Category Archives: Creative Articles

Newbie in the Bedroom

Part one of our bedroom is ready; the wardrobe. This is how we did it. We searched online for designs we could borrow. Having used shelves for the last three years, it was time we made a big switch to something different; something…bigger. I wanted a wall to wall cabinet with a little allowance for the dressing table. So we searched everywhere and finally, I got it; a three door cabinet…and a cool calming color to go. Before kick starting this, I visited various supermarkets to see what I could find. It was surprising that not one in town had what i had imagined. However, Naivas near Allsops had a nice three door cabinet with the middle part fitted with cabinets, just as I wanted. I was going for Kshs. 32,000 and the various dressing mirrors that would go well with it ranged beween Kshs. 10,000 to kshs. 15,000. Total avereage cost was about Kshs. 47,000. There was no way my husband would let me buy something worth so much for one place only; I never bothered to ask either. So I printed out my little dream wardrobe and visited Paul, our carpenter. What we had in mind was something like this.
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We made a few changes here and there and Paul set of to start.
he is a genius; in four days, the wardrobe was ready for painting. I wanted a very light shade of blue. I always get to pick my favourite colours and I sent my husband to buy a nice baby blue… I sent him with this lovely image on his phone…
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As men will always be men, and we women just never learn. He picked out something close to the blue… the exact opposite I mean; it was light green!

Not to worry though, it came out nicely though the challenge now is matching out this colour to the wall, bedding and drapery coming soon. Here take a look and let me know what you think…Oh and advise us what color to use for the rest of the house…we are honestly stuck! 🙁
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Thanks to the small Nairobi houses, opening these doors meant eating up a lot of space. As usual our flexible Paul was so kind as to accept the changes we had in mind. We put in sliding doors and yes, I played with them till they moved smoothly. This piece of beauty saved us an amazing Kshs. 10,000 from the full price we would have spent in the supermarket!

And come to think of it, its the color of our intended cabinet lol!. And one more thing. I did the painting myself yet again!

I love my cabinet! I love my cabinet! *dancing around*

Love, The Kenyan Way Pt 1

So what is this love? I mean the Kenyan way? The reason I call it kenyan is because even if you were to leave the country and travel elsewhere, your way of handling a woman or a man remains the same. The only thing that might change is the effect of their varied reactions to your treatment. Otherwise, the way you view relationships barely changes. Someone once condemned us women who love watching soap operas. He warned that if we want them to act like the men in soaps we ought to act like the women there too! If you look at it from their way of reasoning it makes such perfect sense!
The rule of love remains the same. I choose to put women in my ring today. I am angered at the sight of families breaking up and on doing research. We women take 90% responsibility. This is how it starts.

Case study 1
Man meets woman, he likes what he sees, woman feels proud, plays hard to get. Man gets serious and focuses on woman; takes her out to dinner, buys flowers and ice cream. Man can’t stand it but he makes an effort to please woman… they finally become an item. Both man and woman have one-foot-in-one-foot-out of the relationship. They test waters; necks occasionally out in the market. Man and woman put in their best to get the other’s full attention. They both win. A wedding happens and both man and woman stop looking back. Both relax and no effort is maintained; woman wants to be admired and praised by her man; man wants to be served by woman trusting that she is a home maker; the perfect wife. Woman gets reality shock, she wants to have more fun and not cook. Man is angry, he wants woman to change. Woman has no idea what’s going on…puts on her pride and hopes man will be more loving and let her buy burgers and ice cream for dinner.

Case study 2
Man meets woman, he likes what he sees, woman feels proud, plays hard to get). Man gets serious and focuses on woman; takes her out to dinner, buys flowers and ice cream. Man can’t stand it but he makes an effort to please woman… they finally become an item. Both man and woman are hard-working, but woman has intent; she pleases man and becomes his goddess. Man is mesmerised, clings more to woman, yearning for more. Woman plays her cards well; winds man round his finger. Man is lost in woman. She is in charge. She controls plans, and a wedding finally happens. Soon after man expects more awe from woman. He worships at her feet, hanging on to her words. Woman gets tired, pushes man away. Its time to enjoy marriage, but man has no idea how he got there. He just wants his woman…she fails to keep up.

Case study 3
Man meets woman, he likes what he sees, woman feels proud, plays hard to get (we always do, don’t we?). Man gets serious and focuses on woman; takes her out to dinner, buys flowers and ice cream. Woman has a dramatic past. Heart breaks and disappointment fill her previous relationships. She holds back from man in fear of a repeat. Man thinks woman is the best as she has learnt from this past; he gives his all in hope for loyalty, love and trust. Woman builds up insecurity, fights with ghosts of her own fears. She chases away all of man’s female friends, panic often and throws tantrums when she feels threatened. Man tries hard to give assurance, but woman fails to stabilize.
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All these three scenarios are very common. They are what make men get plan B…well, unless your man is one of those cases that I will deal with in my next piece. Just as we say two wrongs don’t make a write, I do not defend any of these two parties. If a man knows his woman has a battle with her past, he needs to come down to her level and help her get past it. We are dealing with human beings here, not technological equipment that needs to be updated. We have hearts and they only get harder when life presents tough situations.

Fellow women, your man wants you to be Super-woman because you are. The same way you are able to work and tend to your pregnancy or the very same way you are able to do your 8 to 5 and still remember to pay your chama on time and collect that chiffon top you ordered last week only proves one thing; that we can multitask. His mother showed him the best so he looks for what he knows. Don’t think that your good looks will save you…do not be deceived. They complete their purpose once the attraction bit is done. He will not worship at your feet everyday. Nor will he take you out to hang with friends all the time.
He wants you to clean around the house, help the kids with home work, show love and strictness in controlling cash flow, cook delicious meals, Give him great sex ( leave him grovelling at you), smile and crack jokes, laugh at his jokes…note, and dress to please him. If your man adores minis, get the shortest for your bedroom. Do not let the world feed their eyes on your man’s stuff. If he thinks minis, and sexy stockings are too much, go simple and stylish and still keep what he first loved about you intact. There is more on the way.

Take a break. See you at ring 2

Lovey Dovey New Year!

It feels empty, this house. I can’t believe since I cleaned it last time, no one bothered to do it again. I am shocked; no one even paid it a visit! Is that how friends treat each other nowadays? Hmm…! How sad. I only have two messages on the telephone machine. One is from a cousin I never want to talk to since he told me my daughter has a big head. The other is the telephone service company asking me to update their services on my system; seriously?

Dust is everywhere. Spiders made my house theirs and its starting to look like the witch moved in too…yet it’s only been a month! Or has it?

