I could feel a sudden fear engulf me as I stopped at his bedroom door. I couldn’t shake off the the chaotic torment of the the pain I was about to inflict, or the weight of the information I had.


My son’s doctor had given it to me in the politest way possible, but I wasn’t sure I will be able to pass it without losing a part of me. The words kept bouncing in my head, like stubborn echoes that refuse to die.

“We will have to cut both  legs because the infection has spread too far for us to do anything else…..but he is a kid, he will survive it….”

I remember walking out of the hospital like someone in  a fog.

Finally, I open his bedroom’s door, find him playing on the floor with his toys, oblivious of the information that is stuck inside my throat. I sit next to him and play with one of his toys.

“Hey, we will have to go to the doctor again tomorrow.”
He nods without looking at me.

“He says that they will remove your legs so that you become strong….”
He drops the toy truck he was playing with, looks at me in  the eye and says:
“How can I be strong without my legs mommy? I want to be like spider man when I become a big boy. How will I do that without my legs…?”

I had promised myself not to cry. So even as a lump rises to my throat and emotions threaten to take over my body…I will myself not to cry.

“You will stop being sick when they remove your legs, I promise….” I say feebly.

“But I want to be spiderman.” he says so slowly, painfully, and confidently. He is only three years old, and his view of the world is still sprayed with innocence.

“If they remove my legs, will they put wings on  my back so that I can fly?” He asks. His face is beginning to have that crease t gets when he is about to cry. His mouth is folded in that funny way it does when the water works are about to hit.


I cant break his heart twice. Not in one day.

“Yes. Yes. Yes….” I whisper, as my own tears break their dykes. ” And then I can’t hold it anymore.

“mommy…..don’t cry. If I have wings I will be able to do many things… Maybe the doctor can make for your your own wings too. ”

He says while looking at me with renewed confidence.

When I leave, I lean on my kitchen counter and I cry so hard, I fear that my heart is going to stop, from all the intense emotions being pumped in me. I can actually feel huge pressure pressing on my chest. As if I am having a heart attack.




Dedication to Sarah Chebet…..and her son Kiptoo….

Mami, God still lives.



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Today, I looked back from where I have come from, and I got overwhelmed and somehow angry at God, for the furnace He put me through. Let me tell you the truth, sometimes I feel like nobody deserves to go through the pains I have been through, and the tossing that has happened to me. Some sorrows and life experiences are not for the fragile – some life situations are not for they that break easily. If I started telling the hurdles I have had to skip to be where I am today…I would break down and lose my breath.

Let me put it like this, I am from a past full of fangs and so much pain, I have been broken so wide open , such that at one point in life, all I ever saw was darkness. I didn’t think I will ever rise from it and walk forward.

I was like an incomplete painting, hanging loosely and being tossed by the wind without purpose.

Like a puddle after so much rain and soggy ground.

Like a poem without stanzas…..

I have known poverty, the incapacitating one where I didn’t have anything in my pocket. I have known pain, physical pain. I have known the doctor’s knife, being stifled under, throwing my life in God’s hand and hoping that He will stretch it and see me….

And my! I have known losses. Both small and big.

I have lost faith in so many people, and sadly, I have lost God at one point in life…..


Ok. Let. Me. Start. Over.

I have seen ruins. I have fallen and crumbled to a place where I thought that my life was ending.

I have known deep loneliness, that the only person who understood me was my lonesome thoughts tick-tocking in the silence of the night. And although I was surrounded by many people, I still felt like I was walking alone.

I have cried….

From a place inside my belly that I didn’t know existed. I have been seized by deep darkness…I have detached from people who used to matter to me…..

And now…


I can proudly say that some veils of past sorrows are rising from me…I am growing. A lot of things that used to matter to me, they don’t matter no more ~ and to me, that is growth. Those days when I used to sit and try to mend pieces that are broken are past me…I have learned to live.

I am resurrecting. Yeah. I am having a new life.

I am beginning to see God in a different way. I am no longer  trying to fit into definitions, and hard as it may be, I am moving.

I am feeling like a new person…letting in only things that matter, and releasing the things that stagnate me.

I feel like the curtain is being raised for me, to begin my play…..

