Saying Sorry...

Saying Sorry is a collaborative work of fiction between myself and one of, in my humble opinion, Kenya's amazing bloggers. A passionate and profound individual, I find his words to be captivating and very inspiring. This is a testament to his ability to move people with words. It was an honor and a pleasure working with him. Though I will keep him anonymous, I hope he will be able to receive the accolades from those who read this story.

...

Dear Nate,

Sigh. Where do I begin? I can't seem to shake off that feeling that something's amiss. With me. With you. Or is it with you and me?

Today you take me out for frozen yogurt at Junction. Planet Yogurt is empty so we have our pick of seats. I am so excited about the whole experience that I cannot choose which flavor to sample. Yes, it is that much fun, and no, I am not apologetic about being a kid. I know that this treat must have been difficult for you to save up and I enjoy it all the more.

At one point I catch you staring at me.
"What?" I ask you.
"What, what?" you respond.
I smile at the absurdity of the conversation.
Nate and I. Friends for forever. Lovers in our souls.

Many times, I catch myself staring at you. Dimpled cheeks. Wide grin. Tousled hair. Sometimes a slight frown. "Stop frowning," I say to you. "I'm not frowning," a look of surprise on your face. I laugh. I am happy.

Then.

I don't understand the distance. Am I reading too much into the situation? Why are you sitting across the room when you normally sit next to me? I want to tuck my legs underneath yours for warmth. Why are you erecting again the walls that I struggled so hard to pull down? Why are you shutting me out again? Can’t you see how much I need you now?

I see you looking at me as if you want to kiss me, but at the last minute you turn away. And at that moment you miss the flash of hurt in my eyes. Am I that difficult to show emotion to? I know you feel it too. I have seen the light of vulnerability in your eyes many times and, as soon as you see me looking at you, you erase it. A man is not to show any signs of weakness. Have you forgotten about loving me?

Then.

You kiss me. The world stops. At least, I think it does. Do you know I can feel your heart beat faster? Can you feel mine racing to catch up with yours? You taste slightly of coconut and chocolate. Bounty. Your musky scent engulfs me. OMG. Where is the couch?

Then.

I can't understand why we are standing here in silence. You are looking out the window. I trace your spine and you stiffen. I can’t get through to you. I leave. No words. No affection. No kiss goodbye. Where are you Nate?

xxxxx

Dear Nina,
It is exactly one year today that you sent me this letter. I have read it everyday wondering how I will ever reply. Words fail me. I should have replied when I was a free man, just before they came for me. Everything I did was to save our relationship. You told me you were pregnant. I will never forget that day - the idea that a life inspired by me was growing inside you overwhelmed me; when I placed my hand on your tummy trying hard to convince myself that I could feel the bump. Did I ever tell you how it was whenever we parted? I kicked myself, hated myself. A man in a dilemma. No job and a child on the way. A loser. Life has been one huge gulp of lime and brine. The little princess, Cindy, is 7 months today, no? Does she know who I am? Is she beautiful? Does she have your eyes? Mine?

This week, they finally let me live with the other prisoners. My stab wound is healing albeit slow. My cheekbones look like dark soap dishes. I have developed a rash on my skin [it is very unhygienic here]. They let me enjoy twenty minutes of sunshine everyday. It seems the sun is the only thing left to share.

Remember our last night together? I wanted to tell you but I wasn't man enough. How can a man tell the woman he loves that he is going away and may never come back? It is why I stiffened when you traced my spine. I wanted to run away from you. Escape from all that was happening. I saw the look in your eyes after we kissed. You knew. You'd watched me walk away so many times and you knew the look. You cried but this time I couldn't comfort you. I was in a big mess. I knew they would find me. I will never say I didn't have a choice in doing what I did. They say I shot the guard at the bank. However futile this sounds, I hope you'll believe me one day that I didn't do it. I would never hurt anyone. I was there for the money. It is all I took. Nothing more. Not a fellow human being's life. I wanted a better life for you and our baby.

There's never a moment that I don't think about you. I wish I could undo what I did. I wish she could grow up with a father; ever present.

You swore you'd never visit me. I can't blame you. 35 years is hard for anyone to wait. I choose to pay for my mistakes hoping that as time soaks your tears, you will find heart to forgive me. I have only two things to ask. I hope you can move on with your life. Find a good man (there are lots of them out there). Love him as you did me and you won't be disappointed. Kiss him with your soul. Allow him to be a man and push him to succeed. Heaven gave the right you to the wrong me. That I accept. Secondly, please tell Cindy when she grows up, that I was a good man. I messed up but I was a good man; that I loved her before she was born and always will.

My heart still bleeds for my girls. I am there with you in spirit. I would want you to believe that they might let me out on pardon but the chances are almost non-existent. I miss the lazy days when we were both jobless and carefree. Going to the movies at night, not to watch but to wow at the posters. Tell my daughter that a man is a man not because of what he can give but for what he can take.

I know it's pointless to wish, but I hope we'll be together one day. May God grant us the chance before it's too late. Remember our bedside picture that you said was your favorite? Look behind it. There's a picture of a place I always wanted to visit and directions. Please do it for me and take Cindy with you. Take care of my daughter.

IF ONLY...

Jennie, Marcus, Serah and Tom.
Four people. Four different lives. Four best friends. And yet...

Jennie was nice. She'd always been nice to a fault. Everyone said so. But Jennie didn't always want to be nice. In fact, if she had her way, she probably would be vicious. A bitch.

Marcus was the rich one. He did not understand the meaning of hard work. He was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. That's how rich his family was... or so everyone thought.

