Smelling cats

Tata, Me, picking plums

My aunt thinks I am mad. I saw the look she gave  me when I asked her to smell the  cats. I had shared some insight, which ofcourse I’ve researched on, that cats have a certain scent especially those with a bit of fur. Two of our cats- Kilucy and Kamau have the scent, I like it, it is like a warm frumpy duvet(Not

that I’m thinking of  making a blanket out of their fur, although, I wonder  would grow back if I shaved them?)

The othe r two, Sox and Ming ming have silky hair which doesn’t smell at all. So she picked them up one by one, that’s when she gave me the look and I regretted saying somethings out loud.

“A, a, I can’t smell.” She said.

We had been slashing away at a field of overgrown sturdy pigweed  the sun hitting us had, it wasn’t enjoyable so I offered to bring Tea and Githeri.

Things are bad when tata thinks I’m  mad since she is the one human who has had my back over the years even in my mad schemes. If I called her and said- hey tata, I want to go to Pluto- She would send me pocket money for the trip. So I told her never mind it’s probably my nose.

But tata is mad too, probably why we get along. Her madness takes another form- Unimaginable positivity, that’s the best phrase I can come up with to describe her take on life.

I remember one time someone came and packed up her chicken, all her laying chicken . The next day she  went out and bought others. A week later, she was getting about six eggs a day .

I guess, if someone planted a mountain infront of tata, she would not  blast a way through it, but she would  find a way round it, maybe by negotiating with the mountain to please make way. She is the woman mentioned in proverbs 30.

Kamau and Ming Ming

harvesting macadamia nuts

this morning, as I was blowing hard at the fire and making no progress, I stopped to pull out a  thorn from my finger. Dry macadamia leaves  are full of sharp thorns, and I have plenty in my palms since I started using them. I paused to think that in a short while, I've become so comfortable it's hard to tell the difference between me and the locals, which is an advantage to me, fitting in, blending in and getting on with it. So I listed myself as one of the weirdest people I've met, and pounded on a single macadamia nut . My new set up makes me think of  a doll house, playing house(cha mama) fire that doesn't really cook, evenings that end without the usual climax of a steps and orders household, it's all about doing what seems best at that time.

Last night, when I put on the cheap rice to cook, I knew we were set for an amazing super, which  turned out just so, half cooked half burned, and sticky, but there is always a solution to such meals, plenty of black pepper, hot pepper, and avocado, then wolf it down in minutes.

Well, I had to check  how ripe my recent passion fruit wine was getting on, just to clear the former taste. I must say this new wine could see me become a mututho dealer ( http://www.kentv.net/kentv-news/1-latest-news/3179-misery-in-kenya-as-mututho-law-bites), but dreams of self employment are still a length away.

This morning I attended a funeral, my friend lost his father to a disease, he is younger than me,my friend, and now looking at him, I can't help feeling the weight on his shoulders, and seeing the vuta nikuvute(push and pull) from the extended family, I have this thought in my mind: We live only for a short while, if we make it until 70, the rest of the years are filled with misery. So why can't we all move an inch, just an inch so that we can all fit in within the time limit we have to breath. The speaker at the funeral, an aged brother left no doubt that all those in Jehovah's memory will be resurrected.In God's new earth, everyone will have the  freedom to live as they were meant to be, in perfect health.

I'd like to share a soundtrack from Juno, the movie,  the only movie I have watched  ever so many times, only seconded by Pareneeta, but this computer won't allow adobe flash, so I'll just keep humming this song:

You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be
No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise
The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw
Something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end
But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize
When he catches his reflection on accident ..

It's by the band Death Cab for Cutie, can't get it off my head. Brothers on a hotel bed, and this here is wild rose, Endarasha's finest.

a poem

Thank You

I spoke with an old pal yesterday. He said I inspired him to write after he saw my collection of handwritten books, that was in ’06 I think, so he has been writing and he wanted to know, what to do with the volumes? I told him I have mine locked up in a box, for which I misplaced the key.

I had texted him to ask-was he alright? We are very alike so I haven’t been too worried that we haven’t communicated in a while. I tend to take a break from communication sometimes, and from friends and family, then while I’m getting on with life thinking all is alright, someone shows up at my door wanting to know- Is something wrong?

So my Pal, he’s the one who suggested I get on blogger since I had trouble posting on my webpage.

When he called, I thought it was one of my editors asking why I haven’t sent a story I had opened my mouth to say I had but can’t get round it, so I was pensive, until he laughed.

I guess it’s because of the ease at which me and this old friend can talk. After a year, 3, we just continue from where we left, no pressure, no questions, or judgment on the other’s choice of life.

-So you decided to become a fish trader in Lake Victoria? Fine, what have you written lately?

Whenever I feel unsure or unsettled about my writing, on instinct I end up tracing Ken and if we meet up for a chat, I end up getting any pilled up energy and writing. He taught me that writing, being an art should be taken seriously, we were looking at the art displayed at the Hilton Art shop one evening . “ We are all artists, when humans don’t discover their artistic side, they turn to the basic art of creating.”

