reflections of 2010-part 2

The Easter vacation was one of the most interesting parts of my year, and it is my hope that I can remember some of the reasons why. Most of you by now have deduced the fact that I love pork, and I spent a significant part of my time devouring this delicacy in Thika. What I love about Thika town is the great array of pork joints and it is no wonder that the quality of roast pork is just “yuu tu sana.”

 

Moreover, the weekend was full of partyyyying and needless to say the weekend was on fire. From Thika to Nairobi to the sexy clubs of the west. In addition I indulged in my literal hobby and headed to the national theater to watch a play dubbed “confessions of a harlot.” The play was awesome and one part that remained with me is the scene played by my sexy pal Yvonne. Kudo’s my dear, looking forward to another play and get a larger role this time round.

 

The holidays brought with them several opportunities and in a bid to exercise free will, decided to head to the coast for some time. Needles to say, this was one of the best times in my year and the memories still bring a smile to my face. Many thanks to my friends who kept me company and I hope that the rest of the time, after I left, was full of blessings. Edu and the many raves of went together and the several pools that I beat u at talylos. Still looking forward for a rematch. Dottie, with your beautiful nature for letting me have a taste of Bob’s. Soni and our belavista times, ur mad fun dear pal, and I still love our Friday coffee dates/ liquor dates hehe. Topping up the coast experience was the world cup, and I loved watching every match sipping a cold drink under the thatched clubs of the tropical cost. Big up to base pub, lambada, tembo disco, California, Bellavista for the final game, that german pub at mtwapa, bobs for the English US derby and Talylos at Mikindani for hosting us with their affordable beer.

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The lost mzungu and other short stories- The tale of Catherine

Pg 2 n 3

I was born in a small village in a beautiful land called Kenya, a place called Miberethi in my native language Kikuyu. Loosely translated, the name means pipes and the name was occasioned by the presence of several water pipes in that area. I was the fourth child in a family of seven kids; a large family by all means. And if my eulogy is anything to go by, I was a good child by any standards. The person charged with the task of writing the eulogy might have been compelled by tradition to write that, but it does not matter since his intention ran similar to the truth in this case.

I started my primary education when I was a young girl, and worked hard in order to gain academic success and get a good foundation in life. My father was particularly supportive of our school efforts, always checking our work every night to ensure that we not only finish our homework but do it well. Such devotion was not common and portrayed a kind of care that was touching and inspirational. In fact, though I was not to know it for a long time; it would help shape me to become a good mother who will inspire my children to greater academic heights.

Life during my child hood was not about school only and my folks always strove to ensure that we learn to appreciate the value of hard work. Since our home is based on the highlands of central province, agriculture becomes a vital aspect of any homestead and ours was no exception. My mom had several cows and goats and we were expected to help out with feeding these animals. Needless to say, it was always a disappointment when we had to spend so much time after school gathering food for them when we should be busy playing with  the neighbor’s kids.

There were several games I liked back then, when life was full of innocence and simple pleasures. There was a game of catch very popular with boys and girls, and we would spend hours playing it whether at home or during school breaks. The game involved a small ball made of several leaves wrapped in a polythene bag and usually played by three people at a time. Two people would stand at both ends while a third would be in the middle, between the two players. The objective of the middle player would be to duck the ball aimed at them by the two players. The middle player would strike out if hit by the ball and be replaced by another player in a pre agreed manner.

Other games that shared my favor were ‘bladder’, hide and seek and playing house. Bladder is a common game in Kenya and is usually preferred by young girls, hide and seek on the other hand was a favorite across the gender divide. I was a master at bladder, more so because I was blessed with a tall height; an advantage usually frowned upon by my peers. Bladder was a game played by a large elastic bad stretched by two girls with the main player standing in the middle of the stretched bladder. The player would then jump up and vacate the bladder with her legs settling on different sides of the bladder and the height would be raised until the player cannot achieve that feat. Those were beautiful times indeed and those memories, though distant, are worth more than any worldly gold.

