emotions

This week. I’ve had the same amount of highs and lows. They ended up canceling each other so I don’t feel much difference. You know when you experience exhilarating moments then have to cope with deepest of the deepest ones. And in your mind songs  like- away from the sun,3 doors and six feet from the edge, Creed. And you try to force good thoughts by Colby Cailat but it doesn’t stick, you actually donno the lyrics? Yep.

First my internet connection decided to siphon every single cent  that went into the modem. I was quite angry, I even changed to a different network which I’m  yet to understand the workings but everyone has been telling me Orange is great. It might be, but their internet  customer  care isn’t  that great.

I got a cheque for some work I slaved for last month. For two weeks I thought that money had drunk  the water(I wouldn’t receive it). The contact I wrote it for died before the project was finished.  When someone dies with your debt, you are not so sure whether to pursue it or first send condolences.

Then I had the worst pms that had me cursing Adam and Eve, the cold weather and the lack of menstrual  Panadol around here, the pink ones, yeah.

But I had another high, connecting with a long lost loved one. 

Then when I thought all was going great I got the big idea to cook hard maize githeri. I bought a can of maize, a can of charcoal and set it to boil around 5pm. Lets just  say it was not even ready the following morning. I’ve been feeding on  that for the rest of the week for various reasons. It tasted better today.

It’s exciting to be away for two weeks, I’m going away for two weeks. Perhaps when I’m back I’ll be more balanced. I’m worried about leaving Mooze and Kajuju.  Especially Mooze, he’s  become quite dependent on me.  Typical mama’s boy.

I should have let the week end but I had to open my mouth and tell someone I now a place she could find work. This woman I buy oranges from needs someone to help her with cooking chapatti, githeri, bhajia. So I asked can I bring someone. Yes yes, please. She forgot to mention the person has to be hearing!

I felt the disappointment deep in me, as my deaf friend tried to smile knowing  very well she had  been turned down coz shez deaf. The feeling I had was a similar to one time I really needed a job and was asking about. My classmate Kim said they needed waiting staff at the café she worked.

I didn’t pursue it, but she told me again that her boss was waiting for me. We agreed a date and I went in to ask for Mr. Mumbo Jambo. Why was I looking for him? He wanted to know.

 I’m here for the job?

I said stting down. It was clear I wouldn’t get it. Kim forgot to mention I was black.

So Mr. MJ tells me a long story about the many people on the list for consideration. You’re Kenyan, my wife is from Uganda.  And how he was going to AFRICA next month.

Could you bring me a pack of tea when you get back? I asked with a smile that had a different shape behind.

It happened enough times that when our good natured student counselor mentioned jobs available for students, we simply clicked a tab to update our status.

Discrimination is a sad issue.

So I’m kinda mad, for my neighbor playing loud music too on a Sunday evening. Teenagers!

snatches

September

I’m glad July is over. I didn’t buy any books, it wasn’t very easy not to peep at all the titles in the streets…. I bought other important things  like food and a sweater that hangs like a mosquito net.

I don’t like August as much but it passes so quickly and before you know it it’s plum blossom and the world feels right again as  the September sun shifts on shades of pink and white, and the millions of stars on cloudless nights reminds you that there’s a higher being, and a creative one too.

In 2010, I witnessed  a rare experience. I had been passively watching the sky, the twinkling  stars, some still some on long journeys. Some a bright orange, others a cool purple. The plough, the only set of stars I know, on one side. Then one evening I looked and,,, the plough was on a different location. The entire sky  had shifted. You always hear about scientists telling about the sky and stars and other planets, but from down here, it’s hard to get it, how massive and expansive the universe is I guess at that moment I realized how small I am compared to the major things.

 This month I haven’t had music at all, after waving my hard drive bye bye, I lost motivation to listen  to music from CDs, coz it hangs, and I hate that. But I got  some Jazz- Dave Coz- the other day in my  flash disk and it was just wonderful. Then I was unearthing my CDs and realize I have two missing CDs and I can’t trace them- Sade and Vic Chou. And I passed by a music shop that had a big sign saying- We put your tracks into your flash as you wait- It’s one of those dusty faded music shops. You will find Hugh Masekela and Stevie Wonder in there. But it’s also one of those places headed for closure so they have eager sales men in navy blue aprons who want to know what you want to BUY the minute you sniff in. I want a  place where once you walk in you find cool music playing and you can listen to your select CD on headphones, at your own pleasure- why have they  got to wear navy blue Aprons?

