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.

SHOCKS OF CULTURE

It’s been almost a week and a half since I settled in Isiolo County, North Eastern Province.I know this is not geographically correct but the weather here feels like Northern Kenya. I had been longing for this moment for over a fortnight and the chance had finally presented itself .However, a week down the line a lot has transpired that’s left me unsettled and appalled. Usually, when I move to a new region, I settle and blend in almost immediately. My experience this time thou has proved quite overbearing for my comfort.

I have been putting up in Moti hotel, one of the town’s finest. From my room I have a very clear view of the town. Isiolo is a one street town, entailing all the main amenities of a headquarter including government offices, banks, supermarkets, hardware, boutiques and wholesale shops .I would be accurate to state that, one can easily manoeuvre around the whole town in an hour. Thou small, Isiolo town has a 24hour economy, with a bee hive of activities, mostly miraa trading, boda boda businesses and travel services. Its major inhabitants include the Borana  and Meru people.

The physical outlook of the town out did what I had pictured it to be. If someone had asked me before, about my expectations I would have immediately said that, it was a desert town with only one or two shops. This is not to mean that I have fallen in love with the town, because a lot has got me feeling like I should pack my bags and leave.

On my day of arrival, I had an undying craving for my cultural staple food ‘githeri.’ With an interest of getting to discover the town, I walked by a nearby restaurant and opted to go in. It was around 8.30pm and there was still a myriad of activities like it was daytime. The restaurant was filled to capacity and I could hardly find a convenient sitting space. Before hunting for a seat my eye noticed deplorable hygiene conditions and poor lighting. The floor was sticky and the arrangement quite haphazard. Choosing to ignore these flaws, I modestly walked to one of the empty seats. ’You are probably just overthinking it,’ my inner goddess whispered. I possibly wasn’t going to let my mind think of my immediate encounters, lest I would sleep hungry.

A lady dressed in brown waitress uniform, with untidy hair and a blouse higgledy-piggledy tucked approached my table. ‘’Nikuletee nini madam?’ she asked. ‘’Niletee githeri’’ I requested. ‘’Githeri imeisha madam, naweza kuletea nini ingine?’ she added.’’Sidhani kuna kitu ingine nataka’’ I said, while standing to leave. It was already 8.45pm, obviously getting late, but I still determined to get my 'githeri'. A few meters away was another restaurant, which more or less looked like the other one. I walked in and made myself comfortable at one of the tables close to the entrance.

The interior was ‘same script different cast.’ I was starting to get concerned on how such hotels could possibly be at the epitome of the Kenyatta Avenue of Isiolo. Hotels of such stature should be hidden behind shops along some God forsaken street. Still, I couldn’t find githeri, same story as the other hotel. With no hope of finding my craving supressing regiment, I bought a snack and a long-life packet of milk and went back to my hotel of residence. A week later, I am still told ‘githeri imeisha’

 My alarm rings and I wake up to snooze it, a habit I uphold unapologetically. However the sun rays pierce through my curtain as if it were midday. In a panicky mode, I hurriedly checked the time on my watch only to discover that it was at 6.30am. Never had I encountered such sunshine in the morning. At 6.30am in Kiambu, my home, it’s a bit dark with insignificant visibility of the sun rays. Though early, I couldn’t bring myself to snooze the alarm, since it was the first reporting day to my work station; more reason to have an early day.

After taking eternity to get ready, I went to the hotel dining hall to have breakfast. I had fallen in love with this hotel; she was classy, clean and homely. Better still, the breakfast setting was mouth-watering and to add the cherry on top, It was self-service. This literally took my mind off my previous, almost hideous experience .Just after I had taken a deep calm breath and started to devour my cereals, a tall old looking man walked into the hall. He looked like he had been dragged out of bed to come have breakfast. As if he just had to ruin my serenity, he started interrogating me. 

'Hi, am Ali, where are you transiting to?’ he asked. I really wanted to ignore him, but how could I when I was the only one in the hall. ‘’Hi, I am beth. Working in Isiolo,’’ I plainly answered. ‘’Do you like Isiolo? You like eating healthy? Kindly serve me some sausages?’ I could live through another day answering the rest of the questions, but asking me to serve him some sausages was chauvinistic, lame, lousy and any other adjective you can attach to these. It was insulting, both to my gender and pride. What a culture he upholds, which allows him to blatantly ask a lady to serve him in a ‘HOTEL.’