Fine; I will cut it out, but next time I will not leave my doors open for you. I will not even let you…wait. Is that your picture? What’s with the dark make up and long locks? Why are you standing like a zombie? Ok this is not funny anymore. You must have visited. How else did this picture frame get here? You don’t look good. Clearly, you are sending me a message; and since you won’t even call me to tell me face to face I believe it’s only fair that I get the right to translate this message however I would like it.

This is how I choose to understand it. Without this blog, you are bored, clearly close to death…talk of the coldness in your looks. You want me to bring life to it, lest it gets buried in the stinking absence of life that I brought about 🙂 It feels nice to know just how much you care.

How have you all been? What are your plans for this year? I have like a million of them planned out myself…and you of course. I have not been away for nothing. I have witnessed a lot of things people do and say and trust me; far away as I was from  my laptop I was tempted to scream my lungs out on top of the highest building and just tell people to stop, stop, stop!

Like I always claim (yes I do) I am no relationship guru, but I do have eyes, small enough to see the diminutive things we constantly ignore. These small things are the same ones that ruin the big plans we have for our loved ones. Do you realise big fights start from small things like a fifty shilling note or a match box? Have you not read any news clippings of tell tales of murder that were sparked by such minute reasons; and you say human beings are crazy, or that the world is coming to an end…which it is anyway but if we can figure out a way to deal with small issues in a small way, we will end up with a small world with really big hearted and well, big headed people!

Now, I am compiling a list of topics to discuss this year.  It’s mostly relationships of course as I realise this is what many of us are battling; both men and women. Oh yes, men too complain about women if you have never heard. In fact, did you know women make men cheat, the very same way men make women cheat? It’s a cycle….a circle rather that we can break, repair and keep smooth running. Let’s get the year started. Talk to me; let me know what you think. And I will tell you what is in my heart. Not to worry, I will try and tell you to your face if you are being a scum*** and if you are being naïve and unrealistic, we’ll throw a few stones but we’ll try not to let them kill you. Lets rock it people. Lovey Dovey New Year! 🙂

Surprise that made me cry? Really?

It was getting close to my birthday. As usual, I knew Justin would unquestionably get me something. Back in college when he was no more than just a friend, he still got me something. He would call me over lunch hour to ask what time I would be out of class. He would then be sure to meet me at Gill house which was the bus stop we shared while heading home. Outside and around the building are several cake shops and depending on how much he had managed to save from his allowance, he would get me a cupcake or a large bun with some cream and cherry on top. It made the men I dated look bad, as most of them always made sure we had broken up or just had an endless quarrel dated to end exactly the following week….of course so they won’t have to do anything….story of my life, moving on

On the eve of my birthday, I left work as usual and met hubby in town. Everything was usual until we got home and he asked for our office cake supplier’s number. ‘Unless you want that cake on Friday, he won’t manage by tomorrow.’ I explained hopelessly. ‘I still would like to try. C’mon, just let me speak with him!’ Fine, I agreed and gave him the number, and I never saw him call anyone…

On Tuesday, my birthday, I went to work, happy in my heart that it was a special day. I didn’t need anyone to wish it to me to make me feel it. Well, that’s what I thought until I saw the 90 notifications on my Facebook wall at mid day. It felt amazing. However, out of all these, not one came from any of my colleagues. That hurt… a lot.

Whenever either of them had a birthday, I always made sure a cake was availed almost on time J. I would then organise a surprise which well, most of the time was never really a surprise. They somehow had a clue, something was up my sleeve. So when I sensed nothing from my colleagues, I knew it would pass by unnoticed. Hubby kept calling and asking, ‘So who wished you a happy birthday? ‘No one’, I would say and keep up my frown. A few friends tried to make me smile. At the end of the day, there is only one person who is not allowed to forget your birthday, she affirmed. She was right. That evening, I would Kill Justin if he did nothing. But secretively, I planned a revenge mission against my colleagues as well. Nothing beats the wrath of a disappointed administrator! J Ok, that really sounded rude!

At about 4pm, I lost all hope and quit sitting at the edge of my desk. It was almost time to leave for the day so I pulled out my make-up kit and started freshening up. One of my colleagues, Shiks, walked past me, all anxious. ‘It’s almost home time…’ she mumbled while fumbling with her phone to which I chose to ignore in anger. I pulled my mouth and pouted. I could not wait for the next day to watch their guilty faces when I would tell them how hurt I am. My office extension rang, It was Ed. ‘Please come, I need your assistance.’ I was supposed to go see my boss to briefly reconcile accounts, but since I could still hear him on his phone, I rushed to Ed. He asked me something I cannot even remember. Something digital about social media…something that made me think so hard, I forgot the question.

Shiks walked right in and requested us all to go for a briefing on a pitch presentation we were supposed to prepare. I was officially broken. Of all days, the meeting just had to be called now? That’s probably why boss was on phone for so long, I presumed. I walked into the boardroom last, saw my boss and his partner, then the rest of our staff. There, as the centre piece, instead of a laptop facing the screen, stood a cake. A beautiful cake with a birthday message for me! I cried!

Yes, I cried and ran off towards the bathroom. I could not believe they all caught me off guard! I managed to fight off the tears and finally, walked into the arena. There, in the crowd, of all people in the city, was Justin. I cried some more.

I was so happy; I killed my vengeance plan and simply enjoyed the rest of my birthday.

I later found out that everyone was in the plan. No one was to speak of my birthday, be it by text, a call or online…not even an E- card! Shiks only had the email contact for our cake guy so she tasked Justin to steal it. He couldn’t so he instead asked for it, claiming to try his luck, and sent it to her via text. He also made sure I believed no one would remember my birthday, anyway…and I hang on to every word he spoke.

At work, the lady who chatted with me online, heartening me that all what mattered was Justin, was currently hiding the cake at her stall just next door! Ed called me to his desk to allow Justin and the cake to sneak in and finally, surprise!!

Damn these tears. I need a tissue.

Strange Baby Xenia is on my heels!

I am being hunted down, of course not by the police, God forbid, but by a strange baby, I named Xenia. This baby has been pushed away for the longest time and now, he/ she… who ever it is has lost their patience and wants in! Ever since baby Pesh was baby no more, this strange baby started dialling my number. It would possess the phones of all my friends and they all went gaga over her. ‘So when are you having another baby’ they would ask. I obviously dismissed their great ideas and moved on to give Pesh all the attention I felt she deserved.

Baby Xenia realised it was too early to come knocking on my door so she went away for a few months.  She watched Pesh enjoy all the love and attention; at times even got carried away. She fell asleep when I sung her sibling a lullaby and got angry whenever her Pesh cried and I wouldn’t pick her up. She watched her sister grow into a beautiful, tall girl and must have envied her new friends because she came back… through my mother-in law.