I’ve been eager for the Olympics to start. I like to watch the gymnastics. And Ice skating. But the opening ceremony put me off kabisa. I had set my alarm to wake up and watch but I slept not many minutes later.

 I guess every other will always be compared to the Beijing one.

 And now that the games  have started, I realize I ‘ll end up youtubing them maybe next year Jan.

Positioning.

You can tell by the way he holds a cauliflower head that a mole has eaten from beneath. Also how fast he  can gather  a bunch of spinach with just the right turn of his finger. He is passionate about farming.

He’s a boy I went to Business college with. He was very involved in growing things  then, and it’s no surprise he has never picked up his certificates from the school. So when I nudged an invitation to see what he’s been up to, I got my camera and set off to Kĩng’eero(that’s the real name of the place) Coming from Kieni where if you decide  to plant cabbage you plant  2 acres of it.

 I was really impressed  by what he has done with his one acre. He has everything. Cucumbers, spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, brinjals, tomatoes, cabbage, green peppers, and  everything else  that goes by the  name of veggie for the  Kenyan market. At the market they call him kijana wa kila kitu-  young man with everything. He grows and drives his produce to the market, by 6a.m he is back from selling, with bulging pockets.

-Sometimes I feel like I’ve stolen from them- he laughs. He can make a very quick meal with the produce too. Everytime I spend time with a serious farmer, I feel sorry for all those families living in squeezed rooms in Soweto, earning ksh.8,000 while their father’s land overgrows with Mexican marigolds and datura thorn apple.

On my  way bank I passed by a bank to  ask about opening an account.   Figure if I saved a hundred bob every month, in a few years I will have a bit of cash to take a holiday somewhere sunny.

As I filled the form I asked for the terms and  conditions form  to read  through  before I  signed. She took sometime to find it.  Later  she asked me how come I asked for that- No one has ever asked for that. I said how I like to be sure about things. Then she asked what I do and I said I write. We had a nice  chat that went on close to two hours. She was really interested in me writing about Chinese cabbage growers and Japanese spare parts.

-How did you decide to become  a writer?

 Probably coz my uncle is such a story teller and I love reading.

-I wish I knew  what makes  me tick

But you are doing great in customer care

-Maybe, but all I can talk about is my customers. You are doing what you love

 You have a salary at the end of the month.

We laughed, at both ourselves I left at about some minutes to 7.

 I  was very interested in hearing about her acting when she was in school. Turns out she goes to FCC to watch plays and feels very alive while there. 

-So how  come you are in banking.

 I donno, I just found myself here.

 I laughed  when she told me what course she did in college, basically  something that sounded right to the general population.

254

Ignorance is a terrible thing, and I got caught out in this. So there is  this song by Rihanna, Ludacris and some rappers. It’s called – this party don’t stop- I’ve been hearing  it on radio since  last year but didn’t pay much  attention. So the other day  at my friend’s house  I asked for some music. I’ve decided to listen to Neo Soul, Lovers’ rock(love Reggae ), and Kenyan music for the next part of the year. After getting the Glen lewises, Norah Jones and Vivian Greens, he puts on a video and you can imagine my shock that that Rihanna song is actually by CAMP MULLA. I was blown away. These beautifu beautifu  (no typo)Kenyan kids making great music, and here I’m thinking I knew all about Kenyan music! I stand corrected, I felt like one of those people who after hearing a couple of Cold Play, Nickle back and Daughtry songs won’t stop telling you how great rock is and how you must listen to clocks by cold play and photograph by Nickle back and you’re thinking, no, I want Owl City, Ben Jelen and Bo Bice.

So, there are,  some good  mainstream music going round. My favourites: Just a Band, Harry Kimani, Kidum, Ken wa Maria, Sauti Sol, John Njagi, That Jazz guy, who plays the guitar and has an unlikely name for an artist, I think he’s Kevin or Mark, I’ll find out. But Kamande wa Kioi disappointed me with his almost inciting song, he should have stuck to his kapusi and belching in church lyrics. Makes me shudder imagining just how bloody the next election might carry on “shiver”

Then there is Liquideep. There are not Kenyan but I want to adopt them, they are South African. I love the beat to their music, they also don’t pimp their video’s much, kinda like –Just a Band- I like that, you get to concentrate on the music. Asa is someone else I’m coming to love, I hear she’s Nigerian, like Sade is but I don’t suppose she records in Nigeria?

