Adventures And Would-be Kidnappers

I could have been kidnapped last week. In a moment of silliness, and due my phlegmatic side that hates to hurt or disappoint people, I would have found myself somewhere in Kawangware being held hostage for a ridiculous amount of money as ransom.

Last week boyfriend and I were supposed to go and visit our friends in Kawangware. As always, I had left the house later than I had planned and had like 15 minutes to get to Kawangware from Westlands by matatu. Luckily, I don't have to walk too far to get a matatu; all I have to do is step out of our gate and wait. After a couple of minutes of waiting, a matatu stops for me. A man opens the front door for me. As I draw nearer towards the vehicle, I notice that the back of the van is empty. And why was the conductor sitting with the driver?

The matatu seems a bit suspicious to me so I pause and give an I-don't-trust-you look to the driver and conductor.

"Kwani unaogopa madam?" they asked. Are you afraid?

Of course I am! Why is the matatu empty?

"Usiogope madam. Sisi si watu wabaya." Do not be afraid. We aren't bad people.

I still hadn't gotten into the van and was contemplating whether I should get in. They kept on pushing me to enter so, against my better judgement, I did. I was late and there seemed to be no signs of any other matatu heading towards Kawangware and boyfriend wouldn't have been pleased if I got there too late. Besides, matatus heading to Kawangware were hardly ever full at that hour.

When I got in, I told the conductor and driver that I was afraid of getting in because the matatu was empty. The driver went ahead to inform me that the vehicle was experiencing mechanical problems thus it wasn't going to carry any passengers.

Yes, you read correctly. They weren't supposed to be carrying any passengers. So why was I in it? And were they even heading towards my destination? Did they expect me to pay them?

Feeling completely uncomfortable with the situation at hand, but unafraid, I sat quietly, hardly looking to the direction of the two young men that sat next to me. Luckily, they were headed to Kawangware, so I kinda relaxed.

When we were in Lavington, boyfriend calls. Unsure of whether to tell him of my current situation, I tell him of my whereabouts and assure him that I'd be in Kawangware in the next fifteen minutes. At that moment it hit me that I could have just walked myself into kidnap. Wow! So this is how it happens, sometimes, I thought to myself as I came up with ways to escape my travel mates, if they turned out to be kidnappers.

At some point, the van started giving them problems so they asked me politely to leave. I thanked them and jumped out of the van. As I went to get another mat, I smiled.

That was close! I could have been kidnapped and I could have led myself into it!

When I told boyfriend about it, he shook his head in disbelief. He didn't give me the this-world-is-unsafe-so-don't-trust-people talk. I think he was too preoccupied with his own adventure. And when I told my really close friend, she called me stupid. I'm sure that's what you think too, that I'm foolish and terribly naive.

This was probably my first thought after that incident: Haiya! You can actually hitch hike in Kenya and not get killed or kidnapped! 

Then I remembered something that Paulo Coehlo had said about traveling. He said, "When I complained that I never stayed in one place for very long, people were horrified: 'But it's great to travel. I wish I had the money to do what you're doing!' Travel is never a matter of money but of courage."


PS You must read this story. There are great writers in Kenya!
http://rasmengesha.wordpress.com/short-story/rough-dimples-in-the-wall/

Taking The Plunge

I recently acquired a boyfriend. I must say, I like the word 'acquire', which can mean to obtain or secure for oneself or to achieve as a result of one's behaviors or qualities, because it reminds me that getting a boyfriend was an exercise and adventure that required my effort, time and sacrifice. Now that the process bore fruit and I am what my friend calls 'wifed', my friends have been dying to read a blog post about my adventures in my relationship. Thus, due to peer pressure and the constant need to please the whole world at my age, I decided to write something. 

I had an aha! moment yesterday. I was thinking about Boyfriend and his super awesomeness. At some point during my musings, I imagined him dating some other not so random girl and I was horrified. Why in the world was I thinking about him dating another girl so early in the relationship? Wasn't this supposed to be the time to be enchanted by the magic of love and believe in happily ever after? By then, I'd already started freaking out. Lots of thoughts were scuttling through my mind, primarily about how silly I am and how much of a failure I am and how my relationship shall fail because of my silliness. 

