Monthly Archives: November 2013


A few months ago, I was invited to a birthday party. Young boy was turning 3, and the overzealous parents spared no detail. The birthday invitation card came with the boy’s photos plastered on it, recording all the cute mile stones he had covered ever since he came bouncing into this world, a 4 kg pound of flesh (Yeah, that too was in the birthday invitation card)

Anyway, it is my love for parties (And partly, my curiosity of seeing what else these first time parents had to show us) that got me knocking on their door, my mushkin on my back and a Ben 10 watch wrapped in a HUGE  present box. *Giggle*

Anyway,  just as we were settling in, me nibbling on a salty cake that the mom had baked herself and was proudly declaring so to all parents and children at the party, another set of parents arrived, holding their little girl, who was wearing the teeniest skirt I have ever seen (maybe meant for a doll or something) and on her weensy  feet, she had a pair of  heels, that kind of glittered when the sun’s rays hit it.



Of course, all eyes were on her as she wobbled in her heels to get space and share in the salty cake that was being passed. Since the children were seated on the carpet to enable them enjoy the snacks that were being served, I watched in horror as the little girl struggled to settle on the carpet in her micro mini, and heels. Of course, given that she was about 3 years old, she couldn’t do it gracefully, and she ended up parading to us all her body parts that couldn’t be covered by the mini….

(Maybe she had a thong on, but my sensibilities forbid me from peeping into a little girl’s skirt to see what is inside)


(Photo courtesy Toddlers and Tiara)

And I know, she is just a little girl, and it doesn’t matter if she is covered or not, and I know that a child’s body is supposed to be just that; a body which all should view as ‘cute’ ad nothing else….

I know….

But come on, aren’t we as parents stretching things a little bit for our young ones? I mean, seriously, the girl couldn’t run! She couldn’t enjoy the party..she just sat there in a corner and watched as other children who had been dressed in ‘comfortable attire’ ran up and down the stairs yelling “happy birthday…”

Sometimes, she would follow them and watch them from a distance, because her glittery shoes wouldn’t let her do anything else, lest she falls flat on her face.

At one point, the host suggested that she wears the birthday boy slippers and join them in the game and even before the little girl could say anything, her mother smiled proudly and declared to all who could hear of how her little one loves high heels.


This little girl, a kid who can barely string together a coherent sentence, is in love with high heels?


What nonsense.

We all are damn sure that the parets made this decision for her, which is okay really, cus well, each parent is allowed to enjoy the gift of parenthood whichever way they feel is right, but errm, using a shade of phrases that  imply that this little tot came to the conclusing that she will only wear heels and minis is a joke really.

Seriously, you want to tell me that this three year old took a mat to Gikomba or bata or whatever place they sell such riskily short skirts and teeny tiny heels and slapped out her wallet and bought the attire on her own?

Toddler with shopping bags.


It is probably good to know that they are liberal parents who find dressing a kid in jeans and rubber shoes a bit too conservative, but they shouldn’t suggest that it is the child’s choice. The child is definitely following their lead (Which is okay, kila nyani na starehe zake) but for these Nyanis to say that “She wont wear anything apart from heels and minis” they seem intent on showing us that it is the child who runs the show in that house and she probably runs the finances there too.

And when I looked at that girl on our way out, of how she was looking at other children play, and how her heels and mini was coming into the way of her running around and blowing balloons like the other children were, it was obvious that the parents were the ones who were into the kind of attire, and even though the kid might have loved the glittery shoes, she definitely is a child as in not into heels.

Of course I left early, I had stuff to do, but I couldn’t help but marvel at how much we as parents, in our struggle with insecurities perhaps, and to make society view us as ‘cool’ parents, we end up knowingly or not, robbing them of their childhood, of their desire to play and to BE.
I say, let children be children….not accessories.
But that is just me…

Categories: I AM | 1 Comment


Typical of our fights, it always ends with one of us banging the door, and walking away in fury. It is  our way of letting the other know that we are pissed beyond the thin stretch that separates sane from the absolutely insane phase of things.


