Category

Creative Non-Fiction


Category
Creative Non-Fiction

IS BEING TOO NICE, TOO PHONEY?!

By

I recently had a conversation with a friend concerning a character in a TV competition who was sweet, very honest, and nice. Well, at least that’s how I viewed the character. He was kind to fellow contestants and loyal to those he had made a connection with. Every other contestant knew for sure where they stood with him because he was as real and raw as possible. On the other hand, my friend viewed this same character as boring and going an extra mile just to be liked-calling him a people-pleaser. That was a first for me, because how?! Or is this the perfect depiction of the 6 and 9 image, where one sees a 6 yet another sees the same image as a 9?

Okay, I get it. There is a very thin line between being nice and people-pleasing. Sometimes the differences are blurry and one could easily cross the line. We, of course, don’t deny that people-pleasing isn’t the healthiest way to lead a life yet why do we always assume that when someone is nice, there’s more to them (secret agenda) or nothing about them (mediocre or too boring)?

When a man is so nice he is considered weak. When it is a woman, she is lacking intelligence and a voice. When it is a husband, he is pretentious or too good to be true. When it is a wife, she is too submissive and unempowered. When it is an employee, he/she is a people-pleaser and when it is a leader, we consider all their nice and kind acts to be PR stunts. Is it that we have completely lost faith in humanity that we no longer believe in good when we see it?

When Ghaith of Qalby Etmaan (a charity progran about a man traveling around the world helping people of all kinds) came to Kenya and the episodes were aired last Ramadhan, it was quite hilarious yet sad how the Kenyans who were approached reacted. You could see the fear and skepticism on their faces. Some were very hesitant to respond to the questions Ghaith was asking, some refused to receive the envelopes being handed and some used quite the harsh tone in their conversations. I get it, this is Kenya. We’re living through tough times where a woman cannot trust her daughter with her husband, where people are kidnapped, people are killing other people in panic for fear that they’re kidnappers, dead bodies are being unearthed from the backyards, bullying and cruelty are so normalized, and sometimes well covered in the name of jokes and comedy. We see it every day on Twitter, other social media sites, and the news. We are so used to being bullied, harassed, conned, and manipulated even by our own police and leaders (especially them!) that we can’t trust a person asking for direction. We can’t trust a stranger shaking our hands. We can’t trust someone asking us who we are. When someone stops us on the way we’re already defensive and alert. Consequently, this has made us not trust any form of kindness or compassion handed to us because our ‘fight or flight’ response is already on. We tend to think that everyone is out to harm us. I truly get it…but does that mean we have given up on kindness entirely?

Most often than not, nice people are greatly misunderstood, taken advantage of, undervalued, ignored, and taken for granted. People would sort for all ways to push their buttons just to frustrate them or make them react, just to provoke them so they can stoop low to their level. But here’s the thing though, and this is the main difference between being nice and people-pleasing; Being nice means you do good to people and treat others with kindness without expecting anything in return. You see the world as a community so you offer your love, care, and support unconditionally. You forgive easily and avoid conflict in order to stay in harmony with others. You do it because you have neither the time nor the energy for drama nor chaos… not because you lack self-esteem or cannot stand up for yourself, or are not intelligent enough. People-pleasing on the other hand is a form of dependency which lacks boundaries. You do good and give to others, without being able to say no, because you expect something in return; it could be validation, attention, or acceptance. People-pleasing is a form of transaction; I will help you but you need to validate me in return. You become a doormat by allowing people to treat you badly in pursuit of their love or attention. Being nice and kind is about self-expression and having true altruism; I will help you regardless of whether you will appreciate it or not.

The stereotypes that come with being nice are many. Ask any nice person you know out there they’ll tell you; if we were expecting something in return then being nice is barely rewarding in this life. Human beings can be so ungrateful, insensitive, cruel, and irritating. Yet we still keep doing it, because we want this world to be a better place filled with more kindness and compassion, and we feel happy when we’re able to do so in our own small ways.

Kindness is especially hard when those on the receiving end are not appreciative of our actions; this could even be our own family members. But then it goes back to our intentions, ‘why are we doing this?’ Is it to seek someone’s approval or because we genuinely want to express our love and concern for them?

Our religion highly recommends being nice, kind, and compassionate. The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: ‘Whoever gives up telling lies in support of a false claim, a palace will be built for him in the outskirts of Paradise. Whoever gives up an argument when he is in the right, a palace will be built from him in the middle (of Paradise). And whoever had good behavior, a palace will be built for him in the highest reaches (of Paradise).'” It also explicitly states in another sahih hadith that a strong believer is better and more beloved to Allah than a weak one, even though both are good. This shows that Islam doesn’t recommend that a Muslim lacks a voice or dictates his self-worth only based on how people praise, love, or validate him. He shouldn’t let himself be taken advantage of or be oppressed for the sake of pleasing human beings or seeking their love. Granted, we all want to feel loved in this life but it should never be our primary goal or at the cost of our dignity and respect. We are expected to be as kind and nice as possible but it should always be for the sake of Allah and not fellow human beings.

Harold Kushner once said: “Do things for people not because of who they are or what they do in return, but because of who you are.” And I think that should be a mantra for us to adapt in our lives.

Answering our question, being too nice is not necessarily being too phony. I think we should give kind, nice people the benefit of the doubt (as our religion requires from us) for their actions unless proven otherwise. Of course, I am not telling you to hop into a car with a random stranger (Especially during these scary times, may Allah protect us!) but I am saying, sometimes we judge other people too harshly based on our own fears and skepticism and that could be unfair for the other party. I believe one’s intentions always end up revealing eventually. If someone seems nice, take them as they seem. If they’re not, time will tell for sure!

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

WAR AND FAITH

By

Assalam aleykum good people,

It’s story time! Have a seat cause it will be a long one…

I first understood about the wars in Falastin (Palestine) when I was about 10/11 years. Even at that tender age, the thought of war and the atrocities that come with it, weighed so heavily on me and it broke my heart too many times. Growing up, I always wished to go to Palestine and get a job as a humanitarian and help the people there. I had and still have such a soft spot for them because of their bravery, their courage, their strong Imaan, their resilience subhanallah…

With time, I got exposed to what is happening in Syria, Yemen, Iraq and many other countries. And just like Palestinians, they too stole my heart for how brave and patient they are. And I really really love them for the qualities they have and what they are. It has been and still is, my long time dream to help them.

So on Thursday, when someone (I can’t thank them enough!) called me to tell me there are Palestinian refugees from Syria that are stranded and needed help, I was too excited. Not because of their situation of course but I was soooo thrilled because like ‘Allah, you didn’t take me to Palestine to help but you brought me an opportunity to help Palestinian refugees!!!’ You guys, I could barely sleep that night due to the excitement lol

The next day I got to hear from one of the sons their life journey briefly, and that night, I cried and cried and cried 
Today we went to meet them alhamdulilah and wallahy, we laughed and laughed and laughed. They were so jovial and optimistic, you would never think they are refugees stranded in a foreign country subhanallah. 