Serah. She was synonymous with mediocrity. Average looks, average height, average intelligence, average grades. Her life even was just average. She could well get lost in the masses. All that was about to change.

Tom. A god stepped down from the heavens to mingle with mortals. He was so handsome, it was nearly sinful. Girls had always done different things to get his attention: offering him free sex, declarations of undying love, and so on. They all had one thing in common: they each wanted to be the Mrs. Tom. Yet Tom had eyes only for her.

Four unlikely friends. Yet, ever since their first campus day, they have been the best of friends. This is an account of their lives seven years after they met.

Jennie worked as a counselor. Having studied Psychology and French, it was a fitting career for her as she was empathic. She was engaged to be married to Sam, an up and rising business man who loved her immensely. Her life was picture perfect, and she acted the part out, but just below the surface, her resentment was brewing. She felt that she was living someone else's dreams. No-one, not even her three best friends, understood this.
Throughout her life, she had been the perfect doormat. She had studied psychology because her parents thought it fitting for her gentle nature. She had always wanted to study Music and Composition, but her parents were adamant that no child of theirs would study something so fickle in nature.
She'd met Sam at a club one night when the four of them had gone out. He struck her as an ordinary guy who she wouldn't have remembered the next day or even cared to, but as fate would have had it he was intrigued by her and wanted to meet up again under less crowded circumstances.
And as the adage goes, the rest was history. Sam charmed everyone around her. Her parents thought him wonderful. Her best friends thought him fabulous. Everyone said she was lucky. She liked Sam, but that was it. She just liked him. Why she had agreed to date him she still could not answer. But no-one asked that, except herself.

Marcus had gone into the family business after he graduated. To him, campus had been an opportunity to live the life. His saving grace had been the fact that he hated failure, and that he had a natural aptitude for business, and so worked hard enough to pass with Second Class Honors in Business Administration. Working for his father at first was an extension of his campus days. He would come to the office late, sometimes not at all. His father, fed up with his lazy son, issued an ultimatum: get serious or get packing. Marcus chose to get serious.
So he began working. Slowly but surely he picked up his pace. It wasn't easy, but he did it. After a while, he became invaluable to the company.

Serah worked as a Personal Assistant at a prestigious law firm. Her grades in Law had been, as was expected, average. She grasped the first opportunity that came her way which was to be the PA to one of the senior partners at Munyoki and Mburu Advocates, albeit the fact that it was not her ideal way to begin her career. But, ever the optimist, Serah believed that the job would help her network and eventually open up doors for her.

Tom, after campus, had opened up his own business. He had studied Art and Graphic Design and opted to do consultation. Business was not bad; he managed to pay his bills and save up a little every month. He still had woman issues; this time they were his clients. Sometimes a contract would be used as bait in return for favors. What they did not realize was that Tom was a man in love. He loved her with his all. To him, there was no one else. The only problem was that she did not know it.

to be continued...

I still am changing

So after indulging myself in my latest addiction, A Day in a Dog's Life, I started really thinking about life. Michael's post, "How to Pray for Dummies" got me contemplating about life, love, God and everything else in between.
Someone significant to me got me thinking about where I am today in every aspect. A lot has changed in my life. Change - I now look at it as a building block as opposed to positive or negative. For once, change to me is just that - change. I has affected profoundly who I am and what I am becoming, but I no longer beat myself up and try to measure myself against the impossible standards that exist in my mind.
I am still changing. I am still growing. I try to understand more. I try to feel more. And everyday is a gift that I appreciate. Living for the moment allows me to savor and taste every morsel of pleasure life has to offer. Enjoy every moment of bliss without regret. It was once said, never regret that which makes you smile. Wise words to live by.
And before I go to bed I ask myself, "What made you smile today? What made you laugh out loud, genuine delight shining on your face?" And I scribble something in my diary for me to later reminisce upon.
Like this little delight here.

I remember every single detail like it had just happened. My heart banging in my chest. Yours moving in time to mine. Heartbeats so loud and fast it sounded like gunfire. Sweaty bodies meshed together as one. Oh I remember every detail as if it had just happened.
It was a drizzly afternoon on a Tuesday. I was in the office mulling over the fact that I really wished I was in bed. The clock seemed to be co-conspirator with the Big Man as time seemed to move along sluggishly. "Oh my. Three more hours to go!" I thought in despair.
I stared outside the window and watched the rain fall, tracing patterns on the window. My mind began planning for the dinner I was making tonight for Charlie. Charlie was a friend of mine that I met in campus and had remained good friends even after. "Chilli chicken with fried noodles, some spinach, and fresh mangoes soaked in cognac for dessert. Sounds good. Oh and hot chocolate with whipped cream to drive away the cold."

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How long must I cry?

"Aaaawwwwwwwwwwiiiiiiuuuuuuuuu! Weeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaauuuuu!"
In my dazed mind, it sounds like the wind howling.

"Aaaaawwwwwwwiiiiiuuuuu! Weeeeeeeeaaaaaaauuuuuu!"
Dust billows all around. The land is as scorching as the relentless sun above me. Ten more kilometers. Or twenty. Or none. I no longer know.
I seek shelter beneath what was once a flourishing baobab tree. I look at it beseechingly, pleading with it to spare some moisture for my parched tongue. It stares back at me, unmoved. "Every man and creature for himself and God for us all," it seems to whisper to me.

