This feels like 36.

36 is that age.

That age where you are neither young nor old. You have the liberty of officially declaring yourself old when you clock 40, I think? Or maybe you don’t? Ever? Life begins at 40 anyway, right? Middle age is what this is; a tad confusing because you are neither here nor there. Neither hip nor extinct. You are in between being cool and being so outdated.

36 is that age where you are no longer content with status quo. It is that age where you grow tired of mere talk and yearn for more action. You want things to change. You want to leave a mark. This is the age where the bucket list is unleashed with zeal and thrown thunderously onto the table for serious consideration. POW!

If you don’t allow its liminality to get to you, this is the age where your dreams seem so reachable. You are vibrant and energetic enough to go for what you want. You have the confidence and the zeal to leap without fear of landing face first. You have sure steps. You know your strengths and you understand your weaknesses. You are ok with that. You are ok with all of you.

You feel attractive, still. Ironically, you don’t care much for physical attributes as you do the non-physical. You don’t walk into a room or stroll across the street and get an ego boost at the number of stares and catcalls that follow you. Or do you? You however find fulfillment in connecting intellectually. You are enthralled by a man’s mind as opposed to his abs and broad chest. You don’t judge books by their covers anymore. You delve deeper. Scratch beneath the surface. In the process, you lose respect for people you initially held in awe only to scratch beneath the surface and find nothing.

At 36, your patience wans. You become intolerant about hanging around pretenders. You appreciate people who are real. Those who don’t try to pretend that they have it all together – who does anyway? You are drawn to people who are clear on what they want out of life. You love the honest prostitute and abhor the promiscuous bible-wielding nun, so to speak.

You don’t waste time on arguments anymore. If at this age, they still don’t know what you stand for. What makes you tick. What ticks you off.  What your principles are. You cannot help them. Not at 36. Surely there are better, urgent, more productive, more important things to do than to make someone see your point. You either agree, or agree to disagree. Life goes on.

And we only live once. Get on with the living.

You learn to let go. Especially of the adults that you might have, sorta, in one way or another, ‘babied’ for a while. At some point, you might have conceitedly thought that you could solve all problems for those who came to you.  Thankfully, you grew up enough to realize that grownups have the capacity to take care of themselves. You offered unsolicited advice,  talked to them about this and that. The importance of doing this and living like this as opposed to the other way.  Then you got tired.  It took you a while but you managed to finally see that an adult will (and rightfully so) do whatever they damn well please. That is one of the perks that come with adulthood; freedom. Every one of them is entitled to their own mistakes. Your attitude, now that you're 36, towards adults who insist on making glaring mistakes is summed up in two words; your life.

Arrgh! But mediocrity  tires you. It really does! You strive for excellence. You want to explore more. Travel more. Feel more. Achieve more. Do more. Read more. Ultimately, write more.

You are not just a dilettante anymore. You are the real deal. The Da Vinci. The Elvis Presley. You have purpose and you are committed to it.

At 36, you grab your dreams with both hands and refuse to let anything, anyone take them away from you. You are going in. Full throttle. No holds barred.

Maybe it’s just me?

Yeah. This indeed feels like 36. The countdown begins; it is exactly one week since I turned 36. This will go down in history as the age at which I wrote my first book . The age at which dreams transitioned to reality; I bought my first car, I travelled the world. I made a mark.

I am grabbing these dreams.

Not letting go.

Not letting go.

Have a productive week!

It’s The Little Moments…

Heidi’s closet is getting revamped with clothes that don’t fit Hailey anymore. This means that Hailey’s closet is slowly gaining more room until we buy her new clothes to compensate for the ones she has lost to Heidi. I was arranging their closets the other day and realized that a lot of Hailey’s clothes have become too small and have to be passed down to Heidi.

