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Hike In A ‘Park’ Of Lies

Watching the news lately has been a ride on an emotional rollercoaster. There is always something so wrong and something so unimaginable going on, not just in Kenya but also outside the country. The political arena has become an improved version of the appalling political games we are used to. The social dome has become an institution of moral decay. Journalist are becoming victims of the very horrible stories that they report.

All this is sad.

I, however, believe that in every shade of darkness, there is a glimpse of light. In this, it’s Trevor Ombija’s voice. All he has to do is introduce himself with that deep intoxicating voice, keep talking and am all ears. Not to listen to the news, but to listen to his voice. I can hear the news as background noise. What intrigues me is how his vocal codes produce such an impeccable sound. He doesn’t even have to try.

Anyway this story isn’t about Trevor’s voice. Not even a little bit. I just had to put it out there. Maybe one of my readers has some direct contact with him. To that reader, just let Trevor know his voice is a blessing to the fourth estate.

The main point in my story, this isn’t much of a story as it is a rant, is a hike.

During the Easter holidays, we hosted some visitors from abroad. There is a certain interest in adventure that most visitors have whenever they visit our country. Our visitors had done their own research and noted down the areas they wanted to visit while in Kenya. They used Google Maps to search for the nearest wildlife sanctuary that they could visit. Due to the location we were at, they settled for Ndere Island National Park.

Before we go further let me just let you all know that in my own personal opinion; all factors considered, together with a little bit of emotional backstory that highly involves regret in cash spent, this is one place that does not deserve the name ‘National Park’. I don’t know what criteria KWS in conjunction with the ministry of tourism uses while categorizing national parks, but I strongly believe that this particular one was overrated.

We left home at 10am. According to our approximation, we were supposed to be in the since-they-insist-on-calling-it-a-national-park park, in an hour at most. We took more than an hour. When you go online, it is written that there is easy access to Ndere Island National Park from Kisumu. What a big lie! The road leading to the park is terrible. 90% of our journey was full of us (just read this as me) holding our breath as the driver tried to find a passable area in the road that would not see us plunging into ditches or getting stuck in knee deep mud puddles. I should not have ridden shotgun. You would think that I learnt my lesson when I rode shotgun on one of the buses in Nairobi. But no, I didn’t learn. Anyway that’s a story for another day. The point is, there was nothing easy about accessing the park.

We got to the park headquarters at noon. The rates were sort of ok for Kenyan citizens. They were not kind to the visitors; obviously. They didn’t mind for they had come for an adventure. They were going to board a boat crossing Lake Victoria for the first time. I was surprised how much that was a big deal to them. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I live with the Lake in my backyard both in town and at home. I can walk to the Lake anytime am in town and anytime am home. I have never thought anyone would be so thrilled to see and cross the Lake that much. It’s so unfortunate that the Lake wasn’t happy to see them, or anyone at that. It was green. Yes, the lake is green. Not a nice green, a filthy green. The kind that you find in sewage formed swamps. I was embarrassed for all of us (Kenyans). I am still embarrassed for us. That was not a good site. Something needs to be done. Am still not sure what yet, but let’s research and find a lasting solution.

The boatman was very quick to offer his services as a guide through the Island. An offer we had to politely decline because one, we had been told there are footpaths to guide visitors and two, he needed a lot of money to guide us.

Am going to summarize our visit to the Island so simply. It was a waste of time, money and energy.

I am not much of a fitness enthusiast. I don’t work out. I don’t eat healthy. My favourite activity is sitting down with my laptop and phone. I love eating junk food except for pizza. I just feel that it’s some sort of mockery to our chapattis. But that’s just my opinion. With all these in mind, imagine my shock when I realized all the island had to offer was an expensive hike. We spent alot of money just to walk through an island that’s characterized by hills and valleys, with the sun determined to show us who’s boss and the ‘many animals’ we had been told we would see being just a pack of Zebras who ran away at the first sight of strangers. We only got a glimpse of them as they ran away but saw enough of their shit as we were hiking.

That was an expensive hike.

Had I known prior that I would be paying to involuntarily work out without pleasing my eyes in any way, I would have atleast packed something other than one bottle of water to keep me going. At the information desk, the KWS people were so kind as to tell us we would see the animals kept there the moment we docked. The few Zebras that saw us and started running away from us, were spotted almost 45minutes into the hike. From a distance. Such lies!

Because I like complaining, I spent the most part of the journey back home complaining about the day. And because of that, I have a few recommendations for KWS regarding Ndere Island. One, the road, something has to be done about the road. Two, let’s stop misleading people. The name of that Island should be ‘Ndere Island Hiking and Camping Site’ or just anything else. Anything but a national park. That’s very misleading.

The next morning as I was out brushing my teeth, the herdsman was taking the sheep out of their shed. The last two sheep decided to take advantage of their slow pace and have a quickie right before my eyes. Animals have no shame. They don’t care about the size of their ummm, property? There is no seduction, no foreplay either; they just get on with it. The ram jumped on the ewe and in less than 5seconds he was done and was walking away. 5seconds people! Five! I got to see a sight I can never unsee, and it was free. Am not complaining. That was consolation enough for the time, energy and money we had spent on the Island.

Maybe I just complain too much.

Anyway, about Trevor Ombija’s voice, we all agree that it’s really something. Right?

Sexanigans

Ed Sheeran’s club is not the best place to find love so the bar is where I go is definitely not your regular Kenyan line. It is just out of sync with you, the typical Kenyan man.

Keeping that mind, can we have a chat?

Of late I am a regular in a bar, in fact they are almost knowing me by name and favourite spot. The only problem is I don’t talk a lot. I keep cool and stay humble, mostly because I am never the buyer. In fact, one time a bar maid came over to me and notably enquired, “Mbona weh mtulivu hivi?” (Insert Tanzanian accent). The spirits from the bottle were already having conversations in my head so I just flash her a smile and chuckled. She however proceeded to ask, “Kwani weh ni pastor umekuja night service?”

Thank goodness my sponsor was at hand to pick up the conversation. Those guys in my head were having a very heated debate and I was enjoying it. I didn’t want to miss the point where one was going to lose then wear a smirk face and hurl, ”maybe we needed better judges next time!” Before adding some unprintable terms to foot it more. People are yet to learn to take defeats in grace.

Fast forward to this fateful day, I am in my second favorite bar, keen not to drink too much as I am not yet over my hangover from the other day. I had become a wreckage of a person. My guy had got me a whole mzinga (anyone who buys you a mzinga doesn’t like you, they don’t have your interests at heart, keep them forever). Thanks goodness it was a bit pricey alcohol. I did not wake up cursing alcohol. And please I don’t want to hear about alcohol limits and shit.

I am in the company of a lady with the skin of groundnuts, donning a greenish dera that flows to the ankle, with a white tuburn on the head, and a stud on the nose. She looks like she shouldn’t be here, until she opens her mouth to get out an already alcohol altered speech. She speaks a lot and anytime she says a Luo word or phrase she interprets it to me. Guys I told you I look more like a Russian than a Luo you couldn’t get it.

She seems to be taking a keen interest on me as she suddenly slips to my side then says, ”I am Violet, what’s your name?”

Yours Truly, and I am taking you home with me tonight. My Samantha is broken so maybe I would use some drunk hands for a change.

