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Creative Non-Fiction


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Creative Non-Fiction

KISWAHILI KITUKUZWE

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Mwandishi:Sultan Karama Maji Male (kero)

Naam,ninaposhika kalamu kwa Mara nyengine tena, mara hii siandiki shairi kama ilivyo ada yangu bali ni kutafakari. Ni kutafakari tafakuri la sauti ili wasomaji nao wapate kutafakari na Mimi. Suala la uboreshaji was lugha ya kiswahili limepewa kisogo na muluki ya watu,sio kuwa wengi hawajui kiswahili Ila tu ni ile dhana iliotawala bongo zao ya kuwa kiengereza ni bora. Halikadhalika ni unasibishwaji wa lugha ya kiengereza na usomi.

Dhana ya kunasibisha lugha ya kiengereza na usomi ndicho chanzo kikuu cha kusambaratisha juhudi za wakereketwa wa lugha ya kiswahili katika kuikuza lugha hii. 

Stesheni za runinga na redio pia zimelemaa katika kuboresha lugha hii. Pindi nilipokuwa mdogo kulikuwa na vipindi maridadi kabisa vikiwemo:KISWAHILI KITUKUZWE KWANI NI LUGHA YA TAIFA. Ila ni kwa masikitiko makuu Taifa la Kenya limekuwa taifa lililo sahau chimbuko lake. Limekuwa taifa linalobeza tamaduni zake na kutupilia mbali turathi zake.  Waama tumesahau kuwa muacha mila ni mtumwa. Tamati ningependa kuwashajiisha katika kukienzi kiswahili. Kiswahili kitukuzwe kwani ni lugha ya taifa.

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HOW FULL IS YOUR PLATE?

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First step: Download the above photo.
Second step: Zoom the photo as much as you can.
Third step: Look at it keenly.

Do you see what I see? This is real. This is our real world.

You know what they usually say? You don’t miss the water until the well runs dry. You can never fathom hunger if you don’t know what it means to stay for two/three consecutive days without a drop of water or a piece of bread. You can never know what it feels like to have your stomach pinching you tightly like it’s about to excrete all your intestines. You can never really understand the value of the food on your plate until the day you probably get lost in a desert and all your water and food runs out.

A few days ago someone was telling me about a child in Samburu who was starving to the extent that his heartbeat rate was so low, people thought he is already dead. Can you imagine how many days this child could have stayed hungry? We fast for 12 hours and the speed at which we want to gulp everything down when we break the fast is supersonic. We want everything our hands can get to. We eat until we can barely breath anymore. Imagine this kind of ‘mini-hunger’ that we experience then triple that; that is what they go through DAILY. And mind you, it could be four/five, infinite times more.

Right now Israel has cut-off the water supply for the Palestinians in West Bank. This is not the first time, not the second and definitely not the last. So many in this same world that we live in stay for days without tasting even the tasteless, dirty, muddy water. Nothing in liquid form. They walk for very long distances in search of water and food. All they see is the mirage. The illusion of water. They think of water. They dream of water. Think of them, the Syrians, the Yemenis, Indians, our own Kenyans. All these countries either in war or in poverty. This is what they go through every single day.

If you are thinking that I am trying to make you guilty then you are on the right track. I am a victim of my own guilt. When your mother tells you just jokingly that there is no food today you will quickly question, “what do you mean there is no food?!” You will be miserable the entire day and probably the next too. “How dare they not cook food?!” You will whine. You will cry. You will not talk to anyone. Then what do you do when you have the food??

See how we go to eat in hotels and restaurants, touch food here and there then leave two potatoes, some soup and the juice only half empty. We pretend to be the elite class. We don’t want to be considered ‘greedy’ by clearing the whole plate so we leave bits of food here and there. I mean, who wants to be seen as ‘hungry?’ All we want to do is touch the expensive food, leave the plate almost as it first came, pay the bill with a tip because that is what the elite do or ‘should’ do. We have bars of chocolates melting in the fridge for days, half drank juices and lots of junk that ends up in the pit. We cook in extravagance and are quick to throw the food away the next day because ‘we don’t eat left overs’. My friend; if you knew what those left overs mean to starved people you would never leave even a single bit of anything that tastes or even smells like food. Let alone left overs, the rotten food that you wouldn’t give your cat is like wealth to them. When you see how happy they become when they receive food from those who remember them you’d think they just won a lottery.

The struggle is real. Not only here in Kenya but in so many countries. Hunger and poverty is eating people. We need to become really responsible on how we eat, how much we eat and how we use the water that we have in abundance. We need to start thinking of those poor children as thin as our fingers, those very old men and women seated by the fire, watching the empty pot as if food is about to miraculously appear. We have to think of those mothers and fathers who have to face their children once again to say the same thing, “we don’t have anything to eat. Be patient.” How they have to live with two kinds of pain; one of their own struggle and two, the pain of their children. We have to measure what amount to cook and how much water to use. We have to really REALLY try helping those who are hungry when we can. Let us pray sincerely for them and for their children. Let us also pray for all those who dedicate their time, money and energy to buy and provide them with food. These people are our real heroes and the least they deserve from us is prayers; they are doing what most of us have failed to do.

May God give these families the patience and easen it for them. May He protect us from hunger and grant us the hearts to feed others when we can. Ameen…and today, when you go to eat, check how full your plate is. Thank God for it. Share it if it is more than you need. Make a difference in someone’s life.

