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Creative Non-Fiction


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Creative Non-Fiction

THIS TERRIFYING THING CALLED ADULTING

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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 🙂

***

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A TREE FOR EVERAFTER

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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 🙂

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WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE

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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.

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EDUCATORS: ANGELS OR MONSTERS IN DISGUISE?

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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!

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MY OTHER HALF (PART 3)

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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!

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MY HAPPY PERSON 2

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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! 🙂

***

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THE GAME OF CARDS

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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.

***

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IF RESILIENCE WAS A BEING

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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!

***

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31 HOURS (PART 2)

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To read part 1, click the following link: http://lubnah.me.ke/31-hours-part-1/

Our view is still the same restaurant we had been at from the previous night 3 a.m.
It is now past 3 p.m. and you could vividly see all our energy had been sucked out of us.

“You know, at some point, during this journey, I thought of Nabii Yunus and the boat he was on,” I say loudly.
“Why,” my sister asks.
“Perhaps there is someone weighing us down and jinxing this entire trip. Who should we be kicking out of the car?”
They all burst out laughing.
“Saeed, I didn’t see you at the masjid for I’sha. Did you really pray?” Farouq jokes.
“I was late for masjid but I actually did pray.”
“Ehh, maanake this is not normal,” I say.
“So we write down our names in small pieces of paper too and choose randomly who is to be kicked out,” someone says. And we laugh again.

Asr prayer soon arrives. We went for prayers then went to eat at another restaurant across the road. Chips soaked in oil nonetheless. We eat reluctantly as we entertain ourselves with nothing and everything. We then see a matatu drive into the previous restaurant we were at. Our help had finally arrived. Finally, we thought.

My brother in law Ali had come with two other men, a driver and a conductor for extra help. We take the car to the mechanic and fix a towing bar ( a metal bar on the back of a vehicle that is used for towing a vehicle) between the two cars and off we set.

My sister and I sat comfortably at the car seat, set our chairs back and closed our eyes. We were barely three minutes away from the mechanic, the towing bar falls off from our car and screeches loudly. We both open our eyes,
“Oh what now?” I say with a sigh.
The mechanic rushes to us and checks our car.
“Reverse the car. We have to fix this again,” he says.

So we reverse back and it takes another moment to fix the towing bar. We set off again and as we cross the road towards Mombasa, guess what? It falls off again. All the men come out of the car and somehow fix it. We set off AGAIN. At this point I am so convinced that this entire trip is jinxed.

For a while we drive at a good speed with no complications. In fact, at some point, Farouq who was now the one driving the matatu, was over taking other cars.
“We are now over-confident huh?” I said to my brother who was in the car with us.
He laughs while I went back to sleep.

Close to dusk, I woke up and started taking videos of the forest and images of the sunset. I even got to see a deer and a giraffe huh! Silver lining 😀 At this point, we believe that we are fine and we will totally make it home with no further complications.

In between my short naps and taking videos, another loud screech woke us up. All men hopped out of the two vehicles, fixed it again and embarked on our journey. It was already dark now and just a few vehicles on the road with us.

As if testing our patience, the towing bar now kept falling off almost after every 10-20 minutes. Whenever this would happen,I would imagine the car losing entire control and perhaps roll off to our devastating end. Despite this happening too many times already, I would still wake up with a hand on my chest, screaming ‘bismillah’ like this might just be it. The last trip of our lives. Mind you, this trip happened just a few days before eidul adh-ha. I never thought we would live to see it.

Past midnight, we stopped at a petrol station with a cool, posh, cute restaurant beside it.
“Is she asleep?” my brother asks about our sister.
“Yeah,” I say as I gaze at her. She’s been asleep for a while now. And I kept wondering how she wasn’t hearing all that commotion in the dead night with no one but us on the road.

I wake her up to ask whether she needed to use the washroom.
“You’ve slept quite a while. Weren’t you hearing the constant commotions?” I ask her.
“I took my pills remember? They make me drowsy and sleepy.”
“Makes sense.”