In between all this panicking, I realized that I do all of the three: fear happiness, put other people's happiness before mine and don't know how to be happy. When I assume that in the near future my boyfriend will be dating another girl, I believe that I'm not good enough or I don't deserve such a good thing or that the poor girl needs Boyfriend more than I do. And that's all crap. I may not deserve all the beauty I have in my life, but that's why there's God's abundant grace. Grace gives even to the undeserving, and it gives love and joy and peace and happiness and patience and so much more. So why am I so afraid to receive it? Why am I trying to save up today's grace for tomorrow yet there'll be a new stash of grace tomorrow?

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm afraid and I really don't think I deserve this gift God's given me. But who cares whether I deserve him or not? I have him now, I might as well enjoy the ride and love and be loved. Today I choose to find happiness in what I have and learn to be grateful and enjoy every minute of it.

In other news, I think Boyfriend is psychic. A couple of hours before my meltdown, he sent me a link that is relevant to my blog post. I hope you enjoy.

http://zenpencils.com/comic/54-ray-bradbury-jump/

http://zenpencils.com/comic/theodore-roosevelt-the-man-in-the-arena/

PS I'm taking the plunge. Hope I'll be making some wings with Boyfriend :)

To Commemorate This Day

Yes.

I hope that will be enough poetry to disorient your heart beat, make you stumble and trip and boil your blood with its heat.

How To Prepare Brown Rice Or Mothers And Daughters

I happen to be one of the best cooks I know. The thing is, I'm one of the best cooks in an unknown future. At the moment, I just know how to boil things. How I got into the conversation below- via text, mind you- is completely unknown to me. 

Girl X: Guess who's attempting to make brown rice :) hope it works :)
     Me: Brown rice isn't too hard :) too hard to make.
Girl X: Is it? but it uses a lot of water right?
     Me: No. I usually use the same amount...
Girl X: The pack said 1 part to four parts and my mother said you should soak it first. For like 30min.                                      
            That's a lot of water.
     Me: Oh yea, it takes a while to cook. And it's like the water evaporates so slowly.
Girl X: Oh dear how I hope it cooks. It's been cooking for 40min...crossing my fingers
             IT'S PUDDING
     Me: HOW MUCH WATER DID YOU PUT?
Girl X: 4 parts
     Me: How many cups of rice?
Girl X: 4 and half. So I put 16 parts
            It's pudding and it isn't ready :( oh gosh. I'm a failure
            Well it was cooking on the jiko so there may have been heat issues. But imagine it's not even
            close. Should I put coal on top?
     Me: Okay, first of all you're not a failure. Second, brown rice tastes a bit different from white rice
            when it's ready and you put 16 cups of water? That rice should be ready!
Girl X: My brother could kill me. I put spice to remove the weird taste. I may have over salted it as well
Girl X: Thanks love. Now this one is not cooked. It's chewy.
     Me: My mum says (I trust her more than google) that it should be more than ready if it looks like
            mush. And if it looks like mush, it can't really be saved :( that's what she said.
            Is normal rice available tonight?
Girl X: I've made food for a village and there's nothing else to cook in the house. But why are there
            pieces of uncooked rice?
    Me: My mother is laughing at us. Dot com children struggling to cook rice :)
Girl X: Oh gosh. Tell your mother it's not funny. The whole family was counting on this meal working
            out :) oh gosh. I'll leave it on the fire till everything evaporates.
     Me: Why have you made so much food?
Girl X: Lunch the next day. And for whenever. There's no food in the fridge
    Me: How about you make rice cakes. Girl X's version? ;) where are you?
Girl X: Rice cakes? What are those? OH DEAR! There isn't any oven. But I can use the jiko.
     Me: Okay, forget the rice cakes idea. It's either made from rice flour or other things.
Girl X: Folks are home. Oh gosh.
     Me: Oh no...what have they said.
Girl X: Nothing yet. Still waiting.
     Me: Are you sure it's not ready?
Gril X: Well, I'm upstairs. Not going down till tomorrow or till she comes to my room.
     Me: Ha ha ha! your mum won't kill you
Girl X: Well, her gloating could

Here I fast forward our conversation a bit...

Girl X: You know my aunts keep saying how we'll be sent home by our husbands if we don't know
             how to cook. We have a problem. I'LL BE SENT HOME.
     Me: Ha ha ha! I'll send him home :D
Girl X: For sending me home?
      Me: For not helping you become a better cook and not cooking.