"Aaaawwwwwwwwiiiiiiiuuuuu! Weeeeeeeaaaaaaaauuuuuuu!"
The wind seems to be screaming my name but I do not care. "Awiu, where are you?" it mockingly sings. I have no strength to care. I stare blankly up ahead at the refugee camp, willing my legs to hold my weightless body and carry me to safety. Water. Food. I can almost taste the relief.

"Aaaaaaawwwwwwwiiiiiiuuuuuuuu! Weeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuu!"
I close my eyes against the dust. I open them again. Before me lies the barren land that has been my home since I was born. No refugee camp. No water. No food. No relief. I sigh.
I look up at the sky at the vultures circling. They can smell death even from that distance. I look beside me at Aisha. The irony of it all. Aisha means "alive and well", yet I can only pray she will hold on for a little bit longer. Hold on, my only angel. Don't leave me yet, my love. Her brother Jamal's body is somewhere in the desert. Jamal, with his big eyes and mischievous smile - so sunken and broken in death. What could I do? I had to leave his body there to try and carry Aisha to safety.
The vultures cries draw me from my reflections. Aisha stirs and tries to get closer to me. With the last of my strength I lift her onto my lap. She tries to suckle and gives up after a few futile attempts. I want to laugh. Maniacal laughter expressing my desperation. My breasts are dry and full of nothing.

"Aaaaawwwwwwiiiiuuuuu! Weeeeeeaaaaauuuuuuu!
Everyone is gone. Mama. Papa. Abdul. Abdul went off into the town to look for work to feed us. I do not know when he shall return. Ayeyo and I, we went off in search of water. We took the babies and the livestock to search for water. Ayeyo and I shared the rations with the babies. We do not take any for ourselves. Jamal and Aisha must eat and survive. The campsite is not far, I tell Ayeyo. Ayeyo nods gently and falls asleep, a beatific smile on her face. She does not wake up again.

I hold Aisha and get up. The wind blowing almost knocks me off my feet. I trudge in the general direction of the campsite. My mind is silent. My heart murmurs a silent prayer to an invisible God to come and rescue me. Death seems like the best deal. No, I tell myself, you must think of Aisha. I continue mumbling to myself, appearing insane to the rocks and tree stumps before me.

I do not realize when I fall. I do not realize when she stops whimpering. Aisha, my angel, flies away. I wrap myself and hold her closely. I cannot do it anymore. I am not strong enough. Mercifully, I fall asleep.


The United Nations officially has declared a famine in the Horn of Africa; the worst of its kind in 60 years. This is a drought so severe it is considered worse than the famine in Ethiopia of the 1980s.
I have tried to imagine what the people in Northern Kenya and Somalia are going through, but I cannot. The above story is an attempt to personalize the issue from reports by the WFP via Twitter and from friends and family who are in Daadab and other famine-stricken areas.
I am a Kenyan, and cannot imagine how my fellow countrymen are languishing in abject misery and devastation as I continue living my life in relative bliss. Thanks to the #FeedKE initiative by Ahmed Salim we can all do our part by donating whatever you can (see below), encouraging your friends and followers on Facebook, Twitter and other social media platforms, and basically using whatever tool you have to spread the word. As for me, I shall continue writing and telling about it.

1) On M-Pesa Paybill to ‘10,000’ Acc: ‘feedke’
2) On Airtel nickname ‘REDCROSS’ reference: ‘feedke’
3) Online: www.kenyaredcross.org

http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2660712800346700474&postID=5463689431361500813

Dear diary,

Sigh. Where do I begin? I can't seem to shake off that feeling that something's amiss. With me. With Michael. Or is it with Michael and I?
Today Michael took me out for frozen yoghurt at Junction. Planet Yoghurt was empty so we had our pick of seats. I remember being so excited about the whole experience that I could not choose which flavor to sample. Yes, it was that much fun, and no, I am not apologetic about being a kid.
At one point I remember catching him staring at me.
"What?" I asked him.
"What, what?" He responded.
I smiled at the absurdity of the conversation.
Michael and I. Friends for forever. Lovers in our souls.
Many times, I catch myself staring at him. Dimpled cheeks. Wide grin. Tousled hair. Sometimes a slight frown. "Stop frowning," I say to him. "I'm not frowning," a look of surprise on his face. I laugh. I am happy.
Then.
I don't understand the distance. Am I reading too much into the situation? Why are you sitting across the room when you normally sit next to me? I want to tuck my legs underneath yours for warmth.
I saw you looking at me as if you wanted to kiss me, but at the last minute you turned away. And at that moment you missed the flash of hurt in my eyes. Am I that difficult to show emotion to? I know you feel it too.
Then.
You kiss me. The world stops. At least, I think it does. Do you know I can feel your heart beat faster? Can you feel mine racing to catch up with yours? You taste slightly of coconut and chocolate. Bounty. Your musky scent engulfs me. OMG. Where is the couch?
Then.
I can't understand why we are standing here in silence. You are looking out the window. I trace your spine and you stiffen. I leave. No words. No affection. No kiss goodbye.

This girl is just fed up!

