So what would make one loathe a man? What does it really take to have a weird life. I think I have one. Don’t get me twisted. I just love ladies. They turn me on. That doesn’t make me weird in any way. What is weird is that men don’t. I’ve tried. I really have tried to get straight. It hasn’t been a cup of tea. This is where my story begins.
A victim of circumstances. A sweeping statement. I remember I was young. I still don’t understand why it had to be me. At 7, not well informed. Stupid and still a baby. It was the 20th century. Their reasons best known to them. MY TWO UNCLES TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME. Years later I forced to understand what they really had. They were in their lusty years of university. Watching skimpy, short dresses. Thick thighs well given to the public in summary. So sad that they had no guts to approach the ladies. They had the next option that was, ME! A young girl who would be straight at this age. A young girl who would understand the taste of a man. Appreciate a man. A young girl who would get turned on by a man. Unfortunately, it still remains a dream. I still don’t get what a man means. Let me not blame my lesbianism to them.
No one takes time to understand me. I love that. Fortunately, someone did. I have not had peace. My life is another escapade that has killed me over and over. I have sought suicide but death seems to hate me. My life is doomed. A number of times, that now I feel that
so close to death that it won’t dare take a friend. I’m strong on people’s eyes. Very weak in person. One of the reason that blunt saves my day. It is my daily thing. I enjoy it. It takes my thoughts away.
I was rejected by my own dad. I remember him as a drunkard. Rascal. I HATE HIM! HE RAPED ME! I Don’t regret I got over it. My worst experience is having a dad. A dad who took me to Eldoret. A young girl, barely 10. He squats, leans to my side and whispers. “Mom kaa hapo na usitoke, nakuja.” (Mom, just sit here and wait for me, I’m coming.) He left me in the streets of Eldoret. On the cold floor. I know you are confused, don’t be. I vividly remember this. I understood these years later. Let me take you slow. One of the cold nights the man, my mom’s husband. Walks in chanting, drunk as usual. Staggers into my room. The only soul in that room falls victim. A lady who now is grown then very small. Had no breasts, just a flat chest. So small that the man struggled. The next day I felt weak. Abnormal pain on my genitals. The same dad rushes me to the hospital. How caring? I saved the man from a lifetime imprisonment. I pretended not to know whatever happened. I was smart, I guess. Weeks later he shows his pangs. We travel all the way to Eldoret. A dumping site for this little ‘cursed’ angel. A misfit.
What is more painful than being left by your own biological father in the streets? What is more painful when you fully understand that no one wants you? Rejection. At that tender age I fought battles. A young soul that knew best its fate. Finding someone who showed you the slightest attention was a win for them. Finding my way home from Eldoret. Miraculously, Got me to a boarding school. He had to put an end on all that happened. Bury the stories. I was born a weakling who fought her battles in silence. I was naive. We all have that one friend who takes good care of us. Their reasons known best. Salome, not her real name. She at least showed some heart. Some little care that melted my heart. Coming from a family that had nothing to offer me. Salome cured my solemn state. She fought my battles now. A class ahead of me. So she was always right. I still wish I saw this coming. I should have gotten rid of this. Anyway, I never knew what was right and wrong. I’d have fought my way. She tuned me.
Her charity was questioning. I understood this a decade later. Not that I was stupid. She taught me much. But one still holds me captive. A Bermuda Triangle that still is undefined. I vividly remember how she pressed my nipples and kissed my lips. I immediately fell for that and closed my eyes. You know that feeling. Closing my eyes meant i’d forever live in this. Closing my eyes meant I was weak. Closing my eyes meant I sparked some new life. I felt the difference. The difference between a hungry man who could not put off his lusty fire with a grown ass woman. A young soul falling prey. Having turned on a new leaf I later understood that the same woman would put off my fire. I have to admit, not fully. I still hold that second conscience that I really need a man. I need to get straight.
Joining high school was one of my greatest dream. Everyone dreamt of high school. Who didn’t? I enjoyed my first two years having not found my ‘kind’. I was this adorable and smart lady in school. Having won trust from everyone in school. Some powers were vested in me. Some which I still regret. Not that the duties were tasking, the person in question was just not who they knew. My faces were many. In my second year. I believe my dark angels still looked after me. I found someone who we shared a lot in common. Let me not do it in circles. I was lucky I found my ‘kind’. A lesbian. She played to my tune. Top secrecy was what bind us. She had to be the only one. I would not risk to bring down a whole YCS Catholic movement. I was the chairperson. For christ’s sake I really had to play cool. I was an all rounded student and I held more posts. Which I ought to protect. An exemplary performer. A major player in the students council. I was that good. I held a great title. Destroying a positive reputation meant suicide.
From a marginalized area. You expect a shy lady. Not me. I had slowly gained some confidence and courage. That made me a fierce fighter. A fighter whose battles meant a win. I had some extra powers in school that allowed me to slightly bend rules. I would enjoy my moment with some ambience and tranquility. A senior. My partner who also enjoyed most favors though a crook. That one lost soul anyway. She saved my ass. I’ll repay that favour dearly. An year of sexual pleasure from her made my school year. She would later get expelled. Stella (not her real name) was one great lady that I still wish we will meet some day. The lesbian circle in high school was wide. I was in none. I only shared my moment with stella. She was well informed of all the circles in the school. But we still chose to keep mine a top secret. Her sleek, soft skin would raise my spirits. Get me wild. She leans towards me. Breathes heavily on my neck. I feel glory. My afternoon is made.
It was wrong. I understood that best, this would give me a straight expulsion, clear my good name and get me a reputation that would kill my future. Everyone wants to retain that great title, clean file and a reputable profile. I really wanted that. The village in me would not allow me to be associated with ill manners. Stella and her team ‘i excluded’ were toasted. She really cared and her rogue wrong behaviors would want to spare me. She liked me. You all remember those epidemic sweeps in school. Where three quarters suffered the long lectures of a panel seated. The school management board. Where mental torture was real. Standing in front of a panel whose motives were getting you bitter, teary, terrorized and a snitch. You ended up speaking. I survived the sweep. Secrecy is what bind us. Stella and some other large group of my kind were expelled. I’d categorize myself among the lucky. Evading expulsion and death are some of my biggest chronicles. That was the end of me as a lesbian the rest of my stay in school.
