MY GOVERNMENT IS AS CONFUSED ABOUT ME AS I AM MYSELF

I have not had an original birth certificate since 2015. Together with my parents, we lost it somewhere in town. Possibly in a restaurant near GPO. I have never needed it and the photocopy has always sufficed. But now, as every girl with big dreams would, I need a passport, and that requires the original birth certificate. That shouldn’t be so hard, right? Wrong.

I’ve heard that immigration offices are thorough. They wouldn’t understand why one of my names on the birth certificate differs from that on my national identity card. As far as everything that matters is concerned, the person on my birth certificate and that on my identification card, are different.

In 2022, I went to Huduma Centre headquarters to inquire about how I could get an original birth certificate and have it amended as well. I was referred to the registry offices in Upper Hill. Here, I explained my case and was told that I would need to go to Kajiado considering it was where my birth notification was made. Unfortunately, they couldn’t tell me the exact location of the offices or share contacts to the same. Dad did the paperwork, but he’s no longer around, and I’m not exactly the Sherlock Holmes type. So, I gave up. I was surviving pretty well anyway.

In 2023, amidst conversations with some colleagues, I happened to mention my case. Among those present, one suggested that he knew someone who could do what was necessary to ensure that my papers were in order. I was thrilled. I sent him the money he’d quoted for the services and let him follow up with “his guy” with the promise of having them in order in two weeks. I gave it a month. Months later, there was no progress so I had him put a stop to it this year around February and committed to do it by myself. I’m glad I did.

I took leave in March and had this as one of the projects I’d be following up on. From an office training, I was in last year, I learned that a lot had changed at Huduma Centre and that one could get any government services at Huduma Centre. As such, I expected that things would be easier so I set to it. To get services from Huduma Centre, rumour had it that one had to book an appointment online. So I tried booking an appointment the night before. Unfortunately, systemic problems frustrated my efforts.

I called Huduma Centre the following morning to seek the way forward. Their call centre, is very active and effective. The lady who received my call was professional and was of help. She saved me the trip to town by referring me to the registry offices in Upperhill. I made my way to Upperhill and after walking around and about Upperhill realized I couldn’t trace the offices. Well, sometimes my memory serves me as that of an ostrich. I called Huduma Centre again as Google Maps wasn’t helping much. My call was promptly picked up. This time around, the lady who picked up my call asked me where I was born and I mentioned Kajiado. At that, she told me that the offices at Upperhill couldn’t help me and that they only served those born in Nairobi. She referred me to Hass Plaza at Lower Hill, Bunyala Road, which is supposed to take care of those born everywhere else, and gave me the locations using Nyayo as the reference point. This was very accurate only that thanks to the matatu I took from town, I still got lost.

I walked from Upperhill to Bus Station to board a matatu that would leave me at Nyayo, and mentioned Bunyala Road to the conductor. While at Nyayo I reminded him and he told me that he’d tell me when we got there. This conductor had me alighting at Matter Hospital which was quite a distance from Bunyala road having me board another matatu to leave me at Nyayo. The one I ended up boarding decided to change its route midway. I refused to pay this one this time round. I alighted very frustrated. I walked for about five minutes to clear my head then decided to just get an Uber to the plaza.

I got to the crowded offices and was thankfully able to make my consultation. The lady that served me made me feel as though my case was hopeless and very new and that she wouldn’t know how to help me. She therefore referred me to her superior who gave an attitude showing disinterest as if to suggest to me that I brought this upon myself. I was adamant in her giving me the way forward. She should know. It’s part of her job. She referred me to the offices in Kajiado. I, therefore, asked which Kajiado because Kenya has undergone several changes since my birth certificate was issued thanks to devolution. We have the name appearing in two of the five sub-counties in Kajiado County and five constituencies that happen to be very active. I needed to know if I was going to Kajiado North, Central, East, West, or South. The much she could tell me was that she didn’t know and couldn’t even assure me if they’d be of help. “Enda uangalia kama wanaweza kukusaidia” were her last words to me.

