A Gift In Disguise

•June 25, 2009 • 8 Comments

Have you ever got back home after a LONG day and started searching frantically for that note? What note? Well, the note that was next to your bed when you woke up but forgot to read. It said,

                    Dear Michelle,

                    Here’s a Wednesday from hell.


                    Hell’s Apprentice


You know that note right? Then when you don’t find it you end up going down on your knees asking God why. Why there was no memo, no warning letter that said,


                    Dear Michelle,

                    Today will suck big time so to avoid any (almost irreversible) damage just                       stay home!


                    Good Samaritan!


Would that help? Oh well…I guess that won’t happen anyway? The thought of escaping the trials we go through simply makes us cowards. Cowards too scared to leave their cocoon of safety that can so easily be destroyed. 

With every day that comes, there will be some accompaniments that we honestly didnt ask for. Accompaniments such as traffic, sickness, heartbreak an argument,… Ofcourse there are those accompaniments that you might have or might not have asked for but are more than willing to accept….laughter, a much needed hug, a job you’ve always wanted, a raise, praise… Most of these are a matter of choice….wake up early beat the traffic, eat healthy stay away from getting sick or even if sick stay strong and happy because you’re still alive!  So what happens when the day comes along with an accompaniment known as death. The one thing that you can never be prepared for, takes all of your attention, and attempts to drain you of everything.

I woke up with no note from anyone but with the gift of the day and a well of hope that you will get better. My prayers for you and your family echoed in my mind as I walked, as I talked and I know I was not the only one. The image of you on the hospital bed never left my mind for a second. It felt odd to be next you and not hear you crack a joke, laugh or call out my name even when I have been right next to you for more than…wait…even hours!:) 

As the hours progressed, I was made to understand that some things are beyond us and I was asked if I would like to say my goodbyes. I accepted that offer and I tried to, I honestly tried to, but even after seeing you so still and almost cold…those words could not leave my mouth. I just kept thinking why and what if? Why that accident had to happen? Why that driver didn’t stop to help you? What if all this never happened? You would still be here cracking us up! We would have watched the football game live in the stadium like we had wanted-cheer Kenya’s win. Seems like another plan was written.

My heart quickly begun to drown in despair. Fighting back tears, I looked around at the scores of people around you. The hospital was flooded with friends and family. The phones kept ringing…all for you. In all these people, I couldnt help but see a little bit of you. When they talked I could hear you, when they laughed I could hear you even when they cried I could still hear you. Your blood still runs through your son’s and daughter’s veins. And when I buried myself in your brothers’ and sister’s embrace I could feel you. It was only your body that I could not see.

I realize I will never see you again…but first things first I will go for every football game I can and cheer my lungs out for our team! You left a spark in all of us, a spark that reminds us to be full of life just like you were. A spark that reminds us to celebrate life no matter what the day brings. I will always keep that spark from and for, the man who I am blessed to have shared many unforgettable memories with. I guess death left a gift in disguise.


Thank you Amin. I know you are in a better place.


•June 10, 2009 • 3 Comments


Don’t you think it’s interesting that we say fall in love? Why not say rise in love? Why does love always have to have some helpless, desperate, vulnerable friends to accompany it? Don’t get me wrong I’m not complaining, only asking.


What hurts me about this word called love and the world of ideas, perceptions and thoughts that come with it, is that…why is it never our own. I can’t help but realize that the things we wish for, the things we aspire to gain are things we have seen with others.


In this lifetime we lack the role model to guide us through our own path our own journey. Instead, in abundance, is the dictator that tells us what to do, that we answer to.  This dictator is no one else but culture. Isn’t culture  the reason why we do what is expected of us and instead of that which we desire of ourselves?


Each of us has been blessed with a gift which we are to share with the world. I worry that my children’s gifts might be snatched from their grasp only to be re-modified  to what culture expects, and they will be left living not for themselves but for others.


Do you know what your gift is? The one thing you feel so strongly about? The one thing you carry with you everywhere you go with your head held high? The one thing that makes you YOU?


Sadly some of us don’t know about this gift and there are some of us that know it but choose to sit on it because maybe society is not ready and truth is in this day and age society is rotting in its own filth and is craving for the raw talents of its people to save it! 


I remember the one song I sang when I was much younger and it said, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine” Why don’t we do just that? Let go of all the shackles of whatever is holding us down, be true to ourselves, bring back the innocence in our beliefs and just do it!!!


Rise in love with yourself!! Live!!

Remote Mind Control

•May 6, 2009 • 7 Comments

I love the countryside. A chance to be away from the noisy city and of course the dreaded traffic jam. One has an opportunity to literally taste the fresh air i.e. unless some bright chap decides to burn makaa on that day, then you’ll definitely have to change location. Yes here is where the people come in. They add a much needed character to the landscape. These are the veterans of the land, their families having lived there for a long long time. Their eyes cry out despair but their bodies spill out content. Their mouths? Sheer misunderstanding of the way things are and the way things are meant to be.


