Daddy’s Little Girl

A friend of mine asked me to post this. Its not every day that a man will want to express himself so I moved briskly aside and let him do his thing.

Here is from Kenneth Mugambi..

daddy's little girl 1Every time I touched your mama’s belly you would kick so hard. For me, that’s when I realized the bond between us would be strong. When you came into this world and I held u in my arms, I couldn’t help but shed tears of joy. Hearing you cry for attention each and every minute was sweet as music to my ears.

When you took your 1st baby steps I knew for sure my baby had grown up! Your 1st words were ‘baba’ and your mum was not so happy about this. Holding you in my arms and watching you close your eyes and sleep was an amazing feeling. Then came the day you wore your 1st school uniform. It was a special day for all of us and you were so happy and excited to be joining school though you cried the whole day!

I miss the days we used to play ‘Castle’ and ‘The princess and prince charming’. The small tea parties and showing you how to take care of Amy your coveted doll. Sitting on the couch and watching you with Barbie is still vivid in my mind just like the lingering memory of you helping me prepare dinner for mum and you getting all messed up always puts a smile on my face.

You finally became a teenager and things changed quite a lot. You felt all grown up and wanted to be treated as one. You became rebellious acting all defensive…always felt your mum and I didn’t understand you. Though most of the time you were in the wrong I tried talking to you but u got all the more unruly by the day.

Then came the small boys who would ask you out. This part caught me off guard, as I had never been ready to let you fly. I felt that they wanted to spoil my precious baby girl and I constantly battled violent thoughts. Honestly, I felt like executing them with my shotgun but we sat you down and had a good talk about HIV/Aids, drugs and sex.

It was one of my most uncomfortable times, but heck! It was uncomfortable to all of us anyway! Still, it was the right thing to do and you were respectful enough to let it be. You seemed to know how much we cared for you and listened to us with intent, promising no disappointments. College was around the corner and for once my little girl was little no more. You had to move away from town…be away from us for a whole school period! Holidays were more or less the one thing your mother and I always longed for.

One day, you made me face the most inevitable thing every man with a daughter has to come to terms to. You brought him home and said he was your fiancé. You were talking about a wedding and marriage. daddy's girl 2My jaw dropped and in your exhilaration, you hardly noticed you’re your mama was happy for you. I wanted t be happy too…But right after I had taken care of the bloke you dragged home. Your mum was so excited as I was tried helplessly to find my gun and send someone to the afterlife I knew you are all grown up and it was time for me to accept it. I had a lot of lessons to learn. Oh, please forgive me as I made his evening a nightmare but I had to make sure my baby girl would be in safe hands. If he if he hurts you I’m sure as hell going to kill him.

You ultimately graduated and today seeing you in that wedding dressing perfect replication of your mother. My baby girl now is surely grown up. To the world, you have become a woman but to me you will always be daddy’s little girl.

I cry for a little Girl- Cindy

Friends I need your counsel. I sent this letter to a man and his mistress. This is not something I would do as we grow up and let bad habits go. But I have been frustrated for a while now and I need your wise words as I have asked them to pop here and hear what you have to say. I have changed their names for purposes of anonymity.
It starts,

All God’s children have a chance to better people. I hope this letter finds you all well. I know you both know me, but hardly. Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Fanne Mwambi. I am an administrator and researcher in a Public Relations firm, some Radio presenters like calling me a HR consultant when I do radio interviews for them. I am also a writer with a local newspaper. Guess what I write about marriage and relationships! I am also a blogger and very soon will be an entrepreneur. In all these I always ask God not to let me forget where I have come from and what is most important in my life; my husband and two daughters.

I am a relationship therapist enthusiast and I coach young marriages and relationships. Its funny that God had to bring you wife and child to us before you two completely destroyed them. Brief history…I had an experience with men who had a lot of money… but not easy money like you Mr. This was money they worked very hard for. My little story is a bit different but I hope you can pick up some lessons. The main difference, Shirleen*, was I never had men who belonged to other women. That is being greedy, you know. Still it was not easy. I was picked from college every day and dropped home. I bought clothes from Amsterdam and the Emirates (Well still import stuff but now with my own money!) I never bought a phone in a local shop in Kenya. But when I was in too deep, true colours came out. Shirleen* this is for you. These men will never work hard to get rich only to spend it all on you. Oh no darling. They have skills they use to make sure they get the cheapest sex from you. It is called the horse and carrot game. The horse will never get the carrot…but it will keep following the promise to get it. I dated several men before Justin and all were the same. They saw women as objects, trophies, weaklings, less human and punching bags. So I vowed to be an independent woman and to get a man who would like to work hard with me and grow rich with me. I found him and we have always loved each other in poverty and in riches. We respect each other and never let anyone or anything come between us especially money. Oh that’s unless you kill him and take all the money, which is what many materialistic women like you do anyway.
mistress
Tim*, when we got a call to help you settle in Nairobi, we were scared, because you were a stranger. But we didn’t say no. We welcomed you into our home, and tried to make you comfortable. We wanted you to get the best experience in Nairobi so you don’t suffer here. Truly if you were a good man, you would have let us go immediately if you knew you would bring us such sadness to our family. Instead you thought since my husband was jobless, maybe he was desperate. So you pretended to help, even promised him heaven…. What you didn’t know is we live in Nairobi and here there are no free things. Slowly we realized you were just a big liar. Still my husband volunteered to help you and planned to leave as soon as you were ok. The kind of business you want to do wants a very honest person. Not a liar. I will tell you for free that suppliers can mess you up if you lie. Anyway. Aside from that you told very many lies, blaming my husband for the many mistakes you made. Yet you said you trusted him. I was shocked when your wife asked my husband why he recommended a fake lawyer. My husband is the most respectful, loyal and honest man I know and for you to taint his name like that is not only shaming but also disrespectful.

Despite your bad treatment we kept the respect. Jesus! it breaks my heart that a woman can do this to a fellow woman. How foolish can anyone be to allow a man to treat her with such disrespect? If I were someone’s mpango wa kando and the most evil woman on earth, I would never sleep in a matrimonial bed. If this man has so much money then he can get me my own place. Its a curse to yourself, your family. It’s a curse to your culture! But no! Shirleen* has no morals she accepts Tim* to treat her like trash, sneaking into the house and sleeping in another woman’s bed. Hahahaha! You look funny sneaking around asking the cleaners for updates around the house.