It is a start over…..a resurrection

Some shadows of the past are transforming to flames, bright and huge.

The inner cries are fading.

I am allowing myself to grow….and growth is painful, growth is hard, but growth is beautiful.





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There is no heavier weight, than that which presses the heart….

All of us who have weights….

Those of us who carry burdens…

Who seek release.

Whose hearts have been broken. Whose hearts are breaking. Whose dreams are shattering.

The weight…

We all know someone, whose silent cry is so vast and deep…

That beautiful woman who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and is making her first trip towards the chemo journey. That woman whose hair is falling, on the pillow, on the floor, on the road, on the stairway.

That bald woman who is wearing a wig to keep off the stares and pitiful eyes…


You must know someone…who has sat down and listened confused as the doctor explained that the cancer in her mother’s body is far too gone, and is suggesting the hospice, or home treatment….

Yaah, could it be that you know someone, or you have heard of someone, who is so young, yet ravished by the fangs of cancer, the cells have infiltrated the body and rendered them weak. They look like a ghost of their former selves…

They are weak…

They gasp

They pray

They hope…

For death.

Or that little baby…who has not celebrated her first birthday yet…

And is in tubes, in pipes, in tears…

The parents who watch

And cringe

And lose hope…

We all know someone like that….

A young man…

Celebrating his anniversary alone…lost their beloved, to the battle of the tough, to the battle of the weak, to the battle of the defenseless….

And the tears that followed later.

And the loss…

Of faith,

Of religion

Of the fragrance of the Lord.

That woman whose hopes of birthing and nursing a baby…gone, into the pits of cancerous attacks…now no uterus…removed. Thrown. Half of her womanhood gone.

We know of such, don’t we?

Or that amazing pal, who is trying to survive the tossing of life, the winds of cancerous blows, of the husband gone…prostate cancer, lung cancer, blood cancer, skin cancer….

Bloody cancer….

Or that family…that have lost many to cancer…each from a generation

Of they that carry the cancer trait, and pass it to another..

 A puff of misfortune, a relay of disease, gloom…

That guy…that guy…that look is farmiliar…but now half his face is gone….doctors carved it out ~ malignant melanoma…now his heart, not just the face is distorted. He longs for death, but cannot find it.

A teen, youth stretch out, so much yet to be experienced.

Yet he lost his limbs…doctors had to cut it out…to arrest the cancer. To stop the cancer. To kill the cancer….

For those who succumb…and those who triumph…

And the lessons that lurk behind it all. I know there is pain. I know there is confusion, I know there is sooo much mixed feeling

And I know there are many questions…for doctors to address, and for family to ask among themselves..


Directed to the Divine….

Agonizing turmoil….

Sometimes the battle is lost….

But that doesn’t mean that cancer won…no. that doesn’t take away the lessons that we learned. No. that doesn’t remove our belief from God.

It only make us embrace God and never let go.



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I am a obsessed with reading ~ and I love reading writing prompts from writers who have made it, and are now dining with the mighty, sipping wine that they bought using the money that they made through their writing. (Winking) And trust me, such writers are few….

I wish I was one of them.

Of the time, I have been asking myself: can anyone write? Should everyone write….and even more importantly, why do I write?



When I started this blog, it was simply a place for me to hide from the real world and put down the emotion that was going through me. Like a therapy room where the blank white paper ~unsoiled and uncorrupted~ is my therapist who doesn’t judge. And the more I stained this paper with words, the more relieving it felt. It still does.

I write because I do not know any other way to express myself. I never have.

I know one can take lessons on writing, one can learn the ropes, of where to put the 5Ws and a H, one can memorize metaphors, and all the big words of the dictionary…one can take a whole year’s vacation and sit by the ocean to get inspiration…..




If you do not have the passion, if you cannot slice your soul into two and feel what you are writing, then no matter how hard you try….you writing will always hang in the air of ordinary. ‘

And ordinary is not enough if you want to stain the minds of your readers, if you want your name to be whispered long after you are gone.

Wahome Mutai was not ordinary. Maya Angelou is not ordinary. Chimamanda stepped out of the ordinary when she wrote the Purple hibiscus…

For you to be different, you have to write honestly. You have to do it mindfully. With your blood.