 I once sat on a table, and someone bragged about Justin Beiber being his country man, I thought about mentioning Ezekiel Kemboi and Ndereba  and the huge tea estates in Kericho, the white sandy beaches and the delicious avocados, plums and sweet potatoes, then I thought, a no point, let me just have my pork rice in silence, no it was a cheese burger, yes at McDonalds. A place I only went in when I had to, and not alone, after being openly racially discriminated.

I was two weeks sick last month, bad cold with stuffed nose, headache and a cough that would wake up the dead but the great thing is I knew I’d be alright.  It’s just a Winter cold. Not like that time I had dengue fever and didn’t know  what was wrong with me, you could have  boiled arrow roots on my forehead. I thought this was the end, and started wondering, should I be cremated, or sent back in a box and  what would happen to all my picture collection? 

poem

You lived a dream

Floating grappling

For air, always.

Until the day you saw  running blood, 

from you finger

I’m liquid after all. 

                                                                                      Greg, Diary of a Wimpy Kid

Every living thing

--------As the cloud shadows, racing on the wind, flew over me, trailing ribbons and brightness over the endless browns and greens, I felt a rising exhilaration at just being up there on the roof of Yorkshire. It was an empty landscape where no creature stirred and it was silent except for the cry of distant bird, yet, I felt a further surge of excitement in the solitude, a tingling sense of the nearness of all creation.-------

James Herriot was in touch with his world. Last month I read- Vet in a Spin and Every living thing. He was a vet, but he didn’t simply go about with his medical bag oblivious of the world around him. So as I read about helping lambs give birth, or fixing lame dogs, and clearing off rot in horses, I wish I lived earlier, I would have made an effort to reach him.

Chad Kruger is alive and I haven’t emailed him yet, and the’re three letters to Maeve Binchy which I need to send out. Time.

-----‘Have you felt inside her?’

‘Nay, I haven’t had time.’ He turned harassed eyes towards me

We are behind with the milkin’ this morning. We can’t be late for t’milk man.’

I knew what he meant. The drivers who collected the churns for the big dairy companies were a fierce body of men. Probably kind husbands and fathers at normal times but subject to violent outbursts of rage if they were kept waiting even for an instant. I couldn’t blame them, because they had a lot of territory to cover and many farms to visit, but I had seen them when provoked and their anger was frightening to behold----

I can relate to this. My uncle has to get up at bizarre hours just so not to upset the milk man, he sells a litre for 25 Shillings to the society. Half a litre of the same when packed is Ksh 50. So we tell him to take a risk and move to Brookside but, what will happen when Brookside decides to take less he wonders.

------------She was of the farming generation which had come through the tough times before the war and her gaunt, slightly bowed frame and lined face bore testimony to the hard years. It was the kind of face I had seen on so many of the old Yorkshire folk-grim, but kindly.----------

Reading that paragraph lists faces in my mind that would fit that description. Years of hard, tiring work have lined their faces and roughed their palms.

…….Afterwards we walked through the scented silence of the woods,

The pine needles soft under our feet, and he talked, not only about the deer, but about the other wild creatures of the forest and about the plants and flowers which flourished in those secret places. He seemed to know it all and I began to understand the depths of the interest which colored his entire life. He held the key to a magic world.

As we reached the field the sun came out and, looking back, I could see long drifts of bluebells among the dark holes of the trees, and in the glades, where the first ray struck through the branches, the primroses and anemones shone like scattered jewels…….

Yep, that’s James Herriot for you.

books, memories and giants

I broke open my old book box today and was  surprised at how many books I have collected  over  the  years. From MobyDick to- what if I’m a literary gangsta?- Poetry collection by Tony Muchoma to Carcass for hounds by Meja Mwangi. Diaries and journals dating back to 1997 my own bound sublime Innocence poetry collection from 2007, and  a stripped pullover. The diaries are a bit worthless to me now. Between  ’97 and ’03 I made my entries in a made up language which I can’t be bothered to decode now. ’03 to ’05 was in French, I can’t be bothered to decode either  now.

