The things that make me who I am


A while back, I was in a bus from work heading to town. As usual, all the windows were shut. No air! It always surprises me just how much people hate cracking ‘em windows and letting in a little freshness. Well, I took it upon myself to nudge the stuck glasses into submission so that I could get lost into my own world while staring at the blankness of traffic.

It is from the point of the ‘window opening’ that things started sinking.  It took a while, but the window slid open alright. Only, I used a little  ‘too much force’ and it kind of hit the young lady who was seated in front of me. Next to her was a man who she kept whispering stuff to; so let me rightfully assume they were lovers.

The window hit her. Nothing serious….or so I thought.

She turned to me and told me in Swahili: “Wewe, umenigonga…”
She was frowning! And so angry, I eased back and muttered a sorry.

She frowned even more, turned to her man and said audibly:
“I think she did it deliberately. Had I been alone, she wouldn’t have done it. She is just pushing me because I am with a man…..”

I was confused. First, errrm, that she talked to me in Swahili, then turned to her man and spoke the pretentious English with a fake accent suggested that she thought I probably didn’t speak English.

Please, allow me to be petty!

Then, it isn’t like English is some strange dialect spoken only by a few anthropologists and people in a remote population off the continent.  Come on, it isn’t like you had to go through some special schools ad fill several forms for you to know the language.

So, I didn’t get why she would audibly talk about me in English, in a tone that suggested I couldn’t understand a thing.

I have a lot of chills.

I decided to let it pass and keep my mind occupied till they probably found a topic suited for lovers and leave me alone.

She didn’t stop. She went on and on about women and jealousy. It made me uncomfortable; for someone to talk about me like that. I wanted to put a stop to it, but I didn’t know how to do it without creating a storm and getting all passengers freaked out. My ears were on extra alert though.

“ I don’t understand why women cannot be happy for each other. Imagine, you get so jealous mpaka you hit a stranger you have just met in the bus….”  She said.

Her man laughed nervously, trying to steal peeps at me. I pretended to be reading a book.

You will pardon me, when I say that I develop extreme disgust towards the lady. I mean, I have my own man, and I wouldn’t get jealous just because some random person in the bus is with hers.  They were not even doing anything that would make my stomach warm, or make me go green….so why would I get jealous?

Then she started acting like an expert of Psychology – throwing gems like: “You know it is something people do without even  knowing….it’s like an impulse.”

Seriousy, all this psychoanalysis and Freudism because I opened a window and it hit her? Add a man into the mix and aha! I deserve my own couch in a psychologist’s chair, talking ‘bout my jealous rages? C’mon!

When I felt like I had heard enough (Which wasn’t really a lot, except for that one time when she shook her head and tried to steal a look at me through the cracks the chairs provided) I tapped her oh so slightly and asked her:
“Excuse me, do we have a problem?”
“She blew air into her mouth, let out some in exasperation and then said: “Nope…”

Theeeeeen, she grabbed her man’s arm in an ‘I- told- you- so’ manner.

You know, uhm, the: “Bae, seems like this jealous freak will not leave us alone.”
Of course, I wasn’t going to. Had she stopped sooner, I would have let it slide without a word. But she had stretched it, and I wasn’t going to let her go home and tell the false story of the woman in the bus whose green eyed monster is so much on the loose; she hits the lovers she meets riding the bus.

I looked her fiercely in the eye….okay I am being dramatic. I looked at her, and asked her:
“Why would you imagine that I hit you because you have a man? Do you know that I have my own, and I am sorry to say, I wouldn’t even be slightly attracted to the one you have by your side?” I  said in the most polite way.

I know. I know. I know.

I shouldn’t have involved the man, and I shouldn’t have mentioned things that I said about both of them as the conversation progressed. But can you blame me? He should have leashed his lady! He should have tamed that Itch in his B! But noooooo! He let her go on and on…..

The lady decided to put up a show. And great! Because my calendar was also on the same side as hers.

She told me:
“Why cant some people let others ride in peace….nini nini….”
I was just on my seat, looking at her yelling and throwing a tantrum, because I am a ghetto chick, and my mama taught me how to fight without shouting. We were taught to throw the lethal stuff without maximizing the volume.

I looked at her man and told him:
“I really feel sorry for you. “

I didn’t wait for his response. That is now such fights are won.
Then I shrugged, wore my earphones and leaned back. The whole us was now straining to see what was going on, and the more the lady shouted, the more I put on a face that indicated I was clueless about what was going on.


Lakini seriously, why do women think that all women are after their men; some of whom you would not even look at twice without feeling nauseated? Why?



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I come from Kisumu city…
…the town of my upbringing. Of scorching sun, and a thousand dozen stars upon the skyline where I made several wishes, telling God many things, chief among them being that I wanted big big things…some of which have happened.
….where my mother fried golden fish and sold them to give us education and a brilliant future. Where I first tasted marshmallows and the sticky dates that my friend used to carry to school….

fish 2

I come from my mama’s womb….

she who bore me, and four other beautiful siblings. My sisters and my brother.  The one who taught us the value of good music, good morals, and choosing our battles, long before we grew up. The one who loved us before we took our first breathes and the one who loves us still…
My mama, the home maker, the fish monger, the profound singer, the cake baker who always wears dangling earrings that stream down her neck….the smiler, the one with a gap between her teeth…..that is where I come from.