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KENYANS NEVER LEARN

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Photo Courtesy: zipo.co.ke

Something silly about Kenyans; they never learn. I mean, wasn’t 2007 post-election the biggest lesson for us as a country? Seeing the CORD anti-IEBC demos in Kisumu is just like watching the prediction of 2017 post-elections. It is dreadful. It is scary. It is alarming.

I have never been a fan of politics. In fact I never write about it. For a humanitarian, politics is just a filthy cloth to touch let alone wear. Although humanity is connected to politics such that it is best when they intertwine (i.e. good leadership and kind souls can do wonders to our country) these two things rarely ever come together over here. I am not politically affiliated, never have been and i’m not planning to be.

For the past few days the headlines have been about the CORD demos in Kisumu and how 8 Kenyans were shot by the police. Among those 8 injured is baby Jeremy who is just 6 years old. This angel at such a tender age already knows what it means to have a bullet in your body. This poor child has suffered the pain of having a hole dug in his body. He knows what it feels like going into the operation room, to be cut and to be bloody. You see his face and he is expressionless. But do you know lack of expressions is more saddening than it’s visibility. Seeing him cry means he is in pain but seeing him speechless means he is still trying to fathom what just happened. He is trying to let it sink in. He is drowning in the excruciating pain. His poor single mother doesn’t even know how to handle the situation.

But why, why don’t Kenyans ever learn??!

2007 post election violence clearly showed us what it really means to be a Kenyan. We were oppressed. We; the common Mwananchi. The local man who doesn’t have any relation to any politician. It was us who became IDP’s. Us who lost our mothers and fathers, our children and saw as our properties got burnt right in front of our eyes. It was us who were left with scars that will remain part of us for eternity. It wasn’t Raila or Uhuru or Kibaki or any other politician. It was us. They weren’t even scratched by all that happened. It was our floors filled with blood, tear gas, random gun shots and screams of agony. When will we ever learn that we are being our own enemies; digging our own graves??!

The demos in Kisumu have even affected the schools and businesses such that people and children are scared to go on with their daily activities. So now the minister of internal affairs has declared that there shouldn’t be any more demos due to the chaos taking place but will this rule be followed? And you know Kenyans hehe so long as it is not him or her who was injured, they will still appear the next time they are called for such.

If we are not careful, we are slowly creating another war to occur come next year elections. All this seems to be a shadow. If we don’t take it slow, we will definitely have more bloodshed, tear gas, police hitting Kenyans like dogs and more torture. Politicians are not your fathers to come nurse you when you are in the hospital after being shot from the chaos they started. Yes, it is true that it is our votes that count, that it is our votes that makes a good leader take the seat but let’s learn to play our cards well just like they play their cards marvelously. Be smart. Act smart. Learn how to see through your politicians. Be your neighbour’s keeper, and not the reason they are having a funeral. And most importantly, be a loyal Mwananchi to your fellow Wananchi.

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THIS THING CALLED LOVE

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Artist: Sunita Khedekar

They say too much of everything is poisonous. Everything includes love. But for love, too much of it is not just poisonous. It is disastrous. It is catastrophic. It is devastating. It is all that is beyond toxic.
It is what is making people commit suicide.
It is what makes people become murderers.
It is what makes people go insane.
It is what makes people lose themselves forever.
It is what makes people never trust again…
And not just romantic love but also material love, friendship love…whatever kind it is, it is agonizing when it exceeds the normal rate especially romantic love.
But let’s first rewind to how this whole thing called love starts.

I’ve always been a dreamer myself but when it comes to love I believe in reality as the clear picture. Perhaps it is because I have a very different view of love in general. My friends have always thought I am just too much of a hater to love and that I am too naive to actually understand it all. Well in this case, naivety is honestly bliss. It is actually ironic because I am such a lover of humanity and humanity goes hand in hand with love but I guess this is where my different definition comes in. I remember an instance years back when a friend told me of her relationship and I told her my honest thoughts of it in which her boyfriend decided to declare me jealous “because I had never been loved like that before”. Lol he should come to my home and see how my mother treats me like a baby. Love is love and when it is filial it is way powerful. I won’t say love is not something beautiful. I won’t say it is all pain and anguish but I will say it is not the most fulfilling feeling in this life as some perceive it.

One of the most accurate theories of love I have ever heard is one in Arabic language which speaks of how it usually just starts with a glance then a smile then greeting then a conversation then a date then it ends up in bed. It doesn’t happen so always but most of it starts like that. I always tend to look at the larger picture. Look at what is to be anticipated in this thing called love, ten years to come. At the beginning it’s such a fairy tale, a bubble filled with tinier colourful air bubbles, a fantasy of romance and anticipation of ‘happily ever after’. It is intense passion and that phase of ‘I cant live without him/her’ but slowly with time comes the comfort phase where the fire has calmed down and it is just the caring and loving feeling that keeps you together. But even that doesn’t always last long because this is when reality strikes. The honeymoon is over and it is time to pay bills and the house is dirty, needs to be cleaned,and the food needs to be cooked and each of your claws and flaws now start appearing. It is here when looks no longer matter and character and piousness is vital. It is at this point that you both need patience and understanding to break the walls. It is here when all the roses that were on the bed before start tearing you with it’s thorns. At this stage it’s either the comfort or the falling-out-of-love stage. Because trust me what comes next is either just routine with sparks of love here and there or just a gradual downfall of your marriage or love story or whatever.

