Your Shallow and incomplete guide to cooking food for people who live alone or with cats and are tired of eating ugali with eggs every night.

How to cook a liver with vegetables.

In the book Julie and Julia, Julie describes the buying, preparation , cooking and the eating of liver as requiring special mental preparation.

I agree.

I only cook liver maybe once a year or not at all.

Perhaps when I go to the butchery and see it on display and remember, oh liver is a food item.

I didn't grow up eating liver.

We had access to chicken liver which would get mixed up in the rest of the meat.

I liked to eat the heart though.

I didn't know how to cook liver until my housemate from the Botswana upperclass gave me step by step instructions.

For pig liver.

She also taught me how to bake a ginger flavoured fish.

Then she conned me out of my house deposit  when she graduated and was off to her country setting our other housemate on me claiming I had, her deposit. 

The other roommate was Rwandese.

Thinner than a praying mantis and the daughter of a high profile official in her country.

So she didn't attend her classes but spent her days with a crowd of other moneyed college kids driving fast cars, drinking alcohol by the gallons and breaking into the house each time she misplaced her key.

On silent nights she smoked weed on the balcony with the Nigerian middle aged man down stairs.

The Nigerian man tried to give me a ride to town several times. He called me a snobbish Kenyan until the day he found me walking to my friend's condo on a hot afternoon and he simply said get in the car girl! 

And I sheepishly got in, folded my hands on my laps and thought about kidnapping stories I had heard in the news.

He didn't say a word to me.

When we got to the condo parking

I said thank you and got out.

He didn't stop to offer me rides after that.

The Motswana girl was a good cook. But she didn't cook at all.

Just made cup after cup of coffee which she would drink sitting on the treadmill tricycle that was the only bit of furniture in the large sitting room. That, and an old tv that only broadcast Channel 1 news in Malay. She then would get out to the balcony to smoke some thin  cigarettes.

I broke her coffee cup washing it that time she went to visit her boyfriend, when she came back she was really annoyed, then her friend from her hood back in Botswana came calling and was walking about the house naked.

She also didn't lock the toilet when she was inside and almost gave me a heart attack when I got in and almost went blind with both shock and embarrassment because I had not seen a full woman's grown body since primary school and here was one sitting on a toilet asking me if I was coming in for a shower.

I escaped and spent that weekend at my friend's house. There was no chance of any humans walking around without clothes here.

I ached for the lost deposit but then later on in life I did my math and settled my heart that the deposit was legitimate fees for several cooking classes. 

The Rwandese praying mantis only cooked potatoes with frankfurters and when she did she would use my cooking oil. 

I'd scrowl at her any chance I got but she never would look me in the eye.

 I did learn to make a liver and here is the recipe.

1. Cut the liver into nice cubes.
2. You may rub it with lemon juice to remove that livery smell it's got.
3. Turn it over into a thick frying pan and turn it until it starts to turn Brown.
4. Add a little oil and keep turning it over and over.
5. Sprinkle some salt.
6. Add yellow and red bell peppers, hobo and onions and tomatoes all together and cover for a while.
7. You can add a table spoon of water and let it simmer.
8. Keep checking to see if it looks cooked.
9. It should be soft to cut through and not rubbery.

Enjoy.

I find if I leave it over and eat it the following day it tastes better.

But I have a weird taste choose so don't say I told you to watch your cooked food over night.

Embracing Vulnerability: #Growth From The Inside

I'm 5% steel and 90 percent emotional  rust.

The rest of the 5% is the air that sustains the steel as it combusts the rust.

Basically, it's hard to explain how I'm still standing.

I take hits hard.

I crumble often.

 But my five percent steel

Is a whole five percent.

My friend said  to me a few months ago, that I resembled growth from the inside. 

It's not easy to know how growth from the inside looks like.

And I wondered might I not be worse off than when I began?

But you never really know If you have grown or not until you face a situation you faced before and did poorly, but this time you do better?

I don't mean Maths. I'd still fail maths if I took a test today. But in human relations, in how I view myself and how I interpret other's actions.

After trying to understand it. I finally told her- please explain- 

"Growth from the inside, is often seen by outsiders/ others as a threat or inspiration. Depending on whether the person has a fixed mind set or growth mindset. For me, it's inspiring, to see you all made up. I've never seen you all dolled- up, not like that. It's a risk, that was basically a"touch down ". You look amazing. Then seeing you model....I tell you the dreams you held on inside are surfacing. And the fact that, you accept & own both your inner and outer beauty is inspirational. True, life hasn't been easy.. But, you're taking it in stride and may JH continue to bless you, and strengthen you daily..."