These are the moments that make you aware that growth is happening. If the fact that they don’t need you to spoon feed them anymore, that they wash their hands before sitting down to eat without being told, that they don’t soil themselves or have small ‘accidents’ here and then, that they go to Sunday school willingly, without a fight (as was previously the case here) and stay there until mass is over before coming to find you - If these fact somehow don’t catch your eye, then you thankfully have the clothes that stop fitting to jolt you to that glaring reality.

But my Heidi sweetly thinks that the same way clothes become small after a while is the same way, they become bigger for a bigger person to wear. So when Hailey makes a face because she doesn’t like the idea of passing down her favorite skirt, Heidi is quick to console her saying “Usijali Hailey. Ikikuwa kubwa nitakupatia, sawa?”

I am glad that this growth is happening right before my eyes. I get to experience some things for the first time since this is the first school holiday that we are spending together entirely. Previously, all the time I could afford was a smidgen just before they closed their eyes to sleep or very early in the morning when they woke up, if they woke up early to catch me before I went to work. There was also the weekend option of a Saturday afternoon, and the whole of Sunday (God bless Sunday!) Things are different now in the sense that I am present. I am doing everything for my children from the time they wake up to the time they go back to sleep.

I am cooking for them, giving them baths. I am disciplining them, scolding them for not answering when I call them and admonishing them for not sharing their toys. I am also learning in the process. Learning to be patient with their young exploring minds. I am also learning to write and read amidst the noise. I am learning that children can play endlessly without tiring (the energy, my goodness!) especially now that schools are closed. I am learning to expect an unexpected kiss from Heidi when I am helping her get dressed. And I am loving it! I am learning to accept a helping hand from Hailey when she offers to do the dishes. And not to tear up when she does a jaw-dropping job.  I am watching them eat, play, and sleep. I am watching them grow. I am watching them watch me and emulate me.

Under my watchful eyes, my children blossom.

It doesn’t escape my mind that these moments will never come back. This is it. I am living for the moment because who knows… tomorrow there may be no kiss from Heidi. She might have gone to college, got married or relocated to another continent. And I will think of that kiss, crave it, but it will be gone. So, yeah, I will have one kiss to the cheek now, this moment, before it is taken away from me, thankyouverymuch!

As I put them to bed every night, I know that this is it. This is what their childhood will read like in their books. As I cook their favorite meal, I am fully aware that the smell of the food wafting from the kitchen to fill the whole house will be picked by their nostrils in their adult life and it will bring them down memory lane to this very moment of their childhood.

These are the moments. And these little moments are a big deal. It’s the little moments that make life big, innit?

I was just reading about the Cherry Blossom, a white flower with a tinge of pink at the base. These flowers are, apparently, Japan’s unofficial National Flower. Why doesn’t our country have a National Flower, woiye? Cherry Blossoms symbolize a bright future. In full bloom, they are a sight to behold with the trees taking the appearance of a beautiful cloud from afar. There is in fact a Cherry Blossom viewing ceremony (Hanami) where people hold picnics underneath the tree, taking the chance to relax and take in the beautiful view. What do you know, it is in fact said that most people give the answer ‘Under a Cherry tree’ to the question, ‘Where would you like to get married?’ Though Cherry Blossoms are nothing short of tres magnifique in full bloom, they only last a week or ten days tops before all the blossoms are carried away by the wind. Ten days and it’s all over. So even with all these hurly-burly surrounding its bloom, the Cherry Blossom, in all its glory and splendor lasts for ten meagre days.

The Cherry Blossom Flower
(Photo courtesy of Fanpop.com)

The Cherry Blossom Festival - Washington DC
(Photo Courtesy of Mediagallery.usatoday.com)

It is therefore referred to as a brief burst of the beauty of nature. A brief burst. I don’t think that anything better defines the ephemeral nature of life. Nothing lasts forever; Not the Cherry Blossom, nor childhood. Some things are here to be enjoyed for a moment. My children will soon cease being children. Every moment I can spend with them, I am grabbing now. What I will do is spread out that picnic blanket; stuff a basket full of picnic snacks and goodies. Then I will sit down with them under this spectacular ‘childhood’ tree. We will all make the best of it while it lasts. While the childhood clothes still fit.