I left the offices frustrated and angry. It was all over my face. The guards seemed more helpful. Two of them asked me as I was walking out if I’d been helped. I said no holding my tears of frustration back. One decided to call an officer whom she hoped would help me. I therefore went back courtesy of her efforts to meet the lady she had called. The lady told me that I needed to go back to Kajiado. She too didn’t know which Kajiado and told me that they didn’t have contacts to the said offices either. How ‘convenient’. Shouldn’t they have this information? Or at least access to it?

I planned my trip to Kajiado North. This is where I was partly raised. I got to Ngong’, got to Naivas and bought some yoghurt and red grapes for the wait I was preparing for at the registry offices. I then picked some random ‘nduthi’ guy and asked him to take me to ‘ofisi za birth certificate’. It happened to be in the same environs where I applied for my ID. Some kind ICEA insurance brokers directed me to the birth and death registry offices. There wasn’t a long queue of people waiting to be served. When it was my turn, I explained my case and the lady immediately referred me to Kajiado Central as my files were there.

This meant another two-and-a-half-hour journey to Kajiado Central. It took me about three and a half hours though thanks to the inconvenience that public transport can cause. I need a car. I got there past their service hours but the receptionist was willing to help. In less than five minutes they had found my file, had me fill out a B1 form, and guided me through the payment process. He was too eager to help that he did not understand my case. It was while at it that I read that and asked him if that would resolve my problem. He referred me to his superior who referred me to another superior. She took her time to explain to me what their offices could help with and their limitations according to the Births and Registration Act and what I needed to do to resolve the entire maze. She was kind. I left the fee due for the facilitation of the service as indicated in their service charter with her colleague. No receipts could be issued considering the cashier had left as it was past working hours. This colleague made the payment for me the following day and shared the receipt with me. I left feeling content. I am currently waiting for the processing of an original birth certificate after which I can involve an advocate to facilitate a name change process. The technical term used was “deed poll”.

I left Kajiado Central on that day exhausted, famished but satisfied. Having survived on red grapes and 450ml probiotic yoghurt.  I traveled the two-hour journey back to Nairobi on the phone with Karembo updating her on the happenings and thanking her for the support and guidance she’d given through the entire process and Eben who had kept me distructed from frustrations and the length of the journey by ensuring my head was occupied with arguments on spirituality, feminism, relationships and all. One thing about Eben and I is that we’ll always be arguing and I’m usually the loudest. Sometimes I win these arguments and other times, I win them too. You read that right. Women don’t lose arguments and Tito can affirm that I don’t lose arguments. I was getting to Nairobi town at 8:00 pm hence could not meet with Slim as earlier hoped but I went for the Afro-Latina dance socials at Yunion, GTC Mall. I freshened up in their restrooms because dust and sweat are an enemy to Afro-Latina dances owing to the closeness dance partners have to have. I also met with Grace who gifted me a very beautiful notebook. The day ended with me falling dead asleep on my bed at 11:00 pm and waking up at 11:00 am the following day.

The entire journey to Ngong’ was an emotional roller coaster and I cannot wait to share this bit of it.

MARCH MUSINGS

I feel like I have abandoned this space for two months. I promise not a single day goes by without me thinking about you. I think about you every damn time I open a book to read. I think about you every single time I pick a notebook to journal or just decompress. I think about you when I’m on the road and when not. When I sit or lay to rest. I hold you dear. Thank you for your patience with me and your agility to read each time a notification from me pops up.