Well, to tell the truth, I am the one who does the banging most of the time.

Anyway, early this month we moved into a new house, and perhaps it was the pressure of moving, coupled with our tendency of  not agreeing on things that matter (Like me insisting that we need new curtains and him saying that our old curtains will work just fine in covering our windows, cus after all, they are just curtains *Sigh*)

So he yells: DO WHAT YOU WANT… and Bang! He slams the door behind him, and I hear his car speeding off into the blackness of the night.


I am seething with deep anger….damn! 

Yaani! How can he just leave ? In the middle of an argument? He just drives off and leaves me talking to myself like a maniac? Where are his PRIORITIES?

I pick my phone and start composing a text about how much of an insensitive coward he is, and that he should come back home so that we square it like adults *Giggling* but I stop myself because I am the mature one in the fight, and I read somewhere that fighting through texts is for teenagers and errm, new loves who have subscribed to unlimited texts.

Anyway, I am soooo furious at him that I can barely touch my supper. I just take plenty of cookies and coca cola and suffer through it *Giggling again* I am in such a bad place that I heap more cookies to my plate and eat them slowly, munching while replaying the argument on my head….over and over….


I had fought it so logically, lowering my voice and even reaching for his arm to make him stay through it all as I explain to him why am right, and why he should always look at things through my unbiased thought process.

He clicks and says:
“Ghai, I don’t want to argue, I am tired of all this, I have said, do what you want….”

We are arguing about why he never wants to participate fully when it comes to helping out in things that matter, like helping me in unpacking, and later cuddling with me in the couch to marvel at how hard we have worked through the day (Okay, I didn’t say the last part out loud, but I thought of it all the same *Giggles again*)

I raised these perfect points and even wentthe extra mile to substantiate them with concise examples that I got from different timelines, from the past, present, and those that I have always wanted to tell him but never got the opportunity to.

He keeps quiet, looks at me as if he is digesting it all, and then says:
“I really need to leave and go do something..”
I sigh deeply, wondering if the feeling am feeling now is the kind that Nyeri women feel before they go full swing into battering their husbands.


Well, we always get along pretty fine, we are good kind of laid back and we thrive in laughing at the little weird things that life brings…

But errm, there are those times when he becomes a total pain in my nini, and I hate it when people are a pain in the nini…

I suddenly find him to be so insufferable and suddenly, my mind gets into cataloging every little thing that he does to drive me crazy. (Which I will not list here, like how he wakes up in the morning and while everyone else is asleep, he sings along to his country music or Rumba…again and again until that is all that is playing in my mind long after he has left for work)

Anyway, I sit down to watch TV, and I suddenly wish I was married to a TV character (OK, I know, I have always wished, but this time it is reinforced even more)

I do a bit of my writing gigs, forward them to my editor, gobble up the last pieces of the remaining cookies and then decide to go to the bedroom and cry myself to sleep. (Or whatever)

I battle if I should call him and tell him something like:
“Don’t come back…”

but then I remember those stories of women who told their men to never come back and the men were involved in a bad car crash and actually never came back, and those women lived with their memories being haunted and wishing that they could undo things, and it tormented them so much that they ended up committing suicide, or doing drugs and dying of an overdose or (Okay, I will stop)

As I am going to the bedroom, I hear a loud bang!



I stop and freeze to see what will happen.


I wonder if I should tip toe to bed or go around to check.

Flight or fight?

I get so SCARED.

I muster some form of courage and tip toe towards the sound and GASP! I notice that the  door is wide open…


I stand still.

Not a sound.

Just me staring into a door flung open by whoever it is that had attacked us.

I slum it and lock it, starting with the down lock.

I lean on it and try to compose my shaking self.

And then it hits me:

Pwaaah! What if the person who had opened it was already inside and I was here locked with him or her in the house.

I get more scared.

What if they are more than one? What if I am surrounded by an army of thugs who have made way into the house, and I have locked them inside and now they are waiting for the chance to spring up and murder me?

What if I am SURROUNDED?


I can now hear my heart pounding on my chest. Kadum! I try to concentrate, to shut everything out to hear if I will feel any movement both inside and outside.