THIS WAS NONE OF MY BUSINESS until I met young Cindy*, a very beautiful but disturbed girl. She likes it when I call her Baby Girl. She has lost trust in people because she is scared the people she cares for will leave her. Shirleen*, if you see this little girl, you will understand what I am saying because one day you and I were just like her, looking for people to trust. Slowly she will grow up to hate men. One day she will know her father does not value a woman and if she tries to have a relationship with a man, that man will treat her the same way her mother has been treated. When I saw this coming, I made it my business.

I thought about going to children’s court and sue this man who talks so much of God and treats the mother of his child so badly. I realized the charges are many, Abandonment, neglect, … and the mother of all charges is getting this young mother pregnant while she is underage. Cindy’s mom knew all this. By the way just because she keeps quiet a lot doesn’t mean she is stupid. This woman is intelligent and she is going places. Anyway the idea to sue will work if she wants to sue, but that is her decision not mine.
You two have a history, and a very sad one. Tim*, I am still trying to imagine how you sleep at night. How do you have peace when the only person who was with you when you were nothing, is away from you? Many people who brag the way you do have not gone through problems. But you Tim* have no excuse. And you can do better than that. I told Cindy’s mom we should all go for a vacation, the four of us; she and you…Justin and I for a romantic vacation. This is usually the first step to making a relationship work… but she told me no, that Tim* is no longer the poor man she fell in love with. Saying I love you is a problem. Tim*, how do you love her when you tell her not to follow you once she is in Nairobi? Why do you call someone your wife and you are not a husband to her? You ask her to respect you when you don’t respect her? I know many men have mpango wa kandos, but you are the 1st one to bring this mpango into your wife’s house. That is just wrong. Goodness? What kind of a heart do you have? You act like you have been bewitched! People say ‘Kukaliwa chapatti’ ama? Shirleen*? Have you? If yes then one day hio dawa itaisha tu.

I pray one day when your eyes open, because they will. And when you lose all your money, because you will… (You know God is a jealous God…he has seen what you are when he gives you money so he will take it away and your wife will have a chance to be rich) I pray when this time comes you will not regret losing the people who are supposed to be number 1 in your heart.

Can you fight with some love, please?

We fight, I fight, Jesus! I curse! we almost want to stab each other at some point. We hate those we love the most because we love them that much. However there are things, a many that we forget. Fights in relationships are inevitable. Fights, they say are healthy, in fact, the more you fight, the more you understand each other. The more you fight, the better you get when you make up! I am struggling to keep the thought off the next thing that rhythmically comes to mind…the more you fight, the better you get at it! Oh my, that’s evil! This is however not how we feel in that instance when a fight starts. Its systematic, often kicks off with a stupid word or grunt that we usually regret to have said later…that one cotton-picking word that just sets the whole place ablaze. (Forgive me, I got some rub-off from my favourite writer) From what I know and have seen in the news , with my neighbours and with my husband, it always starts with a bad mood followed by a wistful feeling to quarrel.

Mr. and Mrs. Dog

This is how it starts with us, and exactly how it started at my neighbours’ despite frantic efforts to talk in low tones. I contemplated singing a loud misplaced song, one kind of zilizopendwa that they like playing so loudly on weekends making us unwillingly nod rhythmically to the tunes even when our minds want out of the tunes. couple-fightmy intention would probably be in an effort to make them realize that whatever it is may not really be worth it. Still, I remembered how that wistful feeling must pass before any reasonable thoughts are reached. So I listened. “Woman, did you just call me a dog? Me; your husband? A dog?” the man sluggishly spoke. Clearly he had had enough to make his tongue heavy. Wow, that was wrong, I thought. She didn’t feel wrong though, “ You come in here all drunk at this time of the night and won’t let me sleep! Yet I will leave you here snoring like a train with a broken engine in the morning!” Ouch! I thought. She wasn’t making this any better. The guy, drunk and sloppy seemed to struggle to get his balance, which he lost anyway and hit something, that went sprawling to the floor. “You called me what?” he muttered clearly struggling to focus on the latter insult. He would deal with the train one later.

Socks and matchboxes

The dog punched his wife somewhere near her mouth, as the next words that came out of her were, “Oh, what’s wrong with you?” But they sounded more like Oh! hats hang ith yu! A struggle ensued and the dog proved himself stronger than Mrs. Dog who eventually conformed into begging him to calm down so they don’t let the neighbours hear them. We heard from the part where you called him a dog! I was tempted to say, instead I checked to make sure al my girls, Viv, included were not party to my eavesdropping. As I did so, I couldn’t help but think of all the tiny things that have made Justin and I fight almost to hell and back; As a smoker, he would steal my matchboxes, use them and place them in places he would not remember later(in his pocket, on the TV counter, in his other pocket or on my dresser). He still throws his socks and misses the laundry basket… and sometimes even when he cant tell me a juicy story with all the juice in it I cause fire, but a dog? No, I would never call him that.

My dad versus my husband…

Justin and I first met about nine years ago, in an ICDL Class. ICDL simply means international Computer Driving License. He asked me out and I said no. I said no because I preferred a man that was cut out just like my father. Just how would I date a man that never ironed his shirts as well as my father did or make his trousers neat with the sharp edge sharp enough to slaughter a careless fly. Just how would he stand before my father, to his awe and declare his love for me? Any man who was to face my father had to be, well, my father! But Justin wasn’t. he didn’t mind wearing a creased shirt or hanging out in casual slacks. The only thing he could not stand was hair on his head and face. Hair he had grown and bred since his teen-hood and had had enough of.

