
both hanging onto a lollipop each when my sister spotted us. Excited
to have caught the thieves, she ran away shouting to my dad's
suspecting ears. The shop had to be closed there and then. Man, not
even a dog deserves the beating that we got.
Back in school, my dad made a laughing stock one more time when he decided to buy me new
school shoes. I decided to 'test' them on a monday morning, a day I
got to school late. Now I found a noisy class and as I approached it,
the noise faded away to a deaf silence. Apparently the classmates
confused the 'kong kong' sound from my new shoes for the
Headmistress'. The pupils broke into laughter as I gracefully walked
in. You can't imagine the embarrassment I endured that day. I actually
  regrettedasking for a new shoe and reverted to the old one. Well, my
first days in Nairobi were nothing short of dramatic

Living life

Countless times I take it upon myself
And condemn that which I know nothing of
Out of rage I curse my offenders
And rebuke those that go against my wish
Well, am only learning how to live my life.

It's not once that I've broken girls' hearts
Not even twice that I've hurled insults at others
More than thrice I've fought fights that I knew nothing of
Many times I've been an enemy of mankind
Well, I'm only learning how to live my life

But soon I'll play a better niche as a human
And forgive those that have wronged me
I'll learn to give others a chance to talk
And learn to listen to what others have to say
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life

Insults will be a thing of the past in me
And fights a difficult vocabulary to me
I won't have to worry about my daughter's heart
Nor scoldings from my neighbours
Then I'll have learnt how to live this life

Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

I hate that my writing makes me lie
That my life is all smooth and happy
And that my heart is always in love and fulfilled
Truth is that I cry so much in secret
And I live in a world of fantasy faraway from reality
But no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

I can see yu that you're not shaken
That's how they all act when they find 'greener pastures'
But sooner than later, you'll realize that they weren't into you
And you'll start saying all men are the same,
Then you'll cry coz i had warned yu about it
No matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

Soon I'll give in to my ego and my attitude
And stop texting you first just like you did
Then I'll keep off all those phonecalls at night
It's time I did away with the feelings
And cut the only bond we have
And no matter how long I keep postponing this,
Tomorrow I'll stop caring!

A date with grandma

I have a crazy grandma. Pardon my manners! Let's not call her that,
awesome fits the bill. She has a way of making me laugh no matter the
situation. Today I got a chance to spend time with her and although
she wasn't at her best, I still enjoyed it. She's been sick for the
last couple of days. Actually I had gone to see her on my mama's
prescription. Upon my diagnosis, I found out that she was twice sick,
Medically and sick as in crazy. Sick because she prescribed her own
medication and ended up taking an overdose. I still haven't come to
terms with the fact that she had two sets of the same drug that she
took concurrently. I can imagine her at the pharmacy section of
Muriranjas Hospital pleading to be given more drugs. That's the only
probable reason that comes to mind, at least for now. My grandma can
be stubborn at times, and cheeky too. And did I say she's generous,
perhaps a reason as to why she expects the same of others. In this
case more drugs, the casualty being the hospital pharmacist. FYI my
grandma is civilised, with an 's' because it's British, Not f***ing
American. She's not the type that eats raw grass and believes they'll
get healed, by God. Divine grass? Not in Kenya! Maybe in South
Africa.hehe. So yes, she ended up with two sets of the same drug,
Blood Pressure drugs with their high potassium ions. She looked dull,
not dull as in she was about to die. No, she doesn't just give  in
without a fight, not just like that. I believe some of that ended up
in her brain judging from the account I got of her behavior the
previous night. I remember greeting her and then she re-closed her
eyes, sleep taking the best of her. I was told that grandpa was in
trouble trying to contain her. She was not herself and felt like she
wasn't at her normal home, like she was granny-napped, as in kidnapped
but now for grannies. She was fighting everyone that she didn't
recognize including grandpa. So here I was seated with someone, No, my
grandma, half asleep. Then suddenly she got all excited and started
praying for me. Powerful prayers I tell you. Don't I just love my
mother's mother.

My Mirror!

You'll all (and especially ladies) agree with me that looking at the mirror can be quite fulfilling. Especially when you're deeply contented with yourself. It's the best feeling that you can ever instill in your inner self. The great feeling you get from seeing yourself from another perspective, your own eyes. The conviction that you're wonderfully made or that you're the most beautiful/ handsome being. Uhm! at least by your own standards. However, it can equally be an awful experience. I mean, how many times have you stared at a mirror and ended up feeling worse than you initially felt. Like you're not good enough. Well, this story is not about all these. It's about the mirror, my mirror!

