If it Looks Too Good to be True, It Probably is 

Do you ever look at the person you were a few years ago and just have a good long laugh about it? Cause I do. Every memory means something to you, that’s why it’s still in your head. Some you long to go back to and make them last longer. Some, not so much. Either way those times once meant something to you and that’s why you remember them.
I remember this one like it was yesterday, probably because it was. I was still in college; young, vibrant with that overzealous go-getter attitude and still with a clear vision of a tolerable future. As a relatively noticeable tall girl in her twenties, I had to ignore the constant and very annoying ‘pssts’ as I walked to and from campus everyday until I met him.

Tall, dark, slightly built, confident young man, minding his business at the bus terminus, scrolling through his Infinix, a small smile forming on his full, symmetrical but slightly dry lips. I wished he would ‘psst’ me as I walked past him to board Brainfreeze, the newest nganya in town. He didn’t.

After securing a window seat at the back of the bus, I took out my phone to text my best friend all about the stranger who just straight up swept my feet of the dusty ground. I felt someone sit next to me and silently hoped I did not know them. In the middle of a very excited text describing all the naughty things I would have done to the hot stranger, my neighbor passenger said Hello.

With a quick ‘hey’ response I brushed him off and went back to the erotica I was writing to my friend. An uneasy air floated over me as I felt someone’s eyes on my phone screen. Pissed, I put on my angry face and turned to face the intruder. Let’s just say he might have been confused by the look he saw; my eyes slowly opened fully wide, my lips part, my breathing stopped completely for five seconds and a tinge of the anger still hung around. It was him! Tall dark stranger that I was just texting about.

‘Are you okay?’He asked.

‘Yes.. I er.. I’m okay,’ I heard myself say. 

‘You look a little.. shocked,’ he said, looking me straight into my eyes. That topped the confusion that was already pretty existent.

‘No, it’s er..,’ I did not know what to say, what do you say to a person this perfect, with a voice so deep and eyes so dreamy? ‘It’s just kinda hot.’ I said. What? Hot? Why did I say that? He smiled and went on with a whole lot of stories that I did not hear, partly because I was fantasizing about a whole life with him and partly because of the deafening music in the nganya.

This went on until I heard the conductor shout ‘mwisho mwisho mwisho,’ in town. As everyone started to get off, I prayed that he would take my number, so that this would not end here. He stood up, shook my hand and bid me goodbye. Najua tutakutana tena. He said and with that, left me stranded inside my head. 

I reached into my bag to text my friend how I just let the perfect guy go and- no phone anywhere! I emptied all my pockets now at the verge of a panic attack. It now hit me, how lost I was when Mr Right was giving me the story of his life. 

Not knowing how to react, I got off the bus and decided to keep myself busy with what had brought me to town in the first place. It is said, everything that happens happens for a reason. The reason here was pretty clear; STRANGER DANGER! I hope I learned my lesson.


Crazy Awkward and Embarrassing

I’m probably the kind of person that should never say I will never do something. I am the perfect description of never say never. 

Last time I was on a date(which was coincidentally my first), I swore never to go out again. Well let’s just say I shouldn’t have sworn.

Saturday, 9.00 p.m.

I’m sitting at the bar at The Bench Lounge. Wow, look who’s not late! I have ordered myself a glass of Asconi sweet red wine as I wait for Chris. Sip after sip I’m hoping to get a little tipsy so I dont have shuffle my mind for something to talk about.

9.30 p.m.

No Chris. Just cute guy after cute guy offering to buy me a drink, which I grudgingly turn down because my date is ‘just a few minutes late.’ I do take a double though, after I lose a bet on an ongoing football match on the screen in the club. 

10.00 p.m.

He finally shows up. I put on my best smile when I see him walking through the door until I notice a svelte blondie by his side, her arm in his. Wow, he totally forgot about our date. I’m already three glasses of wine and two doubles drunk, so it doesn’t really hit me as much.

Of all the places they could have sat, they choose the bar-right next to me! When our eyes meet, instead of a shocked look on his face, he says hi with a broad smile and introduces Carolyn(the blondie) as his girlfriend! Double wow!! ‘Oh Chris told me about your awkward date, sorry honey. He doesn’t really do well with new faces,’ she says with a high school kind of attitude and of course the ‘It’s Carolyn with a y’. I thought such girls only existed in movies. I already hate her: one, for having Chris and two, for being blonde.

