Self Care: Gratitude releases positive energy

John 13:34,35

I woke up feeling grateful this morning.
The last four days I've had people stay with me in shifts.
I sank last week, I was angry.

But the rescue team arrived.

Each with a band aid for each part of my heart that was aching.
I recovered my sleep.
Someone came and cleaned my kitchen
Another cooked for me
Another brought me apples
I woke up surrounded by bread.

Others washed my floor
A little girl sat with me in sign language meetings
Then an avalanche of mixed company arrived with bags and hugs
And I felt like I'm gonna be okay.
Not 100% but I fully know that my creator is aware of my wanderings.

I am not an insignificant organism roaming the earth unattended.
' with someone loyal you are loyal.'
This evening I am happy.

When you are grateful, good things keep coming.

This morning I received a text from my mother's opposite neighbour. She comforted me and said she wanted to send me cash. She sent the exact amount I needed to pay off my November rent. 
Then I got another call.
'You don't know me but I was your mum's friend. I owed her some cash, Now that I have your number I will send you. Keep strong.'
And she did.
'With God everything is possible.'
I know my life is not a waste of space. I know Jehovah cares about me.
I will tell my mother the things people did for her.
That she had not been a waste of space as well.
Her good deeds follow her.

I have no reason to be angry, 
or be too anxious, or try to find comfort where it's non existent.


Now that I realise real love is not forced. 
It is easy and comfortable. And it knows exactly what needs to be done.

Irene's Army

I woke up enraged.
I felt the heavy weight of injustice on my head and I was very sure I wasn't going to settle until I had done everything in my ability to ensure my mother's days of going without lunch, rainy mornings trying to catch a train ride did not vanish without an explanation.

I guess my heart started burning when after going to her work place, I realized the magnitude of injustice I was tackling , but then I realized I wasn't alone.

We are sitting in this office with people who worked alongside my mother every day, 5,10,20, years and they are telling me
"If you want us to turn Twitter for Irene, just say. "

I am not much in person but I have never been unable to write.
So I sat and composed a letter that would have made any raised eye brow raise both.
It made their ears ring as well I'm sure.

My article about the issue received the highest views for  my articles this year and I decided to pull it down from Facebook.
To give the raised eye brow a second chance
But the comments kept coming and the phone calls.

People ready to close their offices to go with me wherever I need to go today
People getting up at five to go to my house and bring my wallet because I forgot it in my other bag
People picking up calls for me because I'm not aware the phone is ringing
People holding me tightly at the morgue in case I collapse, until my sides hurt

Justice was served, although post humously
But one thing I wasn't gonna sit around and allow is
' they defrauded my mother when she lived, but not when she was no longer around to speak for herself.'

It hurts to think of the sense of loss she must have felt.
The lack of trust
The shock
The helplessness
The fear
And the thought she had before she died, that her life's efforts had been completely burned up in a fire.

I will tell her when she is resurrected, I fought for you, though
With trembling hands and repressed tears.
And I Had an army behind me.

Guest Post: Tribute to a Dead Tree

I know a dead tree. It is dead for most of the year. Sometime in September it blossoms. This is the first step towards the growth of plums. After the flowers, come the leaves then the plums then at some point it returns to looking like a dead tree.

I know a "dead tree". For most of the "year" - she looks like she needs to be cut down - she is "a waste of space". She would be better off as "firewood". A certain rough season comes and she blossoms.
She is exactly like those trees that are still standing after a hurricane ripped through an area. The hurricane season is her season to blossom.

Most of the year she looks dead. Easy to ignore or dismiss. Only after the hurricane does it become apparent that she had deep roots. She has resilience. She has staying power. This is the definition of endurance. It can mean "stand one’s ground; persevere; remain steadfast..."

Hurricane season is her season.

I went to visit this dead tree as she was "blossoming".  This is what I observed.

• She loves her God. He also didn't hide his love for her during the "hurricane season".
• She loves her family. Her family loves her. You should hear her laugh from way deep down her stomach when she is with them. She is so relaxed and carefree with them.
• She brandishes a machette or a panga effortlessly while in the shamba (farm). She chooses and cuts (more accurately harvests) maize (corn), cabbage, onions, pumpkin, grass you name it. It is not a weapon but a tool in skilled hands when she uses it.
• She is so generous
• She loves animals. There is a dog called Tom - who had not seen her for months but follows her wherever she goes. When she disappears in the corn farm , all she has to do is call him and he appears. She told me what they have is "true love". :-) 
• She is a bully. No one is off limits. Not even her cucu (grandmother)
• She really does stop to smell the flowers. Every plant worth smelling. She stopped to smell. I got a chance to pick some eucalyptus because of her.
• She skips. Yes. She does. :-) When we went for a walk - she was skipping as we went down the hills.
• She enjoys simple things. I like simple things. I like her. Good conversation overlooking a waterfall and singing. What more would you want?

Without the hurricane season - you would not know she is not a "dead tree". She has deep roots.

I love you my "dead tree". Keep "blossoming".

https://pattikay.blogspot.com/2019/10/a-tribute-to-dead-tree.html

The Fatherless Race: My mummy was a lioness, "I have a lioness inside me that I keep on a tight leash."

"Are you taking my picture?" Asked Mummy.
"No, it's the books behind you," I said.

Then she took out her phone and took a picture of me, then I took one with her phone,
Then we just sat.
She had had a horrid morning at her bank.
After 32 years slaving away at physically draining job her savings earnings and benefits had found their way into someone's online account and vanished.
She said she had reported it.
I didn't pry
But she got sorrowful day by day
Until they told me pneumonia had taken her life.
My mother had lost her life.


When my mother went on retirement, she had two major plans. She was going to relocate to the USA and she had everything laid out. I thought it was hilarious but many conversations after I realised nothing would stop her.

I guess the moment came after she had renewed her driving license. I thought man, this woman is set.
And knowing her spirit, the same stubborn spirit I have inherited, I took her shopping for thermal heat preserving vests in preparation for winter.

Then she said to me, do you think this phone will help you in your work?  I said yeah but don't feel you have to. She loved her phone so giving it up would mean a better offer was out there, in Trump's kingdom.

The last time I met my mother, she was late than our agreed time.
So I asked her to meet me in Kikuyu town. I wanted her opinion deciding a location for Cisster Salon. She said she was tired so We went to crave kitchen.

My mother loves fine things. She was blown away, she said the chefs were dressed right, the decor must have been done by an international designer and insisted the owner could not be local. I pointed Tom out.

She said: haiya that one with dreads?
She looked around and said she wanted to have a look at the toilet. She came back grinning saying how awesome the place was but would I stop telling her to have the soup Coz she only wanted another mug of tea if I would buy it?
I should have asked if she wanted another samosa.
We talked.
She had had a horrific experience at equity bank that morning.
I didn't probe
But now that she is dead and I have had a look at her documents.. It's no wonder she only wanted tea that day. Me, I would have collapsed right away.

I have been feeling like I'm gonna get blown away anytime now.
It's a feeling I have never had before.
Losing the only parent I have pains a lot.


