FINALLY, TRAVELLED BY AIR.

I am only writing this because ‘he’ asked me to. Most importantly because ‘he’ rubs me the right way in so many ways #swerve. This could be embarrassing or interesting to someone, either way it remains my experience.

Never in my history of 22 years have I ever travelled by plane. The closest I had come to one was when dropping my aunt to the airport and packing an x’s suitcase (memory that was).If anything, I think my aunt is the only one in our family, both nuclear and extended, that is widely travelled.

My travel to Kisumu came as a shocker, who would have thought interns get such opportunities. It was one of those ‘kawaida’ days at work when there is so much to do, you can hardly hear yourself breath. “Beth book your flight to Kisumu for Wednesday” my boss said. “Is she speaking to me?” my mind whispered. “Of course she just said Beth dummy”, my mind added.

I work in an open office where your boss sits across the room. There are no hierarchical partitions, everyone is equal. Well of course, apart from the pay cheque. My boss is a busy body, who is often glued to her computer. She often gives me instructions and I think it’s a mantra she is reciting.

The thought of travelling by plane is exciting but the procedures are complicated to suit the crème in society. After all, you don’t expect beggars to board planes.

I had been instructed to book and print the tickets and ensure the seat I book for my boss is the best lest I would lose my job (kidding).

In addition, I was to check in on line and print a boarding pass. You can imagine this is what I had to go through when the only means of transport I have known are javs and buses.

I may have made the procedure experience sound complex, but wait until I narrate my airport experience.

On Wednesday the 19^th, I got into work as usual. Nobody in the office cares if you are supposed to travel. All assignments must be completed before travel. Early morning, it had been made clear that I had to be at the airport 2 hours earlier unless I had checked in online.

The second option was out of the question for Beth. All I felt was the fear of getting to the airport after my boss, even worse getting late for the flight. How would you blame me? #amateurvibes.

2.45pm

I am in the cab and thinking the driver is too slow. There is no horrible feeling than fear of the unknown. ‘What if I get late? What if I get confused at the airport? What if I embarrass myself? I couldn’t help but ask myself .Traffic on Waiyaki way, Uhuru highway and Mombasa road can ruin your day. Nairobi isn’t the kind of place you hover around and expect to be on time.

4.00pm

Delighted to be at the airport but another challenge is posed. I have no idea where to begin. The feeling worsens when everyone seems to have a sense of direction. I commend the cab thou for dropping me at the local flights section or I would have lost it.

In a bid to confirm my fears wrong I approached a section of airline cashier counters. Phew! It wasn’t that difficult because the airline were distinctly announced with huge banners. “Even a fool can tell” I whispered.

Swiftly, I approached the KQ counter and my ticket was approved .I then got my luggage checked and went to the boarding section.

Here, they print the boarding pass and tag your luggage to avoid loss. Everything was falling into place until I found myself on the wrong queue. Unlike on the outside, the tags on the inside airline counters were not as distinct.

After queuing for ten minutes, I felt lucky to finally reach the counter. The attendants ask for your ID and boarding pass. ’Kindly assist me with your ID and boarding pass”, the attendant asks. “Here you go”, I reply, while confidently handing over the necessary documents.

“Madam this is flight 540 and your boarding pass reads KQ. Kindly go straight ahead to that counter at the end”, he adds, while pointing at the KQ counter. This was extremely embarrassing, at some point I almost sunk in the ground.

Just when I thought that was the only surprise of the day I am met by hard facts at the departure section. When everyone else in the outside world is busy thinking as long as you travel by air you are classy, at the airport it’s a converse story. You are defined by the airline you use.

Of course on this I was lucky. I mean, I was flying KQ. From the nature of the airlines boarding section a lot can be denoted. Other airlines have crowded boarding sections because they are cheap, the attendant’s uniform are outshined by KQ and the aura is not refined. If I just stepped on your toes ‘sorry.’’

Mine might have been a local flight but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling important. More so because of the attention my mum was giving me. I felt like I had just been newly born. “My dear did you get to the airport safe? Please make sure you don’t snack a lot minutes to your flight because you might feel nauseous. Also make sure you update me on every single detail”.

At some point I felt like everyone knew I was an amateur who just couldn’t keep calm or a freshman during orientation week.

I would love to delve into my on air experience but then that would mean exposing myself to public ridicule. In an nutshell though, it was amazing and given a chance I would travel by air any day,everyday,anywhere..Hehe.

KEEPING UP WITH THE YOUNG LADS

So, it’s been a while since I let off some steam. It’s been a very busy ‘end of year’ that I spend most of my weekends indoors. Under normal circumstances, I am one to countdown the hours left to Friday’s five O’clock before I go out.

This last weekend I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my mum but the plan went kaput! It started with Friday when I got home early from work and cooked some nice dinner for mum and I but for some reason she had an impromptu class which led her to coming home late. Little did I know that she had her whole weekend planned out and had no time for me whatsoever.