The call came through. Mom inquired how her namesake was fairing on. Excited, I strutted on the new things she was learning to do; talking Pesh language, finally jumping with her toes off the floor, calling her daddy. She listened keenly as I tripped over my tongue. ‘That is dangerous.’ She said with a suddenly stern voice.

‘It is wrong to love one child like that. See how your voice pitches highly when you speak of her? That is not good. That love should be shared among more children, now.’ I remained speechless as I pictured baby Xenia seated in a corner and waiting with baited breadth the way her daddy waits to a goal to get scored. I pictured her smile and brushed the thought away. ‘I am not ready yet, sorry I burst your bubble again’ I whispered as I pictured her saunter away. ‘What did you say?’ mom went on ‘You know my hearing is getting worse by the day,’ I thought of a quick lie and made the topic go away.

I must have hurt Xenia as several months went by without hearing about her; I missed her already even though I have never met her. I pictured what she would look like, had I welcomed her home, would she look just like Pesh or would she be completely different? One thing I am almost certain of is her mischief, what with all the stalking visits she has been paying me! At some point I thought I was ready for her. I only considered the thought, but I just wasn’t sure yet. Our staggering economy and up coming elections played a great role in daunting her arrival. I feared for our safety, hers too. I could hear her whisper encouragements in my ear. She tried to get me comfortable with the idea, yet I still took caution.

Fed up with my constant rejection, Baby Xenia has decided to play the game the hard way. She visited writers and editors and made them write about her. The writers loyally outlined the merits and demerits of having more than one child. They even went an extra mile and highlighted on the best time to have another baby! I tried to look away and believe it or not, she went on to advise her fellow mates to convince their parents to have them. My friends called in to tell the tales of having a second baby. I paid them visits and held the beautiful new born babies. They felt so little and delicate in my arms and I always went back home with a promise to join the second born train soon. However in time, Pesh would get into trouble and make my ears flare and I would swear never to have another one like her.

Baby Xenia was determined to win this so she came closer home. On a visit to my house my sister noticed a new picture I had framed and put on the wall. ‘Beautiful family,’ she exclaimed, ‘At this rate, I don’t see any space you have left for another baby. Is it kaput for you?’ She questioned and I explained in a thousand words why Xenia could not join us just yet.

I went cleaning outside the house. Pesh tagged along with her tiny broom. Some of my neighbours joined in and tried to turn me into a gossip. They talked of my annoying neighbour who never punished her son. All this while, I remained quiet and waited to see how far the gossip would go without my participation. Little did I know that Xenia sat right there playing her cards. ‘Pesh is a very caring little girl,’ one of them offered. ‘Oh, yes she is,’ another jumped in. ‘in fact she is old enough to differentiate between a small helpless baby and a toddler and will take care of her siblings very well! Look at how she is helping mommy now…’ I froze and stared straight at them. ‘So, when are you giving Pesh a playmate?’ one quipped as I quickly took off.

I am now trouncing from Baby Xenia. She has sworn not to let me go and just a few weeks ago, she waited for me to get exhausted after playing with Pesh and preparing for work. She hid my pills so I couldn’t find them and only made them available as soon as I stepped out the following morning. So now I hold my breadth and hope she is not building her tent in my womb awaiting the nine month long wait to meet me!

Cold Chill in my Bed!!

I wanted a 2”x6” size bed. The carpenter said he could make one for me, but that I would have to make my own mattress to go with it. So I thought of buying several sacks, tearing them apart, stuffing in some old clothes…and probably some from my discourteous neighbour’s line. And voila! I’ll have a mattress! Ok. Today’s topic has nothing to do with mattresses, not that I have anything against them. You see, a mattress is one of the values items that even super-markets keep close to their hearts… hehe! I’m messing with you. Supermarkets keep these cushy items away because they are easy fuel to accidental fires! 🙂 Back to important things.

My little one is officially out of our bedroom. It wasn’t difficult to kick her out. She actually loves the colours and the prints in her new room! However, someone else had trouble getting over this grandeur separation. That person was me.

I kept peeking into her room to test its warmth; checked that the windows were tightly closed, and that the water paint was not smelly. I did her bed by myself and made sure to put in two sheets, two blankets and a soft pillow. I then went on to feel her temperature every two hours at night…..Call me what you want, but I am just a young, hot 🙂 mother reacting abnormally to a normal situation. Once in my bed, I tossed and turned and had nightmares and heard baby voices and saw the demon in a bear and anything else you can come up with.

It was cold.

I felt cold chills with every passing second. They ran from my back to my tummy and straight for my feet which I folded closer. I grabbed the blanket closer and tried to shut my eyes really tight. I even whispered a prayer to beg for some peace. I got a little and rested before it was time to check up on her again. I slept facing the wall. That was where she always slept each night. I’d spoon her in my lap to give her warmth each night and in return I felt protective. It was as if I had been pregnant from the outside.

Pesh slept well in her new bed. She never even once woke up to ask for her bottle. While I struggled to get used to my new life, she was busy enjoying a peaceful night. On the second night, the same thing happened. At some point I sat up and put the lights on. Why was this cold chill still there? I even thought my bedroom was haunted…think ‘Haunted’ from Investigative Discovery. I’m a fan by the way.

My husband slept facing the other way. He seemed comfortable on his own and I immediately felt guilty that for two years, that is how he had been spending his nights. It felt horrible to know he never had anyone to cuddle him, or share some warmth. I looked at the space at the bedside and fitted a mental baby-bed in it. ‘That is where our next baby will always sleep’ I thought to myself.

Another cold breeze crept in and I suddenly sneezed. The curtains were shaken. That couldn’t have been caused by just a sneeze. I reasoned. I moved closer to the window and slowly opened one side of the curtain. There it was; my reason for sneezing. I stretched my hand quietly, careful not to awake our  estate night-runner, and shut the slightly open window.

The cold was gone.

I switched the lights back off and crouched next to my husband. Instinctively, he moved closer, held me tight, just like I did Pesh and helped me sleep. I promised to create that spot for myself; to always make him warm and never to bring another child into our bed.

Oh that night runner story is very true by the way. He made me change my curtains from a beautiful, red and black to an ugly, brown, heavy one. I caught him peeping through my window once while changing into my night clothes. The scream I let out was enough to scare off an armed robber, any day.

That morning I woke up with and ugly flu.

Pesh seems even happier now that she sleeps better at night. She doesn’t get destructed by us preparing to leave for work each morning. She hugs us tighter than she did when we come back each evening and tells a lot of stories in her language. She seems to have forgotten mommy’s comforting embrace and has adjusted well, unlike someone I know.