Onetime, as I was writing my 2^nd novel, I caught malaria and was struggling to write between sick spells. Ken came over, we chat over kahawa no.1( Rough coffee that needs extensive boiling to taste like coffee). I felt better after, and finished my novel.

So this week when I called Ken, we chat and I finally managed to write two stories from my last trip, which is a relief.

.....just get on a bus

after high school I was still a rioting teenager suffering the effects of a troubled mind. I cut ,my long hair but it grew back in offense like kei apple that has been burned to the ground.. I had trouble maintaining curly hair which I wanted to have but I only went about looking like a Somali shepherd boy or like a male Ethiopian athlete like Tlotlego likes to put it.

There was this period I didn't have shampoo, or conditioner  and was washing my hair with course bar soap and using coconut oil( you don't smell it after a while)haha.
I mentioned to someone I knew in college that I needed to wash my hair but wasn't really eager. Would you believe it he said- come over I'll wash it for you-so sweet. It wasn't a trap either, his sisters laughed, I think his brother thought it was tacky.

I was thinking about this when meditating abut Nyeri men. Not a single gentle man exists among them. My aunt explained this fact to me."They love money, are contemptuous and useless, they think property is what makes a man."
Earlier, I only thought they had an ego, but now, as I make my calculations, I could  count the gentle men I've met in this region in our hand. One of them was this  young man who came  up to me after high school and asked- are you alright? With real interest,like he would take what was bothering me and give it a good thump. I had just  realised we weren't as rich as I had always assumed, and I was moving away from my family.
Perhaps it's the Hero factor.

Another thought, very people around here(Nyeri) marry. They have girlfriends, with three children, 3 years down the line; if they make it that far and that could be the third wife- ah.

So anyway. This morning I was walking fast to reach town quick, I got a lift from a friendly shop owner on a motorbike! ( I told him I was recently married nearby),  I was so excited, it was my first and  I  had a 10 o'clock interview but I had been listening to stories by my friend's father, he's the old man I was talking about, he told me his dog- Popi, sleeps the kind of sleep a drunkard sleeps and I laughed like a mad person, he said laughing is good, but he stopped laughing a lot when he realised laughing too much is also stupidity, he also told his  wife that he will die soon, and they'll meet on the other side of the valley. I found that very funny, he has been sick and is faintly worried about not being able to do the things he used to do as a young person, like just, getting on a bus and heading to Arusha.

 I think I'm just gonna stay in Meru

Animal Tolerance

He was  holding a small brown lamb which made a perfect picture of a shepherd boy. I asked if I could hold the lamb, I've never held one for than  three seconds
He handed it to me, said it was docile because the mother had rejected it after giving birth two twins.
"It chose the white one, so we feed cow milk to this one."

Soon after, I saw the  boy  grab the  mother's  right  hind leg.
"Come and suckle, he called to the lamb, who understood the urgency or the times for  he came quick and suckled with all his might.
"Let me catch another one for you, the boy said to the  lamb. And he fell another mother sheep. " You, come over stop wasting time," said the boy to the lamb. The lamb run.

One old man  said to be the other day- I  only have 1,300 days left to live. I laughed. He is a funny man, he said no one should kill wasps, because wasps eat spiders.
"No one will ever die from a single wasp sting, but a bite from a spider will kill you instantly."
So he won't chase away the wasps  sheltering under his latrine, because they have a purpose, even though they sting him several times a weak.
"You know in China, they use bee stings to for stroke therapy, so I have a feeling, the wasps might be useful  to the nerves."

He also said to me, " don't despise frogs for their look, they eat snakes, but in my life I've never heard that someone died from a frog bite."

I have seriously been  thinking of getting a gun. I'd round up all the donkeys on earth and end their misery.

fires

I have a hard time getting a fire going.

Be it wood fires, stove fires, charcoal fires any fire. It’s like Math. My uncle says he has a solution  for it each time he finds me going crazy in a smoke filled kitchen.

“It is simple, tell Nyawira to bring me a goat of fire”

translated, he means to say that according to custom, my mother ought to give him a goat on my behalf, so that I can be able to make fires. Mburi ya mwaki he calls it. I should pursue that idea, not for any superstitious reasons, but to find out if say I got married, would the groom be asked to bring along a goat of fire along with the blankets for my mother, the sodas for the cooking women, the lesos for the aunties and the guard of wine for  the uncles.

 Last month I saw a woman get into a taxi with 2 sheep. She was taking them to her maternal home as dowry since her husband died before he  finished off the dowry price. She is in her early 50’s, surely.

I’m told if I was to get married the groom would be asked for my mother’s dowry too, since  she isn’t married (hahaha. Lolz) sorry. I told cucu, when that time comes, I’ll elope and come back a month later with a marriage certificate from the D.C;s Office.

We are out of firewood most of the days, and we have to use maize stalks, maize cobs and other debris about the house.

Soon we might be using  cowdug. I have a mind to pray for daily firewood. I was going to tell auntie we ought to be saying- give us this day our daily firewood but changed my mind in fear of a lecture against blasphemy.

