Coco Malaika

Saying Sorry...

2011-09-06T15:11:00.003+03:00

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...

2011-09-05T20:24:00.001+03:00

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

2011-09-05T20:10:00.000+03:00

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.

How long must I cry?

2011-07-27T13:41:00.002+03:00

"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

This girl is just fed up!

2011-06-23T12:05:00.000+03:00

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?

2011-06-21T09:03:00.001+03:00

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 -

2011-06-21T09:02:00.001+03:00

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?

2011-05-16T12:26:00.002+03:00

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

2011-05-16T12:24:00.006+03:00

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…

2011-05-16T12:24:00.004+03:00

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!!!

2011-05-16T12:23:00.003+03:00

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?

2011-05-16T12:22:00.006+03:00

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

2011-05-16T12:22:00.002+03:00

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...

2011-05-16T12:21:00.002+03:00

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

2011-05-16T12:20:00.005+03:00

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

2011-05-16T12:20:00.002+03:00

“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

2011-05-16T12:19:00.002+03:00

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

2011-05-16T01:31:00.002+03:00

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

2011-05-11T11:47:00.000+03:00

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

2011-03-21T16:56:00.001+03:00

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

2011-02-15T11:36:00.001+03:00

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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Reflections and thoughts... 22nd October

2010-10-22T10:25:00.000+03:00

I'M EXCITED ABOUT...

Next week. With our big IFEA Arts event, there will be lots of work and loads of fun. FAFA cocktail and gala show... Mad excitement!!!

TODAY I'M FEELING...

Low. I haven't slept well. Thoughts can be a bad thing at night.

WHAT I AM LISTENING TO...

The sound of rubber-soled shoes as people walk up and down in the office. In the distance I hear the sound of muted conversation. Sigh. It is going to be a long day.

THIS WEEKEND...

I desperately need some rest in preparation for next week. I will not have the luxury of resting properly so I have to whip myself back into gear before the hectic week begins.

I"M CRAVING...

a beef platter from Legends.... mmmmmhh

I WISH...

that I could express myself eloquently when speaking, as I do when writing. Especially when I am confronted with a situation that is uncomfortable, to put it mildly.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK...

"Whether or not you think you can or you can't, either way you are right." Henry Ford

Reflections and thoughts...

2010-10-15T16:19:00.000+03:00

I'M EXCITED ABOUT...

The challenges that lie ahead. I am feeling good about myself and my achievements this past year. Somewhere earlier on this year I felt that I would collapse under the weight of my worries and stresses (The most difficult phase of your life is not when no one understands you; it is when you don't understand yourself) but looking back, I think this has been one of my greatest successes in my life. Conquering the weights and demons brought to life the saying "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."

TODAY I'M FEELING...

Optimistic. I am looking into the future and seeing hope. Grand plans. Opportunities. I am happier than I have been in a long time.

WHAT I AM LISTENING TO...

As I type this I am in a workshop dealing with start-up strategies. I am listening to some of the world's greatest authorities in the subject share their two cents (which to me is actually their several millions worth of advice). I realize that it is a new day for the contemporary student and feel a twinge, wishing that I was me who would benefit from this amazing thinking.

THIS WEEKEND...

All roads lead to my SO's place. I have swollen feet from overtime at the office for the above mentioned conference. Rest and relaxation and movies all weekend. I am not interested in hearing any plans of going out, or anything like that. Indoors.

I"M CRAVING...

Liquorice. Don't ask. :)

I WISH...

that we Kenyans would include in the Vision 2030 a desire to have a serious reading culture. Maybe then we would have more people who could be more concise, and accurate, in their writing.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK...

"Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly." Robert F. Kennedy

Oh, the pain...

2010-07-04T08:04:00.000+03:00

Pretending that life is ok,
At least when you are around.
Inside of me I am crumbling but I will
Never let you see my tears.

Part of me just wants to lie down
And never open my eyes again
I could only hope and pray that a
New beginning awaits me somewhere.

Please understand I do not have strength
As I go about my daily day
If this is the plan I
Need an uplifting of my spirit.

Poverty of good will and love
Absinence from the pleasures of life
Intricacies of heart and mind
Neglect of body and soul.

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven - William Bulter Yeats

2010-06-23T11:54:00.000+03:00

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Where do we go from here?

2010-06-07T20:01:00.000+03:00

Let me tell you a story.

Long ago, I learned that the easiest way to avoid heartbreak was to guard your heart. And guard it I did. Slowly but surely I erected this brick wall around my heart. An impenetrable fortress that stood against the tides of flirtation, proposals and romances. Until you came along.

I thought I had tried that love thing and given up, but brick by brick you took down my wall. Soothing words, concern, and friendship won me over without my consciousness, until the day I woke up to your voice and realized I was naked before you. We had become more than friends and I let you in.

I know you might feel guilty babe
Don't let the mind do the speaking
Just let the heart do the leading
Cause we gave each other what we both wanted
Look what we've started

After all that has been said and done, even if my heart feels so much fear, where do we go from here?

Colors of Hate...

2010-06-04T15:04:00.001+03:00

The cold in her body,
chilling blue.
The hate in her brain,
scorching fire.
Her dripping hair,
velvet black.
Jealousy in her heart,
unripe green.

She's colder than ice,
yet too hot to handle.
She'll strike with a passion,
so strong and intense;
her heart stone;
her blood fire;
her soul coal;
she'll revenge...

I do

2010-06-04T12:39:00.001+03:00

All I ever want is to be a part of your heart,
And for us to be together, to never be apart.
No one else in the world can ever compare,
You are perfect and so in this love we share,
I love you more than I ever thought I could.
I hope you realize how perfect you are,
When you are seen through my eyes.
I love you.

Redefinition of Woman

2010-06-04T12:37:00.001+03:00

Woman.
Me.
Feminine.
Questions?
Do you?

Ass: Godless existence trapped in time and space.
STOP
Soulful presence surpassing transgressions.

Breasts: Inevitability creating a whirlwind of chaos.
STOP
Facets of beauty; facets of purity.

Thighs: Pillars of society defining acceptability.
STOP
Independent spirit soaring through norms.

Curves: Undefined diversions of morality.
STOP
Highway of love.