I strongly believe in the wisdom behind the disapproval of teen love. Not because it is wrong to love but because we seek it at the wrong time with the wrong people. I have seen and witnessed enough to not believe in fantasy in the name of love. For me, life is the best teacher and the best experience. I have seen love-based marriages last only a month, I have seen couples who fought for each other for so long that you knew nothing would ever separate them yet I saw them fall out of love. I have seen the glimmer of love in the eyes die. I have seen lovers who ended up living together just as a routine yet it once started as one of the greatest love stories. Perhaps I am being a pessimist here or just that I am such an observer but I have learnt that love isn’t something to depend on entirely in your life. It dies. It ends. It gets buried. If you are lucky enough you will see the remaining sparks of it as you grow old and frail. If this is what happens to married people; people who’ve known each other inside out, people who’ve worn each other’s hearts on their sleeves then what do we expect from our immature brains and unfocused goals of life? I remember another incident of a mate who once talked to me about his girlfriend and when I told him it won’t last he said, “I hope I will still be in touch with you years from now so you see me marry her” Barely one or two years later he broke up with her and when I asked what happened he said, “Just like that…” Oh yeah…must be that he fell out of love.

Perhaps this is why I am not really a fan of writing about love or even talking about it because I know what I will say is not what you want to hear. You want to hear that it is beautiful, it is amazing, it is the best feeling in the world. You want to hear more of “happily ever after” but for me I will just tell you bluntly how much you could be wasting your energy and time on a person who won’t even look at you twice few months or even years from now. I know you want to object right now. You want to tell me of the lovers you know who are now happily married with cute children like themselves. I know you want me to bet on your life as well and that you are definitely going to be with him/her for the rest of your life. It’s fine. I know how being optimistic is important for you right now…and I won’t disagree that there are several love birds who actually married and are happy as we talk but let’s count how many they are. And when I mention love birds here I don’t mean those who fell in love and sought the right way by approaching parents, I mean those who were in a relationship or serious dating. How many of such have actually succeeded after marriage.

When that routine phase finally comes, it is when things just get cold and you barely have anything left to talk about. Sometimes it is just one partner who suffers it all. Perhaps still holding onto that teen passion that has long died in the spouse. She keeps fighting to bring back things as they were yet her energy all goes to waste. A friend of mine likes using this example about such love…it is like a wall between two people; two lovers and the wall is about to fall. Both of you need to exert pressure on the wall from both ends to make the wall stand upright once again. But here is the woman…or even the man maybe, exerting all the pressure yet the partner is not doing anything. He/she keeps pushing the wall, trying to make it upright with all her/his energy until it finally falls off on the partner’s side. Yes, it is because she was doing it single-handedly. Love is a two-way thing. He pushes She pushes. You both need to work hard to actually make it work. Yet you are here struggling so hard to make someone at least notice your sacrifices but they just never see it. This is when love becomes toxic. Because it ruins, it destroys, it makes someone lose themselves as they seek someone else. If they are not your spouse then it is definitely not worth it. Prior marriage love is most of the times either just lust or a fantasy.

When you see an old couple still finding comfort and warmth from each other then do know that they have fought battles and moved mountains to get them where they are. It takes a lot of energy, honesty, humbleness, appreciation, patience, upright manners to make two people go back to passion just when they were about to go to routine phase. Perhaps this is why you should really respect the humble beginnings of your parents too if they are still together. It is not easy to over look so many flaws from a person and still love them deeply and sincerely. So yes, true love does exist. But only at the right time and of course, with the right person.

If you are in any such fantasy about love then you need to wake up. You need to understand that love is not what you imagine at 18, that life has so many surprises yet to come. You need to understand there is something called fate, that it is okay even if it is the 21st Century, to be single. And when you are principled and attached to God then things couldn’t get any better for you. You need to know that you have to really really REALLY love yourself first before anything else. And most importantly you need and must understand that love is definitely not the purpose of our lives.

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DOCTOR; BY HEART OR BY THE POCKET?

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I always wanted to be a doctor, a pediatrician to be precise. That was my childhood dream and I grew up admiring the white coat and the stethoscope on the neck. I wanted to save lives. I wanted to make a difference in children’s lives. But isn’t that what many, if not all of us, grew up dreaming of?

We grew up being fed with the information that being a doctor is being a hero. Being a star more than superman or spiderman. It meant changing the world. We grew up watching series like ER, Grey’s anatomy, Scrubs, The mob doctors, House…and the list is endless… and we knew for sure this is it. This is what I want to become. Well, for me, that was before reality hit me hard and I hard to divorce the science and math world. Even so, I never really stop feeling nostalgic of my childhood dream. I would have had fun playing around with crying babies in the hospital oh without forgetting singing and dancing nursery rhymes lol is that even real? Whom am I kidding? ?

Going back to history when we didn’t have all these pills, machines and vaccines, even then, the herbalists were highly regarded. They were close to the king’s status. They were honoured and considered noble. Therefore it is no big surprise that more than 50% of the parents in the world want their children to be doctors. Doesn’t matter if it is a surgeon, a cardiologist, neurologist, psychiatrist, pharmacist, dermatologist, radiologist, dentist…you name it. So long as we have the ‘st’ at the end of the word then we good to go right?

We will all agree that the job done by doctors is a sacrifice that very few can actually take up to. Working over 24 hours, lacking sleep, operating for almost an entire day, dozing on the benches, missing out A LOT on family events and hanging out with friends…The course itself is too tiresome and going over a long period of time. It takes a lot of hard work, passion, dedication, energy, oh and college money to actually work it through. Perhaps this is exactly why they really deserve to be our heroes. But then the course of things in the medicine world started changing when doctors shifted their focus from the heart to the pocket. Doctors; is it by soul or by the money? This is where we got it all wrong. When our heroes valued the money more than humanity.