 

 

 

reflections of year 2010- part 1

Today is Christmas, and just like the rest of the year, the time feels crappy with bad things following me like the gloomy presence of a determined reaper. However, it is still Christmas and i find myself, though feeling a little on the downside, inclined to say a few words about the year. This however will not include the many shenanigans our politicians keep subjecting us to. however, it is in line to commend Kenyans for passing a new constitution and making the first step towards ending impunity and slaying the dragon of impunity. The year started on a high, and happiness was in full measure. My motto for the year was to love myself and try as best to rediscover who i am. i was full of optimism and hope, daring fate to give me the best year of my life. In fact, I even decided at the beginning to give my relationship another chance oping that it might actually work. But a dog is always a dog and no amount of faith can change it into a goat and so i came to realize that this was an effort in futility. needless to say, the furthest it lasted is a month and a half more and there ended the longest bitter sweet relationship I’ve ever hand, 2 years and a half of pleasure and pain in equal measure. I know i Make it sound simple but the truth is it wasn’t, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, give up the woman i ever loved with my heart, body and mind. but pain is a natural consequence of life and healing but a product of hurt. But it would be a mistake to think that this year was all about pain and the next part of this blog might shed some enlightenment on that issue, my dear reader.

The Lost mzungu and other stories-The tale of Catherine

Pg 1, 2 n 3

I must be in a happier place right now, or it would all have been in vain. Rest is a beautiful thing sometimes, and eternal rest cannot be bad in this regard. To bring clarity and not cause much confusion to you, my dear reader, is that I recently passed away. I fell sick and in line with the norm of this world, passed away. But I’m not whining nor do I wish that I can come back to this world of the living, for it is not a perfect world. But I was perfect, made so by my devotion of God and the divine realization that only that truly mattered. For we were made of a perfect God, and it is only by going back to him that we gain back our perfection; lost so long ago when we became of this world.

My name when i breathed was Catherine, but i do not know yet how they’ll call me in heaven. I hope I can still keep this name, even though it is one created of mortality. It is not necessarily a beautiful name, but its one that immortalizes my experience with those I had held dear. And what is more beautiful than love, and what I wouldn’t do to remember that love forever. I hope even at this juncture, that those I love will have the strength to go one; and i pray that grief does not derail them from the path i strive so hard to steer them.

To many i passed on too young, only 43 years old. Perhaps they are right, led to believe so by their earthly tendencies. But does age truly matter? For we must all pass in the fullness of time, and old and youth does not deter that eventuality. For this world is just an arena, a chance for us to overcome a heritage of sin. In my opinion, the time I had in this world was enough. i know this because unlike many, I knew the truth as clearly as the light emanating from the side of a pure crystal. The purpose of life so simple, and one’s success but the unrelenting pursuit of that single purpose.

I was born in a small village in a beautiful land called Kenya, a place called Miberethi in my native language Kikuyu. Loosely translated, the name means pipes and the name was occasioned by the presence of several water pipes in that area. I was the fourth child in a family of seven kids; a large family by all means. And if my eulogy is anything to go by, I was a good child by any standards. The person charged with the task of writing the eulogy might have been compelled by tradition to write that, but it does not matter since his intention ran similar to the truth in this case.

I started my primary education when I was a young girl, and worked hard in order to gain academic success and get a good foundation in life. My father was particularly supportive of our school efforts, always checking our work every night to ensure that we not only finish our homework but do it well. Such devotion was not common and portrayed a kind of care that was touching and inspirational. In fact, though I was not to know it for a long time; it would help shape me to become a good mother who will inspire my children to greater academic heights.

Life during my child hood was not about school only and my folks always strove to ensure that we learn to appreciate the value of hard work. Since our home is based on the highlands of central province, agriculture becomes a vital aspect of any homestead and ours was no exception. My mom had several cows and goats and we were expected to help out with feeding these animals. Needless to say, it was always a disappointment when we had to spend so much time after school gathering food for them when we should be busy playing with  the neighbor’s kids.

There were several games I liked back then, when life was full of innocence and simple pleasures. There was a game of catch very popular with boys and girls, and we would spend hours playing it whether at home or during school breaks. The game involved a small ball made of several leaves wrapped in a polythene bag and usually played by three people at a time. Two people would stand at both ends while a third would be in the middle, between the two players. The objective of the middle player would be to duck the ball aimed at them by the two players. The middle player would strike out if hit by the ball and be replaced by another player in a pre agreed manner.