The one who  continually whispers the name of the Lord in our lives, even when we feel God is in a far far distance!
I come from powerful books….
Life altering, browning pages of words that flowed and transported me to different places. Books that were layered with deep imagery and delicious vocabulary that melted me and made me shiver. I come from Wahome Mutai’s “Whispers’ column at the Sunday Nation, A thousand splendid suns, I know why the caged bird sings, The Kite Runner, Chinua Achebe’s proverbs and other succulent books.

I come from Brokenness:

Of a broken body, tears flowing and knees bending. I come from hundreds of broken Ha-lle-luyas muttered from a place deep within me.

I come from cancer, of disease incapacitating, of surgeries that scared the hell or of me. I come from a series of healing….of searching for God’s arm, falling on my knees over and over.

I come from sighs, of scattered pieces of me that I am learning to gather. I come from growth, of self, and walking away from several things. I come from my own liberation, of learning how to let go and accept that I am whole only if I accept that I am broken.

I come from tears falling, heart mending, and learning over and over…..


I come from immense LOVE!
The unequivocal  and so so so remarkably great love. The love that rains hard, the one thatcannot be stopped. Love that surrounds me and drowns me. The love that assures me that whatever happens, I will never be alone.

The love of my beloved, he who walks with a huge part of me! Mwaah, the love of my siblings, the foundation upon which I grow, the love of my friends, who make me smile and embrace who I am.  The love of my whole family, and their presence in most things that I do. The ones who nudge me oh so often towards the direction of my dreams.

The love of God, the one who RESTORES. The love of my mama, the one who taught me all I know about class and grace.

I come from a past, the things that made me who I am today…..and I am walking towards my new future.

I cannot wait for 2015.
It will be my year great promise….. a year of CLAIMING things that I have always wanted to do, It is my year of focus, and shutting out the noise. I cannot wait!
Hooooray…..to many more…of where I come from!

Categories: I AM, LIVE! love! continue.... | 9 Comments


Yesterday , I turned 27 years old *Pauses to sigh* the dreaded force of adulthood continually tugs me and the reality of how fleeting time is starts to dawn on me. With every year, I start realizing that I am not ready for a new age…I am not ready for a new birthday, a new definition and a new growth….
Yet time just happens. I have been reflecting on my truths…the things that make me; those that define me and my passions. See, sometimes life is a whirlwind and things happen fast and before you know it, adulthood is at your door, yet you look back and you do not see so much growth like you would have wanted.



And so, in this blog, I will try to define myself through my truths, and the people who surround me.
1. I am so sensitive: I know….to most people, I come off as aloof and too self centered to care, but the truth is, I actually have a very fragile heart. I cry when I am heartbroken. I break down when I am sad and helpless. When I see someone I care about hurting, it penetrates my core.
2. The greatest gift that my father gave me when I was growing up, was the gift of books. I devoured the written word from when I was very young, and with it, came my insatiable desire of anything put in print. I am obsessed with words, with arrangements of the alphabets, with the sound that these words make upon my tongue…

3. The greatest fear I have is that someday I may die, and I would not have achieved half of what I dream to do in life.
4. I earn a living through weaving vowels and consonants together. I have the power to shred open words buried in graves and bring them dancing into life. I blow a gift of restoration to metaphors and create deep imagaries through the stroke of the pen. I arrange words like shots and ensure that non of them is misplaced in a sentence. I write for a living.



5. I believe that motherhood is a gift straight from the divine.
6. I get depressed easily. I don’t know what to blame it for, but I am one of those people who easily get depressed and sink into an abyss of deep blue. When I feel overwhelmed by life’s unfolding, I find myself coiling and crumbling into a hiding place ~ I cannot function well under sorrow, pressure and stress.
7. I drink too much coffee and i get withdrawal headache if I don’t have coffee in the morning.
8. This year, I believe is my year of restoration, of breaking barriers, and doing things that I was once scared to do. 2014 is my year to dare. To do. To damn believe. It is the year of crushing walls that I had previously set for myself and reaching for greatness.