Redefinition of Woman.

By Oriah Mountain Dreamer - copyright © 1999

2010-06-04T12:14:00.001+03:00

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

The most difficult phase of your life is not when no one understands you; it is when you don't understand yourself

2010-05-04T10:37:00.000+03:00

Of late, I have been having what I thought was major writer's block. It turns out that, after long days and periods of soul-searching and taking a step back from life, I have not been at peace. Something is amiss in my life. I still do not know what, but I do know what the symptoms are. They include a feeling of lethargy all the time; a blatant disregard for things that used to make me happy; a sense of confusion over when, where and how; a consistent fear of the unknown; a discomforting feeling that I have lost control over my life and that everything is rushing past me; constant mental self-flagellation.
I have been sick for about three weeks. I have been plagued by a cold so vicious that it seems to be crafted only by the Devil. I had ulcers that made me believe that my insides were slowly being turned out. Yet, through this time, it was not so much the physical infirmity that brought me down, it was the mental strain that took a major toll on me and caused me to have some form of depression brought about by insomnia.
I am better now, at least physically I am. Mentally, it has been a struggle. A struggle understanding that I am not being irrational. A struggle not to silence that voice within that was warning me that something was seriously wrong. A struggle accepting that things have changed; that I have changed, and that this is not necessarily a bad thing; a struggle to decide that though I may be my biggest critic, I should also be my own greatest fan. And in my darkest hour came that epiphany that I had been fighting to get: He was not in the wind, the fire, or the earthquake; He was in the quiet voice. Be still.

THE SITUATION
In Washington , DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . .

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?

Impossible by Christina Aguillera featuring Alicia Keys

2010-03-03T15:08:00.000+03:00

It's impossible
It's impossible to love you
If you don't let me know what you're feeling
It's impossible for me to give you what you need
If you're always hiding from me

I don't know what hurt you
I just, I wanna make it right
I'm sick and tired of trying to read your mind

It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible for me to love you
It's the way it is
It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible
If you making it this way

Impossible to make it easy
If you always trying to make it so damn hard
How can I give you all my love, baby
If you're always, always putting up your guard

This is not a circus
Don't you play me for a clown
How long can emotions keep on going up and down

It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible for me to love you
It's the way it is
It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible
If you keep treating me this way
Over and over

Impossible baby
If you making' it this way
Oh baby, it's impossible
If you making it this way

You shot your arrow through my heart - written by Brian McKnight, performed by Az Yet Share

2010-03-03T14:35:00.001+03:00

Quietly I watch you sleep
Hopefully you won't hear what I say
Wondering if I turned the clouds
Happy the moment I tasted your rain
Tonight was the night
That I saw my first sight
Of how pleasure wins over pain
Now I know what I know
Don't wanna ever let you go
I just hope that you feel the same

You shot your arrow
Through my restless, shaking heart
You came down on me slow
Drew back your bow
My lady, you shot your arrow
Straight through my heart

I kiss your mouth and stroke your hair
Intently I hang on your every breath
I know what I'm feeling right now
Is more than just lust
For the sake of your flesh
Girl, I need you now
I'll try my best to learn how
To be all that my words might say
Caressing your skin
I never imagined
That I'd ever feel this way

Girl, I need you
I'll try my best to learn how
To be all that my words might say
Caressing your skin
I never imagined I could
ever feel this way

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Feb 1st

2010-03-03T14:20:00.001+03:00

OMG!!!! I can't believe Sally is getting married!!!! Jack proposed to her last night!!! I mean, I am so happy for her!!! Though I must say she has to be a bit careful with that man; he's known to have a bit of a roving eye. Nonetheless, this is good news! Now Tony will start feeling the pressure of the need to get his house in order as Jack is soon-to-be a married man. I hope they don't pick my dream wedding month, February. That would be catastrophic considering that I want to be totally involved in her wedding, which is not possible if I am getting married around the same time. By faith I am going to be getting married this time next year.

Note to self: Valz plans!!!!
Ask Sally what Jack says that Tony said about the wedding issue
Doctor's appointment tomorrow

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan 22nd

2010-03-03T14:06:00.001+03:00

Life's back to normal. I guess it finally dawned on Tony that I am the queen of his life and that if he wasn't careful he could lose me. Not that I was capable of leaving. I love him too much. Beside, after five and a half years of dating, I cannot comprehend starting all over again. I mean, the awkwardness of a first date, getting to know someone, the process is just too rigorous!
Anyway, I went shopping with Sally and Lynne today. Got me some lovely lovely stuff. Tony will be jazzed!!! ;)

Note to self: I need to start figuring what to do for Tony for Valentine's. I really think we need to go out of town to sort of heighten our romance. We've been through enough as it is.

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan 12

2010-01-23T15:00:00.001+03:00

Ok. I know many will get so mad at me at this point, but here goes. Tony and I are back together. There, I said it, and I'm not making any apologies for it. I can't help myself; I love him so much. I understand that the alcohol got the better of him, and who am I to pass judgment considering the state I myself was in?
I met him today in Westlands and he looked such a mess. He told me that he was so sorry and that he had not managed a wink of sleep since 2nd, when he realized what he had done. I thought it was really sweet seeing him tormented and distraught all on account of what he had done. Besides, I really had missed him. I told him that we could try again, but on condition that something like that never happens again. You should have seen the relief on his face; it was as if I had just handed him a life line.

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan 6th

2010-01-22T16:42:00.000+03:00

Should I even listen
Should I even try
Will I just be hearing the same old lines
Baby
See it doesn't matter
What you say this time
Cause our whole relationship
Is built on one lie
You say things aren't the way they seem
But still you can't come straight with me

I mulled over those words. I felt that Toni Braxton was speaking to me in her song Love Should Have Brought You Home Last Night. I took another sip of the chilled Simonsig white wine and sunk a little lower into the bath tub. The water had become tepid but I didn't notice until much later.

How can you think that you're in love
When you don't know the meaning of

Love shoulda brought you
Brought you
Home last night
You shoulda been with me
Shoulda been right by my side
Baby
If you cared anything for me
Then love woulda brought you
To me last night

I still was not talking to Tony.