Today I woke up in a brilliant mood, whistling to myself as I did my chores. As usual, when I got to the office I checked up on my favorite blogs (e.g. A day in a dog's life, Capital FM, etc)and shock on me the news in Kenya. KPLC have rebranded. For what? I won't even get into that because I think Michael covered it well here.
What took me by storm was the headline, "Mars Group points out Shs 251 bn error." In the budget. The budget that has been praised by all and sundry. I read on with growing horror at some of the errors the Mars group pointed out, and I quote, "The shocking details reveal that Mr Kenyatta and his mandarins at Treasury went ahead and allocated Sh1.2 billion for the payment of KenRen fertiliser factory — which was never built — even after Parliament’s unanimous approval that the payments be stopped, because the country was being conned."
I have tasked myself with the job of asking Mr. Kenyatta to give a statement regarding these allegations. Last week, I asked Mr. Kenyatta and his team to respond to another article that had been posted on the net with regards to the fact that the travel allowance for MPS had tripled in the name of our MPs going abroad to learn the new two house parliament system and the county system. Wouldn't it be easier to ship in 10-30 experts into the country and cater for all their needs?
I don't know if I am even writing in a logical and concise manner. All I know is that today I felt something in me snap. I look at my payslip and see the amount of money my boss has deducted as tax and feel like crying. MPs do not even want to pay tax. The two principals are proposing measures to try and cushion Kenyans from the high cost of living which, to me, is too little too late. There is still the question of whether they will go through with some of the things they propose here.
Mr. Kenyatta, when you were preparing the budget, your presence on the cyberspace was actively felt as you solicited people's opinions and ideas on what should be considered a priority in the budget. Kenyans applauded you. Now that it seems there are a few questions raised by citizens with regards to the lauded budget, isn't it fair to respond and explain yourself?

The glow of love may blaze again,
But first wake up thy heart so slain,
Then beating drums could never hide,
A joyous heart so opened wide!

Shine forth your light on flowers small,
That they may scale the highest wall,
And blossom yet to show the way,
To hidden hearts long gone astray.

Unfurled, unbidden, may it grow,
For what life this unless to show?
How love can swell a weary chest,
And spur on man to be his best!

You are the earth, the moon, the sun,
Take flight, my friend, now start to run,
Towards the greatness that you are,
Then upwards to the brightest star.
- Sharron Cranston -

Love me without fear, trust me without questioning, need me without demanding, want me without restrictions, and accept me without change.

What really is wrong with this picture?

So here I was, bored out of my mind at work (it was a really slow day despite me having a lot to do) when I started thinking about men. Not in a sexual way. I started thinking that men have to be the most complicated individuals on earth. Especially the so-called players. So me and my girls were chilling out some time back and one of my friends sees this really hot guy (trust me, he was hot!!!). They kick it, and pretty soon it was movies at his place, drinks and stuff. She made it clear that all she wanted was a memorable sexual encounter with him... on the regular would be ideal, but if that was not possible then a one time encounter would have been great!!! You'd think he'd jump at the idea of no-strings-attached sex... wouldn't you?
Well he did jump, and she was happy. She got what she wanted and she was content. Him? He began avoiding her... Running across streets to avoid talking to her; staying indoors when he sees her going to the local pub... leaving the house when he sees her retiring for the night. Till one day she said enough was enough, and picked up the phone and called him. On further inquiring, he says that he couldn't believe how emotionless she was about the whole thing. He couldn't stand seeing her flirting with other guys and trying to hook up with other guys.
What? I thought men have perfected the art of no-strings attached!

Which brings me to another topic: If she wants it all the time and she's not ashamed to go for it, she's a whore. If he wants it all the time and he's not afraid of going for it, he's the man!!! What is wrong with this picture?

The tried-and-tested asshole

I hate blind dates. I also hate dating/ meeting celebrities. I hate blind dates because I do not know what to expect. I hate dating/meeting celebrities because I think most of them are full of themselves (unless I knew you pre-stardom). Let me put a disclaimer at this point and say that I never out-rightly condemn a situation. I believe I will try everything once (within reason, of course). That said, allow me to paint a picture for you.



It’s a nice balmy Friday afternoon, around four o’clock. I am nervous because in two and a half short hours I’m supposed to meet Fred, the guy who according to some girls of mine, will change my perspective on (blind) dating. I must admit, a part of me is excited because of the infinite possibilities of the night. Anyway, at this point in time I am contemplating what to wear: too sexy and he’ll think I’m easy, too proper and he’ll think I’m boring. To add to this, he had already mentioned that we would meet at the Jockey Pub at the Hilton. I had never been there so I did not know whether going in jeans would make me under-dressed. I finally settled on wearing my (trademark) stiletto open toes, a knee-length black skirt and a nice blouse. Smart casual. Win-win situation either way.

I get to the Jockey Pub at 6.20pm (Truth be told, I was early on purpose so that I could get a discreet table and watch the people walking in and see who was trying to call me. Who says you can’t learn a thing or two from the movies?) He was on time. At 6.30pm in walks this guy. Dressed in a grey suit and a tie-less baby blue shirt, that man knew his body frame and what flatters him. As he came closer I glanced at his shoes (I don’t care how hot you are or even if you are dressed like a male model, I will not have any romantic inclinations towards you if your shoes are whack. No thank you!), and they were nice black loafers. Mmmm I liked already!!!! He was not your typical pretty boy but he definitely exuded confidence, which in turn made him ooze sexiness. I gave my girls a mental high five and promised myself that the next time we went out it was all on me.

