Little Red Riding Hood, a very short story.

This is my friend Steve.

We are in these woods collecting firewood to cook this meat:

We were meant to go hiking  but it rained at  Ngong Hills so we of course found a back up plan. 

You cannot go back home on a Saturday when your neighbours already saw you leave like you had major weekend plans while they were all doing weekend washing. Alafu you come back at 10 a.m. si they will think you have started trading sukuma wiki from Limuru to Marikiti then on Monday you hear a knock at your door at 4.am someone requesting ' please buy for me maize for boiling when you go to the market.' How do you start explaining you are not a market trader at 4.00 a.m on a Monday morning?

Steve says
'By the way, so these are like the woods Little Red Riding Hood was getting eaten in by a Fox?'

I say 'was it not the grandmother that got eaten?'
Steve says 'yes then the Fox wore the grandmother's dress.'

'And hat,' says Maureen K.

Then I ask if they ever heard the Kikuyu version of Little Red Riding Hood.
Steve says 'yes, our shushu used to tell us stories but they were horror stories. After that you couldn't get yourself to cross over to the sleeping house.
Many Kikuyu fables were horror stories.'

 Steve says ' I miss my shush' but I don't hear him.
'But she will be resurrected.' Is what I hear.
''She will?' I ask.
'Yes, ' Steve says
'Little Red Riding Hood's shushu will be resurrected?'

'Little Red Riding Hood' Maureen chirpes in. 
'No, I said my Shushu, she died.'

I don't know why we start laughing.
The three of us. 

Maureen K, Nelson K and Me

Little Red Riding Hood's Shushu unfortunate end or the hope of Steve's Shushu being   resurrected inspite of her horror stories.
My hair gets caught in a bush.
 Nelson tries to disentangle me.

Maureen says '  Wait this is a picture moment'.

*at this point in the story I realise Steve is Steve K, there is Maureen K, and  Nelson K. So Mimi pia  si nijiite Gathoniciss K? We shall find the vowels to go with it later on 2020 is still young.)

So I ask him to plan to go preaching with me now that he is in Nairobi and he says:

'Aki Sato nishapanga kwenda shopping,'
(He has plans to go shopping)

And I laugh some more.
But that is Steve. 
He is hilarious.

He is also the brother you never had. The brother who you can send to the kiosk for pads and he comes back with juice and wet wipes too in case you are feeling dehydrated.


Steve is at a stage where he really doesn't care. 
He is happily serving his God while eating coconut rice and madafu at his own pace.

Let everybody deal with their own conscience.



He makes a great Shrink as well.
You end up telling him even what you hadn't planned to.

The meat was delicious. Thanks to chief barbecurist Godi.

8-4-4 How it almost ruined our lived had we let it and the answers we discovered too late.

Kieni West Division, Mid-Term Test  G H C  

7 . Where in Kenya is Flourspar mined?
a. Jinja
b. Kereita
C. Magadi
d. Kerio Valley

First before we go to question eight. What is flourspar and how does it affect my life?
I imagined flourspar was a gas, or a chemical that is used in the production of hard plastic for factory machinery.

Until I googled - what is flourspar?-
Blazing hot gases! This is flourspar. See below.

I feel quite embarrassed that once,  Canadian friend gave me a necklace. She said 'actually this originally from Kenya, it's mined there.'

I didn't want to seem ignorant so I said "oh yeah, in Kisii there is all of sorts of gem mining."

But Education was not supposed to teach us knowledge. 

I grew up and we headed out on a frugal holiday to Eldoret.

'Road trippin with my favourite allies,
on the road we got snacks and supplies
Let's go get lost
Let's go get lost.'

And up a mountain we went.

I'm entranced by mist, fog and clouds.
And in Kerio Valley, it felt like we were in a Tibetian movie set.
As you drive, you sometimes drive into a fog, then get out of it a few meters ahead, then again you watch it scatter, then it gathers further ahead. 