You can call me arrogant, because I literally ignored the hell out of him, but I wasn’t having it. What could you possibly tell such a man? Worse still, he was feeding off clumsily with his unwashed hands, falling off small droppings on the table. It was such a disturbing site to watch. Never had I seen an adult eat like a toddler. My day had a chance of having a perfect start but these experiences couldn’t let me have enough.

With my workstation being across the road, I didn’t have a long distance to cover. As I set out to walk, I noticed that I received glares from everyone I walked past. It was rather uncomfortable, especially since I did not know why I was being stared at. ‘’Hiyo nguo ni fupi sana’ one lady approached me and said. For crying out loud, my dress was knee length, how could it possibly be short? My Kiambu people should have complained by now or given me long glares but I have never heard such sentiments about my very descent dress.

Immediately that phase was over, I kept noticing a lot of people spitting on the ground and snorting. At first, I thought it was a few-people ill kind of behaviour, until I noticed dozens of people doing the same. ‘Someone call the health officers!’ My mind yelled. It was only a few metres to the office but it felt like I had just walked the longest 100metres of my life. This was only the second day and everything was proving unbearable. I couldn’t believe that what looked absurd to me was normal to certain people. I am however still learning the robes and hoping to adjust as fast as I can.

You know you are not widely travelled when you’re bewildered by a totally contrastive culture.

THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS

She sees you every day as you hurriedly walk down the streets, stuck in traffic while riding your SUV or probably as you leisurely speak through your humongous smart phone. Her hazel eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and despair in a world full of impossibilities. She often looks lost, lost in her own world. Her clothes are dirty, tattered, partially covering a body that direly longs for just a meal to get by the day. You don’t recognise her, how would you, when your worlds are on two disparate slates. To you she’s ‘INVISIBLE’ simply, ‘THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS’

‘THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS,’ doesn’t have a place she can call home. In fact ‘home’ is overrated because all she ever wants is a roof to cover her family. Food is not a basic need; it’s an issue of luck. Education, is too far-fetched, worse still, it’s a luxury. If you can afford it, you can get it.

On my final day of induction at ActionAid, before being dispatched to the respective job jurisdictions, we had an exclusive meeting with the organization’s Executive Director, Bijay Kumar. This was the long awaited meeting, since it was meant to sum up everything we had been guided through. Every time Mary, Christabell [colleague interns] and I thought about it, we would literally panic, often wondering how to present ourselves.

‘Ladies, the Executive Director is ready for you’ one of our lady colleagues informed us. That statement ‘Executive Director’ is not your everyday cup of coffee, therefore being at our best would reflect volumes.

‘Breathe in! Out! In! Out! I couldn’t help but brace myself the best way possible. A step into the boardroom felt like walking on eggshells. Suddenly, we were all conscious about everything. These are the moments even a sneeze could work against you resume. ‘Ladies have your seats’  Bijay Kumar requested. Being 4.45pm, there wasn’t much time to squander hence the session commenced immediately. A couple of minutes later, our line manager also joined us.

Before I could start thinking of how intimidating the room felt,  Bijay took as through a very emotional presentation.  In another platform his Indian accent would have hindered effective communication, but at the time nothing could have possibly tampered with the reception of  the message on ‘human rights.’ I have never had a clear comprehension on how people end up so poor and others blatantly rich. Lucky for me, here was a concise presentation that would put my queries to rest.

‘The world has a lot of resources that the common mwananchi  is entitled to .However, what we have control over is lesser than the overall entitlement. This proves to be the case because some natural resources are mass owned therefore an individual cannot claim individual ownership. This further reduces due to factors such as power, connections and financial ability to rule over resources. If you do not have the above, you cannot get access to some resources. The gap even reduces further to very little an individual can use and if you still can’t afford them, you become totally excluded.’

This secluded person is ‘THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS’. Automatically, I shift back to her. The government’s responsibility is to take care of her basic needs, shelter, food, clothing, education and access to good medical services. Clearly it’s easier said than done.

Just recently, Kenya was ranked among the top ten middle class countries. Congratulations! Kudos! More investments coming in very soon=more tax holidays=perforation of common mwananchi’s pockets. When does ‘THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS’ get liberated?

Ever tried to take a minute and think about what that woman thinks about before you swiftly walk away from her as if she were a plague, rolling up your vehicle window when she comes near your car? She’s just like you, only difference is that she’s strapped off what she’s entitled to by a multinational company that has been on tax holiday for decades or someone in charge of improving her life choosing to embezzle funds.