Now this is the night I realized I can be a Lewy, Lewisky, Lewiso, to one person in a single night. All this time the lady is showing clear intent, or maybe she was just enjoying having my alcohol. But in my mind I was like, ”please not tonight, father take this bird away from me, you don’t have to let this happen to me the second straight day without hitting the shower. It would be a shame if you let her win the third straight month before I take a shave. Please, please this is not the night.”

Pap! My prayer gets answered instantly. A fight ensues.

A man is holding with an intent to crush the throat of another guy and people are frantically moving to separate them. But why are they fighting? They are fighting over a lady. At last one is thrown out while the other remains throwing curse words around. I believe that decision was made solely on the likelihood of purchasing power. I drink at cheap places, where the so perceived big purchasers can be that desperate.

Apparently the lady being fought over is an acquaintance to this lass and she had to go check if she is okay. I could enjoy freedom again.

“Bwana mimi, mimi mtu asicheze na mimi. Me naweza ua mtu. Huyo boy mngemwacha tu na mimi kidogo, sahi roho yake ingekuwa kwa mkono yake,” the retained man direct that to me, immediately he settles on the seat next to me that by now, had become vacant. I ignore him! I wasn’t going to massage his ego. He turns to the next person and says that very statement, and to anyone else in the bar who would care to listen.

Sitting next to him was proving worse than accessing a site that takes ages to load. So at one point, I am like maybe this man is truly infuriated and he would sure be holding this other guy’s heart by now like he threatens. So maybe I need to talk to him lest I become the next object of intent.

“Kwani huyo boy amekukosea sana?” I asked him for lack of a better way to start the conversation.

“Eeh bana, na me nakuambia huyo mtu ameponea sana.”

“Shida iko wapi?”

“Huyo mtu anacheza aje na mshichana wangu!!” He retorts while repeatedly stabbing her chest with the index finger.

“Kama ni mshichana wako basi hiyo hata mimi naona hauko vibaya sana.”

“Me akianani ningemuua!!”

Have you seen a drunk man curse before? Most probably yeah. Most of them with issues do it a lot. Like this one.

“Sah ulileta mshichana hapa na mtu akakuja ati anasema ni girlfriend wake?”

“Hapana nimempata hapa. Na ananipenda.”

“Anakupenda yenye mnaenda kuoana?”

“Banah Kwani weh uelewi hizi vitu. Me namwoa aje na niko na bibi kwa nyumba. Hii tu ni kitu ya sahi”

Okay, let’s get this right. So a man is swearing all over that they will indeed kill someone else over a basic bitch in a bar for sex? Well, talk might be cheap, but I saw that guy hold his nemesis’ neck.

For what again!

A whole new level of being DUMB.

Here is the thing, I believe there are things that you are allowed to kill someone over. Like when you have a ridiculously ugly head shape like me here, then they tell you to your face. You are allowed to collect your arsenal and come clear someone. When they get boring, kill them before they kill you with boredom. It’s self-defense. But never about sex.

Sex is one of the most overrated acts in this earth.

Sex cannot build you anything worthwhile. Sex will not help get our forests back, meaning we will have sex and still die of drought. Sex cannot repay our national debts. It can’t even cure procrastination. Sex does not give meaning to anything except to sex itself.

To kill over that?

Again why would you kill or injure someone over something that is overflowing. There are times one will experience dry spell for months and wonder even if it’s possible for a man to have sex maybe once every month. But that point when you will have three people in a day, and you never broke a sweat to have, is when you will know how valueless or worthless this shit can get.

Also is somebody’s life worth something that you can be able to achieve with your own hands? As long as you have a good internet on your hand, and a lubrication on the other, then you would have achieved your way to ejaculation land.

Well, let’s say you hit someone over a lady and you win. You proudly get your slay on the chopping board only for the tools to fail you. It happens! You work hard, you do everything right, you have been touched well, and the weapon of massive destruction is rearing to go. The atomic bomb wants to down Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Then one word or one phrase, and the flag goes immediately from full swing to half must to zero.

Ohh boy, will you not get frustrated! Nothing frustrates like a penis that is flaccid and numb in the face of a welcoming vagina.

You will try recalling all the atrocities you have committed before, the hands that might be working against you, and even ask imaginary forgiveness for the first lady whose heart you broke. Just like that, you would have hit your fellow man for what’s not worth it.

I understand there is this phenomenon on good sex. That it possesses you. It messes with your thinking. You see people do things unimaginable, like sell a prime family land in Kitengela to come spoil a lady in the city. I don’t believe it’s love. It’s the sex. I mean, good pussy will make you beat another guy for just looking at her.

Well, that is a different case, excusable by all measurable standards. How about in a case where you have just met a bitch in a bar? You fight your way to stardom, you leave your guy behind writhing in pain and cursing ever drinking. You make the good man sin by contemplating leaving alcohol (punishable in the court of wrong men) only for you to end up being taken to Lake Victoria you swim for a whole night.

Here is where we officially discard the Ed Sheeran lyrics. We are not going to find love in the bar.

Men we must stop being selfish. Let’s learn to share. Like when we get to a point where we want the same thing. Let’s talk about it. Let’s agree who between us it suits the most and why. If at all you hit a dead end and you can’t agree on either side. Go ahead agree on a three some. Some new experience won’t hurt. By the end of the day you will all be good to go.

It’s also not like you are even going to invent anything new when having sex. There are only four sex styles, and that won’t change today, the next generation or forever. We have the missionary for we the boring types. Girl on top for those trying to enjoy sex. You will go the doggy way to avoid facing your mistakes. Ultimately a variation of all of those when trying to be a fun person.

Some of us have a proven record of prosperity being side guys, more than being the main shit. So we can always talk and agree who is worthy of being the side guy and who takes the crown at side nigga.

By the end of the day let no man hit, contemplate killing or even do any harm to another man over some 10 minute (yeah I don’t do a lot) strokes.
PS. I never miss a chance to have sex. some drunk hands for a change.

Now this is the night I realized I can be a Lewy, Lewisky, Lewiso, to one person in a single night. All this time the lady is showing clear intent, or maybe she was just enjoying having my alcohol. But in my mind I was like, ”please not tonight, father take this bird away from me, you don’t have to let this happen to me the second straight day without hitting the shower. It would be a shame if you let her win the third straight month before I take a shave. Please, please this is not the night.”

Pap! My prayer gets answered instantly. A fight ensues.

A man is holding with an intent to crush the throat of another guy and people are frantically moving to separate them. But why are they fighting? They are fighting over a lady. At last one is thrown out while the other remains throwing curse words around. I believe that decision was made solely on the likelihood of purchasing power. I drink at cheap places, where the so perceived big purchasers can be that desperate.

Apparently the lady being fought over is an acquaintance to this lass and she had to go check if she is okay. I could enjoy freedom again.

“Bwana mimi, mimi mtu asicheze na mimi. Me naweza ua mtu. Huyo boy mngemwacha tu na mimi kidogo, sahi roho yake ingekuwa kwa mkono yake,” the retained man direct that to me, immediately he settles on the seat next to me that by now, had become vacant. I ignore him! I wasn’t going to massage his ego. He turns to the next person and says that very statement, and to anyone else in the bar who would care to listen.

Sitting next to him was proving worse than accessing a site that takes ages to load. So at one point, I am like maybe this man is truly infuriated and he would sure be holding this other guy’s heart by now like he threatens. So maybe I need to talk to him lest I become the next object of intent.