When I was reminiscing on our conversation and thinking how ridiculous it was that we had a whole conversation about preparing rice via text and how much Girl X uses 'oh gosh', I could't help but realise how much our mother's opinions mattered. Whether it was in the way the rice should be made or how it turned out, we both wanted our mums to approve whatever we were doing and affirm us. 

Oscar Wilde said, 'All women become their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That is his.' I worry for my daughter :)

What Do You Like?

I like stories. I like it when a person sits with me, tells me about his or her life and adventures. I love books. I love the places they take me and what they teach me. Sometimes when I sit next to the window of my class, I can hear a bunch of people jamming at the Kenya Conservatoire as if they’re encouraging me to go on with the dance. I like that too. I love it when my lecturer, usually when the sun has just set and the class is too stuffy, asks for our opinion on watching TV or laptops or whatever the subject of the current poem we’re reading is. And nothing can give more satisfaction than the thrill of ensuring that my voice has been heard in class. I like that I am forced to go to the library, do my own research because I feel that I need to experience prose and poetry for myself. 

And this is why I chose Literature, because I love it. I hear love is all that matters, so I’m sticking to it. I chose to think that this is what passion is about.

In Another World

He says that from the moment he first laid his eyes on me, he knew we had met in another world. In another time, maybe when I wore long skirts and smoked weed, and he was a world-peace activist, our hands clasped around each other as they are now. He says in that world, we neither married nor had kids because it would have messed up our mojo. But we were so into each other, he tells me. He says he met me in another world, and I smile, trying my best to disagree with him without being too harsh and rude. I smile, because I think it's cute that he's trying to make sense out of the attraction, passion and heat that we feel running through our blood for each other. I smile but don't believe what he says. See, I know and remember nothing about anything that isn't in my current world and I don't believe that my spirit could have been in Cleopatra's body once. Why would a spirit want to come back to be in captivity when it can be free? It doesn't make sense.  Not that the thrill that runs through my body when his hand is wrapped so tightly around my waist makes sense nor does the joy of having him next to me. But I choose to think about the now- his eyes, his rather large nose and his strangeness. I choose to focus on him now because this is what I have: the present...a present.

Clueless

Clueless,

I awoke every hour or so to check if he was still alive

Clueless,

I opened my eyes, watching as his chubby fingers struggle to find my face

Eyes shut, mouth slightly open preparing to let out a whine

He rests his hands on my cheeks, pinches them gently

Lets out a sigh, the whine quickly forgotten.

I watch, as his lips meet, giving him the determined look that would make me let him have his way, that would make us fight like two children

I watch, the rise and fall of his chest, trying to understand my latest puzzle, trying to find even a hint of his mother in his lips and long lashes and chubby cheeks. I'll later find the resemblance in his determination and defiance and protests, in the way he'll be throwing a tantrum one moment and laughing with me the other.

I feel his hands loosen his grip. i continue staring at this face, now under my care. My chest tightens with love and anxiety.

I watch, the rise and fall of his chest. I watch, as he kicks the covers and turns to face the wall, then me, then the headboard.

And I feel clueless because love doesn't feel enough to take care of this precious gem.

A Moment Of Spoonerism

The lecturer is talking too fast, I think. Or maybe my world has slowed down, due to boredom, and I can’t keep up with him. That’s why I keep missing what he says. I now have to copy notes from my neighbor and friend, B. I am daydreaming about the book I am reading as I copy the notes.

It’s a Mills and Boons. I’ve just reached the point where the hero and the heroine have been left alone for the first time. There’s lots of heat and chemistry and attraction and passion. The hero was making a move and….

My thoughts are stopped on their tracks by a word that is unlikely to be part of the notes on the emergence of Sociology. I can feel myself frowning, trying to make sense of the word. And then I feel a slightly cheeky smile creeping to my lips. I turn to B.

“What’s this?” I ask, tapping the word on his book.

B, the geek who never misses class, is too engrossed in what the lecturer is saying to hear my whisper. I ask him the question again, this time a bit louder. He seems startled to hear my voice. It was as though he was in a sort of meditation and the lecturer’s words were his mantra. B looked at the place I was pointing at and read the word on his book.

‘…like a biological science, Sociology began looking at society as an orgasm with interdependent parts which are functionality integrated.’