Individual’s often claim that they are strong, but no one knows the definition of strength better than a person living in exclusion. ’THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS’ is among the strongest people I know. Food is never a guarantee, but her and her kids survive on the same streets you claim to stink. She has no roof over her head but she lives to see another day. The fact that she begs on the streets doesn’t define who she is.

The blunt truth is ‘THAT WOMAN ON THE STREETS’ doesn’t care if Kenya is announced as the richest country tomorrow morning. At the end of the day, when she can’t have a decent life in her own country even life in itself doesn’t seem to make sense.

LOOKS INDEED, ARE DECEIVING

He was never my ideal guy. How could he possibly stand a chance when he didn’t possess any qualities from my long future-husband list? Everything about him bellowed ‘I am not Beth’s type.’ You must be wondering ‘who is my type of jamaa?’ especially since I seem to have such an exclusive taste.

FUTURE  HUSBAND QUALITIES[LAST EDITED JANUARY 2013]

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

·         Tall

I am 4’7 hence I need a taller man. He shouldn’t have a basketball kind of height but tall enough to complement my height. Makes sense right?

·         Handsome

My kind of handsome is simple. As long as I can’t stop staring at you, you can nail the            jackpot.

·         Perfect Dentition

I love a neat and well-arranged dentition. Oh! Colour too, should obviously be stainless white.

·         Dark

Light skinned may be the right skin but is not my ‘IT’ skin.  Chocolate to fairly dark skin works best for me.

·         No Tattoos or piercings

I don’t stereotype but I highly think tattoos belong to bad boys. Who wants to fall in a bad boy trap anyway?

·         Appropriate dressing

Thou shall dress in simple stylish attire. No theatrical or attention seeking clothes.

PERSONALITY ATTRIBUTES

·         Funny

I need not explain this. Every woman wants a man with a good sense of humour.

·         Laid back

I love quiet and mysterious. Am talkative hence I prefer my opposite.

·         Hardworking

A man willing to go over and beyond to have a successful life.

·         Patient

I am smitten by men who think before acting. Additionally, I can be stubborn so I need someone who romantically supresses that side of me.

·         Perfect Listener

I love talking; when you talk you need to be heard.

·         Generous

I hate stingy. Stingy is next to stinky.

·         Faithful

Thou shall not CHEAT!! Thank you.!

·         Humble

I hate show offs.

·         Sociable

You don’t have to talk to everyone, but at least be able to co-exist.

·         Hopeless Romantic

Spontaneous dates, frequent complimenting words and gifts should come in handy.

Kindly note that, I dismissed him from his physical qualities .After all, I was taught in school that first impressions last longest. I am a staunch believer that someone’s physicality portrays a lot about their personality. Whoever taught me all these thou, forgot to highlight that in relationships it’s a totally different ball game.

It was exactly 9 months after my last break-up but my wounds were still fresh. I had never taken this long to move on, it had started to seem like I was permanently indented to my past.  Never had I seen it coming, for reasons I don’t understand to date. Before you dismiss me, remember that no one is ever prepared for a grenade attack.

It’s 15^th January, a fortnight since the semester began. Learning activities had not yet commenced, hence a lot of bumming. I was officially a 2^nd year,’ thank God freshman year was up.’ Securing a hostel was rather difficult as opposed to freshman year where the school ensured that we all had a room. With no hope of securing a good hostel, my two girlfriends and I opted to put up in a 6 persons room. Privacy and personal space was out of the equation.

Albeit these challenges, I found the experience to be such a huge relief since I needed to unload and have new beginnings. During one of our after class evening walks, the girls and I came across, an average height, chocolate complexion, short haired gentleman. My girlfriend Moh recognised him and they had a small exchange.

‘That’s the guy I was telling you about’ Moh said. Stacey and I quickly recalled a story Moh had told us about a new friend she had made who had tattoos and an eyebrow piercing. He was handsome but was ‘not beth’s taste’.  ‘Who would date such a jamaa?’ I rhetorically asked. ‘Looks can be deceiving’ Moh uttered.’ Does she even know what she’s talking about. That guy is ‘OFF’ .Period!’ my conscience whispered.

No sooner had I began lazying around than learning sessions began. The schedules were so tight; I had started wishing I would go back to freshman year. Freshman year is‘stress free,’ no compelling schedules. If I had a choice, I would re-live the experience every year.