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan. 1

2009-12-28T10:19:00.000+03:00

Happy f***ing New Year. A toast to the worst beginning in history. I can't believe that I am here all by myself. Yet again, why am I even surprised? Anthony is capable of anything.
I'm sitting in K1, looking around me, watching couples kiss and hug and wish one another love in the coming year. I am all alone. In K1. I have been trying to call Anthony for the last two and a half hours but nothing. He is drunk and passed out somewhere in Westlands with his "friends". Some tramp actually had the guts to pick up the phone and tell me to stop calling him "coz I will wake him up." Wake him up? He has passed out in a club! What amount of noise could his ringing phone make so as to rouse him, compared to that din in the club?
Earlier today, Tony called me and asked me to meet him in K1 for dinner and then we would later go out. It was his way of apologizing for the shouting match we had several days earlier. My initial reaction was to refuse, but after much pleading and cajoling, he managed to convince me to meet him. I insist I agreed, albeit reluctantly.
Dinner was to be at 9 p.m. I arrived at K1 at 9.30, knowing very well that Tony did not have a punctual bone in his body. True to form, he had not arrived. I decided to find a table and order a drink as I waited for him. A live band was playing jazz on one side. On the other, a chef was vigorously tossing and turning some pieces of chicken in an attempt to keep up with the orders coming his way.
At 10, I called him and impatiently told him that I had been waiting and I was already fed up. He apologized and promised to be here in the next twenty minutes. "And not a minute more," were my snarled words as I hang up.
Eleven o'clock. The optimist in me was slowly losing hope. I ordered a meal and told the waitress to keep the martinis coming. Seeing as I was so mad at Tony, I may as well be plastered by the time he got here.
Midnight, January 1st: Happy f***ing New Year. I lifted my glass high in the air and said, "I love life and loathe men! A toast to all the single ladies," as I took a swig of my martini and promptly threw up on the pool table.
Nat and Vierra, two high school friends of mine, just happened to walk in and witness me making an absolute fool out of myself. Vierra took me to the ladies and left Nat negotiating with the club bouncers who wanted to throw me out. In the ladies, I broke down and told Vierra that I wanted to go home.I had had enough.

2009-12-13T16:23:00.001+03:00

I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for another chance. In all honesty, it can't even be called a second, fifth or even tenth chance, because they have been so many. Nonetheless, I just want to say thank you.
That time that I fell, you picked me up. The point at which I was so weary, you carried me. Nights that I cried myself to sleep, you held me so close and whispered that it would be ok. Even when I messed up, turned away and against you, you still loved me.
Now, I'm back on my feet and I have no one but you to thank. I'm so grateful for the stability you brought back into my life. Thank you.

Like the waves from the shore

2009-09-22T17:23:00.001+03:00

I must now ebb
the time has come
to sail my oceans
Rolling away from you
like the waves from shore
rippling out to the vastness of the sea
that beckons my ship to folly.

I'll not ask you
to stand the night vigil
on the shoreline
of memory

You are here on the beaches of my memory
even though I drift the tides
If you should look
into a starlit night
and see a reflection of me
know only that
I will one day
come crashing again
to the shore
swept homeward
by the pull
of the tide
and you.

Marge Tindal

A compilation of thought...

2009-09-22T17:15:00.001+03:00

the compelling forces that lie deep within all humans are muted into a muffled cymbal hope seems to trickle away and be replaced by despair when peace fritters away leaving anarchy in the mind but.
Still waters run deep.
Seek the oasis.

2009-09-02T10:52:00.001+03:00

What’s the point of wishing?
When my wishes never come true.

What’s the point of hoping?
When I have no reasons to believe.

What’s the point of pretending?
Yet tonight I’ll be crying in my bed.

What’s the point of smiling?
When you can still see my tears.

What really is the point?

Ba Hamba

2009-08-10T10:50:00.001+03:00

Go on now, I'm tired of crying. You can leave now, I won't stop you. I'm so tired of crying. Many times i've pulled you back in my arms and stopped you from leaving, but now no. Go on now.
If this is love, then it's not real. For every smile i have, two tear drops take its place. Enough now baby, I can't take it anymore.
You saw me as your queen; you treat me now as your servant. You talked to me as your equal, your partner; now you ignore me. I was your friend; now I'm just your subordinate. Leave, my love, I cannot take anymore.
As I watch you walk away, proud and never looking back, my heart breaks. But I will not cry. For I know no man is worth my tears, and the one who is will never make me cry.

Angel eyes...

2009-08-10T10:36:00.000+03:00

Notice the color of your eyes when you cry,
and the smiles you let pass by, and
how your eyes hurt
when your angel weeps.
And instead of asking why, or when this will be,
love truly and deeply
the language never to be understood by men.
Maybe then, there'll be one more winged life in the world...

2009-08-10T10:34:00.001+03:00

from miles to miles
we were apart
ever since our
relationship started.
day to day
i pray
but all i get is loud silence
I've gotten used to the
sounds of my heart beating
really loudly every time I
hear your voice behind me
and realize that it is not you
but the sound of some other man's laughter
gazing deeply into his love's eyes
and I sigh and continue walking
thinking all the time to myself
"don't think about it"
Tripping over my thoughts and
my emotions
hugging my pillow so tight afraid
that if i actually listen i
will actually break down and cry and
totally lose it.
Time
has stopped.
Eternity
as I do not know it
has begun.
day stretches out and I
feel every second of every
minute of every hour
and the night becomes even
longer i'm cold
and alone
and i miss you

Mirages - Part two

2009-06-21T10:23:00.000+03:00

It has been a year and a half of pure bliss. Moses and I kicked it off instantly that day we met at my friend's party. I guess it was inevitable that we would indeed date. I mean, we had become inseparable. Moses. My Moses.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to celebrate life. Life indeed is beautiful. What blessing and honor it is that the good Lord, in His infinite wisdom, chose us to be here today. Even so, still with love and in love, He called Moses to His bosom..."

I closed my eyes. A sharp pain, like a stab, kept torturing me beneath my breast. I concentrated on the pain and the erratic beating of my heart.

"... And so it is not our place to question why the Lord chose to call Moses so young, and leave behind a grieving family and a fiancee. The Lord..."