Now, the bed.

The reason I wanted a smaller bed is simple. With Pesh’s exit, it seemed too large for us to even find each other! One of its sides would get cold and we all temporarily squeeze into a little corner and hang in there till morning comes. If we had a smaller bed, we’d have no choice but to hold tightly to avoid falling over. This way the room would never be cold.

But since we found out what made the room cold. Thank God it was no one from ‘Haunted’; we can now enjoy our big bed even with its lack of a third party.

Yes!! I think I did it!

Have you ever felt like such a great achiever? Well I do already! Now listen, hubby and I were looking to expand our space to make our once one-bedroom house accommodate an extra bedroom. Why we thought it would work? Easy! We had a large living room that at some point became hard to even arrange. We didn’t want a table centralising our space either. It would look like my mom’s house, and my auntie’s house, and the neighbours….you know what I mean.

We wanted a diverse look, away from what we grew up in. for our children to have a different setting from what we had. Not that it was bad, just like chalk and cheese. I say this for those friends who like the centralised coffee tables that have them seats encircle them. Please note that they are still an in-thing and that this is just my view; my thoughts; my ideas; my blo….*tongue in cheek* Back to the area under discussion.

So we started by shopping for sinks and granito tiles. Kijabe Street was the place to go. Like I mentioned on this post, they have a lot of vast things at very even-handed costs.

We fixed them then got the cupboards fixed too. Later we had to paint and for wood, the paint had to be oil based. I don’t want to believe that the whole court knew akina Pesh were painting…but that is what everyone said. The smell, despite mixing with turpentine instead of paraffin, was intolerable. On day two, I sent Pesh and the housie to grandma’s. We left all ventilation outlets bare and took off, then later came home to an almost iced house. Anyway, the paint stench was gone and we had moved a stride.

The problem with renovating slowly is the fact that just when you complete something, another suddenly gets noticed. It always looks irksomely ugly and you just have to work on it.

We tiled the new kitchen and the new bedroom and finally painted. So now the only room that looks like it belongs to someone else is our bedroom. The floor is the same old cold cement, the ceiling boards are sagging-tired and the walls look like they have been crying, what with the rains and lots of humidity? The only thing that looks gawkily out of place is the bed.

sneak peak 2

I promised you a sneak peak if it turned out well, right? Well it was better than I imagined! The lime-green brightens the house by cutting off the stream of tango shades. The black granito tiles break the white monotony of the cupboard and the white tiles and the house looks neatly organised. For a small house in the Kenyan economy, I think its fab! *sticking my tongue out* Now I think I can comfortably host my guests….note, not live-in guests… 🙂

sneak peak 1

Some friends say I’m in the wrong profession. I’m not. If you meet someone who loves art, trust me, chances are that he is a poet, an artist, a writer, a musician, an interior designer or all! Enough said. Give me your views on this one. If you hate it, don’t rip my heart out. Tip me off to go undercover instead! 😉

My big news draws near…oh wait. You thought this was the big news? No. we are simply doing all these as fast as we prepare to prepare for the big thing…and I did not repeat a word back there. Soon I will be calling my close friends. I will lose some friends and probably gain new ones. I will find out who my true friends are and will be shocked by the unexpected care of those who never bothered. I will lose all the weight I have struggled to gain, courtesy of stress.  I will use a lot of airtime and fuel and I will have numerous headaches, probably even migraines. Finally….Bam! And in one day, our lives will take an altered turn.

I plan to open a new page to share my journey’s experience all through… Not to worry though I will capture as much as I can on camera and try even more not to bore you to death. Meantime, grab your jackets and get ready for a glacial journey through the cold season. Later pals.

Meeting Mrs.Gichoga

The rain drains me. It looks morose and revolting. It steals away my sunny smile. And now I’m worried I’ll start looking like a chipmunk, what with all the pulling my face into a frown. I am one of those Nairobians who are allergic to water drops that fly aimlessly in the air. For most ladies like me, our first reaction is always covering our already weaved hair with anything within our reach. From newspapers to phones…Chinese phones, the boss’s long awaited report…anything! Some of my fellow mates carry around shower caps…that, you will never catch me walking in. That’s besides today’s story.

I went to my husband’s working place just the other day. 6:30pm, it was and knowing the traffic we preferred to get stuck in it together. I found him at the gate and we strolled to his office together, gauging the skies for the next rain drops. Going by shank’s pony through the reception of the children’s hospital, I noticed it was almost empty and I smiled at the thought of few children affected by this season’s cold.

Suddenly a tall medium sized lady appeared from around the corner. She looked all too familiar even with her head bowed down, fumbling with something on the side of her coat. She resembled a figure I looked at daily, for four years in Kaaga Girls’ Meru. She looked up and I almost yelped in excitement.

I was right.

Mrs. Gichoga!’ I called her and she smiled immediately. She obviously didn’t recognise me but she knew it must be one of her girls from Kaaga. She must be used to this already. I went on to introduce myself. ‘You look ngood. That tells me you are ndoing well for yourself.’ Oh, it had been 8 years since I heard her voice…and accent.

She looked spectacular and I could swear she was in her late forties, were it not that I knew she was retired. He skin still glows like it used to with not a single crease ‘cept for the area around her eyes. She walked the same way and stood in the same stance. I felt teeny again.

She was a chief principal and our high school principal at Kaaga girls’ High school. She is one lady whole words I heed to date. She went on to explain that she was finishing her term as a commissioner at TSC. She owns Ebony Gardens located in Meru where they host events especially weddings and corporate functions. She even shared with me some photos saved in her phone.

Impressive. Someone should have captured that on camera… ‘Do you have a website?’ I shouldn’t have asked that. But hell, I did, and her answer was a tired no. she must have heard this question too many times. ‘You, on face book?’ I quipped, without giving up. She stopped and looked at me. ‘Remind me who was older? Was it your sister, Moraa or yourself?’ I smiled and stopped asking more questions. ‘I will ask my son to help out with that’, she promised. I too promised to recommend Ebony Gardens to all my friends within the area.

The pictures looked awe-inspiring and the place divine, with neatly trimmed grass and trees that complement it well. The pathways are carefully demarcated and look special…just like our famous Gichoga Highway, back in high school.

Gichoga Highway

She told my husband he owed her a goat!

Peering over her glasses (like she always did) she stared right through him and pointed her phone at him, then away… ‘You, njust like my son in-law over there shound mbuy me a ngoat.’ Her daughter stood at the other end of the hospital reception with her husband. ‘And you,’ she turned to me. ‘I hope to host you at my grounds some nday.’ She then gave us a warm smile and walked off, briskly, with the same quick, but short steps she taught us to walk in. I watched her walk away, and for a moment there got drowned in flashbacks of back in the days.