One afternoon while walking back to my hostel, I came across the young man we bumped into. I was lost in the oblivion of the music from my earphones when he suddenly stopped right in front of me.

‘Are you kidding me right now? Who does that?’ I angrily thought to myself. ‘Hi. I am Kenneth, what about you?’ he asked. ‘I hope he’s not trying to hit on me.’ ‘I am Beth’ I answered. ‘I have been seen you around and was hoping we could be friends’ he added. ‘Take a look at yourself then look at me and ask yourself if we can ever be friends’ my rude mind kept thinking ‘Sure, we can be friends ‘I quickly answered.

‘You are so lame. How dare you answer him that fast’ little Beth kept whispering. I didn't pay much attention to that conversation, but for some reason I couldn't stop glowing. ‘Someone is excited’ Moh said. ‘I am not, I guess it’s just been a good day. Can’t a lady smile?’ I retaliated. ‘You lousy liar, you can lie to the whole world if you so wish, but not to yourself. We both know Kenneth made you smile’

I loathe logging onto my facebook account but that day, I did, worse still, checked my inbox messages, something else I rarely do. ‘Hope you got to your hostel safe’ Kenneth had texted. ‘Yes’ little Beth would not help but dance. Before I realized it, I had already warmed up to him. How else would I explain, a sudden addiction towards my facebook inbox.

He was funny, charming, humble, laid back. For a moment I thought I was in a state of trance. How could such a rough looking guy have everything I wanted? ’Maybe it’s time you opened up to your girlfriends’ I thought .It was time to source for spiritual intervention from my pseudo therapists.

‘Moh, guess what, I have been in constant communication with that guy you told us about an…..’I said. Fingers crossed I hoped she would not blabber any sort of critism. It was one of those moments I needed to hear ‘GO GIRL!’ ‘Wait, in constant communication with whom?’Moh asked. ‘Kenneth, the tattooed guy ‘I added.  ‘And behold the queen of he’s-not-my-type lets her guard down’ Moh added. ‘Moh stop it, nobody said I am dating him’ I defended. Clearly I wasn't getting away from some friendly emotional harassment.

You begin to look at life differently the second someone sweeps you off your feet. It was not long before Kenneth and I went on our first official date. One thing led to another, and all I know now is that I have been happily tied down for an year and 10 months. A woman has the power to shape a man just the way she wants him to be. I can proudly declare that I have been that lady. He no longer has the piercings but of course we can’t scrap out the tattoos.  Looks have nothing on an alluring heart. Never over-think it, simply take a leap of faith and go for it. After all, a man is not defined by his looks but in his integrity and his ability to affect the ones around him positively.

SAVE YOURSELF BEFORE SAVING THE WORLD

It’s the fifth day of my internship induction and I have certainly acquitted myself with the organizational structure and policies. Being an intern is the scariest yet nurturing work experience in someone’s career. Many are the times in an internship period you keep wondering if you are doing the right things often conscious of everything around you. My experience though, has not really been an uphill battle since I am around other two female interns.

This particular day, we were supposed to get inducted on women rights. People often think ‘which woman needs to be enlightened on their own rights.’ Truth is, it’s not as obvious as it sounds. If it were the case then there would not be any existence of gender violence.

It’s exactly midday when an average height, dark skinned, full figured lady joins us at one of the organization’s boardroom. Her hair is shoulder length long and she portrays a calm enthusiastic smile. She then pulls a seat and sits right across the table. ‘Hallo ladies’ she says. ‘Hallo,’ we respond in unison. ‘My name is Agnes Kola, Programme Manager, Cluster 2.How about you?’ she asks. We all look at each, wondering who should go first, a common intern shyness. Eventually one of the intern ladies opted to introduce herself while we followed suit.

Without squandering any minute, she quickly dived into the subject matter. We could easily tell she was a busy body with no time to waste. ‘As you had been briefed earlier, I will be taking you through women rights, which happens to be ActionAid’s central foci. This has been the case since, ActionAid feels women have for a long time being victims of gender violence. If I may ask, what do you understand by gender violence?’

I was just about to answer this question when something took me aback. ‘You've been a subtle victim of gender violence’ my conscience whispered .Throughout my entire life; the mention of ‘gender violence’ immediately shifted my mind to the excluded woman in the marginalised areas. Exclusion reflected through early marriages, school drop-outs, lack of sanitary towels and dysfunctional marriages.