I usually wonder sometimes when I see very poor people getting really sick, I wonder, how do they get through to get their medication? Of course God doesn’t neglect anyone. He always brings ways for us during our hard times but apart from that, how do they survive? I mean, seeing a specialist of any kind let’s say neurologist or cardiologist costs one almost four thousand, five thousand, for just an appointment with the doctor. Just to look at his face and hear his golden words. No, don’t get me wrong. Yes, these doctors very well deserve it. It is their hard work. It is their hard earned money but this disqualifies them from being our heroes any longer. And this is how poor people die miserably in their homes because have you ever thought what this four/five…ten thousand is for them? That could be their entire salary. That could be the food plus school fees plus rent plus water for the whole month. That could be a fortune for them. And then that is not all. After that you tell this same person in a something that looks like a clothe because it can’t even be regarded as a clothe. It is similar but it is not. It is rags, they are in torn shoes and have rough sore hands. You tell this same person to make almost four tests which would cost them maybe another two thousand without forgetting the medication that would also cost them another fortune. What are you tying to tell them? Go away? Because of course you are chasing them away with your prices. You are indirectly telling them ‘you deserve to die miserably because you can’t afford to see me’. It is telling them ‘this is not your place to be’.

This is how we see poor souls crowding in Coast general and many other public hospitals desperately trying to get help. Anxiously waiting for the time when doctors would leave their private hospitals to come have a peep at them in the public hospitals. This is how nurses treat them like ‘you ain’t gonna tell me nothing. You are just here by our mercy’and treat them worse than the street dogs. They still come though. What should they do? This is the only place they can find a little bit of humanity left. So they wake up while the world is still dark and quiet, rush to the hospital to be the first in line and then wait and wait and wait for hours before the honourable doctor walks in to serve them. You see the fatigue, the helplessness, the anxiousness, the sickness on their faces all at once. What happened to our heroes?

But I will tell you this, although many doctors became what they became so as to acquire their current bank balance, there are some who continue being legends of our times. There are some who have put humanity at the front before money.

There is a doctor in our neighbourhood who is so kind; so humane that you would just be amazed by his nature. He works with his wife in their private clinic and over the years I saw this doctor not charging a shilling to patients whom he wasn’t able to establish their illnesses. He doesn’t charge the patients before but after. If he couldn’t assist you or if he just asked you to do a few tests he doesn’t charge you for talking to him.
I have seen him treating poor people several times free of charge. He sometimes even gives the medicines free of charge. He treats others on credit when they request so. I have seen him showing utmost kindness to his patients and I swear I am a witness to how much he and his wife prospered over the years. They opened their own maternity clinic which also keeps expanding with time. I have seen how God blessed him and his family. And it makes me think, if we just had a few more private doctors who served their communities whole-heartedly and with humbleness, how then would we have over crowded public hospitals with desperate patients crying their souls out for the pain? I am not saying the government is not to blame for not establishing more and proper medical institutions for the less advantaged communities but let’s accept it; we can always do better when we stand for humanity; when we support and help each other.

If you are a doctor and reading this, this is a challenge for you. Are you really the hero you claimed to be? Are you satisfied and proud by how you have held that title of a ‘doctor’? Are you a doctor by the soul or by the pocket??

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THE NAIROBI EXPERIENCE AND BAKE AWARDS

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Photo Courtesy: Bloggers Association of Kenya

You know the expression people give you when you say you haven’t been to Nairobi? ?? ‘Like are you for real? Who doesn’t go to Nairobi?’ They make it seem like you haven’t gone for the life-changing pilgrimage. They never even react like that when you say you never go to church or the mosque. So this time round I went, for the first time, to Nairobi. Well I once passed by as transit to Nakuru for a journalism competition but that was it.

Going to Nairobi for a paranoid person is not all that a fun trip. In my entire journey I thought of how I should have perhaps carried my ‘war kit’…you know, just in case, especially with all these scary theories about Nairobi and it’s residents. I should have carried a dagger, a knife, a poisonous spray, rat poison and a rope just in case I meet one of the robbers or psychopathetics. I would first spray into his eyes, followed by stabbing with the dagger, forcing the rat poison down his throat, hang him if all that doesn’t work then finally cut him down into into pretty pieces of what could make a delicious meal for the cats back home. This would be my souvenir from Nairobi because getting the BAKE trophy seems quite impossible at this stage. Having Biko and Magunga as fellow competitors is like jogging like Mr Bean then go on a race with Usain Bolt and David Rudisha. So perhaps having some fresh meat would at least make a few fellas happy in my neighbourhood. Okay people, relax, i’m no murderer. Just precautionary measures you know ?

On alighting at Nairobi; River road, all I could see are these very many people moving across back and forth in very quick steps. As I walked fast, I just realized that the place was rather scary. I mean, when was the last time I saw such large numbers of people in the streets of Mombasa? Perhaps it was during a charity walk or a political rally? Where do all these people come from anyway? It’s like God dropped a handful of people on the land of Nairobi and said ‘Go!’ then the crowd spread about like tiny termites each on their own agenda. Everyone busy. Everyone in a hurry. Later on I went to the loo of a certain mall and even there, the place was crowded. Too much chaos. In Mombasa you could go to a loo and dance in front of the mirror, record an entire song, apply make up and still no one appears to interrupt your peace ?