I challenge you to emulate the Cherry Blossom. Burst forth with splendour even if its just for a moment. Make that moment count. Enjoy that child, that relationship, that job, while you still can. Live a life of beauty and be present in the moment. Because when you think about it, that moment is essentially all you have. It will be gone before you know it.

Have a splendid week!

Vera Sidika: Whatever Makes You Sleep Better At Night

It is three o’clock in the a.m and sleep eludes me. I have been tossing and turning for a while. Insomnia and I are bedfellows (wink, wink!). Then Md woke up for a glass of milk and the morsel of sleep that I could have used to ignite much more, flew out the window. I had to throw away the covers and seek the solace of the keyboard.

Writing at this hour is so peaceful. So quiet that you can literally hear the ‘tap’ of your fingers on the keyboard as your thoughts flow from your head to a Microsoft word page. The sound of silence is so seductive. The air is still. The only movement is from my fingers, the only sound is the soft tap, tap, tap. This is profound serenity. I wish it could last forever.

All day yesterday, my mind was on a post I was to do. I wanted to give my two cents on Vera Sidika’s recent body changes. Her skin lightening and boob enlargement, mostly. I wrote paragraph after paragraph but the story was just not connecting the way I knew it should. For me, the best thing to do to an obstinate story that refuses to come together is to leave it alone. Let it lie there and ferment for a while. When you come back to it, its ripeness will sting your nostrils as soon as you open the page. Then you can devour it like there is no tomorrow.

I therefore let the Vera story be and I slept. All the while knowing that I owed you a post. That must be the reason why I woke up at a few minutes to 3 a.m to answer the call of nature (the things I share with you on this blog yawa!) and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s the guilt of leaving you hanging yesterday. I could see your evil eye cast in my direction as you refreshed the page and no new post was forthcoming. Yeah, I could sense your indignation. I saw how you looked at me. How you closed the web page in annoyance. Yeah, thank you very much for interrupting my sleep by the way!

When Vera Sidika first talked about her skin lightening on TV, I wondered loudly what the hell was wrong with this woman. I shook my head, like I suspect most Kenyans out there did as she twirled her hair backwards in a ‘don’t care’ attitude. “My body is my business” she said. I analyzed her. I diagnosed her to have self-esteem issues. Concluded that as a child, she was never told that she was beautiful enough times. I, in my most judgmental outfit, prescribed a shrink to talk to her and help her deal with whatever issues she was dealing with.

I am a woman in my thirties and I too believe that my body is my business. I don’t like being judged. No one out there knows me better than I know myself. My choices now reflect on my experiences while growing up. My thought process is based on my beliefs, my values and my morals (or lack thereof, depending on who you ask)  

I imagined therefore, someone telling me that their life is better than mine. That I should do things their way, based on their beliefs and values. I imagined how it would sit with me to have someone dictate my choices to me. I concluded that it wouldn’t augur well with me. Not in the least bit. This train of thought is what prompted me out of bed.

It dawned on me (at dawn nonetheless!) that at this point in my life, I don’t appreciate being judged or being told what to do, and most probably so doesn’t Vera. As an adult (of sound mind, if I might add) I embrace the person that I am ever so tightly, than ever before. I love my hair in dreadlocks, I love how I dress. I love who I am, warts and all! I make my decisions based on what I believe in. If I can live with the choices I make, then so should everybody else.

I am all woman. Perfectly WOMAN. All grown. I have earned the privilege of being allowed to make my own mistakes. I wouldn’t appreciate it if that privilege was taken away from me.

I don’t know how old Vera is (really) but I know that the people we should be paying attention to are our children. Vera is a grown woman. We should leave her to her mistakes and focus instead in influencing our young children and our teens. We should be helping build their self esteem. We should be telling our young girls that they are beautiful. We should be teaching them to value themselves so that when they choose their role models, it will be someone who is comfortable in her own skin.