Other games that shared my favor were ‘bladder’, hide and seek and playing house. Bladder is a common game in Kenya and is usually preferred by young girls, hide and seek on the other hand was a favorite across the gender divide. I was a master at bladder, more so because I was blessed with a tall height; an advantage usually frowned upon by my peers. Bladder was a game played by a large elastic bad stretched by two girls with the main player standing in the middle of the stretched bladder. The player would then jump up and vacate the bladder with her legs settling on different sides of the bladder and the height would be raised until the player cannot achieve that feat. Those were beautiful times indeed and those memories, though distant, are worth more than any worldly gold.

The Lost Mzungu and Other Short Stories

The Lost Mzungu and Other Short Stories

This book will be awesome, why do I say so because we must have faith if we are to achieve any greatness. These ten short stories will hopefully inspire other young and talented writers out there to dare and write with the faith that they will make it. I hope that you, my dear fans will walk with me as we try to break down literal barriers and inspire a new dawn in literature.

 

Possible Stories

  • The Lost Mzungu
  • The tale of Catherine
  • The Fanatic
  • A tale of love
  • One with the Chameleons
  • The Conspiracy
  • Threshold; a dynasty in peril
  • Coyotes
  • Where is Truth
  • A life Lost

The Burning land

Chapter 2

pg 13 n 14

I was born on a Friday and according to the Kenyan proverbs, I should be a lucky child. Yet no matter how much I try to believe it, it evades me to accept that such a fate was ever meant for me. I have never really encountered occasions that proved, or even attempted to support this particular proverb. Therefore, I strongly disagree with the saying that one is lucky as a child born on a Friday. But this is not about people born on Fridays, this story is about me and my beloved country and those people who would do it harm to continue fattening their pockets at the expense of the majority poor. But to go back to the Friday proverb, this year has been the worst for me so far.

A lot has happened in this single year, leaving me feeling empty and lost. I remember going through an article questioning the validity of a supreme and good being when there is so much suffering and evil in this world. Some wonder how such a God can sit aside and watch as good people live in misery and bad ones dwell in splendor and swim in an ocean of success. But I’ve also encountered several other philosophies that tend to prove that there is a God and one in particular showing that such a great God has created a different place where all people will be rewarded depending on their actions when they lived in this world. The good will be rewarded with eternal life, while the evil will be punished eternally.

Going back to my life, a lot has indeed happened this year. But a question that must linger in your mind, dear reader, is who I’m I? Well, that is a good question indeed. But I feel that you already know the answer to that; for if this story is about Kenya then it must be that I am a Kenyan. I am you, and i am me, I am the present and the future. My life is not unique but a replica of what we go through, and therefore to know me, just look within you and you will know my name. For in the mortality of our meaningless life, we share a common destiny and our individuality only but a perception. Therefore, i am every Kenyan, different yet similar. I am the conscience of our society, forcing you to reflect and join me in capturing history to avert a repeat of the same senseless bloodshed. We do this together; me and you, and i hope that when we come to the end, we will hold hands and start afresh. My name is unclear, my profession irrelevant, my struggles unimportant but of greater appreciation is my tribe Kenya.

What is in a name anyway? Every tribe in Kenya has a different methodology when it comes to assigning names to new borns. The tribe i find most enchanting is the Luo, their ingenuity in naming children has become legendary. They have a habit of taking the names of famous current events or famous people and baptizing their children with them. It is not uncommon to get kids with names like Bomb Blast akinyi, Obama Otieno, Moreno Ocampo Okoth and Donald Tramp Odhiambo. Where i come from children usually take the names of their relatives, usually those of their parent’s parents. Therefore, in my opinion a name is a name and is not what defines one’s identity and hence is not entirely that important. But we live in times when people love conformity and some of my readers might take offense that I do not furnish them with a name. But that is okay, for i believe it is time to break away from the literal chains that bind us to consistency, for freedom can only be achieved through violently breaking away from the status quo.