As I walked around town I kept greeting people then I just turned to my cousin, “oh I forgot…people don’t say hi here right?” What a life. I was totally confused which street is OK to receive phone calls and which taxi driver could take you safely to your destination without kidnapping you. I barely trust the tuktuks in Mombasa so what about taxis here?! And these people earn money wah! And that is without mentioning that there is no ‘near’place. No walking distance. Oh God bless Mombasa for it’s easy life?

I had heard of the pretty cold weather of Nairobi but when I arrived it was almost like Mombasa cold days. No big deal really. So I sarcastically started questioning ‘sasa hii ndiyo baridi nnayoskia?!’ (now is this the cold I hear of?!’ Going to bed, I wore a very light dress and a sweater then just as it became darker I started feeling the cold in my veins. I started shivering. Like literally shaking. Like what we used to write in our inshas ‘nilitetemeka tem tem falau ya kifaranga katika baridi ya kipupwe’ Is the saying like this? Lol. I don’t remember anymore. The house girl had her rib cracking laughter looking at me shiver at the middle of the bed, seated, unable to stretch my hands to my bag beside the bed to get something else to wear on top. Or perhaps that was panic and anticipation for the next day’s event? Maybe. Maybe not. The next day I decided that I had learnt my lesson and wore pretty heavy and that was the day the sun was shining like no other. That was Nairobi weather for me ?

I’ve never really been an event/party person. People means chaos for me. It means dressing up for the occasion. It means calculating how to respond when men give you their hands to shake. It means turning into an extrovert overnight. It means ladies looking at you and wondering why you didn’t put on make up. Oh and some ask you by the way ? It’s like a body feature is missing. Okay thanks to mum for ensuring I wore a cinderella dress that she made herself with so much love. Well of course she also made sure to get me heels lest I wore sneakers to the event. Trust me I would have but by then, I would be dead ? Well fortunately, most men nowadays know about the issue of shaking hands and Muslim ladies so they just smile and respect that. It gets pretty awkward sometimes but well, they are learning ?

Just when I got to Radisson Blu hotel, I was welcomed by the ushers who were in ‘sare’. What is sare in English by the way? Similar outfits will do I guess ? I went all alone, sat alone at the back, hoping no one tries talking to me. But then I decided to find out where my fellow Mombasian competitor was and joined the family somewhere in the middle. I still sat alone. To avoid awkward conversations like:
“So are you a nominee?”
“Yes..
“Which one?”
“Strokes of my pen? Lubnah?”
“Oh no I’ve never heard of that. Which is that? Is it a travel blog?”
“Lol. It’s creative writing.”
“Oh the one when mentioned no one cheered?” ?
“Yeah. That same one.”
“Oh you mean with kina Biko!”
“Yes. Biko.”
They say you are not a blogger until you know Biko. Oh man he deserves it really. So now that has become my biggest weapon to get the masters to talk to me. After the event I went round talking to a few people here and there plus James of BAKE made sure I met people I should know as a writer. And whenever I mentioned my blog no one knew of it. They heard it first time at the event. But then just when I mentioned that I was in creative writing category with ‘akina Biko’ I could see how suddenly people’s eyes grew bigger and were looking at me with keener interest. I recollected all my courage and spoke like am about to drop a grenade of wisdom. Oh well, with the masters, you must show them that you are worth listening to.

And you know the worst part of it is that Biko himself never showed up. How does someone win two awards and not show up? This guy is such a man and a half. Like a boss. Such style lol. Hehe that is how good writers can use suspense and be mysterious in such a cool way. Had he come, I would perhaps have shared my plate with him and thanked him for ‘allowing’ me to use his name to create my own ? But then I met Magunga which is also a great gain. The masters of writing and art. I just hope I meet Wanja Kavengi soon. I want to thank her for making me laugh whenever I read her posts ??

Well honestly this a great experience for me alhamdulilah. I just wished we had more Coastal nominees and Muslims as well. From the attendants I just saw around 5 Muslims and from the Coast. Where are all the rest whom I keep reading their work and marvel at their greatness??! I just hope next year we have not less than 10 Muslim and/or Coasterians being nominated. We have all it takes and all that is needed. We just have to stop sleeping on our talents. So if you got your blog filled with internet cobwebs and dust please clean it up and start afresh. If I could get there I don’t see why anyone else can’t. So best wishes to all the upcoming writers. Congratulations to all the BAKE winners and nominees and thanks again to all those who voted for me, those who read my blog, those who believe in me and inspire me to keep inspiring. Let’s meet next year in shaa Allah!

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CONCEAL; DON’T FEEL!

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Photo Courtesy: Unknown

“Conceal
Don’t feel.
Don’t let them know.”
~Frozen

When a boy notices his tendency to cry a lot or even be more emotional than expected then this is when Anna’s words become a consolation. You feel you are not alone in this; not alone in the hiding and burying. Not alone in the turning away from the inner you, the real you that wants to scream, that wants to cry, that wants to break down, that needs a hug or at least a pat on the shoulder. So you shut the doors and put a pillow on your face so that no one hears you silent cries. You lock yourself in loo and cry until you have no more tear for anyone to see or simply go mute on everyone. No one should know. You have to hide or else everyone will raise their eyebrows at you, “dude are you normal?”
“Are you straight?”?

The girls are usually the victims of this but for the few boys who are characterized as ‘sensitive’ then they definitely have a hard time.