My father might as well have worked in KDF, The Armed Forces or somewhere therein. He was so particular about hygiene, grooming and keeping time, and he was and still is a perfectionist. As his children, we could not escape these habits rubbing off on us. We all learnt to brush our shoes…and his to a shine, brighter than the adverts bragging oh, so confidently on TV. He used to be a jack of all trades; aside from being the official mosquito repellant in the homestead, (forget the, ointments,jellies or nets), he could effortlessly, change the long fluorescent bulbs into shorter ones and he fixed the radio and TV when the roaches had made them homely. dad hubbyThis man, my dad could fix a broken sink, and the drainage and mend wooden joints. He was The Father…the Man, the super man, and the icon of the home. He taught us to depend on only him. We almost worshiped him! He fixed watches, goodness! He fixed everything! So when I met a man who wouldn’t mind walking around with a pair of creased jeans trousers, could go swimming in the evening of any day, sleep with one arm availed to lucky mosquitoes to feast on, and could chain smoke if the day allowed it, I was pretty sure my father would shake his head till it snapped and fell off, in disapproval. Justin was a free man. He was free and in his free-ness, he asked a naïve me out for a drink. I tried to picture myself in his company…and my father smiling blessings down on me. That picture just didn’t work.

Five years on

I would get annoyed when after waiting patiently for the man of the house to do it, I would have to kill the night suckers myself. I loathed having to balance on the kitchen counter to fix the bulb, and even worse when he would sleep outside the net, feeling all claustrophobic . I wondered what kind of a man he was. I wondered what kind of a man his father was not to teach him what my father taught me! What then would we refer to as protective, and the head? I honestly thought the head could cut, mend, fix, repair, calm down and well, beat up thugs! This man my father created in my head was bigger than superman. God would probably call him brother. But the man I met and married was a smaller man; a normal man. A man who would let me work and split the house costs equally. He won’t stop me from carrying our child through while he holds the door. This man weirdly treats me as an equal. Part of me likes that he puts me that high on a pedestal… the other me wishes he would take care of everything and have me worry about the next clinic day for my child, and what snack to pack in Pesh’s school bag. This man I married is so different from my father, and it surprises me how I have coped with him since I started dating him, five years ago.fay 5

I Am At My Best Now

Fay 1Family is the most important aspect of my life. I am not sure it’s the same for every woman I know, especially those who wouldn’t mind letting off their steams on anyone their tired gazes fall on after a hard day at work. I know of many who easily put their work ahead of their family and let everyone but their bosses wait. I know of many who beat up their kids for being creative… I know I almost did that to young Pesh for being a little mouthy pipsqueak. When she told me her teacher has a hard time doing the same I decided that was enough punishment already. Then there are those who let young pre-school kids cross the road alone. I still try to get my mind around that…and why in the name of cold seasons do those kids wear shorts that look like they did a lot of sitting, squirming, and rubbing…pairing them up with no cardigans?

Now there are those of us who misplaced their list of priorities. They let their husbands ogle at other women’s thighs in night clubs because they are NOT interesting anymore. I wish to believe I am a good family woman, and a great, no awesome employee. See, the beauty of being a rocking, married woman is that I get to enjoy life more and pretty freely too!. Being a mother automatically signs me that free ticket that allows me to perform motherly duties to everyone I meet. Pardon me if I use saliva to clean your eyes if you didn’t clean them well.. pardon me for your white heads and unfixed collars! I can easily tell a man he is looking smashin without looking like a flirt. If he dares to eye me, I will easily add that lady he wishes to please had better notice that and fix myself at the witness stand!. I can tell funny jokes and really be myself around my colleagues without the fear of making an impression! In fact, people will be curious as to who really I am; the other side of me… the side that drove my husband wild enough to marry me. I say wild because the other side of me is nothing short of non-serious business. Anyone who knows me in my hey days will agree…I loved to party, drink, dress up and dance….lots of ragga and hip hop dancing…and, whether its great or not, the belief that someone (Justin) actually liked that me teases my ego
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I am not trying to instigate the idea of marriage into anyone’s heads. I am also not trying to tell you how much single-ness rids you of the full joy in life…goodness I am getting carried away here. I am not trying (Despite my failed efforts) to show you that I am at my happiest at this stage in my life. I am not saying loving one man and knowing the ring he wears bears my name on it, or knowing I have a boss who is a family man and understands when family calls have to be responded to. All I am saying is I am inciting, not you, but the little charming thought in your head. I am hoping it turns into the angel that sits on your shoulder and tells you that that is the ultimate purpose of life. To have a family that you see grow, run home to, go out with, sing in the car with, take pictures and spend time with. For we work to live and not the other way around. Your family should smile when you are home to compensate the time you are away working.
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I have a purpose to live now, I know what I am working for, It feels incredibly good to have someone I can entrust to make me some microwave tea when I am lazy or take me out for dinner when we feel the need to, I have someone who will call me endlessly if I am not home, not to quarrel, but with worry over my safety. I have a child who will steal chocolate from mommy’s bag when we take her to school and eat my food in the belief that ‘what is mom’s is mine’. A baby who drools on my Tee-shirt or falls asleep and lets go of the nyonyo, falling away as the milk hoses all over her face. I am happier knowing I am valued and important, in the eyes of those who matter most. I am happier when my parents talk to me as a friend or colleague rather than as their child. I am a happily married woman.

A stranger who belongs

It felt as though someone we would easily regard to as a friend of a friend’s friend had died. Someone we knew but never quite interracted with. For someone like our house help who hardly spoke a word, it was very easy to forget her very existence. We would mourn as quietly as her character is and move on as quickly as we can. Just before this would happen I had to make sure my family was doing OK. If I was not on call with my husband, I was text chatting with him. I do not remember a time I have ever been so happy to have him off work. He was that gasp of fresh air. He survived the full day at home with Pesh and Raine and by surviving I mean forest- like surviving. If he didn’t trip on himself as he did it then it beats sanity off me. The dishes from their lunch were all over the kitchen counter, scrumbling for space amidst those they had used for breakfast. Used baby bottles lay all over the house, and so did Pesh’s sweaters and T-shirts that she kept changing without her father’s notice.
I-Am-A-Stranger
I walked into the house, too exhausted already and placed my bag on the little space I could save on the couch. With quick hellos to everyone, even the sleepy baby Raine, I grabbed the apron and started clearing the dish mountain Justin had built. I placed Pesh’s bathing water to boil as I went along, pulling in all my mutitasking skills together. The dishes were almost done when I noticed a fliker on my phone. Vivianne had not called me by one as I had instructed and I had decided against looking for her. The number calling was strange and disconnected before I could read the whole of it. Someone beeping…; that could only have been one person; the one person who was probably using another phone to let me know she was looking for me. I called back. I always do to get the annoying beeper off my dial zone.

