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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I've been posting from my phone until Blogger decided to change the theme settings. Now I'm confused so the last three posts look like spam. Let me figure it out and your articles will be up soon enough.

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.