I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was blushing and trying to even his breath. He apologizes and doesn’t stop doing so for another 30 seconds-, which can be pretty long if you think whatever is happening is a waste of time-, which amuses me even more. I make the situation more awkward by asking what orgasms we’d be studying in Sociology. I giggled but B looked forward and went back to focusing on his mantra. That meant that that discussion was over and never to be spoken of again.

B has always been shyer than I, and he was never too comfortable with talking about sex. I have been his friend for years now and he’s never told me about girls or his escapades. Maybe he just hasn’t explored that part of his life or maybe he’s gay. Maybe he likes me thus can’t tell me about other girls.

The reasons why we haven’t talked about sex don’t bother me too much. All I wonder is, how much time does a young adult think about sex in a day? Does sex consume a part of our minds consciously and subconsciously? Maybe B was thinking about it when he was listening to the lecturer…or not. Heck, I was living the Mills and Boons scene in my mind! So what are my fellow classmates, aged between 18 and 25 thinking about?

 PS This was inspired by my friend M, in Sociology class. Thank.

When You're In Bed, You're Dead

I am great at making resolutions. They are always the life changing type; the ones that will enable me reach some sort of self-actualisation or become famous. Of late, for example, I have decided to work out thrice a week, learn to play the guitar and read the newspaper daily. The problem is, I’ve had these resolutions for the past two years.

Yes, it’s sad and, I must admit, a bit pathetic. Now, let me explain my patheticness, if such a word exists. Every time I make up my mind to positively alter my life, I start with so much oomph. I’m the type of person who’ll do whatever it takes to achieve my goals...for the first couple of weeks. And then, out of nowhere, life punches me so hard in the gut that it leaves me on my knees, weak, panic stricken and gasping for air. All hope I had in life quickly fades and is replaced with fear. In a state of terror, I flee from the world in search of a haven. I lock myself up in my room and hide in the place I find safest- that is, my bed.

I hide under the covers, watching chick flicks and drowning myself in depression. I lock out hope and let fear beat the self-confidence out of me. My zeal for life is lost for a week or two or a month until something or someone or God ignites the fire in me again. Then the process starts all over again.

It is a vicious cycle. One moment I believe that I am the most capable person in the world, that I can achieve anything. The next moment I am filled with doubt and insecurities about my abilities. Yes, I have doubts and life can suck at times but blocking out the world all in the name of fear won’t get me anywhere. I’ll still wake up very single day with the same problems I had the previous day.

As I watch the youth in Kenya rise and bring change, I have been challenged to be a part of them. I really do want to make a difference but it can’t be done by whispering my dreams to my pillow and building castles in the air.  Change will not take place if we wallow over our problems and dream of being people that we’re not striving to be. Truly, actions do speak loudly.

I understand what Morrie (from Tuesdays with Morrie) meant when he said, ‘When in bed, you’re dead.’ You and I will never change our worlds if we’re busy dreaming about changing it instead of doing something to alter. So get off your ass and JUST DO IT!

PS. I found it so hard not to put smiley faces while I wrote this. The effects of texting. Sigh... :)

You Can Have Me

Guys, I'm sorry I haven't written in a very long time. I think I was going through that phase where you don't believe in yourself thus your creativity dies. Anyway, God has a way of re-igniting the passion within us. Hope you enjoy this one :)

Four words said months ago come now to attack me. 

I have been caught off-guard. 

They are my friends and enemies. Frenemies. 

They tag at my senses, wanting to be noticed

They whisper in my ear, coaxing me to pick them

They hold my hand, my wingmen

They let my tongue have a taste of sweet somethings

They let my eyes see them and the future they could bring.

Choose me

They said.

And I did, 

Building castles in the air,

Where you're the charming prince and I'm the fair princess.

Now I feel deceived.

For the promise they held has been crushed to dust

And the wind blows them farther away

To a place we call the past.

Will I lose my friend?

HOPE SPRINGS

Flicker of hope,
In my eyes, in your hands.
Flicker of hope,
In my heart, in your dance.

POST VOTING DISORDER

It has been exactly a week since I voted and I still have ink on my nail. Clearly, I wasn't one of the smart girls who went to vote with painted nails. Having a tattooed nail- my friend decided IEBC used tattoo ink- does have its perks though. In a moment of pure boredom and inspiration, I decided to write a love letter between inanimate objects. I chose the letter to be to my nail from the tattoo ink IEBC used. Enjoy!