On Saturday morning I was up by 7am. For the record, I am a morning person. I can’t wake up after 7am unless I am ill. I’d rather be up doing a lot of nothing than oversleep.

In an energetic spirit I went looking for my mum; probably have breakfast with her but to my surprise she’d already left the house. This got me panicky and I decided to call her.

‘Hi mum, kwani uko?’ I asked. ’Oh dear! I didn’t want to wake you. I left for Maasai Mara. Are you okay? Mum asked. ‘I am. Have fun’ I answered.

Of course that’s all I could say. How could I possibly start explaining that I was hoping to spend some time together? After all, she was party to my ‘exquisite plan’.

At that point I realised I shouldn’t rely on my mom’s reading my mind. Well, she may understand me but she definitely wasn’t a psychic. Wish I reasoned this way earlier. But then, I think 40 is the new 20. She undeniably enjoys life more than I do.

I realised that it was me and my depressing weekend cycle, chores- movies- eating- sleeping. Depressing. Thank heavens I had updated my movie collection or I would have succumbed to boredom.

While bumming on the couch, the gate bell rang. On weekends I don’t receive touch base visitors, unless they had communicated earlier. In a bid to ignore, I curled myself under my duvet and kept watching my series. Whoever it was relentless. They never stopped ringing and I had to go and check who it was.

‘Njeri why are you taking so long to open the gate?’ It was my young high-spirited neighbour. She’s always beaming with contagious excitement. Her laughter is infectious. Now I felt guilty for trying to ignore her. Undoubtedly, she’s much better company than coiling up on the sofa.

What I like most about Muthoni, are her endless stories. If she’s not going on about her weekend escapades, it’s about her ‘situationships’ or the way she needs to lose a few pounds when she was perfectly lean. She could talk about how ugly you looked and you wouldn’t even get offended. You just have to love her!

Of course this often reminded me how much I needed to lose a few pounds especially around my waist area. That’s Muthoni for you.

This Saturday, Muthoni had a better package apart from her usual stories. ‘So here is an idea. How about we go out with my friends. It will be fun!’ she urged. Hesitation is not a word she was familiar with. When she wants to speak her mind, she goes all the way in.

Evidently, it was a mission to rescue me from myself after witnessing my bored state. The idea didn’t sound bad compared to being stuck up in the house all weekend. ‘That should be great. I am actually very bored’, I said.

I don’t even know why I answered because Muthoni doesn’t take ‘NO’ for an answer. When she asks something, it has to be done her way or no way.

7.00pm

Muthoni has really worked on my looks . I imagine she thought I looked too old and I might embarrass her amongst her friends.

8.00pm

Her ‘esteemed’ friends arrive to pick us up. I get a bit jittery when meeting new people. Fact is, new encounters can go either really good or really bad.

On opening the gate, the sight of a sleek black Toyota Prado invites us to the outside. ‘Lord Have Mercy!’ My mind could not help but sigh. For the first time the massive juggernaut almost made our entrance look stunning.

‘So, who are your friends?’ I asked. I was obviously a bit anxious. ‘Girl ! Chill out! Let me take care of this. These guys are ‘eaze’ ‘she adds. In the car were 3 “pretty” boys (no pun intended). I wish I could say men but that would mean men around their mid 20’s are grandfathers. Never have I felt so old in my life. The vehicle was filled up with loud ‘rap’ music, a genre I spite by the virtue of being an old school hip hop fan.

‘Please keep it together’ I whispered to myself. I was briefly introduced to the ’dudes’ which after I got into the car .I must confess, that machine felt good inside. For a moment, nothing else seemed to matter. I was on cloud nine, embracing the luxury in this four wheel drive.

Just when I was about to feel the groove, the guy next to me courteously offered me a ‘blunt’, same way someone would pass you the salt at dinner. “Blunt” that’s what to call cannabis to make it hip.

Jeez! I was shocked. Shocked is an understatement because I was sickened, outraged and horrified. ‘Who are these people?’ my mind whispered.

I am more than glad to be cultured. Just because you don’t approve of other people’s behaviour doesn’t give you the right to act out of line. ’No thanks’ I said, trying my best to sound cool. Truth is no matter how much I tried, I sounded like a boring aged mama trying to fit in. (Just in case you know what I should have said post a comment).

You can imagine this was the beginning of my night. There was no doubt; it was going to be a wild one. The whole marijuana vibe had caught me pants down and I hoped I wouldn’t screw up again. ‘So, what’s your name?’ The same guy asked. Considering the fact that I had just messed up, I worked hard to engage my ‘swaggerific’ side. ‘Njeri’, I said. That’s the best I could come up with. You should know how much this consumed my brain. I didn’t want to give my first name (Beth) because I think it sounds dated and unattractive, at least for them. My thinking was, they most probably encounter ‘gisty’ names like Sheryl, Chantelle and Tyesha. Names that spell out pretty, sassy and young.