First things first. What have I been up to? Why haven’t I been blogging? I’ve been working, then resting, and for the most part writing and not typing. I had plans to take my annual leave in March hence was swamped with work trying to clear my desk in February before taking leave. I remember blogging on a weekly last year when I took leave and hoped that the same would be the case this year. It sadly wasn’t. I spent my March resting my physical self, walking in and out of respective government offices trying to put some of my papers in order, and drowning in my thoughts and I am grateful Karembo and Nyash ensured that I did not lose breath underneath. I am still gasping for air. March has been hard on my heart, mind, and mental health. Eben is however still trying to ensure that I keep an attitude of gratitude and will from time to time ask me what I’m grateful for. Today, I told him what I had told Karembo earlier. That I am grateful for the pain I am feeling. That I am grateful that I am neither numb nor paralyzed. I am feeling pain. That, for me, currently, is a good place to be. I have developed a form of indifference, but that’s probably because I need to reserve sympathy and empathy for myself at the time.

That notwithstanding, I had some memorable moments in March too. I attended two dance classes; my Sunday afternoons are nowadays for dance class. Attending two means that I did fewer classes. I spent the other two Sundays with Abby. It has been beautiful spending time with her and her people, catching up, eating together, and reminiscing on some terrible old days while grateful that we came out of certain instances and are currently thriving regardless. I would say I made up for the two unattended dance classes by going for the socials at Yunion and Barrels and Stools and grateful for Grace’s company in the two instances. I love being alone but I also love it when there is a familiar face around. Someone I can catch a conversation with when I am tired of sitting with my thoughts. In some instances, I have walked into a restaurant, placed my order, and gotten immediately on a phone call. I wouldn’t know if to classify this as an online date even if the person on the other end of the call is not eating. While talking about restaurants and dates, I went on a solo date in March. Dismissed Pili restaurant at GTC because of its artificial flowers because I love keeping it real. Ken, a waiter there, however, managed to convince me in while leaving Yunion. Branching there was definitely worth it. He convinced me to get a drink and I loved their pina colada. I can’t stop thinking about it. I spoiled myself silly on that day. I bought anything my heart fancied, including a washing machine because my hands are meant for typing for you. Right?

Other highs I experienced in March included attending a screening on Climate Change at Sarit, International Women’s Day celebrations at Arboretum where I especially loved the sit-down session Njerikan had with a woman I love, Crystal Asige, and poetry shows as is my norm. I went for Punchline Comedy once in March. Definitely getting back to it with the usual dedication in April. Art and Flickers top the list as far as experiences at events are concerned. I loved it here. I was rocking my sunset afro at this event and with the jungle green blends on my outfit, I could easily pass for the queen of the jungle. Roba if you read this, I’m hoping Ayira’s café returns the trampoline because it’s the one thing I missed out on and wouldn’t want to next time.

March was for me a month of high highs and very low lows. I’m grateful for the friendships that have bloomed, like that Karembo and I share, and grateful for those that hit a rock and left me in excruciating pain because I now have time to heal from them. There is one that had me regretting the fact that when I love, I love hard but because Karembo exists, I am actually grateful that I love hard and blindly so. I trust fully, and blindly so. I should hate this, but I want this. I want to have faith in people’s ability to just be humane.

I’ll finish this here and open a new document to tell you about my trip to the government offices mentioned above. For now, see you soon.

SOAKING IN SERENITY

The sun is rising. Softly. Gently. I want those rays to pierce through my tainted melanin skin. But I’m in a fast-moving car, squeezed between two men, ear pods plugged in and Njoki Karu’s playlist on.

I want to sleep. Soundly. Lost. I want to make for the hours lost chasing the sunrise. But there’s so much beauty along this road, my eyes can’t get enough. Moreover, the speeding vehicle gives the illusion of mere men chasing the hills. Hills that are in front of us this minute and beside us the next.

The hills cross each other, lush green from a distance, gloriously golden; an effect of the sun peeping from behind them. They are in all shapes, patterns, sizes, and heights both to my sides and front.

The road I’m on meanders through some of these hills. It’s a sight to behold. Different shrubs and trees to my sides in a car chasing the hills? Peaceful. The actual peace I crave. Wondrous. The very wonder I can barely behold.