I was so moved and I thought ‘Subhanallah, Allah never burdens a soul beyond what they can handle’ Because how else could I explain how this man, making the most jokes, had lost his wife to the war and left a young boy with him? Or this elderly mother with a spinal condition that needs surgery, 3 of her houses bombed, one of her children got lost and they’re unsure whether he is alive or not, or of her ex-husband, the father of her children, who is suffering from cancer, still soldiers on every day? Or this young man who had to stop studying cause of the war, separated from his wife and child because he couldn’t bring them with him, can still smile despite it all?

Good people, I know that we’re currently doing a fundraising for Yemen, but I CANNOT let this opportunity go. This is a dream for me ;( I need to do it wallahy. So kindly, I am requesting that as from this evening, we will pause the Yemen fundraising until further notice in shaa Allah (we’re currently at 64,044/=) and help this family, for their situation s more dire.

Long story short: This Palestinian family are refugees who were living in Syria. Because the war in Syria has worsened, they decided to leave, with the hope of establishing a new life at a better place. However, the different countries they tried to enter, denied them access because their passports say ‘Palestinian refugees’. It is only Kenya that allowed them entry. When they got here, they realized Kenya is way expensive than they expected and for the past month they’ve been here, they tried to find jobs but to no avail. This is because they only know Arabic and no one could hire them cause of the language barrier. As such, they have decided to go to Lebanon, with the hope that they can settle there. They didn’t initially go to Lebanon because Lebanon itself is not stable either and is in turmoil. But since Kenya didn’t work out for them, they have to go back.

The kind of help needed is the following:

1.Accommodation: They are currently living at a one-room guest house that charges them 10 dollars per night. We are looking for people who can give them a place to live (preferably at a place that has beds and utensils, so they can be comfortable) for the 2 months they’ll be here, or that someone pays directly at the guest house for them for the time they will be here.

2. The two young men need jobs to sustain themselves in the mean time. Any kind of job that will not need them to communicate to customers since they only know Arabic.

3. Their mother has a spinal condition called L5/S1 spondylosis. She needs an operation but she says the cost in Lebanon is much cheaper, so she will wait till they get there. In the meantime, she needs medicines that will push her for a while. The total cost as originally indicated by the doctor was 48,490/=. However, we are currently searching for cheaper options at wholesale chemists or generic ones, in shaa Allah kheyr.

4. They need to go back home before their 2 month visa ends. So whatever we can collect will be of very great help to get them to Lebanon and hopefully assist them when they get there.

Have I said that helping refugees from war countries is a dream?

Guys, please help me help them. This is very important to me and I really really really want this to work out in the best scenario possible.

The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The most beloved people to Allah are those who are most beneficial to people. The most beloved deed to Allah is to make a Muslim happy, or to remove one of his troubles, or to forgive his debt, or to feed his hunger. That I walk with a brother regarding a need is more beloved to me than that I seclude myself in this mosque in Medina for a month. Whoever swallows his anger, then Allah will conceal his faults. Whoever suppresses his rage, even though he could fulfill his anger if he wished, then Allah will secure his heart on the Day of Resurrection. Whoever walks with his brother regarding a need until he secures it for him, then Allah Almighty will make his footing firm across the bridge on the day when the footings are shaken.” [Grade: Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani]

Don’t we want to be among the most beloved people to Allah? Don’t we want to do deeds that Allah loves the most? Don’t we want to have a firm footing on the bridge on the day of judgment? Here’s an opportunity for me and you, and we know the reward of charity in Ramadhan is way more than normal days. So let’s do this!

Just a humble reminder: This family does qualify for zakat because they are both needy and stranded travellers/wayfarers. So you can send your Zakat too.

Please send whatever you can, help whichever way you can and please share!

Mpesa: 0704 731 560 (Lubnah)

May Allah bless you all and may He protect all those in war countries. Ameen.

Here are the mother’s hospital reports:

And below is an appeal for their father who is suffering from blood cancer and also needs financial assistance:

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

THIS TERRIFYING THING CALLED ADULTING

By

Adulting is reaaaallly scary. Spoken like a true human with anxiety right? 😀 You should hear my best friend and I talk about life as we see it right now. You’d think we’re the script writers of The Exorcist or the documentarians of the Ted Bundy Tapes, no in between. I admit, I’m the bad influence here; perks of being friends with a human with anxiety for too long; you start magnifying the terror too!

Is it though? Am I the only one utterly terrified about how life has turned out to be?! Is it just the magnification of my wild, wild imagination?

Absolutely not.

Okay, maybe a liiittle bit. But from what I know, every human from my age group (at least those that I interact with) are in this phase of utter daze. WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON??!! (or maybe I just hang out with very weird people, that’s a possibility too 😀 )

But here’s the thing: we now see the world as is. No curtains, no secret passage ways, no short cuts, no shades to protect us from the storms. We now understand why our parents are who they are. Why they raised us the way they did. We understand why home meals are not thaaaat bad. Why they would be so pissed when we stayed out late. Why they would lecture us endlessly about the friends we have. Why sleepovers were such a big no for them. Because truly, life is not how we perceived it. AT ALL. Because even if we had some hurtful and dark experiences in our childhood, most of us didn’t expect things to escalate this way surely ?

And maybe, our elders and teachers shouldn’t just have warned us, because at that age we see warnings as threats and unfair treatment. They should have made us understand what really awaits us too. Maybe that preparation would have helped; to know that the big, wide world is not as sweet and things are not as easy peasy as we thought. I get it, I would want to protect my children too. But hallo?! Not even a disclaimer?! 😀 Strangely, despite coming from a family that armed me with enough education, I still find myself perturbed by this age ? Or maybe no amount of understanding is enough for what really awaits us until we experience it ourselves? It could be so.

So now we have stepped into adulthood and realize that paying bills is actually a huge responsibility. That awesome grades do not necessarily guarantee success in life. That acquiring a job is very, very tricky. That hard work sometimes is not enough to get you to your goals either. That love is never enough in a marriage. That incest, rape and homosexuality is very real. That human beings are very, VERY complex, and sometimes, very cruel. That war, drought and poverty is way worse than we imagined it. That wealth does not always grant you happiness and peace of mind. That the closest people to you could harm you in very unexpected ways. That our education system is like a form of slavery. That health is a huge blessing that we really take for granted. That most connections and friendships don’t last as we’d hoped. That our parents too have their own scars and wounds that most often than not, we know nothing about. That our parents had to sacrifice a lot more than we initially thought to give us the life we have. That they’re aging very fast and the reality of their looming death haunts the mind. And not just their deaths, but the departure of all our loved ones. We now understand the depths of loss and grief. That as much as our Lord is fair and just, human beings are not. That people carry so much baggage and dark, unimaginable secrets with them; you’d neveeer guess.

Sometimes I think to myself: “Wow, someday I will bring a child to this world?!” A world where he could get shot by a stray bullet any day at any age by a reckless police officer. A world where even the religious teachers can’t fully be trusted because sodomy?! I still get very amazed by the people who say they hope to live to a hundred. Hoooooowwwww?!!! Well good luck buddy. You’re my hero!

Maybe some blame for all my terrifying thoughts is my brave old habit of watching documentaries and reading books on real life events, mostly crime. Brave because who has anxiety and still watch/read this stuff?! 😀 Yet when you interact with other people, these same terrifying stories come up. It is true; this world sometimes gets really dark.