“Kwani huyo boy amekukosea sana?” I asked him for lack of a better way to start the conversation.

“Eeh bana, na me nakuambia huyo mtu ameponea sana.”

“Shida iko wapi?”

“Huyo mtu anacheza aje na mshichana wangu!!” He retorts while repeatedly stabbing her chest with the index finger.

“Kama ni mshichana wako basi hiyo hata mimi naona hauko vibaya sana.”

“Me akianani ningemuua!!”

Have you seen a drunk man curse before? Most probably yeah. Most of them with issues do it a lot. Like this one.

“Sah ulileta mshichana hapa na mtu akakuja ati anasema ni girlfriend wake?”

“Hapana nimempata hapa. Na ananipenda.”

“Anakupenda yenye mnaenda kuoana?”

“Banah Kwani weh uelewi hizi vitu. Me namwoa aje na niko na bibi kwa nyumba. Hii tu ni kitu ya sahi”

Okay, let’s get this right. So a man is swearing all over that they will indeed kill someone else over a basic bitch in a bar for sex? Well, talk might be cheap, but I saw that guy hold his nemesis’ neck.

For what again!

A whole new level of being DUMB.

Here is the thing, I believe there are things that you are allowed to kill someone over. Like when you have a ridiculously ugly head shape like me here, then they tell you to your face. You are allowed to collect your arsenal and come clear someone. When they get boring, kill them before they kill you with boredom. It’s self-defense. But never about sex.

Sex is one of the most overrated acts in this earth.

Sex cannot build you anything worthwhile. Sex will not help get our forests back, meaning we will have sex and still die of drought. Sex cannot repay our national debts. It can’t even cure procrastination. Sex does not give meaning to anything except to sex itself.

To kill over that?

Again why would you kill or injure someone over something that is overflowing. There are times one will experience dry spell for months and wonder even if it’s possible for a man to have sex maybe once every month. But that point when you will have three people in a day, and you never broke a sweat to have, is when you will know how valueless or worthless this shit can get.

Also is somebody worth something that you can be able to achieve with your own hands? As long as you have a good internet on your hand, and a lubrication on the other, then you would have achieved your way to ejaculation land.

Well, let’s say you hit someone over a lady and you win. You proudly get your slay on the chopping board only for the tools to fail you. It happens! You work hard, you do everything right, you have been touched well, and the weapon of massive destruction is rearing to go. The atomic bomb wants to down Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Then one word or one phrase, and the flag goes immediately from full swing to half must to zero.

Ohh boy, will you not get frustrated! Nothing frustrates like a penis that is flaccid and numb in the face of a welcoming vagina.

You will try recalling all the atrocities you have committed before, the hands that might be working against you, and even ask imaginary forgiveness for the first lady whose heart you broke. Just like that, you would have hit your fellow man for what’s not worth it.

I understand there is this phenomenon on good sex. That it possesses you. It messes with your thinking. You see people do things unimaginable, like sell a prime family land in Kitengela to come spoil a lady in the city. I don’t believe it’s love. It’s the sex. I mean, good pussy will make you beat another guy for just looking at her.

Well, that is a different case, excusable by all measurable standards. How about in a case where you have just met a bitch in a bar? You fight your way to stardom, you leave your guy behind writhing in pain and cursing ever drinking. You make the good man sin by contemplating leaving alcohol (punishable by…) only for you to end up being taken to Lake Victoria you swim for a whole night.

Here is where we officially discard the Ed Sheeran lyrics. We are not going to find love in the bar.

Men we must stop being selfish. Let’s learn to share. Like when we get to a point where we want the same thing. Let’s talk about it. Let’s agree who between us it suits the most and why. If at all you hit a dead end and you can’t agree on either side. Go ahead agree on a three some. Some new experience won’t hurt. By the end of the day you will all be good to go.

It’s also not like you are even going to invent anything new when having sex. There are only four sex styles, and that won’t change today, the next generation or forever. We have the missionary for we the boring types. Girl on top for those trying to enjoy sex. You will go the doggy way to avoid facing your mistakes. Ultimately a variation of all of those when trying to be a fun person.

Some of us have a proven record of prosperity being side guys, more than being the main shit. So we can always talk and agree who is worthy of being the side guy and who takes the crown at side nigga.

By the end of the day let no man hit, contemplate killing or even do any harm to another man over some 10 minute (yeah I don’t do a lot) strokes.

PS. I never miss a chance to have sex.

WHO IS A GREAT LOVER?

Today is the Saint valentine’s day, the day set aside for the celebration of love. Therefore it is just right that we talk about love. An aspect of love to be precise. Several people have tried to describe love before to no avail and I have no business meddling in it. Lest I break it for the lover. Even in as much as I like basking in the glory of spoilage, change is as better as a rest. Let me take a path less treaded to look at who a great lover is.

A great lover is most of the times believed to be embodied in actions rather than words. For the lovers of literature, you will hear most of the time they refer to Romeo and Juliet as the perfect example of an epitome of how a lover can get.

The religious guys on the hand would throw to you the act of Jesus Christ of Nazareth facing persecutions, crucifixion, and dying on the cross for human sins as the ultimate act of a good lover.

That every good lover must be willing to do something for you to express their love.
I tend to think otherwise. I believe that a good lover is the one who neither shows nor acts. That a great lover is one whose talks or actions towards the object of desire cannot be a measure on the love they hold for the other.

A great lover is someone who loves you from the deepest part of their heart but they acknowledge the fact that the beauty of the love would dissappear the moment they confess it to you. Not necessarily because of the fear of rejection, but of the fact that nothing stays the same after the confessions of love.

Even in as much as many believe that a great lover should go to whichever extremes to show their love. Well, looking at it from the angle of the lovee (does this exist) , I doubt if the risk is worth it. Will they have peace after their lover is gone? Will they be enjoying in solitude as they would have with the lovers around. How about their families and friends. How will they feel after his/her demise?

Again will they have achieved their purpose through the death? Like in Jesus’ case, did he die for the hypocrisy we face in church today? What a wasted death if at all he died for our sins yet sins keep spiraling, in fact some new and worse ways of sinning keep spiraling up with every new generation.
A great lover is the one who watches you from a distance, seeing the much they can bring themselves to, and believe you are the perfect human being who ever graced the earth.

The world has grown so capitalistic, where everything is getting commercialized, love inclusive. That is why the modern day Valentine’s day is hinged more on the spending money to show love, more than any other aspect, then sex maybe next following closely. It is such that the more you can spend on your partner is the greater a lover you are perceived to be.

Woe unto you broke men!

The truth is that great lovers are not worried about splashing gifts on you for just a single day. You already revolve in their world. They spend their lovey (this as well) time thinking about you. They have poems written about you, stories where you are the prosperous starring, even if not on paper but in their hearts. To them is a world where you are the sole leader and you call all the shots.

They spend their time studying you. Do not confuse it with stalking. They know and like things about you, so they have no need to disturb your peace asking you to tell them about yourself as if in a interview. They pay attention to details. They love how your hair rests on your shoulders. How you laugh and talk. They even love how you breath.

They know that in the morning your breathe beats the smell of socks submerged in dirty waters the worn for a whole week. They still love you the same.

What a pure love!