Write down your experience, your emotions, your fears, the things you have conquered…..what you feel from deep within you, without censuring. Write what other people fear to read.

Stories are within you. Look around ~ the people that surround you. The words they say, their dialogues, their actions, humanity and its struggles to live. The pains that people go through in their attempt to move forward with life. The little sparks of light in everyone of us….the acts of kindness you experience.

Every day. There is a story going on around you. There is always a story, if you became aware of your surrounding, if you let out your inner self and connected with what happens outside yourself.

Take a look at your family…how many stories can you find. Have a look at your life’s journey, the many steps you have taken, the flights, the falls, the awakenings, the failures, the tears, the blood, the struggle to let go, the love, the breaking of your heart, your hymen, your innocence, your jaded look at life.

Look at everything carefully….



There are so  many stories that need to be told -stories that are inside you, if only you would be courageous enough to write them down without wondering if you will be judged. If only you didn’t care what people will think of you.

 If you hoard information and keep it to yourself, then you are no less than those who light a candle and keep it cupped in the safety of their hands while they are in a pitch black room.

Let your candle out my friend.

There is so much depth in everyone of us. So much than you ever imagined. Sometimes all you need to do is start. Scribble something. Write about what you are feeling. Keep a journal.

Write. Write. Write.

Write about taboo subjects. Go wild and write about sex, orgasms, masturbation, incest, rape, flirting…..

Do it.

Make your readers light up and experience what you are trying to say.

Nobody has the same experience as we do. Nobody has gone through the same experience as you have. You are unique. You are different, and you have a story.

Tell it!

Listen. I have to tell you something:
It doesn’t matter if you have a Phd in writing. It doesn’t matter if you went to several literature schools, it don’t matter if your GPA is a solid 4.0! The only way that you can write is when you throw down self preservation. When you DARE and write what is really in you, without censor.





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Ever since I was a young girl, I have been an avid reader. I remember hiding tomes of books behind my Geography book and reading silently while the teacher droned on and on about rocks. A topic that bored me to no end. Thing is, it is those books that made me experience so many things that I couldn’t afford. I would ride with my imagination and savor the words of the likes of John Grisham, Ngugi Wa Thiong’o, Maya Angelou and every book that I could put my hand on. I had the insatiable thirst for anything put in print….an obsession. I used most of my money to buy books. And even now, I still get excited when I see someone reading a book ~ especially young people who have been born in the sad generation that may never get to go through the crisp pages of a new novel and get lost in the world of printed books (Ay! to the global warming and felling trees talk already)

Anyway, so recently, when I went home for holiday, one of my teenage cousins was reading a novel. She is a form three student, and she is at that stage of self discovery and feeling of adulthood that accompanies most teenagers. And she is moody as hell, she prefers to spend most of her days curled up with her books, and shutting out the whole world.

b 4


So, when I saw her reading a book, I thought it would give us a beautiful chance to bond, and for me to thaw through the ice that she presents to everyone and the pout that she always walks with; as if everyone is pissing her off (Oh, the joy of teenage, sigh!)

 “ Is that Harlequin? Those romance books?” I asked excitedly when I saw the cover that was so obvious and farmiliar. Those books shaped my perception of romance and I loved reading them.  

When I mention that, she folds a page on the bottom of the book and sits up. Probably pissed to be disturbed by an oldie who is interrupting  her time of being moody *Giggle*


Anyway, a wave of nostalgia hits me and floods me. I tell her how I loved those books when I was growing up. It sounds like a lifetime ago….when I would sit through a whole night and read my harlequin novel. Yeah, I know, he plots and story line was always the same every time….a gorgeous good hearted and hard working virgin bumps into a handsome man with good hair who is so damn wealthy and probably rides horses or works in a farm!


Of course, like a typical soap opera, they fight each other constantly, and there is always some snobbish woman on the side who is trying to come between their true love, and the tension builds, sometimes they face barriers like distance separating them, and the only thin threat holding their sweet love is the letter that they write each other, sometimes a whole jar of emotions, that would make my young heart beat with yearning, just reading and imagining how I would react if I got such a sweet letter from my beloved….never mind that at that time, I didn’t even know what I would do if I had a boyfriend.

