Nyaruai

Photo Courtesy Growing up, I ruled my siblings with the same iron fist my parents ruled me with. I beat the daylights out of those two. I cannot recall a single point in my life where I was the cool elder sibling, but it would seem my sister has nestled into the position pretty well. Growing up further, I have carried this draconian madness through my life into my friendships and relationships, an aspect that has had me driving them both off a cliff into a ravine. In fact, if you squint hard enough on street view, you will see that ravine somewhere in the middle of Relationship County (because where else), you will see a spot full of relationships I have thrown there, after they cut me off, probably as a part of their new year’s resolution. They will then text back to get a retweet or their YouTube link that I will open accidentally in 6 months. Mostly I never really noticed it, because it would seem, like my concentration, during disagreements, I have the empathic span of a carr...

photo: courtesy Like most of you folks, I grew up a staunch Christian. A catholic to be precise. I remember my first catechist, a man, greying in faith, who would tell us stories of men who followed Christ like a shadow, eating ears of corn from people's farms.   That story stands out because I remember examining a maize cob to look for ears. There were none. Corny people those ones. The black men (yes, even my Jesus was a black man) on the charts used looked focused, as they followed around a man who could calm the sea and multiply fish. And another of a small boy who stole his father’s money and spent it all then ended up eating with pigs. He was so specific with the content of the pig food, every time I read that part in the parable I picture banana and potato peels. I love stories. I had a good storyteller. I was home. I never missed one class. One time, the catechist told us once to borrow 5/- to purchase a small learning aid, a book called Hii Ndio Imani Yetu. My mo...

The year is over. Well, almost. I can barely believe it. I clearly remember NYE like it was yesterday. December started juzi and next week is Christmas. How now? Well, I’m glad because this year has fulizad me a good one. Some parts of the year were nothing short of detrimental. Like a hunger games of sorts, without weapons and zero knowledge of the arena. I hit rock bottom, bypassed it and dug my way to the center of the earth. I had so many "moments". You the moment right? When you need things to spin this way and they’re pretty insistent on spinning the other way. When you're out of options. A situation where, when desperate times call for desperate measures, you feel free to be as desperate as humanly possible. Have you ever gotten lost inside your head? Because i have. Multiple times. How does that work out for you? How deep do you drown? Do you clutch at a straw or do you just let the abyss swallow you whole and drag you across the tide? How many times has it ...

Your eyes fly open at the sound of the alarm. That damn thing still makes your heart skip a beat, or two, even though you decided to move it into the living room to help you manage your chronic snoozelosis.  Its 5.30 in the morning, that time when the witches are going to sleep. Your beetroot eyes betray you’re drunken with sleep situation. Lazily turning over, you gaze at him in his sleep, wondering how he could dare sleep through that goddamn shrill. 'He looks so peaceful. “What tale is weaving inside there?”, you wonder out loud. You place a light kiss on his forehead and pull yourself out of bed. You hear him stir. 'So now he wakes up'. 'Mmhhh. Baby. Five more minutes' he says patting the sunken spot in the bed you just got off of. It’s tempting really, five more minutes and you’ll need to conjure the gods to work the Moses magic and separate traffic for you to scoot across town and make it to work on time.  He’s lucky it’s his day off, so five more minutes o...

Three things are guaranteed in life. 1. You will die. 2. As a girl, if you sleep in a tank top, when you wake up, one of your titties will be outside. 3. The pregnancy scare will make you religious.  In our African culture, a child is a blessing until it’s born out of wedlock. So I will try and put into detail what goes through the minds of ladies when they have a pregnancy scare. You know when they range the causes of cardiovascular complications, they should start with missing periods. Especially when you use one of those tracking apps, and it’s there screaming in some Armageddon looking color, PERIOD: 6DAYS LATE. You may be atheist or a heathen but you summon the Lord in all the Hebrew terms you can remember. Sijui Elohim, because you need a celestial warrior for this one. And Nissi and Shalom and Shammah and so on and so forth.  You take a blood oath to chastity if God agrees to take away this cup of suffering from you. It worked for Jesus, right? You rack your b...

My friend Shikoh is a mad woman, at least she likes to refer to herself as such. She tells me we should make noise when leaders steal our money, when they get pay rises before they work, and we should name and shame corruption in every shape and form it may manifest itself in. But if you know anything about what the president with a bird nest for hair called a shithole country, you know she will always have something to yell about. Probably until her last breath. And I commend her. Because sycophants see her as a nuisance. And small fish politicians hire people to send her headless chicken. But she still yells because she wants better. I figure in essence, that is all human beings want. Well, most human beings. Trump doesn’t. But sometimes, I look at the bigger picture and pardon my arrogance, I cannot help but think we don’t have problems. Okay, if you’ve ever travelled on those my town service pieces of metal, you see the problem. Heck, you’re paying 40/- to ride the problem daily...

Photo Courtesy: Pinterest There is this chicken at home. Ever since it was young, it has never really fit in. When it hatched its feathers were more like fur, too small and not what was normal. She was taking too long to grow and she was quickly left behind by her peers. It came to a point where she was too fragile to even move. You think a chickens bones can’t get any hollower. So we put her in a cushioned box in the kitchen where a light bulb hung always for warmth and light. We fed her fresh milk and yoghurt and cooked rice. We had eye drops for her. She got better, but she couldn’t walk straight. She leans on one side, stumbling more than walking.  I don’t even think its little brain works properly and if you observe it well, its eyesight isn’t as useful either. Most of the other chicken that hatched together with her are either stew or trade history. No one will eat her (is it okay if I use it, rather than her? yes? ok) So no one will eat her because we don’t want to cat...