Good cop, bad cop
“Are you home?” it was Vivianne’s faint voice. I responded positively and she went on to ask if Pesh’s dad had changed his mind on her coming back. That pleasantly surprised me. I wore a big smug on my face and felt like a whale that just spotted a fat swimmer’s behind. So she actually wanted to come back! She knew we were all on the verge of kicking her out but she still wanted to come. Funny how one can decide to walk through burning flames. Beats the Jesus out of me! I asked her to come. Justin played bad cop and me, the good one. We planned on our words and even our intro. We practised to Pesh’s confusion and knew how we were meant to react. By the time she walked through the door, we were set at the right spots wearing glum yet serious looks…and when she came, we were prepared to have her pack her bags and leave. At the same time, we were ready to keep her if she stood to herself. We had to be tough; if we were to let her back in. For whatever reason, all Viv did was cry and insist that she was not ready to get married. Pesh sat there wailing with every tear that vivianne let off. She wanted us to stop talking that way to her; she wanted us to stop pointing fingers; she wanted us to speak in a language she would understand well. We didn’t change language but we stopped the argument and let Vivianne back in. However, a challenge rested on our shoulders…this was just a sign to get ready for her final exit.

Love your wife wholy; not only in need

To all chauvinists out there, and all those who are not sure if they are or not…this is to you. It’s very sad to meet a grown up man, surprisingly not yet extinct, who thinks so lowly of women. Or that fool who treats women like crap and goes on to shower their mothers and sisters with love. Honestly, how ignorant can one be? When women fight for equal rights, do not think we seek them because we have air between our ears. It’s because women feel the pressure bestowed on men, who they so dearly love. As a result they decide to leave their nests, hire someone to watch their babies so that they can go out to look for money to cushion their men from financial distress.

AS I write this, I wish to thank my husband for letting me go to work while he stayed home with both our daughters, on a day when our house girl was away, I especially commend him for the exceptional job he did with our three month old Raine. Justin, I am still speechless.

For those still wearing iron masks, remember that it was initially your sole duty to be a provider. If you still beat up your chest and claiming that your woman is just a woman and nothing more, then you are not deserving of a wife, or a female companion for that matter; not in the 21st century. This is unless you give her everything she can ever ask for and never getting tired of her asking them of you. Most men i know quickly get tired of this and can easily resolve to violence to ease their frustrations.

Bear a child.
For those men who do not know this, if you are inflicted by half the pain a woman goes through during labour and the delivery of your child, you will barely be alive. Now, this woman agrees to have your child, ( I believe it’s a choice we make to bear them right?) while you sit somewhere in a bar with friends being rewarded for enjoying the child- making time and hardly looking after your wife while she was expectant…oh wait! You probably were the one who frustrated her all the way to the delivery room! Insisting that she cooks without help from the house help( with valid reasons), letting her go for clinic check ups on her own, dismissing her cravings…oh sure, you know exactly what it is you do. After your child comes, not in a million years will you be caught, not even ‘kwa camera ya mbao’ changing the baby’s diapers or giving him a bath. You will sit at a corner and watch angrily as your young child takes over your territory. Later when your wife is exhausted and suffering a back pain for the work she did without your help, you go on and ask for service.

Working Mama
Those with working wives, you easily forget that your wife is equally tired ate the end of each day yet you expect her to be home by 5 and cook in time for your arrival. Some employers are fed up with you when you stop your wives from attending meetings outside office or from going on team-building activities. You are a pain in their butts. You doubt your wife’s ability to be her best at work and to make her remain just a woman; you make unrealistic demands and insult her intelligence. You forget this woman is your greatest defender; the only one person who will stick with your should you lose your job. You think you are doing your woman a favour when you propose to her? Think again. Once married, you are the ones who gain the prestigious vitambis while you insult her distorted body shape after baby number one. You are the one who will sit and read the morning dailies while she runs around like a headless chicken trying to make you and your babies comfortable. Just because you are the head of the house, it does not mean the necklace around your neck is not noticeable. Take good care of your wife, support her and help her with the babies and your house when she is overwhelmed. You will not only be rewarded by long life, you will also be a happy man, being rewarded constantly for having a heart big enough to share. To those women with great husbands, reward them with as much as you can, let them be a motivation to love them everyday, take care of their every need. Let us not take for granted what God put beside us, lest you are forced to learn the hard way that you only know the value of something once it’s gone. Like Jesus said, “Now go ye and do good” Happy Easter

BeTrue To Yourself

Marriage and relationships…my favourite topics of all times; my baby projects; wait, that sounds off. Let’s just put it this way. These two are part of a passion I have to improve in life. They are the only reason I wish I was not born in Africa and much less amongst polygamous and or chauvinistic men. The reason why I wish my fellow women would be as God created us to be. This world has become rotten and patchy, like an old coat all tattered and torn. We are merely surviving in it. Men are perfecting the art of cheating, while women have become worse than men…and the funny thing is that we are constantly blaming each other for our picked up habits. You may hate me after this but in my opinion; we need to ask God to send Jesus back for some briefing before his second return… I mean it. That may just be our only hope.
We women have become greedy. We want everything, sorry if you are my friend and this is who you are… surely if we are feathers of the same bird, then you must agree with me that we have totally lost it. Our men…ok not in first persona…men and women alike have lost their interest in marrying for love. Its as though to become competent for love, one must have a reputable job, or stable no, not stable but blue chip business (Is there anything like that even?) a car, and all things shiny. Other women have opted to seek these material things for themselves and end up showing their men spite. Even the Bible itself condemns such a woman. It is better for a woman to be alone than to mistreat her man. Note, I mean her man, not any bloke out there. I am not giving men power to walk all over women here. I am trying to be as fair and as just as possible. In the same way we say every teardrop a woman sheds because of a man is collected somewhere, what should we say of a woman who makes a man…a whole man strong and built, hurt. Is it not a curse? Keep reading.
If you find a person who in all ways loves you truly, no matter their faults, as long as their love is pure and true, and evident to you and you trample over it, then you are less what God intended you to be. Note I am trying hard not to use the word inhuman. Almost everyday I meet great people seeking great relationships, others are trapped in meaningless ones, struggling to make them their dream…it’s as useless as pumping a sack. If only the good could meet their counterparts and live happily ever after. If only this happily ever after existed.
Just yesterday, our MPs passed the bill to allow having more than one wife without consulting their spouses… and it is proudly announced on air, tabling silly statements and beating their chests quoting The Old Testament that Jesus discarded himself. Sorry if I sound preachy, I am just saddened at where we are headed. If men were to marry, they would without letting us know anyway, whether we consent or not, but why allow it despite it being a sin…why not just sin alone and be condemned on your own? And we claim to be a Christian country. Lord, help us. This brings a bad taste to my mouth.
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To those of us doing a super great job at being the better person, kudos, and May you always find favour wherever you go. It’s good being selfless. It’s even better to do something with your own accord; with no supervision. If you love your wife as you do the church, then stick to one church and have a stand. If you love your man, don’t punish him. Give your best like there is no tomorrow. Even if you get hurt, it should feel good that you gave your best while you were at it. Do not revenge, do not pay evil with evil lest you end up losing yourself and who you were meant to be. Being mean and nasty or tough does not make you respected or even attractive…being your true self; the one you were intended to be is what really matters in the end. Think about it.