Maybe I should write  a will. But talking about a will now may convict me if I turned up dead next week, they would  say I  had been suicidal. But I have realized I actually  have  some wealth. Quite a bit too. On average a novel in a second hand shop costs up to $2.50.

There is also the unpublished manuscripts  which could sell after my demise. Two cats, more than  five good clothes, a USB drive, 2 nice plates and a really nice purse my friend gave me. I’m worth about that much.

 There is a time that my dictionary was my most valuable possession. It went up in flames in 2010. If you ask me now, I’m not sure what is that extraordinary something. I think I could get up and go and not worry that I didn’t bring  my camera. Is that a  good or bad thing? It depends. There was a time moving required so much planning and bags. I was attached to old clothes and drift wood collected from sea shores, I guess now I’m more attached to people. I drag along people across the boundaries I traverse.

It’s easier to bring people along. The smiles  and laughs and experiences  shared are lighter to carry  than rocks from Mt.Longonot or sweaters that mean something.

I never look forward to Mondays

I'll take one shot for my pain
One drag for my sorrow
Get messed up today
I'll be okay tomorrow

Singing about liquor is not really a way  to progress, but it helps me  boot  on Monday Mornings.

Cause my job's got me going nowhere
So I ain't got a thing to lose
Take me to a place where I don't care
This is me and my liquor store blues("Liquor Store Blues"
(Bruno Mars feat. Damian Marley))

 Monday has always  been my worst as far back as is possible to remember.

 

Our music teacher wanted us to make musical instruments. We had options. You could make a flute from bamboo, shakers from bottle caps, burned in fire then straightened out. Or you could make  a wandindi- it is a kind of a guitar with a drum base made out of stretched  skin. A shaker  would  have been easy but bottle caps were hard to come by.

 The main brew then was Shibuku, which came in yellow  plastic bottles, the kind that is used for battery water now. I had rabbits, but mine were pets, about 25 of them, they had names too so slaughtering one  to get the skin  was out of the question. The only time  I had some slaughtered was  when  ants invade the hatches  and ate them alive. So I needed bamboo.

No one grew bamboo in my area. The closest bamboo plantation was kirangi. Kirangi was  part of the Aberdare  forest where some squatters planted cabbage interlaced  with ganja forest conservation they called it.

I had  a classmate lived in that direction nearby so one Sunday afternoon we decided to go search for  the accursed raw material that  could make music. To say it was a 50km walk would not be a big exaggeration, and by the time I got back home, grandmother wanted to skin me. Worse, the cows  had broken into the farms and fed on a good number of corn heads, the rest had been carried away by baboons. Two of the young bulls were bloated, and while the village vet was  basking in his glory after carrying out a major surgery-piercing their abdomens to let out the air, I run in horror to the back of the house to find my uniform wet from the afternoon rain. A calf had chewed on the sleeve of my good sweater too.

 In those days, children didn’t get depression and high blood pressure and such, it was simplified in one term- rung’athio- I got a  telling off from cucu for having- rung’athio- the following  Monday morning. I had barely finished my tea when the whistle went off- my neighbor always  whistled twice to say-ukaga- meaning unless you fly you will find us ahead.

If Damian Marley and Bruno Mars had had their liquor store blues single then, I’d have sold all my earthly treasure, rabbits  and library and bought a ticket. Coz you can imagine how it felt when I realized I didn’t pack my lunch, nor the hastily made flute.

strange thing, is that as I post this, about midnight, the egesa- the pub in the neighbourhood is playing that same song-... I bet I'll sleep  soundly then.

A Poem

Let them be as flowers Always, watered, guarded admired
 But harnessed to a pot of dirt
 I’d rather be a tall ugly weed
Clinging on cliffs like an eagle Wind
 wavering above high, jagged rocks
 To have broken through the surface of stone

To live, to feel exposed to madness Of the vast eternal sky
 To be swayed by the breezes of ancient sea
 Carrying my soul my seed beyond the mountains of time
 or into the abyss of the bizarre

 I’d rather be unseen,
and if then, shunned by everyone.
Than to be a pleasant-smelling flower
 Growing in clusters in the fertile valley
Where they’re praised, handled
and plucked By greedy, human hands
 I’ d rather smell of musty green stench
 Than of sweet, fragrant lilac

If I could stand alone,
 strong and free I’d rather be a tall,
 ugly weed.