I hear something that sounds like a creak…
My God they are inside..or is it outside?


I panic. I call my big bro…

He doesn’t answer. I panic more. I know, it’s almost 2.00 am and he is definitely asleep.

I wonder if I should call my mama, but I cancel that thought immediately, because I know that if I do, she might get a heart attack, and/or call everyone on her phone book to tell them that I have been SURROUNDED by an army of thugs who have entered the house/or may be outside waiting for the right time to get in again and kill me.

I have no choice. I call the mister.

He picks and even before I can talk, he has already jumped into the defensive side and is talking about how tired he is of arguing and that he just wants to come home and sleep cus he has to go to work tomorrow and work on a project that has been stressing him, blah (Men!!!! Sigh)
“Weeeh, did you leave the back door open? I think someone has gotten in and I might be surrounded cus I keep hearing sounds, would you come home?”

I think he senses the seriousness in my voice….


He asks me if I have called the police. I whisper that I haven’t. He hangs up and says he is coming with the police. He tells me to find a place where I can hide, or to rush and call neighbours….

Ohh, who me?

I am too scared to move.

I open the door slowly and step out.

I peep from outside to see if the gang will start working. I dial my friend’s number and she answers sleepily. I whisper to her that I think that we have been surrounded by thugs in our new home.

She tells me:
“si nilikuambia hiyo place sio safe…”
(PS: she NEVER told me the place is not safe, but I don’t have the energy to argue. She has just freaked me out the more. She asks me what I will do, and I explain to her in a whisper that I am too freaked out, and that am outside, waiting to see how it will unfold. )

I wait and wait and wait into what seems like an eternity. Meanwhile I send a group text to all my siblings telling them that I have been attacked nini nini…and I conclude by telling them that I love them.(you know, in case I die)

My big sister texts back immediately.
“I cant call cus they might hear your phone ringing….should I call one of my friends who is a policeman?” she asks.

I tell her the mister already has everything in control and he is on his way with a cop.


I call my mister back asking him where he is. I wail on the phone telling him how scared I am and infuse the story with an accusatory tone implying that if he was home, I wouldn’t be dealing with this mess in the first place. He whispers telling me that he is on his way, ALMOST there.


I hang up.

A few minutes later, he is home, accompanied by two very tall policemen with guns.

He advances towards me and gives me a hug (Maybe to put a show to the policemen of how much of a loving man he is)

 “Where are they?” he asks. I start explaining how I found the door open and I have heard noises and I am scared.

The policemen enter the house. Their footsteps barely making a sound on the floor they step on. Agile steps.

One of them shouts: “Hallo, maofisa wa polisi, nani ako hapa?”


My mister tiptoes behind them. They comb every room, pushing doors to open forcefully and pushing unpacked boxes to see if anyone is hiding.


We get into the bedroom and there is a bucket where I had stacked dirty clothes tumbled on the floor. It must have fallen when the wind blew open the door. One of the policeman makes that brilliant observation.

I get a sense of relief.

Mister holds my waist and tells me that it must have been the wind or something. He probably has forgotten all about the argument, while for me, much as it is a relief that there is no gang surrounding the house, I am not about to let this go easily.

I ignore him and talk to the police.

They do a final check on the door to see if it has been tampered with, and leave telling us that it looks okay.

I offer them ‘tea’ which they politely refuse.

“Wacha niwatengenezee chai. Mmetusaidia sana…” I insist. They smile. One of them removes his policeman hat and shakes his head saying something about it being their job….i try another way, telling them that since it is late, I should give them some money for them to buy tea on their way…

They refuse.

Good stuff.

Mister sees them off and comes back to tell me that he has forced them to take ‘fare’ back to the station. Sigh!

Now it is just the two of us.

He sits on the chair and pulls me to sit on his knees. I do so reluctantly and start telling him how I was almost killed. He knows well enough to start arguing with me, so he just listens to me go on and on about how I almost lost my life.