So, inspite of my fear, nerves, constant apprehension? Delabitating uncertainity and the everyday realization that this world is too clever for me, I am growing.

I'm scared yes, but my fear these days fuels my motivation.

Take my hairdressing experiments for example.

 The Kenyan salon environment is the last place someone who has as many fears as I do would want to be.

The caste system, the politics and the competition.

 They are a fast talking ready to contend bunch, but who are so good at their work that the feelings I might have towards them would best be described as a mixture of awe topped with a big red cherry of disgust.

I hold them in equal amounts of derision and adoration.

And here I am trying to earn a living among them, knowing they know I'm not as skilled as they are, yet from the corner of my eye, I see the same feelings towards me, and something else.

They can see the 5% steel. 

They know I don't fully belong here, but they also can't place me. 

 There is something else there too, they admit.

There is fire.

And something else that is quite invisible. You need to posses it to know it.

'We are not sure why she seems to radiate joy even when she is obviously having a rough day.'

I've been reading about vulnerability and how it affects my life.

In her book: Daring Greatly, Brene Brown says that.

Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity

True after exhibiting vulnerabilityI have made some special connections. I have felt a little braver, I have become empathetic because I have been able to recognise the struggle in others.

And each time I bare my soul 

I have no need to live a lie. I am accountable to myself and those I have or in my life to be fully authentic. In a way I expect the same from them, but I never get disappointed.

"often the result of daring greatly isn’t a victory march as much as it is a quiet sense of freedom mixed with a little battle fatigue."

My friend Angie, overcame depression after a divorce

My friend Lindsey overcame Postpartum Depression

My friend Zawadi overcame intense grief after losing both parents

They are not strong, they are brave for not pretending that they were okay when they weren't.

The result is this clear growth from the inside.

It is the victory of overcoming a mountain that could have wrestled them to the ground.

I am a third of the way in my journey to becoming what I feel I should be.

so in a future post I will write about that.

My future is my mother getting resurrected looking hot and spoiling the market for me.

The first thing my mother can expect from me when she is resurrected is an argument. 

She will have to explain why she just wakes up dead one day and doesn't even send me an alert before.

Even a text would have sufficed.

"Hi, I am dying, you can have the radio, I knew you always coveted it."

Or "I'm out, you should have been a son."

Or 

"I'm dying, don't make a scene."

Or

"I'm dying, marry someone dammit, preserve this family line for heavensake!"

Or 

"I"m dying yes but I better have four grandchildren when I get up."

Nyawira wa Munyeki & Gathoni wa Nyawira

All in capital letters because if she was dying she wouldn't have been able to find her specs fast enough to type that last message.

I admit I am keeping that little anger for her. Why it was such a bummer was because she always told me whenever she was leaving the house to go somewhere else other than work.

"Hi, we are going to Kisii for a funeral."

"Hey, ndathiī Donholm (her elder sister's house)

"Hey Ndathiī gwa Kami (her younger sister's house)

"Hey, nyuma kwa auntie nī akūgeithia. "(I was at my friend's house, she greeted you)

So for her to take the longest journey to be joined with her foremothers without telling me about it was a little offscript.

or maybe she didn't know about it, let me give her that, it was probably those unplanned trips tuseme. But still. 

I better have a man by then because if she is resurrected looking like this then I may as well make peace with spinsterhood for eternity.

Even at my blossomest age I never looked as fine as this woman.

I also need to have a few grandchildren to show her that hey look the family line is getting on.

So I hope someone nudges me when the time is nigh so I can at least adopt some quickly. A daughter will be crucial of course. And about seven sons, one of them Korean. I want those Korean eyes in my family.

I've been scared of what would  happen  to my emotions this week. 

I was worried my grief would rise up afresh and I would be paralyzed and  my head would be muddled like it was a year ago, a few months ago.

But you know what?

Time heals.

And you know what, it gets easier each day.

My biggest help have been my friends who I can totally trust with my emotions.

When you are grieving you need someone you can gush out confused emotions to.

My friends know when I say 'sijui nafeel feel aje' it means please let's chat until I start laughing at dark jokes.

My friends also know sending over a cute pillow or a cat meme will make me very happy.

I also have an aunt who was loved a lot by mother and who my mother loved a lot. And she didn't leave the scene when most people did.

And dear christian shepherds who check with me often.

It's  true only Jehovah's kingdom will be able to heal us all completely.

But even right now. Our creator is not ignorant of our suffering.

And he is open to questions. 

I've asked him very hard questions and cried to him in a lot of anguish.

But he has never turned me away.

He has been a real father to me.

And everyday I can smile, I owe it to him.

For now, I just keep doing my best to survive each tornado.