 Julio Noboa Polanco-Identity

Excuse the term: Anal Glands

I washed them yesterday- the kittens. The sun was bright and I’ve been putting it off long enough. Mooze has been giving off a really bad smell. I see him cleaning himself and his sister helps but after a visit to the litter box, his exterior smells not so great. So this evening I’m concerned because, Goo Goo still smells fresh from yesterday’s scrubbing but Mooze? Phu phu phu. It is very unusual. I have a vet, but haven’t consulted him since the other cat died. And there was that period I couldn’t afford to have a pet and just looked after other people’s. So I consult Google, and trust this expert to know what I’m talking about. I’m surprised, the search results fill the page. Foul smell under cat’s tail? Pardon the expression-Anal glands in cats. How to excrete anal glands. I was doing this absent mindedly, replying text messages and reading – White Thorn Woods by Maeve Binchy but as I read about cats and dog’s anal glands, I stop the texting and reading. I have chills. So this really is a problem? Mooze is really laid back. He doesn’t fuss a lot, he’ll fall asleep anywhere. Not so with Goo Goo. So cute. I knew which was a boy and which one was a girl even before they agreed to come close. I always laugh when Googoo goes to the litter box. You can hear her clicking- nkt, when will some cats learn how to use the littler box!- then you’ll hear her scratching and digging furiously to put the sawdust all on one side before she can go then she’ll cover everything properly and lick her legs before getting back to the main area. Mooze just needs to get in the box. Now I’m fully awake. Apparently, felines and dogs, wait does feline stand for both dogs and cats? So anyway, the two have 3 glands around their anus filled with some fluid. It is used to mark territory. When in danger they’ll squirt that fluid and also after pooping. The smell is terrible when there is an infection in the sacs, or a tumor. A bad diet lacking in fiber can cause the sac to block, thus the smell due to congestion. I feel bad to think I might have contributed by the diet. I’m hoping it will get better. I wipe with a saline solution, now he’s dozing off on the couch and Goo Goo is playing with a roach that came through the bathroom door. Usually I can fix a lot of cats problems with a few spoons of amoxyll or piriton but this beats me. My furry ball could be in serious problems.

a note book

Lethargic is the word.
Perhaps not
But I have a feeling that could spell a big word
A feeling brought about by late payments
Evasive employers
And rent that’s got to be paid
Wonder, would love dilute this feeling
Change it to a smaller
Word like- neo soul,
Cruising or simply
Snapping fingers
Music.
Music would
Perhaps some simple plan
Perhaps John Gray
India. Arie perhaps?
John Njagi would do.
Or flowers, wild flowers
Tiny bits of color in white
Lilac and yellow
Perhaps a bunch of long stemmed
Jasmine.
Lethargic sounds like chemistry
But I have a notebook now