Somehow, their love would scatter all the barriers and one day the woman would be walking aimlessly and notice a man feeding blind horses or the man would get into a garden a see a farmiliar figure picking flowers and singing  a sad song, and they would recognize each other almost immediately and then they would embrace and kiss passionately, and the man would propose, and on the final page, they would still be kissing and preparing for a wedding, for a hopeful ‘happily ever after…’



I smiled and made light of those days that I spent reading those sappy novels and making silent wishes and dreaming about things that never actually happened.

Anyway, my cousin gave what sounded like a snort when I told her of the harlequins…of the books I read.

“I have never read any harlequin that has such a weird story line….” She said while doing that semi rolling of eyes that kids of today do *Sigh*
“And they have sex before page 15…”

“And they are no longer in farms or picking flowers. They are in clubs and drugs are being sold…”


And I felt my lovely teenage years being spoiled just like that.

No, am not prude or anything. Trust me, I love me some saucy debauchery, but I don’t want sweet harlequins to evolve into some form of Fifty shades….
eitherway, what can I do?
So I smile feebly at her and walk away to leave her with her book (Can you believe it? Sex before page 15? Has the man charmed her by page 11? *I cant*

Maybe I need to get a new copy of Harlequins or Mills and Boon and start over








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At the beginning of this year, I made a resolution that 2013 is going to be my year to soar….I made a decision to BE and to chase the things that had eluded me in the past. I have to say this, 2013 has been a good year for me…it has been my year to soar, it has been a year of new beginnings. Of forgiving, of letting go, and walking through dark paths that once scared me.

1.     I chased my passion with more energy. This year, I blogged more, just as I said I would. I worked towards the fulfillment of my passion for the written word. I wrote about my mama’s abuse, my cousin’s suicide, my insecurities, life’s strange unfolding, women who turn me on, a billion women rising~ I wrote for UN women, without inhibition. I wrote scripts that tugged my heart, I did it with my soul, my blood, my heart. This year, I received much feedback from people who said my inked thoughts haunted them; that they felt what I wrote…so 2013 has been good.




2. I cut my hair, almost to my scalp. And I felt a liberation, like I was being nudged towards a transformation. And the moment my hair hit the floor…snip, snip, snip…I couldn’t help but welcome the new beginning that I was starting. It wasn’t so much about a change of look really, but cutting my hair was like embracing a new someone…a new me. And I like it. Hair grows….and so do we. 2013 has been my year of growth.



3. I embraced God more and more. Yes, there was a time when I thought that God is just an illusion. There were days when I felt like He has abandoned me…that He was too silent. There was a time when I struggled with prayers because I was in a dark place. Shadows and veils.

But this year, I focused more on how far I have come, and the pit hole that God removed me from. The dangling prayers that I once had all over.

Now the days are over…they are so blurry, behind me. Those nights when I sat in darkness with tears, half muttered prayers and broken halleluhyas….the inexplicable almost shattered dreams….those days are behind me. This 2013 was my year of reconnecting with my God and dwell on His goodness.

I now see Him. I have seen Him clearly in 2013…He has shown me His face..and I am WHOLE….

All those things that I wanted to tell Him years ago, I told Him this year.

The prayers

The hymns

The sighs…a thousand messages of thanksgiving…I cannot wait to see how He will stretch His hand and show His face to me in 2014


4.     I let go of so many friends. And this was a painful thing to do, because they are people who had been there for me when I needed a strong anchor. I cannot underscore enough the role that friendship has had in my life, and how empty I would have been if I didn’t have friends in my life. But just like angels, some friends are for a season, they come when God needs them to be in your life, and then when things stabilize, somehow, the friendship fizzles, and although no hard feelings remain, the bond that once held you gets weakened by so many things. Change in goals, in career, the revolving door that life is keeps moving…and so do the friend. This year, I have had to let go so many friends, so that I can take flight and soar…and I hope that they too have soared in the many things that they pursue, this 2013 has been a year of letting go!



5. We moved to a new house. And it is beautiful. I am still working on it to give it the feel that I want. It is not the moving that is so huge, but the milestones that we have covered for us to be in this new house that we have always wanted. So yes, it has been work, it has been draining, it has been stressful, but hey, we moved to a new house! 

