Monthly Archives: April 2013


I never thought she would call me, heck, let me just be sincere and declare that I always hoped that she would not find out. I played safe, or thought I did…

And then she called, just when I least expected it. I still remember what she told me, not so much of what she said, but how she said it. The demeanor that accompanied those words…the class, the composure.

“hey, I know what is going on between you and my man…am not calling to tell you to stop, am just calling to let you know that I know. “ she said softly on the other end of the line.

Oh ma’. My mister’s ex was one hell of a classy woman that one. She knew where her  bar was, she knew that t was beneath her to fight for a man. I donno.

Relax…before you start throwing stones at me and telling me that I have been preaching water and drinking the proverbial wine,  just hang on and I will let you know how it went…shall you?

So that phone call, that was it. It was the moment of truth, the dusking of dawn, or the reverse. It was the revelation. The beginning.



We had been caught.  

She didn’t yell. No.

She didn’t send me abusive texts to tell me how pathetic I am. No.

She didn’t stalk me (Or maybe she did secretly, cus how the heck would she have gotten my number, ya’ know what am saying?)

Anyway, that was almost seven years ago, but I still admire her guts, that woman. You will agree, to pick a phone and call the other woman in no t a joke.

Look, I never intended to fall for another woman’s man, but who does? I never wanted to break a relationship that was on its roots (or even branches) . I am just not that kind of person.

See, as women we are geared to see ‘the other woman’ as a terrible wench. We are enculturated to believe that a girl who takes a man from the other is a Bitch, as simple as that. It is a moniler that nobody wants to wear. In movies, she is depicted a the crazy, oversexed, lonely, woman who smokes on a cigar, sucks it in, and then blows it out  on the world, because she is baaad news  and her morals are weak(Giggles)



But sometimes even good girls like me get saddled with the title. (: p)

We started out as friends – yeah.

We were friends who were too attracted to each other.  We were too well matched in personality, humor and interests to remain friends for very long. We had so much shared interests. He loved books, I loved books, he loved the comedy  “Friends” I did too. He loved writing, I did too, although at that time, I spent most of my time swooning over some rhyming words I would compose hoping that they would pass as deep poetry. (Sigh!)

 I knew he had a girlfriend. He didn’t talk much about her, but even those brief  moments that he mentioned her in passing, I was aware of her existence. Damn it, I even knew who she was, and that was the hardest part really.

 We weren’t friends, well, if we were, that would have made me an evil person, no? We weren’t necessarily friends, but there were those moments when the mister would invite me for  tea “as a friend” and I had to act like I was okay. It was horrible. We hanged out together, the three of us, we talked on general stories, on the weather, on the state of traffic in Nairobi, on our careers (mine which I hadn’t started yet, hehe)

We would talk, me pretending to be just friends, when deep inside me, I wanted so much more. I dropped into the pit that the other woman isn’t supposed to.

I wanted more.

I wanted love.

I wanted what was not mine.

It was utterly shameless.



Wasn’t I supposed to know and internalize my role? I was supposed to know what I had gotten myself into, I was supposed to acknowledge the fact that he will never be mine, yes, I was supposed to create a gap, a crack, a space that wouldn’t let me reach out for more.

I wasn’t supposed to – nay, wasn’t allowed to – want more.

In our brief conversations as friends, he had told me that he cant leave her. He had told me that she is a nice person, but his increasing indiscretion in public and his random conversations of his dissatisfaction in the relationship made it clear that he wanted more than our stolen moments and rushed phone calls of ‘catching up with each other’.

And then we started spending too much time together. Our talks got more personal and we opened up more than you should open up to a friend. Our gazes held on, lingered on more than it is appropriate between friends. And our ‘harmless’ touches sought the slightest opportunity; holding on to his shoulder to emphasize a point, him holding my hand to see how long my nails have grown, a slight brush here, a small touch on the forehead…

And then we crossed the line.



He came to visit. Something about me cooking for him matoke, since he had missed it. We had fun, we ate the matoke, he was more at ease. He was  chatty. We talked and laughed. He was a great friend. Then, as he was leaving, when I opened the door, he pressed me close on the wall and kissed me.