I can comfortably give myself a pat on the back. That, I would say was a commendable move. I was starting to blend in, however this was cut short by a choking smell from the weed smoke. Why on earth would someone comfortably smoke marijuana in a car? Even cigarette smokers excuse themselves to puff up in open air. I was really infuriated and perplexed by this guy’s behaviour, and that was not it. He smoked one after the other loosing himself to a state of trance. His eyes had turned blood shot and lazy. No offence, but I thought he was going to die .At some point I felt like a mother who just lost her son to hard drugs. Everyone else was rather relaxed. Clearly, it was a trend among ‘them niggas.’

Someone should have given me a memo on what I was going to encounter that night. Apparently, we were supposed to go pick a pack of girls .I thought the ratio was okay but I was told ’more women, more fun.’ Fingers crossed, I hoped the ladies would be a bit descent but alas! They were as ratchet as ……(not found the word).Smoking their lungs out and drinking as though EABL had been declared insolvent are among the list of things they engaged in. ’Where are their mum’s?’ little Beth yelled.

I could have easily judged them, but my mind took me aback to a time when I was a wild cat. They called me ‘the life of the party.’ It indeed was just a phase they were going through. Sooner or later they would get tired of all the hop-skip and jump and they would want to chill out.

At 10pm, I was exhausted. Not from dancing or having a goodtime, but exposing my eyes to the unimaginable. I just wasn’t fitting in. As much as it may be hard to admit, I am no longer that 18 year old who loved to party all night. At my age, thou still young, I prefer going out, having descent liquor, dance a bit and go home in good time. What I am not sure is did I enjoy life too early or 22 is the new 35?

A link to my world.: IT’S WHAT YOU WEAR, WHERE

A link to my world.: IT’S WHAT YOU WEAR, WHERE: It’s been almost a fortnight since the hashtag ‘My dress, My choice’ started making rounds through the grapevine. I would feel no diffe...

IT’S WHAT YOU WEAR, WHERE

It’s been almost a fortnight since the hashtag ‘My dress, My choice’ started making rounds through the grapevine. I would feel no different from our highly esteemed women leaders if I didn’t give my two cents on this. It’s almost unimaginable having them keep silent about such a topical issue that’s demeaning to the woman. Their job should indeed be to protect or the least support the Kenyan woman, lest they stand similar to their male counterparts in parliament. (Story for another day).

Watching a woman stripped off her clothes is by far gender violence. Everyone has their personal space radius that no one should cross without their consent. Traversing this line expresses outmost disrespect.

The victimized women from the strip videos indeed have gone through a psycho trauma that will trudge with them for the better part of their lives. Every time they walk down the streets, it will be a reminder of what a bunch of criminals subjected them to. Women have been victims of gender violence for far too long and at some point it’s got to stop.

We are currently living in a society that’s extremely sexualised. Yesterday night, I had a pep talk with my mother and she happened to mention that in the eighties, women would wear mini-skirts and it was no big deal. Whatever transformed between then and now leaves a lot in question, matters, moral grounds. No one is asking men to approve of what women wear, far from it, but whether they approve or not, women should not be violated (stripped).

When I wrapped my mind around this issue, my mind could not help but think ‘know what to wear, where.’ I took the time to keenly look at the localities where the stripping incidences took place and quite frankly, it would be fair to state that, they are the ‘ratchet’ streets .No one needs to be told that there’s a huge disparity between Ronald Ngala and Koinange street. The ambience, outlook, crowds, architecture and aura could easily be compared to heaven and earth (pun intended).

Down-town streets are characterised by loud hooting of PSV vehicles and heavy traffic. The buildings are mostly beat-up and poorly maintained. In addition, there are a significant number of people hurriedly walking to board a matatu to or from work. A closer look will make you realise that ladies hold on to their handbags as though it was a matter of life and death. Clearly, in this part of town, insecurity rates are extremely high. Talk of mobile con men and idlers loitering in every corner of such streets. Did I just slip from mentioning the hygiene conditions? Deplorable! You would need God’s grace to walk by some sections of these avenues. Need I say more?

However, Koinange Street, Moi Avenue and others of such calibre, bear a different story. What captures the eye first is the alluring architectural designs of the storey buildings. Sophistication, exquisiteness and high value is what is portrayed. Just when you’ve not had enough of eye candy, in comes the serene, soothing and calm ambience typified by somewhat low pitched conversations and expensive vehicles speeding off. Inhabited within, are high end restaurants, Kenya’s top notch companies, best healthcare clinics among other amenities. You will neither find unnecessary congestion along the pedestrian pavements nor dubious looking citizens. Most people on these streets often look busy rushing from or to the office.