We walk to the restaurant. The setting was beautiful and the toilets were CLEAN and neat. Do you know how important that is when you have a break down in the wilderness?!!!
“I wish our car had broken down here,” my sister says. Yeah, same sis. Same. We laugh.
We come back from the washroom and find all the men standing between the two vehicles. Two of them were hitting the bumper of our car with a huge rock.

“What’s happening?” we ask as we wear our jackets. It is pretty cold now.
“The bumper is becoming loose. It can no longer handle the pull of the towing bar. We have to remove it entirely and connect the towing bar directly to the metals of the car below the bonnet,” my brother explains.

“Do you know how suspicious we look right now?” I say. Five men and two women, in the middle of the night, damaging what seems like a perfect car. The sound of the rock echoes in the very silent petrol station. No one from there asks anything though. The bumper is finally removed and kept inside the matatu. They attach a rope and the metal bar between the matatu and our bumper-less car and each one of us takes our places in the respective vehicles. We take off.

“We are lucky we took this trip at night you know. If it were during the day it would be way more difficult with other cars on the road and traffic police,” my brother says. Lucky indeed 😀

You’d expect with the bumper being out our trip wouldn’t have any other issue right? You couldn’t be more wrong. The car still kept on freeing itself. And as fast and efficient as possible, the guys would hop out, fix it and we’d move on. They were becoming too good at the job, with no complaints even 😀

At this point it was like we were at a state of delirium. Whenever we’d close our eyes and open them again, we’d see someone else driving our car. The guys were taking turns in driving the two vehicles. My brother Saeed and brother in law Ali are now at the car with us.

“I am sleepy,” Ali says as he drives.
To make our trip more interesting, Saeed starts telling us of another road trip with a friend who left him driving the entire night while he slept.
“The silence just makes it worse. I was literally fighting with the sleep. I couldn’t keep my eyes fully open,” he says as we listen.

At this time, almost all our phones were off. Had we died, it would have taken a while for our families to be contacted. Okay, not the time for bad thoughts.

Saeed starts eating the mabuyu that we had at the beginning our trip. My sister is back to sleep.
“Are these mabuyu nice ama ni njaa niko nayo?” (or am I just hungry)
“You are hungry,” Ali and I laugh.

I close my eyes again for another moment before we had the loudest screech yet. Both my sister and I woke at the sight of our car moving to the extreme left down a slope, the matatu moved towards the right while the towing bar screeched loudly. I screamed something, my sister’s eyes were popping. We all held our breath, our mouths agape, horror written all over our faces as the car moved fast towards the edge of the road. We could now see the ocean below us; imagining us plummeting and dropping like feathers to the ocean below. The car then came to a slow stop. We were at ‘Dongokundu highway’. The streets totally empty and the ocean almost daring us. There was a moment of deep silence as the men alighted once again. If there was any moment we felt terror to the extent of finding it tangible, this was it. Imagine waking up to find yourself almost falling off a highway into the ocean? I don’t think words can ever precisely describe the horror we experienced at this point. Maybe we should turn this into a movie so you can vividly experience the terror alongside the characters. From this point, no one dared to go back to sleep. Even my sister with her sleep-inducing pills. We had lost all the appetite for it.

‘What if our car fell off into the deadly waters?!’ I kept thinking to myself.

We were right at the road when a trailer drove past us at a super high speed, startling the guys away to the side. It was a close brush!

“Why do you keep being scared whenever the bar falls off?” my brother asks me after they were back in the car.
“I keep imagining the car losing control and driving us to our demise.”
“That can’t happen. Despite the engine being dead, we are still controlling the car…unless God wills of course.”
“Oh…” I say with relief. How comforting to know 😀

We finally drive past Changamwe into Mombasa. Wow, that came with an excitement of its own, ‘we are close enough to home!! Alhamdulilah’ Only that home is in Mtwapa and we’d need another hour or so to get there with this constantly falling metal bar.