But seriously we are getting our daily maize meal we might a well expound on our prayers.

Things which facilitate the getting of our daily ugali.

Steady as she goes

Yesterday, I stopped in the middle of the street to laugh. There was this dude singing very loudly, don't stop me from singing, this is not your town. So he looks my way and starts to sing- young girl, why be proud of your two breasts, a dog has eight and it doesn't boast-
I like such characters, maybe because inside me, I sometime am that kind of carefree character, who despite being different, resisting the society's norms, still finds her way, as everyone would were they to live, and not just imitate. Many times I don't quite understand the paths I take though distinct, but relying heavly on instinct like the animals I love, who love me unconditionally, and so far so good.

Last few weeks I've had to look at decisions, weigh them, try to pick out which is the most exciting, fresh,risky. Well, not exactly, but along those lines.

I was staying with my second family for the weekend, a simple, lovely set up. The father of the house loves loud music and everyone goes along with it, the son, just turned 16, in my mind he's stil 13 and a half. He likes to dance and he taught me a few moves. He's in high school so he knows what's in, and we played J Bloogs song- Let's do it again- over and over, late at night, and it didn't bother the sister, who was studying math, or the newest visitor- they always have someone new, everyday- who was reading some magazine half asleep. So we danced, then listened to a classic fm, and sniggered like two school girls.

But in the back of my mind, I have this decision hanging loose like the soot laden strings of old cobwebs in my aunt's kitchen. They become part of the room, that when it rains and they dissolve, you somehow miss them, though you always knew, at the back of your mind, they are not permanent. Perhaps it's the resistance to change. It has been six months and even though I knew they would be over, I resist, despite the warm thought of getting out once again on my own, living a quiet life, reading numerous books and making soup out of this and that every other day, listening to Colbie Caillat, David Tao and Matchbox 20 at the highest volume.
I guess it's the feeling that, these six months will never be repeated. I have to get set up, and as much as I have enjoyed the evening laughs with mama, the late night heart to heart talks with tata, photography sessions with my cousin, he's got quite good at it too, and guessing cucu's mood everyday, it was a season in my lifetime.

I have to leave eventually, and every day of my life I'll remember this stage of my life, like the sign language class I took at the university some years ago, the trip to an Island some few years ago, the saree clad Mumbai ladies with such quick feet the saree seemed to flow. Memories.

paloma kimani waturaco

I wanted to write something exciting, like how this Paloma song is a hit where I live, but I'm yet to decide whether the other Naija version by the same guy is a bigger hit, I would also like to write about the cow theft in my village, how cows disappear at night, only to re-appear as fresh meat in a different county, and every farmer now has to sleep with one eye open like an ogre incase of any new movements. Yeah that's the village news. After pulling water pipes around the farm, honestly, a one man guitar tune is very relaxing. Though the honest truth is I left my farm diaries in the village so I have to use old material, yeah and my computer is acting up.

Oblivious to the City

Yesterday I walked into the market  and felt at home. Somehow above all the din, it was peaceful. Perhaps from the fruity smells and noisy retailers. It reminded me of going to Chowkit market in Kuala Lumpur. I used to call it  the fruit tasting stroll. The peddlers would ask you taste mangosteen, a bit of rambutaan, a slice of dragon fruit . This is a red fruit covered in spikes, it grows from a type of cactus. If you have eaten the tiny cactus fruit, that is the big version of it.

 I have a pain in my right pointing finger  from  two months ago. I saw a nice cactus flower and tried to touch it, ended up with a thorn in my flesh and I’ve tried poking around, dipping my finger in kerosene, it’s still painful.

Like one time in Puchong, Malaysia I saw a  cactus plant ridden with ripe fruits, I was hungry- we had been walking about in the sun and the fruits looked appealing- I picked a handful, and my friends must have thought- ah, maybe her hands can take it. I  must say that was a crazy adventure. I ate the fruits, yes, but only a week later when the pain and swelling in my palms had gone down and a friend  suggested I use a knife and a fork.

So the market, it was interesting seeing  the red and yellow mangoes, fresh ginger, fragrant passion fruits, cheap shoes, which I bought- you can never  have enough shoes, and finally: finally, I got  ballet shoes that fit me. I live them but never get my size. Even though I have to walk with my  toes stretched out, I feel very happy.

 Then I went to the post office to pick up  my stuff from Malaysia. I love my trash, and I carry it around but I might just stop after being charged more than I suppose all those old clothes cost. I didn’t want to argue since I saw an Asian lady almost in tears for the amount they mentioned to her for  a packaged handbag she received. Last night I had a dream that my last  box of things  had arrived, and new things kept popping out, boots for my uncle, valued at ksh. 5,000 by the tax people, a knock off Gucci bag, yeah,. These Kenya Revenue Authority people really got into my subconscious, officially my new enemy.

Comfortable 20's having a drink, listening to the world.