My point is, the contradistinction between the two determines the kind of treatment you are likely to get based on your mode of dressing. In this case being the mini-skirt, the Moi Avenue crowd will barely notice what you are wearing. People are mostly going about their business; it’s the least of their concerns if you are wearing a short dress or skirt. If they do notice, they don’t have the time to think about it. If they happen to think about, they are too cultured to give you long annoying glares. Interesting enough, if someone dared to bash at a lady along these streets, people will look at them as though they were mad.

Of course this is not the scenario in Luthuli and River road. While I carefully avoid to stereotype, most people along these streets are morally crippled, educational dwarfs and goons. ‘Do not cross the line’ is not a phrase they uphold whatsoever. If it’s not about the cat calls, it’s harsh name calling and from the recent experiences, stripping of clothes. One would be forced to imagine, these people live to give unsolicited comments. Along these streets, it’s hardly about what a lady is wearing but an idle-sexualised-lousy-minds group mentality. However, my advice to an esteemed, fashion savvy lady is to keep the mini-skirt at bay when it comes to such parts of Nairobi. The blunt truth is that, these people have nothing to lose and will stop at nothing to humiliate you.

The law may have stipulated that a woman is at liberty to wear what she wants, but clearly, it will take a milestone before it’s implemented. In the meantime, ladies use your GPS finders to ensure your safety.

THIS WOMAN’S WORK

‘You’re smart, Intelligent, beautiful,’ is sometimes what I get from people. Kindly, don’t take it as if I am trying to sound self-declared but this does actually happen, even to you. Humbling is the effect I get, because then it means, there are people who take the time to see the good in me. It’s amazing, to say the least, and I am sure you do reckon with me.

Compliments effects augur differently with people. Some will take in compliments and move on while others ‘take it to the head’. When I say, ‘take it to the head’ I actually mean, literally swallowing the compliments and letting your blood pump them up to your brain in turn changing the entire mental operation making you an intolerant, big-headed creature. Sounds technical-ish, but I am just telling it as it is.

Today I was having a rather exciting day. It was one of those days I woke up with a smile and don’t even know why. On such a day, I ensure that I wake up immediately and not try to snooze my alarm, because there is a chance I might lose the smile. I possibly can’t trade a whole day of excitement with a fifteen minute sleep. Additionally, when I wake up with a smile I don’t question it because then it means I will overthink it and ruin my chance of having a brilliant day.

As I was getting on with my office work something took me aback. I began reflecting about my mum. The last time I talked to her was two days ago which of course has nothing to do with mother-daughter occasional arguments. I believe we’ve both been busy, but I’ll give her a shout out before the day ends.

I realized that I should always be appreciative of my mum when someone compliments me, because without her, people would have nothing to comment about. She modelled Beth and all she is about. In fact I think, if anyone has something good to say about my attributes they should probably look for my mother’s number and compliment her instead. Next time someone says something good about me, I should probably halla mum and make them talk to her.(Hahaha,I am kidding)

I come from a single parent immediate lineage. My grandfather died in 1978 and my grandmother took up the responsibility of raising 7 children on her own. I too lost my father in 2008 and it’s been my mum for the past 6 years. However things got tough for my grandmother working as a peasant farmer, she managed to see my mother through school. Today, she stands proud as an established banker who’s able to support and educate all her children independently.

Other people have made it to her level through the support of both parents and I am sure it puzzles people on discovering mum comes from a single parent family. When I was younger, my mum would push me to the limits to comprehend even just a simple math problem. It was annoying and I hated her then, but now when I look at her, I secretly smile. She gave me tough love and in my adulthood is when I realize why she had to do what she did.  I would watch her leave for work in the light-pink light of dawn and manoeuvre through life’s challenges as though it was another walk on the park but never did it strike me that all the hard work, commitment and zeal was for me.22 years down the line, I still wonder if I can be half the woman she’s been in my life.

I staunchly believed in my mum’s strength when my dad succumbed. Before his demise, I would have the ‘What-if’ talks with my friends at school. On one specific day, I was asked about what my reaction would be if I lost my dad. I remember faintly answering that I would die and possibly wouldn’t live without him. At some point, the talk became extremely emotional and I urged everyone not to continue with the discussion. Ironically when I learnt of his passing exactly a year after that talk, a significant part of my heart felt safe though I was going through a heart-rending situation. My soul kept humming ‘with mum everything is going to be okay.’ This of course tells you that I knew she was going to be strong for us all.

Six years later I watch our tight knit family and feel an aura of happiness. My mother picked up every broken piece and connected it so that, ‘we’ her children would not feel as thou there’s was a void. It’s an exemplary job she has done.

We say ‘When you educate a woman, you educate an entire nation,’ but I believe it’s a statement people hardly take the time to marinate on. Truth is, a woman will never watch her children stray if she has the ability to educate them. She would rather sell her soul to the devil but give her young ones the best. This may not apply to every mother but a great percentage possesses this character.

Working with women living in poverty and exclusion has made me realise the power women are endowed with. When interviewed, they mostly say that if they had the power, they would ensure their children get the best education. Remarkably, when these women make a few coins, they divert it all to their children. Mark you; this is a woman who has never been to any kind of school.