During assemblies, she got easily annoyed whenever a she heard nail clipping sounds from a nail-cutter. She made us drop our half sweaters during sunny weather and checked for holes in our socks on randomly picked days. She allowed us entertainment days and outings every fortnight. She taught us the dangers of the salmonella bacteria and why we should not hide home cooked foods in the dormitories too long.

This woman taught me a lot and meeting her only reminded me of the good she did for me. I meet many former schoolmates and classmates and it always feels great! Once my sister and I bumped into our school deputy principal…Kabox was her nick name and it felt weird that I finally found out what her smile looked like. She even introduced her grandchildren to us!! But meeting this particular woman is not something I take for granted. It was an honour and I take all pleasure in it. Damn! I feel really big and all blown out, right now. 🙂

My husband called my name, and I snapped out of my memory memento. We walked on. ‘That was awesome!’ he said as we stepped into his office. He couldn’t believe I just had an adult conversation with our ever-feared high school principal. He drifted of for a second then stared straight at me. ‘I’m not sure I want to meet MY high school principal!’ We both laughed and the thought to share this awesome encounter with you today almost blew my mind off. I just couldn’t wait…

Working with the men…

I have been dealing with almost all sorts of fundis these past few weeks.  I had no choice, what with all the renovation going on at my house. Did I tell you I’m preparing for the grand exit of Pesh from our bedroom? Oh no? Sorry. Well I am. And this not the big news yet! And I’m not pregnant…though it’s not a bad idea too.

At the beginning of this month I carried a stash of cash and headed to the carpenter’s. The pain to withdrawing so much money at once shattered me. I couldn’t believe I was giving out such an amount of money to one human being. I handed the money over to the jolly-looking carpenter to proceeded to recount the thousands…I painfully watched, in silent. One, two, three….seven….twelve…twenty…I died.

The following week after healing from the wounds of giving away so much money at once, I did a lot of Google and asking around. By the way, is it just me or does Google search translate to another weird named site…search.babylon or something of the sort. I’m still trying to figure out how the hell they battled down my poor Google search?? *sob* or were they bought off…I’ll find out.

I tracked down Kijabe Street. The street with all things ceramic, kitchenware, toilet bowls, faucets, mirrors and all. With my addiction to interior design…the thought of setting camp to  gaze and marvel border tiles, stainless steel faucets and table tops seemed like a brilliant idea…such beauty….Ok. I’m not that addicted. I bought a new sink, granito tiles, some adhesive, and immediately went back home.

I did it alone.

Damn, don’t I enjoy it! There’s no feeling more satiable than saving cash after a good bargain. Trust me, I bargain for best prices for just about anything! I even try my luck in supermarkets and at the guy who sells roasted maize at the estate, even when I know they will always say no… 🙂 So we agreed between my husband and me that I be the CEO of that department as long as he never catches me carrying anything heavy. Agreed.

I called the tile guy and the plumber to meet me at home. The plumber is a tall, purple guy with a disturbingly reputable look…yes, purple. His skin was literary shining all over! The tile guy was petite looking and Pesh kept poking and playing with him since he looked like a small boy. He had some white hair though. They were all on time and the negotiations were heated as expected. We finally agreed and work began. They say I’m tough, I say I’m reasonable. I get involved in everything, making me know exactly how much effort they put in. If I can easily make out how the job has been done, then that’s trouble for them. Mean huh?

At the hardware, I had carried my list of required items as listed by the plumber and I bargained for every word I could read. It worked! I saved about seven hundred shillings, went home with a patch of cement on my back and bottom and gained a lot of hatred from the purple man. He gave me the obvious, ‘Damn you miser,’ look that I am already used to. I know how they make extra cash. They agree with the hardware sales men to adjust the receipts to suit them. That is the cash I’m always chasing!

We burrowed through cement searching for the new drainage and fixed the black granito tiles on one cup board. I thought they looked great even without the paint. All we have left is now fixing the new faucets and wrapping of the other cabinets. The previous kitchen that I’m now turning into a bedroom looks horrid, with holes here and there and gaps from whence the old sink was yanked out of. The tiles are chipped and the wall is terrible. Oh, please don’t tell me I’m speaking jargon. Ok, for those I completely lost in this piece, here’s the thing. I have a one bed room house, with a long rectangular-shaped living room. We decided to put an American style, open kitchen in the living room and turn the old kitchen into another bedroom. If it turns out nicely I will share some sneak peaks and you are welcome to steal ideas if you share my passion. If it flops, you will not hear a word about it.

something very close to this...

We are rushing to clear this up. Bigger things await …enter my secret big news…C’mon, will you stop guessing already? Ok, I promise to give you a clue next time. Don’t I love keeping you in suspense? Have a good one and keep warm!

The Night Out

We decided to go out for a night out.  It was undeniably a great idea especially since it had been long since we (my husband I) brushed off the already aged cobwebs. We work so hard; barely in our mid-twenties and are already investing in a home…Oh, wait.  Someone once wrote that a home is not an investment. Well for us it is. It is the one place that soothes our sore behinds. We may not get any returns from spending our money on a warm coloured paint, or crafted wall hangings, but the feeling it fabricates from within; the relief of finally being home; the constant reminder that life is not just about work, work and more work, is always satiable.

It was an impromptu decision. We didn’t plan it. We never plan for night outs. They always somehow turn into something else whenever we planned way ahead of time; like a purchase of more hanging pegs for instance. We tagged my sister along, paid a friend who doesn’t drink to drop and pick us up and off we set.  It’s always wise to have a designated driver whenever you go out to drink. If the driver is a friend, make sure he never drinks or at least doesn’t drink on this particular outing…that’s if you can beat the temptation!

9am at Click. We had initially intended to go to the Legendary club; a joint that always took me back to my treasured high school days when music was hard to access and hence worshipped whenever it leaked off to us. It had been close to a year since we last cobweb-freed ourselves and the shock of closed doors didn’t land so gently on us. Luckily, another joint, The Click was upstairs in the same building and we didn’t stop to think.

The music was engaging. We started dancing right from the moment we heard the speakers tremble with the beat. It was loud and exciting. I felt younger and less serious, and I immediately threw off the stress blanket had been tugging on since the year began.

I’m not the kind of person who waits to get high to start dancing. Good music gets me high. In about six minutes, my cardigan was down and my glass of sweet red wine barely touched. I was already swaying my hands in the air while vigorously shaking my waist and hips, in tune with a piece from Shakira. The deejay must have been high on something, we all presumed. He never let us rest; what with one electrifying music to another.