Fred sits down and we proceed to introduce ourselves to each other. Before long, he has taken the liberty of asking for a food menu and ordering for both of us (assertive and in command: you know what they say about men like that LOL). He asks me what I would like to drink and I ask for a glass of wine (Simonsig white – those South Africans know what they are doing; I don’t care if people beg to differ). So the small talk is out of the way. I have established that Fred is writer/producer with a major media house in the country and that he lives in Lavington. Actually he gave me his life history in some form of checklist that went some what like this:

* Financial stability: check. I make roughly 90,000 after deductions and tax.
* Accommodation: check. It’s a four bedroomed house. I converted one into a study so that when I carry work from home I can work in peace.
* Schooling: You know Manchester is really cold in the winter. I remember this time when we were going for this symposium in Central London on the Ethical Issues Governing the Fourth Estate and it…
* Business: Oh, sorry to interrupt you, but now that you mention it my friend and I are planning to start a media advisory company. It should do well in this market considering…
* Family: You like the wine? My dad knows the guy who is on the board of the company that owns the vineyard.
* Cars: I just sold my Mark X after two months of use. I bought it straight from the showroom and I barely used it. I generally prefer the Sport.
* Friends: My friends are like the wildest pack ever! One time we went to this house party…
* Travels: In fact next time I go to SA I will bring you several casks of Simonsig.
* Career: You think your job gets tiring? Imagine have to travel four times every week to some country and…
* Sports: Why do you support Man U? Wait, why does a woman watch football in the first place? Effeminate women are very attractive and sports fanatics are the opposite of that.
* Politics: I think that this country, despite its problems, is pretty well run…



Notice any trend here? Not only did I disagree (and sometimes take offense) at what he said, the fact that it was all about him made me want to inhale my dinner and run. No amount of wining and dining would make that experience worthwhile. He would, for example, ask me what I thought of the current political temperature and I would begin by responding that I thought we as a country still had a long way. At that point he would interrupt me to deliver his monologue on current topic. By the way I kid you not, this is a true story. Celebrity plus blind date, and real name withheld for obvious reasons.

So I suppose I was supposed to be star-struck and in awe and fawn over his every word, gesture or signal. I thought him to be one of the most shallow and self centered individuals I had ever met. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines conversation as an oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions or ideas. Exchange. Trade between two. Really this was not going on. Then to boot, he had the air of an individual speaking authoritatively because of his job. I mean, please. Just because you work in the media doesn’t make you more knowledgeable than me. After all that was said and done, I ended up leaving by 7.45 pm (and that was an eternity to me) as opposed to the ten o’clock I had planned on.

Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to share your experiences in blind dating with the Diaspora. Was it good? Bad? Plain ugly? Like me, have you sworn off random hook up plans? What’s your take on celebrities? Do share.

Unrequited love and moving on…

So I was reading some stories I had written the other day and trying to remember what frame of mind I was in when I wrote them. I came across a story I had written about a girl who wrote a letter to the love of her life telling him about her life (without him) and she winds the letter with a punch line about how the one time they had sex she got pregnant with his kid.

Coincidentally Charlene by Anthony Hamilton was playing then and I was like, “Oh here’s someone else who understands unrequited love.” Love songs sung with such emotion that belies a wound that, beneath the scar, really has never healed. A wound caused by emotional battles and eventual exhaustion with your significant other, who also happens to be your first love. The one who you gave your all to. The one who you gave 100%.

After (insert number of months or years here) of dating, and it does not work out, is it possible for someone to move on and give their all (be it mentally, emotionally, physically, materially) again? It took me three and a half years to get over my first love and actually consider even dating again. It took me three years to stop contemplating calling him to just “hang out”. It took me three years to finally pass by his house and say, “Wow I really loved you” without breaking down and crying. When we broke up, Dru Hill had just released their latest album Dru World Order, and I wrote out all the words of “I Love You” in the form of a letter and sent it to him. Three years. Now, almost seven years later, I have gone through the I-hate-men-so-much phase, then the I-like-you-but-don’t-expect-anything-more-from-me phase. I dated a few guys but nothing super serious that made me think that I could see a major future with so-and-so.

Now, I believe I am ok. But am I capable of giving my all again to someone else? When I think of self-preservation, I say no. I do not think that I have the strength, or even enough heart left over to go through this again. Is this fair to the other person? Never. But again, self-preservation dictates, to me, that I’d rather give 80% to the other person as opposed to 100% so that in case it fails it will hurt, but definitely not as bad as giving my all. I don’t know. That is how it seems to me now. I may or may not have met a person who has convinced me that they are worth 100% of me despite all that I have been through, but I know this for sure: it will be something else.

I asked a couple of guys for their opinion and one guy summed it up for me: If you ever see a player or the so-called bastard man, just know it is a woman that he loved that turned him into what he is today.

So, ladies and gentlemen, what are your experiences when it comes to first loves? Have you succeeded in moving past that and loving someone wholeheartedly again? Is unabashed love possible second time round? Do share.

Shame shame!!!

Today's post is dedicated to a group of people that I think need a serious sit-down.

So yesterday I was hanging out with some pals and we got to talking about break-ups. Actually this came about when he confessed to us that he was still in love with his first love and six years later, he was messing up potential relationships as a result of these feelings that he had not dealt with (remember unrequited love and moving on?)
Anyway, as we listened to how he missed her and wished things would be different, my friend Ally asked him what happened to lead to the break-up. He explained that their relationship was somewhat not conventional; if he was upset with her he would write her a long email and she would respond in kind. And that there is how they would iron out issues in their relationship.
No problem there, for me. I mean, to each his own. My problem came up when he told us that he sent her an sms telling her it was over. An sms! What?!?! She replied and said, "OK." This upset him so much. I was like, "Hold up, let's back up a minute here. You are upset that she said one word! What did you just do? You broke up with her via TEXT!" The story goes on and on and I am so angry at the fact that he would break up with her in such an impersonal manner after a relationship of two years. Ally, definitely in Corner CM, said that that was a coward's way out (she later informed us that her ex had sent pizza to her with a note attached to it explaining that their relationship was over, and how it was him and not her... you know the usual babble).
Ladies and gentlemen, a break-up that is not face-to-face is cowardly, shameful and despicable. You owe it to this person that you once professed love to to sit down and explain why the relationship is over and even maybe discuss if there is any hope. You take this opportunity, if possible, to end things amicably. Maybe then, we'd have more friendships sustained over time.
What do you think, good people? What creative, yet inappropriate, methods has someone undertaken in dumping you? Or how have you broken off with someone? Do share!