If I don’t appreciate an adult woman lightening her skin, tough! That is my problem which I have to deal with. I don’t advocate for boob enlargement through plastic surgery, but tough on me! Those are my demons to exorcise, not hers. So what if she is all fake? If she is happy with herself, who are we? Just because I go to church every (most, really J ) Sunday, does it mean I should go knocking on other people’s doors and prevail upon them to go to church with me? And if they prefer to sleep in, should I sneer and point fingers, predicting fire and brimstone on their souls in the hereafter?

Personal choices, as long as they don’t border on criminality, are to be respected. And mine are as important as the next person’s. Infringing on those choices is denying someone the right to live their lives. The right to be themselves.

Even though you will catch me dead getting a boob job or bleaching my skin (I could only ever afford ‘River Road’ bleaching anyway), I realize that people have a right to make their mistakes. They then get to learn from those mistakes. Folly is thinking that I hold a stake in someone else’s destiny. I don’t. In the same way that no one else does in mine.

Vera could possibly have whatever issues we would like to diagnose her with. But all that is speculation. We haven’t walked a mile in her shoe. We don’t know how her typical day looks like. We are clueless on how she sleeps at night. What goes through her head as it hits the pillow at the end of the day? What does she think about when she can’t sleep at 3am in the morning?

We are in no position to judge her.

I am in no position to tell her story.

When faced with decisions, whatever makes you sleep better at night suffices. It is your life, your beauty sleep. If your conscience is clear, you owe no one nothing!

We will talk and give our opinion about you, but in the end, you are the only one who gets to live with the choices you make. You will stop living the day you let others make those choices for you.

Please don’t ever let that happen. Live your life!

Life & Football

My body is literally sprawled on the couch. No, I did not finally solicit the services of a shrink, thank you very much!

I am watching the World Cup finals. It’s Germany pitting against Argentina. I am not watching this game because I love football much (much) more than my beauty sleep. Nor because I am so knowledgeable on matters football. I am not doing this because I suffer from insomnia (I am in fact very sleepy!) No. I am watching the finals because I am a sport. I am keeping Md company. Unlike me, he loves football. He is knowledgeable on matters football and he is not sleepy. Plus I had a bet to win. I supported Germany, he supported Argentina. Guess who lost! Guess who is getting herself a new pair of shoes! Woot! Woot!

I promised him that I would not fall asleep. That I would watch the game (I am a sport remember?). That I was eager to witness ‘my’ team trash ‘his’ team. He wasn’t convinced given the ‘sprawled on couch’ posture I had assumed. I promised. Then I fell asleep in the twenty ‘something-th’ minute.

Not my fault really. The thing about me is that my productivity is at its peak from morning (read 4 am) when I wake up, and it keeps dwindling as the day progresses, up until  the time I go back to sleep. After 7pm, I am dawdling through the remaining activities of the day. I am a Zombie at this point. So, don’t go taking my word for it when I make promises about activities that require my attention during those hours because I will disappoint you. During this time, I am only good for quiet (meaningless) chatter, leisurely activities like filing finger nails, applying nail polish, watching comedy, sprawling on the couch…you know? Nothing serious.

Knowing this weakness, I try to cram all the important stuff on my to-do list into the morning hours. If it spills over, I have no choice but to start with it the next day. I write early in the morning when my mind is top notch. I then post blog posts, read blogs, read articles, news items, books, in the afternoon. 

You therefore have to understand that I wanted to watch the game. I wanted to. But, of course, I drifted off to sleep. I remember waking up briefly to some commotion about a goal by Argentina. Then it was cancelled ati offside. I asked Md what this “offside” business really meant. Was it just a ploy by the referee to deny a team a rightfully-earned goal? He almost jumped at the suggestion seeing as he was supporting the offended team, but opted to try and explain it for the umpteenth time. I have never been able to grasp the ‘offside’ concept. I wasn’t getting it now either. Not because I don’t generally get stuff, but because…well, I am a zombie from 7pm, didn’t I tell you? He gave up talking to himself after a while and resigned to watching the game ‘alone’. I slept. Maybe I snored (he insists that I snore can you believe that! Me, I think that when one’s team is about to lose a game, the ‘disgruntled’ loser can say crazy things!)