I’m twirling in the world in my head. Taking in the gentle sun rays I long for and stopping to spread my arms wide as I face the sun eyes closed. I’m engulfed in an imaginary embrace. I take a deep and long breath. Then release it. Back to my twirls with a huge smile. I could get lost here without a worry but the car stops and takes with it my imaginary world. Eyes open. We are here. The sorghum fields in West Pokot; Chesangatat Marich Irrigation Project.

They want to drive us in but how do we experience the vastness and beauty of these fields without walking through them? Drone bag to my waist, a tripod stand in my left hand, and a Sony α7iii hanging on my right arm I set out to walk through the field. An earnest workman does not leave behind her tools of trade.

I can now feel the sun on my melanated skin. The warmth is soothing, the contentment, not wanting. I walk through the trails spotting spirited young men chatting their way through the harvesting. I say Hallo still wearing my sheepish smile and ask if I can take photos of them. They are warm. I make the most of this opportunity and shoot as many as I can from different angles taking advantage of the angled sun.

I am almost getting worried after steps and steps without spotting any women. We all agree that women look like goddesses in photos hence you can imagine my reaction when I spot them. I leave my colleagues to catch their vibrant smiles as they use their sickles to reap the sorghum off of their stems. I engage with them in a small chat, show them their photos and they cannot contain their joy. I’m disrupted by a call from my colleague who needs help hence I bid them goodbye and rush to the next farm where I’m supposed to get cutaways from.

I can for sure end my day here much as it’s not yet noon. I feel great. But I still have work and I am looking forward to every bit of it as we have yet to visit the river Muruny and the water intake point because the harvest from this 1,000-acre farm is made possible by irrigated agriculture as the rain has become unreliable but can we blame it for its unreliability?

Leaving here without an aerial view of the farm would be an injustice to my entire being so I do the needful before getting back to our car to leave for the river and intake. I live for these days.

5.9.2023

Baba,

On this 5^th of September, I dreamt with you. I dreamt about how you protected my life. It may have been symbolic. You may have been symbolizing the one who has protected and preserved my life all this while, God. And you were probably in my dreams because for the past few days, I have thought a lot about you.

The memory that lingered was you singing me happy birthday. It was my last birthday with you alive. Darvin, your heart, made you do it. That didn’t matter. Your voice was rustic. That did not matter either. What mattered was that you sang me a birthday song. For a moment there, it felt like that is all I had been longing for all my life. Darvin proceeded to give me the biggest portion of the chocolate you’d always bring her because I was the birthday girl. I am grateful that her existence opened my eyes to how hard you could love, be consistent, and how much you could care.

Growing up, there is a lot you did not do right by me. In the same breadth, there is a lot that you did right. Both have affected me intensely. Enough times, I sit down and thank you in silence, and enough times, I also lie down and break in pieces. You broke me and made me in equal measure. My foundation is bipolar. I guess it is the best way I can describe it. I have many wounds to heal but I also have the grace, strength, and stamina to deal. Both of them came from you in good measure. I am grateful because how would I have gotten this far?

While writing this, I cannot help but be grateful. Grateful that your rights and wrongs have opened my eyes to how much better I can be. I am still struggling. With so much. Imposter syndrome, anger, people pleasing, opening up myself to receiving… maybe the list is longer. I am however glad that bitterness is no longer in this list. I am also glad forgiveness comes a lot easier now.

When I woke, I asked myself, “What if there is always a battle during transitions?” If there be any, I am glad I get to live another year. I have no idea how many more await me, but whatever the case, I hope to live as wholly as you did. Give myself all the nice things I can get myself, live every moment as my last, face every fear courageously, and love wholly.