GLBT - what is its position in society?

So here I am cruising through some of my favorite blogs, when I came across two articles which caught my attention. The first one was an essay written last week by His Grace Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu (In Africa, a step backward on human rights) in which he (a) basically expressed that hate had no place in the house of God. No one should be excluded from our love, our compassion or our concern because of race or gender, faith or ethnicity -- or because of their sexual orientation, and (b) that no one chooses to be gay. Sexual orientation, like skin color, is another feature of our diversity as a human family. The second was an article written about a school that canceled the high school prom after a student asked whether she could come with her lesbian girlfriend as her date (US school cancels prom 'over lesbian date').
And I stopped to think. Real hard. Because the debate on same-sex anything has raged on for much too long. I mean, from the POV of my Christian up-bringing, same-sex anything is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. Why, then, would a man as esteemed and respected as His Grace try to preach otherwise? I quote, 'Show me where Christ said "Love thy fellow man, except for the gay ones." Gay people, too, are made in my God's image. I would never worship a homophobic God.' That having been said, I do not believe in gay-bashing and do not support the waves of attacks that have been perpetuated towards this particular group of people. At the end of the day they are human beings and deserve every fundamental human right out there that is to be accorded to every citizen of the world.
These attacks that are being carried out in the name of whichever God in question are just but an excuse. Even Jesus loved the sinner but hated the sin (for example in Matthew 9:10 - And it came to pass, as Jesus sat at meat in the house, behold, many publicans and sinners came and sat down with him and his disciples...) Tolerance and separation of person from deed are just but some of those things that have become a rumor with society today. Don't get me wrong when I say tolerance: my definition of tolerance in this context is exactly that of loving the sinner and hating the sin. Isn't it about time we actually stood for something because it is right and not because it is politically correct?

Grey areas that require no grey matter to get into

Being different has always been the curse of the bold. Galileo Galilei was ordered to stand trial on suspicion of heresy in 1633 when he defended heliocentrism, a theory that places the sun at the center of the universe. The Church forced him to recant on penalty of death rather than change antiquated notions.
In the world over, many communities believed and practiced FGM, given the importance given to virginity and an intact hymen. Waris Dirie was nearly crucified (metaphorically speaking) by her people (and others of the same beliefs) for running away, and eventually becoming UN's Special Ambassador for the Elimination of Female Genital Mutilation. She still lives under the shadow of threats from fanatics who consider FGM a holy rite of passage.
There are many examples of bold people suffering because of speaking out littering the paths of history. Conformity has been glorified from time immemorial. Even in traditional Kenya there are proverbs and sayings that promote conventionalism as a way of being. Contemporary Kenya has perfected the art of toeing the line to the point where having an opinion or stating a clear stand seems irrational. After all, if everyone is doing it or saying it it must be right, right?
Grey area (n): an area, situation, etc., lacking clearly defined characteristics.
Grey areas have become a cesspool of everything "sensitive, delicate or socially offensive". This is the place where we throw in anything that makes us feel anything from mildly uncomfortable to deeply offended. Abortion, gay rights, the ever-widening poverty gap between the rich and the poor; you name it and you cringe, it's in there. Do we still wonder why things never ever get done in this country?
From one POV, one could say that by not taking a stand, one is taking a stand. After all, I choose not to align myself with either camp because both have valid points (or none at all). But the danger here is that there will always be only one voice being heard: the voice of the majority which is not always right. And when the majority quieten down, there will be the deafening sound of silence from you and I who choose not to speak up.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
Edmund Burke

To be a booty call or not to be...

chips fungwa (v, used with females): a condition in which a woman proceeds to the lodgings or abode of a member of the [usually] opposite sex after being convinced through different methods inc., but not restricted to, coercion, major kiswahili, chemikali, and black out, and sometimes wakes up in the morning and proceeds to do the Walk of Shame.
sausage fungwa (v, used with males): see chips fungwa.

I was listening to Lyfe Jennings' new single Statistics off his new album, I Still Believe. That song preaches it like there is no tomorrow!

RULE #1
Don't be a booty call
If he don't respect you girl he gon forget you girl

RULE #2
If he's in a relationship
If he will cheat on her that means he will cheat on you

RULE #3
Tell him that you're celibate
And if he wants some of your goodies he gon have to work for it

RULE #4
Be the person you wanna find
Don't be a nickel out here lookin' for a dime

I wonder, what defines relationships these days? Or rather, what defines the dating scene? A typical night out at the rave consists of a group of friends going out for drinks and a night of fun. At one point there is a sort-of "courtship" ritual that goes on. The guys have seen some chics they like and are out on the prowl... Ladies are acting coy as the guys are busy being innovative in their attempts to impress the ladies in question. Before long, it is time to leave and those who are successful will have their chips funga or sausage funga (after all, we are in the times of liberated women who take away the guys).

It is the superfluous things for which men sweat.*

What, really, is the point? Does it mean that old school courting is out of the window? Could it be that our ways of doing things are contributing to the major vacancies in people's heart that come about after a short period? Are there people out there who are fed up with the status quo?

*Lucius Annaeus Seneca (4 BC-65) Roman philosopher and playwright.