Losing my mother now, this year on top of everything else just proves how ruthless Satan is.
Satan has no mercy.
But my friend wrote a blog post for me:
https://pattikay.blogspot.com/2019/10/a-tribute-to-dead-tree.html


My mother's back up plan was to try farming. She was gonna buy a big tank and store water. Then she would look after grandmother.
 I know she would have raised a couple of dogs as well.

Today I'm thankful for the time I spent with mummy in the short time she was on retirement. She made effort to come see me and reassure me. She embraced vulnerability when she accepted my offer to take her to the dentist in August. She was scared of dentists.
I laughed when she said after ' ah ona rītiuma na ruo.' Then she gave me a thousand Bob to pick up my aunt arriving from the village.
I thought it was a bribe for my silence, not to say she was scared of a tooth extraction.

But this is for a short while. I know my mother will get up in future.
Meanwhile, I will try and get some rest.
I will follow up what my mother tried to resolve before death caught up with her. When my anger subsides.
I am angry at a debased society that preys on its defenseless members.
I'm angry at a society that discards it's members when their value has diminished.
I am angry at this old world, and I hate it. May your kingdom come please.
I am assured of one thing though:
Psalms 37:10

Just a little while longer, and the wicked will be no more;You will look at where they were,And they will not be there.

Jehovah will soon undo every injustice that we have suffered in satan's wicked world.
Isaiah 65:17
The former things will not be called to mind.

Monday Profiles: Big Cisster's Got me

This woman is called Estah
Once upon a time I found myself on the precarious edge of a deportation, or imprisonment if the judge decided my hair was too knotty.
I had a month to appeal for my student Visa, I had no cash and my emotions run high between rash regrets, why didn't I just get married when the offer was on and despondent self pity oh no this is not happening again! I have to start over from nothing and why did I even get started in the first place!

We sat in a hotel room in Singapore. I sat on the floor. She lay on the bed, Tlotlego lay flat on the floor completely asleep. Tlotlego has a gift of sleep. She can fall asleep on the kitchen counter and she would be fine.

' The last time they pulled me out of an exam room I broke down and could not say anything.' Said I.

" I want you to go and talk to them like an adult, and state your case, refer to your grades." Said she.

I didn't have much practice
I had never been sent away from school for lack of fees, ever.

But I went and stated my case and got into the line up for scholarships.

A year later, Estah rang me. I was in some undisclosed location. My mental and emotional health quite a mess.
Hurt and completely destroyed and probably even running for my life.

She said I'm sending you cash to come back to the city. She did.

I wasn't ready
I needed to be alone in the open fields to clear my mind.

I got back to the city eventually wit ya clear mind and lighter emotions and Estah called to say she had a job for me.
Who does that?
Who is alive to support your mad schemes for decades?

But That's what she has always been, someone who has always seen my potential.

And put faith in me.

So last week she sent her daughter to my salon. My first hair treatment client.

I believe if I started selling charcoal Estah would order a gunia of charcoal and then look for a maize roasting trader and give it to him.

In 1997, my mother brought me Nivea lotion. I couldn't tell the difference between it and Vaseline Solea or whatever else was there to apply on my legs. But Estah saw it and told me: That's a very good lotion you have. We were in primary school.

In 2009, Estah took me to an expensive restaurant and said: order the Cabarnet Sauvignon, it's not too sweet  and she was right. It's the only wine I recognize.

And all my life I don't think I'll ever meet someone that's got it together as she has, yet she remains modest.

So my big sister has got me,

In spirit of the Cisster Brand let me hear those bookings coming in..

Incomplete Guide to Cooking Food- Tomato Soup

My heart has been aching a lot lately. I've been pushed to a corner I have never ever ever been and I'm trying to accept it without going under.

I could go under.

But I haven't 

I have something that always brings me back.

Soup.

With Creed, Three Doors Down, Dashboard Confessional 

In the background telling me-

'I'm six feet from the edge

Can anyone see me down here

Just on more step I beg You please

Just one more breath I beg you please.'

One day this week I really almost went under. I was out all day with people and I really needed a moment to cry. I have become quite a cry baby lately. When I can't find a spot to howl I drink tea instead. 

So I walked into Hermes Dairy to have a cup. Hermes is our neighborhood grandfather. He specializes in milk, in its various stages of life.

We love Hermes. He tells us many stories , when his wife is not around. But let's not talk about that but let us point out one important truth:  He has a beautiful daughter who makes great brown chapati.

I found my friend had checked in some minutes earlier and just finishing his first chapati.

I told him It was nice to see him but I had had a long day and would like to sit quietly before I can face anymore humans.

He said pole, 'have a chapati too.'

I said "no I'm fine."

And he smiled and said 'no, just have a chapati.'

Because my friends know if I say no to a chapati there must be something wrong. And if a chapati won't fix it we might have to look for more measures.

I had my chapati, quietly. And I was fine by the time I was done.
 And so I explained how I been bullied this big guy who mixed all his English tenses and felt threatened when a young boy with a nice hair cut asked for clarification.
'All of you lowlifes sitting in the back come here , hakuna kitu mnaelewa!'
A low life. Seriously?
It was quite unprofessional.
But there is a certain stage in life you find yourself where you have to interact with people you would otherwise never have to deal with.

And he told me how his supervisor had refused to approve his work and how annoyed he was feeling.

And we both felt better. 

Food does that.

It covers for what words can't cover.

It started to rain but it didn't matter.

When the mud has left your heart, you can wade in mud all the way home and your step will be light like a happy girl in summer.

Let us talk about food now.

Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to Cooking Food for People who live alone or with Cats and are Tired of Eating Ugali and Eggs every night.

I make a lot of soups. When my heart is in despair solid foods won't do. I need something that will get absorbed right away.

Today I will share 

my thick tomato soup recipe for days when your heart won't stop aching.

What you need:

3 Ripe Tomatoes 

2 Table spoonful of Tomato paste

One red hot chili pepper

2 cloves of garlic

Salt

1 teaspoonful sun flower oil (optional)

What to do:

Cut the tomatoes in half and drop then into two cups of boiling water

Let them boil until soft

Pound the garlic together with the chilli

Use the pestle to mash the tomatoes

Stir and scoop out the skins

Add salt

Add the tomato paste and stir

Add the sunflower oil

Stir in the garlic and chilli

Let it simmer for three minutes 

It should be ready.

I eat mine with bread or chips- check out the bread recipe from earlier this year.

Sent from my iPhone

Finding God: Can a father in heaven be trusted?

'The Rock, perfect is his activity for all his ways are justice. A God of faithfulness who is never unjust'

'But how can I trust him while he is a man Ayler? How can I call him - Father- when father to me means rejection, abandonment. How can I trust him?

' He is the Rock, and as long as you are standing on that rock, you can never be shaken. '

Jesus I knew. Me and Jesus were cool. I knew how he viewed and treated women. I knew he didn't have an ego.
But this Heavenly Father. I needed time.
And so he started to mend the painful spots.