The wood fire burns lazily under the mumbling sufuria(cooking pan). I'm peeling overripe plums for home made jam.
The smell is sharp, like new red wine. My bare legs are outstretched on the earthen floor to catch some warmth from the fire. A radio sounds off jazz tunes. From the window, a few stars sparkle gaily.
The sky has moved, I can tell from the position of the plough and the three stars on a row.. The cat is picking bits of food from the floor. It feels good. I search capital Jazz club on facebook but the link is slow so I put on the jam to cook and imagine I'm close to the sea, with silent waves slapping the sand playfully. It's easy to imagine. The forest is a few meters away, dark and quiet. I know there are animals and bugs I've never met inside that sea of trees, just like in a water sea. One of my favourite mainstream song goes like- I'm with the bartender, if you're looking for me, I'll be at the bar with her. I think if I thought hard enough I'd tell you whether it's T.I or T-Pain in it. It reminds me of days when me and my girl Bridge would get a bottle of red wine well, she mainly got it, I only had enough cash to keep alive.
We would have fries and perhaps home made muffins, I loved the banana ones, as we watched Avatar, the Last air blender Cartoon Series, which would be hilarious than the usual measure.
It wasn't really about the wine and grab, it was more of-Saving the little moments. Sometimes we listened to Norah Jones or Maxwell, other times we watched a different movie on our laptops.
My heart was chipping away like acid rock; but somehow, eating junk and drinking wine with a solid friend was a lovely stage.
I'm brewing a bottle of red wine with plums from last season and an internet recipe. It looks red and rich, but made my mouth smell like Tom's, my dog. Maybe I should wait the 12 months the recipe said it would take. That is, if gran doesn't catch a whiff and send it flying across the Aberdare forest, which is currently on fire.

Farm Diaries- The long walks

I started off by walking a distance of about 25 kilometres two way to visit a colonial house that used be rented by  nuptials for honeymoon. It’s a beautiful house set on a hill, with the great mount Kenya directly facing the most important  windows. It’s in the normal colonial style, wooden floors of the ground, with black paint , and white wash for the huge windows.

There is a separate  kitchen, with a chimney coated black with soot, and a sagging bamboo ceiling. The reason for my visit was, I’ve been simmering with this brilliant  idea  to feature colonial houses in my area, even though a few  people  have told  me it’s  not really  something they wish to read about.

“Would  you imagine if  someone came, took  your  land and your neighbour’s  land too and moved  you  to a small plot and made you his servants? Then on the same spot  you had  your  house  he built his own magnificent mansion?”

So when I heard  about the one  that was converted to a guest house, it caught  my interest, up until that Monday . I was received  by a rather, thin man, he told  me he was  man of God, and said  he knew  what I wanted  from him but I would  be disappointed.

He gave me a comprehensive  history about the Presbyterian Church, his family, and  gave  me a tour of his library, which included different Bible translations and home remedies. He initially thought I wanted to request to host a wedding, possibly mine at that compound, so when I told him I was  a journalist, he quizzed me and asked for my opinion on a lot of things, saying his daughter  has recently graduated  from Mass Communication School and it would be nice  if we  met since he could  tell ‘even though I don’t have  a lot of flesh on me,  I something on my neck”

Seeing I had no story- the house is now a family home to him and his family, a minister’s manse- I walked back and went out to sniff out more stories, but first I sat and ate  the supply of plums I was carrying, the sun  piercing to my very marrow.

I had seen some farmers harvesting onions and I decided to pass by, it was a large crowd of workers, with some happy young men calling out to me, ‘hey, someone wants to talk to you’ so when I  started towards them, they began to disperse . I sat to talk to one woman, who wanted to know my family tree, later I found out they were relatives of my grandmother through marriage and polygamy. We had a nice  chat, the owner of the onions said I needed to show them where to  market their products, since I obviously know more than them. I did some rare quick thinking and said, of course when I write about farming, I am passing on knowledge, so at some point I might have a marketing article. He invited me for their Onion Farmers Association  general meeting.

 As I left, they offered me onions to cook. I could only carry a few, and they thought that was not very appreciative, were it up to them, I should have carried a whole gunia. I think they were happy about the pictures  I took of them and promised to bring them print outs.

I rushed through the rest of the week, doing more interviews and planting peas along with garlic, since my aunt, a seasoned horticulture farmer suggested it, even though what I really wanted was to wait for my sweet potatoes to grow, then I plant some hot pepper.

 

As  the week came to a close I was fatigued, really worn out and I dozed off while chatting with my friends, that was embarrassing.

Cats,Dogs and other fauna

Both of our dogs mad,  the older one is a serious nut case, but we somehow love him and side with him despite his mistakes. He is currently healing a wound on his left ear which he got from his night trips. I always resort to amoxyll, the anti-biotic when the animals are sick and it works, somehow. He had a fever, my aunt gave him a painkiller and a sleeping pill and cleaned his wound. He is fine now, even though the past two weeks he has  been scratching at the would, perhaps to prolong his convalescence  to avoid the leash. When it dried up this week we had him on the leash, and he broke free the first few times, dragging along the leash and getting more  bruises from his night trips. My neighbour said she’d poison him for eating his green maize. Tom, as we call him has two weaknesses. Eggs and green maize, fried; and he hunts for them, oh yes he does. So this morning, when I found an empty container of cooking fat, and a happy looking mongrel, I profusely regretted having left the kitchen door ajar. I’m going to get it from grandmother since I let the dogs out last night. I feel safer when they are running around howling in the compound, even though I know  that wouldn’t prevent an elephant from walking across the house if he needed to, but at least  bad guys won’t steal our cows or sheep while we are sleeping, to slaughter them a kilometer away.