Of course all this makes me utterly terrified, but on the flip side, it has made me very, very grateful of the seemingly small blessings. Arriving home safely, having understanding parents, slow, boring days, trustworthy and supportive friends, the ability to pay bills, the small achievements, the ability to understand the world and its people, days where no body part aches, having food daily, having goals and dreams to look forward to, meeting kind, selfless people, the ability to love oneself and push for positive growth and so many other good things.

I see human beings and realize they are much much more than what they dress, or how they look or the bright smiles they flash on social media or even how famous they are. That what is external could never define them justly. I see others struggling and putting so much effort to reach their goals and it warms my heart because I know for sure, their journey might be long, but God never abandons those who truly strive. I see those who have faced major abuse in their lives and how scarred they are, and I understand why they don’t trust other people and I pray for their healing. I understand that life is not simply black and white. There are so so many colours within. There’s still so much we could never fully comprehend.

Let’s just say, I keep being amazed by the things I learn from the universe every single day. From the horrifying stuff (Allahu Must3an) to the heart-melting ones.

Truly, adulting is like attending a major reveal party only to find out it’s a monster with so many layers that is awaiting us. But beneath all the layers of frustration, hurt, angst, and terror, there lies love, compassion, empathy and most importantly, faith. If we all look within ourselves and nurture our souls then we’d definitely have better lives and better resilience. The problems will not stop existing but we’ll have the eye that still sees the good even when all seems very ugly. We will have all it takes within us to soldier on, to still dream, to choose what battles are worth our time, to create a better world, to plant trees of hope and to fully believe in a God that never sleeps and is always watching over us!

***

Dear teenager reading this, pardon me if I have terrified you but I hope by the time you clock into your twenties you’d have armed yourself with over-flowing faith, empathy, gratitude and bravery. Be the ambassador of hope and love. But most importantly, don’t ever think you know better than your parents or elders. Because you don’t!!! Appreciate their input in your life while you still can 🙂

***

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

A TREE FOR EVERAFTER

By

2020 hit me like a train. From the word go, from the very beginning of the year, even before Corona, everything seemed to be falling apart. I have a feeling it has been like that for most people, and on my side, I was holding by the thread. I remember when I was young, my mother would often tell me ‘don’t carry those mountains on your shoulders’. I was the cesspit of every worry. Every sadness. Every wound. I would carry it all, the scars evident all over my soul. Sometimes I look at my nephew (my happy place 1, remember?) and I see how intense his emotions are. As a highly sensitive child, he cries too passionately, you can literally feel the sob come from the deepest part of his soul, and my heart breaks a little, or maybe a lot. I want to tell him, ‘oh baby, this world is cruel, it will ruin you’ and I want to hug him so tight. I want to protect him from the world. And God, it worries me a lot. But then I do know that I have to let him have his journey like I’m having mine. Let him live, do mistakes, fall, stand up again, perhaps get his heart broken,feel all the emotions in his heart and live with it. Such is life I guess.

Then amidst all the Corona chaos, several family members got affected. Not the first time when Mombasa was allegedly a hotspot for the virus. During that period almost none of the Mombasa residents knew anyone who’d been affected. It is now that we are seeing people dying right, left and center, and everyday, more people are succumbing to the virus. And you know, with these things, even when you are taking precautions with the virus, you never really realize how bad it is until it hits directly home.

One of my favourite humans died then. Just three days after he informed us that he was ill, he was gone. At first I seemed okay. I cried as any bereaved would but I was mostly okay. I talked to my friends about his death. I prayed for him. I remembered him. But grief for me, comes like a trickle of blood. Thick, heavy and very slow. A week after his death, we were remniscing about good memories of him, and we laughed and smiled and joked about him. Then that night, it all came down with a thud. Curling up in bed, I cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t stop. I was trying really hard to suppress my weeping so no one would hear me. But it was too much. I was crumbling and I felt like I was falling apart. I desperately needed someone to hold me. To just hug me tight. To hold my pieces together. So I went to my mother and cried to her. She and my elder sister talked to me for a while before my mother led me to her bed to sleep with her. For hours, she held me in her arms, patting my hair, encouraging me to sleep yet all my eyes could do was wander around the room. I had lost someone so important to me. We all did. But no one prepares you for such a sudden death.

A day before he died, he called me, and funny enough, he was the one asking me how I was. It was such a short conversation. He seemed to be struggling to talk, so I made a dua for him and that was it. I wish I had told him I loved him. I think he knew, but I wished I had said it. I can barely even remember the last time seeing him or what we talked about that time when he was healthy. But I have all these many memories of his inspirational advice, his oozing, extremely sweet kindness, his laughter, oh his laughter! When I was a teenager, he would do this loud, funky laughter that I just found to be too hilarious so sometimes I would try to imitate it and my family would burst into laughter too. He had this good sense of humour that I will forever miss, his magical, mind-blowing, creative ideas, his beautiful smile, his many many jokes, his pride of me-and us all-I can still see him in front of me. His voice still rings in my head. More than once I have dreamt of him and sometimes,thoughts of him keep me awake at night. Out of blue, I’d notice tears coming down my cheeks, so randomly, so easily, I can literally feel the emptiness in my heart.

Just two years ago, it used to be the four of us around the small dining. There were two phenomenal women; the storyteller, the heart of the family and several times, whenever he was free, he would join us too; the tree lover. I was there frequently; in between meetings, waiting for someone, resting before going for another errand, a place to pray, or eat, sometimes with my friends…I got too comfortable I even started taking naps in the bedroom when I was tired. It felt like home. Sometimes I was there as early as for breakfast meal or brunch or lunch, on lazy afternoons, sometimes even dinner. 2018, the story teller left us. Then last year, the heart did. This year it was him. And now, whenever I think of that table, my heart sinks. Their faces still so vivid in my memory, and our conversations, moments, jokes, the meals we shared, still so fresh. There are people who die and we mourn them and we move on, and there are people who leave this earth and the world shifts a bit. It will never be the same. Never.

My favourite human was very passionate about trees. He was extra-ordinary and phenomenal and no words could ever suffice to describe him. I pray that his grave is a garden from the most beautiful gardens of Jannah, with trees and flowers so beautiful he has never seen, and that we get to meet again, the four of us, and all our loved ones in a bigger table, with more laughter, zero worries and absolute bliss. Ameen.

I won’t curse the year. After all, whatever Allah wills for us is the best for us. This year has been life-changing for me and so many of us. I pray for ease, patience and better days for us all. Ameen.

Please do take care of yourself. You have the information on Corona please act responsibly. As the prophet said: ‘Tie your camel then pray to Allah’ So do the necessary to protect yourself and your families. I met a friend who told me they buried four people from their family and friends within a week and on the day we talked, there was one more, all Corona deaths. Doctors keep sharing even worse news on Twitter that they have run out of beds and there are many Corona patients walking around. Please take care. May Allah protect us all. Ameen.

P.S: Please do remember to make a dua for my person. Thank you 🙂

***

As you might have realized, I haven’t written in a long while. I have probably lost my ‘mojo’ but please bear with me.