As boys grow up they keep hearing it over and over again, ‘real men don’t cry’, ‘man up’ ‘be strong’ ‘be like a soldier or a lion…’ ‘Are you a girl to be a cry baby?’ But anyway who brought up this notion? This foolish theory that when a man cries he isn’t ‘real’ anymore? What does ‘real’ mean anyway? Does it mean that the boys who cry a lot or show their emotions have any less of the y chromosomes or perhaps they should freak out and see a psychologist whether they may be turning gay?? ?

I say it is foolish because I believe in a person who feels. It means they have extra ordinary power to connect with others. It means they love others honestly. It means they are strong enough to respect their inner self that is wounded. It means they are simply not allowing their ego to overtake their soul. It means that despite all the tears and feels, they are strong enough to admit that they are in pain and that pain needs to be let out. It means that although everyone expects them to be fierce and hard so as to be recognized as ‘strong’, they decided to have their own definition of ‘strong’. It means they are humane and feel for others. It means they are special.

Yes, they are definitely special. These cry babies are the ones who will make the best of husbands and fathers. As much as some women may argue that emotional men can’t protect them and would probably cry with them during tough situations instead of acting immediately, do remember that the Y chromosome in him still exists. He will protect you more than the man with an ego would ever do. He will protect you because he is true to you; because he won’t ever want you to get hurt especially because of him.
And hey man, if a woman ever mocks you over your emotional make-up then she is simply not worth it. If it is family or even friends then just over-look the criticisms. Sometimes you just need to ignore what people think about you.

These men you call cry babies are ones who will restore humanity whenever, simply because they feel extra ordinarily and with deep empathy for others. They are the ones who keep touching hearts and inspiring people. So if you one of them, please feel free to cry and break down and feel extensively. If the inner self is wounded and needs to bleed then please bleed if you need to. Don’t let your ego destroy your beautiful soul. Your tears are your power so use that power to make a difference. Do know that the best of mankind (men) were seen in tears and were known for their empathy and deep emotions. So never feel ashamed over who you are. Your soul is simply amazing and that; that should really make you proud 🙂

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Creative Non-Fiction

DIRECTOR OF OPERATIONS

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Featured photo courtesy: http://im3.peldata.com/

Make sure to watch the video and meet the director of operations before reading the note below…

This video really moved mountains in me. It didn’t really have anything new that hasn’t been said, but it carries so much weight and I just felt my heart melt at it. How many times do we really really underestimate the work and sacrifices done by the director of operations? How many times have we acted like it is her duty to do what she does yet it is simply her lovely heart that makes her be a super woman just for our sake?

Let’s appreciate HER EVERYDAY, EVERY YEAR, EVERY MOMENT and not just on one particular day. Not just on her birthday, or mother’s day or during festive season. She deserves much much more than one day appreciation right?!

If you still have this lovely woman in your life then give her a call and tell her how much you love her. If she is next to you then give her a big hug. If she is gone then make a prayer for her. She deserves worth more than a post in social media that she will never see. She deserves worth more than the selfie you took with her just to show the world. She deserves your honest love, care and respect. Remember, so many people wish they could have their mothers with them right this moment so make use of this golden opportunity that you have.

#This is indeed the world’s toughest job!! #May God bless all the women who hold the title ‘mother’
Share the love.

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Creative Non-Fiction

SUCH IS LIFE

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Photo Courtesy: Dennis Onsarigo

The thought of death creeps me and the sight of death is what makes me have a sheer cold, goosebumps and shudder in my place. It takes me right to the scene; to the broken pieces of metal and glass on the floor, each tiny piece carrying a memory of the last laughter, the last talk, the last joke. It takes me right to the father’s seat, the husband who maybe had so many plans for his family, to the mother’s seat; the wife who took her last breath hearing the voices of agony at the back seat. It takes me right where the daughters were seated, as they get smashed into one end. I can almost feel the cracking sound of bones, the screams, the painful silence and the blood; blood everywhere. I am almost re-living the story; the tragic end of what could have been a beautiful life yet a new start of healing; and healing, is one of the most important stages of life. You just never know how it is ever going to be after but there is still hope because God is always awake and listening to our silent cries and prayers. And hope too, can be brought about by me and you; by humanity, by helping the people who need us.

I read the below post by Dennis Onsarigo and I just felt it important to share this message. Let’s join hands and help this family. Help with the little much you can, every cent counts so let’s do this please.

Such is life…..By Dennis Onsarigo

I promised myself that I wouldn’t post the grisly pictures of a road accident I came across on Kiambu road on Saturday. I went ahead and told myself I would not even tell my friends or family about it. But today, is a testimony that kids are God’s and maybe, just maybe we must start living before we eventually exit the stage.

It has been a few days since I pulled out-with the help of other good Samaritans- three youngsters trapped in their father’s black motor vehicle. The youngsters, hardly ten years old were shaken, some were badly off.

Let me walk you through the first five minutes of the accident: A canter going downhill, a private motor vehicle speeding uphill; one must have lost control, drove into the path of the other….the rest I was told, was a loud bang, silence and then screams.

When I arrived there, the scene was chaotic, the mother, clad in her hijab.…was trapped in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see her face but I could feel her pain, her slow but painful bouts of wailing struck me so hard. Right behind her seat was her daughter, she was the oldest among her children, she was screaming for her mother, we were struggling to keep her calm, at times our shouting for a metal bar to free her from the car, drowned her screams. She was scared and terrified.

Her legs had disappeared under the mangled wreckage of her family car. Ironically, it appears the mother had taken most of the impact aimed her way. I looked and realized if she could feel her legs, if she could scream for the mother, a few more minutes wouldn’t kill her.