Sometimes last year, I was more than determined to vie for a student leadership position at my University. Though I hadn't started doing any ground work,  my mind was set for the task. One Friday, I was at a meeting with one of the University’s top management staff .It was a simple, informal board room meeting. While discussing the preliminary issues at hand, I casually mentioned of my ambitions.

Everyone bust into a sarcastic laughter, as though I was making some cheap joke. One of the top management staff requested that everyone bring it down a notch only to state that the University’s governing team could come up with a strategy to help me win on a clean slate. ‘This is the deal of the century,’ I quietly thought to myself. What more could a candidate want than to have a campaign that guarantees you a win.

Now that I think of it, I realize it was a violation of my gender.  It was certain to them that I couldn't win through merit. Women do not require ‘Affirmative Action’ to hold political power. They should be put on the same level playing ground with the male counterparts without feeling intimidated.

A couple of years ago when I completed my O levels, I had an undying interest to acquire the skills to drive. It was top of my after-school-to-do-list. Efforts to convince my parent to see me through a driving school proved futile, claiming that it was not urgent. Years down the line, I watch my youngest 12 year old brother drive my parent’s car with pride. Witnessing this gets me asking ‘what’s so urgent about a 12 year old boy learning how to drive?’ Mechanical skills have for a long time been male dominated.

In most families there is a need in men to own power over other members of the family. This is often reflected through finances, decision making among other fundamental family aspects. While I was growing up, I knew that the thigh part of the chicken was my father’s piece. Eating it was a sign of disrespect to the head of the family. Later in life I learnt that it was common in other families but no one talks about it. If they do, it’s in subtle voices

None of these instances belonged to the excluded in marginalised areas. They happen in the middle class society and people have learned to embrace them. The violated, been women, have accepted it and never seem to raise a finger and challenge these facts. By the time Agnes Kola was leaving the boardroom, I had realised that, before I set out to help an excluded person I need to be liberated of all forms of gender violence.

I THINK AM RACIST

You probably think ‘she’s so corny, how dare she say that in public. ‘Am thinking ‘well, I said it anyway’ I have been living in the closet for far too long.

Closets are tiny, stuffed, overbearing, you possibly can’t even breathe. Living in one is having a pseudo existence. Which living creature can live in a God forsaken space? Pretending to fit in, so that people like you is not my ideal cup of coffee. It sucks, just can’t have it.

I hate ‘WHITE’, there…I said it. ‘White is the colour of impeccability and divinity’ we often say. I say, white is cliché, predictable, boring and probably the worst colour ever unearthed. All the same am glad she gave life to every other colour in existence, particularly ‘BLACK.’

Ever spotted a metallic black vehicle speeding off or just stuck on traffic? In most occasions being a high priced fuel guzzler? Black screams, executive, sleek and commands a vast audience. White vehicles are often low end,basically typical movable machines.

Picture our distinguished Chief of Defence Forces, His Excellency Uhuru Kenyatta giving a public speech in a white suit. It would be declared a national wardrobe crisis. For petes sake, such suits are meant for church pastors who are in the business of making people chaste and cleansed. What’s your heart got to do with what you wear? Even worse, it’s never the right suit size. I don't get what’s with pastors and oversized suits. That’s a whole other discussion for another day. Hold up! Looking like a pastor is an understatement; The President would stand out as a ridiculous clown heading the most powerful East African state. Kenya is too busy with national security issues to attract wardrobe malfunction headlines.

I would pick a little black dress over the little white dress any day. They are classy, edgy and quite fashionable. Even better, accessorizing the ‘LBD’ with golden jewellery makes you look like royalty. White for sure doesn’t stand a chance, it’s a NO! NO! Kind of situation.

Isn't it about time we dropped the white wedding gown. I mean, total extinction and simply style up. The white gown is overrated, even worse because it’s borrowed from another culture. I particularly admired one episode of the Citizen TV ‘Wedding Show’ where a lady had put on a royal blue wedding gown. It was striking, capturing and a total breath of fresh air.

Black is indigenous, bold and deluxe. She makes other colours prominent through her solidness. Embellished within her beauty is strength and an intense outlook, you just can never go wrong with ‘BLACK’. If she were human in another life, I would have borrowed an affluent personality from her.I am 'BLACK' and proud to belong!

MASQUERADE PARTY

           This particular Saturday evening was different .Unlike other weekends; I didn’t have much to do. However, there was this fashion and art event everyone had been talking about all week. In the history of all the events that had taken place in Maseno University, none was different from the other. Students were used to cliché, and it wasn’t hard to read that there was an air of anticipation for something new.