How I tell she loves me…

I know she loves me, this girl. Even when she may not say it, I know she loves me with her life and would do anything for me…oh, and her daddy too! In her eyes we rock and yes, we know it. This is how.

She throws tantrums
Whenever she wants to accompany us somewhere or when she insists that I stay home rather than go to work; she may hide my shoes or steal my office keys from my bag to keep me chasing her around. Or she may just break down or go to a corner and sulk. Sometimes, she wants me to be the one to take her to school and pick her up, yet I really can’t! This only means that she always wants me around. My company means a lot to her and being around her is reassuring to her.

She imitates me
Time back, she would pick up the remote and start walking around pretending to be on call. “Are you serious?” she would ask, then stop abruptly, bite her lip and think really hard. Nowadays, she picks my phone, calls her cousins or her daddy and cuddle on the couch pulling her feet in a cross bow way. She then picks up my pen and scribble something and at some point, hold the mouth piece and whisper instructions to me then continue with the call. She wears my shoes, picks up my bag and instructs Vivianne to take good care of me till she is back. She will promise to buy me goodies if I am a good that day and then head high and nose in the air, she will walk out. Five words…I am her role model.
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She protects me
She watches with a hawk’s eye to see if anyone will harm me; even when I play with her daddy and I seem to whine, she interjects and confirms if we need to get grass sticks and beat up daddy… (She knows daddy can take it all; he is superman!) She offers to say sorry when she sees me sad and even hugs and comforts me when I get a graze on my hand…she will ask about it till its healed and she will tell anyone who cares to listen how mommy got hurt…then force them to tell her mommy sorry!

She hurts me with words
“You are not nice, mama!” she will say, “I will go away with my daddy and we will leave you!” Sometimes, she will say I am not a member of her family anymore or that I am not her mommy anymore… and that she will call thieves on me! She will find ways to get the words to pierce my heart and break it but this is because she loves me and she doesn’t like that sometimes her bubble gets burst with disappointments.

She gives me presents
When going to church, she will always run to her favorite tree along the way and pick lots of flowers. She will then arrange them in my hair and still keep some for herself. She shares her snacks with me and promises to buy me nice stuff when she gets money one day. I know she means it and if she could gift me, she truly would.

When I come home from work each day, she will jump all over me, excited to see me, then sit on my lap and show me all the wounds on her body, new and dried. After complaining that I never gave her a hug when I left in the morning, which I would have done except she was still asleep, she would then check behind my ears and under my nails for dirt and try to cut my long nails. I love my little girl and I love that I rock her world so much. Share your bit too if you believe your child loves you crazily.

He quits, I step up…Thumb rule

If you are the kind of person who would marry someone mainly because of what they have or what they do for a living, then you should read this…twice even, because chances are that this part of life will test you…like a cheetah would pounce on an antelope’s ass if it misses the neck; it will catch up with you and your commitment to one another will surely be tested. Trust me, it happened to my mother, nineteen years after she and my father got married, luckily we cannot quite prove if she could have walked out if it had happened sooner…gladly, we shall never tell.

quit

Life always seems easy when everything is smooth and easy. It all seems like all you need is to plan and live; but it’s never really been that smooth. If you and your spouse work for the government, then the security of your employment in the city is definitely on the high and your main financial concerns would be when you are getting paid and how to earn more; worst case scenario would be termination of employments which hardly anyone prepares for. In the private sector where most of us fall under it is different. One has no idea how long your job will last or how soon you could find one.

So what happens when your spouse says he wants to quit work? my husband came home one day and said he had had enough. He worked for a middle class company that underpaid and overworked…well, don’t we all love to use that statement! It was hard to understand him. I mean, as the head of the house, how would he expect us to live just because he didn’t feel like working anymore? I didn’t take it well and instead told him he had no choice but to push on. “You know we need the money,” was my stern warning and each day I told him that, he grew pale and dull, losing his motivation for life and hardly enjoying anything. He soon was mostly staying in the house and would tell me to visit friends alone or with Pesh. When I insisted that he comes along, he would but was the most boring company I ever had. Sadly, I didn’t realize what had instigated the change and resolved to believe I just had a super quiet hubby stuck with me till the end of time.

He came home one day his facing hanging barely above his shoes. “I hate my job; I hate my life and I hate the career path I chose. Mine is the worst industry I ever chose” were the words that came out of his mouth. Mine dropped in awe too. I asked what had happened and he gave me the same reasons he had before. This time however, he seemed overwhelmed and broken. It was as though he was condemned to live a damned life simply because he was married and had a family. Crap! it seemed like he was being punished for having a family! I was overwhelmed with sadness and even as he looked on in despair, I could not help but wish to take it all away. “Quit.” I told him. “Come home to me. Stay home, rest and let’s forget that sad excuse of a job.” He seemed more afraid than impressed. “What about…” “Forget the money. We are just letting one leg go,” I calmed him down. “It doesn’t mean, that if we limp we will not move; we will just be slow but moving either way,” he smiled, for the first time in a long while and seeing the hope in his eyes once more was enough to believe we would survive.

