Dear son,

This is my last working day before I become a mum to a one year old boy. On Monday at exactly 2.15pm, you will be one. I still don’t know what I will do at that very moment. I will not come to work that Monday. I want us to spend the day together, celebrate, thank God and reminisce.

You have been my greatest blessing. I find life so much interesting since you arrived. I cannot be mad for long, I have all the reasons to smile. You have mastered the art of walking. Congratulations. You took your first steps two weeks ago. Yesterday night I saw you walk. This morning I was awed when you brought me dad’s cup to the kitchen after breakfast. Son you made me cry, you are so courageous and responsible. Its even cuter how you lose balance at some point, you fall, look up and just smile. You have made realize, life is easier when we are happy. We have to be happy!

I am still not sure what I don’t want to write in this letter, for I want to write everything. I like how you wake up in such high spirits at the break of dawn. You call dad, bab (not sure who between us is bab) then mama. You make my daily hustle worth to the last bit. I really do not like leaving for work without saying goodbye. This was the first verb that you mastered so well with the action too “babaee” then you wave with your tiny right hand. I wake up for this moment, I have happy days when you escort me to the gate and say babaeee. You don’t know how much I struggle with the thought of calling in sick just to spend a day with you giggling by my side all day.

Be strong and of good courage everyday of your forth coming years. Eat life with a big spoon. Squeeze all the joy you can out of this life.

 Enjoy all the things you perceive as finer in life at every stage. Serve God with your heart and soul. Give your life a Godly propose.

 Respect women of all ages and treat them like princesses; they will treat you like the prince you are. Respect older men and inspire younger ones, do not lose yourself to age mates, rather live your life like you do not require their validation.

 Get a hobby and a make it a talent. Follow it, it will take you to places you never knew you would get to. I will be your biggest fan, always. (Am already a fan of you dancing to the Sadolin ad)

Do not be afraid to fall in love, but fall only for a person who is worth the trouble. Do not wait for someone to validate your dreams, mum says they are valid.

Happy 1st birthday Son!!  

Chicken Noddle Soup

 

I always intend to blog on Mondays, so that I can tell stories of the weekend while they are still smoking, but Mondays don’t allow much of free minutes leave alone an hour to bring all the thoughts alive. There are Monday blues, there are Monday mood swings, there is the hangie then there is the real job.

Here I am now. The weekend was great to say the least. I rested a lot, and watched lil man take his first step. Did you hear that?  The lil Champ is walking….two steps then he rests for two hours and takes another two or three and we laugh at how much fun walking is. Wow!! So that was my weekend. I made my hair too. This is where the story lies.

Before we start; Remmy (the convict, i hate the description though) sent me a text this morning.
"Swiry, yaani you've not heard of someone who is moving out, in your hood? You really don't want us to be neibbaz, ama? xema i dont botha u xana". I continued with my early morning bus ride nap immediately after reading it. She has guts!! 

In other also very irrelevant news, I saw a nun struggling for a matatu yesterday evening; it was almost raining. Respect the hustle!!

Where was I? ooh the hair business....

I always make my hair in town but this past weekend I was too lazy to get to town, so I chose a local salon. Who did a good job by the way!! For a local estate salon, that had no prior recommendation, am impressed. The atmosphere there is homely. I laughed so hard at stories they told as they gently plaited my hair into neat cornrows.

High school Bullying as we know it is physical and can reflect on one’s emotional side but on this day I learnt there is also practical emotional bullying in high school. Rehema, one of the salonist (this word is non existent but I need it so RIP grammar) is a bubbly girl, very talkative and loves a hearty laughter. She came in when I had just sat down and she immediately lit up the room with a warm smile. Half way into the plaiting session, she tells us of how she went to a good national girl’s school in the heart of Eldoret. ( names withheld though if you hail from Mursik land you probably will have a right guess). For this reason, I assume she then must own the salon, that school produces very bright girls, women winning wards and always being nominated for the top 40 under 40 achievers, you get the drill? Rehema on the other hand says she failed terribly due to emotional stress. This almost became a sad story but she picks it up with a smile, saying she enjoys her job.

  In Rehema’s school, equality was unheard of, they were only equal when they stood on the parade ground to listen to the teacher repeat the same instructions daily using different words.  The same colour of skirts, pullovers and socks neatly arranged on level ground defined equality at its best. It started there and sadly ended right there.

In this school, beside the dinning hall, there was a cafeteria and a canteen. What else would a teenager want? Some students did not know where the door to the dinning room was. That’s awesome!! They always ate at the canteen. Their pockets were deeper and wider than those of others. Some had tea and bread at every tea break while some like Rehema had it when they could. When the family cow had delivered a calf and milk prices had gone up, so the benefit in one way or another would trickle down to more pocket allowance. She recons there are times when they would walk from a tough maths lesson feeling confused only for one of them to walk back into class with a box of pizza. Her mum or dad had left is for her at the gate. You know how a maths lesson can make you crave pizza?! Well your mum knows it too swiry.  Poor you if you were not friends with a maths stressed pizza craving student; you will have to do with the aroma. Take it or leave it. 

In the evenings, the pizza craving maths allergic student would make noodles for she cannot stand the sight of high school ugali. J. Rehema and her fraternity of students from the village would wait with baited breadth for the queens to finish up their noodles and give them the soup. They would then “fish for the remains” (she actually said “fish”), then take the soup with bread and smile alone in the bed. This school was an epitome of an unequal society. Children had to learn to keep their lanes from such an early age. This story is on the edge of becoming sad if its not already sad. I will walk away from it, not very far though.