We had shots… This is how we and our click of friends do shots;-

  • A dance floor is important though not completely necessary.
  • No matter the number that we are, we all get a share of the drink
  • We raise our shots and toast to something…anything.
  • We drink up all content at the same time and react as expected…it usually always burns.
  • We all race for the dance floor before the content lands in our bellies and dance crazy till we sweat and all alcohol is done.

Initially, the dance floor was interestingly taken over by two pot bellied men who hungrily eyed my sister and I. One insisted on dancing between us. It was irritating to watch him count mugithi steps to an R&B tune. It didn’t ruin our night though. We ignored him and boogied on.

At about 3AM, I felt I couldn’t go on anymore. My feet really hurt and my hair, full of sweat was all over my head and face. I struggled with sleep on the other the hand. My sister was down; head on the table and watching some couple with one eye. The man in question had his hands squeezing his overly drunk companion’s bum. she never made any effort to control him, and we all prayed she was merely a call girl. It made her look weak and easily used…unless her drink had been spiked! We called our driver for the night. The Homeboys deejay was not holding back. He puffed out clouds of smoke from a cigarette he held with one hand, seemingly lost in the music himself. His other hand spun the plates on the system.

He got mean, the deejay. He decided to play techno. All the pain in my legs was suddenly gone and I jumped up again. I danced, jumped, swung my head, and threw my hands all over. Techno music doesn’t have many fans. They say it makes one look fanatical and wild. That’s what I did. I danced like a mad woman, throwing my hair all over. When my little girl grows up, I pray she never reads this part of the post ever…may she be blinded to it…

I only stopped when reggae took over. That I don’t do. It was finally time to go back home. Outside, as we waited for our friend Kharees, some drunken idiots bypassed us staring at us in an unsparingly lustful manner. One of them was brave. ‘Come with us,’ he said, struggling between watching his toxoc levels to trying to look cool. ‘I won’t lie and say I love you. I promise’ He let out a sheepish smile before his drunk friend dragged him of towards a waiting cab. He reminded me of one Jack Sparrow in The Pirates f the Carebean. Irritating as it was, I thanked God, alcohol makes one let go and get all honest.  I thanked God that my sister and I are both married and can have fun without trying to impress anyone.

We slept at 4:30 and were up by 8am. The wine had done its part. I felt dehydrated and drained. My shoulder and neck hurt from all the spinning and dancing and I have typed this since morning. Banging a paragraph per hour and fighting Pesh’s little fingers off the keypad.

So now you know the party side of me. Despite being a hardworking colleague and mom, I too believe I shaking off stress and rejuvenating my energy levels.

This Easter, let go of the stiffness, responsibly of course and let’s not forget to thank God for wisdom. We always need it to stay safe and not do things we regret later. HAPPY EASTER, friends!

Something Good

This year, something really amazing is  going to happen to me;  something I can’t wait to share with you all very soon.

Wait, please stop guessing will you? And I’m not pregnant! and no, my own website is still in the kitchen.

I will tell you in due time. I just thought to let you in on it just so you don’t start looking for me in, well you know, on phone, twitter, morgues and all?…for going all silent on you. It’s a big milestone for me and when I tell you…only then will you understand.

In the meantime, you are allowed to play with your minds and keep guessing…stay cool and keep that smile coming!  🙂

See you soon!

Straight from a Virgo's mouth

I thought I was a melancholy, but a friend once argued back and described me as phlegmatic. It doesn’t matter. I mar, I take pleasure in things I do and I express myself. I’m only human, and to experience emotions is only but a part of it. I am no poet, but I comprehend its language. I understand that each poem jotted is always influenced by some sentiment, regardless of the sort.  Many are times I get a rush of emotions, so strong. I take a moment, shut my eyes and just let it pass. I feel it from the tip of my head, down my spine and off through my feeble legs.

Today I thought to take a tick and um, space and explore these extreme untouchables that God gave me.

When I love, I love. I guess this is the part where I reveal the fact that I’m a Virgo? I love without turning back. I trust with my whole being and will only be cautious when one gives me a reason to. I give everyone an equal chance to tan themselves black. I forgive too, but that’s easier when an apology is offered. If not I’ll heal, and when I do I will not hate nor will I despise. I will become stronger and only prove to the world that I am unique.

One thing I have never done is take back an ex. No matter how sorry they say they are, or how much they work to prove how their world stops for me; or that I am the only mosquito in their net. I will feel their distress and I will understand them. I might even shed a tear for their efforts. But I never take back someone who lets his interests get ahead of him, no matter how small.

If you cry, I’ll cry too. Not because I love you so much or that I hate to see you cry, but rather because I feel. I feel your pain and anguish and I will cry whether I like it or not.

If I do not cry I will leave your panorama to avoid the contagious weep-mode…because it’s inhuman not to feel another’s genuine pain. Why else do you think babies’ communication tool is crying? Then again it takes a flexible foot to fit in another’s shoe.

If someone dies, be it a stranger or not, I bear it in my heart. I picture their last moments and let the fear of impending doom that lurks in waiting wearily grip my heart. I mourn silently wondering whether they accepted their fate or battled and still lost.

If a child dies, I die.

I endure the terrible feeling of the gut wrenching reality choke in my throat; the bare truth that a child so small, so innocent so young has to face the harsh wrath of death…let me not swing the Friday mood.

If you smile (this is tricky), I might or might not smile back. I most likely will first swerve and look over my shoulder just to make sure I am indeed the one the smile is targeted at. This act aims to save my shame in case I spot another person grinning uncontrollably at you from behind me. If it’s I you directly smile at. My first reaction would be to smile back, after which I will start wondering whether we have met before or whether you mistook me for someone else.

If my daughter smiles at me I will feel all warm and fuzzy inside and I might get overwhelmed, grab her and steal a hug. No pun intended…note I say this in defence before my next words…if a man suddenly smiles at me, I will immediately become suspicious. If it’s a stranger I will see a potential rapist and the next thing he will see is dust. If my husband smiles at me…I will peer into his face looking for possible clues.

I am outgoing, but do not seem so to everyone. A first glance at me will automatically brand me as snobbish. I won’t blame you. It’s just the look on my face, when my soul prefers to consult my brain rather than my mouth, I go undercover and into a conference meeting. There my body becomes a shell protecting a myriad of activities happening inside  my head.

Pulling me out of this shell to give you attention will no doubt be a challenge, not only because I will be deeply engrossed in myself, but also the look I will be wearing at this state. The scary scrawled face all too natural to think ‘impression’

I write, walk and talk very fast. At times I get over excited and tumble over my words in a stutter.