As I get to this place in my piece, I suddenly feel guilty for taking in the compliments which I now strongly feel should belong to my mother. However, I am sure she would be glad to watch people compliment that which she nurtured with love and hard work. Even better, see me acknowledge what she instilled in me.

Love You Mum

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

My mind was in uncertainty when choosing what piece to write about. I was torn between writing about my experience at Gathiuru forest, Nanyuki and the ‘after Gathiuru’ experience. Both were interesting in their own right, but my after Gathiuru experience is something I most definitely need to get off my chest.

Yesterday after getting home from my Gathiuru forest adventure I went through what someone else would go through in a week, literally! Just when I thought I would get home and take a delightful, relaxing beauty sleep, the complete opposite decided to happen.

I am used to listening to other people’s ‘a-day-gone-wrong’ stories but never had it occurred to me, I would go through a relentless nightmare just the day I was extremely worn out.

Since, I re-located to Isiolo, I have had quite some adjustment challenges but with time, it’s become like my second home. However, I have never gotten home past 6pm. Quite, honestly, I am the panicky type, who are scared of being attacked at night. This of course should automatically tell you that my life is quite predictable because it only revolves between work and home. I don’t mind it thou, after all I usually have loads of series to catch up on. Currently, I am watching Dallas season 3.

Last night I got home at 9 pm,’ my fault.’ I would have arrived home earlier had I not hauled myself in a town to die for ‘Nanyuki town.’ Nanyuki is graceful, prepossessing and flawless to say the least. However cold, its landscape gives a refreshing highland feeling, something I have been longing for, for a while now. I need not tell you about the climate in Isiolo, you can already guess.

As soon as I was dropped home by the company vehicle, I rushed through the apartment gate in a bid to reach my house. Taking my house key out off my purse, I quickly reached for the house padlock. ’What!’ I almost yelled. The key wasn't opening .’

There was a frail sound of thunderstorms, which meant, it would rain sooner or later. I was in panic and there was no way I could alert my neighbours, lest I would give them an idea of what time I came home. They say ‘A woman has got to keep a certain level of mysteriousness,’ a saying I uphold with no regrets. Am sure you are thinking ‘how lame’, but its fine. I think I can handle a little bit of criticism, not ill-intended though.

Luckily, my good luck charm gave me a visit, and out of the blue, the padlock opened. Though it took me, approximately 20 minutes, I was at least grateful my heaven’s door was finally open.

Nature and I have not had a good rapport for the past week and however lucky I had felt, I knew she had another evil in store. When I leave my house in the morning, I usually leave my windows open to let in some fresh air. Yesterday though, my ‘searching-for- fresh- air’ endeavour turned to ‘searching- for- vexation’. There’s a corridor bulb just outside my house that attracts a myriad of insects in the evening and greater numbers on rainy days.

I would love to switch it off but that would mean no security light for our small compound. Immediately, I took my first step into the house, I was received by annoying, buzzing insects destroying the serenity of my humble aboard. Afraid of attack, I swiftly reached for the electricity switch but ALAS! My bulb had blown out.

‘Damn it!’ I thought. Can it get any worse than this? I was immensely tired and here were all these calamities confronting my patience.

When I first moved into the house, I had bought two bulbs. At least I can give myself credit for this. But before you start thinking my problems had subsided please note I couldn't reach for the bulb holder. Need I say more? I am 4’7 and no type of elevation can possibly get me to the roof.

Every effort I elicited to prevent me from calling for my neighbours help had proved futile.

9.45pm

‘Habari yako! Bulb yangu imeniletea shida.Unaeza nisaidia kuchange?’I asked one of my male neighbours. This doesn't mean I couldn't call for a lady’s help but if she managed to fix it, I would feel meek .I wasn't going to subject myself to self-emotional-turmoil.

‘Kutengeneza bulb ni kitu kidogo sana,’ my neighbour said. Well, this whole time I was busy thinking, ‘fix that bulb already Mr. I-can-fix-it-all. You need not remind me am vertically challenged.’ Lucky for me, I think he read my mind and accompanied me to my house.

Phew! My bulb problem was over ,but guess what, I could now see the God forsaken insects crawling on my bed like we were supposed to share my divine space. Swiftly, I dashed to close my windows but too late, my house had already switched into a den of insects or should I say insect’s parlour?

10.30pm

There was only one way out. Finish up all my before-bed-activities and switch off the lights. Before settling to do anything, I decided to lie on my bed and call, text and email back everyone who tried reaching me throughout the day while I was in the network handicapped forest.

No sooner had I made a safe landing on my bed, than my bed crippled down.

Aaaaargggh! Really! By now I know you are wishing you were never in my shoes. I totally agree with you, so no offence taken.