He provided brothers. Young brothers who ask me for advice. Small brothers who celebrate my wins like they were their own.
And other brothers who tell me 'Cecilia you are wrong and you need to apologize to her ' while looking me straight in the eye.

And big brothers who tell me 'Cecilia you can do this, and look at the bigger picture and think of eternity and life after 1000 years and get out off that funk you are surfing on, and tell me HOW ARE YOU?'

When I was 19. My friend Lewis bought a double decker. He said I could sleep there any time I didn't wanna go home. And when his sister came he slept in the living room, his sister took his bed. I was his sister and could I get it into my little head I didn't have bring things when I needed to visit. He said that after hitting me on the head with the coconut I had brought from Malindi.

Then Ken came from Hargesia and he took me out of the house while I was living as a hermit, writing books.

Now I ask him "why didn't you take me home with you when I gave you the option? " He says he realised I needed looking after.

Mutua found me, and took me home to his mother and brothers. And introduced me to Jehovah, answering 19 years of accumulated questions. ' how about the law of Moses?' Says I.

'Learn the law of Christ Ciss, said he.

19 was a hard year for me. But I got past it. 2019 is a hard year for me. But I have my brothers around me . And slowly, I am beginning to accept that I have a father in heaven. He is a man, in my head yes.But that's okay, I don't mind.
A man can be trusted.

' The Rock, perfect is his activity. For all his ways are justice.'

In spite of things. Jehovah can still be trusted.

Your Incomplete and Shallow Guide to Cooking Food for People Who Live Alone or With Cats and Are Tired of Eating Ugali and Eggs every night

How to shallow fry a Samosa

2019 has been a year of firsts for me.
First time I got caught by the flying squad taking a selfie in a restricted area- I thought they would shoot me for real- but I don't  want to talk about it because I will appear quite stupid and then you will not even buy my incomplete recipe guide book when it comes out.

One thing I can assure you, a pink phone cover is like a phone insurance and you should invest in one because it will get you out of trouble. The three cops turned it around and around, looked at me, one shook his head and laughted at me- I think I was looking pretty shaken.
Then asked ' what type of phone is this?' Rhetorically.

My other first was the robbery. About a month ago. We were coming from meetings and as usual I could hear my keys but could not reach them so as I was shaking my bag and searching through this enormous bag I carry three muggers came and said 'cooperate or get shot.'
The one that took my bag searched for my wallet and couldn't find it. He got tired I suppose.
There was a Banana peel inside, very ripe tomatoes and I think the milk was dripping a little so he said ' just find the wallet for me and give it to me.' At one point he was holding my phone. But when I got into the house it was right there in my bag.

My friend says it looks like a brick game.

My other first was, one day recently I got very bored. I never get bored. What I get is anxious because of all the shenanigans I need to do and end up sleeping at 3a.m because I just realised my cream lace dress would look better with a silver colored lining and here I am ripping off a lining from that oversized dress I bought to stitch in to this one that I must wear tomorrow.

I got bored. It was a very strange feeling.
Then it occurred to me that I am finally finding contentment somehow. I am less restless.

If you are still with me here's the recipe.


One cup of white flour
Half teaspoonful salt

Dhania (3 bunches)
Minced meat 800gm
One big Leek onion with green leaves.
Four red hot chili peppers
One beef cube.

How to make the filling

Put the beef in a cooking pan and stir until it starts to stick to the pan
Add the leeks and stir some more
Add oil and let it cook
You can sprinkle some water- a little, like one spoon.
Add the beef cube and keep stirring
Add salt
Add the chillies
Remove from the fire then add the dhania and stir it in.

Let it aside to cool down as you make the covers. Tuziite tu covers.

Make a dough that's light and easy to spread
Cut it into tiny balls the size of a bottle cap
Roll out the first one
Spread oil on it
Roll another piece on top of it
Press the sides all around at one inch intervals with your finger to leave room for air in and out.
Cook one side on a pan,
Turn it over
As it cooks try peeling the one on top
Now flip the sides that were inside and cook them lightly as well
Cook all sides but not to a crispy state.
Remove and cut into half
It doesn't always come out perfectly.

The more you cook the more you learn to live with imperfections and the more you start to appreciate taste over appearance.

Fold the half twice to make a pocket.
Using a paste made out of flour and water, seal the edges.
Put in the meat mixture as per size of the pocket
Leave enough room to enable you to fold over.

Take a normal frying pan and pour a thin layer of oil to cover the entire surface
Roast  your samosas on this oil.
Just slightly.
Eat all of them in one sitting.

I really think Samosas are underrated.
Let's say you are sitting over there with a plateful of chips and tomato sauce
And she is having a cup of tea na Sambusa mbili
Then you both go back and sit in front of your excel sheets.
Let's guess who will get up before 3.00pm to look for coffee and ground  nuts?

I was making and selling Samosa at one point in my life. It was a lot of work and no financial profit, but we got to eat the ones that didn't sell so. Food is a good idea. I suppose a good business is not too bad compared to selling tea picking baskets. Imagine walking around with three of those things and then going home having sold none and you have to tie them to a nail beside our door because they cannot fit inside the house.

Plot 65: A Scandal

Scandal in plot 65: When death from a teacher's beating was chosen over a suspension.

In the village where I grew up, it was normal for people to call each other names.
Think of any wild animal.
Any ugly looking animal.
It was fine.
Just don't call anyone a dog.
A dog was the mother of all insults.

If you were a student at Mitero Primary school, having a physical fight with someone and the word dog slipped out. The fight scaled to a new level. You stopped the physical fight and got into a word fight about your mothers and fathers and it got so ugly you had to call for support from boys from Kihuhīhīro Primary school, they were the baddest. They would come and beat up the side that had called the other ' dog'  and they would beat up everyone even remotely related to them.
So you could not say the word dog aloud.

A dog is called Ngui
This dog in Kikuyu is Ngui īno
These dogs are Ngui ici
Thin rowdy dogs are Magui maya.

And now it had got out that we had said that a teacher had called the standard four students 'dogs'
We had to define which dog.

"Did he say which one?" Our evening tuition teacher, my aunt asked.
'Yes, he called them thin mongrels.'
'So it was class four East?'
My cousin asked.
'Yes, but he is also our Kiswahili teacher so I'm sure he will call us too.' I proudly expressed.

I had just got into class four and had privileges. We now used ink pens and had music lessons. We ate school lunch- Supro- basic boiled githeri.
We also spoke in English.
By first term we had picked up the important phrases like.
'Please teasher can I go out.'
'Please give me a dot.'
A dot was a drop of ink your desk mate put for you when ink in your pen ran out.
So I felt important, superior and better than my cousins who were still using pencils to write. Casper was speaking Kiswahili , being in class three but Kui was still learning Kikuyu syllables in class one.
 N na G na W na A - Ngwa
Ala na E - Le
Ngware
Ngware is Guinea pig.

That's how we were educated. You first learned Kikuyu as a language, then the teacher used it to teach Kiswahili as a subject.
Then you learned Kiswahili as a language and it was used to teach English as a subject.
 Then in standard four you started to learn English as a language.
What you spoke after that was basically up to you. We mainly spoke Gīnglish, a direct translation of Kikuyu to English.