Before I conclude, I would not want to end without saying that I have not been the same. I have silenced so many dreams I had. They still linger in my mind. Maybe to assure me that they can still come to life. I never followed your dream for me: becoming a medic and treating you when old and grey. Heusnatt is treating us though… you know this because you left me studying PR. You died still having no idea what PR is or what I’d do with it. I know this because I still remember you telling your friends and acquaintances whenever introducing me that I was studying journalism. You would talk about how great of a journalist I would become. I am practicing PR now and had you been alive, I am still not sure I would explain to you what it is comprehensively. I however love it, especially how diverse it is. I am happy I crafted my own path. I may or may not further my studies. If I do, I’d love to pursue Data Analysis and Analytics or Communication Psychology for my Masters. There is a lot around why I am still unsure. However, should I further these studies, making you proud wherever you are would be my main reason.

I’ll close it in here. Not sure if you can even read this because you are no more and maybe your spirit lingers no more. The truth however is that suppose you were alive, I may still not have opened up this much to you but here I am sharing this piece of me with my readers.

I pray that you are resting in peace Baba, much as some things may have disturbed that peace if at all you have been watching. I pray that you can be easy with things. That you can rest easy because we are all still alive to figure things out. That you understand that apart is sometimes the best way to grow better.

For my thumbnail, is one of the photos that has me laughing or smiling whenever I see it. I cannot remember who took it, maybe Pascal… I also can’t remember the memory, but I love that we looked happy.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME

For the past few weeks, I have been unwell, braving through the days and trying to manage all symptoms without medication. In “FOR MY FIGHTERS,” I talk about my struggle with medication as I don’t like taking it.

I continue this non-medicinal approach for a couple of days until I can no longer bear it. Succumbing to the pain, I take a break to seek medication. I think to myself, “this is just going to hurt today, and tomorrow I’ll be up and running,” only to wake up as a disappointed soul that has tossed and turned all through the night, craving comfort and a painless sleep. Moreover, the prescribed medication brings about discomfort before allowing my gastrointestinal system a few hours of relief.

Sadly, my gastrointestinal system is not the only source of discomfort; my whole body is. So when my mind is not focused on the pain caused by the acid burning what I assume to be my stomach or the heartburn, it is concentrated on the itch my body feels. Tiny rashes have spread across my skin, starting from my stomach and continuing to my back. By the time I started using the prescribed medicinal cream, they had spread to my back. Now, they have extended to my neck, thighs, legs, and arms. I have even noticed a few on my face and occasionally feel some on my head, although I suspect those on my head are but in my head. Sometimes, when swallowing something, especially if it’s not hot, I feel an itch in my throat too.

Today, I noticed that my skin was lighter. Under other circumstances, I would have said ni pesa but not in Zakayo’s economy. I believe there is something more significant ailing me, hidden deep inside. It is highly likely related to my gastrointestinal system, although I can’t be certain. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe even the lighter skin I am seeing is a figment of my imagination. All I am sure of, as of now, is that I have mild stomach ulcers and I am not suffering from H. pylori infection. Additionally, this type of itch is usually associated with a change of soap, water, or occurs during the cold season. I have been trying to keep warm, and starting tomorrow, I will go back to using my usual soap.

I finished the prescribed medication tonight, about an hour ago; except for the cream whose effects I have not felt so far. While I am not in pain, the itch on my body is causing a lot of discomfort. I applied some more cream, but it did not help.

Tonight, I hated living alone. I wondered why I didn’t just go to my mom’s after work. After rubbing, rubbing, and scratching my thighs purple, I remembered the last time I had a similar itch. My father used heat to soothe the itch, and it worked. Therefore, I got out of bed, went to the kitchen, and prepared what I needed. I have burnt my body with heat and the itch has eased.

Now, I miss my grandfather. He was a herbalist. If he were still alive, he would have sent those herbs he used to send to my mom. We would have boiled them, and my mom would have covered me and the boiled herbs with a blanket (the learned call this steaming). I would have inhaled the steam and cleansed my body with the water when cooler. I would have woken up feeling well, without any itch on or in my body, and without a rash.