Just next to her was her other younger sister, she had blood on her face, she was screaming for the mother as well; I pictured the mother, hearing her daughters’ screams and wailing but there is nothing much she could do, she was stuck, her life flashing right in front of her eyes. I took her in my arms. A woman, whom I later learnt was a relative, came rushing my way, I handed her the young girl, we flagged down a vehicle, and off they went.

Then one man pulled out another young girl, she must have been three years old. She was badly wounded; her “baby” hairstyle neatly in place had been replaced with a gushing wound at the back of her head. The man, who took her out of the vehicle now holding her by the hands, appeared to give up on her.

Her neck had given in to the weight of her head, her eyes turning into a shade of white, he body turning blue and her soul giving up on her. The man placed her on the cold ground, it had rained that day; there she was, lying on her stomach, her eyes were not moving. For a minute I thought she was gone.

Next to her was her father, a touching distance between the father and daughter. She was breathing her last, my heart racing, trying to call an ambulance, I was struck; the youngster was going to die if nothing was done urgently.

I called AAR, I described the place and nature of the accident, the man at the end of the call asked me “ what kind of a vehicle has been involved in the accident?”, I paused, mad at first, resigned second, then I told him “ it is a private vehicle”, he promised to send the first ambulance available. I called the Nairobi traffic police boss Moses Katana, he promised to send a team of police officers, and they arrived minutes later. I saw the “mother” in one of the traffic police officers, she was distraught, but composed self and she was back to the rescue mission.

I walked back to the young gal. I imagined her hearing the faint voices of strangers shouting and trying to get the mother out of the mangled motor vehicle. Then I touched her small back, she had a pulse, her heart was racing so fast, I did not know her name, I did not know what she liked.

It was ten minutes after the fatal accident. I picked her up, blood on the back of her head, she was getting cold, her small fighting spirit maybe giving up on her soul. Then I started talking to her, I suspected she was slipping between death and life. She could move her eyes, breathe and then go quiet. It was terrifying.

In the confusion we managed to flag down yet another private motor vehicle. One girl in the back seat; the one I believed was badly injured in the safe hands of a relative, a red small vehicle sped off in high speed. The youngsters left behind their mother and father.
Two hours later I walked into Gertrude’s children’s’ hospital in Muthaiga and after inquiring about the four little angels, I was directed to the emergency room. I met the oldest girl in pain but all bandaged up and a busy nurse attending to her told me she was fine. Across the room, I could barely recognize the three-year-something-old little angel that I had seen at the accident scene. She was on oxygen, but in safe hands. A nurse attending to her said she had pulled through.
As I walked back to my car, three times now since the four angels were admitted to the hospital, it dawned on me and still does that life can be useless at times, but again, it can be all that we want it is all that we crave for.

The little girl- name withheld- was moved from the Intensive Care Unit to the general ward; I was with her today afternoon, she is amazing, she had fed and she was asleep. Her oldest sister, was playing with her mobile phone, she did not even look at me despite her aunt telling her I was not a doctor and I had no plans of giving her a jab.
They are fine. But they need your help, first they need to get well soon, then we must tell them the story of their mother and father. Then tell their father who is in a coma the story of his wife and his daughters. It is a tough place to be in as a father and husband.

But of immediate importance is their growing medical bill. If you’ve been touched, don’t hesitate to go visit them, or support them.

A brother to the mother of the youngsters gave me this account number:

SABRA KHAN,

DTB BANK

5109532001

Nation Centre Branch

You can as well call Shaheen’s sister (the mother to the young girls) – Sabra Khan-0722472166. And the kids would love to have you visit them.

Such is life.

I also read this piece elsewhere too, ‘Should Ahmed open his eyes he will understand that beside losing his wife, he also has a medical bill of approximately 4 million to the 4th of May 2016 to pay. That still continues to increase as they are all still in hospital. You might all ask about the insurance. It will only cater for approximately 1.5 million and the rest are for me and you. Mpesa no: 0722472166 Sabra Khan (Shaheen’s sister). Admission no Aga Khan AK1784560, Getrudes: 491242/43/46.

Please let us remember them in our prayers and help whenever we can. May God give the family patience through this difficult time. Keep sharing this message. You just never know when you will need such help too so never ignore. Such is life; it has lots of surprises, and sometimes, they are not so pleasing.

God bless you all.

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JUST A FRUSTRATED WRITER

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Photo Courtesy: http://www.amsvans.com/

Sometimes I wish I could be a drama queen.You know like,’You are going to listen to me. Whether you like it or not!’ and just make noise till I get what I want. This has been my thought since morning today. I decided to wake up and do something once again after I had given up on all the newspaper houses I knew of. Well life is all about trying again and again,isn’t it?