Sometimes, you just need to decide to always put your spouse first. Its always more about what money does or doesn’t do and not just its presence.For me, I chose to have my husband with me and happy rather than working and miserable. It was not a tough decision to make as we are joined at the hip. Just because we limp doesn’t make us stagnant.

Stick to your marriage- Both-Feet-In

Welcome to the 21st century; the times when we are liberal as we call it. We welcome evil deeds and society accepts pretty much anything and everything we goad. Married women and men cheat openly; in fact, they use their wedding bands to be a magnet for the mpango wa kando, promising no strings are truly attached. In-laws still want to be in command of marriages and go as far as ganging up to ‘Chase away the evil wife and bring in the nice one’. They still will stab you in the back and refuse to speak to you if you will not listen to their proposals. Wives are refusing to get pregnant for fear that their marriage may not last; and some are still foolishly fighting with their in-laws. Young men are still chasing me on Facebook asking me to stop pretending to be faithful to my husband…haha. Its funny the only thing that remains consecrated is the little dream of making a home and even this lies entangled in libel, mistrust, infidelity and selfishness.

I have tried to sit and have conversations with different types of people and very few do not annoy me. I go back home with more questions than answers and wonder what exactly happened to us. Where are our forefathers? Is God watching and taking in our thoughts and actions politely? Will he finally lose his patience and send angels to do away with us? We do not fear laws or even God anymore. We beat our chests and praise our egos, we declare ourselves the most intelligent of all yet when we give ourselves a chance to see what we really are like through the eyes of others, we will realise we are wasting the beautiful gift of life God gave us.

Men love independent women…but too much independence can render them useless to a woman. God was not being unfair when he said we women should be submissive; being the neck of the house, it is your duty to balance the body being your family. Your husband needs you to support him, not be his critic. You need to reassure your man that you will always be there for him no matter what happens. You may be the supporter of the brains, but that does not mean the neck has no neurons or nerves. As the wife, you need to push the brain to where the body is comfortable. Turn the head to better budgeting and planning finances, to seeing new opportunities, to identifying bad friends and influences, to letting your husband take all the credit for it. Yes, that is the beginning of being unselfish.

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Did it ever occur to you than when you praise your husband he will praise you back? Think about it. You build a house together; he pays all the money but you give all the ideas. Now when you go around telling everyone how if it were not for you that house would have looked horrendous, you might as well forget about having your name on that piece of beauty. When you instead tell everyone your man is the brains and built you a glorious house, he would not mind sharing it with someone who is humble and selfless. Is that too much to ask?

Women love material things, even if we are the ones buying them ourselves. Who doesn’t want to be spotted in a flashy pair of heels, a handbag and nice make up? Now as a man, sometimes your ego or pride will lie to you to think that we dress up to look good for other men out there. We don’t… well apart from those sisters who obviously shout away for sexual attention. So when you marry a woman, why would you want to do away with what attracted you to her? Is it the fear that another man may see the same thing and steal her away from you? Are you in short saying you do not trust that she loves you and only you? have you ever been tempted to make her less attractive? Or decided to get another lady to give her competition just so they both fight for your attention? In this way, if I may ask? Are you fulfilling God’s request to love, care for and protect your wife as you would the church or your faith? Do you enjoy seeing women fight for you and kill each other over you? Is that the same reason you would beat her up? Let me not get into the domestic war subject, I mean you still haven’t made me understand why you would fight someone who will never fight back; unless she, well, poisons your food…you trust her cooking yet you hurt her:) Let’s skip this topic.

This is my quest today. If you take away your marriage certificate or your visit to the AG; if you take away all the affidavits and that wedding band…would you still stick faithfully to your partner? A friend made me lack sleep thinking about it and I did think a lot about it. This was my conclusion; we get affidavits for marital security, in case you have shared properties and children… and of course relatives who may pounce on them should anything happen to you. We go to the AG to unionize a marriage, for those of us who do not like to show the world which human being it is you chose to share your life with and prefer to keep it private. The reason for the AG also has a bit of marriage security in it and bit of ‘Let’s shut up our parents’ demands’ it’s good enough though. Weddings are the ultimate way to do it. You show the world it’s him you chose and vow before the most supreme high to follow his orders on marriage…yet when trouble looms you want out already. Do you know the Bible says even after a divorce you are not allowed to remarry unless your spouse dies? Yes, I was pleasantly surprised to find that out. It is till death; not boredom, infidelity, in laws, fights, domestic violence or cash flow.

Here is my challenge to you. Work towards making your marriage work. Look at your spouse as your choice in life because that is your choice in life. With or without that paper of proof, no one forced you to love him/her. You felt it and you chose to pursue your feelings. Strive to remain blameless in your marriage. Do your part to love, cherish and be your spouse’s closest ally, always reminding them that they are the best gift to this world and to your life. Don’t make the world hate your spouse; instead, influence them to be their best. Be their positive influence and their friend when they do not need wifely counsel. Let them be the ones to deal with your in-laws, but never strive to separate his family. Put both your feet in. If you are constantly thinking or threatening to leave, they will plan their future without you in it knowing you may just walk away one day. It is up to you to reassure your spouse that you love them that much.

Your relationship was your choice in the first place. Be decisive and learn to enjoy your marriage everyday.