Just slightly on the lips. Like a soft brush of the feather against skin.

Nothing deep.

But heck. I knew there was  no way we could turn back. That soft kiss had sealed it. The boundaries, the lines had been crossed by that one act.


Yet he had a girlfriend. I was the other woman.


Out of respect, and perhaps guilt from my side,  she was never mentioned by name, as if  it were only a pronoun looming over our future together.



Just that. No name.

Like she was a silhouette that would leave, like a ghost  that just coats above you re refuses to vanish.


And the chic was hot. She  was intimidating.  She had a tone of haughtiness and wealth – and rightfully so.  She was always in heels and she oozed of sexiness – she  intimidated the hell out of me!


I was the other woman, always calling and asking “in a friendly way” if she was there. We would joke about her. The elephant in the room.

 It drove me nuts.


I hated being in this position. I knew I was falling for a taken guy… yet I knew that I couldn’t declare it.

I didn’t want to be the other woman.

We matched in every way, he fitted my description of the perfect guy.  We completed each other’s thoughts and sentences,  he listened to my crazy stories and my limitless ambition back ten. I wanted to be a radio presenter of a photographer who did travel stories of the mysteries of this globe. I wanted to write about the rights of women, the plight of those who had been pushed to the periphery of the world. He wanted to visit war torn countries and give aid. He wanted to join the army and protect the boarders of this nation and beyond. We were both young, being tossed by youth and ambition that drove us so strong back then.

I wanted love.

He wanted love.

I wanted him.

He wanted me.



 The conviction that we were meant to be together  was overwhelming to  us. We knew we wanted each other, we just couldn’t admit that we wanted to make it happen.


Until the day of the phone call.


His girlfriend wasn’t crying.. She had honor. Pride. Something admirable. She just told me that she knows what is going on between me and her man. She told me that she feels sorry for me, and that i had gone beneath myself.

She was right.


I spent the day in tearful misery  and a little bit of regret and self loathing, and I wallowed in the knowledge I’d lost the strongest love I’d ever had.


I knew that it would be very  foolish to try and defend myself. I managed to tell her a shaky:

“we are just friends…”

She knew that it was pure Bull crap. She told me openly. She didnt call me a malaya or any bad name. Her voice was strong, and it drove fear into my very core.

forbidden 1


I cried.


Then he called. HE CALLED…

When I had almost given up on ‘our friendship’



“I told her. I told her everything,” he told me.



I couldn’t speak with my mind numbed from the crying and wondering why the hell  he hadn’t called sooner.”



I freaked out big time. What if she decided to come after my ass? What if Karma seeks me out, the bitch that she is? What if…?


Let me just say that it ended well. Am not proud of my being the other woman.  The ex is now my pal. (Sort of) She drops by my facebook and drops me random greetings. She is married now, with a kid, and she and her hubby moved to Southern Sudan (Thank God…hihihi)




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One of my friends tells me that she has remained friends with all of her ex boyfriends. She says it smugly, she says it proudly, she says it whenever she gets the opportunity to talk about it. She likes sneaking it in and even belittles all those who didn’t have the grace to walk out, to go  without a mighty yell, a small show, a certain hand gesture and a hearty ‘screw you…” to boot.

Well, to say the truth, she has  never given the whole background of those relationship that she claims that she left behind so amicably. She hasn’t told me the connection she had with those who she walked away from…I often wonder, whenever she regales me with these stories, whenever she flashes a smile and tells me:
“Imagine we are good friend, we call each other, we sometimes meet to talk…”
Alas, I often wonder if any of these relationships were ever heated, I wonder if they had an intense connection, I wonder if the knife that was pierced were deeply hurtful. I often wonder if she was even in love in the first place.


Well, for me, I have only one ‘big break up’ under my belt. I was young…I was vulnerable.

My first love, he walked into my life when I was exiting a terribly difficult  time. I think I was battling depression and so many things at that time.

So when he came, I thought that him, in his very steady nature would at least try and bring peace, safety and even a peek of happiness, which to be sincere, I was desperately chasing at that time.