           This event was dubbed ‘The Masquerade Party ‘courtesy of a new club in the university named, Insigne Club. A ticket to get to the event was a Halloween mask and the dress code was a cocktail outfit. I had so many voices in my head asking, what is the meaning of Insigne? What are they Masquerading? Who are behind it all? Why are their tickets masks? All these led me to the conviction that, I really had to attend this event. I had randomly bought the mask ticket which was going for ksh100, from a friend who had bought one but wasn’t going to be available on the material day. I fancied the mask ticket; after all I had only experienced all these things from watching western movies.

            I love fashion, but I clearly didn’t have an idea of how a cocktail dress should look like. Cocktail parties are for the elite in society, and I was just an ordinary student, who had an eye for good clothes, ‘I thought out loud’. It was two hours to the event and I hadn’t found the perfect dress. Masquerade party was scheduled to begin at 8.30pm.After a long, mind boggling search in my small closet; I finally came across a dress I had kept in store for any special occasion. It was a knee length black dress with lace detail on the sleeves. In addition it also had an attached gold coated belt running through the waistline. Was it perfect? Of course not, but it was among the few outstanding attire in my closet. In this consolation, I put it on and paired it up with a pair of brown stilettos.

            I was looking forward to having a good time but I majorly wanted to find out who was the brain child of the Insigne Club. Word had it that, the team was comprised of, sophisticated students who had an edge in fashion and art. Behind every rumour, there is some truth right? I was partly convinced about this whole story. This was the first time I had encountered the story of exceptionally creative students. It was rather difficult to have a casual talk in a group of people, without someone failing to mention the Insigne team. They had barely launched anything, yet their impact was already been felt immensely. 

        With only a few coins to buy me at least two or three glasses of cocktail, I walked to the event, which was at least 2 kilometres from my house. I couldn’t afford to ride on the common motorbikes which are the most convenient mode of transport around the varsity. The experience was torturing, but I believed it was worth the tussle. “Can I have your ticket?”A tall well built macho man at the venue gate asked. He took my mask, stamped it and requested that I put it on. I was literally taken a back because all the events held in the University didn’t uphold strict security at the entrance.

           Jazz Music invited you from the gate, all the way to the Botanic Garden hall, where the event was taking place. Just before getting to the hall, there was a photo shoot booth with a graffiti backdrop. On the floor was a red carpet, giving it the feel of a stardom experience. Moreover, the photography offered was top notch and I could almost reckon with the feeling of a superstar. At the hall entrance, beautiful warm ladies dressed in black flowing gowns ushered you in to a specific sitting position. It surely made me feel important.

          The interior hall design looked sophisticated. It had all been branded Masquerade Party with the Insigne Club logo attached to it. A couple of sponsors banners had been planted around the photo shoot areas, the stage and some sections of the runway. In sponsorship was Coca Cola and Samsung. The runway was covered with a red carpet embellished with pink and white flower petals from lilies, giving it an exquisite outlook. Lighting was also an outstanding factor encompassing a mixture of different warm colours such as red, yellow and orange. It’s the small nitty-gritty details that made the venue look classy.

         Throughout these moments of noticing these outstanding design features, I couldn’t help but imagine how creative this team was. The experience brought out, was as though this people were professionals in the industrial market bearing polished skills. Small stand set ups had been put up across distinctive places in the hall, where different kinds of artwork had being displayed. This artwork ranged from paintings, to dresses, and everything else under the umbrella of art. Visiting the stands felt like walking or getting buried in an entire art gallery where you find every artistic treasure you could think of.  

         It was at nine o’clock and the numbers were looking promising. Since nothing had actually begun and I didn’t seem to recognise anyone behind the masks, I decided to get a cocktail to get myself engaged. Being around people I know feels warm, but I wouldn’t say my own company at the time was unbearable because there was so much to keep my eyes glued at. Given an opportunity, I would have just spent the night enjoying the view. “All this artwork is handmade by students across various departments” a short, masked brunet lady said to me. “My name is Fatma” she added, while taking off her mask. “I am Beth and I am here for the event, what about you?”I asked. “Well, I am the chairlady of the club” she said.

          In that moment, I wanted to ask her so many questions, especially after spending a whole week trying to fill blanks in my head. Though I was filled with all this curiosity, I knew I had to have my timing right. I thus asked for her number and requested if she could arrange for me to have a meeting with her team because I was interested in a doing a story on them. Contrary to my expectations, she was thrilled by request and thus said she definitely was looking forward to it. After getting that opportunity, for some reason, the night started looking up.

