Yes ,Thank you

I’m recovering from a long sickness. It has a name too. It’s called:

-The NO Thank you plague-

You know, that person that says no to everything you offer them. It’s burning hot and you say:

Hey, come in for a drink?

 -No thank you-

Whatever you like,please

-I’m fine-

 And you wish to hit them hard with a piece of tile because they are obviously very dehydrated.

About the age of 6, I started to say -no thanks I’m fine- to everything and everyone. But I had reasons. 

Asking for something was usually followed by a barrage of

 -Where do you see the money ? Shall I pay for an education or for a toy?-

I stopped asking and decided I wouldn’t take it when it was offered.

The second theory was; inborn hard headedness.

“I’m an independent woman, and don’t insult me by offering me things. I don’t want your things. Keep them. And I don’t need your help. I’m super woman. I have strong legs and can multitask. So I paid for meals and drinks.

The other reason was self esteem issues. “I don’t want to trouble anyone. I’ll just sit here reading this Surgeon’s diary and be completely invisible.”

But on looking deeper I think the three theories were hinged on something utterly poisonous inside:

Theory number 1.  Not knowing how to time my requests, and using the wrong tone.

After an outing:

‘I want a wire bicycle.’

Of course I didn’t get it

Theory no 2.  Self independence. In other words selfishness. Thinking I am content and complete not needing anything from anyone simply translates to: I don’t want anything from you, so don’t need anything from me OK?

Theory no.3 Being illegitimate I’ve worn this like a religious vest to torture myself. I closed myself off to people that loved and were willing to assist me. By not wanting to cause anyone any trouble, and “ I’m better off away from everyone so everyone can breath…” I held back love and spooned it out in small doses to some whom I felt were worth it. And completely refused to give it to anyone that didn’t reach the mark.

It is only through the eyes of genuine friends I’ve been able to really see myself as I’ve been. Obstinate, bitter, selfish.

 By putting myself in situations where my, self assumed worth is non-existent, the rough edges are getting less edgy. Like the job I had as a maid in a Somali homestead. They paid me Ksh 66 everyday. I cleaned, scrubbed, brushed, dusted, drugged around furniture, washed  and swept. For six weeks.

 For six weeks I was just the cleaning  lady, sometimes they gave me black tea.

No thank you is still the first response that comes to mind.

-Will you come for the party?-

No, I can’t make it

-Oh, you have plans?-

No, I just remembered I don’t, see you Saturday night, thanks.

In the last, 5, 6 years I have accepted, money(cringe), a holiday(cringe), an expensive gadget(cringe),  dinner(cringe) ,  clothes(cringe).  

My life is now getting less walled in, less private and positively less complicated.

REFLECTIONS 2014

You are a woman when

 Your flesh tears and bleeds

 But you gotta work

 You gotta eat

You gotta feed your herd

You are   woman stepping into

The steps of your grandmothers

Mothers aunts and big sisters

 Your back is no longer delicate.

 A woman cleans brushes and scrubs

Has bruises and broken nails

And the often swollen fingers-

The feet occasionally ,Sometimes eyes

 From lack of sleep

 Or rest

 Or  from tears.

 You are a woman

And your man is special

You want him alright

Being himself

Being a woman

Easy

Hard

fun

 Pure misery at times.

Joys and sorrows

Feelings and emotions

Hopes and fears, define a woman.

pictures googled, thank you very much.

Reflections 2013

Namanga is a very very small town that could easily swallow you up in its own small social politics  then vomit you through its congested exists.

But in the news: East African community market, big business coming our way. Oh yeah and the perpetual hostility just below the skin?

So everyone is selling off.

Plots and wasteland.

 And the local club is moving further inland and the wildlife running away, dying.

But we have the animal protection in patrol.

While the white rocks; where do the white rocks end up?

 The soil for the roads- yea yea- we’ve seen the trucks.. ah so much soil Mr. Chin, but the rocks? And beneath the white rock?

And  they  peep and whisper as I pass .

“Eva,” they respond to my “soba.”

I wonder which Bantu doesn’t cal nyau nyau.  I mean cat, cat. so they now call it pepo and they watch me closely, and I wonder where nyau got  bruises on his head and I wanna just shake my fist at someone, but I would rather not. 2 years . 2 years is not a long time. Maybe my next home will have a balcony, and less Bantu.

The men in my life

They are four. My three brothers Chris, Francis, Casper and our uncle Solomon(mama). So why I’m I thinking about them this week? It could be I need to purge and get out my feelings so I can move on as my self help thoughts tell me. And anyway, I need room for new thoughts. For the longest time my relationship with the opposite sex has been influenced by how I felt towards  my biological father. Between age 12 and 18 my main goal in life was to find out who he was. I did, at 19. Met him at 22, and at 25, I decided having a father was not really my kind of thing. So I packed, and headed home, to tell my people that they were the greatest. I didn’t, I’m still learning how to make confessions.

I regretted the time lost in that selfish pursuit. Our rojak family set up of uncles, cousins, grandparents, aunts, mothers, friends, sympathizers and mafans was just fine.

These four are my heroes. My uncle held my hand and walked me to my first day of school. He gave me his handkerchief. I did the math recently and found out he was just a teenager himself when he suddenly had to play father to his sister’s kid. We became buddies.

I admire him for maintaining a peaceful home for all of us. He deserves a kingly hat for his sense of justice. His head is full of white hair now, he still works like a horse but it is always refreshing to sit around the fire and listen to his stories that make us laugh and choke on our food. I owe him for not letting me drop out of high school in my forth year.