The night that we met, we had a connection. A good one. The conversation flowed freely. I felt happiness seeping in. I felt loved, kinda, although it was the first time that we met.

And we started out…

We fell for each other, and well, I was young. I was needy. I was clingy. I needed validation. Something he gave me for a while and then stopped….

While I could write so much and fill pages, on and on about every stinky rotten thing he did to me – the emotional abuse, the manipulation, the demeaning and disrespectful way he treated me, but I don’t feel like it, it would just create negative energy.


I have no need to relive the terrible stuff he committed against me. Besides, this would mean that  I would then have to acquiesce that I was party to The demise as well. I mean, I let it go on for so long expecting him to change for me…

Like we all do, when we are too blinded by circumstances to see, to understand and to accept that you cannot change someone….that you cannot make someone love you better than they want to, that you cant make someone respect you if they don’t feel like it. It is that simple, yet we sometimes fail to see it.


And while I don’t think about my ex  every day, cus its been so many years past;  I think of him more than anyone thinks I do.


On bad days, I remember how he once  said to me “Why can’t you be more like Leila?”, the cool friend of ours who had a tongue ring and talked openly about sex, positions and the number of times that she has it. I didn’t want to be like Leila, at least back then…I didn’t feel like I needed to be like Leila, but he pushed it into me so much that I started thinking maybe I should be like Leila if only to get his attention.

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On some few good days, I remember  how he used to make me laugh. I think of how he gave me gifts that only I would understand –

Of the little things he did that dazzled me.


More than anything, in those small, fleeting moments that I think of him, I hope that he has found what has made him happy and if he is still searching, I hope that he will find that thing that he wanted me to be, or that he will find a woman who wants to be like ’ Leila ‘ for him.  I hope that he knows that I don’t hold any of those old ghosts against him. He should know that I forgave him a long time ago, I forgave the  drunken tirades telling me that I was holding him back in so many way, that I forgive the mental torture I went through trying to figure out how to make him happy, how to make things right with him, for him.

I really do forgive him.

I do.


So, while we aren’t exactly friends, I don’t hate him.


I don’t miss him either. Puuuh.


I think I focused more time wanting him to love me like I wanted to be loved, trying to make him love me than reflecting on what my true feelings were; ignoring the inevitable fact that we were not compatible;  not soul mates, never meant for each other. Unto ourselves, we were decent people. Together, we were some kind of toxic mix, poisoning and killing everything around us.


I hope that somewhere in his (dark bad ) heart, he’s made peace with me. Although he was the one battering the bond we’d formed and ties I’d created throughout the relationship, I’m the one who finally fired the fatal shot; I’m the one who said “No more,” in the only way I knew how: With a total  abundance of coldness and just as much cruelty. *Giggles* I mean, really, I know it sounds mean, but something had to be done.


The truth is, a part of my soul thanks him.


I should thank him for teaching me lessons that are so valuable to me now: I don’t take my happiness for granted. Through his behavior towards me, I was able to realize that I am someone worthy of being loved.. .if not by him, by someone who will appreciate my odd quirks and mental short-circuiting, my self opinionated nature, my shrug of the shoulder and “it don’t matter” attitude…my deep bellied laughter, just me….

I have  learnt  that my worth is not reflected in the eyes of my lover, but of my own vision as I see it. Yes, that terrible brief relationship taught me that I was in taught me so many things, it taught me that people will put you down, but you are the only one who determines if you will let it pin you down forever, or if you will rise and raise your mid finger on them.


I’m not the broken down, insecure girl  that he met back then. I am a woman who is content with a greater part of her life and the lessons that I have  gathered through it all.

I met someone else, someone who is compatible with me, someone who allows me to be who I am, someone who is happy to be with me…someone who joins me in the hearty laughter, who has walked with me through the dark tunnels and come out holding me on the other end of light.

I am happy that I have met someone who loves me, and who I love wholly, without a doubt…I met someone who tries all that he can to lift me up whenever I am on a low.

So, see, it worked for the better.


  I like the woman I have become. . .