 Not far from home, someone’s cow was stolen in the night and slaughtered, leaving only the dirt from the intestines and the tail. And as the owner, an old widow picked up the tail and swang it  about on her way home, the neighbours felt an urge to tear the thieves, if they were ever found, into little bits.

So Tom, when he’s not  looking for eggs laid out in the bush, he’s eying which doors are open, so that he can grab a container of magarine or butter. The vet says it’s unhealthy.

A few days ago, the two dogs, Tom and Tusker ganged up to steal a baby rabbit. When  my aunt approached, Tom ran off, but Tusker has something wrong with her head, she continued to eat the poor thing like it was legal food. She got grounded and was on the leash a few nights, and a porridge rationing. Tom tries to hunt the cats too sometimes, unsuccessfully. Tusker tries to play with them, they scratch her .

One of the cats who has a family of two not very cute kittens is having a difficult time providing for the family, since, well, grandmother sold the maize and the rats  that had over populated have moved. She is not into the vegetarian food we give them. So she got a medium sized one from the store rooms , brought it to eat by the cow shed- a note about Sock, that’s her name, she’s  black with white toes- she hangs out a lot  with the cows, I think she identifies more with them. So you’ll find her relaxing with them after her meal. A few minutes later I saw a chicken running with a half potion of a rat, instinct had me chasing the hapless fowl with a stick round the compound. Chicken must have powerful lungs. It didn’t drop the ‘hunt’, I got tired and decided I’ll never eat an egg from socks anyway so the chicken might as well have it. Poor socks getting harassed by the chicken, maybe she should  make a better budget  when she decided to add on to the family.

the waiting game

Mama asks, what did the book publishers say. I tell him, they’ve not replied. He says, don’t you think you might  find  your story on the street  with another person’s name on the cover? I laugh and think to myself, he’s telling the truth but I’m not aggressive and sometimes I think I’m in the wrong career, at least for now  when there is stiff competition and everyone is in everyone’s face.

But when my auntie called me to see   two elephants fighting Friday morning, I quickly got my camera.

I have stories  that need to be put down somewhere to decongest  my mind, and I will do  that at  my own timing.

Nightmares

Before I moved to the farm, I read a few survival articles and one mentioned that to live in such a territory one requires to have mental and emotional stability.

            For a long time my mental state has been dependent on the occasion at hand and somehow I’ve managed to ‘manage’. My ultimate test came this week. I came back home from an assignment and was emotional, well I’d say I still need time to find a balance. I was met by somber feeling at home. We’ve had quite a number of deaths in the family so my hair was on its end before I put down my luggage. Uncle gave me a brisk reply to my greeting and aunt was saying something about a sick cow. The week before one of the heifers had had a miscarriage so I thought it probably was having complications.

            It was an unpleasant shock to find my favorite heifer, the pack leader looking as though ran over by a tractor. It had received an injection and with its pregnancy, it looked very fatigued.

That cow is as I said the leader of the others. It is happy and feels good most of the time. It likes to run with its tail up and hind legs flying, skipping at a breakneck speed you’d think it’s a horse from far. Any cow that does not follow its instructions – to walk behind it always – gets lifted high up and thrown over a fence.

            Seeing her down made me feel so bad. I spent the day trying to feed it baby Corn. The second day the water broke and we waited for the birth but the poor animal was to weak.
........................................

Hours later, nothing had happened and she was obvious in a lot of pain. I held the torch and gritted my teeth. My legs turned into steamed spinach, I sat and closed my eyes tightly, but the tears kept coming, my cousin came from his night tours. I called him to hold the torch and I escaped. But they finished pulling and I went back to see.

It’s breathing.

No it’s not, it’s dead.

The mother looked tired and wasted, but a bit teary eyed. The dead calf was a beautiful freshian, long with big patches of white. I really needed to sleep. The following day I was cranky and kept snapping at people, especially when one of my one week old chick fell into a sufuria of water and died.

The cow was feeling better, eating a bit, but its fur was falling out. We sat and talked about other things drinking cupfuls of tea. At the back of our minds, each of us praying that the poor heifer will get back in shape to head the heard.

            Emotionally, I sat in the kitchen all day to avoid seeing the dead calf being butchered to be fed to Tom and Tusker.

There a story for another day, about vets who should  be fired .

ah, the beauty.

 I heard them say something in the news today, that Kenya produces the best coffee in the world but it's farmers are the poorest.

They said it  due to bad governance and politics e.t.c. I remembered one time in a foreign land, they were chatting about their countries, Canada and Australia. Then someone turned to me and asked, laughing, so what is there in Kenya? I asked, do you really want to know, ut he had already turned his attention to the Korean, I saved it for a future use.