‘Innnn Ooutt! Inn ouuut!’ I inhaled.’ You possibly can’t lose your nerves right now,’ my inner goddess whispered. Confession! I am lucky to have my inner voice. She always has her way around me.

Good thing, it wasn't a breakage of sorts. The mattress support had lost balance. Easy to fix and within no time my bed was back to her sturdy self.

This excitement was short-lived because I had just been reverted to the insect’s reality. They had refrained from focusing on any other part of my house and simply stuck on disturbing my serenity. Thank God, I had already had dinner in Nanyuki, therefore, I just needed to freshen up and lay to rest.

10.45pm

As soon as I switched off the lights, all the insects fell on the floor. Hahaha! Who’s laughing now? It was exciting to hear them fight for their poor lives after almost succeeding in ruining my night. I knew I would have a tough job cleaning up the next day, but that was the least of my concerns. It was time to celebrate their downfall.

11.00pm

Finally! I was having my rest as it was meant to be. As terrible as the day had ended up, nothing would have taken away the excitement I had found in my Gathiuru forest adventure.

UNSOLICITED CRUSH

‘I was just thinking about you,

Wondering if you are still wearing the same cologne,

Smell good on you,

You have that masculine,

Shoulders,

Back straight,

You really impressed me’

The immortal words of Jill Scott in her neo-soul single cross my mind. Typical, mental reflection of a woman having a crush.

First time I met him, I suddenly felt the need for the re-definition of a crush.

OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY-2informal A brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable:

It was an electrifying, magnetic, sensual and gravitating feeling, so profound and not by any means inappropriate. You can’t choose whom to have alluring feeling towards. The heart is the most resolute part of human mental anatomy. When she demands that you get infatuated with someone, then so it will be. To hell with the believers of ‘you choose what you feel’. The feeling of liking is like a dove finding its release from a cage. You cannot hold it back when it wants out.

I had never glared at someone that endlessly in my life. He was average height, with an even chocolate skin complexion. His eyes had a milky white dominance with a light shade of brown, his body perfectly structured with his shoulders wide enough to hold the fairly muscled chest and his dentition perfectly white and neatly arranged. This was first degree torture. I could hardly pay attention to even an annoying buzzing fly.

Worse still, his dressing was mind-blowing, my style. The fitting pair of blue jeans held on to his limbs as though he was created in them. To create a perfect blend was a long sleeved white and navy blue striped shirt neatly folded to his elbows. Down to his feet was nice pair of black spot on loafers and finally to add the cherry on top was designer leather watch.

From where I stood, I could feel his divine scent, escorting me away to state of trance. Who are you? Could you by any chance be from another planet? Can I hear your voice? Do you know I am smitten by you? I couldn't help but think of a myriad of questions I would ask him given a chance.

Thank God he was going to the 22^nd floor. I on the other hand was visiting the 7^th floor. Now I know you’re thinking ‘please don’t confess you followed him up to his destination floor!’ Well, too late, I think I already did. The elevator was filled with four other people but that’s all I remember. Four people whom I don’t even recall their gender or what they looked like. Selective invisibility was indeed at its best. Who cared if I got late to go print some God forsaken document? This was not an opportunity I was going to screw up or the least miss out on the experience of relishing human art at its finest.

Seconds later his phone rang and he waits for some time before picking it up .In this moment I literally crossed my fingers and hoped he had a terrible voice that would put me off so that I could stop acting like a walking zombie. But I was wrong. ‘Damn it!’ my mind was blown off. His voice was deep, appealing, softly hoarse and guttural sending chills down my spine. It almost felt like he was whispering behind my ear. As if I had not suffered enough mental paralysis, he let out a warm chuckle that got me smiling. ’Just why was he doing this to me ‘my inner voice mumbled.

As he spoke on his phone, my eyes noticed his fingernails neatly cut and well-shaped. The fingers were average length in compatibility with his body size and not too slim or chunky. Just perfect!

This whole time I was staring never did he throw a glance at me (Totally devastating). Unrecognisable I was to him. He probably didn't even notice I was in the elevator or in existence unlike me who was already a fool for his anaesthetized outlook.

‘A crush is the most devastating yet exciting emotion ever unearthed’ my mind thought. The mystery aspect is the most exciting part of it all. If everyone you had a crush on spoke to you, the thrill would be irrelevant and meek.

After the protracted trip to the 22^nd floor, guess who he met up with…his wife and child. One word to nature. ‘Depressing!’ Did  you have to bust my bubble like that? Nature! Here is a message to you. ‘You could use a chill pill. It’s never killed anyone.’ At least I can attest to that. I honestly didn't deserve that. I was going through enough emotional trauma staring at someone who thought I was invincible.

Well, to cut my extensive sob story short, I pretended to be doing a lot of nothing at the 22^nd floor just to look like I had a sense of focus. A while later I took the elevator and eventually went to 7^th  floor feeling cursed. It seems like the dictionary is right after all, this time borrowing form the google dictionary;

informal

a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable or inappropriate.