So well…

We are not friends.


We are ex lovers.


It lasted briefly. We don’t contact each other except on those rare times when we bump into each other’s orbit, exchange a few odd  pleasantries and get moving.


I have a wonderful man whom I actually  love VERY VERY MUCH (caps for emphasis )


It’s not like ex guy “never existed.” He’s more like. . .like errr, someone I used to know.


Not friends.


Not enemies.


Just people who have gone through and passed  the gentle waves of forgiveness in the time it takes the Universe to blink it’s eye. . .


So, please forgive me if I don’t feel the need to have contacts with him several times a year to see “how he is.” I am sorry if I am wrong to not want to be his facebook friend and snoop through his photos to see if he ever found the “Leila ‘ he wanted me to be.  Forgive me if I don’t always think about the good stuff  about him. Forgive me for not being like you. . .you who can be best friends with your exes. Not everyone works that way. It doesn’t make either of us a better person. It just makes us different.

Categories: I AM | 4 Comments


(Raise your  glasses, cups, tumblers, everything in one heck of a TOAST)
To Celine, to me, to all those who have battled cancer, to those still fighting
Grab your favorite alcoholic drink , soda, juice, water, and join this beautiful circle as we do an awesome  routine to the most intensely beautiful  song that I know…
Weema Wekka…weema wekka.
The lion sleeps tonight.
In the jungle, the mighty jungle…

To those braving the chemo and soldiering on,

To those smiling through the nauseating waves,

to those confronting the reality of death,

to those looking at their families and wondering if it is the last time they are seeing them…
to those seeking the Divine with a renewed vigor, with an intensity that scares their living spirit…
To those trying to understand the monster that cancer is….


cancer 2

Swirl whatever you are drinking in one swift motion…throw it to the back of your mouth
Gangster moves, beautiful groove…
Weema wekka. Ahhhha,

Today it is all about cancer warriors…wiggle your beautiful booty, clap your hand,  mooooove….

In the jungle, the mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight
In the jungle, the mighty jungle

(ululate. Spin. go down, chini!  Drink!)

Ingonyama ifile[The lion’s in peace]
Ingonyama ilele[The lion sleeps]

Heeey, dance baibe! Do it. Dance. Spin. Move. Clap. Yell!!!!!!
To those whose bodies slipped into a coma, to those who are stuck on metallic hospital beds with tubes all over them.

To those whose bodies are letting go as you read this…to those whose hearts are beating to a different rhythm,

to those who doctors are whispering words of encouragement to their ears,

to those who cant control their tears because the road has gotten to rugged… those who cancer has ravaged till they have lost a huge chunk of their bodies….to those who are loosing the battle…to those strapped on drugs…


cancer 3

Yes, toast it to those listening oh so keenly to the doctors report, to those clenching their teeth as needles are inserted, to those biting their lower lips, without a sound, as the IV fluid is started….
To those kicking cancer in the ass…to those shaving their hair bald, to those walking without eyelashes, to those who walk with the perpetual taste of medication in their mouths, to those popping pills that come in all shapes and colors, to those whose skins have darkened from the effect of radiotherapy, to those whose bodies are being rocked about from the effects of chemotherapy, to those surrounded by family who are waiting for the soul to be released, to those who have fallen on their knees in the ultimate surrender…

Ingonyama ilele

Hush mt darling, dont fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight

Hush my darling, dont fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight

He, ha heleleMAMA!



(Clap! Move front. right, left, go back, DANCE,,,toast. Spin…again, again, again)

To those who fear, but still dare to move forward

To those who have the audacity to smile, to laugh, to pray.

To those who struggle with acceptance, to those who are held by the angry fangs of self blame that refuse to let go

To those bearing the financial weight that cancer comes with,

To those who yell KUMBAYAH, reaching out to the uncaused cause, the unmoved mover, the ONE who everyone turns to when the ground below starts to spin too fast, when everything gets slippery, when the grasp loosens, when darkness floods in like a river that has burst its banks….

To those who stare at uncertainity and wonder if they are moving….