Around some trees, in a valley, it dances and swirls and wraps you in its drizzle. Wisps of mist disperse like cheerful little girls.  It moves and soon the sun is shinning again, you are warm, but now you cannot view the fluospar mines.




'That's River Turkwel, the guard points out. It has huge Crocodiles. '
I wish he didn't add the crocodiles part as though that makes the river infamous.
It's river Turkwel, let's take a moment to appreciate a mighty force of pursing brown liquid. It's famous for flooding.

There are homes too, down the valley.

I wonder what their names are.
Do they have a chief?

'Past the river, everyone owns a rifle.'
The guide says.

I'm thinking of the Wild Wide West where everyone is a cowboy.
No horses here though.

Do they cook chapatti sometimes? 
Then it's back to the long uphill climb. Just how far down the Kerio Valley is is beyond my brain. We seemed to be looking down from the sky, but it was a downhill descent. Heck, I was lost and decided to enjoy the view.


So up we go. Flowers, springs, insects.

I'm shivering
We get home and I sleep out the evening.

Where is flourspar mined in Kenya?
The answer is D.

It would have really improved my life if I had done that trip in 1997.

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.-Selfcare-

The two times I can talk about that I got into great mischief involves drinks.

Mild drinks.
Wewe Mimi si wamunyota.

One evening we were assigned to cook ugali for 12 people. They were waiting in the living room. Me and @ waiyaki were outside in the shed boiling water for the large ugali. It was drizzling.
We were cold
The water was taking long to boil but  suddenly we got an idea.
There was a satchet of drinking chocolate laying about.
So Waiyaki says.
'So that we don't raise any alarm, please go ask for an extra wooden spoon from the kitchen, then grab some sugar while you are there.'

I did as told and reassured everyone that the ugali would be ready in a short while.
So Waiyaki takes off the ugali water, pours it into a bucket leaving two cups in the sufuria. He added sugar and cocoa and when it boiled he poured the drink out into cups and I quickly washed the sufuria, put back the water to boiled and settled to drink the hot chocolate.

And it was exactly at that point that someone appeared to 'get the ugali. '
Haiya, hii ni maji ya ugali?
Haijachemka?
Mnakunywa nini?

And then to the people waiting for ugali.
' You will not believe it, these ones used the water for ugali to make tea.'

It was the best hot chocolate drink I have ever tasted.

The other time was during a hectic  time in the translation department. There were many people coming and going and me I was feeling stressed.

I find Maureen at the microwave and tell her, - I need something to drink but not tea. I've had enough of tea.-

'Hmm.'
She says
'Is there milk?'
I check and it looks like a brookside truck stopped by our fridge.

-There is plenty of milk.-
'Cool, come after five minutes.'
I went back and she says, 'taste this and tell men if you want sugar.'

It was coffee and Milo and milk,  microwaved until it smelt like the inside of Java coffee house.
I didn't need sugar.
-You have to show me how to make this.-
Says I
And we made a few cups for people.
The secret ingredient is lots of milk.

In the afternoon
Someone comes and asks " how come there is no milk?"
And Debbie says 'no way I brought a box of milk yesterday.'
They go to the fridge
No milk
'Cecilia?'
-Well, um we may have made a few cups of coffee this morning-
'How many?'
Four.
'Four! '
Yes four.
'Just four?'
-Yes, it's complicated. I'm sorry, black tea any one? I'll make-

I'm only confessing now, a public confession. It was too embarrassing then.

Here is the recipe: How to calm down.

You need a mug
Put in two table spoonful of Milo into the mug
Pour in milk to half full
Microwave it for two minutes
It will rise. Remove
Put it back again for 45 seconds
Remove
Put in a teaspoonful of dormans or nescafe instant coffee.
Fill the mug with milk and put it back in for a minute
You can transfer to another heated mug if you want to feel pretty.
Enjoy.
Caution: it's very calming. So you might fall asleep.