To think, create. 16/06/11

Don Anstan

me and cuz in mama's cabbage farm

1996. I had just moved to a new school and fighting hard not to wish I was back at the public school. The first day was a climax. The deputy asked me why my last name was woman’s name. I had the desire to point out that on average women form the greater population in any society, but he could have been my great grandfather’s age, I didn’t dare.
I couldn’t find a desk and had to share a bench with another girl who didn’t speak at all, even when the teacher asked her name, I had to look over her book and shout it to the teacher. Then that boy threw my bag on the floor. The floor was dusty, it was a new bag, and by the end of the lessons it was raining as it only does in Endarasha: leopards and foxes. My mother always got me dancing shoes for school, they were flat and smart yes, they also had holes all over.
It was barely the end of the term. We were having our P.E lesson. Mainly running around singing songs, and boys saying which girl needed a brassiere.
The teacher called me over and said- if you don’t stop doing that you’ll have to bring your grandmother.
I had been doing cartwheels, in the middle of a bunch or girls. We didn’t have P.E Kits, we also didn’t have curtains in our dormitories, parallel to the boys’. But he wasn’t talking about the cartwheels, he said- in this school we don’t allow boyfriends and girlfriends- I thought of the boys I hang out with, The wag, Prince Kigano, James and Mbua. Buddies. Boyfriend, ai, no.
So he mentioned the boy’s name,a boy in class eight. I would have liked to see my expression. I was shocked, but was already thinking about the idea, having a boyfriend in class eight would have solved a lot of problems, like having him kick that boy that said I had wincked at the teacher, but not him, aw. So I looked at him wide eyed as he said I was to end the relationship right away. Then he sent me away.
I have always been one for new ideas, and that really got me thinking. I checked the boy out at evening parade, he didn’t look that bad. I asked Shellomith what his other name was. She seemed to know what I was thinking, she said his head was pointed at the back(kisogo). I didn’t want to be the girl with a boyfriend with a kisogo- pointed head.
I never got to hear the end of the story and the teacher didn’t ask again. But in class seven another strange thing happened. I was now boarding. So one afternoon I was cleaning my shoes at the puddle below the tank, we rarely had water. A girl in class eight came and said- what do you think writing letters to my cousin? I feared the girl, she could box you. She never did box anyone, but she wore boy’s shoes and wore a mean look all the time.
I don’t think it was from me, I tried.
Nonsense, I saw the letter, everyone saw the letter.
Oh no, everyone? Everyone in class eight? The girl had a brother in the same class. The cousin was in class five. I was really embarrassed. I even wondered could I have by any slim chance written it in my sleep? A boy in class five? I had a marquee with the words sugar mama going across my mind.
I waited for the authorities to call me in but it never happened. I still wonder who wrote that letter. Kids can be mean.
But it was never all bad, well it was when I was getting canned daily. At one time I had to receive 25 strokes every day, straighten me right up it did, for the time it lasted anyway, then I was back to reading novels during science lessons and getting 32% in Maths.
So last week a friend calls me, happy about a message I sent. I had not written any message but she was to happy, didn’t want to put a pin on the ballon. But I told her later, there was no such message from me. In case she receives another asking for a ransom, you know?

a poem

Sometimes I like the reddish with black eyes,
Or the slim smooth white ones
The dark round ones can be surprisingly soft. If you handle them right
Sometimes the tiny on are fun, not much fuss. They don’t try to impress
The mixed ones don’t come cheap. I now remember the burly rough ones. With thick brown skins. Don’t see them anymore.
I loved their tough exterior, inside, soft almost powdery

Fry them
Roast them
Bake them
Boil them
Mash them
Slice
Curve
Roll and spice them
I love them all
Long live potatoes

My new loves

Goo Goo and Mooze

burning my fingers

I had kids over the other day. With kids you are never sure what they will enjoy in terms of food. So I decided to make a little of everything and I should have known that kids are easy to please. They loved everything! I guess it's adults I should be wary of. Kids like to try new things. So if you decide to have jacket potatoes, they will love them, adults will ask why didn't you peel the patatoes like everybody else. The one thing they were really interested in was the pasta. I don't break up my pasta. I washed their hands and asked them to go ahead.
By the way, why do people break up pasta, if you are going for small why not just buy long grain rice?

The one person I haven't been able to impress is my little cousin Irungu. He doesn't like salad at all. Unless there are pineapples in it, then he will pick these out . Reminds me of my friend's son who would only eat a few cucumbers off a whole bowl of salad. But Irungu likes pancakes, and as it is, his brother makes better ones than I do. I donno what's with that boy, Munyeki. He has a way with food. When he fries githeri, it is gourmet githeri.When I try that, it becomes githeri, onions, tomatoes and water.

So this time I'm sure I can feed about five people, with second helpings, men included. That is not exactly correct.I'm assuming all men eat the same huge amount. My friend's husband would eat less than us. Times when we went out for bakut teh, Me and and my friend would order two three rice bowls, each one and a half, and Wei would have one bowl. Then we'd scrape off the mush rooms and bits of pig from the pot. I guess I should say, five, moderately eating people. And about 3 kids. And they need to be open to new tastes.

I haven't made a pumpkin in days, so I'm off to look for one.

Ready to Go Emergency kit

Earthquakes, Tsunamis, Bombs, falling buildings, civil war... eehk.