 I once had a bully boss. This morning I just ran into one gmail chat that we had when he was so mad. The guy was a little bit weird if I may put it lightly. He never talked when he was mad. In stead, hed go to his office and shoot emails one after the other. Then he would finally start a gmail chat just to make sure you did the anger is home and really home.

Below is a blast from the past. I do not remember what it was about. Bit I tell you he was boiling up. Lol!!

Richards: keklen
Richards: Kellen'
Me: yes
Richards: why only you with excuses...didnt you see that beforehand
Me: i did not think we would get that late
Richards: do you expect me to continue buying your nonsense
Richards: i called you to just be sure
Me: yes
Richards: i will review your account
Richards: my personal grant depends on your respect for work
Richards: if i get one excuse from u in a week,
Richards: that is reasonable
Richards: for you, each and every other time
Richards: there is a problem somewhere
Me: ok
Richards: ok what
Richards: you have no courtesy
Richards: and you will have that reflected in your account
Richards: look,
Richards: am giving you a professional chance to keep yourself on board or to leave it...
Richards: I advise you make my altitude right on you...for whatever time we work together....it will help you.

I amuse my self; see how calm I remained all through. He was so mad, hed not write my name well. I think he was shaking. *evilgrin*

This personal grant is one thing I never laid my hands on. It was supposed to be an incentive but I think it was more of a threat.

Bullies shall always be bullies, so take your chicken noodle soup and fish for noodles, as long as you smile while fishing, then you are at your best.

For bullies will always be bullies.

I was given a professional (this word is misplaced) chance to keep myself on board or to leave it. I happily took the latter as i calmly sipped chicken soup.

 I thank God I did, doors flung open almost immediately.

Ride with a convict

It’s been a long time, but I am good, sina varu varu. (I don’t know what they are, but I am sure I do not

have them).

The weekend was fabulous to say the least and as always it brought with it some tales of the weekend.

I went home early on Friday evening, I dint want to stay in town first because of the security situation,and because I had really missed lil man. Especially because he talks to me on phone nowadays. He laughs, says “mama”, “tata” (sasa) and laughs again then says “byebye”. It is the best conversation I get to engage in all day, every day of the working week. I can call home three times trying to get him while he is awake and in a good mood. They get moody too u know!

In the matatu, next to me was sited this beautiful, slim and vibrant girl of Somali origin. This

should tell you that she was very beautiful. Her hairline perfect like that of a new born child and her hair curled effortlessly. She held it in a pony tail. She was simple. She did not get her eyes off her phone screen. She is generation Y. She text endlessly. One minute the phone was pocketed and the next minute, texts were flying. I missed the life of not carrying handbags, not having to go home with a file because you have to submit a report the next  morning. I hated that you can hardly pocket while in official clothes. How I miss campus life. She must be in high school this damsel.

“Niko poa, mi wameniachilia, imagine hata sikulipa kitu. Yeaaa niko poa imagine, heeee si Stacy

amekataa kuandikisha statement, ye amebaki huko na ako na sus ya one year. (Silence) Mi

nimeandikisha statement nikasema vile ilikuwa, nikaachiliwa. Thanks gal” (am well, they have released me without bond. And am well though I had to record a statement, Stacy refused so she is still under arrest and has been given a suspension from school for an year.)

This gal has just been released from a police cell. I felt shivers down my spine. I could not resist to ask this, “Are you from jail?” I mindlessly threw the question without giving it a thought process. She was pleasant. She smiled warmly and said “Imagine, am from central police, was there all night and day.” She was not looking shabby. They must really be improving the prison facilities, I thought to myself. I couldn’t keep thinking, I wanted this story so badly so I empathize briefly and probe further.  She had her fiend Stacy are not in high school, they attend a medical school and their hostel are next to The Nairobi Hospital , She tells me that they are not allowed to have visitors in their room, at all. She broke the rule and had visitors overnight. Am not shocked by this, it was a norm back in campus, What shocks me is that they had to be arrested? What did these visitors do? I am on a serious mission to satisfy my curiosisity so I go on. “ Who has bailed you out?” “My boyfriend’ she says, “so you had been arrested with him?” “ No the visitors were female.  Okay so why would female visitors get one to the police cell, and you have to record a statement , and your friend has a suspension? Well I did not want to ask much. I told her how it was a brutal thing to do to them . She then picked a white piece of fluff from my blackpencil skirt and gently wipes off some dust that I had not noticed I had if I really had it. I stare at her with no comment, did she want me to end up in jail too?!

She stretches her had ove to the next seat. A young man, you could tell he was tall even though he was sited. She runs he hair through his rugged hair before introducing me to him as the boyfriend. I pitied the guy!! This girl can confuse any man, this one had just paid bail. She quicky turns back to me and tells me she now doesn’t wish to live in the hostels any longer, the environment there is not welcoming. She wants to move to my hood, and she wants me to help her find a house. This damsel, to live on 10^th Street, don’t we have enough 10^th street drama already? 

Her name is Remmy. I alighted at the next stop. Remmy’s texts on whether I have found a

house for her started stalking me two hours after I alighted from the bus. She is calling me swiry, I really don’t want to be a visitor in a hostel and end  up in a police cell, so I give her no attention. I answer none of her “swiry” texts. But she wont stop texting.

I had a textful weekend