Dear Nail,

I am no nail polish. I will stand the test of time. I will not chap after a day of hard work or when you brush against a rough edge and leave you broken or thirsty for another touch of polish. I, ink, will not leave you. I shall stick with you, through soapy water and butter knife like incisors; I will stand by you even on those days when you're not at your best. I won't try to hide who you truly are behind neon colors of the rainbow and beyond, no, not me. Instead I'll knit myself into your little ridges and valleys and we'll become one, somehow complementing each other. I will be the sign that you did something great and that there's a bone of selflessness in you. Trust me, I will make you better. And don't mind what your fellow nails say; they've never been in a long-term relationship. We can grow and age together as they remain single or swap from being wrapped around the passionate arms of scarlet red polish to those of royal purple forever. But I will stay with you and hold you as tight and as long as God will let me. And if I ever begin to fade away from your beautiful curves, it is not that I don't love you anymore; it is that our time together will have come to an end. And I hope then you will look back not with regret but with thanksgiving that we were together, that you'll get butterflies every time you think of me, because I know I will.

And this is where I got my inspiration from:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIAQENsqcuM

IN THE BEGINNING....

 It had been a hot September day and the sun that had worked so hard to ensure that even my dark skin get sunburns was regretfully showing it’s final orange-red rays in the horizon, a reminder that its reign of terror was a possibility the following day.

DH-T stood near the opening of the once white tent, whose sides had gaping holes, emphasizing its unkempt state. He was listening intently to, Kamau, one of the many youth that looked up to him, as if Kamau was the only thing that mattered in his life.

When he saw me walking towards him, he forgot for a moment about Kamau and a smile, so warm and welcoming, spread across his dark chocolate face. At that point, I must have thought I was the most important person in his world. Happy to see him, I returned the smile; he was my constant reminder that one of the best pleasures in life is people. I said my hellos to the duo, quickly excusing myself, wondering into my thoughts, and finding ways to apologize for being late again.

I didn’t need to apologize; DH-T began entertaining me with fables, jokes and facts the minute he was done with his little meeting, flashing that smile that showed the incisor that jutted out from the normal alignment of his set of teeth in defiance to the lack of space- a symbol of his character. He led me to the place we hang out when we needed free Internet.

“Have you started your blog?” He asked, hopeful.

“No.”

He grunted, feigning anger and disgust. He decided at that moment that putting up my blog was the most crucial thing to do. It was about 6.30 pm and I knew I shouldn’t agree to this. It could take ages if the Internet was slow and my siblings expected me home by 7.30. If I arrived late, they wouldn’t be too pleased with me. Although these worries flooded my mind, I agreed to his plan. How could I say no to him?

As luck would have it, the Internet was slow and I didn’t have a name for my blog. As time wiled away, we stared blankly at the screen trying to figure out what I would call my new creative and expressive platform.

7.00. No name. We chat a little, hoping chatter would spring up a name or even a clue.

7.05. No name. He tells me about his latest story that I have fallen in love with.

7.15. Still, no name and DH-T was getting tired of hearing me repeat over and over, ‘my sister will kill me’ like some sort of chant that would materialize a title for my blog. He was so weary of my song that he typed it as the title of my blog and continued with the process of signing up. 

I don’t even remember the time I arrived home. I just know it was past 7.30 pm. I think my sister was a little ticked off by my being late though she wasn’t ready to go out to dinner. I shouldn’t have been so worried after all.

A couple of hours later, after jokes and lots of tales had been shared around a dinner table, my beautiful sister gave a toast in my honour. She said the most amazing things about me in front of her friends. I tell you, it was a wonderful, emotionally charged moment, realizing that my sisters believed in me and that they loved me a lot. All I could do was smile, take a sip of my wine and hope the lump that was forming in my throat would go down with the wine. It didn’t.

So, this is for my big brother DH-T and Sensei for pushing me to begin this blog and write, believing that one-day I’ll be a big shot in the Literature scene and for making sure I had posted this blog post; and to my wonderful siblings who love me as I am, believe in me even when I don’t, challenge me to chase after my dreams and inspire me to be unique and kick ass. Thank you for making this happen.

And this is to my beautiful, talented, and intelligent self. Unanimity is for the invisible. Keep writing!