So I proudly told my cousins the teacher had called the students dogs in English.

The most reserved teacher in the school had called students- Magui.

So here were are, Casper and Me in the staff room. He is begging for mercy from his teacher.

He is a class behind me so his class teacher is dealing with him. But I am in class four and I have to speak English and this is a case for the head teacher. The headmaster might write my name on the Black Book, and my criminal record will remain for generations.

Meanwhile one teacher is saying
'Surely Shishilia, what will your grand mother say? You used to be a good girl, what happened? Umemea pembe?'
I want to tell her
'Mwalimu tafadhali niue tu.'

A death from a teacher would be better I figured and would have told her as much if I wasn't completely tongue tied.
I was angry at my cousin.
How could he have let this out?
I was thinking of the many ways to make his life miserable once we managed to get out of this without having my grandmother come to school.
That was the priority . Shushu could not come to school at any school.
I could just imagine appearing at the gate and finding my Shushu getting into the sheep's pen with a load of weeds as high as herself and me telling her 'I did something wrong you have to come to school .'
Anything but that.

'Eh, all the books that have been written you have finished! All that is remained now is to talk about teachers. Weeee, chunga sana.'
She would say
Then she would start a prologue
' you children, play with education. Play with education completely. Me my father did not take me to school. That is why I have to scratch this ground from morning to evening with this panga. You you want to play. Do you have a shamba? Me my husband got me this shamba. You where will you do if you don't read? Eh? Me if I had read I would have done better, so it is your loss if you don't want to read. Me my work I have done. Have you ever slept hungry?'
'No.'
The lecture went straight to the brain and made you feel more pain than if she actually took a rod and canned you.

Now I was in the staff room being caned. This hand, then that hand, then  some more scolding from other teachers.
Casper pleading for his life
'Mwalimu please usinichape sitarudia kusema uongo.
We had lied, we said.
The teacher we had spread the rumour about now to took us out of the staff room for proper questioning.

'Shishilia, did you hear me call anyone Mongrels.'
'No teacher, someone said you did.'
'Who is this and what class are they in?'
'Mwalimu this person is not even in this school, so I am sure it's a lie.'
I was not going to say where I had heard it from.
The upper classes had a mobile library. I had managed to wriggle my way into borrowing story books at lunch time. So, I heard things.
I shot my cousin a glance again to tell him 'dare you say this is not true.'

'My aunt from Marmernet told me. '
Said I.
'What is the name of this aunt?' The teacher quizzed
'Leah, ' said I
'  She was a student here, many years ago.' I continued, 'and when she came to visit us and I said the name of our Kiswahili teacher she said that.'

'When will this aunt come again?'
' Maybe At Christmas Mwalimu but she was pregnant so she might not come this time.'

I am sure he read through the weak story line but I had given it my all.

'You will have to go and call your Shushu to come.'
'Woooi Mwalimu please we are sorry. Beat us. Then punish us.
Please please please don't ask us to call Shushu.'

We got off, I thought we got off easily and we didn't talk about it until two days later, on coming home I heard Shushu telling her friend.

'Shiriba, these are not children. These are trials. What shall I do? I will die completely.'
And Shushu Shiriba was saying.
' Ah, children? Children are like that. They lie sometimes but they don't mean harm.'

'No no aaaai. They will make demons come out of me!'

I knew that suddenly, the peace had vanished from our home. We were finished.

Shushu is smart and she can play with your mind hadi you tell her things you didn't intend for her to know but because she is acting like she knows everything you just confess.
So for two days she didn't say anything, until Friday night when she was putting us to bed.


I was the eldest so when the two slept a flood of pinches fell upon me.
' You hypocrite of a child. You think I don't know! You think I don't know anything! You have embarrassed me this entire region. What kind of a child are you? Do you have a good head? Eh? I'm asking you? What is this I've heard?'
So the story came out
I couldn't try the story about Aunt Leah on her. So I told her the truth.
I had heard it from a boy. The boy was in standard seven. This was his name.
'Eh? What business do you have being with boys! Let me ever catch you listening to boys. Ihīī? Look at her! '
A few more pinches. A few more dirty looks. Then she added ' from today I never want you to listen to boys stories. And women stories too. Mind your own business.'


Many times, after my cousins left and I was alone again. My Shushu would be in the middle of a story with some woman, I would be sat there, one hour, two hours and I was not supposed to listen.
I learnt to day dream. I guess that is the reason why I end up zoning out when I am with my people. I could be sat in a group of people and I have no clue what they are talking about . I rather prefer it though. I can swig in and out of small talk without commitment.

Casper got his beating the following day. He was given a different  law , to keep things spoken within plot 65 in.

How the story got out was, being the newsmaker he was, he decided to find out whether the teacher called students other insults apart from dogs. And who better to ask than the teacher's daughter. Lol.
We had suddenly become the scum of the earth, but it only lasted a short while before we did something else more bigger than the one before.

Shushu Shiriba suggested my Shushu to join her church so she could attend Wednesday prayer meetings, an advice which she took as we reached adolescence and became bigger trials.

Tell me about yourself

I went for an interview last week and the following day my entire body ached. I didn't get the job but fair enough. When I got in and sat in with other hopefuls, I thought  why am I here? I might as well have applied for a job at the slaughter  house.

So Cecilia, please explain to us how to slaughter a cow.

Well, first you get some scissors. A shaver might work but you don't want to startle the cow too much.
Then you tie the cow to a tree or a pole. Then shave a clean line around the cow's neck, about two inches wide.
Then wash off the shaved hair.

So I turn to the man on my left and ask him what did you sign up for? He says volleyball.
The girl in my left, rugby
The one next to her is a boxer
And the two playing a quick game on the table tennis are dressed in Athletic's Kenya approaved sport wear.
I'm sitting here in my city librarian clothes, and lipstick and I'm sure I'll fail this interview
Should I just go home?
I have tights in my bag and a top I bought yesterday written Addidas on it, And a swimming costume.
In case they ask me to swim, Coz I said I'm a swimmer.

They said carry sports wear.
Ok maybe my email said carry, but everyone else's said come in sports wear.

When the interview begins my hopes begin to rise. It's a question and answer session and then a team workshop. I am in a team with the rugby girl and the boxer, the volleyball couch and some quick thinking boy that knows all the answers. There is another boy too. I think he said he is a runner.
I decide this is it, and give it a good go. The one I
At least something I can participate without having to move about.

They later ask us to change and get to the field.

I have a slight panic.
It's now sunny and I was hoping I'll be tested for swimming.

But we are going into this field
I fear balls
And cages
And many people in a cage running after one ball.
I never played crowded games.
When I have been in a swimming pool and someone decided oh let's add to this madness, and they introduce a ball. That's my cue to go out and read a book.
And here we are in a cage and rugby girl is shouting to me
'Macho kwa Mpira!'
Several times.
I can't see the ball,
And  my glasses might break.
I don't wear glasses but just imagine if I wore glasses. There would be no saving them here.
How do you see such a tiny ball when everyone is running about with such excitement.