Embracing Vulnerability: The Storm after the storm.

This  is a hurricane. This is the hurricane that passed through me. This is the hurricane that threw me into a tight crack, and almost destroyed me. But a little woman rescued me She said "It's safe to come out Look, my weapons are down Put yours  down and come It's safe here There is a bit of trust here There is a little rest here in-spite of the sadness that overwhelms us There is hope here in spite of the helplessness that we have to battle." She said "choose a direction." I chose and walked the path that is always ready  to embrace me like a child. They call me the daughter of our father. And a man and his wife said 'come home for tea.' They didn't known it but it was that that kicked out the last vestiges of the storm. I could live again.

This chic- Spontaneously Constant.

I’ve always been an outlier, not a recluse, but never following the crowd either

And for that many times I become an object of curiosity. Not because I am trying hard to stand out but because I didn’t do what everyone else in the room wanted to do.

As a child, I got bored easily by games children played and instead would read or just, dig a trench in the ground and cover it with sticks or whatever.

Weird

Strange

Different

Hard headed

Are terms that have been used to describe me.

I never cared much for popular opinion, I didn’t watch popular TV programmes or enjoy popular music. Instead I talked to the quiet  people in the room, read Surgeon’s Diary and Walked inside the maize plantation to see what little animals I may meet.

The different path is not that smooth. Whenever I am new in a place, people will be asking who is she, what tribe is she, is she rich, is she married, is she dating an old mzee?

Because people will always try to find out where to place you.

They start with your clothes

Then your accent

Then how much money you are willing to throw about.

And then maybe they will listen to you tell them who you are.

I dress for comfort, and ease of movement, and I’m glad I have an eye for what suits me.

I’m grateful to BG Ngandu Girls and British sitcoms for cleaning out my accent. Though I didn’t really have a distinct one to start with, within the country.

And I am glad that even though I know how to have a good time, money has never been the focus in my life.

Sometimes I have it, sometimes I don’t but whatever stage I am at financially, I still get round.

2020 has been my pivotal year, the year that I kept telling myself I would be mature enough to make decisions. It was something I decided in 2011 and each year I tell myself, it’s coming.

I am not so eager now for it, my mother is not here to see it so whatever, but I am sure about one thing, I won’t change much.

But I will be less tolerant

More Resilient

Less talkative

More meditative

Less Cowardly

More courageous

J209: This type of Love

Sorry, but if you've never seen me on a bad hair day
We aren't friends
If you have only seen me with my red lipstick
And woolen stretch blazers 
Never in my old pink T-shirts I sleep in,
You aren't family either.

If You have seen me scared
And confused 
And totally embarrassed, you are my friend.
If you have seen me a little tipsy
If I've have told you to go to hell
And still you stayed
You are family.

If you only know my smile
And my jokes
And good wishes
You are just a passerby
Keep walking, stranger.

If you have seen my tears
And heard my sobs
And read my despair.
You are my soulmate

One positive thing that has come out clear from the death of my mother is; I am sure I've made good choices in friends.

Last week my friend called me and said she has been meaning to call but was waiting for the right time.

She is not the sensitive types, I was expecting her to tell me to suck it in, life must go on and we all end up in a hole anyway.

But she didn't say any of those things. She told me something that opened a whole new perspective to the relationship I had with my mother.

She told me ' my parents have been dead for over ten years but whenever there is something that I need to do which only my parents could have done for me, I cry like a baby.'
She told me it's still too soon to think that I can stop crying and feeling sad.

Then she said, ' Don't expect comfort from humans, they are imperfect, anything they say is not enough so let Jehovah comfort you he knows the best way.'

I was crying by the end of the call but didn't want her to know so I was speaking with that hollow voice that's between a stifled yawn and cheerfulness.