I am a home-maker. I love repairing torn clothes (wish I could, shoes too!) and customising everything in my house to my family’s comfort. I love being a mother and a wife, with its challenges and all. I love bathing my little girl and chasing her all over the house…does it sound a lot like the old school life in the Spanish Prairies? Ok. This prairies joke has got to die now. I enjoy the inevitable boring stuff that get on my nerves like shouting Pesh off the window, making a budget and hanging the clothes on the line after a wash.

I value a simple happy life with extravagant things. I am soft spoken yet blab a little too much. My family says I am the kind of person who will emotionally defend people close to me and teach them their rights. I smile a lot but will tell you off should you step on my toes.

A young immature bloke once stopped me on the road and said hi. He called me beautiful. I told him I’m married and walked off. He didn’t stop. He said he just wanted to shake my hand…that a handshake wouldn’t get me pregnant. That did it. I stopped, turned and walked to him. I never shook his hand. I stood right in his face and dared him to repeat his words. The idiot backed off.

I will not speak of bedroom matters. No I am not shy and no you will not blackmail me. I am just a normal Virgo woman.

So well, that’s me, in a thousand words.

Perfomance Review…Yikes!

I bravely walked into boss’s office to remind him of our salary cheques that were due already. My confidence neatly tucked under my armpit, I stood at the door and muttered my requests. He sat still scribbling something on his notebook and when my mouth started moving, so did his pen stop. He held it firmly in writing position, though slightly lifted from the paper and tilted his head at about 15degrees, barely enough to see my feet alone.

And he did stare for a moment that seemed like eternity. I stood and followed his gaze. It seemed to me as though he was stuck, that he actually wanted to turn and look at me while his mind was still occupied in what he was writing. It had engrossed him to a point where he was no longer in charge of his very own movements. He tried, and managed to at least shift his head to my direction.

Suddenly he snapped out of it. He looked straight at me, suddenly beckoned me and showed me a seat.

I sat me down, puzzled. ‘Yes?’ he asked and I realised he had not heard any of my mutterings earlier on. I redid them. ‘Oh, yes! Indeed I am working on your salaries’ he changed, ‘And have we reviewed you performance yet?’ I squirmed in my seat. ‘Not yet’ I answered totally lost by his actions. ‘Go get the review so we go through it now’ I walked out without a word and headed towards the staircase, pausing for a moment to replay what had just happened in his office.

‘What did my performance have to do with the cheques? what urgency did it have that my salary just had to wait?…what did it have to with anything at all? Why was it suddenly an obstacle to my having smiling pockets? I was back in his office a few minutes later, hugging on to the performance review documents for dear life. At that moment, I had every reason to value that document much more than anything else. It felt like with a Midas touch , it would suddenly transform into a white stallion and race off or disappear  with me only to reappear in a backdated time, probably in 1796. I would be caught pants down dressed in a tight Lillian Muli skirt, and a matching tiny top standing on cow dung and next to a borehole, somewhere in the Spanish Prairies. I love those stories on the Spanish Prairies. C’mon on they were really cool! OK, fine, it’s way out of place. I agree. My imagination sometimes scares me too.

We discussed everything I had and hadn’t done, adding and deducting marks here and there. Every deduction seemed a demeaning deduction of Kshs. 2,000 from my pay cheque. Unnoticeable streams of sweat cascaded down my face each time he shook his head with disapproval and I felt worse than a cat that just misses a fat rat. Of course I got approvals too. In fact looking at it now, the approvals made up a confident 93% of the whole discussion.

However like every other normal  human being, I chose to hang on to the negatives. For a moment there I collected all these negatives, created a nice mound and named it ‘My Foundation’. I then picked up my life long experiences and qualifications and stuck them neatly on top while admiring my piece of work. I went on to pick the confidence I had earlier dropped and tried to balance it on top of everything else. For a moment there, it stood, nicely done, but a second later everything crumbled down. I had clearly been wasting my time.

Friends, do I really have to tell you where I went wrong? Good. I thank God for your wisdom. It was not the first time I realised I was being silly, but indeed the first that it actually hit me that this funny habit is quite common, at times even to those with great wisdom. Right before you get up, dust yourself and try again, those horned little demons pay you a visit and make most of the moment.

Yikes!

They try to remind us how we are failures, how we constantly make typing errors and forget to include subjects to emails. They drill it in our minds how even with Things-To-Do-Today books, we still forget and end up as great disappointments. Today I have decided to be blind to little demons. I will not build my courage on a foundation of negatives and I will live each day trying to be better than yesterday.

Time celebrate my new discovery with a glass of Baile…um sorry. I don’t drink. Great weekend friends!

A little girl's dream

(Eyes closed)

Once upon a time, when I was young and imprudent; when I walked the path of artlessness and lived in a castle in Spain, I was a beautiful little princess living on the prairie and chasing wild dogs. I’d love picking berries and running in the woods. I’d catch butterflies and let them go; and take home a basket full of lilies. At home, we’d have a kettle with boiling coffee always  hanging above the fire place and any visitor would be offered some. We’d stay indoors if we got the flu and nurse it, safely sandwiched amidst blankets. All girls and women would hold the hair back in a simple chignon or tie it in two braided pony tails.  We all had long, soft and straight hair.

During the cold weather, we would wear hoods that were made of sheep skin and long-armed dresses with petticoats and laces. My grand mother was always sewing warm cadigans and blankets while carefully perched on the rocking chair by the window, just next to the fire place. When bored, I would curl up on a rug on the floor beside her and listen to her beautiful voice fill the airwaves with tune.

Years later, I’d grow into a beautiful young woman, aware of her influence towards men. I’d  be shy if a young man would look into my eyes; and I would I look down and draft a numeric number 17 with my big toe. I would finally gather all my guts and face him and eventually turn him down. He would again try to woo me, and still fail miserably and would give up as I would be too beautiful, to precious a diamond to get lost among silvers; to good a young woman to have just any man out there. I’d be innocent, yet aware of myself; intelligent yet inexperienced.

I’d be a virgin waiting on my prince charming.

I’d attend parties and dance with my friends, yet no man would have the courage to talk to me. I would have rejected them all. I would never let just any man into my heart. Not until I met someone that would make my heart skip a beat; someone whose mere presence would make me tremble and feel weak in my knees; someone who would  make my brain stop thinking and just want to be with him; one who would be my man, my hero, my knight in shining armour; my prince and sole proprietor of my heart.

And one day, I would meet him, in a crowd, his eyes staring straight at me; seeing only me. His body would be masculine, broad shoulders; precipice face, firm big arms and a chest that would make me want to scream for breath. He would capture my attention and make me a fool for him. I would fall flat, not literary, in love with him. I would know it is he, my heart had waited for and I would  smile at him.