(CLAP! Turn right. Spin. Raise hand holding the glass. Pause. Think. Think. Think. Tip your head back. Pour remainder into open mouth. HOOT! )


To those who are winning the battle, to those whose hair has regrown

To those who have crossed over to the safer side

To those who have received a beautiful report

To those who can breath again, to those who have been shaken, but are now stable…to those who have escaped the hurricane…to those who have gotten the ATTRAVERSIAMO…those who have started again…to those who have been cured, to those who have lived, to those who walked through the murky muddy place and almost lost it, to those who can write their stories, to those who can write the stories of others who have otherwise been too scared to even move…

And also, to those like Celine who died…to those who didnt live to see the rising of the sun…to those whose families have been shattered by what cancer can do. To those whose bodies have been destroyed by it….to those who fought, but didnt quiet make it, it doesnt make them less warriors…it doesnt make them losers, because with cancer, nobody loses….ahhh, the lessons, the LOVE, the maturity it gives you….

Raise up your glass, close your eyes…pause there in silence and pray for the soul of my friend Celine, and the others who have gone before her…and the ones who are still fighting…



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I (HEART) SEX……and the city

I have to admit something; I am rarely swooped in by the hype. I rarely get into the flow, like when people are talking so much about something, I am the one who acts ‘cool’ and ignores it till the hype is gone. I watched “Why did I get married” late last year after everyone had stopped talking about it.

And the same goes for “Sex and the city” well, I had heard so much about it, but I never really got to sit down and watch it.. Even after my movie guy begged me to give it a try, I didn’t show an interest, until recently.  And after watching the last episode, after marking a few scenes, after everything, I was blown off to Kingdom come….WOW!

Sex and the city got me thinking: “What is it about sex and the city that keeps people glued in, episode after the other? Is it the Manolo, the Jimmy Choos, the Dolce & Gabbana? Is it the high end fashion, the sexy attire that no columnist would afford in real life (Giggles) What is so intriguing about it eh? Is it the sipping of cosmos, the strutting in and out of clubs, the life on a fast lane?

Is it the yummy men who you can just put on the bed and eat, errm, allow me please….akina Mr. Big, Mikhail and all those men who had sex oozing all over them?

Is it?

Ahh, sex and the city is crazily spicy, it is delicioys, it is sensual, saucy, scandalous, unattainable, and ohhhhh, DIRTY….

So is it the sex? The bang in the office, the unashamed cougars, the peeling of clothes off the body, layer by layer till the other stands nude and shivery in front of the other? Is it the clenching of fits, the bodies merging, the rhythm, the movement?

Is it?



Not for me.


The reason I loved sex and the city was the friendship. Yes…the bond between the women. For a moment there, I was jealous. Without Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, without that glue that seals them together, I don’t think I would have followed the series that much. I get bored easily.

It is that friendship that gives it the oomph!

In it, I saw unconditional love, I saw a group of women who hold another down during tough situations. I loved how they listened to each other; how they are able to open up and talk about ANYTHING under the planet at that small café where they would meet when the day ends. I wished I had a friend who I can meet at a café  and talk my troubles away.


Just a group of women, talking about their fears, their dreams, their sex, or lack of it, their pasts, their predicaments….the universal story of humanity, of womanhood, of the elusive thing called love, of healing, of cancer, of childbirth, of lost souls, of tears, of falling, of rising….ahhhhh, I love sex and the City!

The way I see it, sex and the city is not about sex entirely. Nope. Neither is it about strutting in high heels down the street rocking a chanel bag or Vera wangs. It is not about leaving lipstick marks on expensive cosmo glasses or blowing hot air on the neck of a dangerously young man. No babe.


It is about Miranda.About Carrie, Samantha and Charlotte. The connection they have, the way they bond, the compliment each other, they let out their spirit, they give, they take, they talk out their secrets, they tell each other off, they fall out, they make up, they point out flaws, they apologize….


It is a combination of lessons of friendship. Exactly how it should be.

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It is like being in a classroom of friendship!

Ma’ Sex and the City is  so much more than sex, seduction, sweet pink drinks, and superficiality. It is about friends supporting each other, cheering the other on….