 I had heard that question before, they asked-what is good in Kenya. I said we have maize, and fruits, we have food. They laughed and turned back to their conversation about the new mall just opened where noodles were quite cheap.

And as I walk about this land, I'm happy that  this is a well kept secret. Let them imagine huts and animals, lions and naked children, which they see on their screen in their concrete jungles.


I sent my manuscript , the novel and a children's story to another publisher  two weeks ago but haven't got a reply. Meanwhile, I'm writing financial articles.

Old Dog New Tricks, aa

There’s the cartoon on facebook  that illustrates the types of friends, I think I have all the types sketched; crazy ones, cool ones, young ones, big ones,  ambitious ones, sad ones…

I had a funny meeting with one of my friends; we’ll call him the ambitious one who goes by the book. He studied, got a university education with honors, got a house, furnished it with everything new, maintains a good job and a good shave, has friends and keeps up with the times, is responsible. E.T.C

So I guess he had told his friends that his buddy returned from Malaysia, come let us see and hear progress. When I went over, I totally could see the look of disappointment. Google Malaysia  fashion. Yes, that is probably  what they expected, but  here I was in the midst of them with some stripped hippie cardigan , a gypsy skirt and canvas lace ups.

They gave me a look over and they said to themselves, ai, this one has never seen the inside of a train leave alone a plane.

 Next I had to answer the usual questions: So we hear  that Malaysia is way ahead of us

Me: In what way.

Them: In all ways, I mean technologically, you cannot compare Kenya with    majuu(overseas)

Me:It depends on which angle you look at it, like how many local T.V stations  do we have?

Them: Aaa, not  that way, T.V is nothing, infrastructure is what matters.

Me:  Good infrastructure should reduce the cost of living should it not?

Them: But think of the employment rate, in Malaysia 70 % of the locals can find employment. Do you know  what percentage it is here?

Me: A a.

Them: It’s 20%, the rest of us are Jua Kali(Self employed)

Me: Hm, Jua Kali would  mean more freedom right?

Them: Yes there’s freedom but it’s good  when a government can provide employment to its citizens.

Me; Yes I guess. By the way, you know in Malaysia to go to town you pass like three tolls equivalent to about 60bob(60Kenya shillings), and you get taxed in restaurants for coffee and stuff.

Them: Reeeally?

They were justified, I didn’t have an idea what I’m talking about.

I excused myself to leave coz I needed to meet up with another friend who wanted to discuss APA referencing (I had thought I was done with referencing), apparently someone told her I was okay with it so she wanted to talk it over, but she ended up giving me contacts who need some work done, so it was more to my benefit.

After doing several interviews  last week, I realized  that  “papers” which are made to seem very important are not really  that important. I was being interviewed and the interviews didn’t even look at my papers and was ready to mention me to someone. So before I left I asked,  what  do you think of my Singapore story? They asked, which one? So I took out my documents to show and turns out it caught their attention. Have I seen this story before?

I wrote it last night for this interview.

O, okay.

They took my papers but all I was thinking is I need to get back to my rabbits, this is rubbish.

So today I’m editing my novel to send it to another publisher I hear is doing well. I’ll send it and hear what they say as well as one of my children’s  stories.

My friends, the professional lot were not finished with me, they wanted to know exactly what I’m I doing.  Of course there’s something I’m doing I said. They were not convinced and between them, they have been having this idea  that I got pregnant  that’s why I haven’t contacted them, to hide the bump, otherwise what would  I be doing out of Nairobi. Nairobi makes me physically sick, I’ve been here  two days and I have a fever, I said.

Wewe Cecilia una mambo, hujachange(  to mean; Cecilia, you haven’t changed, we still don’t understand you)

But I’m glad I have all these different friends, like tomorrow I’m looking forward to my friends who just celebrate my being me and wouldn’t want to change a single strand of wayward eyebrow.

sometimes I admire men

He Stood out from his peers, not only because he wore an orange sweater while the rest wore green, but his stance, the way he’d walk, the way he firmly looked at you and said a greeting. When I finally beat the morning sleep and managed to obey the alarm, mama(my uncle) said thank you very much,  and put  me in charge of the morning milk delivery. He wakes up at five to milk the cows, and I wake up at a quarter to six, dress in heavy gear, spread a layer of baby oil on my face to protect myself from the biting cold , park a book and my camera, sometimes my phone in a bag and get out before he calls out.

With 9 litres on each side I get out and join the rest of the farmers at the center to wait for the society’s lorry which comes anytime between 6  and 9a.m.

The boy mentioned earlier would  bring his family’s milk and depending on the time the lorry comes, he’d wait until six thirty , take the container home then get his bag and go to school. I asked about him and was told- you see that boy, during the dry season last year he would carry two (12) litre containers of water from the river to water kales, which paid his school fees. He wears a confident smile about him, one that says he’s sure of himself. One eveing he brought a letter home for my grandmother, I asked him to stay for a cup of tea.