Everyone had this perception of greatness after school. Success and a comfortable life after. You are young and you understand less about life. You dream more. You sleep more and work less. You end up achieving a lot of sleepless nights, inward frustrations and own critical wrangles. I’m a witness of how death can be cruel. Cruel in a way that it refuses to go with you. I really needed that. I wished death. Things never went my way. I had not joined school yet but I felt defeat. It was early I know. I did not bother looking for a man that much. Unfortunately, I found myself looking for a lady. That doesn’t mean I don’t talk to men. I hide my face in them. Two phases of a face. Maybe you did not get my sentiments ‘i hide my face in men’. I’m social, hyper social with men. They are my greatest circle. Anything further than a light talk, session and zone moment. Is a NO. Yes I weed. Blunts keep me alive. They get me off my worries. The fact that my life has been so doomed. I need something to ease my nerves. I found myself here. I wish I’d change things. The word wish remains another story.
I wish I never opened up about my state. I AM LESBIAN. I once woke up to this nightmare. I found my photos all over social media. All social groups from my school. Then I was a catering student in one of the colleges in kenya. Who was about to graduate. Then someone I confided in blew up my cover. Posted it on my wall, shared it to all groups i was in. Luckily, suicide never clicked in mind then. I had cleared my final exam and was awaiting my graduation. I hid myself from the truth. No one would stand stigmatization. I was not ready for mockery. I avoided the public eye and things turned out to be worse. I can’t give credits to the one who introduced me to blunts. Sincerely, he helped me in some way.
You know that feeling of freedom though you fully understand things are not well. That feeling of jubilance yet you know life hasn’t been a cup of tea. That is what blunts did. Though I have to be in constant supply. A minute of sobriety is a minute of a suicide thought. I have wanted death once in a while. Damn it! It has been playing hard to get. I tend to think that my future holds greater things and I forge my way ahead. I laugh at my stupid death stunts. I walked into a club in town. Sat on one of those long counter seats. Pointed on one drink after the other. From wines to whiskey, beer to spirits. I was loaded financially. So I paid on order. I made a cocktail of them in my body and I had now started to give in to the brew. I’m not one of those rowdy drunkards. I don’t open my legs when drank. My mouth is always shut. I was peaceful all through. Luckily, I don’t fall for men. But they watched in disguise. They cheered in silence. In their minds the next move was strip. Become rowdy. Start calling names. Not me. I slowly stood from my seat. Obviously, supporting myself on the counter. Found my balance. I belched. Then staggered my way out to the balcony. I stood there viewing the ground. The next thing was me on the ground. The normal kenyan behavior. surrounding me and asking if still alive. The other crowd that joins in of theorists. Bla bla bla. They speak much. With lame theories of what transpired. I regained consciousness. I had just fallen from the second floor and I walked out unhurt. No scratch but a heavy body that felt really different from the normal me. I survived.
My life gas been another Bermuda Triangle. Where things just happen mysteriously. I still question why I live to tell the stories. A fine morning when you decide to travel. The normal african way. Matatu, you walk in, book a seat. Stay for a while before it is full. You break a neck a number of times. Trying to avoid contact with humble hawkers who are trying to earn a decent living. Minutes before the journey starts. You remember you’ve not bought a soft drink. So you rush to the shop and buy. You watch through the window then doze off. After an hour you find yourself lying on a hospital bed. You just survived a horrible grisly accident. That was me. I was involved in an accident that only two souls survived. I was one. This was when I stopped wishing death. I had fought hard looking for it. Then it just skips me.
I’ve lived a life not worth to be desired. A life that holds no lessons to me but pity. Everyone wants the best. I’m not left behind. I want better. I fight for that each day.
We started with a promise of commission
But I was always worried of the omission
Acknowledging that all that matters is devotion
Of the always planned or unplanned mission
Just like the recently concluded nomination
We never really anticipated the commotion
How he struck me he must have used a love portion
I was mesmerized exploring different options
Cause he just happened to be my life’s addiction
Little did I know it was my conclusion
Of the life that I thought had a vision
From what I was so much filled with passion.
He always had an explanation
To everything I posed to him as a question
This led me to a state of confusion
Of a never ending situation
Distorting the love and leading to destruction
Making me think of an abortion
Of the human he planted in me with determination
The leaders looting us could give the definition
Making it clear and giving an explanation
Caring less of the confused society’s notion
Exactly same way putting a soul in a very tricky condition
Expecting from me perfection.
Do we all realize how this operate?
We expect the lady to cooperate
Become what we term as moderate
Just as the country’s unsuspecting electorate
Voting in a leader just for the title ‘doctorate’
One who would make them concentrate
At the only project which he promised to mutate
Yet reaches destination and complains about his salary rate
Likewise cheering and making sure to congratulate
The man’s action and giving him morale to dictate
A life he has so molded in his mind state
Forgetting the lady has a vision to one day lead a state.
It’s actually one of life’s situation so scary
That can definitely lead to a soul being weary
Of the cycle of life with the anger that they carry
But try their level best to make sure that they burry
All the pain, hatred and a little bit of worry
To eliminate the possibility of a sad story
And face this monster called life with bravery.
He approached me on boarding the matatu giving me an assuring smile as he sat next to me that indeed we had met before in my mysterious experience in life.
I smiled back at him and started talking like someone who was really lonely and craved for company from the onset. So I began, “Remember me? Cherop, we met sometime back at the TSC tented vibandas in Upperhill during lunch hours. I guess I remember your name as Mwangi or if I’m not wrong, you insisted on me calling you Robert.”