 Here is a little lesson for you…episode was about falling and getting back up…oh, sex rocks!


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When we first met at the Nairobi hospice, she was in her early stages of cancer….she was bubbly, she was a go getter….she was living.  She was a superwoman. Not even the breast cancer that had ravaged her body could penetrate her boldness and desire to live. She had a beautiful mane of hair…


And then the monster that cancer is, it came and shriveled her… it came and twisted her whole body. It grasped her and held its fangs so strong on her such that strains of self doubt started creeping into. But damn it, she was strong, she put up a good fight….she really did. She faced the monster that cancer was and tackled it using all her breath, using all her energy, using all her will….

cancer 2

And when I visited her, as often as I could, I encouraged her to note down her feelings, I encouraged her to write what she was feeling. I told her to put down everything, when the cancer overwhelms her and she cant move, when the cancer threatens to steal her happiness, I told her to write about it.

I told her to write about the icky feeling she gets when she is from chemotherapy. I told her to write every tiny detail and immortalize everything in paper so that humanity, as blind as they can come can read through her every word and see the pain and myriad of emotions that a cancer patient goes through as they put up a fight to battle the monster that invades the body and leaves one sitting on the edge wondering if tomorrow will ever  come…..writing

And then today, the veil lifted and darkness slipped in. Today, slightly after midnight, her body got tired of the fight and her heart let out….today she died.
Her daughter called me, her cries muffled, her voice shaking, her daughter who is home for school holiday, her 14 year old daughter called me and told me:
“Mommy amekufa….”

And I felt the skull on my head crack…..
Haiya! Just like that?

I cant feel at home in this world anymore….
I wanted to write a fitting eulogy for my friend, I wanted to write prose after prose, I wanted to write sentences that would merge into each other and make sense. I wanted to give her a send off that she deserves, I wanted to say so many beautiful things about my friend….

But today I am overwhelmed myself. Today, I sit and think about how much life is a doozy…of how cancer is a monster…of how thin the line between life and death is so narrow….

I think. I think. I think….and I go down….i go down to that place that I always go to when I cannot understand the ways of the Lord. I go down to my knees, and seek the scent of God….because when things get dark like they did today, I only have one place that I can go to…..

And I remember my friend, I remember  her smile, her tears, her fears, her courage and all these emotions combined, of how she put up her fight and I think…..Jeeez, Seline was a FIGHTER….everyone who fights cancer is a WARRIOR….because it is damn painful….

cancer sucks

Rest in peace my dear….


For you, for me….we know it is written in blood.

Really, it is….

In your blood.
In my blood.

In the blood of the Divine.

We all know, that everything stops to matter…yeah, the only things that matter are the lessons that we carry with us, and more importantly, the lessons that we leave behind…..

Till we meet again.

but remember, only your body has been felled. NOT YOUR SOUL…


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There was a time when all I could think was:
God, are you there, God, have you forsaken me, God, remove this cup from me….

Yes, that was the past…but not anymore.

There was a time when I pondered, lamented, wept, bled, gnashed my teeth, sat in silence. I did all apart from pray, because everything weighed so heavy. I couldn’t see anything through all the tears, I didn’t have the right prayer through all the pain and despair.

 But not any more…now a prayer of thanks giving oozes from all over my body, from my pores, from my entire being. Because God restored me.


There was a time when I felt my tears drowning me. It felt easier to just cry and wallow in pain and uncertainty, I longed that the moments would merge into each other and I would just die. I longed for death, for the end of things, for the future kept tumbling, the road was rugged, the hopes were fading.

But not anymore…now I focus on life. I focus on living. On finding fun and laughter in everything.

There was a time when I woke up to the same reality. A new sense of darkness. A sorrow reborn. I didn’t think that I would live for long. I didn’t know what each day brought. I wasn’t sure of the anything.


But not anymore. No. these days I wake up to beautiful mornings. The sun gleams so differently upon my heart. I am sure of love, of the people who care for me deeply. And that is good enough for me.


Truly, I feel I am.



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