Embracing Vulnerability: The anger of a polymath in a specialist society.

My friend said maybe I should try to less angry at the world. I had mentioned I was having a problem making simple decisions.

 (Me? Angry at the world? Nooo. I'm one of the happiest person I know in this world.)

But when your friend something you should take notice because she must have observed something. And the kind of relationship my friends and I have is, a friend won't say things to build up their own egos. 

No. We say things to improve each other. 

I decided to take it easy and check my behaviour for a while. 

But I had questions to myself.

 I know I used to be angry and did some anger management work and successfully acquired calm. 

And for years now I have been able to control strong angry feelings. 

But could it be as I worked to remove the hurt and bitterness out of me I may have just moulded it into a ball which I project to the world as I carry on with a cynical outlook to situations that try to upset my in-ward balance? 

Or might I still be holding it all in with a smile and just needing one thing to light me up and off I'll go off like a faulty firework? I also thought about the reasons that I could be angry at the world. 

Do I feel like the world owes me?

 Like it hasn't given me what I deserved? 

Probably. 

But that would be a narrow approach to it because. 

What of street kids being raised by druggies.

 What of those born in dire poverty where an egg is a luxury? 

What of those born sick? 

I remembered an interview I read in True Love magazine. 

Muthoni the Drummer Queen. She mentioned that She is a Polymath . 

A polymath is defined as a person who gains expertise in more than one field. Simply put, someone who has many interests. She said that she realised that in school she realised the best way to get her parents off her neck was to score good grades then she could focus on the things that really interested her. 

Thus blankets and wine and all her other awesome pursuits. That way nobody got hurt. I felt like to me, that was advice that came too late because unlike her, when I got bored with school or a job I simply wandered off.

So I was angry that, despite knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life at 15. Here I was in business school trying to understand probability. Or here I was doing this job that I  have absolutely no idea how to do but because that is what is available. I am doing it for the rent it affords me, and food.

You've got to keep a certain balance between a boring job, your interest and hobbies and your personal life.

 And when I realised that that is how the world works I started to shape up and try to get into the job market but there is a big difference between a fresh hot college drop out and the same person ten years later. Your CV gets more scrutiny 10 years later .

 And I guess therein lies my angst at the world. 

When I have raised my arms and said okay world, I will do it your way. 

I will do the 9-5 and work on my interests at night. 

Then the world turns round and asks about gaps in my CV. 

How about experience? 

How about hard knocks? 

How about learning the hard way that early to bed and early to rise makes someone wiser and I can't remember what else but all I am saying is. 

Look here world. 

I'm done being sceptical. 

I will take your dry bread. 

I will sit in long mid morning meetings that could have been and e-mail. 

I will put on silly chiffon blouses and carry a bag with shinny knobs to show accomplishment. 

I'll do excel sheets and colourful word tables. 

Just give me that cheque. 

Never mind I will use it on art paper and paperback classics. 

Then I thought perhaps my anger was because of restrained grief from middle age tragedy. 

I may have felt anger but helplessness is the encompassing feeling that remains when grief subsides so no, not that.

 And then I got it.

 I take myself too seriously. 

And maybe if I learned to take a chill pill from time to time I may just refocus the strong feelings.

 I've been told I take things seriously. 

I do yes. 

I'm strict And rigid And a recovering perfectionist But it comes with trying to keep my world from toppling over. 

But just to see how it would feel. I'd let myself slow down a bit. 

I'd drink coke, leave my data on at night, pick up calls after curfew hours, and sleep in in the middle of the week. 

So I've slowed down in my expectations. 

And I just finished this book by a Kenyan writer. It's fiction. Best humour I have read since Trevor Noah's Born a Crime.

links: https://medium.com/@kkaitue/3-reasons-why-generalists-rule-the-future-77fb4f9ad430

          Nairobiwire

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Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to Cooking Food.

For People who live alone or with cats and have eaten too much indo mee and are starting to wonder 'what is the purpose of my life?' 

 Relax. Good news here.

 I had an interesting conversation today. Do you know what is the difference between Kenyans and Americans during this Covid? Trump? 

No. Our poverty. The fact that we can grow our own greens behind our house and the landlord will think 'or nice, some landscaping at last' means while many in the developed world are affording vitamin suppliments and health insurance, 

sisi tunakimbilia ndimu za mbao hapo nje. (Lemons are five shillings each) 

 Have you been to the market lately? 

Have you seen the potatoes? 

Have you seen the cabbages? 

Na minji? And the Avocados?

 One theory is that last season was so productive in-spite of the locusts and despite the floods that spoilt most of the September and and October crop. 

 They other theory is that with restaurants and hotels shut down, the Grade one vegetables have been redirected to the mwananchi markets. 

Does this apply to flowers I wonder. @Homegrown si you just send me one bunch of yellow roses. 