 Most boys his age will just sit and quickly  drink the tea feeling awkward but he sat and gave me his opinion about a hundred things. Like he said to me: Imagine someone who has been on the same job for 20 years, he gets retrenched and has to look for work since  he has no skill, just experience, where would he find a job.? Let me tell you,  this world needs a sharp person.” I really liked  that, I estimate he is about 14 but he has an opinion.

Like my 5 year old cousin, who I sometimes don’t want to see but a week far from him and I start to miss him. One day I brought him a bar of chocolate then asked for a taste. He said to me- when you brought this for me all the way from town, it shows you had already had enough- how do you answer to that?

He has a messed up bicycle but that doesn’t stop him from riding it. He tired  it up with some ropes and now charges the neighbour’s kids to ride. The other day he told me he’s tired of  being asked to light kerosene lamps every evening, he wants to  press switches, and he got on to work with some torch batteries and a torch bulb.

36,

The cliché poor artist with his mind set on adventure, confidence vibrating in his every step, he didn’t look through people, he saw them
A free animal will stop to free another from a trap, so Jack stopped, and set Rose free.
As we watched Titanic in black and white, my friend kept asking-does this kind of love exist ? I wasn’t sure. I could not point out to an example but I imagine it is possible. It is alien to our young generation that I’m sure of, with their distorted view trained by Hollywood.
It’s plum blossom season. The dry branches budded, then turned white. In every field now stands what looks like long fluffy cotton stems. Against the moonlight, the soft petals glisten like staged beauty.
When the rabbits stand on their hid legs, when the crazy sheep calms down and gives birth, and with the love of a mother, licks every bit of placenta off her offspring’s wool, the kitten stops spitting at you and the male turkey follows, not to kick this time, but to get a few grains from the one who feeds him and his family.
There is peace in being able to look out as far as the eyes can hold.
You remember what you almost forgot.
A love so intense,
As strong as death is.
My uncle says you may eat as much as you want but if there is a calf crying out, you’ll never add weight. He then pulls up his jacket to bring in some maize stalks for his lame calf.

35, I'm spinning

It’s called- miti yenye mua ya samawati- and I’ve been editing it the entire month. I gave it to my cousin to read it last night and he made corrections. Like I said before, writing  stories for children can go both ways. A pass or a fail.

 I had told the publisher I would  be sending it to them  but I have decided to first find myself a kamusi since I don’t know  what pollen is called in Swahili and from  what I can tell, the Swahili I speak, when I have to, is of my own originality. Like until last night I thought  the expression ‘haiya’ was Swahili. It’s not, apparently.

I’ll give the story sometime to steam as I edit my other stories. I have three  which I’m very confident about, I’ll need to find a publisher for those though. Maybe I should email some Nigerian publishing houses. I recently read-Say You’re One of Them- by a Nigerian writer, it poked at my emotions. I don’t  know if I can poke at people’s emotions in that manner.

On another note, I typed  this on my phone  some few days ago. It’s the closest to a Haiku I ever got.

 I feel you in every pounding of my heart,

 Resounding in every pore and nerve,

 Coursing through me like life.

I’m getting back to –moby dick- I want to finish reading it to get on with life, and I think it might bring my mind back from all the- Wimpy Kid diary diversions-

34, thoughts and meditations

pic by Andrew Eng

I never did love children. I thought they were all selfish, attention seeking, insane little humans. I remember when my cousin was born, I kept as far out of reach as was possible, that meant even offering to go give the cows a graze in the middle of the day.

Yesterday I got left  by the bus and had to wait another 45 minutes for the next one and as I sat there feeling  depressed, I started to go through my phone and was completely lost in it. I saw a figure pass very close to me, then felt someone standing behind me, I looked up and saw a hand outstretched. A young boy of about 10 or 11 years was waiting to shake my hand. He said how are you, smiled and went on his way. It took a while for my mind to register what  had just happened and it brought some tears to my eyes. I don't know the biy, but we live in the same condominium. A well mannered boy.

One my good friends is a little girl called Pyu li, I’m friends with the  whole family, but it is understood  that whenever I visit, It's her I'm visiting. She’s wonderful, she’ll draw some lopsided butterfly and write-Cecilia, and give to me. She loves me a lot, that’s for sure and as much I didn’t know it, I love her a lot, the same way I loved a young boy who despite his age spoke a lot of sense and always cheered me up. 

He’d buy me chapatti with his pocket money and tell me about school, I listened, replying in English since he spoke quickly in sheng(Kenyan slang)

So when another young girl came over and gave me a card and a lollipop last week, I couldn’t help it when I got home and read what she wrote. She thanked me for being her friend and I sobbed.

It is very easy to ignore children. You think- ah, let them go over  there and look at some plants or something, or they should go play with other children. 

Recently I gave one of my children’s stories to one kid, he said- "Sis . Cecilia,(in Malaysia you address everyone as sister or brother, uncle or auntie or miss, or sir)  I donno, why don’t you look for other names for the characters. These names are boring."

I’ll write more for kids, it’s harder but it’s a happier pursuit.