This situation got me thinking about the Remote Mind Control.  So I wrote a letter to him/ her/ it.


Dear Remote Mind Control,

You’re nowhere next to me, yet your signal is all around me. Dictating the way I walk because of my neighbor who then suddenly realized I was not from the same ethnic tribe as he. Dictating the way I talk because I am left discussing where your whereabouts might be, contemplating what your next action may be. Dictating the way I think because my dreams are too far to reach and my surrounding suggests that I do the little I can to simply get the little I can.


Remote Mind Control, no day passes that I don’t feel that signal. No day passes without me watching news only to be slapped on the face with what I’d like to call a buffet of utter nonsense.  No day passes without me walking passed a man who is able to walk, able to talk, but his mind is crippled.  No day passes without me being too weak to laugh, too weak to smile because I’m too busy fighting to make it through in peace and in one piece.


I wish I could have you jailed for life, but you’re not tangible.  I wish I could get a detergent to soak and scrub you off but you’re not just a stain.  I wish I could do something about it. Instead of sitting back, waiting for you to change the channel.


With Love,

Your Puppet (A Kenyan)

I have grown

•April 23, 2009 • 19 Comments

How do you know that you’re getting older? Now I know that’s a very simple question. To some of us it’s when of course our birthday’s pass and we’re notably one year older, when we add one more wrinkle, when our breasts begin to sag and our stomachs are not as tight as they used to be, or perhaps it’s when your daughter comes home with her boyfriend and you find yourself asking where time has gone.


No I’m not married and no I don’t have any children. But I do feel as though I have grown a great deal. Why do I say this? Well the experiences in my life have dictated a lot who I am, what I am and what I believe in. The environment is really what makes us, deep inside we know who we are but our experiences our surrounding dictate who we become, how we evolve. My father’s passing from literally drinking himself to death has made me look at alcohol as a silent killer and not the usual relaxer as I once accepted it to be. His relationship with my mother has dictated a lot in the way I look at men. No surprise I am still single. A lot of me died along with him. I remember seeing him in his hospital bed and I could barely recognize him. He could barely talk all he did was squeeze my hand tight, that became our language. When the food was too much he would tighten it, then I knew we should reduce it. When it was time for me to go he squeezed it tightest, and that moment I knew I would never see him again.


Now I have always hated this man. I wrote it every day in my diary, sometimes I would write it so hard that it would tear the paper but that never stopped me from pushing the pen in harder! He never knew me, barely spoke to me, it was always a tone louder, I believe we call it shouting. To him shouting was a normal way of talking. Oh well I got the hang of it. I got the hang of hearing it all night, took pills to make me sleep I even took pills to get to heaven quicker I believed I was meant to live another lifetime, the angels had me mixed up with someone else, someone stronger more tough skinned, what’s a girl like me to do. But clearly it didn’t work as I’m here writing this.


After he was pronounced dead I remember my director calling me to find out if I was fine. I was to be on stage the next day. My boss then called me and I was to fly to Kilimanjaro the next day. Did I have time to mourn? Nope. It barely hit me! I’m the one who designed the funeral program! I remember resizing his picture and thinking to myself how shady his spectacles were! Yes burying him was tough but I was too busy hiding away from my relatives who were name calling and cursing at us for killing him. I kept asking myself who I’m to mourn. The man who watched me take my first step? The man who picked me up from school? The man…. (I’m sorry the rest of the memories were not worth remembering.)


He’s gone and I’m yet to visit his grave. Do I have the courage? No. Do I want to? Yes. Am I going to? I don’t know. I’m too busy drowning myself in my career; my work makes me so happy. It is the one thing I give my time to and it gives me back a sense of satisfaction that I cannot find words to express. To all the fathers out there or even those soon to be here’s my advice to you. When you get home no matter how long your day has been talk to your children. Now I’m not saying take them out, buy them gifts, sit and watch tv no! Just talk to them. Find out how their day was; tell them how yours was as well! If you’re a little far call them. What I’m simply trying to say is be there. It’s not enough that you brought them on earth and that they have the latest gifts, clothes, and their mother picked them up in a really hot ride looking as fine as ever! Talk to them for God’s sake. Now that was not a curse but I really did mean for God’s sake. He blessed you with that little one so how’s about you don’t take any moment with them for granted.


I know one of the squeezes was “I’m sorry for being an asshole” There are so many times I want to run and bury myself in his arms. Now I look forward to doing that in my dreams. I crave to listen to songs that he played (he had great taste in music!) I crave to see him walking out of his car and play around with the dogs; I crave to see the look on his face as he sees my name in credits rolling. I crave for him to squeeze my hand…at least one more time. Rest in peace dad is it too late to say I’m sorry? Being a grown up is hard, losing your job, losing your family was hard who was I to judge? I should have been there for you. I am only twenty two years old but I have grown.


PS: Phil Collins is also my favorite artist. You always played his songs but one really warms me ‘Find a way to my heart’ perhaps you subconsciously played it for me.

Hello world!

•April 23, 2009 • 2 Comments

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