But they give us lunch after and we begin the one on one interviews.


It's also then that they tell you you are hired or not.
I liked that.
What's the point of sending me home to wait for two weeks just to tell me I didn't qualify.
So my interviewer said I was a great team player full of ideas but I lacked vitality.
I didn't defend myself.
I didn't tell him I exercise once a month, for five minutes.
But he said they were looking for someone fully involved in swimming who could guide buyers. A Michael Phelp of sorts.


I cried in the matatu. Because I was the first person in it and the next passenger came 25 minutes later so what was I to do with a whole half hour?
 I was disappointed, but not in a - not again I'm never even gonna get a job way - just, man this is taking longer than I expected and this is September Jehovah tufanyeaje sasa?

On the positive side of things I have had two great interviews, Opera News was very professional we only disagreed on   working  hours. Decathlon was great for quick feedback, and for both I felt it was a matter of getting the right person for the job.

Not those jobs you start where everything fits in the right places and two weeks after boss turns to you and asks 'halafu?'
'Halafu what, stupid man?

Plot 65: Put a bunch of sharp tongued introverts and watch the smoke rising.

Tata and Cūcū preparing to feed these 'thankless children of human beings'

Plot 65: Put a bunch of sharp tongued introverts together and watch the smoke begin to rise.

So when my bro saw the nigga story he said I should mention that inspite of the expletives, the adults in our family are religious. And it can be proven by how quickly our grandmother calls out to Maria whenever she is in danger.

She will be chewing her dry sweet potatoes, without tea and chokes from her own saliva.
'Maria!' She calls out.
'What is it?' Some one will ask.
'Ah, is it not this small sweet potato that wants to kill me.'
'But cucu si I said I there is tea you said you don't want?'
'Ah, cold tea, I don't want heartburns' she will explain and choke again. And dare you laugh, or not say pole.

'Ng'undeno! You are just sat there watching me die and you can't warm for me tea? Mbūri!'

Ng'unda is a donkey
Mbūri is a goat

So you quickly run behind  the house to get some tiny pieces of sticks to kindle the fire and warm her tea.
You come and warm her tea but by that time she has finished the sweet potatoes.
So you venture to say, 'Shushu let me just drink the tea.'
'Ngūrwe! Nongīmuona!' When I drink tea it is the same as if it spilled on the floor eh? You thankless child phu!'
So you pour her the tea and walk away feeling like the ass she has called you.

Ngúrūwe is a wild pig.
And rightly so. I have often felt like a wild pig. Black, Misplaced And nocturnal.

Enter Mzeiya. He is wearing a green bullet proof trench coat . He calls them bullet proof because he wears them to avoid being pricked by Napier grass.

He is also perpetually in gumboots:

Favorite names to call those around him
Thegere- a type of Columbus monkey
MbúkÚ-wild hare
Toad
Wakahare-squirrel
Nūgū-baboon
Blarryfakini

'Ah you people are just sitting here and you cannot think to warm water for milking? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
'I'm closing my eyes And before I open them I want those cows in the shed ready to be milked! Says he.
You run to get some more fluff to light a fire and put on water to warm then run the 500m to get the cows.
' Did anybody remember to give water to the calves?'
We Kihii hiki! Njaū ciatinda ūguo itanyuite?!
Sege!

And then when the milking is done the strainers cannot be found anywhere.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Enter shush
Nyina Mūnyeki? Have you seen my panga?
'You had it yesterday. Have you checked behind the door?
' Gūtirī handū itarorete, hiūranītie guothe. '
'Gūtakīrī mūndū ūingīrīte kūu.'
'Ah, basi imepotea. Ndūkihe ga ithe wa mūnyeki.'


Enter Irūngū
Irūngu and Irūngū wa Beth

' Ihīndu! Muuma kū?'
Then she starts to tickle them
'Ah Shushu we tiga mathako'
'Ngūmūkunyanga Kinya mugīrīrie.'

Enter Munyeki
'Iii grandmother'!
'Grandmother uūkūria kana ūikie ikūmbī?'

Kīiritu kia Nyawira. Nīwoka.
Ah Shushu me I am not A girl like that.
'Ng'unda! Wī kīirītu! I carried you on this back in plant in season. Shame on you.

And then we all sit around the fire waiting for the Mūkimo to boil as we listen to matangazo ya vifo (obituaries) on Kameme fm 

Rabaero, the gunslinging duck that must have been a captain in the Vietnam war, or something.

We used to have  the above animal.
We called him Rabaero (lafaelo)
I'm not sure why we had him because he wasn't exactly a pet nor could he be counted among the livestock.
He was just there. Constantly chasing all of us around the compound like a mad person.
You had to watch your back.

If you came in from the back gate without a big stick ole wako because there you are happily walking in with a bunch of carrots and leeks, you bend by the tank to wash off the soil and punde si punde you get a kick on your bottom.
You look up and there is this gunslinging duck ready to kick you in the face.

So you either screamed for help or run as fast as you could to the front gate and exited the compound.
And there you would remain, locked out until uncle came in. Rabaero would be under the granary acting like nothing happened.
I was in my 20s by the way at this time.
We all got kicked. Shushu got kicked while bending  by the
Utensils rack scrubbing sufurias.
She called on to Maria! For help. But when she turned around and saw it was Rabaero disrespecting her. She called him a badly behaved ass( ngunda īno ītarī handabu!) and threw the contents of the previous night's ugali pot at him.

Tata got kicked,  coming in from the farm with a big pile of dry bean plants. She chased Rabaero into the chicken house and told him 'you will stay there until you behave.'
So he was locked up for a week but she felt sorry for him because he was always hungry and the maize she fed the chickens in the morning was not enough , or he was too big to peck at the grains as fast as the chickens. I can't remember what she said but soon Rabaero was out in the compound terrorizing all of us including the dogs.
When our small cousin would be getting out to go to school, someone had to accompany him to the gate, else he would chase him all the way out to the gate and continuously kick him as he tried to open the gate.

His brother would carry a big stick around to keep crazy Rabaero in check.

The only person safe from attack was uncle. He had said one day to his wife  in a very loud voice
'Mayangai nyina wa Mūnyeki rīrīa rūbata rūrū rwaku rūkahūūra ihaati no kūrūtema ngarūtema
(The day your gunslinging duck kicks me I shall cut it into pieces)
Rabaero heard him, loud and clear and he kept away from Uncle's path.
Then the roosters began to copy him.
Now we had a butt kicking gunslinging duck and roosters that could throw a proper knock out punch
 - great-
We thought maybe it was the datura thorn Apple plant growing in the chicken house that was causing this behaviour.
When the seeds burst the chickens would feed on them.

Then we thought maybe he was lonely - Rabaero that is-
So aunt went and found him two females.
He would match them proudly around the compound like a certified polygamist.

But that is how it was always been with our animals. They could open doors and gates and Once, after he had been away for a week, Our Dog Tom brought back a bag that had a thermos with tea in it and two Mandazi.