Again, I switched off and tuned off the pastor's voice. I was not ready to confront the good Lord on this issue. For now, He had won.

Moses and I had been planning to start a family soon. For me, I was enthralled with the idea. I had discovered this maternal and caring side of me that I never knew existed. Moses, in his own gentle and caring way, had weaned me off partying and clubs. Some of my friends were green with envy; others thought I had just become plain boring. My ideal night out was watching movies with him and sipping wine. I was content.

"One should strive to live his life in a worthy manner. Worthy before the eyes of the Lord, and an example to all men. When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a way that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice at the sight of your Maker. Moses was one of those who we truly can say his life was nipped in the bud. He loved his family so much and was always dedicated to them. His friends always knew they had a true friend in him. Cindy, his girl friend, knew she had a rock in her man."

I jumped at the mention of my name. I barely was paying attention to the sermon; so lost was I in the pain of my memories. My cheeks were wet with tears that I did not know I had shed. I wiped them off furiously and tried to focus on the pastor.

"And so we pray for comfort for the family and friends. We pray that the Lord may abide with them and carry them through this difficult period. You are the Father to the fatherless; a Brother to the brotherless; a Son to the sonless..."

He proposed to me in Coast. Retrospectively, I realized that he must have gone through so much trouble; simple man that he is. Was. I will never get used to talking about him in the past tense. We had gone with a group of friends for a short holiday. Everyone, except me, knew the agenda of the trip. So on that Saturday, we all went sky diving save for him. He claimed not to be feeling too well, and refused to hear any reasons I put up to stay with him.
Three and a half hours later we returned to the hotel, exhilarated and excited. I went straight to Moses' room, only to find he was not there. A few minutes later, he sent me a message saying that he was feeling better, he had taken a walk and that he would see me in a short while at the hotel.
I went to the pool for a luxurious swim to while the time away. At around five, Moses came to the pool side and found me asleep on a beach bed, book in hand. He gently woke me up and told me that he had reserved a table for us for dinner at a floating restaurant in Malindi. He requested for me to go to my room and change into "something pretty" as he put it, so that we could leave as soon as possible.
The drive down to Malindi was scenic. Watching the sunset from the highway, I felt so blessed and lucky to have such a man in my life. My friends were cracking jokes and having a really good time. Wow.
We finally reached the restaurant. It was a sight to behold. The restaurant was actually a ship. Tiny lanterns hang lit at regular intervals casting a soft glow in the fading day light. At the bow ran tubes of light illuminating tables of food, many of which were delicacies. At the stern was a disco ball hanging from the roof over what was presumably the dance floor. There was a band playing soft jazz music right next to the dance floor. The furnishings gave the whole place a somewhat rustic ambience. In a nutshell, it was beautiful.
We sat down to a three course meal that was sinfully delicious. A bottle of white wine. Prawns served with lemon wedges, chicken served with pepper sauce, and a tossed mixed salad. And for dessert, chocolate cake with whipped cream and strawberries.
At the end of the meal we sat back and relaxed, enjoying each other's company. At one point, I turned to Moses in excitement, exclaiming, "They are playing our song!" This was Brian McKnight's The Love of my Life.

I was jolted out of my reverie when I noticed people walking out of the chapel. I had not even noticed that the service was over. I wearily got up and joined Moses' family behind his coffin. Simple mahogany. A tribute to him.
Outside the chapel, we all got into the hearse car and made our way to his final resting place. I looked around me. Before me sat his mother, stoic now as she had always been. His sister, her eyes swollen with crying. His brother, his features so taut from fighting back tears. They all expressed all I felt, yet they seemed to be completely alienated from the on-goings...

Moses got up and shyly asked me to dance, to which I demurely accepted. On the dance floor it was as if no one else existed or mattered. It was just the two of us. Looking into his eyes I could see his love for me shine through.
Suddenly, he pulled away from me and fumbled in his pocket for something. I looked on at him quizzically. My expression quickly changed from that of puzzlement, then curiosity, then disbelief. He went down on one knee and uttered words that would forever change my life as I knew it. "Cindy, will you marry me?"
Tears running down my face, I could only smile and nod vigorously; so overwhelmed was I. Cheers went round the room as he got up and slipped a beautiful ring on my finger and then gently kissed me.

We got out of the car and walked a short distance to the grave. The pall bearers had already arrived and had set up everything for the burial. The pastor began with a prayer, then his body was slowly lowered into the grave. I felt as if I too was being buried with him...

I burst through the doors of the hospital, having received a call from one of Moses' friends that there had been a bad accident. Moses had been workin late and as he was driving home, a drunk driver had hit him. He lost control of the car and had rolled several times. Good Samaritans had rushed him to the emergency room where he was taken to the intensive care unit.
I took one look at him and almost fainted. Swathed in bandages, he looked so lifeless. Tubes ran in and out of his body trying to feed him vital liquids and pain killers. He was scheduled for an operation to ease the pressure on his brain as a result of the accident. I sat there and prayed to God, pleading for his life and telling the Lord about all the plans we had.
At one point I must have been talking out loud, because I felt Moses' hand twitch then his eyes opened. I called for the nurses for I thought that this was a good sign, but it was not to be. He looked at me straight in the eyes and mouthed the words, "I love you." With that, he took his last breath.

The mourners were called to throw clods of earth into the grave. Each time the soil hit his coffin was a nail into my own coffin. The wails and moans of those around me made me feel his absence even more acutely. The pastor intoned, "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust." The ceremony was over and I turned and walked away, devoid of any emotion.

Mirages - Part one

2009-06-01T13:01:00.000+03:00

I have always been of the mindset that all human beings are inherently good. Yes, the tenets of the idealists do hold firm with me, even if only in a utopian world. In Utopia, people love one another for who they are, flaws and all. In Utopia, friendships are made easily, and enmity is rare. In Utopia... only in Utopia.

Living in the city all my life has made me a robust and fast-paced individual. This allows me to make friends easily. At a party i'm the girl who's mingling and talking with everyone.

Because of the many friends, no, acquaintances that i have made, I've always been invited to parties or events that require that ultimate party girl because that is who i was. I'm not that person anymore. But wait, I get ahead of myself.