Half time came. I woke up briefly then snored away (As if?!).

When I woke up next, the score read Germany 1, Argentina 0. Only then did I really wake up!

“Do you smell something?” I asked Md.

He looks at me puzzled ‘What?’

“VICTORY!” I shrieked. (Don’t you love that World Cup Ad? ‘The Diehards’ make me smile always.)

“Now you wake up! Now you wake up?” He asked as he shook his head.

Suffice to say, I was wide eyed as ever as I watched Germany receive with pride the world cup trophy and held it up for the world to acknowledge that they were champions. I had no ounce of sleep in me when I stretched my hand to receive my well-earned one thousand shillings from the bet with Md.

Well-earned you wonder? I slept through the march and never cheered or supported ‘my’ team in any way, right? But that is life my friend. And in life;

1.    There are people who only show up for the celebration and are nowhere in sight when you are grinding and need their support the most.

2.    There are people who will cash in on your success.

3.    People will always put their needs ahead of yours.

While still on football, learning something new never hurt anyone. So…

The offside Rule in Soccer (Defined) The law states that if a player is in an offside position when the ball is played to him or touched by a teammate, he may not become actively involved in the play.

A player is in an offside position if he is closer to the goal line than both the ball and the second-to-last defender, but only if he is in the opposition half of the field. To be offside, a player must:

§  Be in the opposition half.

§  Be in front of the ball.

§  Have fewer than two opposition players between himself and the goal line when the ball is played to him by a teammate. The goalkeeper can count as an opposing player in this instance.

(Source: About.com)

Do have a lovely week!

The Magic Bean

“First tell us a story then sing for us. When you are done, we will all pray and go to sleep” Hailey clearly gives the sequence of events when I try to send them to slumber land with just a prayer. Heidi nods in agreement with her sister. A prayer is never enough. A short story, a song, prayer, then sleep.

I don’t know why I have to sing on most days at 7.30pm in the evening but I indulge them anyway. When you see Hailey’s face as she watches me sing, you would think she is watching Celine Dion in concert. There is never a dull moment with these children of mine. Not one!

The story is always a selection from Cinderella, Snow White and the seven dwarfs, and Little Red Riding Hood. I really need to expand my fairy tales scope. I tried Rumpelstiltskin but scratched it when I couldn’t remember what happens after: Once upon a time, there was a girl called Rumpelstiltskin who had long golden hair. Her hair was so long that it was used as a ladder… Then I hit a blank. I should read that story again to refresh my memory as soon as I am done with writing this post. The things we do for love. *le sigh!*.

The story I enjoy telling the most though, is the one about the boy who cried wolf. I like this story because I get to drive the importance of honesty into my girls’ heads. You should see me saying with exaggerated emphasis, forefinger pointing up; “…the moral of the story is if you insist on telling lies, no one will believe you when you tell the truth” I think I have repeated this phrase a ‘nauseating’ couple of times but thankfully my girls are still too respectful to use the phrase “Shut up Mum!” - I am not sure how long that will last though.

For the longest time, I have been aware that repeating the above stories could soon earn me the badge ‘Boring Mum’. Then this weekend, Phoebe Buffay, she of the comedy Friends (Yeah, don’t mind me. Carry on into the future with The Big Bang Theory while I hang around the 20^th Century for a while longer) handed a fairy tale to me.

It is season 1 of Friends. The one where it all began. Rachel has just left Barry (the groom, an orthodontist) at the altar. She couldn’t marry him because she realized at the last moment, when she was fully dressed in a wedding gown, when the church was full with congregants eager to witness an exchange of nuptials. At that moment, just as she was about to walk towards her future husband’s arms, she realized then that she did not have feelings for Barry. Poor Barry! Great timing?!