All this time, I never gave him a chance to reply or even engage in this monologue I was so eager and willing to participate in. Annoyingly, I’m that type of lady (wait is that even a lady’s trait?) who wouldn’t have her vibe killed by a person just because they aren’t replying. I must admit that the dictionary meaning of ‘handsome’ is an understatement so that for now can suffice as a defence for my silly actions. I then continued as he smiled back, “Are you still working at Kenya-Re? How is it there? With this election mood I would really advise taking leave during that period. You need several days even thereafter just to be sure that the environment is friendly enough to be back to the office.”
The Lord knows I saw him nod but I’m not sure whether he was nodding owing to my stupidity or it was the rhythmic movement of the pothole experience on the leadership worked on tarmac we drove through.
Shock on me! This whole time I was talking to a deaf and dumb person. I don’t even understand why you’re laughing and you can just but imagine my facial expression at that point. I came to know this when the conductor talked with no fear of the unsuspecting listeners telling the driver to stop at NEMA for ‘Robert’ to alight then turned to him to perform some magic moves with his hands shining his way to the top just like the sign language translator at Nelson Mandela’s burial to prove his non-attendance to a special school to learn the art.
To this day I am convinced that I was maybe on some serious illegal substance. Or is it that maybe ‘Robert’ was acting up to enjoy the treatment that comes with such people in these times we live in?
This is exactly the same way we act and make people feel when we board PSVs and the conductor hypothetically starts a conversation in another language than the national, say kikuyu and expects one to understand what he/she is talking about or when one asks how much it is to a certain destination and he/she responds caring less of the recipient with a language maybe identified with news once heard on national TV during campaign period.
How difficult is it to just live in a country or world where we mind the people next to us and accommodate everyone? Let’s stop all this hatred and insensitivity just because of a day that normally years back, was just another routine filled day. Politics will come and go, leaders too but the country we live in is just one with no replacement.
Make a choice to live in a peaceful land BUT make no mistake of taking a chance to LIVE. I AM NOT TRIBELESS because I choose to be from a certain tribe that just adds to the culture and attraction of the country’s welfare. HOWEVER, I choose to treat everyone the same way I treat a woman selling me fish in the streets of Gikomba, a man selling me potatoes in Marikiti, a lady making my hair in the CBD, a teller serving me in Barclays Bank, a man carrying my luggage for pay at Railway station, a lady serving me at a Java restaurant and several others who I’ve never thought or even asked about their tribe or where they live but start a normal conversation like the person I’ve lived to be.
MAY GOD BLESS US AND MAY HE BLESS KENYA! CHOOSE PEACE.
I vehemently go through my daily Facebook feeds. Publicity, carries the day. Seriously sourcing likes whatsoever the means. Blackmails to get blessings. Am not against religion, why should I like so as to receive blessings? 1000 likes that will heal this kid. Damn you! I’m not heartless as this may sound but why should you threaten me? Who came up with this shit anyway? We are chained, I believe so. We are all after blessings. We need prosperity, good health and life. Not through likes. Why should I give another faint hearted nightmares by sharing disturbing images of souls in pain? If you tag me in such, you’re doomed. Thanks for hating, I appreciate. It sucks.
I rarely post anything on my wall. So I spend most of my time reading comments and post from Kilimani. Where all men and women here are mad, sorry to say. Throw stones. This is the only place where the keypad psychology beats all odds. Sex, lust and relationship wrangles are the order. Everyone is entitled to his/her opinion. This is where my ribs are broken, where others receive both hate and love in equal measure. A post of a desperate human who really needs help. Kenyans sit and rough up issues. Bullied, insulted, and laughed at. The few people like me who will always try utter some words wiser than me, in a sarcastic way to be precise. I wonder if they really are satisfied at the end. People pick up fights on social media. I forgot to ask, what did the Ugandans really do to Kenyans? The war there would have easily sparked life for the third world war. Those people pressed the wrong buttons. Kenyans are creative! Has anyone ever taken things seriously on creativity, these things would really pay. Ask me. Memes were really coming in at an alarming speed. They gave up anyway. Don’t joke with the OGs. We bleach this social media daily.
Kindly do not drag me into your relationship differences, I called this thing shit! You broke up? So what? He is angry? So should I come rub his balls? Stupid! Screenshots are ruining this era. Just because he is releasing sparks inbox. Please, let it remain there. Who taught this wannabes that NUDES are important? It pains to see posts of women, wrinkles showing their journey through menopause. Lust on their faces. Luring young, broke boys. I need answers. How does it feel posing for a photo while naked? How now? You set the camera, kababa and kamami hanging helplessly. Then press the share button. WHO THE HELL DOES THAT? Ladies, when you are having an intimate session with your mate, I never said lover, kindly make sure no photos are taken at the moment. You’ll be surprised how fast and dry the online bush is. It will spread. You’ll be killed in the hearts of many. I’d want a reserved lady. Not one whose nudes have been circulating. Don’t ask me how I got them! The nature of our African parents cannot tolerate such crap. Abomination! You’ll ever live complaining of why you are single. See your life!
So whoever taught people to look for publicity by asking ‘nakaa kufanya kazi gani?’ These are idle Kenyans who are seated on people’s perimeter walls. Peeing and shiting their rogue shenanigans on walls on Facebook. They are very active in replying comments. Very fast to show symptoms in verbal diarrhoea. Such stupidity you ignore. Their problems are better with them. They are communicable. So whenever you notice such sick people, avoid them. These people are hungry of getting likes and comments. They are capable of even killing you. Type RIP we lost him/her through a road accident. What have they achieved in life? Facebook publicity?
I curse whenever I’m reminded of my memories years after. I tend to think this social media thing is a feminine complicated, smart and rogue platform. How can you keep memories, years later blow them up and ask me to share. Damn! I was stupid then. Very childish! Not the slay king I am today. I was young then. Stupid and I had not been inducted into this lie life on social media. Where people are chained, forced to give another opposite view of your real life. You want to prove of the sluggish steps you have made. The class you are in right now. The expensive drinks you take. Who told you that getting drunk is trendy? As long as you are drunk, there is no difference of you who bought a Cellar cask, Lawson’s and the one who sat behind a smoky, stinky room taking kathitima! As far as I’m concerned, mimi sishindani na mtu (I’m not competing with anyone)! Kindly, do not try prove to me of how you have made it. This is the crap I hate to see on my feeds.