Thank you for taking the time with my blog. I appreciate it 🙂

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE

By

Once, I was at the reception of a hospital and I kept on insisting that I wanted to see a specific doctor. There were two nurses right there and one of them mentioned a different doctor. I wasn’t even listening to what they were saying but I requested for the third time that I want to see this specific doctor. The nurse then assured me they’d heard me. However, I was taken aback by my own insistence and thought, ‘It must suck for the other doctor doesn’t it? Always being ‘the other’? The second option?’ Perhaps he doesn’t even care one bit about that. Probably never even crossed his mind. I mean, he’s still getting his checks at the end of the month, doesn’t he? Fat, huge checks. But then, I know what it feels like to be overshadowed by someone else. Be an extension of who someone else is, rather than being a complete human on your own. Be a separate figure yourself without necessarily being associated with another human being.

Without ever meeting this other doctor, without knowing what he is capable of, or what his experience is, I just decided that he wouldn’t be as helpful as the other one. Based on what? Simply because the other one is reknown for his abilities and he isn’t. Instead of giving him the opportunity to be himself, I automatically placed him adjacent to his colleague; who he is (unfairly so because he has never treated me) compared to this reknown doctor. Yet, if this specific doctor wasn’t available, I would still see the other one, wouldn’t I? The other doctor…For a moment there, I felt bad for the other doctor. He really doesn’t need it but I couldn’t help but think about him. That small thought grew into a stream of other, sometimes unrelated, thoughts. About us humans, beings shadows and extensions of other people or things or even events. For example, how we refer to a lady as ‘So and so’s second wife’ even when the first wife was long divorced or dead instead of just calling them by their name. How are we minimizing someone’s existence to simply being an extension of the first wife? Or you know how we would keep referring to someone as ‘the one who was raped’ or ‘the one whose mother drowned’ rather than who they really are? Someone with traits and dreams and lots of magic.

It made me think, if someday I stopped being strokes of my pen, stopped being friends with the people I am friends with, stopped being thee professional beggar, stopped being someone’s daughter, teacher, student, helper…what am I then? If all these connections, relationships, titles, achievements, events were stripped off me, who will SEE me? If my face became disfigured and my cheek muscles wouldn’t let me smile anymore…If I stepped out of the shadow I have always been engulfed in, when I stop being what everyone knows and expects from me, when my glory and youthful days are gone, will I be pleased with what I will see? Only skeletons and soul, how good am I then?

I was reading the trending story of Stephanie (Tanqueray) on ‘Humans of New York’ page and there’s this particular bit that really struck me: “I can’t tell you the last time I danced burlesque. It wasn’t some big thing. They don’t throw a retirement party at the Sheraton. The phone just stops ringing. It gets quieter and quieter until one week it’s so quiet that you sorta decide you can make more money doing something else…” It moved me because I realized we’ll all get here someday, one way or another, whichever profession you are in or whichever way you live your life. Someday, your beauty will be gone, your profession that you worked so hard for will be gone, most people you knew or cared about will be mere memories and even when you’re surrounded by loved ones and family, you feel lonely (no new information here really but do we really understand the depth of it all?). All your life you held onto this identity of who you are; a writer, a doctor, a mother, a student, a friend, a baker…whatever it is that you are. Or you stayed under the shadow of one event that changed the entire course of your life; an accident, abuse, a major success, a child, love, a friendship, a career, and once that is gone, once you detach yourself from this event or person, you realize you don’t know who you are without it.

Stephanie’s story was really a survival story of a girl who ran away from home at the age of 18 (now 76) and became a very famous dancer. She eventually gained the fame, the glory and the money. She was and is without a doubt, beautiful, yet at some point she says: “Everything was fine when the music was playing. When people were laughing and clapping and shouting for more. But I knew I was tanking. Even when I was on the stage, and having fun- I was tanking. Some nights I’d go back to the dressing room, and look in the mirror, and I’d realize that I don’t even exist. Nobody’s clapping for Stephanie. They’re clapping for Tanqueray (her stage name). And sometimes I’d get so depressed thinking like that, I’d just start crying. I’d feel like running away and hiding from everyone. At least when I was a kid, I could crawl under the card table with my dolls. But that pretend s*** wasn’t working anymore. I was too old to fake like someone cared for me. But whenever I started to fall apart, I’d pull myself together and think about how lucky I was to be Tanqueray. At least I was successful. At least I had a career. At least when I’m Tanqueray, and I’m around people, I make them smile. I make them laugh with my stupid jokes. They’re not trying to hurt me. But Tanqueray never came home with me. She always stayed out on the stage. It was Stephanie that walked out the back door, and nobody cared about her…” (You can read the very intriguing story ‘Tattletales from Tanqueray’ on ‘Humans of NY’ Instagram page)

When you’ve lost it all in life, when you can no longer afford fancy lunches and expensive getaways with friends, when you’re too tired your feet hurt, when conversations exhaust you, when words can no longer suffice, when the romance with your spouse has died, when your children have grown to have families of their own, when your career is but a cherished memory, who will SEE you then? When all is said and done, when you’re frail and helpless, when all you have remaining is memories of the past, will someone still care about you? Who will love you; this bare, naked soul of yours then? As Rumi once said, “I am not this hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within.”

Mitch, Stephanie’s son says at the end of her story: “At all times, people are doing one of two things. They’re showing love. Or they’re crying out for it.” He is right. We just want to be SEEN.

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

EDUCATORS: ANGELS OR MONSTERS IN DISGUISE?

By

Young people are rebellious. Hot-headed. Insubordinate. Secondary school teachers have especially a difficult time dealing with adolescents. Universities are sometimes over-powered by angry youth during riots. They have their demands. They want freedom.

We could never deny the challenges the youth bring into educational institutions. However, one crucial matter that is sometimes overlooked, especially in Kenya, is the kind of influence the teachers have on their students.

It doesn’t matter if one is a secondary teacher, a university lecturer, a home teacher, a trainer, all those in a position to educate young people from the teenage years to adulthood play a very crucial role. They spend most of the time with the youth. They are the ones who get to spot when one is going astray, hanging out with the wrong group, or slacking around.  They are the ones to notice when a child is being discriminated against or picked on or depressed. They are the ones who either become role models to the youth or crush them entirely according to how they deal with them.

The youth are fragile. They are still trying to contemplate what life is all about. They are still shaping their identities. Yet how many times do we see educators being the nightmare to the youth? How many times have we seen educators call students failures or give them embarrassing nicknames or harass them or call out on them for their looks or tribe or their body weight? How many times have we seen educators abuse the youth; emotionally, physically, mentally? How many times have university students failed their exams because they refused to be sexually manipulated by their lecturers? How many youths have been scarred permanently by their educators?

There is this intriguing and thought-provoking story about the Solomon Islands which is in the South Pacific Ocean. The people in the village use quite a unique way of logging; ‘yelling and felling’. So how this goes is that whenever the villagers want to cut down a huge, thick tree, they’d curse and yell at the tree powerfully for thirty days. After this period, the tree surrenders and dies. The villagers believe this method has always worked. When the villagers curse, their whole intent to break the tree’s spirit is so strong that they successfully make it die. While there is no scientific validity to this story, it should make us ponder. Think about this: how powerful are words then that they are able to kill a tree? And if it can kill a tree, what about the spirit of a human that is filled with hopes, dreams, goals, and fears? (The story of Solomon Islands was first mentioned in Bruce H. Lipton’s ‘The Biology of Life’. Read more at https://www.newsgram.com/power-of-words-the-story-of-the-solomon-islands/)

Without a doubt, teaching is a very noble profession. These are the individuals who make us grow and strive for greatness. They are the ones who push us to dream and explore. We could never downplay their very important role in our lives. Yet sometimes, these are the same people who bring us down entirely. Make us detest ourselves. Make us hate the idea of seeking education and want to drop out entirely.