Why do I call her my mirror, the mirror and not just a mirror? I don't see any other adjective as befitting as 'mirror' to describe my mama. She is reflection of my persona. No, Its the other way round. Make me the subject. Everything good I do is as a result of her hard-work and desire to make me a better me. I actually dedicate every success that I achieve in life to her. Well, assuming I am as successful in reality as I brag to be. I always try and aspire to be like her, in my spiritual life and the way I relate with others. You should by now be wondering why am such a friendly guy and why I laugh so much. It's all down to mama's efforts.

  My sister with mama

Many of you would find it awfully absurd to spend 3 minutes on a phone call laughing all the way to that annoying beep from Safaricom. The one that says your airtime is below 2 shillings and literally dictates such concluding statements as, 'aki naskia kulala, ntakucall kesho.' Well, that's what happens when am talking to mama over the phone and Ive never considered it insane. Many times guys will be on my case asking me, 'unacheka nini?' and it kills me so bad. I mean, is my laughter so irritating or do you mistake it for exasperation.

Another reason for the mirror tag is that she acts as a moderator in keeping me in check. I look up to her to legitimize me when I go wrong. She is literally the Richter scale in my life, dealing with all checks and balances. She is always the first person to whisper to me that, 'hey son, you got it all wrong here. How about you do it this way?' And she is not afraid to say that to me twice, or thrice. I can write about her over and over again but for now, I hope you find yourself someone to call the mirror.

My soft spot

This story is a manifestation that men can fall in love with one woman, not once but over time. It's a story informed by deep love and spurred by regret. It's a narration of the only one person that would qualify to be my soul mate.
I first met her at the halls of residence in Kenyatta University. Nyayo 5 to be specific. Those chiqs you meet through a friend's friend's friend. Mixing, right? I had gone to take a friend of mine to see a friend of his, one Esther Musili. It thus happened that she had a Halle Berry for a roommate. 'Muthaka ta ngoma'. Boy, wasn't she winsome, the type that you'd draw the map of the world with your leg for. I remember smiling sheepishly at her. Mind you I didn't even know theirs name, leave alone that of Esther, our host that day. I had found a refuge. The first thing I noticed was her rich shade of ebony-black hair. Yes, I said hair you perverts! It tumbled over her shoulders to adorn her dazzling porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, twinkled and seemed to brighten the world. Her straight nose, full lips completed the seemingly picture of perfection. Actually, had she smiled, the world would sigh with contentment. That's not what impressed me most, it's actually not what made me fall for her. No! am lying. It was a concoction of both her beauty and character. We struck a bond easily and in a couple of days we hit the ground running. Most notable were
those viazi karai moments at KM. Yes, we have our own Kenyatta Market at KU. We found all manner of excuses to spend time together. We got used to each other and I soon started taking her shopping at Ngara. Good thing she was the one paying for her shopping otherwise the story would have been different. We had ice cream in town and went out at night. It was a blissful experience. She was my first love.
But it doesn't get all beautiful till it gets ugly. I spoilt the fun before it had even started and didn't treat her as I should have. I started acting immature and wouldn't pick up her calls anymore. I am a strange person, you don't have to mention it. Out of the blues, I started avoiding her for no apparent reason. All this time she wept in silence, not to betray her suffering. But now she had shed the last tear. She gave up on me and I lost a love just like that. Now the tears are all mine for the offing. I always cry when I remember this story. I just can't believe I could act as dumb as I did. No way, that wasn't me. It couldn't have been me. Not when I was so much in love with her. But again, it happens when it's your first time, when you're inexperienced in the ways of love. Albeit all that she endured from me her strong character proved she's not just a queen but the queen. She did give me a listening ear even when I didn't have no excuse to defend my actions. I would dance naked at the top of KICC if it were the only way to make her smile. Take a trip to the sun and the moon and back just to be with her. Yes! I would do anything for her! Except, obviously, making her cry again. Not even the tears of happiness!
Now, this narrative is not to make her feel remorseful nor to make her shed a tear again. No! It's a lesson to anyone who has found true love never to let it go. Not even to take a break. Hold on to the one you love! You never know, You might just never have the chance to genuinely love again.