Return on Investment: the Beauty-Money equation and the Gold-digging concept

I came across this very interesting blog article that I leave with you to mull over.
Gold-diggers and the beauty pageant gorgeous women, please pay attention. This is not me hating, rather it is a candid conversation.

SHE SAID:
What am I doing wrong? Okay, I’m tired of beating around the bush. I’m a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I’m articulate and classy. I’m not from New York. I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think I’m overreaching at all. Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips?

I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won’t get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

- What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won’t hurt my feelings

- Is there an age range I should be targeting (I’m 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I’ve seen really ‘plain jane’ boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I’ve seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What’s the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, Investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I’m putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I’m being up front about it. I wouldn’t be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn’t able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

HE SAID:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament. Firstly, I’m not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said, here’s how I see it.

Your offer, from the perspective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here’s why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here’s the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity…in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won’t be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you’re 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So, in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and old…hence the rub…marriage. It doesn’t make good business sense to “buy you” (which is what you’re asking) so I’d rather lease.

In case you think I’m being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It’s as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage. Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as “articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful” as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn’t found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn’t need to have this difficult conversation. With all that said, I must say you’re going about it the right way. Classic “pump and dump.” I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

What say you?

Death to Gender Violence

“Sexual, racial, gender violence and other forms of discrimination and violence in a culture cannot be eliminated without changing culture.”

Charlotte Bunch

Rape threat stalks Kenya's slums. Worrying trend of gang rapes in Kenya.
These are just two of the numerous headlines that are constantly captured in the media on rape and gender violence. A small voice representing this terrible scourge plaguing our society. Please, dear reader, take a moment to read the two stories on the two sites. Is it that we are void of any emotion and can attack one another in the most brutal of ways such as this? Is our humanity and basic concern for one another dead within us? Charlotte Bunch was spot on when she said that we cannot eliminate gender violence without changing culture.
Tina and Tim had been dating for seven and a half years. They had a beautiful daughter, Noni, named after Tim's mother. When Tina told Tim that she got was pregnant, five years ago, we all thought that this was the end of them. Shock on us when Tim stood by her side and supported her through out the pregnancy and even after Noni was born. We all were envious of Tina and hoped and prayed fervently that we each would get a man like Tim. Now, they were planning their wedding and we all chipped in, hoping to make it a huge success. No one was deserving of a happy story like they were.
Two years into the marriage it began to crumble. Tim took up drinking, smoking, and had frequent extra-marital affairs. He even began to beat Tina, blaming her for the course of his life. I do not know the full story, but I can tell you that Tina is back at her parents house, two children, a miscarriage, a divorce and scarred heart later.
As a volunteer with an NGO in Nairobi, I had the opportunity to interact with many children that were less privileged than I was. I heard many nightmarish stories from our social workers about the abuse the children we worked with endured, but the one that took the cream was the story of one of the most beautiful children I have seen called Halima.
Halima was six years old at this point in time. Small in stature for her age, she made up for it by being very active and boisterous. She had limpid brown eyes that seem to reflect their depth. One could drown in those eyes. One day Halima did not come to class. Unfortunately, in this slum this was the norm and was no cause for worry. However, after three days of being a no-show, the social workers went to visit the family and inquire why Halima had not been to school.
Several hours later the social workers trudged in, and one of them was carrying the little girl in his arms. Amidst the flurry of activity in trying to get an ambulance to rush her to hospital, the social worker explained to me that the slum dwellers had heard her father, brother and uncle come into her mother's house and forcibly kicked her out, then proceeded to rape Halima. No one knows how long the ordeal lasted, but the effects were clear to be seen. Halima, in three days, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self and had refused to talk. To date the memory of that little girl sitting in the office breaks my heart.
Change is now. Change is over-due. This kind of violence has no place in our society.

If you are interested in making your mark, however small, please get in touch with Muthoni and Gathoni of Kimbilio Gender Violence Hotline through their email addresses: muthoni@kimbilio.or.ke and gathoni@kimbilio.or.ke

Alternatively, you could do one or more of the following:
1. Please tell people about the Kimbilio Gender Violence hotline. The number is 0 800 720 072. The service is free, confidential and anonymous so people should feel safe utilizing it.
2. Kimbilio will be receiving a monthly bill from Safaricom for all the calls received. Whatever you can pledge to help defray this cost would be greatly appreciated.
3. Volunteer! If you can commit a few hours a month you can volunteer at the hotline or assist in the various administrative tasks that Kimbilio requires assistance in.

You can't make someone love you if they don't

I’ll close my eyes then I won’t see
The love you don’t feel when you’re holding me
Morning will come and I'll do what’s right
Just give me ‘til then to give up this fight
And I will give up this fight

Coz I can’t make you love me if you don’t
You can’t make your heart feel something that it wont
Here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart 'til I feel the power
But you won’t, no you won’t
Coz I can’t make you love me if you don’t

Boyz II Men, I can't make you love me

Insomnia

I can't sleep. I can only think. I remember the last time I saw you and what you said to me. I replay those words in my head over and over like some mix tape under scrutiny for words, meaning, nuances. Any bit of hidden emotion I can glean I do.
I can't sleep. I can only think. I remember walking away with tears in my eyes, but you pulled me back. And when a tear did finally fall, you quickly wiped it away and with a sad smile you whispered, "Don't cry."
I can't sleep. I can only think. I am enveloped in your scent. You permeated my skin and brain and now all I can smell is you. I remember how your shirt felt against my skin as you held me. I remember how your fingers gently ran up and down my spine. I remember thinking that this was the hardest thing that I ever had to do in my life.
I can't sleep. I can only think. I remember pulling away and looking at you as if to memorize every detail of your characteristic face. The dimples that danced when you smiled. The eyes that looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world. The lips that kissed me sometimes softly and sometimes with a force that astonished me.
I then picked up my bags and walked through the airport entrance to board the plane that would take me to another place and time, to another, to a different dream and reality, knowing fully well I had left a huge chunk of my heart with you.