So here is Rachel, wondering whether she made a mistake. She left Barry at the altar. Barry was an orthodontist, you know, quite the catch? (Because she was marrying his job?) Now she is at a point where she is second-guessing herself. What if she lives to regret this decision for the rest of her life? Phoebe then steps in. I love Phoebe! She compares Rachel to Jack.  No, not Jack from downstairs. Jack from the Jack and the beanstalk story.

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Jack who lived with her widowed mother. They were very poor. All they had was one cow which they depended on for milk. The cow stopped producing milk and Jack’s mother, not knowing what to do, decided to sell the cow because, you know, hard times. Jack was assigned the task of taking the cow to the market to find a buyer for it. Instead of giving Jack money in exchange for the cow, a butcher offered him five beans which unbeknownst to Jack's mother, were magic beans. Her mother was (understandably) annoyed to get beans in place of her precious cow. Vexed, she threw them out of the window, into the garden where they grew into a huge beanstalk that stretched all the way to the sky. Curious Jack climbs up the beanstalk and discovers a castle whose occupants are a rich Giant and his wife. A beautiful maiden appears from nowhere and informs Jack that everything the Giant has belonged to his father, and was therefore rightfully theirs. Jack then gets into the habit of climbing up the beanstalk to the castle and stealing from the giant when he goes to sleep. He steals gold, a magic hen that lays golden eggs and a magic harp that can sing. His luck however runs out one day when the Giant catches him stealing and starts chasing him down the beanstalk. Jack then yells for his mum to bring an axe, which he uses to cut the beanstalk. The Giant falls with a thud and that was the end of him. Jack and his mum henceforth live richly, happily ever after.

Back to Friends; Rachel wonders if she made a mistake leaving the good life behind to become a waitress in New York. Her friends Phoebe and Monica are trying to encourage her. Just like Jack, she had lost a cow that was not adding value to her life anymore. The Magic bean doesn’t look as valuable as the ‘cow’ was, but it turned things around for Jack and her mother. Rachel’s magic bean is a job as a waitress. A lacklustre job; as lacklustre as a bean is when compared to money. The magic of Rachel’s bean is however manifested in her growth as an independent woman who doesn’t need her father’s credit cards (which she cuts to pieces) or her (orthodontist) husband to survive.

There is always a magic bean for everyone who lets go of something that they believed they couldn’t do without. The magic bean is neither lush nor glamorous. It looks like a pathetic mirage of what we let go of. But that magic bean gets you from where you are, to where you need to be. You have to let go of a cow that doesn't produce milk anymore, in the same way you need to let go of a bad relationship that is hurting you, an addiction that is consuming you; anything that does not add value to your life. Anything that hinders your growth.

To get from a point of misery, poverty, hopelessness, to a point of clarity, hope, and success a magic bean, a very mundane-looking magic bean, could be all you need to hold on to.

I guess you know which story I am telling the girls tonight?

I am a writer!

When you quit your job, you take up another task of having to explain to everyone you meet what it is you do now. This is because your job gives a glimpse into the kind of person you are. Yes, you are what you do.

A name doesn’t say much about you, but the minute you say that you are an accountant, a lawyer, a waitress, a househelp, a janitor, you will be quickly classified and it is from that classification that your worth will be measured. Sad, but true.

I have met two people now who, after introducing myself, sought to find out what I do. Make that three, if you count an old lady who was curiously interested in my life. I found that a bit unusual.

One was a hairdresser I happened to go to, to have my hair done. We chatted about my hair for a while – there is so much to be said about dreadlocks. This is the kind of hair you can pretty much choose to forget for a couple of days, and there will be no real damage done to your appearance.

“How old are your dreadlocks?”

“Two years?”  I counted mentally to confirm this answer was accurate. Yes it was.

 “I think I should also put dreadlocks” she said with a smile. Why does everyone say that? Most people keep promising to ‘put’ dreadlocks every time we have a conversation about my hair.