But very soon I will say:

“Look! The tent of God is with mankind, and is residing with them, and they are his people. And God himself is with them.  And he has wiped out every tear from their eyes, and death is no more, neither is there mourning nor outcry nor pain  anymore. The former things have passed away.” 

Revelation 21:3,4

Embracing Vulnerability: Conversations with friends vs conversations with family and welcoming the un chat.

I think I like the way cats just move I to your life and settle in like they were there all along. A cat has moved into my life and now he treats me like I'm the annoying roommate who finishes all the food before the other gets home.

I have named him Cherries Long. Because he is quite a long breed and his eyes are bright and playful. When a cat moves into your life. He doesn't waste time with long introductions. He comes in, looks around and decides 'oh, I like it here. I think I'll stay.' A cat doesn't bring baggage. He comes with the clothes on his back and begins a new life with you. A cat does not ask if you have had other cats before and if you are still attached to them.

He is happy to be here with you now.

A cat doesn't need constant reassuarance, that yes, un chat, you are the best cat I ever had and your cuddles are the best I've ever had and yes I think of my other un chats but you are here now and you bring me comfort.

I assure you, this is all about cats. But it got me thinking about the different types of relationships I have. I love the kind of relationships I have with about five of my close friends. The kind of conversations we can have. We are past that game playing stage where -you didn't reply my text last week so I will ignore your whatsapp- Our conversations start when they do and end when they do. They are random Unconditional And honest. My biggest regret is that in the busy business of growing up, I didn't develop this kind of relationship with my family. Yes we talk and laugh and lift each when lifting is needed, but there lacks that essential trueness that I have come to grow into with the friends I have now. I'll talk about it more on the blog. What I mean is apart from how is work and have you eaten and the weather, there is nothing else to talk about. If I was interested in politics or the Nairobi Stock Exchange, maybe. I was, when I wrote financial articles. But the interest started and ended with the printing of each monthly article. I guess if I had given it a shot I may have managed to get my family to talk about feelings. I donno, I am too sentimental and this was not even about my family. I'm thinking of Katie Melua's lyrics 'But the moments we create always seem to ring more true.'

It is a decision.

You decide the rhythm you want your family to have. You decide the kind of conversations you want to keep having with your hexagonal of your friends. It is about the safe space that you develop to allow thoughts, dreams, daydreams and nightmares to be pocked at and be understood. And somehow I believe it's possible. When we embrace vulnerability. I believe I have scared off quite a few potential friends and mates when I started to talk about immortality vs mortality, the futility of a master brain in a seven decade lifesspan and similar topics that many don't want to venture into but what is the purpose of the brain of not to test its limits in safe enough theories. One day I will have a family and I guess my idea is. If I am to have children, I want them to ask me questions and disagree with me and If I am to have a spouse I want him to tell me no you are off But I love you so get off your high chair and fetch me a cup of something. I am constantly craving feedback. No adulation or praise or even a pat on the back. I mean,

I like engagement.

I like to know that you get me. And of you are not getting me I need you to seek clarification. From me. Because I have often been misunderstood. And for that I come off as awkward and disjointed. But here we are in 2020 and I have a clan that totally gets me. So I'm grateful for that.

Layers of me

And as I continue to peel off more layers and layers of me. I believe I may have a chance to stand infront of me completely true. Unencumbered and unhidired by bright my own or the society's expectations of a woman. With less fear With less shame With less regrets With less angst With more freedom.

Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to cooking food

For people who live alone or with cats and are tired. Man so tired of reheating that ugali from two nights ago which won't get finished. 

So ati my love language is food.

One friend told me.

And another confirmed that, "yeah it's true Cecilia you are into food."

So I asked if that made me a foodie.

"Well, yeah, yes and no.

It's like, in your house you express love by giving food to people.

But in other people's houses then, you kinda expect love to be expressed in the same way."

Really?

Gosh. I might be tiresome.

But it's true yes.

If I love you I want you to try this and that and when you finish would you like to try some of these sweet potato cookies I made? They are really good.

If I pack you a meal it's typically a love letter, if I pack you a meal with drinks just call it a proposal. I'll be home wringing my hands wondering will he say yes?

And I am also a healthy diet freak so it all comes together quite, hippie style.

I went to the posho meal. Because when Tata was asking what I needed from home I mentioned how about some wheat?

We grow wheat, where I come from.

Endarasha really is the promised land and if you are looking for a plot to plant onions  hit me up I can hook you up. You will soon be supplying onions to all Samosa street vendors and even to The Mayura, if you have the right connections.

This is a quick one. 

Baking powder chapatis with veg stew.