For now, I have managed the itch. I wish I had Piriton in the house. That way I would pop some of those pills and be confident to wake up no earlier than my alarm. As of now, I’ll only sleep until the itch is back. Then I will wake up to burn the rash patches with heat and get back to bed. Soon, it will be morning and I will ready myself for work and report to the office ready to serve this nation as the dedicated public servant that I am, or do they call us civil servants? Is there a difference?

ION, I had fun shooting the image on my thumbnail.

FOR MY FIGHTERS

In this lifetime, I have been blessed to have three incredible and beautiful sisters; Heusnatt, Nicole, and Darvin. I have fought a lot with Heusnatt and Darvin. Nicole never lived long enough for us to fight. Much as it is a beautiful thing that we never fought, and the memories I have of her are both beautiful and graphic in their measure, I am grateful for my short time with her.

I spent the better part of my childhood fighting with and for Heusnatt. Yes, there were lots of fights in my childhood. That has done a number on my mental health but the one thing I would do over and over without an ounce of regret is fight for Heusnatt. I fought all her physical fights. Everyone around me knew better than to pick a fight with Heusnatt because lifting a finger on her was more like hitting a beehive and damn it, wouldn’t I show up as a swarm? I had this unspoken rule singing in my head; only two people had the right to lay a hand on Heusnatt; my Mum and I. Yes, in my head, not even my Dad was allowed to lay a hand on her. The one time I remember him hitting her, I stepped in to take her blows. Dad didn’t hit me. He stopped hitting her as well. A lot happened on that day that shouldn’t have. I was so damn mad at Dad you have no idea. Heusnatt had enough to fight for, her life. Growing up on medication isn’t as easy. I, for instance, have a problem with just a three-day dose. So dear reader, you may have met Heusnatt, or may one day meet her. For me to be the darling self I usually am or can be, take it from me. Don’t mess with Heusnatt.

Darvin. Darvin means the loved one. She’s not only grown in love but made me feel loved since Mum put her in my arms. I was an adolescent. While I call Heusnatt ‘Big’ siz, ‘Baby’ siz has always been reserved for Darvin. The baby is no longer a baby really… she’s a teenager now. Unlike Heusnatt, I have never had to fight for Darvin. On the contrary, she’s the one who has had to fight for us. She’s almost been suspended from school for fighting some schoolmates who thought it cool to insult her family. While still a baby, she gave me a reason to live. I remember sitting her through a talk on this during her early puberty when she was becoming difficult. I hoped to reach her heart and help her through her healing process so that she would just have to deal with puberty. I doubt it worked at all.

Darvin fights her battles. The girl is fierce and wild. I mean that in every way. Nyash says she’s my favorite despite how hard and harsh I usually am on her. I always wish I didn’t have to. If there’s someone I see conquering so much in this lifetime, it’ll have to be her. I am still living to see it. Though every day the fear that that could finish her, lingers. The two of us are two sides of the same coin, or so I like to think. She’s the aggressive version of me. I am very passive and that could be as a result of enough things. I like that she is aggressive. At the very least it assures me that she can go for whatever she so desires, unlike me. But with every passing day, I live praying that she was more assertive than aggressive. I am not the best at using my soft skills, but the little I have learned from Heusnatt, I try to teach her. Sometimes I do it the hard way by approaching her based on how she approaches me, other times, I exercise my passiveness and wait for when she’ll come around. The one thing I have made very clear to her, is that she can lie to everyone else but me. That makes it easier to work out our fights.

I have no consent from my sisters to write about them, but they know how much I love writing and how much I love my readers too hence I am sure they will give this a pass when they get to read it. If you know them, please never stop reassuring them of my love for them because I so damn love them.