What a waste of my night! I should have taken the drinks from the cute guys before. I cant believe I asked about a childhood pet while I didn’t know he had a girlfriend? Well, at least I don’t have to make up small talk. So plan for the night, get completely hammered and go home like I not only just got stood up, but that my date showed up with his girlfriend who knew how awkward my social life is!


My First Shitty Date

Most girls in their late teens and early twenties have a picture of a perfect life with a tall,hot boyfriend and a best friend to tell everything about the boyfriend. These girls will fall asleep fantasizing over their crush and how they would build a perfect relationship, never having to fight because they are ‘made for each other’. 
Well, most girls. I turned twenty one recently,and I’ve never been on a real date: until still recently. 

Being accustomed to being by myself, I wake up with no rush. Tap my phone screen; 12:13p.m. Everything is perfectly normal to me -a not-so-early morning, hair looking like a used steel wool ,puffy eyes clearly still sleepy and the awful morning breathe in my mouth(gross). Now to plan my day, actually get up,brush my teeth,put on something(over my long baggy sleeping T-shirt), buy breakfast,  wait I’m forgetting something…Chris!!*not his real name,of course.

From now it’s a marathon. A race against time. No one wants to show up for a date an hour late. I quickly run into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I cant stand cold showers so I spend a good ten minutes figuring out if I really need to go. I mean I’m still young right? Do I really need a boyfriend?

After the hurried shower I stand at my closet. What to wear? This would be easier if I had a friend. Wherever people shop for those. I settle for a simple blouse, blue jeans,red flats and just like that, I’m good to go. 


Chris must be getting impatient. I’m forty seven minutes late,big deal.


At the Art Caffe, things get weird as Chris tries to pull a chair back for me. So I’m there standing like a fool when he says,’ this is your seat’. Thank my lucky stars no one saw that. It could have been one bad beginning to an even worse date. I apologize for showing up an hour and thirty minutes late. Chris is already halfway through his third glass of wine. 

We spend a good half hour sipping fine wine and trying to make small talk which I’m terrible at by the way; what do you do when you’re not at work or in class? Favorite color? Did you have a childhood pet?(For the love of me, I don’t know why this question always comes up, creepy).

 Most of the date passes when our order arrives -Hawaiian pizza,double crust with extra toppings. Something to keep my hands busy so I can stop cracking my knuckles every ten minutes.

 So apparently girls have this thing they call ‘date eating’ where they eat as sparingly as possible on a date then eat their stomachs out when they get home. With no friend to tell me about that, I eat to my fill at the date.

6:06p.m. I think we’ve exhausted our topics, and a bottle of wine, so can we go home now? Like he read my mind, Chris suggests we do this another time. Phew!  Again I thank my lucky stars that we’re going separate ways. We part at the bus terminus and I head back home trying to push the embarrassing parts of the date( that is all of it) to the back of my mind. I’m never going out again. I swear to myself.

My First 21

Parties are awesome. They bring people together,drunk or not, and they get to take a break from their tiresome routines to just talk to other people or dance their stress off.

What makes parties more awesome is when there is something to celebrate; and birthdays are a huge celebration. Remembering the day you joined one world from another completely different world.

People’s statuses read ‘February baby’ or ‘Birthday loading’ on the month they were born. I know its a known fact that ladies don’t reveal their real age but as I turn my First 21(I might be 21 for several years), I will say much more than ‘May baby’.

For the two decades (and a year) I have existed in this world, I have learnt how to live, how to love. I know I still don’t know everything but as you always told me, mum, I should take one step after another. For skipping a single step will show its consequences later in life.

Twenty one years ago on this day, you welcomed me to the world and held me in your arms,looking down to my tiny body. And as I looked up to you, not knowing what I was seeing, or what those voices in my ears were saying, I could see the assurance in your eyes and feel it in your gentle arms, telling me that I was not alone. Not then, not ever.
You treated me with care. Like a fragile piece of glass, cleaning me,feeding me,and making sure I was warm enough. I made you spend countless nights on your feet, because I wanted to be rocked, not knowing it cost you your sleep. 

You watched me everyday, when I was so delicate and helpless,juggled me with work,until the day I took my first step on your watch. Until the moment I uttered my first word, ‘mama’. 
As a teenager, when I thought I had known it all, I unleashed all my hormones on you, making you deal with my attitude. I knew you were hurting, but my pride wouldn’t let me settle down, but still, you were there to lead me through what I was going through. 
There’s no way I could ever thank you enough, but to show you and the world how much I appreciate you, and use my gifts to give back to you. Not because I should but because I want to. 