The chapati recipe is mine,  Davies The Chef gave me the recipe for the stew. His didn't have the option of a whole jug of water. But you know how it is. How would I be a whole Gathoni if I dared serve food without gathufu.

HOW TO MAKE BAKING POWDER CHAPATIS

You need:

2 cups of brown milled wheat flour 

1Table spoon baking powder

half a tea spoon salt

Half a cup warm water

You may add sugar if you like.

Mix with a spoon. 

See, you don't even have to touch it.

Then mix evenly with a wooden spoon.

Spread a tablespoon of oil on the dough and keep kneeding with the spoon.

Cover it and leave it for an hour or so.

Roll into thick chapati shapes.

Cook over a thick pan, little oil

Here is the stew recipe

                                                         

A trip with a couple friends: A cure for wretchedness.

I could see the confusion in the receptionist's face.

She was wondering:

Okay, this man doesn't look old enough to be a polygamist.

And if we argued this was their child, this woman doesn't look old enough to have birthed this grown up child.

Even if she came into the marriage with the child, it wouldn't be this big.

And even so, why would they bring their child on honey moon?

Or maybe she is driving them and going away?

Ai, no. Mimi sielewi, let me wait and see because I don't understand.

That was the soliloquy that went through her head.

I walked over to the pool, it was a decent enough pool. Medium in size.

I hate those tiny pools where you cannot do five wraps without hitting your wrists on the opposite walls.

They make me feel claustrophobic . 

I don't like very large swimming pools either. Unless I will be with someone all the time. Whenever I get to the deep end I feel so sure there is a whale lurking under the dark water ready to bite off my stomach.

This would do.

I would swim under the stars.

There was no mistaking that the cottage on the left was what was reserved for the couple on honey moon.

It had a big heart-shaped flower wreath of red and purple bougainvillaea.

This was going to be very interesting.

I went into the reception and Godi was just informing them yes, I would be staying the week as well. Yes I was their friend.  

No it was not their honeymoon.

And so we walked to the cottage, to find quite blush inducing bed.

We walked over to what would be my room. Nice.

'I should replicate this for my house.' 

I was thinking while 

the room steward came running and apologised and said she would also prep my bed. We went to look over at the kitchen and when I got back to my room my bed had the most beautiful model of swans made out of towels.

Three months earlier Maria had said they had a gift for me, I thought hmm...maybe lunch?

My cousin bro had died a few weeks before, I was still in heavy fog mentally wondering what had just happened and could  someone smart please explain to me in Kenyan English what was going on.

Also,my contract job had ended and I was wondering how I would continue to manage my volunteer work at the sign language department.

There were other subplots in my life as well.

So finally the day came for the trip to Diani.

It coincided with my last week at the Department. I at least had a distraction, else I'd really have crawled into a hole to die.

Feeling my purpose was over.

I was at first wondering how this would turn out. What would we talk about, how would we spend whole days together? The three of us. But by the second day I was wondering why this was not a one month arrangement. It was like being with my close family.

Cooking together, talking and walking on the beach together.

And when we went swimming I could be free because hey, there were two people who would come looking for me.

But most of all was that the wretchedness I had been feeling started to disappear.

And when Maria sang to me one evening.

I really felt awful for not paying attention to people more, you know?

Flash forward to a few months later when my bottom really felt out for real and here we are discussing postmoterm and other unpleasant things with my aunt's and uncles and who comes trouping in to our Umoja house.

Godi and Maria and Ayler and Liz and Swaleh and another couple from TZ And Rosemary and I can't remember who else because I have tears in my eyes.

It's probably 10.pm and we are singing -life without end at last- and they are now singing -precious daughter, he will be there for you, he will care for you- and Ayler is talking and reading something from the Bible and Swaleh says a prayer.

And I stop mid flight. 

I've been running.

Since the day they told me my mother's body was on it's way to outspan in a hearse, I've been running, running as fast as I can. I donno to what destination. I'm just running as fast as I can. I'm screaming too. At the top of my voice and I'm kicking the ground as I ran because I'm angry and I'm scared. And All I want to do is run away.

This is a story of thankgiving.

For these to lovies who held me up when my spine gave in.

And for the lessons I've learned from my own experiences.

That when someone is falling into abyss, you don't walk away. you grab a rope and go down with them, because after a while they will stop and start climbing up, and going back is a lonely journey. But not so painful when there's someone's voice in that darkness.

I'm thankful for those that didn't disappear.

Those who called even when they didn't know what to say.

Thos who gave me things when words were missing

and texts.

If Jehovah had not come to my rescue, I'd surely have ceased to exist.

Psalms94:17 If Jehovah had not been my helper,

I would soon have perished

But now oh Jehovah, I'm constantly with you. You have taken hold of my right hand.

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