This a kind request. Do not tag me on your posts if Socrates has not written a new inspirational quote. There are these Facebook nags who tag you on very silly posts. My timeline is precisely mine! I’m so kind that I don’t have to mention you. Argh! I feel irritated. A grown man in his right senses, a grown ass woman who still use ‘X’. Why did you waste your golden chance to do that shit while still in high school? ‘xaxa umexema aje bwout hixo xtory’ Lord have mercy. I notice this, sorry I left! You think you have finally made it in life? Crap!
I have done none of media ethics. So this is simply me. Some need these b21bbd4929b791e7517328d4cbb344e5924c1e4112451b30a5. Approach them in the best way possible.
Tolerating the sight of your own blood would be a huge task for you, but I can comfortably tell of your survival rates. Life can be deceiving.
I grew up determined to work as a medic in future. My childhood experience had led to this and I had to. If it killed me. At the tender age of 5, an uncle died on my little arms. Not knowing what to do, I spent my better day supporting my dead uncle’s head on my arms. Sad. Hours later my mom would walk in to find me. My hands cold, tired and hungry. This was just the begin. The scenario motivated me and for the first time in life I decided to save lives. But that wouldn’t be so.
I fear death, who doesn’t? Seeing bodies covered up in white sheets is not a new thing. It takes heart. To me things are normal. I value less this body of mine a lot. Worthless. You really can’t tell when your next call to meet the messiah . My Life was never the same. At the age of five I had to keep up with the guilt that someone died on my hands. His last words, that he really struggled to mention, a blessing for me in the medical world. This meant that his words must be followed to the letter. Blessings and curses.
Growing up with a sibling who had some health problem was not a surprise. I always watched over him. His tumour would not let him have peace. Young as I was, that I could really tell. I recall playing with him and it would be a real struggle. With his tumour on his right eye. I really felt the pain of him watching me. So full of health. Assumptions and pretense from my parents, that I understood everything was first in line. I never understood why my brother had the tumour. I never understood what my brother went through. I never understood why my brother had so much trouble with us playing. Young, enthusiast and silent sibling. A humble child who witnessed the cry of my young brother.
It would be a real shock to my parents at the age of eight when I did the unbelievable. I was tired of playing with a brother who I had to control his play. I was tired of him not playing like I did. I wanted to see him jovial than I was. It was taking too long for the indian doctors to come treat my small brother. Dreams were still valid. This fine morning I happily watched my brother. I finally felt some relief. A razor on my hand, my brother so calm. I counted. By the count of five his tumour was on my small palm. Happiness filled my small being. I immediately rushed to break the good news to mom. Fury, showed on her face. I only tried to help. There was no time to receive the African beating. This was an emergency. Panic. I could tell that something was wrong. I happily stood there watching. I was not the problem. Nothing could really be done but for the wound to be dressed. The tumour would then be preserved.
Air tickets were expensive and dad would not travel to India immediately. God knows why it happened. I had done the unimaginable. The doctors’ trip had to be rescheduled immediately. The country would not facilitate Surgical procedure such a delicate condition. Who knew I saved my brother’s life? I had acted fast at least. A brother’s love is the greatest.
Tension was high. The doctors flew into the country. Minutes later the head doctor walks out of the surgery room. His face down. Predictably, things were not right. I watched my mom getting weak. She held on to a couch and sat. The doctor was fast to notice the impression on their faces. I acted so calm, I had felt the intensity of my actions. No one had tried to lecture me on the issue. I was still young. The doctor beckoned at me. My hesitation kept me seated. As usual dad had to raise his voice. This was the only way to get me into action. His face lit up as I walked towards him. He lifted me up and then broke the news. This was my second motivation to join the medic world. Fortunately, my childish actions had effectively removed the tumour. Not a part of it but a whole. My brother was saved his childhood struggle with a tumour. I had hit two birds with one stone. The doctors in the country could have done nothing about the tumour. So India was the next option. The funds in short supply but dad had really tried in soliciting for funds. Surprisingly, the doctors could not do medical school. A feeling of achievement. I had to save lives. I had to fulfil my uncle’s word. It was still painful to accept the fact that he died on my small hands. I swore to myself that it would never happen. Things were smooth while in medical school. My passion drove me to work harder. My worst nightmare would later welcome me when I finally reported at a level five hospital in the country. At least my passion kept me moving all along.
My first patient. This was something I had not come across. It had never crossed my mind. A 7 year old whose leg had to be amputated. The cancerous cells had dominated. It was hard. I cried. As the nurse I had to take this young soul through what would happen. Balanced tears. I was not that courageous. Facing the parents was harder. Explaining to them was more complicated. What about this young soul. At 7 he had to lose a leg. This was a spitting image of me at 7, when I cut my brother’s tumour. I wanted him to play like me. I collected myself three days before his leg was amputated. I broke the news to him. I felt heartbroken when he asked if his leg would grow again. This was not what I wanted in life. I was about to quit when his second leg had to be amputated immediately after his first leg. The cancerous cell had spread to the second leg. The same procedure had to be followed. The parents were now deep in tears. It was a real task approaching the small boy for the second time. Same news that his second leg would not survive. I was not this strong. My pillow would soak in tears. I cried every evening. I was not ready for this.
I had made a mistake. I would not correct it. I had to fulfil someone’s words. My brother all grown. He now had so much hope in me. A patient was brought in. Her condition critical. I had to save her. I did my best. She was in pain. I’d make sure her dosage is on time. I took care of her for a week. My shift was during the day. As I walked in one fine morning the bed was empty. This was another heartbreaking moment in my life. I knew she was no more and I had to confirm that. I rushed to the morgue and I confirmed that fact. She was dead. I blamed myself. I would have done something at least. Vanity.
