Conversations Into Adulthood- By Cecilia Gathoni

 

This Chic- Meeting People

 

The other thing is, I like interesting people. And meeting interesting people. In fact, if I meet an interesting person, I become actively involved in bringing them close to me, it can even get a little awkward 😸 Especially if it's a man, or a young man.  They might think I am pursuing  them. I have had to do damage control at times to tell the person.
'No no no, I don't like you like that, I like you, as a human being, nothing more. I can't even imagine, you me, me you, ew, no, no 😸😸.

I met two interesting people this week.
. I should mention that this was a good week for me, above average. It had both the good and the bad in equal measures.

The first one was a girl, who knows about plants, and animals and she can cook.
The other waswas some guy.
We met in a  small pig (gakūrwe).
A small pig is a passenger service vehicle that doesn't qualify to be a matatu, but it's not a probox either, Iko hapo in-between.
We were headed for a funeral, and as people talked, ( coz in small villages people chatand catch up)
I asked the one that seemed to know a lot if they knew where there was a funeral in the area.
He called a few people and soon told us where to get off, how much the motorbike should cost us and if we decided to walk, how long it would take. The guy next to me said he was going the same way, but he would walk.
'can you walk?'
'not so fast, but yes.'
I told him I am recovering from an injury, he immediately took my bag and carried it for me.
As we walked, we talked about death..how suddenly it can come.
He told me he lost his sister one year ago.
'I am beginning to recover but that hit me really hard.'
I told him humans were not supposed to deal with death.
He asked if the frame of my leg was affected.
He said I should take minerals, vitamin D and B 12. I told him I was taking them.
On the way back, he told me we could go back together.
I learned he was an athlete. A respected athlete.
He got me a ride with his guys.
We rode, me, my new friend, who's friends thought was my husband, or boyfriend. He was  neatly dressed I noticed, and well spoken.
His friends made jokes like my brothers.
They do deals, like every other younger Kenyan millenial.
The driver said
'Haha nīho tuokaga kunyua mahehu'
'Mahehu nī matūī?'
'A we ndūngīmenya.'
'Mwīre nī caai aiganīre.'
We laugh.
He then says,
'Na nītūkūrūgama handū tūnyue gacai,'
'We rīu tūrīgūtigaga mūciī nīwakūra.'

What I've found out is many dull people are actually very interesting if you manage to get past the dull.
Not always, but you know how the loud can hold a crowd but with no substance?
The seemingly boring people can tell a well rounded dark joke without batting an eyelid.
Their counterparts would need a translator to get it.
Some loud people can be worth your while, of you can get them to calm down.

After the meeting with that athlete, I couldn't stop thinking about artists and creatives in the 21st century, and how  despite the clear knowledge about the role of art in modern society, we still get shoved to the corner. We stand by the sidelines.

He is a runner, who trains everyday, morning and evening, but has to work in his farm to maintain his daily needs. The few races he may join in China or France can only cover so much.. He cannot earn from his God given gift 100%.

Just like I could never afford anything oj a feature writer's pay.

So we have to do a side hustle.

And attend courses we don't really enjoy. Just so we can get a job.

Did I enjoy business classes? I did actually, apart from the Quantitive Methods, which had me dropping big tears on the exam paper when I saw the test had more than three questions on my worst topic- probability. I failed. I passed everything else. Excelled actually, in communication, in Personnel Management, in Marketing,  and surprisingly, even in Financial Management. 

But KNEC, being KNEC, does not  just issue certificates at will.

Gal dad

 He has been watching me since I came. The kind of look that tells you he's about to ask something but doesn't know if you are the type that can be bothered.

We are at the juice parlour and I have brought my bag of limes  with me.

'What is that one called?"

He finally gets an opening line.

'Ni Lime."

'What does it help with?'

'I think it does the same job as a lemon but with less bitterness.'

'Ooo.'

'Like oranges and tangerines.'

"Are those sisterlocks?"

He finally asks the question that was disturbing him.

'Yes.'

"Sio locks?"

"AI

"Ai, hizo sio locks, wewe huoni." A woman joins in the conversation to confirm to him that no, these are not locks, they are sisterlocks.

"Dreadlocks haziletangi picha muzuri lakini hizi ni nzuri."

He explains that he wants a different style for his daughter but wonders of they can be undone. The woman explains that, these are woven like a rope, to remove them would take a long time.

'Kwani ni nywele Yako?' You mean this is your hair?

He asks wide eyed, and asks if he can touch.

He  says it feels like locks 

The woman continues to defend sisterlocks.