In Kenya, our recent scare is Al Shabab. I overheard a woman at the market say-
"see these black spots I have, what do you know, I got them when Al Shabab started."
You would think Al Shabab was a communicable ailment. Gun shots, especially where I live are common but these days whenever a shot goes off you'll hear someone saying- they have come.
So I've been meaning to write about how to prepare for such an emergency. It is not an original idea, I read about it in the Awake! magazine.

You will need. A carry on bag
A torch and batteries
water
canned food(you can have biscuits, noodles)
A first aid kit(pain killers, antiseptic, scissors, bandages, Elastoplast, safety pins,salt,wet pads and those that can be used on burned areas donno what they are called )
Red cross has medical kits going for ksh.3,000 and ksh 2,000. But it is cheaper if you got them from a chemist.
You can add anything else you think is important.
For me, I would have copies of identification and a list of family and friend's numbers.

I have only done it half way but I'll keep getting the things I need.
When disaster strikes, all that would really be useful is yourself in good shape. Grab that bag and escape.

the link lists comfortable shoes and rain wear as well as an fm radio phone if you can manage (http://www.watchtower.org/e/200709/article_02.htm)

I can't get this off my head

"How To Save A Life"

Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Gentleman Vs Thug

versus

The other day my friend said to me that she thinks people generally end up getting mismatched.

yeah, sad. I said

"But that's the way it should be, you fight, you hate each other and have a miserable life, but you are in love and you won't just settle for the nice gentle man who does everything right but you just don't feel him," she said. So I wanted to write something about it.

Well, gentle man, thug which one?

It simply depends on what you are ready to put up for rest of your day lights.
But of you ask me, I would vote for a thug any day.

A thug is not afraid to tell you right out that he likes and you are really cute when you wear you hair like that.

A thug is not wishy washy about what he wants. If it doesn't work out, so what, at least you tried. If you just continue walking on the line, 27 years after 2012, you'll still be wondering why ladies just wanna be friends. A thug won't keep you guessing what's up.

A thug doesn't think the world revolves around him around him. He knows you got stuff to do.


And a thug will walk past your mother to see you when you're sick, he won't care.

So to all the thugs out there. You are special.

My play list this week:

E.V.E and Alicia Keys- Gangsta Lovin'
Agar tum mil jao
Quelqu'un M'a Dit - Carla bruni
These bones- Dashboard confessional
Cinderella-Ali kiba

pictures courtesy of photo stock images

discovering tastes

pic courtesy of clia.org.mx

Me and my mother's friend are in the kitchen arguing about the best way took ugali.

You just mix it then cover, she says.

But this is flour from the mills, you need to boil it first- I say.

She takes it off the fire before I think it's ready but I don't argue, I was just helping her so, it's her meal.
2010 was a crucial year for me.I learnt the way to make well cooked ugali from Tata. And in 2011 I spent most of the evenings perfecting the skills. My neighbor would tell people.
-her, she only cooks ugali, I think she prefers it to many foods- I'd agree and add that maize products are actually good for a healthy worker's body.

So last night I was making ugali and I realised I do spend quite a bit of time preparing and cooking food. I enjoy cooking, I didn't before, I guess coz of lack of ideas or was just plain lazy.
Spending time with Michelle's mum, Mrs. Yap changed a lot of things in me. I'd pound the ginger, garlic, pepper, tomatoes , onions and green pepper until it was a fine nice smelling pulp to be used in frying the rice, or green veggies.

That pulp is used as a base for all frying as opposed to a single onion.

Now whenever I'm frying even green veggies,I make quite a big deal of it. To make a good pumpkin soup, I'll start at 5 p.m to serve at seven.Then the sink will be full of equipment needing a wash. The other day I made fried rice, the Chinese way but lacked one ingredient- soy sauce. I'll look for it next time I go to the market. It turned out okay and now I know I need a wok, a big one.

I have freedom to experiment in my house. My friend Carol rang me the other day and asked what experiment I had for super, and you can bet it was a laugh. I had fried that green shaped veggie- we call it shasha; with beans and the usual spices, then using mashed potatoes I made my own version of a shepherd's pie, it tasted good.