            It certainly didn’t take long, before the hall was filled up with guests in masquerade masks of different colours. You could tell that everyone had definitely taken their time to put their outfits and make-up together. It was quite obvious that everyone wanted to bring out the best out of themselves. The lights in the hall got dimmed out leaving the designed runway lit up. For a moment, I thought I was in the New York or Paris fashion week. This was at least close to what I always imagined from the fashion television channels.

           “You are all welcome to the Masquerade Party, where it’s all about, mystery, fantasy, and fashion” the master of ceremony said. It was all now clear, fashion for runway, mystery and fantasy for the ability of the masks to hide identity. A band of four was introduced to play Afro pop music. They had two guitars, two microphones, a piano and a drum. This was quite regular but the moment they started singing, everyone hushed. The Music was at its best, due to the talent behind their voices was breathtaking. It got me reflecting about just how much the youth in my University were so talented yet if you walked around, you would hardly tell.

           Minutes after, the first bunch of models took over the runway. The mood in the room was switched through the dimming of lights and playing of smooth African instrumentals. Their bodies were all so lean, you would think they live in the gym or at least take fifteen glasses of water when you are taking the regular eight glasses. These bunch was showcasing an afro-modern cloth line designed by a male, second year, medicine student. The pieces fit so perfectly, I would not help but wonder why this young man was studying medicine. Medicine is in the saving-lives business while fashion is in the making-people- look-good business, right? Just how could someone balance these two extreme worlds?

           Thereafter abstract and arty-crafty paintings were displayed on the runway. A great percentage of them could easily be compared to that which is found in the art galleries. Refined, well thought through and prolific, just to mention but a few, are among the best words that one would use to describe the paintings. I could almost bet that they were particularly, an art student’s works, until the master of ceremony bust my bubble again. It was all the effort of a third year psychology student. It all narrowed down to talent. Only talent could give you the leeway to be at so many places at the same time.

           90 percent of what was displayed was designed and made by students who had not gone through any formal training. I t was all about creativity and what someone loved doing. Looking at the sponsor’s faces I couldn’t help but realise how thrilled they were by the displayed works. Furthermore, It was even announced that Coca Cola was giving all the drawing artists a ready market to sell their paintings while Samsung on the other hand, handpicked a few cloth lines that would be used to dress the models at the yearly ‘Samsung Face Of Africa’ competition. This was a moment of glory for the artists, a platform had been created for them to show case what they do best.  Artists, who were not handpicked, did not feel any less because someone out there had recognised their talent, and it was only but a matter of time before their shining moment dawns.

           “Insigne Club was conceptualized early this year. The word Insigne was derived from the word ‘Insignia’ that means a distinguishing sign. We wanted to be distinguished from the rest by the virtue of what we do. Our main goal has been to create a platform for fashion and art artistes. Maseno University bears a lot of untapped talent, so after making this realization my team found a need to close this gap by forming a club that nurtures them. We are glad that through our first step, some artistes have been handpicked for their outstanding works” Fatma said, through a small speech she was requested to give after the artistic displays.

            It didn’t take rocket science for one to attest that it was good job well done for the Insigne team. Everything in the room screamed, passion, hard work, resilience and genuine hearts out there willing to extend a supporting hand to talent. Anyone who was looking for something out of the box would be inequitable, to confess that The Masquerade Party didn’t nail the jackpot. Every expectation I had about the event was met, there was no debating on that.  To add the cherry on top, I got to at least meet two new friends and a possible appointment to meet the Insigne team.

ANOTHER FIRST

The moment I clicked the send button I knew there were no second chances. This was the first time I was going through an online interview. Well, don’t take it as if I come from the cradle land because at least I knew such exercises existed. I deserve some credit, don’t I? They say new experiences are like ‘another first’, 1st day at school, 1st day to swim, list them all. What they forget to highlight though, is that, a first experience could go really right OR really wrong.

I had received a call earlier in the day, from the Communications Manager stating that my online interview would begin at 2.30pm and all instructions would be sent via email. The only information I had about the interview was that it was going to be a test. A test could be anything, questions, story writing or even a questionnaire.  The possibilities were so innumerable and I knew I had to brace myself the best way I could.