As an intern I had to work in the Labour ward. Ushering new souls into this cruel world. I was so happy doing this. I knew years later I’d happily receive my own. I did it with passion. Bringing in five souls a day was a real reason to smile. Not until you hear this. Out of the five I ushered only 3 would survive. One having born as still. The worst part, you have to explain to the mother that the doctor did not kill her child. That is their first thought. I had to break up my biological understanding of this to a simpler language. The second child is either born prematurely or some the parts are deformed and the child can’t make it. As a potential mother in future, it really pained me. I was getting used to this. Though my heart was not strong to handle all this.Another patient is brought in. His condition critical. His survival rate very low. He won’t live to see the week end. I have to take care of him. I HAVE TO. I work tirelessly. I watch over him. Then one evening. He hands me a valuable and a message for the family. Truly, he died minutes later. I cover him with that white sheet. His valuable on my hand, his words tormenting my mind. Why me? Why did it have to be now? It haunts me an year later. I hold his words and valuable an year later. I fear opening my closet everyday. The guilt that I never found the family. Reasons? The same day the family reported to pick their body for burial, I was off duty. I never found the family. My unfruitful struggle to look for the family. It pains me. Talking to the morgue attendant is a task equivalent to nil. I still loathe them. Heartless weirdos. Brutes who’ll watch you as if nothing has happened. For God’s sake, I’m holding a valuable and a message for the deceased family. That is too hard for them to understand. I have to live this way. I have to live with the guilt. I forget crucial information on my life. I don’t forget the message I was left by the deceased. I CAN’T!
Life is undesirable. My duty in the mental ward is another experience. Strong, handsome men. Men who once had families. Shit happened and they are now mentally not stable. I don’t put on any skimpy dressing or put on any make up when I’m on duty there. It is torture. They do not understand sex. It would be unfair if I seduce any of them. I have an experience. I once walked in to the ward. Immediately after closing the gate. One humongous, handsome patient grabs me. His world setting is a wife. He acts so romantic. He swings me in the air tells me he loves me. I have to play with him. It would be a fatal accident if his thoughts Immediately change. I have to pretend back. I have to make him happy. Male attendants are now there to help. Six of them. They have to be smart. Fortunately, he carefully places me down… Having worked in those wards has taught me a lot. That you mind needs some distractions to keep smart and stress free. I happily interact with them when they play. The games change who they are, they act normal. Having gone through this nightmares I had to look for activities to ease me. I fell in love with A theatre group. This is a place I have to visit every evening to cool. It distracts me. It helps me.
This is me in the medical world. I have to live with these facts. I chose the wrong career. I have to stick here. Yet the writer of the article, is happily living with a pen, paper, laptop and a phone. I have to live with this facts that life is not fair. I watch patients daily. Their survival rates I can still tell. This is me in the medic world. MY LIFE AS NURSE.
Ever thought about what you would do if you lost the closest of persons? Don’t envy the feeling pals. So, I boarded this matatu to town today and surprisingly it was all silent. No music. No kamageras (mtaa language). Just the passengers having their quiet thoughtful morning. Others continuing with the dreams that were rudely interrupted by the alarms they set 5 mins apart.
The problem with me is taking heed of the many stories I’ve heard that happen in matatus. I rarely doze off for the fear of the unknown or let me just say the known. So I decided to attach my earphones to my tuko pamoja phone. I know you well understand which phone this is. My pal once told me I should stop pretending that I don’t know it is just metal applied to nail polish on it. Yah, that one!
So I start with my playlist and the first song I played is Maher Zain’s, “This Worldly Life.” Most of you who have listened to this song are attached to the message in one way or the other. There verves the bad habit I’ve tried to tame but I’m human remember? I started lip syncing to the song. At least you should applaud me for not yelling to uncontrolled rhythms and those “listen to the words but not the voice” noises. I totally got to a zone where you have those wicked thoughts of “what if?” Before getting so much into that lonely corner, an even worse song in terms of adding salt to injury played next. “Everybody gets high sometimes, you know. What else can we do when we’re feeling low? So take a deep breath and let it go. You shouldn’t be drowning on your own……,” Beiber’s words.
I hate to admit weakness but that’s what I felt when listening to these two songs. What if I lost one of my parents? What if I lost both? What if I lost any of my siblings? Hold up, let’s be real. You must be an alien if you’ve never had such thoughts. You don’t need to have thought aloud. The worst of it all was, what if I was the one who left first? These feelings got me into deep sorrow discerning of the next step after such an ordeal. I analyzed every situation for quite some time and even became deaf to the next songs that followed in my playlist. I remembered my pals who I’ve been a witness to their experience of losing siblings and others losing parents. We once had those panics with my elder brother while growing up when waiting for mum and dad to chuck work for us to open the gate for them once we heard the car hoot. The moment they were late or it started raining and they were not home by the time we were used to seeing them, our thoughts were something you wouldn’t want to be part of. I was bold enough to ask my brother once and it was then that we realized that we were indeed sailing in the same boat.
I wouldn’t wish that moment on anyone even my greatest enemy. In that moment when the conductor came asking for the fare, I was shedding tears to a point his conscience couldn’t let me be and asked whether I’m fine. I quickly wiped away my tears and answered on the positive as I gave him the cash. He gave me my change so fast. I guess he feared for his morning mood being spoilt by just 20 Shillings. I then turned to the window I was next to and looked outside. What I saw wasn’t something to be sad about anymore but a challenge on what impact I will make NOW when I have family and friends around. Death is inevitable. Just as we read on everything taught in class for we might not know where the examiner might base their questions on, that’s the same thing we should do with life.