I just googled. that veggie is called chayote, choko, chocho,
or Bangalore brinjal. and it's good for you too. check out wiki-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chayote-


the real shepherd's pie ;)

pic courtesy of snovalley grub blog

in the neighbourhood 2/01/12

six eyes, and three beautiful girls always meet me at the gate when I get back from a trip. They run upto me screeching:
Auntie Gathoni Amerudi!- auntie Gathoni has come back. They all hug me and almost topple me over and I can't help the warm feeling welling inside me. They carry my bags and we have to spend five minutes looking for the keys, then:

aki tumekumiss... they chorus
then when I'm settled on my bed they ask :umetuletea?-what have you brought us?

I ask what they've kept for me and they will say they didn't know I would get back so soon, but promise to keep something for me when I go away again.

Three girls soon to be unassuming teenagers
Rose Brenda and KUi. Brenda is the oldest but Rose is more outspoken and has seen a lot in life so she is the captain. She is in class one. My friends in the coffee bean neighbour-hood

I once fell sick and was expecting visitors, the girls came and assisted, I simply gave instructions and for the week I was sick, they all came to cook clean and sympathise.

I remember Brenda in the great grandmother's smoke congested kitchen boiling eggs for me-of course we split everything- but she looked so lovable with her tear filled eyes, her pink tights. I could bet a load of firewood she had never had to start a wood fire before that day.

Kui, 4 years old came in and advised me to gurgle salt, it helped, when you are sick you don't think quick enough, and salt is a good antibiotic so with tonsillitis it is bound to come in handy, even a little girl will tell you that.

Rose lives in the same compound so she came in frequently to do my bidding. She's secretly my favourite. Her personality is just a book by itself and she challenges me, like an adult, so we converse one on one like agemates, and she won't take a telling off. She has opinions and reason.

So whenever I'm headed to my house I'm thinking what treats to carry for my girls. This time I had plums. Dear Rose didn't know what Plums are, never had any. I'm glad I lived in 2011 and met those girls.

January 2012

I can hear my head going tiiiii, after a full day of sign language interaction. Though I guess the tiiii is imagined because after a while you actually begin to 'hear' the signed words.

But I'm craving music, and as I alight from the green city hopper bus and head to the cyber, I'm thinking I need to listen to a few tracks, but before any of that I need to spruce up my c.v. My computer has been on and off the last year and this week I took it to a new technician who put it apart, piece by piece to try find a problem. He found none. So I'm doing the math and thinking- I'm fried. It's hard enough making a blog entry from a cybercafe, leave alone writing anything more that 300 words. Maybe look for work now.

As I sit in the cyber with yahoo, facebook, youtube and my blog on screen, half an hour later my c.v is still undone and I'm not so enthusiastic about the whole affair.
I guess coz the c.v is not much, and whenever I think I'm gonna pull that out in an interview, I just think -aa- let me just get the phone number and call them later- ok, fine? Can I leave now?

I hate the whole process of looking for work, and being academically unqualified as I am, I admit, it is intimidating. Ah, that's the word. I'm intimidated by the whole Human resource arrangement. Even with my experience and skill, they'll still need some photocopied certificate to show you've been to school- how about the school of life? Yeah?

If my computer is out out and I'm fried, can I come for an interview? Yes or No will do.

the little wooden house at the corner of the coffee farm

There’s something serene about coming home. The blue couch, the wooden walls with smiling faces of friends smiling back. Whenever I go away the set routine gets distorted. Even normal things like praying become staccato.

So coming home I feel the sound of settling: I know I’ll make ginger tea, listen to the Jam on Capital fm, feed my neighbour’s cat before the old lady comes to ask me to find a contact on her phone or check her m-pesa account. I also know that I’ll set an alarm for the following morning.

Sometimes I just sit and regard the iron sheet roof; the wasps foaming liquid paper from their mouth shaping it to bell-shaped incubators, a pollen footed bee struggling to find a way out, the ever suicidal moths, strings of spider web, termite shelters.

I love my four corners.

Sometimes I come and don’t even notice the blue and yellow curtains that flutter when it rains on windy nights.

Yet, it is within these four corners that I’ve been able to rearrange my thoughts and viewpoints. These four walls have absorbed my fears, my disappointments and utter shock. These walls have watched me laugh, dance, knowing that finally my past has its place, and no longer a frontlet band between my eyes.