"she did have a crush on Dr. Russell"

synonyms:

infatuation, obsession, love, passion;  informal puppy love "a teenage crush"

‘especially someone very unattainable’

ANOTHER FIRST (WITNESSING A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL)

I would have never picked him as the proposing kind. Who could? He was short, slender, casually dressed and looked uncreative with grey hair. The rest could easily submit him to pass the proposing list, but the grey hair! No!

It was our first night at Maanzoni lodge. The ambience, serenity, class and aura rendered it the place to be. Maanzoni lodge is the perfect destination for someone looking for a prestigious, local and strategic place to unwind. My colleagues and I were sitting by the fire place next to the pool side, combining notes and ideas for the second day of the workshop. On a normal day, we would probably be undeniably bored but that day, that was out of the equation. The locality was simply ideal.

The semi-arid winds swept across the Athi landscape giving it a fresh feel while the bonfire kept us warm. The ambience was filled with jazz music, ideal for an ultra-modern, high end set-up. Tourists and guests enjoyed their beer and glasses of wine while chatting away.

This was the first time I was witnessing more Africans than White people in a chic destination mid-year. Usually, the scenario would be the complete opposite. It was uplifting to see, Africans/Kenyans embracing our local tourist destinations, contrary to the past.

‘’Hi guys, I am Michelle’’ a pretty, full-figured lady approached us. ‘’Hi’’ my colleagues and I dubiously replied. It was a bit weird to be approached by someone we didn't know. She was tipsy and couldn't stop smiling. At some point she almost lost her balance and I had to give her a helping hand. 

‘’My friend is proposing tonight, and I would like you guys to be a great audience. I will signal you when ready, and then you can form a circle around the bonfire. Is that fine?’’ she asked. ‘’Of course’’ I answered. Who could possibly say no to a pretty, tipsy, clumsy lady? The least you could do is at least ‘say yes’ to her lest she’ll keep asking. Plus anyway, witnessing a marriage proposal is a nice way to unravel.

‘Interesting’ I thought to myself. This was the first time I was going to witness a wedding proposal. In the past, I had only watched movies with such scenes and the wedding show, when ladies narrate their ever perfect proposals. I have always been the third wheel in experiencing the ‘proposal episodes.’ The thought was exciting; I anticipated seeing the look on the engaged to be. How will she react? How will he do it? The questions couldn't help but linger in my mind.

As soon as the lady staggered her way back to her seat, we started whispering amongst ourselves. ‘’How long do you think he is going to take before he proposes?’’ one of my colleagues asked. ‘’That is not the ideal question, I wonder how he is going to do it’’ another colleague retaliated. Our attention had been completely digressed. No-one was paying any attention to the office work. Luckily thou, we were at the concluding stage.

We were such party paupers. We could hardly stop throwing glances at the guy who was meant to propose, often giving the engaged to be the ‘you- have-no-idea’ look. Thank God, she was a bit drunk, half the time smiling and thinking we are staring at her because she is so pretty. A while before we were signalled, other people started moving towards the fire place. They had been informed on what was going to happen.

‘’Aren't you guys feeling any cold? ’’Michelle asked. There it was! ‘The signal.’ Probably not the best signal, but it at least sent the message. Slowly but careful not to draw any attention, we formed an intimate circular formation around the bonfire. Acting like nothing was going on; we went on with our work assignment. One would not help but notice how clueless the lady was. The entire time, she was very close to her boyfriend, but little did she know the plan he had in store .It was a plan, properly schemed.

Minutes after, the couple with their ally Michelle sat by the fire place. They had probably convinced the lady that the fire place was warmer, and fun. This is when I realised; the whole world could literally know what is going on in your life without you having a single idea. Only difference is, if it’s something good, you are envied, when bad, you look like a fool.

‘’Jambo, jambo bwana, habari gani, mzuri sana.’’ We heard a group of people singing.  ‘It possibly couldn’t be a band because there was no set-up,’ I thought. Facing towards the direction the voices came from; we saw a group of the hotel staff approaching the fire place in song and dance. One of them was carrying a small, black-forest cake. They looked happy and glad to be part of the life changing experience. ’Kudos! Maanzoni team’

Everyone knew what was going on apart from the lady. She kept asking what’s going on, forcing me to tell her it was my birthday. She then extended a warm hug, telling me ‘happy birthday’. It was humorous, because everyone had her figured out.

She was caught by surprise, when the cake was placed on her table. ‘’Beth look, they are giving me your cake’’ she uttered. ‘’No, it’s your cake’’ I said, trying to sound convincing. ‘’It can’t…’’ she tried speaking but couldn't complete her statement. ‘’Will you marry me babe?’’ the gentleman had gone down on one knee, holding a golden ring. He looked certain, happy and ten feet in love.