"I think these can be allowed in her school."

'How old is she?'

"Seven," He proceeds to show me a picture.

"He hair is done four times a month, I'm tried. It's soft so after a while it just looks rough. The other day I was going round in town  looking for anga bantu anga bantu braids."

I can tell he doesn't mind at all. I also figure out he is co-operating millenial. Aren't we all? 

I show him a video of an installation.

'Kwani ni wewe una weka!'

He is surprised. He asks me how much I would charge.

And how much and often a retie will be required.

We settle at 1500 per retie.

We exchange numbers.

"I'll call you when she comes on the weekend, where are you located?"

The woman asks if I braid hair. I say I have only specialized on hair locking.

"So if she comes to your salon you will turn her down?" Gal dad asks.

I explain that the only thing  thing I do is bridal make-up.

'Thikū ici moohiki nī matūire?'

"Mohiki ma nakū? Riū andū mathiaga kwa DC, na andū atano tu, mūkainūka."

'Mūingī rīu nī waakī?'

"Ona aingī mokaga o kwīrora na matira kwendera wega."

'Mūcoke mūtigane kī Akothe.'

"After gūitanga mbeca icio ciothe."

(They both agree that weddings are fewer, and it's better to just go to the registration office with five people, not  a  large crowd of jealous people. They mention Akothee's wedding, and the raising cases of separations)

'Nī mūhīrīga ūyū wa Sara, nīwaregire kūiganīra.'

(Women [daughters of Sarah] these days are not patient.'

"Gūtirī mwega, Mimi ni mzazi so siwezi tetea upande wowote. Mambo sio mazuri siku hizi" (I am a parent of both so I cannot take sides, but these days marriages are in danger)

Three men join us.

'Nilimmwagilia maji na hata haikuwa moto sana.' Gal dad says.

We laugh.

My juice is ready.

One of the men says if only we would drink such healthy things. Especially Mūgwanūgū.

I say we call it by a different name in my area.

'Gīthukurūi.'

"Mūthukurūi."

'ah, that one is different Ūcio nī mūaloibera (Aloevera) that one is not for drinking.  Nī wa ironda. It's for treating wounds.'

'Is it the spotted one? 'I ask.

"Yes, and it has a lot of gel. But mūgwa nūgū nī ūyū wa ngirini.)"

Gal dad has finished his apple juice.

I tell the girl to give him some of mine.

'Aaa, hii ni tofauti, hii ata mzinga inaweza chase.'

'If you added mint I am sure it  would be just right.'

The woman picks up her bahs and wishes us a good day.

I get my bottle of lime and cane juice.

This is one of my good finds.

the juice place that just blends whatever you bring with you, ata cabbage.

I usually bring some carrots and beetroot

I love life, but sometimes it feels heavy

I do.

I love life.

I love the colors, the warmth of sunlight on a quiet morning,

the laughter that bubbles out unexpectedly,

the way music hits differently when I’m not thinking — just feeling.

I love how a small kindness from a stranger can restore something in me.

I love stories.

I love the sound of children playing outside.

I love how my heart still wants to believe in good things.

But sometimes...

life feels heavy.

Not because I don’t love it —

but because I’ve carried so much for so long.

Invisible things: responsibilities, secrets, expectations,

the echo of people who said, “Only you can fix this.”

I’ve been the one who showed up.

The one who handled it.

The one who kept going.

Even when I was tired.

Even when I wanted someone — anyone — to notice that I was also human.

Some days I wonder how much more beautiful life could feel

if I wasn’t always holding everyone else’s pieces.

But still, I love life.

Even when it’s unfair.

Even when I’m healing from things I didn’t cause.

Even when I cry quietly after smiling all day.

I love life because I haven’t given up on it —

and more importantly,

I haven’t given up on me.

So maybe loving life means this:

Letting the heavy moments visit,

but not letting them build a home in me.

Maybe it means learning to rest,

to release,

to choose myself

without guilt.

Because I am allowed to enjoy this life —

not just survive it.

A mother's tough choice.

 

40 years ago, my mother made the tough choice every single mother might have to make.

Leave her child in her own mother's care so she can at least provide for the little thing.

She was just 21 years old. I can imagine how terribly afraid she must have felt

How ashamed she was for having sex before marriage and now, without enough mojeyntonfindna baby sitter, being separated with her child.

They tell me when we arrived at the farm,          we only had the clothes on our back. Someone had stolen the bag of clothes. That carried carefully selected baby clothes, shoes and bed sheets for the child..