A great lover loves you more than any being has ever loved another but they never get in your way, and they let you keep whatever they love in you.

Can we for once let the so called nice guys and the ” shy” in love win this?

Happy Valentine’s day to you our readers.

Familiar Much?

The time is 10.28pm, Monday 4th December 2017.

I am not yet asleep; I am watching a movie. It’s a Marvel Studios’ production. I am a huge fan of Marvel. Other than the fact that their movies are awesome, they know how to cast. If you are not enjoying the movie, you are enjoying the view. Greek gods…

My phone is ringing. It’s a new number. I stare at my phone, then mute it. I would probably sing along to my ringtone; but it’s late. So muting is the only option. I recognize the number from earlier in the day.

I was meeting my friend after a really long time. All we have been doing is communicate through social media. Comment on posts. Like posts. Spruced up by occasional chats in the inbox. She was in Kisumu, and we decided to meet at around 11am on a sunny day. Levine, beloved sister, am just bringing to your attention, next time we meet you are probably going to wait for me for at least thirty minutes. It has got nothing to do with you keeping me waiting; I just feel deep down in my heart that on that day, I may have a valid reason for being late.

We headed to Naivas Supermarket, for some refreshments while catching up.

Just as we were in the middle of exchanging the latest gossip (please read important data exchange) a young man lurch at the edge of our table. Not tall, not short. Dark complexion. I hadn’t noticed him until he spoke. It really is wrong to interrupt such weighty discussions between ladies. I was hoping this was important. Part of my mind was convinced he knew Levine. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Hi…” he said in a tremulous voice.

Hi”, Levine reacts.

My name is Kevin Omondi

***awkward silence***

Levine stares at her phone. I stare at him. He suddenly had my attention. A man who walks to a table of ladies confidently grabs my attention. It doesn’t matter if you speak gibberish, you have that courage, you got my attention.

Ok, I have told you my name how about you also tell me yours…” he says addressing both of us.

Hahaha… I didn’t realize that was the trade,” I remark.

hehe… ok, so what are your names?

Paula

Huh? Pau…

Paula. P-A-U-L-A

Wow. Ok. And you are?” addressing Levine, who has now kept her phone away.

Levine

Lavine

No. It’s Levine, not Lavine

There is actually a difference you know”, I add.

Wow. You ladies have unique names.” He declares, and immediately adds, “But I told you two names and you’ve told me just one each.”

You made the choice to tell us two of your names. That doesn’t mean we are bound to do the same. Does it?” I politely asked. It may not look so in writing, but believe me, it was polite. Sort of. Let’s not dwell on that.

Not really. Anyway, am not sure if you noticed me, but I have been observing you from where we were seated. I just had to come and say hello.

Oh… No we didn’t notice you…” It’s really good to be honest.

You really look familiar you know. I think I have seen you somewhere…” he said with his eyes fixed on me. Levine, God bless her lack of self-restraint, burst into laughter. A cruel mocking laugh with no pretense of sympathy. I could have laughed too, but one of us needed to play the composed role.

Ummm… Let me try to get this… Could it be that I look familiar because a few minutes ago he was busy staring at me before having made the very brave decision to come over and blurt it out… In the process, he suddenly realized how I am familiar because like I said, he had just been observing me… Which makes the issue of my familiarity in his memory (which is still very fresh and dependable) abit confusing. To an extent that his mind assumes I may be familiar from a past incident… It’s possible because it all just happened in less than an hour. Therefore, deducing that I look familiar is simply an affirmation that he has a good and working short term memory; but does not in any way mean am actually familiar.

Ok… I know, I got a little carried away in my thoughts there. It would have easily been a labyrinth in my mind had he not spoken again.

Could I have any of your numbers?” His voice flat and steady.

Wait, you actually want to choose between us whose number you want?” Levine asked him.

Yes. I will appreciate any number…”

Before we discuss whose number you may or may not get, how about we go a little back to the matter of my familiarity to you. Do people still use that line? It’s really getting old you know…” I told him.

Am serious. I must have seen you somewhere…” Hahaha… Like am going to buy that. It could be true. But pffft…

Hahaha… nice try. So whose number do you want?” I asked him.

I will appreciate anyMaybe even both” He scoffs darting his eyes across the table.

You really need to be more specific than that,” I insisted.

She is my sister. You can’t ask for just any of our numbers. And you can’t have both. Just tell us which number you want,” Levine said coolly.

I can even take yours.” He says pointing to Levine. “…as long as it helps me get to her,” pointing to me. Wow dude. Wow.

Aha… So it’s my number you want?” I asked in a calm, unhurried voice.

Yes” accompanied with a little chuckle.

Well why couldn’t you just go straight to the point…” Levine said (gesturing at a bottle of soda on the table) “If you needed this soda, would you have gone in circles before picking it up?

hahaha… no

At this point I was convinced he would just drag himself  away. But he didn’t. He reached out and handed me his phone. I graciously took it. Keyed in my number and handed it back to him. I didn’t save it. How he saves my number on his phone is his business. I just hope he doesn’t include ‘h’ somewhere. To confirm if it’s a real number, he calls me. (this is why I recognized the number)

Ok, thank you. I will give you a call later we talk…

I nodded.

Just then, he rolls away. My number the latest acquisition in his contact list; probably saved with the wrong spelling.

Drama follows you,” Levine says with a cheeky smile on her face.

You have no idea how much, I thought to myself.

Back to this moment. Am staring at my phone as it rings; still not sure of how or if to answer it at all, until the screen goes black. It is late. I am not picking a call from someone I just met earlier in the day; who had all day to call me but chooses this time, and who may or may not want to ‘interrogate’ me to figure out how to manipulate his speech into making the topic of my familiarity sound more believable.

Men, or the boy child, please stop with that line. It may be true, but we are sick of it.

I expect the phone to ring for a second time. But it doesn’t. I go back to watching. Then my phone beeps. It’s a message. It is awash with the words (these are not even words) ‘plz’ and ‘dia’.

I keeeeeeennnnnntttt!!!

Ladies and gentlemen, for those waiting for me to clear the way, am sorry to disappoint you. As long as am still ‘dia’ and familiar, something I will never buy, the jam is going to be here for a while.

I have said this before, am not a popular person. There is no way I am familiar to people. (Remember paranoia?) Even if I am, don’t tell me. And if you tell me, then you are lying. That line is dead.

***************************************

The time is 7.54am, Tuesday 5th December.

With my earphones plugged in, I am listening to music. My phone rings. It’s the same number…

To pick or not to pick… Decisions… decisions… decisions…

WE DESERVE BETTER

The other day I was on a matatu headed to the house. A guy boarded the vehicle mid way; I really didn’t know what happened between him and the conductor. I only heard the conductor yell, “Hii gari huwa haibebi Wajaluo kama wewe!” That was one of the worst open tribalism incidents I have seen in my life. Any other time I would have protested and gotten out of the vehicle, well not that day. People had earlier on been killed just for coming from a given tribe or supporting a certain political candidate.

Together with all the other passengers we kept mum. Even though we might have been uncomfortable, we endured through it all, only fighting the injustice within ourselves.

As a society we have employed the mute mode on evils in the society. One of the worst ills we are facing today is police brutality. Our political scene has been characterized with several deaths. Police have employed the use of extra force in dealing with the people they should be protecting. They have beaten, killed and maimed people. In all these we expect calls for a stop to the killing but no we are proven wrong.