I AM A CHILD OF THE MOUNTAIN

I am a child of the mountain

Levitating to its cool crisp air

Dancing to the tune of the earth’s melodies

Giving chance to a beauty and strength to behold

Lost in the tranquility and peace

I am a child of the mountain

Deep into the trees I love to walk

Away from my kind I often want

For a connection with nature

In its gentleness of sounds and touch

I am a child of the mountain

In this part of the world, are different colors

Beautiful in their own standing

Glamourous in their union

A splendor to live for

LET’S WRAP UP

I’m typing this while mad at people who have stood me up for over two hours. I have already made a call to spit out my anger so that by the time they get here they do not meet an outrageous me. They are probably not ready yet. I can get real mad some times.

I have tried reading a book that I’m likely to continue reading after I finish treating you to your weekly dose of my blog. At least while I still can. The book is called The Nightmare by C. S. Forester. So far, I love it. It is very promising and descriptive. I can’t wait to read of the nightmares experienced during the Nazi regime.

The only multitasking I know to do is listening to music while typing hence I am definitely listening to music: Firm Foundation by Maverick City. It’s been on repeat for two weeks now. I’ve listened to it repeatedly yet not memorized it yet. The chorus however has my heart. It’s giving me just the amount of confidence that I need to sail through the anxiety caused by everything that currently pertains this life of mine.

So, shall I bring you up to speed with all I have told you in the month of February? Starting with one of my biggest wins which happens to be a cause of anxiety for me as well will do, won’t it? I did finish my driving classes. I also did the exams and aced them. I had so much confidence at some point, but I’m filled with anxiety as I type this for I am not yet sure if I’m ready for Kenyan roads. However, I’ll cross the bridge when I get there.

The book Should I? by Florence Bett… that book has a wealth of information. Because I love you, I will definitely share some or most of the information I gathered from it in subsequent posts. I will definitely start with sharing my money habits; the good and bad. I’ll definitely read her second book How Much? because my friend Stella is a woman of her word. About the money management app, I guess I’m not that tech savvy after all. I resolved to using Microsoft Excel. It was easier to navigate.

Remember the ninety thousand, five hundred and forty seven leafy creatures? I finished eating them. A few of my friends had the honor of helping me finish them. I need more. Sadly, the market seems to be punishing me. I went in such for more leafy creatures and all I could see were tired leafy creatures. The vendors didn’t have the vibrant ones that are always seducing, haunting or calling out for me to take them home with me. Those ones that have me walking back kilometers because I couldn’t stand leaving them behind. I however hope that today will be a better day and that I’ll be lucky enough to find my darling leafy creatures.

I’m enjoying the last week of my leave days. It’s pretty packed. I’ve had a pretty eventful month off of work. I have loved interacting with art in various forms, artists from different walks of life and continents, and artistic environments. It’s been beautiful. I’m loving people in these artistic spaces. They’re all shades of different. I hope I can keep them even after I go back to ‘Corporate life’. I hope I can find ways of blending them.

That’s it for now. I hope I can soon tell you about the poetry show dubbed Of a Dying Breed and a poetry workshop dubbed Writing at the cradle of civilization.

LATE NIGHT CHRONICLES

It’s a little too close to 1:00 am. 15 minutes to, to be precise. Am I hungry? Hell yeah! Am I going to eat? Mmh… a no would also do. I think to myself, it’s too late to have a meal. Furthermore, I already had my supper. Tea? Or coffee maybe? I already had a good cup of hibiscus tea. Coffee? Who is trying to keep awake at this time of the night? Or is it morning? So yoghurt? I’ve had about a litre of that today so… that’s also a no. I know exactly what will do. Ice-cream. Perfect! I get off my bed to serve myself a scoop of ice-cream and get right into doing exactly what’s keeping me awake. Writing.

It’s been a good day today. (Read as the day I’m writing this). I woke up too early for a Saturday, lazed in bed till it was too late to make it in time for my morning engagement (read class), and had to ready myself in adrenaline as though that would make me get there any earlier. I still went though. Shamelessly late. It took me some time to pick up momentum but my current teacher thinks that I’m a fast learner hence I guess I was doing just good.