My sister calls me asking me what has happened. I explain to her. She giggles on the other end. I hang up. My other sister is on the call wait. I explain to her too. She clicks and says:
“Na venye umetuamsha tukilala. Nkt.”

Then she hangs up.

I tell mister how he has made me worry people. He stifles laughter and tells me “It was just clothes that had fallen, you didn’t almost die…”

Suddenly, I analyze the whole thing in my head and I find it kinda funny. I start laughing too.

So we laugh~

“But I could have been surrounded by thugs. And you were not here…I tell him with a pout. He looks me in the eye, the kind that makes me blush, and he moves his face so close to mine till I can smell the distant whiff of alcohol in his breath hit me in the  face.

“Even if I was here, what could I have done….”  He asks, a playful smile on his face.

And he moves his face even closer, till I feel the graze of his dry lips on mine….


Categories: I AM, Uncategorized | 6 Comments


I look outside my bedroom window abentmindedly. Nothingness.  I don’t know how long I have been sleeping, but I have woken up to dark clouds suffocating the skyline.

In the sky, I see a merger, of night marrying into day ~ a lifeless shade and reminder that life goes on. Regardless of what happens to us, life outside must go on.

Pathetic as it may sound.

And just like that, my defenses are towered, I pull my blanket over my head, I grab my pillow and I fight the bad feeling that threatens to swallow me whole. 

My body is slightly numb from sleeping in the same position for what seems like eternity. I  wake up, grab my notebook and orange pen and try  to write something –

Because writing has always been my salvation when everything falls into a thousand ugly pieces.

I stare at the fresh page that lies before me, clean, unsoiled by words but marred with the damn  pain that is encapsulated in each tear drop that falls on it.


tears 2


“ I  feel pain inside me…I need to get this pain off my chest…Oh my God, I am depressed..Oh No, I am so disappointed by how life unfolds sometimes….Oh shit…I am depressed…” I keep thinking to myself, over and over…yet I cant get rid of the incessant pain that lies somewhere inside my being.

The last two weeks have been terrible for me. I have  spent most of it in the corridors of the hospital, signing one form after the other. It started as something simple, like going for a regular checkup, and ended up with me being wheeled in for an emergency procedure.

Other than that, I have suffered a great loss, losing someone you were close to is one of those things that just pushes the reality of how fragile life is.

So in short, the last two weeks have been terrible, and I have cried a lot.



Now I am scared that I am sinking into the dreaded depression. I try so hard to come up for air, but something just pushes me back into a dark place that I cannot recognize.

If you have ever suffered from depression, then you know how hard it is to prevent it from bursting and bleeding into all aspects of your existence.  And in as much as you desperately want to confine the painful emotions that weigh you down, it is almost impossible, and that is what makes it suck even more.

Because You Cant Control It!

To say the truth, I hate it when I get depressed (I guess everyone does) because I am very self aware, and I know that I should just rise up from everything, dust myself off and keep moving. I know that I should reach out to my friends, share with them what I am feeling, and listen to them tell me how much it could have been worse..

But I cant.
I just want to wallow in my own tears.


I want to cry and possibly drown in the saltiness of the tears that wouldn’t stop.

The last two weeks have been painful for me.

The last two weeks have been confusing.

And the worst thing about depression is that it is like a building block really. It just sits on top of the other, and forms a huge structure that is so fragile really, and one wrong move sends the whole thing crashing.

And when it tumbles, you find yourself doing things that you didn’t think you would ever do.

This week I have shouted at my mom over the phone and burst out crying like a little girl.

This week I have gone for two straight days without putting any solid food in my mouth.

This week, I have gotten so angry and held on the door so tight because I feared that I might fall down from the rage that was building inside me.



But it feels good, to know that there are many people out there who care for my well being. It is good to know that I am still surrounded by the most awesome people who call, write, and visit even when I am too stressed to be cheerful.

And like my friend Amy says: it may be a struggle right now, but slowly, the emptiness will fade and the sad times will lift, and we will smile again.

So, friends, am sorry for the silence…
And for the tears.

Am still here…
Waiting for the sun to come up

So that I can come out…

Categories: I AM | 13 Comments

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