Our celebs have kept silent in calling out a stop on police brutality. They are busy protecting brands when their fans are dying. The once great boy band Sautisol would rather release sexual videos to save their stumbling musical career than speak out on the evils in the society. They are becoming part of the evils we have to deal with.

How can you say to your fans ‘I love you all’ on social media yet show none of that in action? Is it for the likes? What happens when all your fans are gone? Will you speak out then?

The political class has failed us miserably in the fight. I did not follow live the swearing in ceremony of President Uhuru Kenyatta, but I had to get my hands on his speech. I had to go through it more than once; to ensure that indeed I had not missed the acknowledgment of the political deaths in Kenya since the August 8 elections rather he did not talk about it at all. It feels so bad when the lives lost are treated like the slaughtering of chicken.

The truth is that it’s high time we have the uncomfortable conversation on police brutality.

My home county, Kisumu, has seen its fair share of police brutality and killings. The stage is always set for police brutality before any national political contest. My people cannot celebrate or show disappointment (most cases) in whatever political outcome. Before any public announcement there is heavy deployment of police to Kisumu. Media follows in second. Ready to capture the best photos and videos of the rowdy Kisumu people.

When the rest of the country looks at Kisumu, it sees a land of violence; a group of people who don’t have peace in their DNA, a place full of rowdy youth who thrive in destruction, a backward place with everyone an expert in throwing stones. But then they need to ask themselves some few questions. How did Kisumu manage to become a city when it is full time violence? How do people in Kisumu fend for themselves when all they do is violence all the time? The last time I checked violence couldn’t feed people.

The media has played a big role in painting a picture of violence in the minds of the people in relation to Kisumu. The media is hell bent on portraying violence as a Luo affair. For example, it took ages to report the cases on police killings in Bungoma, only showing it after widespread talks in social media.

Unlike what the media is portraying, Kisumu people are one of the most welcoming and loving people around Kenya. They are a people who have suffered and struggled to be where they are, just like most Kenyans. They are very forgiving people. Their only undoing is that they lack the pretentious gene in their DNAs. They don’t sugarcoat anything they want to address. Another undoing may be the lack of diplomacy in how they react. Truth be told. But before you judge, remember there is always more to a story.

The media has failed to call out the police killings. I am yet to see any media campaign directed towards stopping police brutality. Then you wonder why most people stopped watching our media? Sometime back activist Boniface Mwangi led a protest condemning police brutality only to end up being a victim. Media covered it live in their channels, but what did they say?

Make no mistake, just because the current police killings are directed towards a certain community or political group doesn’t mean that it will not get to another place next time. Power, just like death, moves to all homes from time to time. At the moment it might seem to be so far or even the thought may appear to be farfetched, but it will come. We have the opportunity to call it out and it be stopped otherwise when the time for the other people to face the brutality comes, they may also just sit down, relax and watch.

Do not speak out only if you are assured you will never need anyone to speak for you.

A group of people who happen to be from the ‘right’ political side think that those killed by the police during protests have called the deaths upon themselves. ‘msiba wa kujitakia’ they say. They have a feeling that the best thing to do in such a time is to keep away from the streets. The truth is that hiding away is not a way to achieve any reforms. How would Kenya have achieved independence if the Mau Mau kept away in the comfort of their homes when the colonialists wanted them to? Would we be having Uhuru park if the women who camped at the place heeded Moi’s threats and brutal treatment? All noteworthy political reforms in Kenya have been achieved with guys on the streets.

Again, they fail to notice that police in some cases have forcefully ejected people from their houses for the beatings. The people in slums in Kisumu and perceived opposition strongholds have such gory tales. Children have been killed at one of the supposed safest places, HOME.

We have a government which seems hell-bent on trying to instill fear in its citizens. A government that may not be ready to accommodate different views. Some people have been arguing that the police are justified to kill and injure the opposition supporters because of violence and looting. Then you are left wondering why they teargas the Maa community peacefully demonstrating against the killing of their cows? There are more civilised ways of dealing with a rowdy crowd. A bullet is not one. That’s meant for war. And we are not at war. We are neighbours, friends, family. But we use war strategies against our own. The very arms and energy used to fight our own can be used to fight our mutual enemy. Those who are killing our children in schools. Those killing our neighbours as they travel in buses. Saying this makes me wonder, is there really a difference between the said bad guys and the police?

Unfortunately, it’s getting to a time when people wouldn’t fear anymore, when guys are ready to face the fire head on and brave whatever weapon that is thrown their way. That is a clear indication that we are breeding a group of people accustomed to death, pain, and hate. With time the killings would not be a threat enough. It will be a norm. That is a dangerous time.

I was talking to Princess earlier this week on how at times we have different views on the evils in the country and she told me in part, “…because I know the moment I start justifying wrongs, am lost.” I couldn’t agree more. It is high time the citizens of this country stop finding a way of justifying wrongs. It is really heartbreaking to hear someone defend the killings of children.

Once Kenya has decided that killing children is bearable, IT IS OVER. No debate.

Chapter four of the constitution of Kenya on rights and fundamental freedoms, provides for human dignity. Every person has inherent dignity and the right to have that dignity respected and protected.

There is not even a single shred of dignity from how the police handle the masses. The police brutality met on women and children, the clobbering on our brothers, maiming and beatings of everyone on the streets comes with no dignity. For that, I want to pass a note to the police. WE DESERVE BETTER. We have dignity to uphold. It must be protected. We must not beg for it.

We deserve to be served and protected by the police irrespective of our political affiliation as long as we are within the provisions of the constitution. We only should be afraid of criminals not police.

Hello Ex Friends

Hello Ex friends,

It’s been a while. I am doing really fine; how you are doing is your own personal issue right now. Why am I writing to all of you now? Well, lately I have been thinking about all of you. How my time with each of you was, and I just felt I should write something about that. I initially planned to write an anonymous story on another blog that would have featured all of you, but well, here we are. I know you all wouldn’t mind; and even if you did, you have no say. Anyway, just know none of your names will be featured here.

So straight to the main thing. What happened? My time with each of you was wonderful, some of you made me almost believe in the whole life-time-BFF thing; then the inevitable happened. We went our separate ways. Was it me? Don’t answer that, really irrelevant at this point. But it would be good if some of you would one day send me the cliché message ‘hey, it’s not you. It’s me’. Then maybe I would have gotten some closure and wouldn’t be here right now writing to all (is it 5, 6 or more) of you.

Ex 1. Remember that one time when we all, for lack of a better word, hated that other person? No? Well I do remember that time. Because you and I made such good memories and had fun times finding faults and things to laugh at in the other people. It was so much fun because in as much as it was your idea, I found it interesting to have something to do with you. Can you imagine my shock when the two of you actually became BFFs? Trust me, the look on my face at that point was priceless. I was hurt; not because of the new bond, but because you dumped my ass so fast and hard I think I broke a bone. Anyway, I accepted it. I did my best to be friends with you on my lower level, but time and distance may have been on your side. I moved on.