I am not sure what happened to Rabaero, he was not home when I last went. I miss him somehow, he was like a badly behaved family member who you miss after they leave.

Mathree Route : He only had a single pick up line

"You must have had a long day at work."
He says to me
and I say 'I am from a meeting.'
He says, " It must be a meeting that brought you lots of money."

I want to ask him how he has come to such a conclusion but
I don't want to talk.
The matatu is playing rubbish music at an extraordinary volume
I am tired and pms just kicked in  I'm grumpy and I don't feel like shouting at 9.00pm.

But he is one of those tall, dark, glass wearing, 30 somethings you see in town who actually look good in a suit. From the seaside of course . God help the girl.
His breath is fresh too so I don't want to be the typical natural hair Nairobian girl snob with a chip on her shoulder because her Mikalla order just arrived and she can't wait to get home to try it.

I had seen him check me out when we were getting into the matatu and I expected him to be seated next to me before I could find my seat belt.

And here he is now with a single pick up line.

I can guess what he's gonna say. He will probably ask me if I am going to Umoja 1 or Innercore, he will brag about his long day at work and how he doesn't know what he will eat when he gets home. He will ask me if I live alone and if I have eaten already. And when I tell him I'm getting off at Market he will tell me he is getting off at Peacock but he can walk me home. Then he will take my number . I will give him my Telkom line so he doesn't start sending me 11mb video clips on whatsapp.

After one week he will get frustrated because I have only  replied to one of his texts and then he will move on with his life.

"I am from a Christian meeting, I am a Witness."
I say and wait to see his reaction
He will probably say oh, me too I am a Christian. Then he will say he has relatives who are of the Seventh Day church.
' So you witness about Jesus?'
He says, looking straight ahead.
I don't get what he's saying so here we are now with our heads together.
Him shouting 'what I think is  ''Jesus'
And me going 'huh?'
We give up after a few try's.

We sit side by side, he wants to ask me things.

I look at him and spell out '
'What is your job?'
He tells me he is a lawyer with a glint in his eye, I can see it. Or maybe it's the Lighting in the bus caught up in his glasses.
I ask 'what kind of a lawyer?
A criminal lawyer or Business lawyer.'
He looks at me Like I am quite an idiot who should be taking evening classes on general knowledge instead of going for those meetings that don't produce a lot of money.

' Yes I am an advocate.'
"So you go to court?" I ask in my most idiotic voice. I don't mean to be idiotic, it's just when someone says they are an advocate I am not sure if we can really have a conversation anymore.

He says
 'Yes.'
Then he looks straight ahead but   I can see his eyes. Peripheral vision.
Man! Then the giggles come. They start deep in my stomach and start to shake me .
I want to ask him a serious question like, 'so do you watch Suits?'
And then tell him how great the ties in episode 5 looked.
If he is an older  audience I have my back up conversation starter pack. I can tell him how awesome it was when Ally, in Ally Macbeal wore mixed patterns that looked like Kitenge.
He'll probably ask how come I was allowed to watch Ally Macbeal at that age.
I don't ask him about Suits. We just sit.
He with his peripherals, me wth my giggles.
I want to ask him if he has a card or something in case I commit a crime and need an advocate.

I am among the last to get out. When I ask him to excuse me he walks to the door ahead of me, then he changes his mind and sits on one of the chairs close to the door. I get off and hope that one day he will learn to have more than one pick up line.
In case he meets a girl who is more obliging.

Self care and my steps to living mindfully: How pride and independence affects your thankfulness.

Independence

I have always been an independent woman. I take care of my bills, I take charge of situations and most times I really do have enough to not need extras from other people.
I grew up having more than most kids my age had and often, my grandma would be giving away clothes I was barely out of to neighbours for their children.

When I got into college, the universe shifted a little. Here I was thousands of miles away from home trying to figure out new currency. I was in class with kids whose parents served  in the government or in the military. The rest belonged to a ruling class in Western African countries and had real titles like Prince.
They drove Audis, Jeeps and other big cars. I rode in the free bus provided by the state I lived in. Sometimes I got home late when the bus driver, seeing only Africans at the bus stop sped off without stopping.

At times I shared a cab with the Iranian man and the girl from Kuwait in my Broadcasting unit who lived downstairs.

My housemate was this sweet thing that was studying design and she made the house quite comfortable. We had rugs and cushions and differently colored walls.
In my second semester, I still had not bought any new clothes. I was still wearing my khakis and gray Tops and brown coconut husk bangle to class.

One evening she handed me a shopping bag with new shorts, a new huge top and a new handbag.
That was the new style.
I would have looked quite hot in the outfit.
Within the week she gave me a maroon dress.
My deskie in Communication unit teased me and said I must have a boyfriend else why did I so suddenly start wearing dresses to class?

The following week my housemate invited me for dinner at the boathouse. I said yes then said no thanks when she said- my treat.

Pride

I didn't want to be given all the time.
It was making me feel small.
And beggarish
So I told her 'don't give me things anymore since I have nothing to give you.'

Yeah. I said that.

It was quite offensive to her. She was Arab you see, and Arabs, at least the ones I know believe in sharing and distributing and what you have is mine and what I have is yours sort of set up.

I still didn't learn.
And even when things have been tough other the years I never learned how to accept things from people. Because - sasa atanionaje-

When you don't ask, people assume you are fine.
When you say no thanks I'm ok people stop trying.

When you feel you are in a superior position, the benefactor, mfadhili and the source of all good things, you get to a point of intense independence that no one can pull you out from. Independence breeds pride.

'I don't need anything from anybody.
I have everything I need.
People thank me, for my gifts.'

But you really miss out on a crucial human element of interaction.
You never learn to say thank you.
You never lack anything so intensely that the moment you get it you really would like to do a dance around the house.
Or really give the person that 'sorted' you a good firm handshake full of thanks.

Your relationships don't run deep.
And you start to develop :


Entitlement.

You feel like the world owes you.
Your parents owe you.
Your siblings owe you.
Your boss owes you.
Your neighbours owe you.

If they do not bow and curtsy whenever you pass along then they have personally attacked you.

We of course don't bow anymore but there are other ways.

How important is your opinion?
How readily do you force it down others throats?
How do you feel about those that dismiss your opinion to only buy Whiskas for their cats?

Lack of exposure

When you are independent, possessing high opinions and possibly unaware that you fit the description of a proud person, it's very likely you live in a bubble.

You have no idea that if you came home one night and realised you don't have matches in the house you can simply knock on your neighbours' door and ask for three matchsticks and it would not make you a beggar.
So you go to bed hungry or call an Uber to take you to the mall for matches.

I have missed on many opportunities to show gratitude when I was too quick to say 'no thank you I'm fine.'

Friendships

How do you maintain friendships without any of you taking advantage of the other?
I at one time had the faulty idea that friendship was better maintained by only meeting up when both of you were in their best mood, dressed up in your best dresses, with purple lipstick.