Moja tu. 

 So when my uncle's wife (Tata) called to tell me she wanted to send me a package from home. I was thinking. Eeeeeeeee. I'm not sure.

 'The country is open and I know someone who is coming to Nairobi this week.' 

She said. She asked what I need. 

I said maybe beans? She asked which beans. I said 'let me try the yellow ones, I've heard they don't give gas.' 

Then she said she had pumpkins.

 'Ai Tata, mūrenge ngūtwara kūū?' 

(What will I do with a pumpkin)

 I eat pumpkins. The problem is Tata's pumpkins grow into such huge sizes it would take me a whole month to finish one. She said she had a small one. 

 Then she said she had Pamelo. 

 Pamelo is a fruit they discovered they could grow on the farm recently. It looks like a green eggplant. If you eat it on a cold day you might think you are eating something of a goat's menu. 

 But if you eat it it standing in the middle of the farm on a hot day with the hot soil under your feet. Then it's refreshing. 

It doesn't even occur to you that you are eating the sweeter version of ndongu (Sodom apple). 

Ma. 

 Ouch. 

I did press ups this morning and now my chest hurts. 

For a moment I thought corona was creeping up on me. 

 So Tata packed a package and of course she packed one month supply of potatoes because 'what else could I be eating' and when I got them in the evening and told her she scolded me. 

 'You mean they were brought to your gate? Now see. I could have even sent you maize but you are too wishy washy. Now see. But he is faithful for bringing you today. Ata I could have sent you milk and eggs.' 

(kione ii, kione ii uria uranyamarika, ni mwiiro wa ngoro ii ouria utakinyaga... 

) humming in my head because she was basically telling me 'I told you so.' 

 'Tata you said you packed Pomelo. This is white sapote.' 

'Ooo, ah, I mixed them up.' White Sapote looks like a Japanese Apple inside but with a smooth skin. 

So the pumpkin came. 

And I cut it in half and gave away half. 

And made bread with the rest. 

That is the very thing I want us to cook this week. 

And that story about yellow beans not making you gassy is not true. 

 Pumpkin Pan Bread.

Embracing Vulnerability : Parallel Homesickness, a poem.

Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to cooking food for people who now have to catch and kill their own food.

Personality Profile: Mambo, dear old soul

"Mambo Mambo?"
That's my favourite greeting to my friend Mambo. He probably doesn't like it but he is such a well bred human being he would never say it to avoid embarrassing me.

Me on the other hand I am always telling people 'don't call me Mūthoni, don't call me Cess.'

It's amazing I still have friends at all.

I met Mambo one morning on the way to a Sign Language convention. He was extremely quiet. Later I learned it was because we were in the company of deaf people and he preferred to sign.

I agree with him on that.
And I refuse to speak Kikuyu in mixed company.
 Don't make me.
I will think bad things about you.
Much later, Maureen with a K introduced me to Mambo, properly.

She said he was a brilliant  graphic designer.
As a Content Consultant, I work with a web designer, graphic designer, a photographer and someone for video editing once in a while.

Mambo became a life saver for graphics.

He is not only fast but communicative. He would call to alert me incase of a delay because of slow internet or power cuts.

I really appreciated that.

Your team can mean whether you will get a Cheque this month or not.

Mambo's job turned out to be 100% each time. I could tell my client, this will be ready tomorrow morning and it would be.

But it's not just work wise.
It's about the kind of person Mambo is.

Part of it is that he is from a generation that exists on fearlessness.

Ok ok I am thrilled about growing up watching Tahamaki but you must admit we people from the 80s can get a bit boring.

A lot boring actually and so stuck on proving we are good enough we kinda lose ourselves somehow.

Mambo's generation is a confident, frank generation that does what is right if they are so inspired, and they do it the right away. They are not trying to impress or prove anything, they know they are good at whatever.

So I quite appreciate the friendships I have with these who say it as it is. No games, no tricks it's just what are we doing today? Okay let's.
No guess work.
"Any questions? Come ask me."

They seem to be saying. But without the bitterness of someone that feels slighted.


On the day of my mother's funeral Mambo said to me.

' I want you to use your imagination and think of Jehovah standing in front of you holding both of your hands and telling you, I'm with you. I'm with you Cecilia, you are my dear daughter.'

I used my imagination.
And then that passed.
And people dispersed.
And I got up each day and tried to live it.
And then I couldn't pray.
And if I did I simply said- I'm awake now, help manage somehow-

On one of those days I got to the meetings.
And the minute I got in I was convinced I should just go back home and re-start a sobbing session.
I smiled and waved at people and then I saw Mambo seated, arranging his things and went to him.

'I can't do this, pray for me.' Said I, without a greeting.

I thought he would tell me
"Cool cool I will, as soon as I finish setting up."
No, he moved over and asked me to sit beside him.