33 , and going strong

It's been three weeks without my computer but it feels like a month. I've been trying to compile a portfolio but every time I realise- ah I don't have this I don't have the other, all in my computer, probably shredded to bits by the worms and the trojan horses. But, I'm getting another machine and I know I will have to love it more than I loved my old one.
I finished the portfolio, but I'm not impressed it's just plain and I 'm not very sure how to make it look better since my photoshop lessons passed over my head when I attended the class.

Last evening, I took a stroll through little Mumbai in KL and went into a DVD store. I could only recognise the movie- Vinnaithaandi Varuvaayaa- so I asked why so expensive? Even though I knew it was cheaper than it's usual price(been trying to get it) So she said, this one original only, if you want pirated also got, very cheap.
So I got the movie but I will have to buy some time to watch it :)

I also sent the poetry collection to a freelance publisher but he didn't reply so I'm thinking he's probably not very enthused, but I can understand, last time I wanted to publish with him I didn't have enough funds, but which first writer ever had?

Day 32

she came over and through a translator asked if I like to wear saree.

When I said I've been considering getting one she went back to her house and brought a big plastic and handed it to me.

I looked at the purples, the blues, the browns with thick orange edges and was tongue tied. She then told me to stand up and she looked me over, then sent her granddaughter back to the house, who brought back a punjabi suit , new and crisp. She asked me to try it on and it fit perfectly. Then she remembered something and went back to her house and came back holding a purse. She removed the pearl necklace and put it on me. She said it was 15 years old.

It was like a scene from those hindi soaps I liked to watch-kyuki and kahaani- where a mother in law dresses up the new daughter in law and hands over some family jewelry. My friend's grandmother might be just slightly younger than my gran, and when she hops on the motor bike, you'd never think she was anyone's gran.

She always tries to feed me this and that whenever I'm around, using my little Malay I tell her about Kenya, she asks about my family and tells me her grand daughter is naughty I should teach her manners and proper English, I laugh and she hands me another glass of some brightly colored sugar drink.

I still don't know how to tie the saree but I'll google it.

When I think about it, I can't help wondering, where our ancestors went different ways.

I got a response from the publishers, they said they will put it on the list since they have a lot of work right now. hmm.

Anyway, a response is better than silence. I still have no computer but my friend is letting me use her's when she's not on it, but it's funny being without my laptop. This is from one of the recent popular Tamil movies.

DAY 31 :)

"After she left, Anita rang Taha  to come over to the house. He came, and brought along a girl with an obtruding burst  which wouldn’t have been so prominent if she had not kept adjusting her left bra strap  every four minutes with her right hand and distracting Anita greatly. She didn’t  get round to asking Taha if there was anything she needed to know, about Julius that is.

Although that wouldn’t have done much good anyway as Taha was completely immersed in the attention the girl was giving to him, being completely oblivious of Anita’s agitation.

Noor biked in shortly after they left through the kitchen door. He was smiling a new smile and holding  a bunch of fresh Jasmine blossoms whose scent diffused into the room to hug and wring out the apprehensive air that had been hanging since Olivia left about two hours before.

“Are those for me Noor?

He laughed and  gave Anita a slight peck on the cheek and was  gone up the flight of stairs before she could even borrow a stem.

He came back down quickly still holding the flowers.

“Where’s she?” He asked expectantly. Sublime Innocence, the novel.

Tomorrow is my deadline to send in the complete manuscript. I have a long stretchy story to tell that goes like this," My computer decided to act up and basically, for the last two weeks this editing business has been moving at the speed of a snail. Microsoft discovered I wasn't using their original O.S and since then, opening a single page takes about half an hour. At this point I'm editing from the gmail text editing option online." But I guess I'll save it, those are the kind of tales I told when I did the column in 04.
I decided to put a stop to it and spent a day at Lowyat Plaza trying to trade in my old laptop for one of those swift new things but turns out my poor mPAQ is worth just as much as a memory stick. That was an insult, especially since this computer has seen me through some very trying times, hehe. So we just looked around for a cheap external hard disk and I've been backing up my things all day, and that's all I can do at this pace.
Anyway, I'm going to the beach this weekend so I have to arrange my affairs to ensure I have a clear mind when I hit the beach with two of my best girls. Hoping there will be many dry afternoons, especially since someone gave me a costume just the right color, just the right size.
I must say it's been a long run, and I have a secret smile just thinking, I've actually written and finished a book, it's just a beginning, I'm not done collecting stories.

Day 30

Last evening, I looked at the remaining 10 pages and felt weak, I had to finish them. So I asked my friend please, can I give you five pages and she said K.I was wondering why I didn't ask before, but it has to do with the fact that I've been doing a lot of rephrasing and re-arranging and cancelling entire full pages with the last pages I typed so I sort of wanted to do it, edit it, proof it then give it to someone to read.

My friend typed 3 pages and felt sleepy but she left notes with ideas of what I should remove and add. You can imagine my relief when I typed the last page and looking back I realised, ah, that was a nice story and I like the ending too.

 I'm going to be doing a lot of things away from the house,  the coming weeks, so the raw manuscript will have to remain as it is for now. Maybe I'll pick up  next week.

Thank you for the audience always