But I have learned that true friendship also thrives on gratitude. And gratitude, in turn, grows out of periods of needing each other.
You know when it's date 17 when you would rather not have visitors because you only now have that brown chapati flour and two garlic blurbs in your vegetable shelf but your friend appears in your house with a bag of soko ugali and a bunch of edible greens?

Or when you have been biting your nails because you said something stupid to your friend and you are not sure if you will be forgiven and you are too old to start making new friends so you just sit there calling yourself all sorts of names Coz you blew it.

Then your friend sends you a whatsapp meme and asks you if you want to work together on Thursday and you realise you are forgiven?

That kind of gratitude.

Coz yes you needed that maize meal and yes you admit you said something stupid but you are willing to never be stupid again. Because you treasure this friendship.

You don't learn gratitude in theory. It is not from perfunctory thank you phrases in high pitched voice.

You learn gratitude when you learn to cohabit with other living beings.
Because you will need something from someone one time.
And if you are this independent human being with a backup plan for everything, kwisha wewe.
Kwisha Mimi too because I am only learning this now.

Profile: The Constantly Constant Maureen K

This is Maureen K.
Maureen is constant.

If you decided to go to America to find a job and then your visa expired and you lived incognito for 23 years somewhere in Los Angels and then you somehow managed to find false papers to come back for a short visit to your relatives, you would still find her the same. But you, you would look out of place in your American clothes because this is Kenya and we keep up with the Kardashians.


 I think 23 years is enough for you to be rubbed off the family records.. ? And they start talking to you as when nanii  was alive.

Maureen, when she walks, she seems to be receiving interpretations to prophesies or revelations to things that will happen in the future so she has this smile that says, yes I'm listening mortal man but..
'I have food you do not know of'

I would like to say we are friends but I am not yet there. To be Maureen's friend you have to have reached a certain level of Zen, where all the elements: earth, sky and water are in balance.
I think it's called poise.
Her friends have poise
She has two friends. Dennis and Mambo. The rest of us are aspiring to be her friends.
She has two skirts, a maroon scarf and one full neck sweater. And a hat

She also has two sisters and I've been thinking if I was friends with her I might be able to request one of her sisters to teach me how to dance to 90's Hiphop.
I Donno if she knows how to but she looks like she might. Like the girl from that dance movie what was it- the dance one that had a really hot black dude?

I like Maureen because she makes sign language beautiful.
You know how some people sign and you wander:
Are they in pain?
Do they have indigestion?
Are they trying to remove a tiny piece of meat between their teeth but it's refusing and they are trying to remove it while hoping you don't notice?
Do they have an involuntary spasm going through their arms and upper body?
I am included in that description.

I admire Maureen because she has mastered the capsule dressing technique while the rest of us have three suitcases of  dresses and even after spending half an hour mix and matching we still end up looking like we were launched out of a racial street parade festival in Brazil.

I mean me.

Maureen is also a great cook. Not of big ugali and large pilaus but of Oriental sounding dishes like Quiche.

So now you have met Maureen and I know your life has improved.

This Chic: Destination Canaan but oh wait sorry wrong turn.

I got these flowers to commemorate my 8th month of unemployment.

Pardon me, this is one of those real posts that give someone an unpleasant feeling.
I promise to write a happy one soon which you can like.

During these 8 months I have gone through the three stages of unemployment mental status.

1. Destination Canaan

This is the Greener pastures stage.
This is the stage where I was saying ,  I'm settling for nothing less than my worth.
I am gonna get full value for my experience and age and hard knocks of my former life.

'A son should earn more than his father after all.'

And why should I waste my life in a job that doesn't pay me enough to afford a tiny car to do my rounds?

And as woman of three and 10, living from paycheck to paycheck? It goes against nature.
Plus a hundred other philosophies.

'Show me the money,'
said I.
And if the money was not to my liking I turned up my nose and said it was nice meeting you but this is where our paths end.

2. The fighter stage

When I got to this stage I stuck my chest out and clenched my fists.
So you won't give me a job world?
I will show you!
Ata I don't need that job.
I am a survivor.
And so of course, I worked very hard.

Every small kibarua I got I gave it attention. I tried new things,
I remembered skills I had acquired  and was putting them into use.
When the hard earned money would slip out of my hands as soon as it came I started thinking that actually my former paycheck was not that bad even if it just took care of rent and bills.

So maybe I could take a similar job for a similar pay and in another five years I'll still need a KCB-Mpesa loan to get me to the end of the month.

(This would be a good point to cry very much)
3.
The Pambana na Hali yako stage

So eventually you notice you have just sent out your 174th job application with an edited cover letter and updated CV.

You attend your 10th interview and three weeks later they don't call so you realise just because you did an interview doesn't mean you will get hired in 2019.

So what to do but  tupambana na hali yako the best  way you can?

Random person: Hiii!! How are you Cecilia?
Me: (with a smile like the sun itself) Heeeeey! Never been better!
Random person: How is work?
Me: Great! How is life?



Friend: Hey Ciss how are you?
Me: Not sure
Friend: I drew you a picture, see below
Me: awwww, just what I need to get through another day
Friend: I know, hang in there.

Three reasons you should put Diani beach on your bucket list

Diani Beach along the Kenyan Coast has been described as a tired traveler’s resting point.

While it boasts a clean, white sand beach and clear blue waters like many beaches around the world, it adds to its attraction by being placed in a peaceful, modern and green town. On one side, you can go clubbing in the bustling town, on the other end you can decide to watch the sunset with the sound of oncoming waves in your ears.

There are, however, three major attractions that deserve exclusive mention:

Where The Congo River meets the Sea

The Kongo river comes down from the Shimba Hills, located North East of Kenya. As the massive river makes its the way through villages and smaller towns, quiet valleys and earth’s hidden crooks, it finally comes to the mangrove forest that fences the Sea’s edges. Any silt collected from its journeys is filtered, to ensure that, only a clean, clear river meets the salty sea. It is a beauty to watch when the river comes rushing in, and on one side, the waves clapping their hands to receive the newcomer.

If you have never swum in a river, then here is a good opportunity. You can swim in the river all day without the fear of getting drowned. You will no doubt be exhilarated to feel the current rush you into the salty waters ahead. There is ample packing on the beach too next to the Kongo Mosque.

All along the beach, you will find boat services to go deep-sea diving, snorkeling or simply a tour of the seas. Grab the chance to observe creation in its natural underworld.

Variety of Resorts and Cottages

In the last few years, The Kenya Tourism industry has upped its game in the provision of safe, secure and global standards of tourism amenities. As such, the standard of accommodation you will find on Diani beach will be what you bargained for and a bag of chips. You can make a booking online for transport and accommodation. There are numerous Airbnb available as well as cottages for rent for a night, a weekend and even up to a month.

For the international traveler, you will find that the local hotels are well equipped to handle your requests as they come. To increase flexibility, you can either chose to hire a car or utilize uber services. Shorter distances can be accessed via three sitter vehicles called Tuk-Tuks.

When you hire a cottage, you have the option to cook your own food, which brings us to the next wonderful point.