It was the month of June two or three years ago when I met him. Tall and willowy, boasting a crew cut that would put a soldier's to shame. I met him quite by accident at a party. Ideally we would never have talked, but the fact that he was standing all alone near the radio sipping his drink caught my attention.

"Hi," I said to him.
"Hi," he replied.
"Forgive me for being so direct but what is a fine brotha like you doing standing all alone in a room full of beautiful, mostly single women?"
He laughed out loud. Let me take a moment to describe his laugh. It was a hearty one; one of those that come from the bowels of the stomach. And he had really white teeth one could almost think that he had them professionally cleaned. He also had a dimple on his right cheek that made him seem really young.
He said, "Well this is not my kind of scene. I'm only here because my cousin dragged me out because she said i'm too much of a recluse."

"Hold that thought. Let me get a refill of my drink. Would you like one?"
"Yeah sure, please I'd like a Coke."
"Just a Coke?"
"Yes please. I don't drink."
If his shyness had caught my attention, his apparent lack of interest in women and the fact that he did not drink definitely captivated me.

"So far, so good. You are interesting," I said when I returned, a Coke in one hand, a beer in the other. "So what is your kind of scene?"
"Definitely not this one," he replied, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Evasive, aren't we?" I shot back.
"No, I'm not being evasive. I just think you'd probably find it a bit strange."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"What's your first impression of me?"
"Well... You are definitely outgoing and you seem like someone who loves fun."
I giggled. "Well that's very true. But on the flip side, I'm introverted in some ways."
He snickered. "Yeah right. How?"
"I love having alone time. Many times I just like to sit and listen to music and write or read a book."
"That sounds cool, but how often do you do it?"
"Four out of every five opportunities I have to go out," I replied, smiling slightly.
He looked taken aback. "Wow," he began, and took a sip of his Coke. "I would never have figured. I mean, I know we've just met, but really, I wouldn't have imagined that."
"Well, there you are. So what is your kind of scene?"
"I like the arts. I'm into plays and cultural things and I like to go for such events."
"Really? That's so cool! I love plays as well! My favorite theater group is Festival of Creative Arts. What's yours?"
"I love FCA as well. I think they are awesome and really funny. But I also like Phoenix and Heartstrings as well."
"I love this! I rarely have someone who I can talk to about that aspect of my life."
"I won't lie, right now I'm impressed. I would never have figured you for an arts person."
"Ha, I've even subscribed to an arts news letter that tells me what's happening every week in the arts world."
"That's really cool."
"Again, forgive the boldness, but may I have your number?"
Shyly smiling, he said, "Sure thing. You really are forthright."
I smiled back. "Not all the time. But I like you. I definitely will look you up sometime."
"Yeah, that would be lovely. Maybe we could go for a play or something."
"I would love that."

PLAYING FOOTSIE

2009-05-15T20:02:00.000+03:00

Playing footsie. That’s what we have been doing all this time. By footsie I mean toying around with one another and acting all coy. You know, like with your first crush, or like with that friend who’s not really a friend because you both know what you have going on is more than just friends? Ok, I’m rambling now.

So, as I was saying, we have being playing footsie with each other. I don’t remember when I first realized that we had become more than just friends. I think it was probably that day when we went for lunch at this strangely exotic restaurant. A friend of mine had referred it to me when I asked her where I could go for a different dining experience. “I’m so fed up with always eating fast food or Chinese food,” I said to her via e-mail. She responded with the suggestion that I try out Cosmic, a restaurant that dedicated itself to no particular cuisine, and was located in Parklands.

So on that Sunday that was what we did. In retrospect, I realize that the signs were all there: the casual brushing of hands, the slightly lingering looks, the silence of two people comfortable in each other’s presence. Anyway, at Cosmic we had the Chef’s special; a mélange of several meats and starches. The food was good, the ambience even better, and the conversation divine. We talked about everything and anything, and before we realized it, it was dark. Commitments await us early on a Monday morning so we had to leave.

We took a taxi, planning to head to my place first to drop me off then he would be dropped off after. The taxi had definitely seen better days, but at that hour and in that part of town, the beggars that we were could not be choosers. Getting me home, and eventually him, was laborious. The taxi stuttered and coughed, and lurching forward violently, it broke down, much to our frustration. Luckily for us we were close to a petrol station and so walked there, hand in hand, with the taxi driver in tow profusely apologizing to us. We eventually got another taxi, and made it home without any more incidents.

Our relationship continued on pretty much an even keel. We went on lunch dates and the occasional dinner, we visited each other on the regular, we attended concerts and other forms of social fora. Never once did I imagine mentioning how I felt. I did not want to ruin what had revealed itself to be the perfect friendship.

Up until yesterday.

So there I was last night lying on my bed, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate while listening to the soothing tones of Lira, afro-jazz goddess, belted out in her sultry voice. I put on my laptop, and connected to the Internet. As I checked my e-mails, a message popped up: “Jazzy would like to chat with you. Accept?” Jazzy was his online avatar and mine was Coco. I accepted happily.

Coco: So what’s up?
Jazzy: Nothing much… I was watching news.
Coco: Boring!!!! I’m listening to Lira now… she’s just so awesome. I can’t get enough of her.
Jazzy: I know!! Leme put it on the comp. Gimme a sec.

(Five minutes later)

Jazzy: Sorry, ma was talking to me.
Coco: No that’s cool. BTW Youtube Prelude to a kiss by Alicia Keys. I’M IN LOVE!!!!
Jazzy: LOL! Dramatic!!!
Coco: YA OF COURSE!!! That song is so beautiful. She also rocks.
Jazzy: Ok cool I’m looking for it.
Coco: Wish you were here… I’m in dire need of a massage… hint hint ;)
Jazzy: LOL why is it always me who’s supposed to be there to give you a massage?
Coco: Coz I’m the one always asking for one! Have you ever asked me?
Jazzy: Ok cool… but that will only lead to trouble.
Coco: What do you mean by trouble?
Jazzy: Nothing, just ignore that. I’m now listening to that song. It’s nice… really nice.
Coco: Stop changing the topic!!! Come on Mark what did you mean by that? I think you know me well enough to know that I will not let go until you explain.