It is indeed high time that our educators, whether in institutions or even in workplaces, are properly evaluated and properly trained on how to deal with human beings using diplomacy rather than abuse. The young people, from teenage years to pre-adulthood are like clay that is still being molded. The clay is in their hands. They have the power to shape it into something extra-ordinary or over-water it till becomes lifeless dirty water.

***

As you may have noticed, the above does apply to parents as well because they too are educators; the most important ones! It can also apply to each one of us and how we interact with other human beings, sometimes very carelessly. May we always be conscious of how we talk and deal with other people. Ameen.

To every teacher doing their job whole-heartedly and striving to make a difference, however small, we salute you and appreciate you!

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

MY OTHER HALF (PART 3)

By

To read part 2, click on the following link: https://lubnah.me.ke/my-other-half-part-2/

Assalam aleykum warahmatu llah wabarakatuh 🙂

Had I known there would be a part 3, I would have written it last year in 2019, so that the gap between the letters are equal. The first was in 2015, then 2017, then now :/ The perfectionist me is a bit bothered by that. I also realized that I have the totally wrong title for this letter series. Should have been, ‘to my other 3/4’ because really, whom I’m kidding? I’m just a 1/4 human, so you gotta be 3/4 to complete me. You gotta be the bigger person. Huh, pun intended! 😀

Okay, wait. Let’s rewind a bit. CAN YOU BELIEVE WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A PANDEMIC? It is crazy right?! I hope you are sane though? Hopefully coping okay with all that is happening? I am okay. Alhamdulilah 🙂 I was very alarmed at first. It was too overwhelming seeing everyone panicking and the too much misinformation wasn’t making it any easy. I am better now alhamdulilah. It is the empathetic side of me that is struggling more. There are a lot of emotions being laid out and I absorb everything like a sponge. This in turn makes me anxious sometimes. Anxious because now, people are too anxious. I’m used to being the most anxious person in the room 😀 But this too shall pass, aye?! I am just trying to avoid social media at the moment and too much news. Really hoping things only get better from here. Ameen.

I really hope you’re doing well though; catching dreams, flights and sunsets. I have grown since the last time I wrote to you; emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Physically? Not so much 😀 2020 especially started way too rough, but wasn’t it for everyone? Nonetheless, I’m still me. The same cry baby who wrote the first letter in 2015. I still watch murder documentaries and horror/thriller movies then ask one of my younger sisters to sleep with me because I’m too afraid. I still pace up and down for several minutes before taking a pill because pills give me anxiety of sorts. Sometimes I opt to take 4 tablespoons of baby liquid paracetamol than take the actual pills. I still go to my mum to comb my hair. I still cry when my friends forget about me or when someone raises their voice on me. I still cry in weddings, sometimes more than in funerals. Not the two tears of joy. I cry. Literally, sometimes until I get a flu. I am very weird. Very paradoxical. I am the most dumb & naive, smart person I know. I am also the strongest, most fragile person. Can you imagine I turned 26 today? I am literally a baby. Everyone knows that tears are my forte. My best friend Husna has said she’ll ensure that in my nikah contract I write ‘Don’t be mean to me’ and I want to add, ‘or else I’ll cry’ because really, that should scare you. It’s like dealing with a literal big baby. My other best friend Amina is betting that I’ll have no make up on my wedding not because I wouldn’t have applied but because I’d have cried way too much, people would think it is a forced marriage. You get the picture? 😀

But waiiiit!! About me being a literal baby, FLASH NEWS: I did not cry watching ‘Miracle in cell no 7’ (Watch it if you haven’t!) Can you believe that?!!! I’ve been telling it to everyone and anyone who bothers to listen. Saying it like it is a badge of bravery 😀 Someone said if you watched the ‘Miracle…’ movie and you didn’t cry then you’re an assassin. Well hallo, you’re looking at one 😀 I also didn’t cry when I read ‘The Kite Runner’ or even ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’. Quite the achievement I tell you. Howeveeerrr, few days after reading these, I had huge breakdowns over the smallest, most stupid reasons. I came to realize, sometimes, that I tend to postpone my crying till further notice; when I get a more sillier reason to cry. Like hit my toe on a door and cry for an hour about it. See? Paradoxical. I also realized my crying is like an art. I’m still trying to figure out my patterns 😀

I’m still terrified of the idea of divorce which in turn makes me terrified of marriage in the first place. The marriages crumbling around us are barely any consolation. For a very anxious person like me, uncertainty is our poison. Yet nonetheless, it makes me dig deeper into myself and be more keen on my choices in this life. Not just about marriage but everything else. I know some people think I am waiting for a fairy tale but trust me, I am very very aware of how reality is. And fairy tale is so far from it. Mwanzo the way I was too invested in Umm Abdullah and Hasanat’s seemingly perfect marriage, and what it turned out to be, mahn! I was too heart-broken I swear and even more sad for their reality *Insert too many tears*. Anyway, I guess such is life.

I have this colleague of mine who when he first read my first letter in 2015, was so excited because he had written something similar on his blog. He then narrated how his wife reacted when they got married and read the letters. She ransacked his entire blog, reading everrrything and asking about every girl that was mentioned on it 😀 They were a seemingly sweet couple. Five years down the line (after the conversation that is), they’re divorced. My heart sank when I heard about it. They’re both good people, but life happens. You can never know what will come your way tomorrow, a week from now or ten years later. It terrifies me how life is so temporary, unpredictable. You can NEVER claim that you have it figured out. Everyone is just stumbling through life and dealing with the snowballs rolling towards them. Throwback to when I was in high school and I’d see people in their mid-twenties, I’d marvel. I always thought ‘they have it figured out.’ The age where one has a job, is newly married and deeply in love, taking on adventures and life is just kicking off. I was so so wrong. I could never be more mistaken in my life. Adulthood is a scam. It is the heftiest slap on the face. Jokes on me 😀 Someone should have prepared me though! ( By the way, my colleague is happily remarried alhamdulilah. May Allah protect his marriage, bless it and make it long-lasting.ameen.)

So anyway, I met this lady, more than 10 years older than me. She is like the splitting image of me but personality wise. Very sensitive, very anxious, very compassionate, a very good writer, tiny like me…we even have similar health issues. Mind-blowing I tell you. It is almost like I met myself in the future. And you know, I see her seemingly happy in her marriage, with her grown children mashallah; they’re so adorable I could cry…Here’s the catch though; she is in a polygamous marriage!! When she told me about it I was like ‘whaaaatttt!! Hooooowww!!’ Cause I can’t imagine myself in one honestly I’d die so please don’t get ideas 😀 What’s even harder, is that she is the first wife! Her response was simply, ‘My husband is a good man’ and my heart melted at how she said it. She did admit it was tough but they made it through. I am still A.M.A.Z.E.D. mashallah mashallah may Allah keep blessing their marriage. Ameen. It gives me hope though; that people like me can be happy after all despite all the noise in the head.