“It seems so much easier to maintain” she justified herself.

I smiled at her image in the mirror.

Silence

“So, where do you work?” she ambushed me.

I say ‘ambushed’ because I did not expect to be asked where I worked. More of what I did. Not where.

She already assumed that I worked somewhere for someone.

“I am a writer” I replied

I was disappointed when she didn't ask what I wrote about. I could have told her that I had already written our conversation in my head and that I would share it with my blog readers this week. Pity she didn’t ask.

I later thought about it and realized that for all the years that I have been writing, I had never referred to myself as a writer. This was my first time.

It felt good.

Another time that I owned up to being a writer was a week ago while on a bid to participate as a Storymoja Festival blogger. The annual Festival will be running this year from September 17^th to 21^st. I am happy to have made the cut. You can visit the storymoja blog where I will be a contributor to keep up with the events lined up during this year’s festival. Also visit my other blog - http://perfectlywoman.wordpress.com/ to read my writeups on various issues. Feel free to add your voice.

I consider it a great blessing to have found myself in a room full of young creative, free minds. Bloggers who are very, very, very (can’t stress this enough) passionate about writing. There were those who had forsaken lucrative careers, law was the prevalent jiltee, to simply write. Take Olivia who dropped out of a law degree class because she realized that she did not want to be a lawyer after all, for example. She was at pains to explain to her people that law was not the way for her. Her insistence that she wanted to take an English course was met with disdain - What?! And become an English teacher??? You should have seen the passion in her eyes when she spoke about teaching English. It was palpable.

The thing about one’s passion; be it a writer’s, a lawyer’s, a teacher’s or a waitresses’ is that it fills your life with purpose. You stop considering what you do as a job. It becomes who you are. Even if that (ugly) wig and gown that lawyers wear look good on you, you only find fulfilment the day you start enjoying what you do.

I sat next to Magunga who had just shared on his blog that he had successfully completed a law degree course but was not keen in pursuing a career in law. Why doesn’t anybody want to be a lawyer woiye? He wrote about being nervous at the thought of informing his mother that he wanted to be a writer instead. It cannot be easy to ditch a career that has practically dug a huge hole in your sponsor’s pockets. It isn’t easy, but such is life. You gotta live it! You gotta be happy! Happiness comes with a price sometimes.

The passion that Olivia writes with. The expertise with which Magunga pieces his articles. These can never be ignored. They are ingrained so deep within the core of your being that you just have to let it out. When you gotta write, you gotta write! That room was full of men and women who wanted nothing but to be allowed to do what they love doing. Write.

We understand that there are bills to be paid and that writing might not always give you the financial stability that you seek. Even though I was applauded for quitting my job, there were voices of reason in between the cheers. “When the landlord comes for the rent, make sure you call all these people who are cheering you this minute to help you raise the rent” Magunga whispered to me.

Thing is, writing may not pay a dime, but that compelling feeling will not allow a writer not to write. It cannot be silenced with a six figure salary. I guess in a way, the universe knows that it is at a loss when those people who should be writing, choose not to do it.

I wake up every day to tap away at my computer because I am a writer. It is all I am now. I am no longer a writer clothed as a secretary. I have been laid bare. Writing is not my side hustle anymore. It is not something I do when I have nothing else to do. It might take a while to get where I want to be, but the crazy me believes that as long as I keep doing this persistently, consistently, I might not have to go back to my fellow writers for a quick mchango at the end of the month.

So hey, I am a writer.

I am a writer!

P.S: As I write this, news is streaming in about the Mpeketoni Attacks. I condole with the families who have lost their loved ones to this heinous attack. May God help our country.

Nothing New Under The Sun

I am clicking away at my phone camera taking numerous photos. There are things that don’t happen every day. This is one such thing. You don’t see this everyday!

“Are you taking a video?” someone asks

“A video. I should take a video!” I think aloud as I switch from camera to camcorder. Why did I not think of that before? I hold my phone tighter, keeping it still between my thumb and forefinger, while using my left hand to steady my right hand. I keep taking the video making sure I position the phone to get the best view while at the same time taking care not to drop it and smash it on the floor. A video is useless on a broken phone.