This man who knocks me off guard would approach me and take my hands in his. His eyes would hold mine and we’d share a bond. A bond that leaves one to marvel at the mysteries of life; the bond that would only grow tighter hence forth, that bond that entangles two souls into sparks and fireworks that eventually turn into a ball of fire.

Fire that burns furiously; burning away all sorrow, lonesomeness, trepidation, frustration and desperation; burning all things and people who get in it’s way as it rolls down the mound if life. My prince would ask for my hand in marriage: I would not hesitate. I’d immediately say yes!

We would get married and start our own life…without the fear of being broken, not by him,or our fake friends,or relatives; not by some other ill-motivated man or woman. Not even STDs/AIDS would shake us. The only thing that would detach us, fail us, mock us, that we cannot brawl against would be death; and in death we would part,  not at 40 not even at 60.

(Eyes Open)

This is a dream most young girls always have. A dream I too had since I was just about 5 years old. I read books that described the beauty of every little girl in a perfect replication of Rappunzel, Snow White and Little Red Riding hood. I believed every girl was a special little princess and if you were impecable in your deeds, then a good prince would come your way, to save you from the ugly jaws of singlehood and loneliness.

Not until my eyes opened did I realise I was in a country they called ‘Third world’, somewhere in Africa now in the 21st century; a place where all our hair is black, curly and hard like steel; a place where many a women have their hearts torn away from their chests. They watch them get tarnished by hungry lustful men, and get thrown off at the next stop…another woman.

I have watched many men treat women like pieces of tissues, (not hankies) in a flu infected area. They would blow off ghastly mucus in them, sneer at the disgusting sight, hurtle them in a crumble and toss them away.

I have kissed enough frogs and instead of letting them go, I hung on to their slippery tails, and watched them slither into other women’s arms. I sort for love in all the wrong places..is there a right place anyway? I was broken, torn down, mocked and jeered at, but never gave in.

I held on to my fantasy.

I still believed my prince was out there, somewhere, probably lost in one of the millions of streets in the world. I still hang in there. I never yearned for another woman’s man or boyfriend, I never sat on hot chapos or hide ‘Kamùti’ in my bedroom. I was patient.

And in the end, I met him, with my eyes open.

Bought me Chinese feet…

I made a pledge to ensure I bug you every week. This week I got busy…everyone is always busy of course, who am I kidding? Anyway having a tight schedule, will not be an excuse to miss out on this post. It’s been wild fighting with time. Trying to act goddess and controlling the sun, just so it sets in my time. I was busy working, tweeting, face booking, getting friends to like my photo, attending meetings and briefs, peeking at my phone during meetings, getting friends to like my photo some more, scribbling down pointless points in meetings, voting some more…

…till I won a dinner for two on Valentine’s Day. Yes, it was no joke looking like a spammer filling all face book friends inboxes with links to vote for me, and it was not for nothing, Although I only participated knowing my winning chances were very high, I still had to make you click the ‘like’ button. So to all my face book friends, I truly appreciate from the bottom of my, you know what. Because of you, I almost ate a shrimp but got too scared. I danced under the stars and drank lots of wine on a weekday. Because of your votes, I was lucky to witness a young lady (who also won a dinner) steer away raw pork on a plate instead of giving it to the chef to cook for her. She then served herself rice and poured stew on top of the meet! EEEEEwwwwwww!!!!! It was the most embarrassing thing I have seen this year, though it gave ma good laugh for quite a while. Hahaha! Ok, for a very a long while. Friends, because of you I learnt the importance of exposure. Never serve what you are not sure you can eat.

I realise we need to have more of such events so that we as Kenyans keep exercising our rights to free things while our neighbours learn to use the fork and knife. We need publicity to live and fit in with the class of those, like Mike Sonko who have dinner at Ole Sereni every evening. He has the money!

The story…

One hot Sunday afternoon, my husband and I decided to hold a meeting; a family meeting; a meeting of two people; the two of us. We sat down in our bedroom to discuss big matters.

The Money. (Mirrors entertainment music in the background)

We always discuss money. Everyone always discusses money; the same way we discuss traffic in Nairobi, or at KFC Galleria. We discuss money in an overcharging matatu, in the house, office, at my administration desk, in my emails…everywhere!  If money were a man, he would be as hot as those Mexican dudes who unbutton their shirts halfway. They would be touched by all; men and women, laid by all; immoral and gay, yet still valuable. If it were a woman, money would be curvy and fair skinned, in red, killer dresses, tall, with long legs and hair (not weaves), and forever in 6inch stilettos. They would be whores that never take showers and stink or cigarette, sweat and rotting stench. Yet are still wanted.

We all have an affinity to money, no? Why then do I see M-pesa and Airtel money numbers on my screen every Sunday morning? Why do I pretend not to listen to sermons provided by those brown suited preachers in buses? Or the ones that ask for 200 bob at bus station?

Be you screaming knives about not having enough of it, or jumping gleefully about having it for free…either way, it works the key word here being money.

So in our family meeting we decided to recompense ourselves for our achievements the previous year. We had managed to get our floors tiled, did our kitchen cabinets, painted walls, stopped breastfeeding and potty train our little girl. We also thought to motivate ourselves more in order to achieve even greater things this year. We decided to get a family photo shoot. Do a little bit of clothes shopping and get me some silver earrings. I am not bluffing. It’s good to once in a while to thank yourself for being a good chap. Shake your hand, pat yourself on the shoulder and nod yourself an approval for your good deeds.

Off to China…

Among the things we got were shoes.

It’s been long since I bought me nice new shop shoes. I was so used to buying second hand stuff, that my feet grew fat and flat from wearing used, softened, flat and mockingly short-heeled shoes. On our way back I stole yet another glance at the shoes I had just bought…I took a good look. It was until I realised I couldn’t read the brand name well that I realised what I had just done. It read something like Jin-chang-niao. Did I just spell that right? Goodness, that ching chong Chu bug must have caught up with me!

The shoes were made in China. I died.

I have this stereotypic thought, as many of you do, that anything made in china will suddenly fall and break into millions of pieces. It took my husband for ever to convince me that many things in Kenya still come from China.

I wore my shoes on the first day and almost broke my ankles in them. The Chinese in charge of its making must have been high on something. Either that or they had a hunch that I, with my long foot needed a bit of trimming. That evening I had my husband massage my feet and soaked them in hot water. He mentioned that my feet just needed to adjust to their newness. They pressed on till I thought I went a size smaller, I now believe I own a pair of Chinese feet. 🙁