Auntie Moody

Moody as the clouds
Some days can be quite refreshing and pleasant; others just choose to be void and just….there. This is one of those days when everything is just plain and obtainable. That’s actually what I feel like right now. It’s empty with no problems to solve and no exciting news to cheer me up. Everything including the bright lime colours of my kitchen and our food time-table is suddenly boring. Not even Pesh’s funny faces or break dances can make me laugh today, leave alone Justin’s attempt to tickle me. In fact, the latter makes me very irritable. I am a walking time bomb. This is just one of those days when my boss knows best not to expect any tea till the office assistant is back from errands. I have neither sweet cakes nor cookies hidden in my bag and I dint feel like having the snacks they brought either. I pull my face and wear a frown, allowing the numbing feelings get the best of me.
I suppose it could be because of the boring weather; it rains and it gets all muddy; and we have to wear these heavy sweaters, scarves and sometimes those abhorred mismatched socks at home…We all look the same with jackets, hoods and trench coats so if you are a lover of bright coloured sun dresses and fitting t-shirts like I do, you start feeling as though grandma just played dress-up on you! Now that I mention that, I pity Pesh. I put the whole closet on her and only spared her from a monkey cap when Justin promised to burn it up. I think she got a heat rash.
Troubled Me
I am afraid of the cold. I don’t know of any plants that survive well in cold wind so I can have something to thank Jesus for. All I know is it awakens the sicknesses that have been quietly asleep in us; from tooth aches, to malaria, pneumonia to tooth- cracks. The old aged lose their battles to diseases in the cold season and children flood into wards as they get admitted to hospital for all sorts of air and water borne diseases. Each day I live troubled by the mere thought of a phone call from Vivian telling me how high Pesh’s temperature is.
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It makes it worse to bear when I get calls that my nephew got admitted when he got a convulsion from high fevers… how does anyone sleep at night when even turning a head leaves with you with scratch marks of trepidation? It’s as though the grim reaper visits to mock me with evil thoughts. He pretends to hook the people I care about with his scythe and after a few heart wrenching sways accompanied by a thunderous and controlling laughter, he drops them and leaves silently, head hung low and without a single look back; as though he suddenly got scolded by his boss to stop playing with humans like they are toys.
A tinge of hope
Seemingly, God understands what I go through as he never fails to give me hope. Occasionally during the day, he lets the sun peep out and send its warm, soothing rays through my window. Its gentle cascade seems to whisper sweet words to my ears, sending happy hormones rushing through my veins. I can finally afford a smile. He clearly understands that at this point, the rainbow could be on the other side of the hill, furnishing the people on the slopes with memories of His love. At this point my spirit ceases from being low and I get lifted high to enjoy the little warm air that escapes from the steam in my kitchen. I realise once again that this life is just being true to me, proving its natural self to me. No one is perfect, not even the best or the richest. It is actually up to us to make the most of the time we have. Since I realise we will always have two rainy and cold seasons each year. Life need not stop till the sun shines. I will prepare to enjoy it and live up above it. I will get exciting things that my family and I will only during the cold seasons and others for the sunny one. This had better work. I will put in all I can to ensure it does. If not, and I continue getting these low energy episodes…then I better get checked! A little someone could be setting camp in me!

Too much Social media is bad for your Marriage…

I sat in front of my laptop at my usual spot in the office. Surfing online is a lot of fun especially when the boss pays you to live there…almost literary. I got to watch tweets roll up, update face book status, and add profiles on Linked In. I had Justin online on Skype chatting with the volume button muted. Freedom is not meant to be overcooked.

I am used to getting friendship requests from strangers, most of them being 1990 and above year-born young men. It is not easy to break the heart of such a young lad so most of the time; I prefer to act as though am not online. Sometimes curiosity bites off my conscience and I go ahead to accept the requests while I await the chat. It usually doesn’t take long and the chat usually lasts no more than twenty minutes, calculated within a budget of ten shillings in a cheap cyber café.

While I chatted with hubby on Skype, my task manager lit up with a chat probing on face book. I ignored it at first, but the endless blinking got the best of me. It was Justin again. This was unusual. It read, ‘Hi’. Justin never began his chats with a ‘hi’.

Quickly, I shifted to Skype. ‘Are you online on Facebook as well?’

‘Nope’ was his inattentive response. Back to Facebook, I let the curious bug bite deeper. ‘Hi!’ I replied. ‘Sorry I had to hack into your husband’s profile because I needed to talk to you.’ My eyes popped out. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. ‘So who are you?’ I pushed. ‘If I wanted you to know that, I would simply have used my own profile *wink*’ another response appeared. I was puzzled.

Skype notifications were getting impatient so I switched to it. Justin was wondering what was going on. ‘Someone with your name and profile is chatting with me’ I quickly explained, He didn’t sound surprised. ‘Oh, I’ll just change my password again’ he brushed it off and went on to ask what was new at work. Apart from this interesting hacker, nothing really!

Face book again ‘Ok, so what exactly do you want?’ I do not do polite notes with strangers, especially those who think they understand my marriage more than I do. ‘I want to save you from a noxious heartbreak!’I couldn’t believe it. He went on. ‘Justin doesn’t love you as much as he claims…He is a charade.’ I didn’t respond. A big part of me knew this guy was just testing my trust, but a wee bit of me wondered what if…What if there was just, something?

Many women who get cheated on also believe it’s not possible for their angels to turn into monsters. I looked back and scrutinised how we had been living. It couldn’t possibly be. We are so close, he has become my hand bag and I his tail!

‘I know you must be hurting now’ another chat message peeped in. I had been too silent and my ‘knight in shining armour must have thought I was wailing in tears and running around like a chicken that just lost its head. He was almost right, only I wasn’t moving. For the first time, I was finger struck (Or what do you call being tongue tied when you are typing?). I had no words to defend my marriage and no foul language for hoax Justin. My heart raced…I could feel it in my mouth. I had no doubt that Justin and I were doing very well. In fact, he was chatting with me on Skype! What time did he ever get to cheat on me?

‘What is on your mind?’ hoax Justin queried. ‘I am just wondering how idle people get sometimes, for you to make all this up. Justin is right here with me reading this as well’ finally, some defence mechanism was underway. This time, Hoax Justin went dead silent, consequently feeding my courage. ‘What, did you think I would just believe some strange sadistic hacker? Get a life you idiot!

Silence

I got stronger. Where did you go to again? Come baby, come! This phrase is officially the Ish. ‘Hun’ popped up on. ‘Don’t hun me you dim-witted home wrecker!’ I was flaring, almost tearing my hair away’ ‘I know guys like you! You just enjoy the gratification or break-ups! You Effing…’ I literary clinched my fists.

‘Wait hun, it’s just me, Justin’ what? ‘Sorry, I didn’t think you’d go all gaga about this. It was supposed to be a joke!’ Wait, did I just get played there? It was unbelievable. I just wasted so much emotion on a prank? I was in murder mode. ‘Is that really you, Justin?’ no response. A Skype message popped in again. ‘Yes, hun, that was me. Thank you. You fortified our love and proved once more that this marriage means a lot to you.’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘You there?’ he probed. I was still panting out the rage and aggravation; still garnering my words. With smoke coming out of my ears, I took a deep breath and counted to five. ‘Sweetie?’ he probed. ‘Pray that I don’t catch you,’ was all I promised as I logged off and called it a day.