After my morning engagement I had planned a series of things to do. Get to Bus Station (BS) and buy me a pretty dress, perhaps a pair of sandals, heels or doll shoes then proceed to Kamkunji for some window shopping and maybe come back home with some clear glass cups or jug for my hibiscus tea to finally show off its beauty anytime I serve it. I had also planned to get to Marikiti for my all-time favourite, that is, any vegetables pleasing my eyes and definitely in view of their freshness and juiciness, some apples to keep the doctors away, maybe mangoes because they smell good and pineapples because how do people survive without pineapples? And I definitely wasn’t planning to leave Marikiti without onions. Not that I do not have them but are onions ever enough, really? Mmh… not for me. Afterwards, I’d go see my fundi, find out how far she is with sewing my suit as I pick up the clothes I’d left with her for some alterations. A lot of money needed here but being pay day, what better way to end the 55 days of Njaanuary?

I was however in for a rude shock to find out that my salary hadn’t reflected yet and that between me and my M-Pesa I only had 54 Kenyan shillings. Well, my purse had 104 maybe… my active bank accounts had the minimum amount an active account should have in them. You can now bet that I neither went to Kamkunji, Marikiti, nor my fundi. I had to pass through BS to get to my bus stage. It was pure torture. The vendors had the types of sandals, heels, and doll shoes that I love for my feet. There was this beautiful floral dress displayed on a mannequin in its splendor that I couldn’t help but thirst after. I called my sister in lament only to be met with “The mobile subscriber you’ve called, cannot be reached.” How do promising days turn into this?

Such a shame my baby sister thinks that I’m the best financial advisor and a guru at financial management. Well, knowing that she considers me one of her idols, I took a matatu back home so determined to learn about money. I cannot afford to let her down. Recently, I bought this book by Florence Bett; Should I? and this was going to be a perfect day to start reading it.

I got home hungry as I had started the day without breakfast, warmed a meal (I’m a meal prep kinda girl) and ate to my fill then got my book, notebook and pen ready for a read. Did I read? You guessed that right. I did not. Instead, I binge watched the whole season one of a Series then wrote some poetry and started on another Series. I got up in the middle of the second series, again, warmed a meal for my supper, ate to my fill and had some hibiscus tea as I continued binge watching it into Season 2. Is it that gluey? I don’t think so. I think I’m just determined to know the murderer and why he killed this girl at this point and not the in between shenanigans. I just might look for a spoiler hence in case you’ve watched “Who killed Sara?” drop those spoilers for me already.

While figuring out what to eat at this time of the morning, I felt compelled to start reading Florence Bett’s Should I? and so far, the book’s a page turner. I am looking forward to soon having at the very least a six month financial security for myself at this point and making better investment plans by the time I finish reading it.

When I shared about it, a beautiful lady, Bernice, shared a money management application with me and my friend Stella promised to get me Florence Bett’s How Much? What excuse would I have if I don’t get rich this year?

I’ve now finished my ice-cream so I guess I’ll turn in.

Adios!

I WANT TO LET GO

I want to let go. I want to let lose

Splatter in the mud and dance in the rain

Run in twirls and twirls singing in merry

I want to let go. I want to let lose

Feel the breeze from wherever and

Feel the sun on my face

I want to let go. I want to let lose

It would be amusing or so I think

It would be beautiful

But that’s just what I want

Pretty nigh, I guess

But why aren’t I?

It’s the fear of the empty streets

Fear of the full streets

Fear of the outside

It’s the quiver from their hands on my skin

The vivid replay of their heinousness in my mind

And the filth I feel every sickening second

I want to let go. I want to let lose

But it’s as though I’m in a forest

Beautiful, yet mysterious, free, yet dangerous

I can’t splatter in the mud or dance in the rain

Neither can I run in twirls and twirls singing in merry

The thorns might prick or a snake bite

The sounds in the day and night are fretting

And the dark gives a gory feeling

Fear screams at me, deafeningly

I want to let go. I want to let lose

Irksome to know that means

Fighting against reality