So what if you live in the shanties? So what if your dad works with the government? So what if your sibling is in States? So what if you dropped out of school? So what if you’re the world’s most smart person? So what if you are the pastor’s kid? So what if you have 1 million followers on social media? So what if you drive the latest version of the Range Rover? So what if your family don’t understand what poverty means? So what if you eat one meal per day? All is in vain if humility and courtesy isn’t your companion in life. Better said, you still need these friends and family around you, so treating them right and without bias wouldn’t hurt.
Have you ever wondered why these street kids steal or the so called Kayole massive gunmen? Why market women are so harsh when you are doing your weekend shopping? The conductors abusive when asking for your change? The policemen/women inappropriate when interrogating you? Did I hear someone say upbringing? Come on! If we were half the people we are to our pals and family to these strangers, do you think the world would be how it is? What does it cost foregoing your airtime cash by buying half the amount and texting the person then using the other half to buy a meal for a street kid? You say these people fake it too much nowadays no wonder you don’t give a dime. Why do you exclude yourself in the fakeness bracket if when your friend needs you for an emergency you better go out and explain how broke you are? I’m not advocating for you denying yourself your fun to prove a point. You don’t have to give cash. It would really mean so much to say hi and ask how the person is. May it be that guard, house help, street kid or market woman.
I’ve learnt from my parents that the best way to handle people is to put yourself in their shoes. What if you went saying hi to someone and all you get is one running away or going quiet? The simple things we do in this life really impact people in ways we can never understand until you sit down with them and have that conversation. Let me remind you of a famous story of a lady who boarded a matatu going for an interview and a man accidentally stepped on her and immediately apologized. The lady caused drama throwing shade on this man. The man kept saying he was sorry but all he received was cruelty. The man did not even seem to be comfortable sitting there but one could have thought it was because of the lady’s insults. Karma is surely always after a tit for tat with life. The lady got to the place she had been texted to go for the interview. It was now her chance as the third interviewee and shock on her when she found the “useless” man at the panel as the managing director of the company. She wept. Yeah I know you know that short verse in the scriptures and the magnitude they hold. The man had an issue with his car and couldn’t wait for it to be repaired so he left it with his driver and hurried because he knew he had an interview to chair.
Treat everyone just the same way you would wish someone treated you even without knowing you. Remember Chris Kirubi hailed from a poor background, Richard Turere a young boy hailing from the maasai community and just recently appeared in Ted among others I can’t just include it might turn to resemble an electoral register.
The core cry being humility and courtesy. You just don’t know what the future holds for that person you drove fast past dirty water and splashed on them or that person who fuels your car for you. Leave a smile on someone’s face and if you have more than that to offer, I’d prefer we all left a LEGACY.
When it comes to art and music. We give credit where it’s due. It really is encouraging to see young minds get to work. Their work deserves to be recognized and appreciated. I got to meet Ian Lewis years back. His art was growing and one would really tell that this was one of the best talents. Determined, focused and a spirited fighter. His line of work has seen him conquer. As a writer, actor, singer and a producer. He is a Jack of all trades in art. A mind blowing talent. Truthful, Ian is one sharp mind that goes straight to speak what he feels. Gives you a reason to rethink again and go for the best. This is a talent to jeep watch on. His style so unique and different. An inspiration that all is achievable if put to work.
He took me through his journey as an artist. Truth be told, you have to be smart and determined. This is his first album which is yet to be released. This is what he had to say about his music journey.
MEMENTO MORI – REMEMBER DEATH
“This is the First Official Album from me, Ian Lewis a.k.a Lethal and it is a special labour of love for me. One, it was born out of a very difficult point of my life, ailing with a lung problem that has proven difficult to pinpoint and therefore even harder to treat. This has led into falling in and out of depression and so, someone close suggested to put the pain into the music. Two, I fully produced all the songs on the album. I’m working with a producer from Germany called Feelo (he is behind the first track out, Notes) but I’m behind all recording, mixing and mastering and the general feel of the album.
As one realizes while listening, it is not a polished product. Which is intentional. There are places where my voice breaks, where I go silent and stuff… The simple reason is because that’s how I felt… That is how life is. Sometimes you don’t have a reply, sometimes you are overcome by emotion and your voice breaks…. Such.
Why the title?
Memento Mori is Latin for Remember Death…
And this album to me is a conversation between a dying me and the people around me, and between me and God and lastly between me and myself… It is going to be very disturbing, content and production wise.
The full album drops on 17th July this year on all digital song carriers. We are releasing a third and final single to promote the album in a week’s time then the full album. Also, it will be free to purchase.YouTube
♥I have been in the music scene for very long… But I don’t release much music and when I do it’s to limited audiences. Currently focused on getting my law degree and building up “So Lethal Group”.
We are looking for artistes and producers who we can put together and create art, not just songs for posterity. That is what I’ll be doing for the next few years…executive production.”
Authentic, the talent is real. I’m humbled to have such determined artists in my circle. Listening to such talents keeps me awake to fight in my field. From the eXtremists’, we wish him the best. Our support is strong. We look forward to launch your album on 17th/July/2017.
Beauty and the beast.
UREMBO SI SUPU
Finally, the gangster diva has been laid to rest. Clea Adi Vybz popularly known her official name, Claire Njoki Kibia. A beauty that has gone to waste at such a tender age. She had mastered the art of the gun and had perfectly hit the headlines. Her death celebrated by those who have been in the hands of an armed robber. We can attest that she has now rested in peace after the many theories behind her resurrection and nursing injuries in South Africa. I feel the pain of a parent who had so much hopes on her daughter only for them to be brought down by a bullet. At her teenage, barely 18years old. The Big question remains, why and how did she choose crime? Who forgot his/her responsibility?