(A short while later, which, to me, translated as an uncomfortable silence)

Coco: Well?
Jazzy: Gosh, don’t make a big deal out of it. I just meant that me giving you a massage would just put me in a tricky situation.
Coco: Tricky? What do you mean?
Jazzy: Jessica, stop playing dumb. You know what I mean.
Coco: No I do not. I wouldn’t be asking if I knew what you meant ok? Ok, I just don’t want to misunderstand you.
Jazzy: I think you know how much I like you… as in I like you more than a friend.
Coco: Uh huh…

(At this point in time, I was shocked because I couldn’t believe that we were having this conversation.)

Jazzy: Yeah.
Coco: How long have you felt this way?
Jazzy: A while now… Can we please change the subject?
Coco: No… So why didn’t you say anything to me?
Jazzy: What really would I tell you? You always looked at me as your really good friend.
Coco: How do you know that?
Jazzy: Well, if the opposite is true, why haven’t you said anything to me?
Coco: Because… ok, I understand where you are coming from. I also thought you considered me a close friend.
Jazzy: Uh huh…
Coco: Ok this is so weird… I can’t believe we are having this conversation.
Jazzy: Me too… I think some things are best explained face to face.
Coco: So you’ll expound on all these tomorrow?
Jazzy: Yes I will… I’m off to sleep now.
Coco: Have a good night and sweetest dreams… of me ;)
Jazzy: LOL you too… hugs and kisses!

I closed my eyes and smiled; shivering in delicious anticipation.

ALL ON MY BIG YELLOW BED SHEETS

2009-05-15T17:18:00.000+03:00

My big yellow bed sheets. Ok, to be totally honest, once upon a time they were my mother’s big yellow bed sheets. Now, they were my big, torn bed sheets with a hint of yellow. Nonetheless, if they could speak, they would weave tales like tapestries. Of my parents’ infidelity. Of how I lost my virginity on them. Of my twin sister’s promiscuity. Yawn. As I lay on my big yellow bed sheets.
Such minor details about life I ignored. I mean, what more could I possibly learn about unfaithfulness? Or difficult times? My father probably deserved whatever my mother brought his way. They never tired of telling us how we were conceived under the influence of cheap liquor and illicit brew. All on the big yellow sheets. He went and fucked around; she went and screwed around. After several hazy days of drinking, partying, and fucking and/or screwing, they would meet in the bedroom. Quick grope, fondle, kiss. It was over before it even began.
Tara. My twin sister. Smooth, flawless skin the color of cocoa. Clear eyes that were always questioning. She exuded incorruptibility until she opened her mouth. She could embarrass a truck driver with her language. Of course, being a child of my parents, she had picked up a thing or two about the art of seduction. She was a mistress in the game and played for keeps. She always told me, scornfully, that her way was the only way out for our kind. Poor big, yellow bed sheets, currently some hand-me-downs from beloved said parents.
I went to the council school nearby. School was my other world, my break from reality. Reality was absentee parents. Reality was alcohol, cheap perfume and sex. Reality was maturity before time. Reality was a bitch. When I was in school, I became a sixteen year old girl who was allowed to be a child. I had dreams and plans. I could pretend that I was functional. I could hope that one day I would be released from the bondage of my life.
Tom, my best friend, also went to the same school. He was as dysfunctional and as confused and disillusioned as I was. Tom did not know his mother. She upped and left when Tom was just but a toddler. His father was one of my mother’s regulars (probably my sister had been there too, I don’t know. And I didn’t care), which meant he was also rarely home before midnight.
Together we would dream big. We would detail a life that had big mansions and flashy cars. Maids at our beck and call. We would travel to see the world together. And when we would have children, they would love us as much as we loved them. They would want for nothing that our hands could work for and provide. Oh, what bliss life would be for us.
Everyday we would build our sand castles in the air, and every evening they would be torn down when we went back home to reality. But we did not give up. We would patiently reconstruct them the next day, trying so hard not to let the worries and cares of reality bog these castles down.
It was during the Christmas holidays. Holidays were a nightmare for me. It meant that there was no school. No time out from life. No peace and quiet. No hanging out with Tom everyday. Just Tina and her men. My father wouldn’t be home. My mother would be drunk and passed out.
Anyway it was during the Christmas holidays. Tom and I would meet in the afternoons outside our school gates. We would walk for kilometers just talking. And building. And planning. He would then walk me back home then head to his own. But not today. Today was different. Surprisingly there was no one home. I invited him in and offered him tea. We talked as if we were sparing words.
It happened so fast, yet I can detail every minute. A kiss here, touch me there. Everything we ever wanted to say, but couldn’t, flowed out of us in waves of innocence and inexperience. Innocence. Inexperience. The worry on my face. His reassuring words. And on my big yellow bed sheets, I found love.

One fine Sunday morning, I woke up and found my world dark

2009-05-04T21:02:00.000+03:00

WELCOME TO GOD’S TABERNACLE CHURCH OF SAINTS
SUNDAY SERVICE: 10.00 A.M.
FELLOWSHIP: FROM 2.00 P.M.
PRAYER SERVICES: TUESDAYS AND FRIDAYS FROM 6.00 P.M.

Around 11.30 a.m., Sunday:
"I know He's coming again..."
"Sooomeeedayyy, soometiiiime, IN THE END!"
"Everybody put your hands together for Jesus. He is coming soon! Sing with me: I know He's coming again..."

The song rose to a fevered pitch. Everybody was dancing and jumping, caught up in the fervor. Sweat tricked down each face and was immediately mopped up with an already soaked cloth. “Halleluyah to Jesus,” they sang. I put my hands up, motioning for the congregation to sit down.

"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to PRAISE HIM! He is holy and worthy; the one true God. We thank Him for the gift of life!"

There were cries of "Amen" and "Glory" from the congregation. I raised my hands again for silence.

"Right now I would like to welcome the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge."

Congregation rose to its feet, stomping and shouting, as the Reverend made his way to the pulpit. A man of God. Oh, how he was loved by all.

Somewhere around 1.30 p.m., Tuesday:
I walked into the offices of the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge. The Reverend had been my mentor for many years ever since my wayward teenage days. He befriended when no one else wanted to, and even helped me get back on track with my education and school. Now that I was almost graduating, I wanted to join his ministry and help him spread the Gospel as a missionary. With Becky.