Ex 2. Wow. You have broken my heart more times than I would want to admit. Sometimes I think I have learnt my lesson with you, then you show up, all humble and needy and I fall for it. You shower me with love like never before; and it really is intoxicating. You my friend, might just be my drug. You know, cocaine. You are bad for me, but am addicted to you. I should know better, I know, but damn! Anyway, the numerous times you broke my heart, I always rose. I would take you back in the blink of an eye, but am not sure if I can do that anymore. See, before I considered you as family; and now? Naah… You and I were more than just friends; I would do anything for you. I kept your secrets. I advised you where necessary. I loved you. I confided in you. Then one day you left. You changed your number; and you became tight with all those who hated me. It still breaks my heart. It is because of you that I actually decided to write this. And since we are being honest, I still stalk you online. Maybe even daily. You look happy with your new life, and in as much as it hurts me, am happy for you.

Ex 3. Where do I begin with you? I only added you to this list because I started thinking of all my ex friends. Among them, you were the bitchiest. (Since Word didn’t underline that it means it’s an actual word). Why am I saying you are the bitchiest? You deliberately tried to sabotage a good thing I had going. I tried my best to forgive you, but you and I, nope. You were a mistake from the beginning. How’s your new life by the way? Good? I don’t really care about it. Just enjoy your life. Bye Felicia!

Ex 4. You are among the latest. You and #2. You haven’t fully settled down at the Ex zone but you are already there. All I need to do is shut the door on your face now. And that will be done shortly. I just have some things to get off my chest with you first. Expect my call anytime from wherever. You and I started really well. I being the conservative type decided to take some time to know your intentions before ever opening up to you. So when I finally did, it felt good. Because you always had my back. I would come to you with a silly thing I did, or was planning to do and you were on my team. Then one day, you met one of the people that actually made my life a living hell, and just like the others in this list, you drifted. (I am noticing a pattern here.) Your betrayal hurt me because it happened right under my nose. I mean, I saw it coming, but somehow I just hoped it wouldn’t happen. But it did, right after I opened up to you. Why would you do that? Anyway, I will revisit your situation. Am still in shock.

Ex 5, 6 and the many more. There is nothing to tell you. Some of you are history. No hard feelings though. You don’t expect me to talk about all of you now, do you?

The no hard feelings thing goes for all of you, except #2. I still can’t wrap my head around it. Anyway, why did you all decide to betray me? Do you people know how much of a good friend I was to all of you? Of course you don’t. How could you when the only thing you ever thought about was yourselves? Am I mad at any of you? Hell yeah! Am very mad. Extremely mad. I am a fragile person, and the moment you all learnt of that you ducked the other way. What is wrong with you?

You know I wouldn’t have been so mad if some of you had just walked away with some decorum. But no, you had to spill some of my secrets. You had to rub it in my face that I was just a phase and you were now moving on. I get it, it’s your life, now if only you wouldn’t use your lives to ruin mine we would be in a better place. Don’t you all think so? I think so. I kept and am still keeping the information about most of you as I know it’s the right thing to do. Spilling some of the things I know would ruin your current lifestyle choices and I don’t roll like that. Believe it or not, am a good person.

All in all, after thinking about my time with all of you, I realized one thing. It’s not me; it’s never been me. It’s you.

Yours Exly, (I’ve made this up)

Paula.

 

***PS. Hey future friends, when you see me hesitant with this friendship thing, just know am very skeptical, paranoid, and I have a lot of trust issues***

Paranoia Or Just Too Much Fear?

I am not a popular person. I would say am not a celeb but let’s all agree there are no celebs in Kenya. We just have popular people. I freak out when people look at me when am walking on the streets. I freak out when they try talking to me. How am I supposed to meet ‘Mr. Right’ when every time someone attempts to have a conversation with me I think of sprinting to the left? By the way, there is no such thing as Mr. Right. No such thing. It’s a made up sham to prey on the emotional balance of vulnerable women who have been hurt a lot. But it provides hope though.

I also freak out over minor issues like too many friend requests in a day. Before accepting, I go through the mutual friends list and ask myself why would this person send me a friend request? Did one of these mutual friends whisper something about me and now curiosity got the better of the person? Is someone out there sharing a link to my profile? It can’t be my posts, I tell myself, because sometimes even I am shocked when I read some of the things I write. This week, I received over 100 friend requests in a span of two days. That freaked me out.

When I open my mobile data in the morning and find over 10 conversations on WhatsApp, especially when there is no group message, I freak out. Like I said, I am not a popular person. Even among my friends. I am the kind of friend who will have a lively conversation with you but there are minimal chances that I started that conversation. It’s never fully pride; I just really suck at small talk. Like skip to the point already! So when I find such messages on my phone my first instinct is to ask myself ‘damn it girl! What did you do?’ It is a relief when I find it’s just a lot of hello(s) and hi(s). But it’s also questionable. Like why are they all saying hi to me today? What have they heard? What are they driving at?

I am a very paranoid person. I overthink situations, and not with a positive angle, I think towards the negative. My What Ifs are 99% of the time towards the negative, and in equal percentage towards life threatening situations. I can’t help it. I have tried. I also fear a lot.

When I was still a child, at around 8years or younger, I accompanied a group of school mates to a home whose owner I did not even know. There was a funeral going on and the late was somehow relevant to my school at the time. Even after several warnings of ‘Do not follow people to their homes’ ‘Come straight home after school’ and ‘If you want to go to a friend’s place, ask for permission’. On that day, I did not even think twice, I just followed people. In a matter of minutes, we were in the home. Then there was a line. And it was full of my schoolmates, so I went and joined it, and slowly the line started moving. I did not know where we were headed, I just followed them. It was not until I also turned my head to the right like everyone that I saw what the line was for. We were viewing the body. Before that day, I knew when someone dies; they immediately go to heaven if they are good and hell if they are bad. No one mentioned the motionless body being part of the equation. I freaked out and froze on the line. This was someone I didn’t even know and there I was staring at what used to be him.

For over a year, I could not be sent into a dark room and go willingly. I would tiptoe to the room already having a panic attack, switch on the lights and once am halfway calm, I start imagining things. What if I turn my back to search for whatever I was sent and then something comes in and I don’t know…does something bad to me? Because I was already paranoid and scared, I would not have enough time to search and instead I would quickly run out of the room without switching off the lights and innocently say I haven’t found whatever it is that I was sent. Someone else would be sent and they come back with it almost immediately.

I watch NatGeo Wild more times than I would want to admit. I know so much about animals now. I know how to differentiate a crocodile from a monitor lizard. Since am being honest here, there is no point in knowing the difference. When you see any of them, RUN! I know some animals I never even imagined existed. It is common knowledge that hyenas are very selfish and gluttonous animals. This is true, but wait until you hear about the Tasmanian devil tiger. Small predators but they are so mean and selfish. The children chase away the mother just to eat as they fight amongst themselves. NatGeo Wild is a great channel, unless they are showing doctors biting sheep balls off, then it gets disgusting and you can never unsee that.

As a constant NatGeo Wild watcher, I thought the knowledge on everything I fear would help me relax. Instead, I now have more reasons to overthink and thus keep my paranoia at an increasing rate. The other day I was taking photos in the compound and then I remembered a segment in the channel where a snake hid in a very similar tree. That was the end of the photo session.

I have always had an ardent fear of spiders growing up, I still do. However, my fear of the real thing is not such a big deal as compared to the fear I have towards all the imaginary spiders in my head. I once ran away from a room because my own hair brushed unexpectedly on my neck. It is not helping that I have an overactive imagination. When I see more than one ant around, I imagine there is something sweet somewhere around, which could mean there is a bee or two around. And what are the chances that that bee has not attracted a bear. What are the chances?