It pains me to understand that this would have been a life that chose greatness. The girl in question was a mother and a wife to a man who is allegedly feared to be worse. Claire a product of crime. A feared weapon at 17. Who was conversant with armory. Daring and short lived testimony that you live by the bullet, you die by the bullet. Her guts overwhelmingly feared. Having called for the battle herself which led her to the narrow feet down there. Ukishindana na ndovu, utapasuka msamba. Her daring the man ‘hessy’ to meet for a battle. Having been warned and asked to surrender to the authorities. Her days were too short. A teenage mother who has left a son behind. The family claims that Claire was neither married nor did she have any child. Words that I cannot attest to be true or false. I lack understanding of how you have a social life surrounded by thousands only to be laid to rest by your family. It would really hurt that the audience I entertained while I was alive none paid me tribute on my last day. A tent erected to only host 50, no life story was read, yet bloggers like I have a lot to tell. I’m still left in shock. Her beauty would sincerely have made a fashionista, appear on billboards. Am pissed. As many continue to follow the same track of death. Lessons have not yet been immersed into our thick brains. That crime never pays. The pictures that have been circulating on social media of youths sprawled in pools of blood, disturbing. A life led by greed, lust and crime. A lady who has been involved in a love triangle. Mwanii and Collo the alleged lovers of the underage. Only if the soils would talk. The saga of the triangle mysteriously became the Bermuda, collo found in a quarry, dead. This remains a theory. Finally, Collo and Clea meet in hell. The alleged husband still at large. Let the dead bury the dead. From Waga hajj of the Eastleigh killings to kisogoo of kayole and now clea adi vybz the list is endless. All teenagers who have led the way.
A life wasted at 17, hit the headlines. Rest In Peace.
She turned to the one she loved most and reminisced on the good times. The times when all he wanted was to be around her, spoiling her rotten. He even sacrificed his pals’ invitations to parties and road trips if the ladies were not invited just to be with the one he loved. You could have thought of that to be the heaven sent bond that we always refer to while visualizing relationships.
The reason heaven was termed as that was to bring in the existence of hell. This lady now had experienced both sides. We say people don’t change, it’s the mask that falls off. This one fell off so soon. Why would you not just let her be rather than letting her regret? All that comes with the monster called love. Don’t get me wrong, I really value the bond but I don’t think half of the world we live in currently knows the meaning of it.
But can we blame him really? All this while, they were just used to eating in restaurants. I think that is what we refer to as dates nowadays? Yes! I know your question and I already answered it. They were eventful to an extent that they accommodated each other impeccably when house chores were involved. They couldn’t handle it so they called on other people to help. When it came to doing laundry there was a ‘mama wa nguo’, who did all that pertains home cleanliness. When it was stomach matters there was a fast food joint or even a reserved table for two at the luscious restaurants.
How could he have known all these was helping a ‘lady’ escape her greatest nightmare? She could not cook but yet could tell what spice was missing from a delicacy. That is how sure his one and only love was heaven sent. She could not do laundry neither and polishing shoes for her was a shoe shiner’s job. Do you think there is somewhere our parents went wrong? If your answer is no, then you perfectly know your responsibility. If your answer is positive however, then you are the same people who blame our able teachers and lecturers for your failure. Aren’t there people in the same class excelling beyond believe? So, where were you when the lecturer was teaching? Where were you when revision was the order of the day?
Back to you now, where were you when your siblings were perfecting their skills? Wait, or is it all of you who can’t do anything useful? If that is the case then, there must be a problem with all of you. I’m sure you have friends around you who can cook or even do laundry. Are you giving an excuse of being the only child? Spare yourself the pity. Is it a crime to ask for help in learning how to do something? Now it is time to move in with the one you call hubby and all you got to offer is an opinion. Our parents have had their share of chores ever since, so having house helps now just aid them relax from the daily routine which involves working themselves off for you and the entire family.
It was now time for her to have a taste of what it felt like to be in a relationship/marriage. Just after her moving in, the responsibilities that came with that did not dawn on her yet. It was evening and she had not gone to work that day. She still had not thought about what to cook neither had she bought the essentials. What were they anyway? It was already 9pm and she was still following on the latest trends that surfaced with watching keeping up with the Kardashians. Hubby walked in and all he wanted was a hot shower and a meal to sort out his empty stomach. She didn’t even realize that she was best placed to do that because common sense dictates. She laid on her hip facing the big screen and pointing the remote at the screen to check what the next program was.
“Hi babe?” she asked, “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so hungry”, she continued. The hubby was disappointed but didn’t show it. ‘How the hell has she not cooked?’ he thought to himself. To avoid arguing he just walked to the bedroom and ignoring the fact that the bed had not been spread, he took a shower. He later joined her in the living room perturbed by what seemed like a nightmare. The mother to his unborn children was still on the couch. “What’s for dinner honey?” he asked as he waited for a hopeful reply but got a shocker for an answer. “Babe I was waiting for you to finish freshening up so that we can go buy dinner”, she replied. He asked what was required for him to just go get at the shop next to where they lived and what followed made him realize that there were some caution he ought to have taken before taking her in. “What food do they sell there? Are they as hygienic?” she stupidly asked. The guy just thought she was tired from what he wasn’t sure caused it and told her he will cook. She seemed not even moved by that.
He went and bought the essentials planning to prepare a simple meal which included ugali and eggs. I know most of you are familiar to this meal. When he came back and asked his ‘special’ one whether she would join, she replied on the negative. He walked past the living room towards the kitchen. On switching on the light, he was met by what seemed like an unplanned auction. Dishes were everywhere and to make matters worse, they were dirty. “Babe by the way you forgot to call Mama Jane to do the dishes,” she shouted from across the living room. He couldn’t tell whether he heard right or it was the neighbor’s wife. He walked towards her and asked why she just couldn’t do the dishes and her nails were her main worry. That is when he was sure there was a mistake between the woman he met and the woman who moved in. Or did he assume everything? Was he busy to notice the nitty gritty?