To be honest, I am not where I want to be spiritually. I struggle. A lot. Mostly because of the anxiety. It makes you seek control. You have this desperate need to be the captain of the ship and control the direction of the wind too. Which is impossible. I am still learning and unlearning so many things. I am accepting of how too flawed I am. I am accepting that I still have a lot to work on on myself. I had this classmate in university, whom I really look up to. He was always so laid back. So much so, you’d think he’s entirely unbothered. But he wasn’t. He just never allowed matters to get to his skin. Whether it was the pressure from the lecturers and university projects, whether it was people mocking him, whether it was things not going as planned. A project that I would stress about for an entire month, he would plan himself keenly and do it in one week. No, don’t be mistaken. This wasn’t just someone who was playing around. This was someone who knew exactly how much importance to give any matter because, well, he was always top in class and he was the only other person who got first class honors besides me in our lot.

When I ponder over how I dealt with my university studies versus how he did, it was the extreme opposite. I would get panic attacks or even cry right before an exam sometimes. Yet he would never let anything disturb his peace of mind. Throughout the years in the same class, I never ever heard him complain about his personal life. He would complain about the lecturers or the challenges (just the usual, small stuff) but never about his personal life. I doubt anyone in our class knew much about his life. After graduation, while the rest of us were worried and stressing over getting jobs, you know what he was up to? Walking around his neighbourhood, taking brilliant images and editing them. When anyone would ask him how he could afford to be so relaxed, he would say, ‘I already sent my CVs. Now I can only wait.’ He did eventually get a job, a good one mashallah and it was as if he always knew he’d get it.

During this quarantine period, my mate is busy making happy and silly videos, recreating images and making memes despite being far from his family. As an avid complainer and a highly sensitive person, I learnt a lot about choosing my battles just from observing him. I know for sure he too has problems of his own, but he always had that utmost belief and optimism in life. I always yearned for that kind of peace (May Allah keep blessing him and grant him tranquility always. ameen). I still yearn for that kind of peace. I think if I master the art of ‘choosing battles’ then i’ll be way ahead in life. That is the goal.

I’m learning a lot just by observing people to be honest. That kind of education no one will ever teach you. There’s always something to learn from every single human being, even if not a positive thing, you learn about a negative thing to avoid doing. So yes, I’m still feeding on human stories. They shape me greatly and have been a huge part of my growth. I’m also still studying alhamdulilah (yes, neeerddd! 😀 )

Imagine Ramadhan is just a few days away. I’m deeply sad about the world right now. It will be a very strange Ramadhan while people in lock-down. Imagine watching taraweh in empty Makkah and Madina 🙁 I hope this pandemic ends soon wallahy. So many people are affected. So many people are struggling. So I’m praying that by eid all this will be over, at least people can have some part of ramadhan back in the masjid, may He help us all and protect us. Ameen. Try to make the best out of this Ramadhan as I strive to do as well biidhnillah. Also, you should try watch ‘Qalby Etmaan’ on youtube this Ramadhan cause Ghayth is absolutely my hero when it comes to charity and he inspires me too much *I am still crying*. Perhaps he’d inspire you too!

Do include me in your prayers please, 26 looks scary to be honest. But turning one year older, I am also very very grateful. For my amazing parents, for my dear family, for my very lovely friends, for the blessings from Allah. I never take these things for granted. And the more I grow up, the more I appreciate their presence and all the love. Alhamdulilah ala kul hal. Hoping you join the team soon enough 😉 Ameen. About that, by the way, you are wasting such an opportune moment because with this quarantine, it is the best time to do a nikah. We’d just have gone to the kadhi and skipped all that chaos of the normal weddings 😀 But oh well, everything happens at its time I guess.

Just a disclaimer as we wind up, I sought the permission of the above people mentioned before writing about them, so don’t you assume I’m a snitch 😀

I am hoping there won’t be a part 4 because I am getting too old and hopefully you’d be around before I ever have to. If I’m writing another letter then it should be to my husband 😀 In shaa Allah. Stay safe wherever you are.

Till we meet in shaa Allah 🙂

P.S I now realize this was too long. It’s been three years anyway, we’re compensating 😀

Sending you Love and Light,

Lubnah with an ‘H’.

***

Thank you for reading 🙂 Kindly subscribe and stay tuned for the Ramadhan special edition in shaa Allah. I am also starting a Ramadhan fundraising in shaa Allah to support a family of 5 , who are deeply affected by the corona virus. The father is in the transport business which is now in pause till after corona. Ramadhan is coming, and they have bills to pay with no other way to earn their livelihood. Kindly do support me in this project as well by sending to my mpesa: 0704 731 560 (Lubnah Said). I love you all for the sake of Allah. Please take care wherever you are!

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

MY HAPPY PERSON 2

By

It’s a tricky time to write because almost always and somehow, the topic ends up at Corona virus. Alafu you Kenyans, what is this joke of dancing to a coffin?!! 😀 I swear Kenyans amuse me. But then, we all have different coping mechanisms right? For Kenyans, it is memes. Kenyans is Me 😀

So you guys remember My Happy Person right? He grew up. ‘Hassan’ (not his real name but because my dad kinda loves this name and because Hassan from kite runner is my most favourite fictional character of ALL TIMES!!!) is now four years old and is totally adoooorable!! Also, he started school and madrasa. Remember when we joked how I’d be the one to take him to school once he joined because he ‘disliked’ me passionately and wouldn’t even cry for me if I left him there? Well guess what? On the D-day, I didn’t accompany him because my heart was literally aching at the thought of how much he’d cry. Weak heart, I know 😀 He is a super cry baby so we all know how that went. However, to our utmost surprise, by the third day he had already adapted. He wasn’t crying anymore. He would wake up at fajr like an adult, demand for a book and pencil to write on, and repeat several times ‘school’ because he can’t just wait to get there. We were shook y’all. We thought he’d cry for an entire week AT LEAST. But here he was!

By the third week of school, my boy was famous. When he’d just arrive at the vicinity of the school, his classmates would start chanting, ‘YELLOW! YELLOW! YELLOW!’ Now here are some random facts:

*He still doesn’t know how to speak apart from some few words.

*He uses colour codes to describe what he wants.

He really is addicted to juice, which happens to be yellow in colour. So whenever he’d want the juice, he’d say Yellow instead. I guess that is how his classmates ended up nicknaming him Yellow. We were concerned he’d be bullied at school because of his difficulty in speech but to our surprise, he turned out to be the ‘cool kid’. I don’t know why or how, but everyday we’d take him to his class and everyone starts chorusing his name, everyone calling him to their table, some making space for him to sit, some showing him their snacks, God! It is overwhelming even for me to watch. He is an anxious kid himself so you can imagine the discomfort of being the center of attention 😀 I think he is also adapting to that, perhaps even liking it a little bit. I see how he has this hidden-yet-not-so-subtle smile creeping on his lips. It is nice to be seen.