Wedding Dates and Wedding days- The challenge

Here, I willl take you though a step by step process of my journey to my wedding day. Stay tuned!

Its 141 days to the wedding day, with only 16 days left for the dowry payment. There was a tag of war on the dowry payment day which makes me relieved for picking a weekday for our wedding date. My parents are Seventh day Adventists while my in-laws are Protestants, ACK to be specific. My mom cannot lift a finger anytime on Saturday while my in laws who now reside in shags prefer travelling on Sunday. Mombasa road is least busy on that day. I am now forced to let my friends and most of our committee members off on that day since both parents now settle on a Friday.

I am struggling with my guest list since mom -in law won’t confirm her guests till the bride price is paid. Hard headed, I pushed on and booked for a maximum of 400 guests. I am not worried about food though since my hubby’s work place will do our catering and we can be as flexible as we’d like.  We have the people doing our photography, video, sound and DJ coming from one company. Reason, once they arrive, we won’t be calling three other people. I just hope all these don’t delay the whole event!

We also got the décor lady searching for a colour she still struggles to pronounce; its turquoise green. She says she will get it and I am giving her at least till after August 15th before I start sitting on her head. We have most things in check and only wait till everyone is on board, come dowry payment day. Then it will be a mad dash for the D- Day.

My big worry now is the invitation cards. I planned to have them hand made but going by the number of guests all expecting a piece each… I may end up making as many as 300 cards!

Toothy Interview

I’ve been interviewed umpteen times. True and I’ve come to discover one thing; that I can never get used to interviews. I will have the same old insane stomach cramps probably even worse than those of a 1st timer. I realized the only thing I get better at are my answers to familiar questions. But then again I’ve never been to an interview overwhelming enough to pull out my previously decayed but silent tooth.

For eight months I’d been busy being a mom and wife since Baby Pesh’s arrival. That was enough to deform my once slim feet into an ugly flat sight, thanks to wearing flat, open shoes. Pesh had grown into a slightly independent young girl and so pulling back into the employment highway was the next best thing. Like any other flamboyant job seeker I dropped my resume’ anywhere they could land.

No call backs came through for me, at least not until late August 2010 when one finally did. An appointment!  An interview! Finally! My excitement could only be brought down by a bucketful of ice water. I obviously called my husband and we both floated in the pending success. The joy however ended rather drastically as soon as the call dropped and the reality of a possible interview panel crossed my mind. I noted I didn’t really need a bucket of ice water. I quickly found myself a spot to sit on and psychologically prepare myself for what lay ahead. I had to do it well. I browsed the net for the company’s profile details, aims and every other unnecessary detail they put across. Crap! I even made sure I was on point on which ministers were in charge of the relevant sectors! By the time I was walking through the reception of the building where I was invited for the interview I felt like my mind would burst with all the answers I had to the un-asked questions.

I carefully scanned my well over 20 competitors’ faces searching for the slightest implication of fear or uncertainty. I assumed their feeding of fear would starve mine and I would end up a winner or close. Selfishness was my sole recipe’ in character in this case and I knew the rest too, prayed the same prayer. “God, This job is mine. You brought me here for a reason so I know it’s mine.” Seriously, if all 20 interviewees prayed this prayer, then I’m awfully glad I’m not God to answer them. Their dressing was exquisite with well-fitting ironed suits. Folders that most probably carried their life stories were held neatly under their arms. .I decided I needed a workable strategy to pull this off successfully.

I marched quietly to the nearest empty seat and squirmed in it until my name was called I struggled to be firm as my remaining competitors watched my every movement.  Those who had left before me had all variety of facial expressions. Some looked as fearful as a child who just got a painful jab in the ass, others smiled amid defeated-looking faces, it confused me on what to expect so I chose to hide my horror through my killer smile. Don’t ask what that means.

I walked in well, armed with my documents and a classy handbag which I knew best to keep on the floor next to my feet, right after the seat was offered. I then crossed my shaky legs under my seat to keep them from embarrassing me and at last faced the panel. It felt like judgement day.

“Your name?” one of them asked.I blurted it out. “Please spell?” I always do that to everyone I meet. I understand Fanne is not an easy name and my mother refused to tell me from whence she dug it up. The questions got harder and harder until I was asked if I had any questions for them. I obviously did. I was eventually sent home and promised a call back before the end of the day which if it were positive I’d go to the next level. It was just the beginning.

I went home feeling exhausted from all the nervousness and now I was anxious for the results. It didn’t make it better. I slept miserably since no one called me, and began nursing the wound the disappointment caused. Early the next day I was called and told to report for the second interview. Phew! I was too tired to get excited, yet I managed a stolen one at least to remind myself of a certain stranger I call hope.

Second interview brought to me some nostalgic memories. It was a written exam and I couldn’t remember half the things I was asked. I thought to do what my fellow mates did. Yes we all cheated in all sorts of ways. We used everything from texting to whispers and peeks, even Google. Thank god for Google. We all went home again to wait impatiently for the big call. This time I slept well. I was called late at around &pm and informed of my great success, even congratulated. I had qualified for the last stage which was yes another interview with the head of the company we were to work for. I still ask myself if this was really necessary. The lady shouldn’t have mentioned the position of the last interviewer. She only made it worse. I role played the interview about 76 times playing both the interviewer and I. I thought up all the possible questions to expect. I nearly killed myself. Still I felt I wasn’t ready. That was when the bad tooth arose from hell and began complaining. I carried some painkillers to the interview which eventually turned out well. The waiting that was destroying me was apparently good for me. By the time it was my turn he had been exhausted extensively and looked like the only thing he craved was his silent, never-busy office. He asked me two or three general questions and let me go. I was relieved and rushed straight to my dentist. The painkillers I’d taken were clearly doing a shoddy job and it had to be pulled out.

So I lost a tooth at the height of tension. Yeah, I too couldn’t believe it; but it would have been worse had all this not been worth it.