He said a prayer for me right there then gave me a hug.
And then I found enough strength to sit through that the meeting.

I will remember that forever.

Because, we are not weak forever.
We don't grieve forever.
But it's the hands that pull us out of the darkness that we remember.
Hands that hold us up until we can hold ourselves together again.
And strong enough to grasp others who are temporarily felled in this journey.

This Chic:Girl, Wash Your face. Like Hannah.

This is how I checked into the meetings on Sunday.
Great hair, lipstick done and wearing my favourite dress that a friend gave me.
I was early and ready to have the best zoom meeting.

I had stayed up awake most of the night watching my roof leak.
I had cried several times before 11.45 but I had washed my face and was ready for the next phase.

Power went off just before the song so I missed the talk.
And by the time I realised kumbe my power tokens had gotten finished it was time for the Watchtower discussion  so I was back like nothing had happened but this time it was raining and there were three men on my roof and dust and water falling onto the table.

But the show must go on.

A few hours later there was a zoom party.
This time the rain was coming down hard. My personal belongings, mostly books sand art were crowded in the driest corner of the house.

I was getting interrupted every five minutes.

There were loud steps coming from the roof.

I was worried someone might slide and break their leg so I was on the verge of another sobbing spell because where was I going to move to in this corona season and what if all my notebooks get too wet and I have to burn them?

Just then my landlord's wife came and said.
' Don't worry if this doesn't work you can move into the other vacant house, for the same price.'

She came with her grand daughter.

We all pretended it was not unusual that I was dressed up like a prehistoric Jewish woman.
They probably thought I had decided to fast and pray and that was my prayer attire.

I didn't mind.
I was playing Hannah in the zoom party and I was gonna be a great Hannah.

It was a lot of fun, playing Bible characters over zoom and just chilling out as friends.
And it doesn't matter that I am new here, I feel at home.

My friend asked  what I had learned from Hannah when she saw my picture in the costume.

This is a friend who reads the Bible 50 times more than I do so I have to be careful not to respond like an idiot.

What I would have liked to say is that I learned Hannah was very self controlled because if it had been me?

Three people would have gone home with black eyes.

The co wife who probably couldn't even cook a decent meal to feed the many children.
The conceited husband who thought he was the reason for Hannah's  breathing.
And Eli for thinking he could just say whatever to a random woman.


But I didn't tell her all that.

After thinking about it later I thought the best lesson I can learn from Hannah is about showing up.

To show up no matter what chaos are happening.

She didn't stay home and mope.

And after she had cried prayed like a drunkard to Jehovah, a scene I can relate to in every way,
She washed her face and get on with it.

Girl, Wash Your Face.

That is the book I am reading with a ruler and highlighter because Rachael Hollis speaks to me as a girl, a young woman and the pre-menoposal woman that I am.

She talks about feeling like you are not where you should be, about downplaying your glorious moments because you don't want to be judged?

Or even giving up our own auntheticity so that people can understand us and tolerate us more.

It made me think of when my mother came to visit me after her retirement.

At the end of the visit she said.
'You know, I think it's good to just live a private life your own way. Huku kwako kuna mastarehe ( It's very relaxing here.')

I remember thinking that that particular time she spent in my house I had not tried to impress her in any way. She had been able to see me in my own element.

 I wasn't trying to put up a show for her. I was just completely myself. I admit it wasn't the best version of myself. There was a load of washing standing up loke a stuffed statue and Happy would come and step on her face while she slept.

I had stopped struggling.
And when I stopped struggling I didn't care who accepted me or not.

And I wish I had had the courage to be myself completely without also trying to do things to please society because man, it's exhausting.

I have two people I am interested in pleasing.

Jehovah.
Me.


Every chapter is a favourite in this book
But my best line so far
Is.

-Find a tribe of people who are in a similar walk of life as you are. Once you find them, be honest about where you are and what you’re struggling with. Learn to ask for help, and when someone offers help, accept it! Accept any and all help you can get and consider it a gift from God! -

Of the best assets I could have wished to have by 2020,
having a tribe that completely understand me and my language is the best assets. A plot at Juja Kalimoni would  also be great.

My tribe consists of women who have gone through similar life stages as I have. Women who I can throw a question at and they will have a good solid answer not a washed out ' that's just how things are.'

Women who engage their brains to try and figure out thoughts, emotional and adult behaviour instead of dumping it on someone.

Women who make me think.
Women who remind me not to dare fall in love in covid-19 season when everyone is bored and wants to chat into the night.

Women who read and write amazing things.
Women who admit that they don't have it all figured out but they don't bury their head in the bread dough and pretend it doesn't concern them.

Women who save pictures of me and send them to me out of the blue just to remind Me I am awesome, but that doesnt mean they are not coz we aren't comparing each other here.

Shall I go on?