The once very annoying kid now gives me full hugs and kisses and doesn’t mind to sleep with me and sometimes just randomly walks into my room, calls out my name then rumbles things i’d never understand. Oh and yes! He even says ‘I love you’ back 😀 Y’all better say mashallah, took me nearly 4 years of complaining a lot and forcing my love on him till he accepted it. This reminds me, there were times i’d sit with him, patting his hair and say, ‘May Allah protect you, say ameen’ He would say ‘Ameen’. ‘May Allah guide you, say ameen’ ‘Ameen’. And we would go on like that until I say ,’May Allah make you love me’ and he would LEGIT KEEP QUIET!!! Or even worse, walk away *Inserts weeping emojis* But then I guess love wins after all huh?!

Now we have another soldier in the house. Hassan’s younger brother. He is taller, more built than Hassan. He walks on his toes, literally and he is always trying to do some engineering. His hobby is picking screws and nails and any tools and just inserting them within any hole he sees in the house. That includes your torn clothe, if you put it on, next thing you have a nail poking you. His nick name is Hanuni. I call him Halimi so that when he grows up he can say he is ‘Halimi McDreamy’ (if you know, you know 😀 )Also, I tend to have special, separate nicknames for my loved ones *Grins* So Halimi is a hyper energetic one, mashallah. He has so much energy I think he most probably will end up in sports, or we will persuade him to do so because wow. so much energy. Hassan is sometimes scared of him because he hits him. So the kind of scenario you’ll find at home is Hassan running around screaming ‘Hanuni! Hanuni! Ma Hanuni!’ He is legit being bullied by his younger brother.

Halimi doesn’t like me much either. He is mostly throwing tantrums and being an angry bird. He used to call me ‘Dudii’ and now he calls me ‘Bulii’ like I am the bully?! He frequently walks into my room and pushes the door wide open till it hits the wall hard (yeah see what I mean by so much energy?) Then he walks in like a big boss, on his toes and looks around for anything to dismantle. And because my room is typically nerdy with so many books and study material, we have this game whereby whenever he walks in I start chasing him. Okay it wasn’t a game initially. I was seriously letting him out of the room so he doesn’t ruin my stuff but then he turned it into a game. So it typically goes two ways:

He pushes the door wide open, walks in and starts touching stuff. Mostly the earphones because he loves removing those tiny rubbers on them then either putting them in his mouth or just running away with them. And I follow him, pissed! while he is laughing, going to a corner to hide. Or sometimes as soon as he walks in and I turn my head towards him, he laughs then runs away.

On other occasions, as soon as I see him, I take him out of the room, close the door and while he is complaining, I tell him I love him. His mother always remarks, ‘What a way to love him, by chasing him away :D’

I pretty much envision Halimi protecting his brother in the future. Hassan is so compassionate and sweet right now, your heart would melt. Halimi is more charming and brave. I love them both too much. Anyway, I hope two years from now i’ll once again come here and tell you how much more Halimi loves me then. But anyway, he does love me even now because he has made my bedroom floor his favourite lying down place. Or maybe he just loves my room 😀 Let us wait till he starts talking then we ask him in shaa Allah.

Both boys are more attached to the male in our family, so they love my brother a lot, it makes me really jealous. My brother just has to exist and they love him so much mashallah (thu thu thu 😀 ) Like when they’d just hear his voice they go to the door, Halimi calls him ‘Sidoo’ in such a sweet way, and they’d hug him and literally feed him like he is the baby and they’d want to be carried by him. Come to my case now, I sometimes have to beg for a hug y’all *Weeping a river* I guess some of us just didn’t get the love luck y’all 😀

They make me happy. Like genuinely, whole-heartedly happy. They talk gibberish which is hilarious to listen to and they make everything so much lovelier! I could be in the worst of moods, about to have a nervous breakdown but they still melt my heart. May Allah protect them both! ameen! 😀

I shared these two little angels with you because to be honest, I don’t know how else to make it easier or lighter during such a tricky time. But I hope the 5, or is it 3 minutes you spent reading this will bring a smile on your face.

It is not dark and gloom my people. There is good and joy and love in this life. Please take it easy on yourself. Pray a lot. For my anxious fam, this too shall pass. Have firm faith that Allah is in control and will for sure protect and guide us. Ameen. Stay safe! Don’t forget to smile! 🙂

***

Thank you for reading! Please subscribe below! 🙂

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

THE GAME OF CARDS

By

Image by Nina Stock from Pixabay

The Matatu industry folks are the masters of the game of cards. They are smart. They are quick, very resilient and sometimes, even cunning. Now here’s the thing about them, they know for a fact that you need them. But they also know when to lure you into their game when need be.

You get to the matatu stage at 6 or 7 am in the morning, and the stage is already crowded with all manner of people. The matatus are scarce and with scarcity, comes one other thing, MONEY. At this time, the conductors won’t even look you in your eyes. The moment the matatu stops at the stage, they say what they need to say, without blinking their eyes. “Tao express, 100” and because the mwananchi is desperate to get to work early or else their salary will be sliced, they might as well just board the matatu as is. You will see some reluctant faces, some trying to whisper to the conductor, in a desperate attempt to get him to be more reasonable with the price. But this is not ‘the right talking’ moment. More times than not, the conductors are not interested in hearing your sad tone that early in the morning. So, they allow in who can afford it. The rest wait until the next humane conductor stops.

On other mornings, the matatus are so scarce, everyone is scrambling into the matatu like a tag of war. Some go further by jumping in through the window, and by the time everyone is settled down, we all need a minute to straighten our shirts and skirts and take a breath. I know, the struggle is real!

At this point, the matatu folks know very well what they are doing. There are totally no compromises, no humanity at this point. On other mornings, they will listen to your desperate bargain, ask you to board and when the time to pay your fare comes, they tell you, ‘Don’t you know it is rush hour?!’ My friend, if you had given the conductor more than the fare you bargained, best believe you will not get the change you expected or not get any change entirely. And because this money was budgeted, you try to reason with him, ‘Tuliongea’ or ‘Lakini ulikubali’ but your attempt will not be fruitful. So you attempt using your aggressive, firm tone but you know what? That doesn’t scare them either. In the end, you get tired and keep quiet or they ask you to alight before your actual destination. But do you know which the most annoying scenario is? You talk to the conductor and agree on the fare. You board the matatu, and next two stages ahead, the conductor you talked to alights. He wasn’t even the one in charge and now the next one who comes in doesn’t have time to listen to your blame story.

Darwin’s theory of ‘survival is for the fittest’ makes sense in so many ways. Like in this case, we are all desperate Kenyans, barely making ends meet. The economy is rough on everyone. But who suffers the most? The middle and lower class of the society. Barely anyone wants to be the next Mother Theresa or Mahatma Gandhi. We are all hungry. We are all hustlers. So it really isn’t ‘their’ fault to spike the fare prices in an unreasonable manner when they are just trying to survive too right? At least that’s how some think.

I mean, how many times have you boarded a matatu during morning or evening rush, or during the rain season or holiday season or a matatu strike, and you are told 100 bob every stage. EVERY. SINGLE. STAGE. That means it doesn’t matter if my stage is fifteen minutes away or one hour away, we are all paying the same.

The ones who get it the roughest are the visitors from other parts of the country or abroad especially during the holiday season. Funny thing, it is always very easy to spot a visitor because oblivion and confusion is always on their faces. They will constantly remind the conductor to drop them at their stage, keenly staring at the road ahead. Or the instances where we have teachers’ conferences here in Mombasa and suddenly the prices are doubled for every person, whether a local or a visitor. It is as though the teachers are coming with some funds to share with the community over here. I mean, what’s even the explanation for such manipulation?