For someone like me who also has a fear of irregular patterns, and a cluster of small holes and bumps (Trypophobia), opening links with the caption ‘Top 10 most disgusting things in the world’ or ‘This woman was uncomfortable and when she visited the doctor…this will shock you’ or ‘17+ strange places where dangerous animals hide’ is not an option. I have however out of curiosity opened some links; I am still recovering from that sight. My skin still has goosebumps when I think of such times. When a part of my skin gets itchy, I imagine all sorts of negative things related to whatever link I opened last.

Is this paranoia or just too much fear? Don’t tell me it’s the same thing.

I could go on and on about my paranoia, and fears but am already feeling bored of typing.

JOURNEY TO REDEMPTION

There are some moments you never want interrupted. You want to keep them in any medium possible and play them anytime you feel like. Such moments could come when you are at the shore of Lake Victoria, as the afternoon breeze smashes on your face, gets past your ears and you feel your body blocking its flow. The waves of the Lake flow gently with a little sunshine giving the breeze all the time in the world to ask yourself why you took so long to get to that place. Besides you stands a gem, with vivacious features and eyes that sparkle brightening your day. It is her idea that you are there in the first place.

You move close to this beautiful being as if to point to her something on the visible shore across you, and you steadily move your left hand to rest on her lower back, your right hand still on your side. Just when you are slowly moving your left hand even lower, your phone starts ringing. Phones never let you have your moments. I believe phones are the neediest devices in this world; they don’t want you concentrating on any other thing. If your phone has ever rang at such a moment to remind you that you belong to this world, then you will get it.

You are torn between picking that phone and just silencing it. You then check it only to find it is that call that you cannot miss. It’s mum calling, and when mum calls, you will pick. She is enquiring why you never got home the previous day. Apparently she had saved you some food knowing you will get home. She is worried that you have not stopped your behavior of randomly coming up with plans and go missing.

Just after the call, a new number pops up on the screen. It’s a lecturer informing you that he will be assessing you the next day. That means you have to go back to your work station. You have to leave the beautiful view of the lake behind and get back to the crowded madness which is the city of Nairobi. You break the news to the beauty and already notice the disappointment in her voice as she asks you if there is a chance that you might not go. Those are hard times, hard choices. You have to weigh your options. Well, you know you have to travel, and again there stands the lady you have been waiting to spend the evening with. Quite a tempting offer she gives you. You take in the breeze one last time as you stroll by the shore waiting to watch the sun setting in the horizon. Evening first approaches and you head back to the house bidding your better half a kiss goodbye, and just like that you are on the road.

My life happens in a flash. I rarely plan for stuff I do because it has proven time and time again that I do not get to those places. I know of people who plan their life in a diary and religiously stick to it. That is pure genius. I am one of those people who live life in the fast lane; you can wake me up from my sleep and tell me that we are heading for a trip, and I show up whatever the time. All I need is a reason and accessibility. Motivation is always on point.

I remember how I left my village the other day. I was ploughing the farm when I received a call informing me that there was a gig opening for some few days in Kisumu. I headed home, and even without taking a shower, I changed into fresh clothes and off I went. I told guys at home that I will return in the evening. Three weeks later, they are still waiting for me. I had left home without any set of clothes to change and yet here I was, going to spend one week in town. I am not sure if that’s crazy, I only know that I will survive. I would have to make do with what I have. Isn’t that what creativity is for?

One time seeing that beauty out, I had bent next to her. She then pulls up my shirt and on asking why she says she wanted to see the brand of boxer that I had on. I don’t know what she would say if after some days she would look and see that I am still in the Gildan brand. Or wait, did she notice and just keep quiet about it? I now have the sudden urge to ask her about it.

This has been me for a long time. In school, I didn’t know whether I would get back to the house by evening or not. I never knew where the sun would set in with me in. I stopped going to bashes because almost each and every one I attended, I would wake up in unfamiliar territories the next day. I had even started influencing my friends. One time a brother of mine got into a vehicle heading to school, and he ended up meeting a stranger who offered him some lunch she was carrying. After enjoying the scrumptious meal, he found himself at the lady’s house the following morning.

Living an adventurous lifestyle has its setbacks. I am missing out on opportunities in my career and even relationships. Having lost my focus on what I prime in life, I am now convinced that it was a phase that I am soon growing out of. This is the most serious statement I have ever written in my life.

After deep thought, I am considering quitting this life. It is not for me anymore. Times are changing, and responsibilities are piling up my way. If you were like me, what has helped you out throughout the months, or even years?

The ‘Man’ In Every Woman

You will understand the featured photo as you go on.

I am the worst patient ever. I know this for a fact. I have an ardent fear of anything medicine related which means I can take even 10minutes to swallow a tablet, even one that is sugar coated. I hear there are such. I don’t have the guts to taste any. I will just take my sweet time thinking about what angle to use when throwing the tablet in my mouth, to avoid any tongue-tablet contact. I don’t care if the tablet is tiny. Those are the worst! Other than that fear, I am stubborn. With that comes the need to be pampered. Like let’s say you want me to eat, talk to me nicely. Seduce me with your words such that I don’t just submit to the food but to any other order you issue. Talk to me like a child. Feel my temperature at intervals of 5minutes and most importantly, yet the most silly, ensure my phone does not run low on power.

As a patient, I can be very petty and by extension, exaggerate any situation. When I have the flu, you will think it’s a chronic illness or some ‘mathematics’ malaria. I mean the +++ ones. I will easily win your pity. The most I can do at such a time is cuddle up in bed and look pale. I can do that so well. It’s not a choice. It’s an involuntary reflex setting my body reverts to when am sick. In short, as a patient, I can sometimes be a pain in the ‘you know what’. (Feel free to read that as you may please. A three-letter word would suffice.) You can imagine the frustration in everyone when I had a sick scare recently. If there is such a thing.

Where am I going with this? When I had my sick scare, my Mum told me, “You are the only one among my children that I still don’t know how to handle when sick. You fall sick like your Dad.” Which I think narrowly translates to I fall sick like a Man? I don’t know. That is how I interpreted it. So it’s what we will all go with. No debates. In addition, it’s a known fact that men fear being sick.

This statement got me thinking. If I can fall sick like a man, what else that’s known about men do we women do? And I came up with this.

According to some article on the internet, a study actually, one of the facts known about men is that they lie six times in a day, while women lie three times. I don’t know how true that is, but I will not question the internet. Not after all the years of relying on it for all my assignments. However, if it is true, then I have some emphasis on that. First off, everyone lies. The men just happen to lie more in a day. Women however, have a tendency of linking unrelated situations together, which comes as an added advantage to them when lying. For example, the car is linked to the phone, which is linked to food, which is in turn linked to cleaning the house, and further linked to the story you as a man once mentioned three years ago. So with all these linked together, women need to lie less, because when caught in a lie, they can easily manipulate their way around a situation and instead link it to the other unrelated situations. Men, will have to come up with a lie to cover that lie. But the bottom line is, men lie. Women lie.