If I had the voice I would sing for you like Tupac. If I had even one right foot I would dance for you, to express how much I love you. For always being there for me. For collecting my pieces when I was broken and putting me together. For showing me the world, for putting up with me when I was out of control. For loving me unconditionally. You are the reason I’m celebrating this and all past and coming birthdays. The reason for me.

You Broke the Law,Officer

Taking advantage of positions of power is not a new practice among security personnel and police officers. They will stop you on the road anytime as long as its convenient for them. I remember being stopped once for questioning while I was relocating from a smaller side of town. 

The two officers, I assumed good cop and bad cop, looked like they were just starting their shift on patrol and seemed a little high on the intoxication level.

Of course bad cop was shorter than good cop. Hell, he was a few inches shorter than me! But he spoke more words than the three of us combined and wouldn’t let me pass. His excuse, I was carrying too much luggage, all of which he had to inspect. 

Just today as I was walking from school, walking on the right side of the road to face oncoming vehicles. A Kenya Prisons Service bus overlapped the stationary Rongai traffic and appeared full speed behind me. A green Police truck followed it at a similar speed. 

The officer at the wheel peeked outside and shouted to me, ‘Barabara si ya mama yako siste(the roads are not your mother’s, sister),’ and sped off to leave me wafting clouds of dust from my face. 

I straightened myself and got back on the sidewalk from the bushes like my life had not just been threatened by an officer of the law. Now I guess I got to find another way home, now that the sidewalks are not owned by my mother. 


Leaders, Here’s our Say

Leadership is not a question of power and superiority. It is not about who gives the orders and who follows. Neither is it about the person who makes the most money and drives the most expensive cars, or whose kids attend the most luxurious schools. It is about service. 
Service to the people. 

Service to the nation.

Service beyond oneself. 

The same people you run to for votes with endless promises and vows are the same people who will easily vote you out as a leader and choose someone else with a stronger standing. 
Leadership begins from as low as in class groups to human rights activists to student bodies up to nation levels. How you manage the small you have determines how good you will do with bigger:isn’t it written in the Good Book? 
A leader is meant to lead by example. Make people follow what he or she does. Not by power. By example. 
I wish all Multimedia University candidates would see this, Then whoever gets into power will not have an excuse when they don’t fulfil their promises.
I want a leader with a vision. A leader that will not juggle their comrades in their hands like they’re not sure. Show me the relevance of my vote. The use of my standing patiently in line to mark against your name. 

For I will have the same level of impatience to put someone else on that seat as the patience I had when I put you there. 

I did my part. I gave my vote. For which I’m feeling like a patriotic comrade. Don’t let me down. Don’t let the comrades down. 

May the best comrade win. 


Rants of a Silent Mind

I don’t rant much. Not that I don’t want to-trust me I want to whine about everything I find wrong. I find many things wrong: the way some people look at other people, the things they say about those people, the fact that the spiral of silence exists, the state of the economy-as cliche as this may sound, the list is endless. 

The reason I don’t complain out loud is not that I’m afraid someone will think I’m a bummer. Neither is it that I’m afraid someone might think I’m a perfectionist. No. I barely see the point of it. Say, the state of the economy for instance. I want to tell off a shop manager for selling a kilo of flour for the price of two, I want to cry out to a grocery woman that there’s no way I’m buying a tomato for the price of three, or a sack containing twenty potatoes for almost a dollar-but what will that do? 

They will say a polite ‘ni economy imeharibika. Lakini bado Mungu ni mzuri‘ and I, being the soft soul I am, will end up carrying an extra two tomatoes and grudgingly have a great meal at home. A few will most probably wave me off to the next shop or kibanda, clearly pissed at the economy as well. 

So, no. I refuse to whine over a great meal which I will end up having anyway. And I refuse to complain about people who take their sweet time walking the pavements of the city talking about tomorrow’s outfit and completely forgetting about the woman behind them trying to beat the rush hour so she can make a decent meal for her kid.

Here’s a thought, pace up a little faster and now that its already out there, for Pete’s sake stop bumping into people because you’ve fixed your eyes on your infinix screen. This is just a thought.