6..I went for another surgery. The moment a doctor tells you: “You will have to go for surgery…” And for you to internalize and accept… and throw yourself into the winds of fate. I think that is the most difficult thing to do. Of course I was scared. Nothing stuns you on how fragile life is and the reality of death than having to face a doctor’s knife. But I sailed through it well…and I lived.



7.  I volunteered more at the hospice for people with chronic diseases. I stared into the eyes of people who had been told by doctors that they are dying. I watched in horror, that distant coldness that we get when we have been told that someone is dying. I watched as families held their loved ones and cry…I watched as a husband bid a wife goodbye, not sure if he will find her tomorrow. I watched a former pastor break down and cry to the Lord that he had served for years. I watched how fragile humanity is, and how people surrender to God when things downs here no longer hold. This year, I went to the hospice a lot, and not once did I leave with my heart not broken. I almost lost my religion. A prayer whispered here, a breath taken there, a desperate cry of a mother losing the fruit of her womb… the silent tears of someone who is in so much pain that death seems welcomed.

I cried. I prayed. I sunk. I surrendered. I soared.


8.    I learned to walk away from things that didn’t matter. I deliberately chose to stay away from negative people and people who choose to focus on the negative sides of me. I accepted that these people are shaky in their own existence and they depend on putting people down so that they get a temporary high. I chose to look at the good side of everyone. I chose to ignore people who wanted to spread negativity towards my direction. I trained myself to breath in, and out….and ask myself: “Is it really worth it?” and you know what, most of the times, it wasn’t. so I chose to walk away and not let negative people dim my light that I have worked so hard to illuminate.


9. I loved more fiercely. I let my friends know how much they meant to me. I gave my mister more of my time. I spent more time with my family. I always let people who I cared about know that they matter to me. I sought to see goodness in everyone, even those who I had hurt me. I gave second chances. I apologized more, I appreciated more, I thanked those who touched my life and I openly made it known to those that I loved. Life is too brief to be playing games. And those who showed me love, I tried my best to use the love into building myself.  I hope that those that I love know how much they mean to me.


10. I made more money than I did last year. I got better jobs than I did last year. I saved more money. I made better financial decisions. I set up a target and passed it by September. I slowed down on impulse buying and channeled my money towards better deals. I bought less clothes. I made a comprehensive expenditure plan and tried to stick by it; even when temptations stepped in front of me in the name of junk food and random holidays 🙂
I didnt borrow money from anywhere. I worked harder than I did last year. I plan to save more next year.

11. I became more REAL this year. I stopped letting people, or cliques or a flow define me.  I refused to move with ideologies that I didnt believe in just so that I can please people. I started redefining myself and learning how to choose myself over others. I stopped caring what people will say, or what they have said about m. I realized that I am the only one who knows what I am about, and I shouldn’t always have to explain it to people who are not comfortable. I REFUSED to let my past, my mistakes, my failures, successes, body, hair and roles to shape how I think. So I  stood up and talked about what I REALLY felt. I freed myself and BECAME.

12. I got depressed. I cried. I sunk deep into the fangs of mourning. Death took away three of my good friends. I lost someone that never was. I lost my videographer. My cousin Achieng’.  I felt unfinished. I stayed in bed for days drowning in my own salt. I felt miserable. Alone. Defeated. Just partially present in this universe because the pain I was feeling was too much. The reality of  death is too painful. 2013 taught me to rise. To put my hand in God’s hand and let Him lead me….and somehow, I was able to lift my head from the murk, and I saw cracks of sun penetrating through. It shall be well…it shall be well…it always has been.


13. It has been a great year. I have soared and I became a year older. I cannot wait for 2014. Suddenly, I am feeling this deep urgency to live fiercely….it pokes into every pore of my being….with an urgency, like water escaping a dyke….haiyaaaaa!

2014 is my year of BREAKING BARRIERS. It is my year of towering over things that are higher than where I stand. It is my year to TUMBLE OVER the boundaries that I had set for myself, and those that have been set for me. It is my year to DARE…




I cannot wait…but of course I cannot go alone. So I put my hand in God’s hand and tell Him to lead.




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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

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