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.