9. I look back from where I have come from, and I think my heart is a piece of broken ceramic. And over the years, I have tried to painstakingly glue back the pieces that once shattered. Of course the edges are rough, the piece is not whole, and there are sadly, some pieces that I lost….there are cracks that sometimes let in a beautiful light, but other times, the cracks threaten to tear me open…sometimes I remember how far I have come, and the feeble strings that I held on to… and I cannot help but marvel at my strength.
10. I laugh too much. I always try to see the humor in every situation. Love and laughter continually lift me.
11. I forget very easily. Sometimes it makes me come out as self centered and vain, but really I think it could be a problem with my brain. I tend to forget even the most important things that my friends tell me
12. I subscribe to the desiderata mantra


13. I never intend to offend anyone deliberately. I will myself to do good because I am a firm believer of karma. Of course there are those days that through my words and action, I find myself hurting someone and making them feel terrible,, but really, I never wish to make anyone feel bad.
14. I have lived a beautiful life, both of brokenness and pain that I can only claim as my own truth but at the same time, I have lived a life full of joy, laughter and fulfillment. It is well with my soul
15. My mama is my mentor
16. I hate waking up in the morning. I am not a wake and go kind of person. I snooze my alarm too many times, I drag myself and it takes me well more than an hour before I am fully awake, long after I have jumped out of bed
17. I am surrounded by the most beautiful people. I am loved by the most unexpected people. Sometimes, I feel like God puts angels into my life and I feel like He gives me so much favor…more than I deserve; through the angels that He has put into my life.



18. My favorite song is ‘Hollowed be thy name’ by Ron Kenoly. It breaks me into a thousand little pieces, and transports me to a world that is out of this place.
19. I am a very good singer and dancer
20. I believe in God. I believe in His powerful existence. I cannot talk about who I am, my healing, my struggles, my cross over…without acknowledging that He holds the globe and the turning of it.
21. I have never grown tired of watching reruns of ‘Friends’ the comedy. There will never be a greater show…..



22. This week, I have cried the most.
23. My blog is called ‘tossing yoyos’ because everytime before I write a piece I have formed a habit of playing my pink yoyo…hurling it to the furthest it can go, and bringing it closer….over and over, till inspiration hits me.
24. My four siblings create a wall of protection around me….we are a story of rising….
25. Simon is the only person who kinda gets me, almost completely.
26. I am very moody. Every since I was young.
27. I have so many people who accept my truths and love me for who I am…and even though I may not do a good job to love them back with the same intensity, God knows I try!

Hooray to turning 27…and to the years past…and the ones that are stretched before me….still, God LIVES







Categories: I AM | 16 Comments


–For Me.

Years later….

still beautiful.

 Still growing.

Still perfectly unshattered. ~ M.A.O

 I have scars all over my body; scars that I got from my childhood, through to adulthood. These scars, some gotten from playing dangerous games in the abandon of my childhood, before I knew what the future held for me~those that I still look at and wish that I would have been immortalized in my childhood. I look at these scars as milestones, well, some of them have faded, but still, they are lessons to me, like reading a book of history of how my life has unfolded, and the things that I went through to be who I am today….

scar 1


And then there are those surgical scars on my stomach, a perpetual reminder of how God removed me from a painful phase in life and returned me to a place of safety, from a point where I didn’t think I would sail through. Now I am healed. The only things left are the scars, a constant reminder to me that indeed God Lives….lest I forget.

The strange thing is that sometimes, I find myself staring and touching these scars on my body and I get amazed by how painless they are. Some are dark in color, darker than my skin tone. Some are raised slightly above my skin. Some have faded and look more like pigmentation marks….

some are blending into my skin…

scar 3


some are indicators of transition, from a stage to another…the scars whisper to me a language that only I can understand. The formation of who I am….imprinted permanently on my being.

If you look carefully, you would notice that I am a walking display of scars…my past, my pains, my struggles, my healing….all merged in these scars on my body.  

I am walking Braille, I touch myself, and I can read the things that I have endured, scar by scar…the ones I can touch, and even those that lay deeper in me…scars of betrayal, of sorrow of loss….scars that are etched deep inside of me…like a tattoo that I will wear for eternity.

Some of my scars are big. My most recent one is vividly visible. I can see that the doctor tried all he could to hide it…

 But if you look carefully, you still see the imperfection…the crack 


This year, I wanted to go and get all the scars removed, and start over…

But I thought about it, and now it has dawned on me…that no amount of lacer surgery, cocoa butter and all the wonder drugs will ever fade the scars that is beneath my skin.

I have gotten my epiphany….

 These scars are mine….these scars are my history written on my body. These scars, they are part of my definition…no, not past, but of a future embracing.

 You know what? I cannot get perfection…..

Nobody can!

beauty 2


We are all broken…somehow, we all have scars; we all have cracks, jiggered pieces of us dripping.

Things have happened in life that have left us with scars, and sometimes we look back at these cracks and we get overwhelmed and feel like we need to remove these imperfections and present a perfect front…

But that is a lie.

We live our lives struggling to be perfect, struggling to show the world how compact and unstained we are…

So much that we lose a huge part of who we really are in the process.

We struggle to show how much we are polished, how we care so much about what people think about us, how we live according to the standards that others have set for us…

When deep inside, we are cracking.

We refuse to embrace our scars….

scar b

The inside wounds that pain more and get septic with every passing day that we refuse to accept our imperfections….

In the end, it is these scars, these imperfections, these testimonies of our heling, are perhaps what makes us whole—

Even when we seem so broken!

scar q




Categories: I AM | 11 Comments


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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