I rushed into town with a very well plotted plan on how I was going to go into Nation media and approach the receptionist as confident as ever. I would look into her eyes with such a burn that she would get scared that I am just from murdering someone.I would ask for the editor and of course she would tell me he/she is not around. She would ask me what I need from the editor and that I can leave a message. I would lean forward and tell her in a deadly whisper,’I have a hot story worth your headlines. You better not let me go away from here because I am going to sell this story to the Standard and YOU (pointing at her) will be fired for letting a person like me not meet the editor. You are going to bite your fingers with regret and your editor will hit your head to the wall for making the paper go through such a loss. No other media house will take you in because everyone would have known how you let a story worth millions go to the competitor. Woman,you are going to be miserable forever.’ I would then walk away confidently and she would quickly pick her phone behind my back and whisper something before calling me out loud. I would turn as innocently as ever and ask,’are you calling me?’ and she would quickly nod before apologizing,’Sorry, the editor asks us to not let people in. They should just leave their message here.’
‘But I am not people did you notice that?’
‘Yes I did. Sorry once again. You can go in. His office is over there.’ She would say so apologetically as she shows me the way.
I would walk confidently into the office and give the editor an enigmatic smile.
‘I was informed you have a hot story. So i’m all ears.’ He would say after the greeting.
I would sit upright and cross my legs.
‘You are very lucky I choose Nation and if you are curious to know why then let not the suspense kill you. Do you remember ‘the falling star’ fiction story published 10 years back? I was just 12 years then but your paper declared me among the youngest best writers. Do you remember? Perhaps you don’t but I very well do. Let me show you (and I would hand him the well laminated piece of newspaper),this is why and how I’ve always considered myself one of you. When you declared me among the best writers, you gave me hope and this is when my writing journey started. This is when I decided i’ll be a writer for the rest of my life. So how dare you decide that i’m not worthy your newspaper now without even having a look at my CV? How dare you shatter my dream and of many other writers by letting secretaries deal with us instead of YOU deciding and listening to us and seeing our potential before declaring’THERE IS NO SPACE FOR ANYONE??! Please make me understand why things happen the way they do. Please make me understand why you let so many people give up just because of these boundaries? Someday I’m going to be the bestselling writer and I promise to remind you of all the CV’s I sent that ended to the secretary instead of the editor or HR’ *whispers ameen to that* Then I would courteously apologize for his time. The hot story was simply about the hundreds of talented writers who are never given the opportunities. I would leave my business card and my CV, just in case you know…he might still want the story…I’d say thank you and leave him as flabbergasted as never before. I wish it was as simple as writing it. See why I started with wishing I could be a drama queen? I would have spoken for so many other people who wish to do the same. But I am an activist by pen so this is what I can do best perhaps.

Well I was planning to make the editor as guilty as possible, ruin his ego and make him feel like the worst human being ever.Then after that I was going to go do the same at Standard,Nation, Star and all these newspapers I ever submitted my CV to and never got a response not even a humble one of,’We did receive your CV but unfortunately we don’t need a writer but we will surely consider it for the future.’ Isn’t there any etiquette left?

Well,being a drama queen was never going to get me a job or anyone but I needed to explode and when you have to,then make sure you do it at the right place;to the people who can change the course of things.

So when I finally got to Nation media house and as I adjusted my confident self,I got a face palm from the kind notice on the door,we have moved to opposite Pandya hospital.’ Aarrghh, my bubble burst right then. All that planning?! I console myself,’Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens for some goodness.’I look ahead and see Coast Weekly. Let me try over there.

I go to Coast Weekly and the personal secretary to the editor explains to me that the editor is not around and that she has to deal with me first before sending me forward to the editor. I was heartbroken once again.Why do editors keep these barriers always? Why do they let secretaries decide and filter whom is worthy being listened to?I saw it in ALL offices I went to and I ended up believing that to get a job especially in media industry you need to have strong connections in the hierarchy somewhere so that they can fix you the job. I do understand that secretaries are important and that without them we would have mediocre people and jokers storming in to the editor for silly issues but haven’t people seen that so much talent keeps being kicked off? What if,just what if,this person you sent away without listening to may be the light in your dark tunnel? Just what if they push your company to grow?

Anyway,I decided I had learnt from experience and said firmly I was only going to talk to the editor and no one else. I wanted my privacy I insisted but this lady explained that these are rules for the organization and had to be followed. I understood,it is like that always.Everywhere.RULES and boundaries. She offered to help and so I spoke to her. I was really pissed then. Pissed at how editors are acting like mini gods. Even God Himself doesn’t keep such boundaries!! The lady then recognized me from when I used to write for Coast This Week and praised my work. Now that she knew am talking from experience, I told her of how secretaries keep making decisions on behalf of their bosses and she said she understood me and that in their office, all that is received is open to all the key leaders in the organization. This kind lady tried to console me before asking for my contacts, just in case you know…I calmed down a bit and left the office.

Many thoughts been clouding my thoughts since then. You talk to people about these problems and they just sympathize. But we don’t really need the pity! We; writers have worked hard,got our good certificates,have the talent required yet why do we people have to treat us like orphaned children who have nowhere to go yet we have oceans of wisdom to offer? I know this happens to many other people as well in other sectors where you have to force a connection with a superior to make it through. Do our CV’s even get past the secretary or the editor just asks’what is that? A job application? Just put it on my desk’ and it rots there forever. Or is it thrown in the dustbin? Are the emails even read after we get the automated responses? It’s really annoying and sad.

I’ve always wanted to become an editor and the more I meet these boundaries so I don’t get to talk to the editors or HR managers, the more I want to become one. I hope this dream comes true someday because I will employ these writers who have nowhere else to take their work. I will make space for them even if there is none.I will give chances to these very talented people whose work is just getting old in the yellowing books. I will look beyond the certificates because I very well know of degree holders who have zero zeal while there are some local writers with so much passion that when kept on the great wall of China,it would explode from it’s weight.. I will not let any secretary or anyone decide on my behalf whether they are worth the job or not. I will listen to them myself and help if I can. I will pay them well and not peanuts like they always get. I will give them the utmost respect because these people;these writers are the people who are making a difference,they are the people who can awaken humanity.Yes, I am going to be the best editor that ever existed. You good people keep praying for me;someday by God’s will we will all be working together and we will make the best team in the world! Ameen!

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