It is 2.00pm and I am already at a local cyber café near my home. It was a nerve relaxing strategy because I was not going to jeopardise a great opportunity because I could not be there in time. .As I patiently sat tight, I received an email from the Communications Manager, Lucy Wanjiku at exactly 2.18pm.

Dear Candidate,

Thank you for the interest in an internship placement with ActionAid  Kenya.

As agreed on phone, you shall take the written interview today at 2:30 PM. I will send you the written question at exactly 2:30 PM. You will then have a maximum of 45 minutes to answer the question and send it back at 3:15 PM.  Kindly prepare adequately for the task.

Thank you.

Lucy Wanjiku | Communications Manager | ActionAid Kenya

Tel: +254 (0) 722616691 | Ext: 2509

E: lucywanjiku@actionaid.org Skype: lwanjiku

ActionAid is a global movement of people working together to further human rights for all and defeat poverty.

‘Kindly prepare adequately’, this statement was quite mind boggling but I still hoped, my earlier preparation would give me an edge. It possibly cannot be rocket science, little Beth would whisper.Quite comforting I must say, because as much as I tried putting up a confident look, I was shaking in my boots.

2.30pm

I check my email account and I don’t get any inbox.5 minutes later, there is still no email and I cannot help but think I  probably got cancelled out. I kept refreshing my account and gluing my eyes on the computer just to ensure there were no setbacks. Anticipation can sometimes drive you insane.

2.40pm

I receive an email. ‘Phew! Finally’ my little angel does a happy dance.

                        From: Lucy Wanjiku 

Sent: Thursday, September 18, 2014 11:04 AM
To: Lucy Wanjiku
Cc: Edna Indimuli; Makena Mwobobia
Subject: Upcoming Interview Question 2:30 PM to 3:15 PM September 18 2014 -Internship Positions

Dear Candidate,

Thank you for the interest in an internship placement with ActionAid Kenya.

As agreed on phone, you shall take the written interview today at 2:30 PM. I will send you the written question at exactly 2:30 PM. You will then have a maximum of 45 minutes to answer the question and send it back at 3:15 PM.  Kindly prepare adequately for the task.

Thank you.

Lucy Wanjiku | Communications Manager | ActionAid Kenya

Tel: +254 (0) 722616691 | Ext: 2509

E: lucywanjiku@actionaid.org Skype: lwanjiku

ActionAid is a global movement of people working together to further human rights for all and defeat poverty.

 This time, attached to the email, was a project profile from which I was supposed to derive a story that could possibly be published in a national newspaper. The project was dubbed ‘The Girls’ Forum Model’ ‘They have a very articulate nature ‘I thought to myself. Every instruction had been meticulously laid down, thereby showing a sense of perfection.

I was seated in solitude at a small corner hoping it would improve my concentration. While that was taken care of, my nerves were still a bit jittery. ‘I can do this! I can do this’ I kept humming this new mantra I had developed. In a deep breath, I began going through the project profile. In this moment, I couldn't help but try to remember what my O level English teacher taught. I call them’ The lessons that never die.’ Simple tips, 1^st reading, which involves a casual read trough, 2^nd reading-reading while identifying the main points and finally, the writing itself.

The first 15 minutes were a smooth ride until I noticed something. My ideas were not as in sync as I intended. Paragraphs in a story need to be connected and intertwined lest it loses flow. .A twitch of panic, can totally disorient your mind, but I wasn't about to become a victim of self-doubt.

‘The Girls Forum Model’ was described to be focusing on safe spaces for the girl child. Trying to meet the story head on wasn't giving me progress. It’s commonly stated that it’s wise to have a plan A and B. In this case therefore, my plan B was to connect with the story by the virtue of being a girl child. Reliving the moment as a girl child opened my mind to a world of vast exploitable ideas.

‘It works’ I couldn't help but murmur. For a minute, it felt like a Eureka moment, so overpowering and profound. Everything seemed to fall into place just as I needed it to be. Sometimes in writing, you easily get lost in oblivion losing touch with what surrounds you. You might be wondering what I lost track of especially after narrating how I found my redemption in writing. Time, time is what caught up with me.45 minutes looked like a myriad of time but truth is, at 3.25pm is when I hit the last full stop. I obviously didn’t have time to revise the document to give it a perfect feel.

I was back to square 1.Feeling void and having a relentless fear of failure, but hey! In life you've got to cut yourself some slack. I had given my best and the least I could do, is become my greatest upholder.

ActionAid loved my story and I secured an internship spot. What more could I ask for than ‘another first’.