It is common knowledge that men forget a lot. And women remember a lot. As I have stated above, women link everything to everything. A trait that has seen men losing almost every argument they engage with women. Especially if you have a history together. However, women also forget. What triggers their memory is the ability to link a situation to an irrelevant one. A good example:
Man: I met Jane today. She said hello.
Woman: Jane…Jaaa…..Jannnnee….Jane Jane Jane…Jane. Which Jane is that?
Man: She used to work in the shop next to….
Woman: Aha! Jane. The one who had to move out of her husband’s house at night?

What a man can do, a women can do better? Really? What a man can do, a woman can do. Just that. Well except getting another woman pregnant.

There is something about a man, laziness, carelessness and disorganization. I can’t quite put a finger on it, but it’s there. I have more male friends than the female ones. So I know what am talking about. Besides, who said I need to have a huge number of people that I can sample from? IPSOS publishes their findings all the time and not even once have I heard anyone say they were part of the survey. The things I have mentioned, are not just associated with men, get a woman to feel comfortable with you and you will be surprised at how much the ‘men’ in women is paramount.

Men, ok I will say most men, thrive in disorganization. There is no specific order in which things are arranged in a man’s house. As long as there is a space, and the item fits, it will be placed there. Until it’s needed. Then the search begins; introducing new forms of disarrangement until the needed item is found. For example, why separate the shirts, trousers and socks? Why not pile them up together and only engage in a serious search party when you need one? You think only men do this? Think again.

I had a friend in school who never saw the need to separate his clean clothes from the dirty ones. He relied solely on his sense of smell and sight. Who says women are any different? They may be more civilized enough to separate the clean ones from the dirty ones, but not always. The jeans are an exception. (I won’t talk about bras, ladies know themselves). The jeans are always clean, it does not matter how many times they have been worn. They are always clean. Another man-thing in a woman is the need to just do nothing, and possibly have someone else do it. Laziness.

“Ablutophobia. Ablutophobia is a persistent fear of bathing or any other form of cleaning activity. It is found to be more common in children and females.” I will not even talk about that. It’s completely open to interpretation. (Photo relevance comes in here) Let’s move on…

Ever heard of an alpha male? Well, there is an alpha female too. She has her own pack. She determines which way they go. She determines who can join the pack and most importantly, you cannot even think of dating her ex. When you have an issue with the alpha female, as a member of the pack, kindly humble yourself and take the high road, or else, she will destroy you. Unlike the alpha males whose only limitation to the pack members is the ex-thing, the female alphas have more control over their packs. The men call themselves bros, but it’s always clear who the leader is. The women call it girl-squad, with a dictator for a leader. Therefore, another man-thing in a woman is that. The alpha thing. Women however take it way too far.

Do I need to talk about clothes? Football? Or some other sports generally associated with men? How about cooking? I don’t think so. You get my point.

What am I saying in all these? There is nothing so different in character between the man and woman. There is that aspect of the ‘man’ that will keep manifesting in the woman. Some, women hide pretty well.

Genesis 2: 23 And Adam said, this is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.

I will leave you with that.

PROCASTINATION; MY UNDOING

My brother’s school is very close to our house. It’s literally a minute’s walk to that school. They had their prize giving day yesterday, a day that also counted as their official closing day. My elder sister was the parent for the day. As for my Mum and I we were to travel. Actually she was to travel but she extended an invitation in my direction and I said why not? For us to leave the estate, we have to pass through the school’s field. As we were passing, the MC or someone was calling out names of the kids receiving gifts. Best Student, Most improved. Then came the most discipline. And without even thinking, I quickly said ‘mummy hapo nae wako hayuko’ and to my surprise she was not even mad. Instead she added ‘ingekua ni naughtiest ningekubali…na si leo wamedrag hii event yao’.

It was only then that I realised it was already 1pm. Yet our scheduled departure time was 11am. This is where the relevance of the topic comes in. We were late. Not because I did something but because mum picked that day to be a tailor. Work she had procrastinated for months. If this thing is hereditary then I got it. And I got it big time.

My procrastination does not choose when to manifest itself. It can happen anytime.

Back when I was still a student, ok it’s just been a month but still, I was never on time for my classes. I tried, I failed. If I had a class at 10am, I knew deep down that I was supposed to start getting ready latest by 9am. But somehow I would convince myself that there was still time. I would end up getting ready past 10. At which point, I was already late. The same applied to studying where I would keep on telling myself ‘I will do it’. I would reassure myself of the abundant time available, only to end up doing it in the last minute. The only thing that motivated me was the last minute pressure associated with studying. But I have survived school; I should be able to handle anything.

While writing this, I have left a month-old pile of clothes back home that are in desperate need of my services. I know am supposed to do my laundry but somehow I keep finding clean clothes and that has sort of made me very lazy and succumb to the spirit of procrastination. A week ago, I told my sister to wake me up while she leaves for school so I can get time to do my laundry. She kept her word. She woke me up. I woke up, looked at the pile on the chair (you know that designated chair whose sole role in a house is to carry clothes that just can’t find their way to the wardrobes or wire lines? That chair), looked at the time, and told myself 30 more minutes of sleep won’t make a difference. Well a week down the line and here we are. This is just not right.

To prove just how much this is a problem let me give another scenario. I have known since my last post that I will be posting exactly after a fortnight. But what did I do about it? Nothing. I kept telling myself ‘there is still time’ over and over again that I believed it. Until there was no time and I just didn’t know which of the five unfinished stories I should focus on for publication. Since I could not decide, reality is I postponed even making the decision, I texted my partner Lewis to write this week instead. He wanted a reason. I mean how was I to tell him directly that my procrastination tendencies are closing in on me? So I evaded the question all together. I then told myself that by the end of Monday, I will have written something, we edit and wait for Wednesday to publish. Well, you’ve guessed right, I had nothing by the end of Monday. It’s not like I don’t have something to write. I have tonnes to write. Tonnes. I just can’t stop postponing.

In related news, I have a 100paged document I should be editing, and a business plan I should draft. Both of which I have not even started. I don’t know when to start. What I know is I should start. ASAP.

I love travelling, but only when it’s spontaneous. If it’s planned, I will just come up with the craziest excuse to push it. I should have been in Nakuru weeks ago, but I kept postponing that for weeks. Until there was no other chance. My problem is real.

Have you ever sent a message to someone and you are still waiting for an answer? It could be as you are reading this or even before. The wait could be any duration. From one minute to one day and to infinity. Well, I have this problem even with messages. Sometimes I get a message, I read it, I draft a reply in my head and tell myself I will get back later to reply. Then I just don’t. Because with procrastination, comes forgetting. It’s a very bad thing I know, but sometimes I just can’t help it. I am working on that though, it can be an emergency one day, right?

I am beginning to imagine my procrastination is fuelled by my deep love for doing nothing all the time. In other words known as laziness. One of my most peaceful moments apart from sleeping is when am doing nothing. There is no pressure in that. Because of this, I have a habit of cancelling things.

The other week I had a meeting in Maseno scheduled for 11am. I did my best to ensure am not late. But that procrastinating spirit embedded deep in my core kept telling me ‘how about we just push this meeting to I don’t know…later? Next week maybe…or just another time. Let’s just do nothing today’. I was almost making the call to cancel when the other party called and rescheduled it to half past 11am. It was the best the universe could give me for my dilemma. I took the deal.

It’s always said ‘denial is the first step of acceptance.’ I am done denying my procrastination. I now accept I have a problem. And am afraid it may be my undoing.

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