And of course my mind went to an over drive.
I thought about the many times I disagreed with my mother. The many times we told each other off. The many times she told me off for not eating enough and having a bony chest and I would tell her to leave me alone that's how I am shaped! 
And how finally this year she said ' I will get you a hair dye that doesn't break the hair, I've noticed those kinds of hairs like yours can be dyed.'
I told her to get me maroon. She had accepted me as a curly haired girl.

Ad it hit me that, the thing that will bite me the most is I have no one else related to me ingīrutīra ūrimū.
That was something exclusive to the one that gave birth to me.
I didn't walk around egg shells around my mother. 
I didn't have to filter what was in my head.
I told her as it was.
Growing up I had to give the extended family a certain amount of respect not to embarrass my mother, I still try to conduct myself politely around them.

But my mother, I had exclusive rights to her and after not picking up her phone calls for a month I could call her and ask her 'can I come over tonight?'

And that is exactly the kind of relationship I have with my closest pals. 
We don't have to hold hands and take selfies but we are in sync.
Sometimes we don't talk for a whole week. Sometimes we just exchange emojis.
Sometimes they can't stand me, many times I order them around. They say I'm a bully but honestly you don't just come to my house and sit I cook for you. No. Make your useful.

People say they know their true friends when tragedy strikes. 
Me, I have been convinced that my friends are true.
Everyone that matters has been present .

I will miss my mother every time I listen to KĪhenjo or Kata or JKL.
But I am comforted to understand now that I had a real relationship with that woman.

Embracing Vulnerability: Things I want to remember.

10 years from now I will say 'I lost my mummy 10 years ago' and it won't have the same sting  as it does now, although 10 years is a long time.. Will I still be standing? 
Maybe I will have  a couple of babies and too preoccupied with breastfeeding and  PP2 Graduations .
I will not be too turned inwards as I am right now. But I don't want to forget that on the day we went to pick my mother's body from the morgue, I came out to faces of friends and family who came to mourn with me. 
I had not decided whether I would view the body or not. And Mama King'ori holding tightly to me was saying you don't have to a cucu wa Kangemi was saying you need to and I remember asking for Munyeki to hold on to and collapsing into a chair and being led out, being asked to sign here and sign there and please keep this safely and do you want to sit down?

Then I came out and Lydia of Passion Fashions was standing outside  in skinny Jeans and a pink Jacket. My cousins Maina Kabutu and Mwangi wa Pia came forward at the gate saying - Gathoni, tumekuja. And my late uncle's kids. 
There were there and I didn't feel 
abandoned.

I don't want to forget that when we were discussing what kind of dress to put on mummy I said please don't buy anything pink. And my aunt went and had a green dress made, my mother's favourite color. 
I can only imagine if my mother heard Jesus voice and came out in a pink dress. I'm sure she would rip it off, then we would have to look for a leso or some leaves.
Well, at least we know she will be happy she got up in green. She will look at the material and probably say- this one looks like Riveroad material-

I don't want to forget that 
on the day we went to have the post mortem done,
 my uncles bought me lunch. 
It tasted like sawdust.

Then we stood outside the gate at Outspan to wait for the doctor to come out of a meeting.
They smoked five packets of cigarettes as we waited. They were nervous. I was not, at the moment. I guess they were more nervous about me seeing my mother's body being cut up. 
They smoked some more.
I bought some yellow passion fruits and cracked  them open, one after the other and read a Watchtower.

I have a way of being calm in emergencies,
 my mother used to say maybe
 I'm not understanding, but I do. 
I break down after.

My distress is private.



In this respect I am Scarlett O'hara. I can tell my mind and body- don't panic now- panic tomorrow- or tonight at 2a.m everyone is asleep and I start sending them messages (I have priceless friends. They call back and calm me down or just listen) or I get up at 3 a.m coz I have remembered I forgot to put an apostrophe in a word in my will. 

I'm composing an article about what to expect when you lose a close family member. From my own experiences and from the research I've done in the last one month.