Diani Beach Town Mall

As much as you are out in nature getting earthed, you may want to come out on an evening and take a stroll through the town. In its smooth, a laidback style common to coastal towns, you will be able to have a slight glimpse of local culture. If you are adventurous to try the street food, it comprises of fried fish, roasted peanuts and deep fried potatoes ( viazi karai).

At the market, you will get fresh produce Carrots, potatoes, peas, tomatoes, and onions can be had as you take in the vibrant energy that gives life to a market. The Naivas shopping Mall hosts among others, a large supermarket, an electronics shop, as well as a wine shop. Now you have your supplies, grab a tuk-tuk and go back and cook out a storm.

Why not have a barbecue by the pool if your cottage provides one?

Certainly, there is much to be had by visiting Diani beach this holiday season.

The Shallow and Incomplete Guide to Cooking flour, meat and rice for people who live alone or with cats an are tired of eating ugali and eggs every night.

Cookies

First, a story.

When I was five or six my neighbour's grandchildren would come visiting from an exotic sounding town called Molo. Since their last born daughter was my age, we would hang out.

Those were luxurious day for a villager.

They had tea at 10 o'clock and at 4 O'clock.

At 3.00 pm her mom and aunt would bake cookies in the big mabati oven that stood between the outhouse and the kitchen.

Big cookies that when you took a bite into one you then had to chew slowly and swallow pole pole.

This was served with masala tea.

How do you get to be so posh like that in Kieni West and why didn't we ever try to construct that oven at home? 

I Donno.

But I guess certain people have a certain stylish way of doing things.

Or maybe I am biased towards anything that seems even remotely British.

Here I curtesy.

So today I am thankful for this cookie recipe by Jen Phanomrat

Because when I tried it, they came out exactly as those cookies from my childhood.

What you need:

1 egg+ 1 yolk

1 and 1/2 cup of flour

1 teaspoon baking powder 

3/4 cup of sugar

1/2 teaspoon of salt

2 teaspoonful of vanilla extract

8 tablespoons of unsalted butter/ Margarine.

I didn't use all that sugar nor that amount of magarine but go ahead and use all the sugar you like.

Now what?

Mix the sugar and butter first until smooth, then everything else goes in.

Then end result should be a thick cream.

Scoop out using a spoon and place them on your hot pan.

Turn then around when firm on one side until both sides are cooked.

Leave them to cool down.

They won't be crunchy or pancakey they will be just right.

Serve with masala tea

This Chic: This is not my year, I give up.

And anyone who wants to get in line please do.
Every once in a while I hear someone scream 'this is my year y'all better watch out!!!'

Ok
I tried it, when I was 25 I said to myself ' this is your year, it has to be.'
And I got into a frenzy Doing this and that.

I was straight out of Digital Film Uni and I had an ego from here to Cyberjaya.
And in my first job interview, for a editing post I said I preferred to be an assistant editor. He didn't get why, but I got the job in 20 minutes.

I had spank but I was holding back a lot.
I wanted to tame my ego and my feelings of entitlement.

I also didn't  have any enthusiasm
For the work, writing about furniture wasn't exactly my main goal in life.

I just wanted to write books.
I wanted East African Book Publishers to call me and ask if I could work as a tea girl. Then I would interact with writers at lunchtime and sneak in my manuscript to a friendly editor one day and she would read it and be amazed that a tea girl could write so well and she would say
'We must get this published.'

And we would co-write a book and soon I would be signing my book at Sarit Centre.


After three months I asked if I could work as a staff writer, which they agreed and I moved from Nairobi thinking how I would wow them with my articles about 'Neglected colonial houses'
Or
'Colonial houses that would be as good as new with a bit of coating'

'The white highlands' monuments'

Blah blah

I was the only one interested in run down wooden structures from the past but I told the stories to my family and they laughter a lot .

Especially about one that was formerly a honeymoon getaway but now occupied by a religious minister and his wife.  When I had asked what the house was used for before he looked this way and that and shaking his head in sorrow  he said ' it had been used for unholy purpose.'
My aunt laughed out loud when I asked her what unholy purpose had been happening, supposing maybe it had been a brothel.

' No, it was a hotel and couples around here would book it on their wedding night.'

Cool.

I had thought.

It overlooked a great valley with flowering aloe vera and at the time of my visit, there were seasonal flowers, scattering the surrounding ground with white and blue.


So I started writing about Onion farming instead.

At 29 I told myself 'this is your year'
And I became a content consultant, whereupon landing a handful clients I settled into this relatively easy life Doing what I was trained to do and enjoying every bit but the pay.

At 30 I declared
'This is my year.'
But pretty soon realized it wasn't and every single time I said it after that, it wasn't.
(After 30 you don't count year by year. Every month counts)

So I declared, 'this is not my year !' two months ago, when I lost (every bit of everything I care about though that is a bit of exaggeration but it is true to some extent. I'll explain, by and by)

I decided to give up.
And to care less
And to lower my rubbish tolerance to about 1%
And to stop being nice

And I seriously recommend giving up.
What giving up does to you is not head you off to a hang line.  But I will talk about that another day.

'This is not my year, ' said I two months ago.

It didn't make me feel despondent as you would expect.
I looked at what I had lost and decided well, it could be worse.

By my age my mother had a teenager to pay school fees for.
And She must have worried about her aging Mother and her growing daughter.

And here I am worrying every year about my pay check.
Yet I have more than many my age and circumstance can claim to have.

I have always known I have stamina, confidence, beauty,positivity, cynicism  and  Intellect (this could be argued on depending on subject)

But I live in a society that wants you as a citizen of Venus to disregard what strengths you posses and highlight the one that requires the least effort.

But I learnt early that in spite of the big letters in blue ink, ' you cannot keep a cow if you are not going to kill it.'

And that was my loss, at least for many a formative years when I should have slung a Mars citizen on my shoulder to get me across the bridge. Rather, should have slung myself on their shoulder not the other way.

I'm glad for it though. I cannot be said to owe anybody other than those to whom I should without being coerced.

I mean my family .

Gosh. I was reading David Copperfield last night. I sound like a  classic costume drama.

Anyhow.
I took my strong qualities apart and thought ' if this is gonna end let it end in flames. Let it burn as brightly as we are.'

Thus the rebirth of my 60hour work weeks.
I work 10 hours a day
I sleep 7 hours a night
I do my usual shenanigans the rest of the time.(like this blog post; though very important it falls under the category of non-profit making activities of human occupation)

Admitting that this is not my year helped me to shed off the weight that one has to bear after affirmative resolutions.

And it not being my year doesn't mean now I'm a failure it just means my method are not working let's try another method.

It also brought me back to the question I've always asked myself, what do I really want to do with my life?

Being able to answer that question has propelled me to sift through job applications with a needle point.

I don't want to just work because I am a  30something and I should have a job and should earn this much and should have a plot in Kamulu and I should have at least a two burner and I should stop buying roasted maize in the street and I should try to act like A lady, a little? Maybe a little? No I will not.

I don't have to act anything
And you don't have to act anything when you are around me either.
Coz this is not my year and I expect nothing.
Nothing but the real real stuff.

Coz I got this.