Becky was the love of my life. She also had been there for me through thick and thin. I loved her and wanted to marry her soon. We had talked of nothing else the last few months.

The Reverend received me heartily and ushered me into his office. We sat down and chitchatted a bit about this and that, then

“Pastor, I love Becky and want to propose to her.”
“Becky? Wow. Are you serious?”
“Of course I am serious. I thought you knew the extent of my feelings for her?”
“Well, yes, but are you sure? She is a lovely lady, don’t get me wrong, but she did not strike me as wife material, at least not for you. She has always been a tad bit… free, if you know what I mean.”

2.16 p.m., walking home:
I didn’t know what he meant by that. Free? My Becky? What did he exactly mean? I reached for my house keys, but before I could open the door, it swung open.

“Hi baby,” Becky said, and reached out to hug me.
“Hi,” I responded wearily.

Becky had cooked me a late lunch. The food tasted like chalk. I was too preoccupied to notice that Becky was hovering nervously around me.

“Steve, I’m pregnant.”

His words flooded my mind. “…a bit free, if you know what I mean.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PREGNANT?” I yelled. “Whose?”

“What do you mean whose? I can’t believe you’d dare ask that question! And as for what I mean by pregnant, I have your child growing inside of me.”

“But we have never… Oh God we have!”

In a moment of weakness, we had done It. Becky had come over wearing some really nice looking shorts and we were fooling around. One thing led to another and here we are today.

“Are you sure that I am the father? Because, from what I hear, you are quite the popular girl!” The words escaped my mouth.

“You bastard!” Becky retaliated, anger creasing her face.

9.45 p.m.
“Hi Becky, it is Steve. Please call me and at least let me know you are home safe. I’m sorry. Please disregard my previous messages. Baby I love you and we can work this out.”

10.22 p.m.
“Becky I am really worried about you. You don’t have to talk to me just let me know that you are safe. SMS me, please.”

11.54 p.m.
“I love you and I am truly sorry.”

09.00 a.m. Wednesday
I walked into the offices of the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge. I had a load on my shoulders that I needed to unburden and I didn’t know who else to turn to.

“Pastor, I need to talk to you,” I said.
“Come on in Steve. You look haggard,” replied Rev.
“Yesterday, Becky and I had a fight. I don’t know what to do. I cannot reach her; she refuses to reply to any of my messages. I have no idea where she is. I am going mad with worry.” I stuttered.
“Steve, these things are normal. You just have to give her time to relax. You know how temperamental women are. By the way, I hope it wasn’t because of what I told you yesterday. It was confidential, you know.”
“Pastor, Becky is pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Becky? What do you mean? Oh no! Whose is it?”
“Well there was this one time we…”
“Don’t tell me there is a possibility that you are the father!”

I hung my head in shame. What else could I say in the face of such an accusation?

10.43 a.m.
“Please call me. Thank you.” Finally some communication from Becky! I hurriedly dialed her number and began speaking almost before she could answer her phone.

“Hi Becky where are you? I am so sorry about yesterday. I was just in shock and so much had happened that day. I can’t…”

“I am on my way to your place now,” were her only chilled words before she hung up.

05.30 p.m., Thursday
My life was a mess. Becky was still not talking to me. All she did was pick up her keys and a few personal items. No amount of pleading, begging or cajoling from me would make her even glance my way.
I had done it. It was official. I had ruined the best thing I had going on for me. And all for what?
I decided to seek solace from my Creator. He could fix my problems.

06.39 p.m.
Nothing. I felt nothing. Emptiness filled my every crevice. I had wept and cried to God, hoping that I would have answers there and then. My guess: I would have to wait a little more.
As I stood in the church courtyard mingling with fellow worshippers, I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two elders of the church, Mrs. Wanyoike and Rahab Wambui.
“I couldn’t believe it when my sister told me that he was the father!” said Mrs. Wanyoike.
“How can she be sure? I mean, I really don’t believe that he is capable of that!”
“She swears that it is him… she has never lied to me as far as I know...”

I couldn’t listen in anymore. What I had heard was enough.

09.36 p.m., at home:
Doubts began to fill my mind. Surely could all this be real?

10.00 a.m., Friday:
I picked up my phone and sent a really long message to Becky. “Dear Becky, I really would like to see you and explain some things. I am sorry again for what happened on Tuesday. I believe that you are carrying my child and that you have never done anything to compromise our relationship. Please forgive me. I believe I have some news that may be of interest to you and also kind of explain, though not excuse my behavior.”

She replied, “Ok. I will come over to your place in an hour.”

Great! At least we were making progress.

11.06 a.m.
Our greetings at the door were awkward. I reached out to hug her; she stretched out her hand to greet me. She took a seat and looked at me. I explained to her all that had transpired since Thursday as I paced up and down the sitting room.
Becky begun to speak. “I can see why he would call me loose. He approached me asking for sexual favors three times, and three times I rejected him. I could not confide in you because you trusted him so much.”

Around 11.30 a.m., Sunday:
"I know He's coming again..."
"Sooomeeedayyy, soometiiiime, IN THE END!"
"Everybody put your hands together for Jesus. He is coming soon! Sing with me: I know He's coming again..."

The song rose to a fevered pitch. Everybody was dancing and jumping, caught up in the fervor. Sweat tricked down each face and was immediately mopped up with an already soaked cloth. “Halleluyah to Jesus,” they sang. I put my hands up, motioning for the congregation to sit down.

"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to PRAISE HIM! He is holy and worthy; the one true God. We thank Him for the gift of life!"

There were cries of "Amen" and "Glory" from the congregation. I raised my hands again for silence.

"Right now I would like to welcome the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge."

Congregation rose to its feet, stomping and shouting, as the Reverend made his way to the pulpit. A man of God. Oh, how he was loved by all.

“But before he comes up, I would like to welcome Teresia back. She is the proud mother of a bouncing baby boy called Emmanuel. Teresia, why don’t you come up here we pray together?”

Teresia was Mrs. Wanyoike’s sister. As she made her way up to the pulpit, I called up several other members of the congregation onto the pulpit.