Did I mention that, that day just passed like a normal one after the nail escapade? He cleaned the dishes and cooked. I know you’re already tired as I am. Now came the next day which was on a Saturday and they were both home. An uncle to the hubby visited at around 11am and because the guy had cooked some tea in the morning, the only simple task remaining was to serve the in-law. The lady did the unimaginable. She served the tea from the kitchen and even put two teaspoons of sugar. She took the tea to the uncle. “Hope you did not put sugar in that?” he asked. The hubby had already smelt what we used to term as a rat from our composition days. “That one is mine uncle,” he saved her from her misery. The lady then served another cup from the kitchen and brought to the uncle. The hubby was pissed but seems he had been performing arts in his early days. He covered it up so well. I could have awarded him a best actor medal at the time.
It now was approaching lunch time and as courtesy dictates, it’s only normal to include a visitor for a meal even if you’re not sure of whether he/she will be around by the time food is ready. For this particular uncle, his favorite meal was rice and green grams (ndengu). So the hubby came and told the wife and she was reluctant at first on the request. There was green grams in the house and rice so she just needed to go buy the necessities that were involved in the preparation. After a short while, she was back and started preparation. I don’t know whether I’m wrong but I don’t see how you mix carrots, onions, tomatoes and coriander all at once. But wait, I’m no chef so as we say maybe, there are many ways of killing a rat. Haha but this next way is not among them I can bet on that, after a few minutes of frying all that, as if that was not enough, she pours in the green grams from the package. No! You don’t do that to someone who has had too much patience with you. There was a mess in the kitchen and the lady called out to the only saviour she knew.
Her hubby came as fast thinking maybe the gas needed to be changed. Alas! The pan was perfectly burnt and black as the grams gave some sort of dismissing smell. The hubby at this point did not want an additional embarrassment to the tea incident and just gave the wife some cash to go buy rice and green grams for three in a fast food joint and hurry. When she came back, the hubby walked from the living room where they were catching up with the uncle and came to make sure she did not serve them with the dishes used to pack the food. He transferred the food to the plates and left the wife to come serve them.
Since she was best suited for serving compared to any other chore, she did just that and they enjoyed the meal as the uncle praised her for the unsuspected skill. Later that evening after the uncle left, the hubby had already taken in much. The lady was at her best spot watching E-entertainment like the star she was. She never even cleared her mess in the kitchen. The hubby walked in the living room with packed suitcases and told the lady to leave. She acted like she was shocked but for a blonde, it is expected. “What’s the matter babe?” she asked. “Come back after you know what is required of you as a lady of the house!” he authoritatively remarked and walked away.
There goes the chronicles of what we are dealing with or better yet, what men are dealing with in this age and era. Can we blame them for being cold when this is a portion of what they deal with in their day to day living? I just pity a generation already growing and that yet to come. As Abraham Lincoln said, “I do the best I know how best I can; and mean to keep doing so until the end. If the end brings me out all right, what is said against me won’t amount to anything. If the end brings me out wrong, ten angels swearing I was right would make no difference.”
It just comes to a point in life when all you can see when you look back is an ignorant version of you. From failed decisions, fake friends, annoying relatives, jealous colleagues and much more. Real situations expose fake people so sometimes it takes getting down on life to find who’s really down.
We all are victims of phony friendships. Those which you were seasonally attached. Who could have ever thought you and Mary would not be talking? These are few of the questions that are asked by those who envied such friendships then. The truth of the matter is, the attachment was never there. It was a matter of availability and safe play. No man is an island they say but also keep it in mind that once they stop talking to you, that’s when they start talking about you.
Haven’t you ever wondered why burials have more attendance than wedding and graduation ceremonies? Where were all those people when the person was alive? Exactly my point. This disease has no shame whatsoever. They even cry and claim of how well they knew you when you were alive and kicking. You hear them even say you called them last week and wanted to meet and have a good time. Make a mistake of asking for the call history and confirm your doubts. The last time they ever talked was when the said ‘best friend’ was claiming back his/her money.
Loyalty shouldn’t be contingent on your presence it’s merely about how they act behind your back. How many can attest to having friends who would defend their name even in their absence? Anyone? Thought so. This life we live require zero naivety and the highest percentage of tolerance and bravery. Some of us are almost getting the worst of the world defending people who would not even risk giving a piece of their mind for us. As we grow up, we just realize it becomes less important to have a ton of friends, and more important to have real ones.
Back then in university, we had a crowd of ‘friends’. Those who could have not gone out without you, had fun with you missing or even attended an event in your absence. These same people claimed that they understood better with other people while revising for exams. That is when it dawned on you the type of human you were to them. The negativity that was in these crowds in your absence about you could have led to depression if you only heard a fraction of their discussion. These same people smiled with you when they saw you and swore how much they missed you. We no longer have the energy for meaningless friendships, forced interactions or unnecessary conversations. Being perfect for a friend is a crime of late, because phony friends are everywhere. The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.
Ever asked yourself why few of your real friends turned into being family yet you’re so distant from those you are linked by blood? On the real though, sometimes you have to give up on people not because you don’t care but because they don’t. Fake friends are like shadows, they follow you in the sunshine and leave you in the dark. Fake friends are around when they think you are cool but true friends are around even when they think you’re a fool.
Most of these were not your friends, just strangers with memories. We all understand life changes and we are taken to different parts of this life in terms of location and situations. What we shouldn’t understand is the change that comes with those situations. These are the same people who you were together through thick and thin and now they want us to understand that ‘things’ changed? I’m not advocating for an hour difference call but checking up even once or twice a week is enough. Apparently I should now understand that you’re busy. With what? How idle can I get though?
Come on, I don’t think we want to start with the excuses. It’s true, conversation is a two way thing but trust me, for one to be so fed up, it must have ended in a monologue. Remember, in life we have so much that we need to do and trust me you cannot survive alone. You might think or say that you will get other friends real fast and soon but if that’s your way of keeping them, you will not last for even a moment. You will end up having so many enemies, a baggage that you shouldn’t have in your life as you advance.
But they say, without fake friends, we wouldn’t know who the real ones are. Everything in life happens with a purpose and it is surely for this purpose that life lessons are taught real tough. I have come to realize that the only people I need in my life are the people who need me in theirs even when I have nothing else to offer but myself. But anyway, it is what it is.