I am standing on the verandah. Door is slightly open as I move the phone around to capture this moment. “Amazing!” I say inaudibly. I smile. Feeling awfully pleased. A blog post weaving itself in my mind.

A few minutes ago, I had rushed outside to get the laundry from the clothes line. It was a Sunday afternoon. Ominous clouds were gathering in the sky, but I thought nothing of it. It threatened to pour any time soon and so I grabbed the clothes in a quick sweep from where they hang, and dashed into the house to avoid getting soaked in the rain.  I had closed the door behind me not knowing that I'd open it again a few minutes later.

During such times, when it is cold and you are cold and it is raining outside, a warm bed is hard to resist. You are tempted to cover yourself with a heavy blanket as you watch a movie, a comedy or a nice series with a cup of tea or coffee or chocolate held hostage securely between both your hands. Before I could eeny, meeny, miny, moe on which of those temptations to fall for, we hear heavy pounding outside. 

The kids rush to the window to see what is going on.  I join them to find out where the noise was coming from. Two minutes of taking it all in and I made the decision to fetch my phone and open the door a fraction.  There are things that don’t happen every day.

Interesting how two people see the same thing and interpret it differently.

On the one hand, one sees an exciting thing worth filming. On the other hand, someone else sees danger and fear creeps up on them to the point of tears.

The spectacle we are all witnessing while photographing and filming is (cue drums) … Hailstones. Yes, it is raining hailstones!

The stones are hitting the roof with a vengeance. Splattering all over the ground and bits and pieces find their way to our veranda. My hands get busy. My phone is busy.

I briefly pause filming to look at the girls now standing on the couch and looking outside the window. Both have quizzical looks on their faces. They look confused!

The hailstones are now filling up the ground. There is more white than green on the grass. They keep falling. They are big. The pounding is loud. It rains hard.

After a while, I go back inside the house, phone in hand. Video clip in phone memory. It is then that Heidi calls me to report that “Hailey analia”

And indeed she is crying. Silently. Fearfully. She is scared. She points outside to ask what is going on. The rain is noisy. ‘Things’ are falling from the sky. I then delve into a brief geography lesson on why these ‘things’ are hitting our roof.

Realizing that I am not making headway with the somewhat complex geography lesson, I give up and instead assure her repeatedly that she is in no danger whatsoever. Heidi, while listening to my explanation to Hailey had just one question to ask: Was there any chance that the falling ‘ice’ could find its way into our house and smash the TV set? (They had been watching cartoons) When I assured her that there was no chance of that happening, she climbed down from the couch and went back to watching Nickelodeon, unperturbed by the noise.

The kids had never witnessed this kind of rains before. It took a while for me to convince them that this was not something new. That sometimes instead of good old rainfall, earth is pelted with hailstones.

Interesting how we see things differently through different sets of eyes. The experienced eye sees opportunities where others see scary challenges. I grabbed the opportunity for photos and videos. I was fascinated by this rare occurrence and wanted to hang onto every minute of it for as long as it lasted. Hailey on the other hand, the poor child, saw a threat to her livelihood! This was all new to her and therefore, something was not right.  It wasn’t supposed to rain this way. This was different. And to some set of eyes, different equals scary.

Next time you go through a challenging experience remember that someone else could have gone through it before you. In fact, bet on it. There is after all nothing new under the sun. Others could have managed to overcome the same to come out unscathed. Just because it is new to you doesn’t mean you cannot overcome it as well. Fearless people have faced challenges over and over again to reach a point where they don’t pay attention to fear anymore.

Hailey’s tears subsided eventually. But she kept looking outside the window, taking it all in until the rains stopped. Once the heavens ceased pelting the earth, she looked at me curiously and asked a question that seemed to have occupied her mind for a while:

“So Mum, can it also rain mud?”