My grandmother only let us use rags for bed spreads until     we stopped wetting the bed_ that was quite a while_

  Now as a 40 year old woman,         I empathize with that young girl that saw her future crumble into smithereens for a moment of pleasure. And for 35 years she slaved away at a tough service job, trying to eke out a living, paying black tax running into many thousands.

She quietly drank her coffee and ate her dry bread.

And now she lays in the blossom of the earth. Unaware that the child she preserved alive is now a woman that knows that life is a gift. 

When Life Gives You Tangerines

 

No matter how good the intentions are, things don't always work out the way we wish them to work out.

That seems to be the running  message in the 2024 K-drama - When life Gives you Tangerines.

Every episode is filled with equal measures of heartbreak coupled with elation.

In the beginning, we are introduced to very strong characters, each one holding their roles and executing it to a fault.

I watched this drama in two weeks, I was down with an infection and it gave me an excuse to cry for my troubles.

Life is not easy, but you have to keep going, you have to keep giving it your best shot you have to continue taking risks, big and small.

And sometimes it will be great and you can celebrate in the summer, so that when winter comes, memories of happier times can keep you warm.

But there is also love in this drama, the complicated love of family, and the sweet love of young hearts that have decided to be each other's soul mates. Not in the inexperienced passion filled sort of attraction. This has to do with knowledge.

When  Gwan Sick asks Ae Sun  to marry him, she says : No I cannot , you have seen me in my worst. 

But he insists, that he can love her  and provide for her more than anybody.

And he tries to. 

In the end, when Gwan Sick is dying, Oh Ae Sun says to him that -  Because of you I have never been lonely for a single day in my life - 

The viewer is confronted with his own decision making capabilities. 

When do you ask for an epidural?

Should I borrow money to rescue my family?

I loved the ending, it gave so much hope. Even thought (Ae Sun) was not able to attend college to become a poet, through the publication of her poetry books, she  becomes a poetry coordinator teacher at 60 years old in an old people's home.

The Role of Theatre in Shaping Modern Society-Dance

 Theatre and performed arts have always been a channel  and a gauge for a society's concurrent motivation.

In fact, while Television, Radio and new media have often been influenced by gatekeepers and resorted to sensational reporting, Performed arts remain true to their form.

If you want to know what is really happening in a society, you are better off finding out which plays are being staged at Kenya National Theatre, and specifically Ukumbi Mdogo.

But arts require you to digest the message and if you lack the patience, itakupita tu.

News reports are broken down to suit the masses, but for Literature, Oral literature, spoken word, plays, cultural dances and  even stand up comedy, the message may become clear after the performer has left the stage.

That happened to me after watching 'Jangoma,' a play by Highway Secondary at this year's Drama and Film Festivals.

Their costumes were exceptional, their energy electrifying. I was too enthralled by the female dancers, beautiful in their make up and hair.

Cultural dances list as number one in my favourites. You don't have to understand the language to enjoy the dance. I can still hear the. Instruments, the bells, the whistles, the horns, the drums from the dances long after I have left the halls.

I however only understood the really message of 'Jangoma after I read a piece on it in the The Standard  Newspaper the following day.  

Jael Jilo Jael Jilo was another charming dance by  from Moi Girls Marsarbit.

Ah, the girls were beautiful. We thought they were Somali but, they were Borana. I was sitting next to their trainers

'Hiyo nywele ni Yao? -Is that their hair. Some in the audience were whispering.

They shook their hair, and the male dancers raised, angled and formed roofs, and pathways with their colourful sticks.

It was lively. Their costumes were well designed and modern.

The third dramatized dance I really enjoyed was by Nairobi University, from the minute they the bell to start went off, they maintained a steady beat, tap tap tap which I can still feel in my shoulders today

and the different roles were clear, the faces of each performer moved and changed with every scene.  At no time were any members of the cast idle, the dancing continued even when they could have been on statue mode.  

I didn't agree with the ending but I enjoyed😀

Highschool performances  pull a bigger crowd though. There is more investment n the props, the costumes, and the instruments.

I mentioned these because they were different, it goes without saying that the dances from Kakamega definitely have their own unique vivacity, but drama festivals are a chance to experience Kenya as a whole.

Kenya is a delightful country.

And highschool performances are a rare showcase for it's different faces.

From the slender, silky haired North Eastern children, to the shapely western girls, the dark, shinny faces from Nyanza, the accented coastal Mijikenda, the less flexible Central dancers, the high pitched, light skinned Eastern performers. Ah. We really are exotic, we really are talented, we really are talented.

In the next input, I will talk about the plays, the spoken word and the live broadcast.