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Reflections and thoughts

After a really long minute, I realized that I need to update CM on the many wonderful things happening to me...

I'M EXCITED ABOUT...

The numerous miracles that have been happening in my life. The understanding that I am wired for greatness and that the only person standing in my way is myself. Coco Malaika the company finally took off and did her maiden event on April 15th for Gallery Watatu. As a result I have gotten several requests for proposals, all of which look like they will pan out into business for CM. All love and gratitude to God above!

TODAY I'M FEELING...

Grateful for new friends (@rogerinc - ati mad shout-out); old friends who always remind me that I can do it. Grateful for a sounding board called Edu who takes all my mood swings and severe bouts of insecurity. Grateful to my folks for letting me mess up and still loving and supporting me. My siblings. Kui.

WHAT I AM LISTENING TO...

#myplaylist I wanna be a millionaire so freaking bad.... la la la

THIS WEEKEND...

Again, I shall be indoors typing furiously to keep up with the numerous ideas coming to my mind. The proposals must be written. Must be well-presented. Must be...

I"M CRAVING...

Food. I don't care which. I am STARVING!

I WISH...

that Kenyans would realize that they are first Kenyans then whatever tribe second.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK...

"When you are finished changing, you are finished." Benjamin Franklin

the raindrops that welcomed me

Big fat drops. Big fat raindrops fell from the sky in a rhythmic pattern. All around me big fat raindrops embraced different surfaces. I paused and glanced up at the sky. The big fat raindrops showed no signs of relenting and giving me an opportunity to recollect. I sighed with a mixture of acquiescence and resignation, dragging my torn suitcase out into the rain. I had no solid plan; only to get into a cab and find my way to the hostel I was booked into.
Nothing prepared me for the assault on my body. They said that the temperature was 6 degrees Celsius and the wind chill minus 30. Wind chill meant nothing to me as it was my first time in Holland, in Europe and in a country that experienced winter. The wind penetrated my faux pas winter jacket, deep into my bones in a way that made me feel like I was standing naked. My toes curled in an attempt to stay warm. I felt my breath condense every time I breathed, and my lungs burned from the extreme cold.
I stood there, outside of Schipol airport, unsure of what to do.
“Excuse… madam… taxi? Here. Enter.” A hooded man to my left, seemingly a cab driver, ran to grab my things. He took one look at my battered suitcase and paused, as if contemplating whether I would be able to afford his fare. I clicked in exasperation. How many times would I have to explain that the damned airline had damaged my suitcase and refused to compensate me?
I showed him 100 Euros and an address written on a slip of paper. “Kindly could you take me to this hostel?” I asked, barely masking the irritation that I felt.
“Here. Enter,” He said after opening the car door for me. He lifted my bags and put them into the trunk of the cab. I got into the back left and was immediately grateful for the cab’s warmth. I rubbed my fingers to get the circulation going. My teeth at this point were chattering so violently I thought I would eventually unhinge my jaws.
We began pulling out of the parking space. The driver was a tall, young man with a mop of dark unruly hair that stood up in tufts where his hood did not cover.. He ran his hands through his hair and muttered something in what I assumed was Dutch. I gazed at him blankly. He tried again in his halting English. “Madam. This place. Where?” I felt the stirrings of fear in my stomach. If the cab driver, a local, did not know where I wanted to go, how on God’s green earth would I know and manage to communicate with our obvious language barrier?
I felt that I was going to hyperventilate, when he said magic words that calmed me down. “I check GPS. Aaahh. Den Haag. No problem. We go.”

to be continued...

Lessons

Someone once told me that you will forever be in a situation until you learn the lesson in it. I look back at my life and try to reflect whether I have learnt all my lessons, as there is nothing as frustrating as feeling as though you are stuck in a senseless rut.
As I ponder, I remember some of my trying moments in life and wonder how I even managed to get out alive. Situations in which you wish you could curl up and die. Betrayals and lies that run so deep you feel like you could never possibly recover from that blow.
The process seems to be the same. The shock, anger, and pain. The screaming and fighting. The disbelief and absolute denial that someone you love could ever hurt you in such a manner. Then the tears come. You weep like your heart would break. The apologies and self-absolution. "Oh my God" and "It wasn't me".
The tears finally run dry, and there you are. Spent, but no closer to the truth. Your brain begins its feeble attempt at rationalizing the whole issue. Your heart cowers every time the mind speaks, afraid of getting hurt again. It's at this point you look in front of you and realize that you are at a junction. To your left lies the truth. Investigations, so to speak. Harsh words exchanged. The truth must out, so help me God. "Silence, dear heart of mine! You are too biased to be involved." I find out the truth. But what do I do with it?
The other road, the one to my right, looks less trodden. Why? I ask myself. It is the road of blind faith; the road that lets go with no question. It is the path that demands of you absolute faith - sometimes more than that the mind can have. It speaks to the heart, and the heart listens. The mind rejects all notions that the road suggests; it is, after all, contrary to what it believes. The heart responds gladly, for it believes in the goodness of mankind.
And after contemplating, after fighting the battle between mind and heart, I am walking down the road. Some look at me and think I am foolish or naive for making this choice, but the road less traveled gives me peace.

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