During my high school years, Casper my younger brother stayed up with me when my head was going off like fireworks, when I realised  my days at home were counted. I’d soon be packed off to the city. As we were growing up,I felt bad  when he had to get up in the morning to help with  milking  despite his morning allergies. I hated it for not having a place to welcome him when he was interning after college. Despite all that, I and everyone in the extended family knows they can always count on Casper. If it is within his reach, he will get it done, even delivering a computer in the middle of the night. I could never make him cross no matter how hard I tried, and I did try. You need to be really mean to make Casper mad.

Then Francis grew up and came to visit me in my log cabin and brought a big bag of food with him. He asked no questions, just came to visit. He was in high school. Later, he sold a young bull  and sent me some money- and I cried like the fool I am, wondering why it took me so long to know I had a family that cared.

Francis is humble, he acts like he knows nothing but he has all the copies. He has always been able to gather a crowd. He would gather the neighbour’s children and bring out every single edible thing out. He still has a gang following him wherever he goes. When our neighbor,(http://gathoniciss.blogspot.co.ke/2011/03/animal-tolerance.html) died recently, he broke the news in such a mature manner I added another feather to his hat. He also acts as the link to everyone; if you need to know what someone in the family is up to, just ask him.

Chris was born a few years after I left home. But his thinking ability fascinates me. Everyone says he reasons like a middle aged man. He has already established himself as our age mate. He is in cram school but whenever he gets access to a phone he will call me. He looks for me. He is a hero for being able to maintain peace between his mother and grandmother, something I always look on with amazement.

I’ve been thinking about these four men, their love and their good example, thanking my creator for putting my life under their watch. He was right all along.

There are others, like Mama Mdogo(lesser uncle)Kamande who ensured I had lunch everyday and taught me how to make decorative stitches when he learnt how to do it in home science class, it was the coolest thing. And many older brothers not related by  blood but whom I’ve come to love very much for setting a good example on how to  be kind,, mild, wise and to worship God with all seriousness.

 Francis, Chris at the front and Casper with the shades, and my sis Melissa, the girl with the food.

 Mama and Francis

Naughty doctors and coping with winter

If the weather continues to get this haphazard, I’ll have to move to a really hot place between

April and August each year, or learn to hibernate. Nairobi is cold enough without adding the sewage factor. Dust is not simple loose earth but filtered sewage. The air contains smoke and pollutants that could cause silver to rust.

So anyway. June, July and August has had me in and out of hospitals having tests carried out for

fever, headaches and general discomfort.

I've got so used to lab technicians telling me:

-I need to get some blood out of your finger-

Other times it's a vein on my left arm

and  after the normal tests for Malaria, Typhoid, HIV.

I look at the Doc with hopeful eyes.

-Is it TB?- No.

-Is it H1N1?- No.

It's an infection, are you pregnant or breastfeeding?(she had asked that before the test)

No,what are these for?

She has prescribed antibiotics and worm tablets

-If you don't feel better go to the referral hospital- she says, removing her coat.
 It's lunch time and she really has to go. Never mind there is a queue of patients.

Why naughty doctors? Because corrupt is their main adjective. Uncaring? No, it is not a doctor's

job to care in this century. That is why they are so free to throw about disease words like,

underlying problem, pneumonia, lack of calcium, meningitis. They have no idea what that does to a mind like this one..

There is no way I could go to the referral hospital. When the problem started, I spent a whole

morning and a half queuing, because others with connections in the hospital would come in and get help to cut in line. When I finally got to see the Doc, she said, handing me the lab request:

-Don't go here, you'll take a long time, go outside the hospital to the lab across, the prices are

the same-

I hate such blatant disloyalty, so I decided to go to the hospital's lab anyway but the commotion

and disorder was just as in the waiting bay. No particular number system just patients scrambling at a tiny window trying to get noticed.

I ended up in a private hospital, and after repeating the tests the doc informs me I have a

Bacteria infection. So I donno what bacteria infection is but to describe it, it is  combo of sore throat that won't go away, a hacking cough that starts the minute I lay my head on

the pillow at night, eyes get infected at some point and you wake up heart beating so bad coz

you're not sure if they have Braille copies of your favourite writer.

Adjusting the sails

Everything that could go wrong went wrong at the beginning of  the year. My hopes, and the solid ground I stand on simply gave way and I was falling, sinking, scared and wanting to scream.

I did.

Change is hard.

But I take it harder than most I guess due to my emotional make up.

And because of the life I have chosen, things are always changing in my life. Not many things are permanent.

But there is always something I can count on. Whenever I close my eyes and imagine the big expanse, the universe and the creator of it all. I don’t feel scared.

If you could take a peep at my heart, it doesn’t carry its original color and shape. It is a patchwork of seams and darning.
It is not difficult pick up the pieces, dust off and get on with it. after disappointment, discouragement and hurt

Not this time. I lost my personal space where in a room of one piece of furniture my thoughts flow, my sadness finds a way to evaporate and leave by the ventilation holes.

It’s not any better, but I have adapted new ways to keep panic at bay.
It used to be music all the time, but now I have a child jingle that says- life without end at last-
Coz that’s what I hope for, a relief from this rubbish of a life.

The best trips I have had were paid for by someone else.
The best clothes I have were chosen and paid for by another person.
The most delicious food I’ve eaten didn’t cost me a shilling.

I’ve enjoyed wonderful nature walks with close pals, spent evenings in homes of people who are only related to me through Adam.

I believe a good job couldn’t make me happier.


Dashboard confessional bend and not break.