I began to speak. “See all this people are God’s children. They are His dedicated servants who would do anything for His ministry. But when one of us takes advantage of these innocent lambs, it becomes a sin. Is that not right, Reverend?” I asked turning to face him.

“You are Teresia’s baby’s father, aren’t you?”
“..Why… that’s preposterous! How dare you accuse me of something so unholy?”
“See, church,” I continued as if I had not been interrupted. “The Reverend has been soliciting for favors from all these people. He even tried to sleep with my Becky. Should any of then refuse, they somehow ‘fall from favor’ and are no longer valued members of this church.”
You could have heard a pin drop. The tension was palpable. The Reverend looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. Try as he might, no words left his mouth.

The true reason behind one's pursuit of wealth

2009-05-04T17:32:00.000+03:00

A story is told of a wealthy man who would take walks every day to a lake to meditate. There he noticed a certain fisherman who would leave after capturing four fish only. This puzzled the wealthy man so much that he decided to approach the fisherman and ask him why he would leave after capturing four fish.
The fisherman explained that he would sell two of the fish and then take the other two as his meal then sleep the rest of the day.
"But why wouldn't you want to fish for more?" asked the wealthy man.
"Why should I?" asked the fisherman.
"So that you can sell more!"
"What for?"
"Then you can buy better fishing equipment, then fish more and sell more, meaning that you make more!"
"Why would I want to make more?" inquired a puzzled fisherman.
"So you can build a big house and retire in peace and rest!" exclaimed an exasperated wealthy man.
"But I already rest without having to do all that!"

And then what?

2009-05-04T17:30:00.000+03:00

"Dear Madam,
We are sorry to inform you that you have not been selected to join this year's program in....."

My resolve dissolved into tears. I could not read anymore. My dream, shattered with one sentence. I wondered what did the person who typed out the letter think? Did he or she consider the effect that those words would have? Or did they have a template; a kind of standing order?
"Oh Mary, be a darling and print out for me 1000 rejection letters. Thanks, you are a sweetheart! Oh wait, they do have to be personalized don't they? Aw shucks! OK wait, let me get the list of those who made it in... should be easier for you don't you think? Be back in a sec."

Anyway what did it matter? I was not leaving to go to my dream school. I was stuck here. With Them. God, how I had envisioned this moment; obviously it was not going according to plan. I had played it all out.
"Dad, I have been accepted to do law in Harvard," would have been my opening statement.
True to form, my step-mother would have looked up at me coldly and said, "We cannot afford it dear." My father would have continued to hold the newspaper close to his face as if he was myopic.
This was meant to be the point in which I would have triumphantly retorted, "I do not need your money. I have a full scholarship that also caters for my living expenses." And to the question of my air ticket, I would have said, "Aunt Mary and a few others are willing to help me put together money for it."
I had seen it all. How I would have prepared to leave within the month. How I was finally free from their bondage. And how, sweet sweet victory, I would have shown them that I was capable of making it on my own and that I was not useless, after all.

How I missed mama. She with her sweet words of encouragement. Always telling me that the only other person better than me is myself. How she believed that I would amount to anything I put my mind to. "My darling the doctor," she would say with a half smile. "Or maybe a teacher. No wait, she'll be a pilot!" and I would giggle and argue with her, my childhood dreams safe in her. Mama. Disappeared without a trace one morning. I was twelve. Back from school expecting a hug and a hot meal from my mama. Nothing. Years went and still no sign of mama. It was as if she disappeared into thin air.

I was 16. Papa came home with Her. She hugged me and simpered, "She is so beautiful!" I can never forget the way her perfume smelt so pungent and clung onto me. Her nails. Red Talons. I hated her from the word go. Three years later, we bore battle scars of our incessant fighting. I had to leave.

Not anymore. "Nina, can you come downstairs and help me prepare the food." My step-mother yelling from the kitchen. I dried my eyes and walked out of the room, weak and ill-prepared for this battle.

It’s not goodbye but….

2009-05-04T17:29:00.000+03:00

Dear P,
how are you? How have you been? It's been a while since i wrote to you but that's because i was busy. How's life touring the world? I remember how much you wanted to go and see the world; i'm so glad you had the opportunity.
Mama's doing just fine. She got some new medication that calms her down whenever she has an anxiety attack. It hasn't been easy you know.
I'm doing fine. I'm back in school now. Classes are a bit harder than i expected but i'm not worried because i will be able to catch up in no time.
I miss you, P. I miss my best friend. I miss our time together. I miss being able to run to you whenever i had anything on my mind. Now i just bottle it all up because no one understands me like you did.
Do you remember our last night together? I do. It's etched in my brain never to be erased. Your soft skin, your kinky hair, your smile, your intense frown as you concentrated on something.
I loved how you touched me. I loved how you held me in your arms and told me you loved me.
Today i write this letter as my heart waves good bye to you. I'm glad to hear that you finally found love, even if it's in the arms of another man. Yes, that did shock me when you told me that you could never love a woman. But i guess that's life; you win some, you lose some.
I have to go now. Mama is calling me and Tina is screaming her lungs off. By the way, she looks just like you...

Love you forever,
N

Between that rock and a hard place

2009-05-04T17:23:00.000+03:00

Dear N,
Thank you for your letter. I was so glad to finally hear from you. Needless to say i was thrown off by your letter. Why didn't you tell me sooner? My dear, my love, that is why I'm there. I promised i would always be there.
Tina. I shed tears every time I think of you and our daughter. Is she as beautiful as you? Does she have your large eyes and dimpled smile? Oh what I would do to be there now.
Darling N I love you. I miss you too. You too have always been my best friend. It has been so hard being away from you. Everywhere I go I carry a memory just for you. I've always dreamt of a time we would see the world together. But, I guess, fate had a different plan for you and for me.
Do you know how it feels to love two people yet you can only belong to one? W makes me happy. He loves me for me and I love him. Yet you fill my dreams and occupy a place in my heart no one else will ever be able to fit into. I'm sorry if I seem to burden you with all these. You see you are the only one I can share this with. You are my only true friend and more...
I will see you in a couple of months. We sail home from in a week. I cannot wait to see you. I really would like for you to meet W. I told him all about you.... I hope you get along. I miss you.
Love,
P