Now flip the coin, to during the non-rush hours like between 10:00 a.m. to 3 p.m., you will see totally different people. Same faces, just different behaviour. As soon as they see you coming towards the stage, the conductor will come for you. Sometimes, the driver even reverses his car to where you are. In another second, there are three or four other conductors, all trying to convince you into their matatu. One will try holding your hand, another will tell you their matatu is about to leave; only two people remaining before it fills up (by two they actually mean five or seven people), another will offer you a way lower fare price. If you came to the stage with a bodaboda, they will rush to pay off the bodaboda guy so you are left with no choice but board their matatu. They will plead with you. They will remind you that ‘you are our daily customer’. Another will tell you the driver is calling you or your friend is in their matatu. They will fight for you. If you have low self-esteem, they could actually make you feel that you matter. And yes, you definitely do because their survival game is affected by your coins. Yet, they could crash that same self-esteem they built moments ago by selling you off to another conductor for only 20 bob 😀

Their faces turn from 0 to 100 real quick. They know how to navigate around the police system. They know when to be aggressive. When to be swift. When to be stern. When to be greedy; overloading the matatu with passengers until people are suffocating. When to be friendly. When to be kind. When to be empathetic. Of course this is not how it is with all of them. Some are more understanding of the struggle fellow Kenyans are in too and some are friendly and reasonable regardless of the time. However, most times than not, they are just playing their cards.

Funny thing is, most Kenyans with white collar jobs perceive the matatu industry to be of a lower grade; for the illiterate, poor, uncivilized people. However, the money that matatu drivers and conductors make is way more than what an average Kenyan earns in a white collar job. How they use the money is a different story but we’ve had students educate themselves throughout college using the money earned being a matatu conductor/driver.

So next time you want to pity them or underestimate them, think twice. You are probably being played more than you realize it.

***

Thank you for reading 🙂 Kindly share and subscribe if you haven’t already 🙂

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

IF RESILIENCE WAS A BEING

By

I do not consider myself a proud Kenyan nor do I say, ‘Navumilia kuwa Mkenya’. Let’s just say, Kenya has its moments. More like a love-hate relationship filled with spontaneous mood swings; 0-100 real quick! There’s a lot to be sad about and even more to be angry for. I mean, we are the kind of country whereby you study four years of Journalism only to spend the next three years searching for a job in the media while a comedian ends up swooping that same job you’ve been craving at a radio station. To be fair, the comedians also struggle in their own way to get where they get to but it becomes illogical when these opportunities are not fairly and equally spread out among the masses. Definitely, ours is the ‘survival is for the fittest’ kind of economy whereby the resources are so limited, we are all trying to grab this one opportunity available.

It is that kind of country you graduate Engineering with honours but end up selling water within your neighbourhood, or even worse, you have to stand with a placard at the middle of the highway, stating your qualifications so that hopefully, JUST HOPEFULLY, someone isn’t too busy complaining about the traffic jam or the poor water drainage system and reads your placard. Thereafter, this someone is placed within his/her the grace of the Lord and decides to help you in some way. Or rather, take your photo and tweet about it. The power of social media I tell you!

It is also the kind of country where someone with no education whatsoever could end up being more successful than you’d ever dream to be because they know someone who knows someone who is in power or, they are super talented at sucking money out of people’s bank accounts in open day light. Yes, corruption and conning is in our country, a job of its own calibre. I am still talking of the unemployment disaster because it is really really bad out here. I mean, REALLY bad. 

Now don’t get me started on the cost of living, the economy, the health industry, the plight of the lower class, the struggles of the youth…the list is endless. Kenyans are sufferers; at least the majority are. A few months back, the form fours completed their final examinations with shouts and screams of joy, spraying the walls and their uniform with colours; they just ended what they call ‘a stressful era’ and all Kenyans can think of is ‘Should we tell them the truth or should we wait wapumzike? *Insert many laughing emojis*’ I mean, that alone says a lot about the despair Kenyans are at. We are mostly hopeless of our country than we are hopeful.

But here’s the thing about Kenyans: we are the most resilient beings. It amazes me. It awes me. Kenyans make fun of their own misery such that it gives them strength to actually push on to the next day. Kenyans live on the spirit, ‘Our lives are so much a tragedy, it has become a comedy.’ We laugh a lot. We perhaps make the best come-backs, best replies on twitter and memes of every other event that happens. We make jokes about our ridiculous leaders. We joke about the cost of living. We joke when we are robbed, singing ‘bella Ciao’ like a bank didn’t just lose millions. We joke when we cry. We joke when we succeed. We joke when we fail and when everything seems to be at dead end. People would call us insane just by the way we react with laughter at E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Yet in my opinion, this kind of spirit is what makes Kenyans stand tall and walk through the storm despite the odds. We laugh because despite saying ‘this is life’, we still wake up the next morning to try again, make protests and demands on the streets, make noise, call out to the leaders, fail, fail miserably, yet we will do it again next morning.

Amidst all the despair and hopelessness, we create our own happiness. We see a man eating his githeri from a plastic bag throwing them into his mouth like groundnuts whilst waiting in queue to vote, and we decide ‘hey! That is something!’ And there came about the hashtag #GitheriMan who ended up uniting and bringing us laughter at a very tense period. We all tune in on TV to watch Eliud Kipchoge take on the ‘No Human is Limited’ challenge and we all leave everything aside, to watch history being made. To watch a fellow Kenyan shine because God knows, we desperately need a win. Soon after, we make ‘No Human is Limited’ memes because we are Kenyans and we thrive on laughter. We see our president look up in the sky at the planes being displayed during Mashujaa day at the revamped mama Ngina drive and we decide to quote it as ‘Na hii hapa juu, Mheshimiwa Rais, ni gharama ya maisha *Insert laughing emojis*’ We still retweet hilarious posts by fellow Kenyans with the hashtag #KenyaSihamiiii. We stand together with King Kaka as he performs his #WajingaNyinyi spoken word, giving us all something to ponder on.

We come together to mourn during tragedies and we celebrate our fellow Kenyans whenever we get a chance to. We left all our differences aside when Miriam Kighenda and her 4-year old daughter drowned at the Likoni Ferry tragedy, we prayed for them and mourned the loss. When the Ethiopian airlines crashed, we were devastated. The loss was unfathomable and we cried together. Just as much as we come together every Olympics and marathons to celebrate our very talented athletes, breaking records every now and then.

I don’t think we are at a good place as a country. The misery definitely supersedes the good done for Kenyans. However, we can’t close our eyes to how brilliant and strong Kenyans are. We fall, again and again and again. But we always, always find a way to survive. We innovate. We come together. We stand up for our rights. We make demands. We start our own businesses. We hope despite the hopelessness. We help when we can. We make a difference in our communities. Yet most importantly, we have learned how to find laughter even in the darkest of moments.

Life is definitely tough, not just for Kenyans but many other Africans as well. Politics is a dirty game. Our leaders are mostly a huge fail. Opportunities are like a blue moon. But if resilience was a human being, then Kenyans would be it!

***

Kindly subscribe below to get the articles first hand, right in your inbox! 😉

by
Keep Reading

Powered by WordPress