Jacky, her name as I later got to learn, couldn't believe what was going on. She was no longer tipsy. What a waste after consuming such expensive liquor. There was a moment of silence, everyone anticipating for what she would say. Worse still, the ladies present started whispering ‘yes,’ I included. ‘Shut up! It’s not your moment’ the men whispered .This was literally every girl’s dream. The day when the ‘he’ factor in your life proposes.

‘Yes! yes! yes! baby yes’ Jacky yelled, tears flowing from her eyes. I couldn't hold back my tears. Just when I had started to think I was the only one getting emotional, I realised every other lady present was shedding some tears too. It was romantic, breath-taking, alluring and affectionate. Jacky was lucky, we could do nothing but wish her more of the best. The guy on the other hand couldn't stop yelling ‘’I told you, I told you she was going to say yes. I am the man!!’’

The rest of us (ladies) got to at least enjoy the cake of their love after crying and hoped our proposals will be bigger and greater. Singlegirl’sdream..’ Proposals are real!

THE UNKNOWN,POWER WITHIN

‘You should open up a blog! Here, check out my blog! A communications person should have a blog! What are you still waiting for, open up a blog! I need a blog from you every week! ‘Hold up! This is where I started thinking twice about my writing. For some reason, over the past two years, I have had numerous encounters with people who breathe, sleep and dream writing.

I hated these encounters. In fact there are times I would literally switch off from such talk. While in high school, my closest friends were novel addicts: Irene I recall had read a series of novels. I wouldn't comprehend how someone got fixated to reading bound printed papers.

Ever since I can remember, I have hated reading books and writing. High school set books being at the epicentre of languages, would consume my nerves. I loathed Swahili, I still do. It’s difficult, overpowering, I just never get it right. English though, was a darling, still is, only when it came to grammar. You get the picture now don’t you?

I believe someone is by now saying ‘grammar, reading and writing are intertwined. ‘In my world at least then, there was no link whatsoever. Funny enough, I earned a straight A in English. Note, ‘I earned it.’ Thou I hated reading and writing, I pushed myself to the limit until I could earn my grade. Just before you render me ‘self-declared’ let me add that, mass reading is what really saved me bigtime! It involved everyone reading aloud at least two pages, simultaneously.

I was passionate about two careers, law and communications. However, after receiving my KCSE results slip I went through a roller-coaster of emotions, wondering what I was really attached to. On researching, I discovered that Law required a lot of reading. Communications too, sadly, fell in the same category, but the demand not so high (or so I thought).All factors put into consideration; I opted to settle for Communications, even better because I was admitted through the Joint Admission Board.

Everything was picture perfect in my small world, until I landed in Barack Muluka’s class. He had come in as a part-time lecturer in the communications department, taking us through Feature Writing and Publishing. I need not describe him; he’s a man with his own legacy. ‘The all-knowing man,’ some call him. Ask him about politics, science, geography, and rest assured he’ll match up to the required standards.

The closest I had come to Barack was through ‘The Standard’ newspaper. Exemplary, prolific writer and now here he was, taking me through what I hated most, reading and writing. What a genius way to ruin Beth and all she’s about. The first time Barack walked into my class, he immediately drew my attention. How would he not draw anyone’s attention, when he is calm, confident, chic and soft spoken? His words are ever right. I am not a genius in distinctive descriptions, but this gives the idea.

Over the past two years in campus, I had met lecturers but none of them commanded their presence, the way Barack did. His lectures were an eye opener; an eye opener to what I was missing out in the world of reading and writing. At this point, I wasn't sure whether to blame, my kindergarten or every other teacher who taught me English, for not been so keen with me. But then, truth is, other students who went through their resourceful hands, emerged to grow an unwavering interest in reading and writing.

‘If you do not read, you will disappear in the sea of anonymity’ Barack would say. He actually said it once, but the message was too sturdy, it often felt like he had said it a million times. Worse still, my close friend Allan would recommend books to me, and I would blatantly shun him.

‘Read, The Fault in Ours,’ I remember Allan once said to me. He even went an extra mile to copy the PDF version of it, to my computer. What other excuse would I give for not reading? Changing an old habit can be a nightmare, but once you take the first step, you start a new journey to achievement. The Fault in Our Stars,John Green is an amazing book. She’s the first book I ever read to completion.

I was finally working on my reading habits but writing was still the elephant in the room. My challenge with writing had always been fear and failure, period! This might sound lame but sometimes holding that pen and trusting your mind to conceptualize a refined idea is a real battle. The few times I remember trying to write, I hardly went past a paragraph, unless it was an exam situation.

At the end of my 3 month Feature Writing unit, I was finally confident, I realized, all I needed to do was just free my spirit. Sometimes,I wonder what would have have happened if Barack didn't take me through Feature writing.

It’s a short while since I started taking my reading and writing seriously, but though short, I am forever thankful I made the initial step. Now that I look back at my life, I don’t think I have ever felt this peaceful and content. Behind the pen is where I belong. Whether brilliant or not, I am taking each day by its stride.