As we drive past Bamburi cement, we stop again. The men hop out as usual. But this time, we have an audience. The bodaboda guys start speculating us closely. One of them is seemingly drunk and starts threatening the men to report them.
I’m at the back of the car and I don’t get it.’Report us for what?’
The bodaboda guy then signals to his fellow to note down our plate numbers and I think to call the police or something like that.
He is shouting loudly at the guys, throwing insults at a time.
“What is wrong with this guy urgh!’ I say.
“And why are you agitated?” my sister asks.
“Because these guys have been driving the entire night, and he is pushing their buttons. People are exhausted! We don’t need any more problems bana!”
As I had guessed, Ali and Farouq starts answering him back. Not on full blown angry mode but you can see they are REALLY trying to ignore him.

Suddenly we see a police car drive by. We all freeze for a second. But the police just slow down a bit to peep what we were and they went on with their way.

The guys come back to the car. Farouq comes back and joins us as Ali takes up driving the matatu.
“What was the bodaboda guy threatening about?” I ask.
“He was assuming we had caused an accident thus the missing bumper,” Farouq replies.

Saeed drives the car past Borabora and we are thrilled.
“Getting home soon in shaa Allah,” Saeed says.
“Hehe not yet. We are yet to be stopped by the police,” Farouq laughs.
“Don’t jinx it,” we urge him.

We drop the matatu driver and conductor at some point around Shanzu.

We get to Mtwapa bridge and just as we cross, guess what? The police stop us.
Ali explains it to them that before coming with the Matatu to pick us from Mtito, he had talked to their head about it and had approved.
The police became agitated.

“Are you teaching us our job?” They were around four or five of them.
“No but why do you want to hold us back while we got the approval from your boss,” Ali is officially pissed.
“Kuna leo na kesho,”one of the policeman says.

And we all know what that means in Kenya. You could find yourself in a very muddy situation you were never really in.

Saeed and Farouq take Ali aside then talked to the policemen, trying to calm them down. They apologize on his behalf. They say it has been a long journey and bargain with them. They fold a note into one of the hands and finally let us go.

Broken system. How sad.

“That was close,” one of us says.
“Si mimi nlisema,” Farouq laughs. (Didn’t I say we’d be stopped by the police?)
“You’re the one who’s been jinxing us Farouq,” we all say as we laugh at him.
“I am not going to be excited anymore till we are finally INSIDE our home,” I say as we get closer and closer.

“You’ve had a lifetime adventure you will never forget,” Farouq says, “Mwanzo, have you guys ever been on such an adventure?”

“Of course not 😀 We can rejoice about the adventure AFTER it is over,” I say.

We can now see our home at the vicinity and I still say, “I am NOT going to be happy till I am inside. No less. No more.” This is the kind of trip you think, ‘Oh I am finally home. Nothing bad can happen now. I am safe.’ Only for robbers to appear in front of you with pangas. Okay maybe that is too movie-ish but can you blame me at this point for thinking of the worst?

I see my dad waiting for us at the door. I quickly alight and head towards the door. Guess what happened?!

Nothing. Relax. 😀 I just hugged him. Never felt happier to be home. Alhamdulilah.

I rush into my room and my younger sister is startled from her sleep.
“Oh you’re back?!”

“I am baaackkk!! Alhamdulilah!! You won’t believe what happened oh my God. Very long story. Will tell you tomorrow in shaa Allah.”

It is past 3 a.m., closer to 4 a.m. I rush to the washroom, clean up and repay my missed prayers. I am thrilled to be home. So excited. All the while during that terrible journey yet thrilling adventure, I couldn’t stop thinking, ‘Wait till this over! I can’t wait to write about it!’ To date, I believe I was meant to experience that adventure because I love adventures despite them wrecking my nervous system 😀 At least I can boast that I survived the thrill without having a mental breakdown 😀

Next morning everyone at home is asking for details of the trip. What exactly happened.

“Just wait till I write about it!!”

They’ve been waiting for too long! 😀

***
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Creative Non-Fiction

31 HOURS (PART 1)

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Submission for the https://timbu.com/ creative writing contest

Having anxiety and being adventurous at the same time, is an extreme sport. It is like your DNA is on a constant battle on which personality should possess over your body. A forever tag of war. But whenever things go unexpectedly, anxiety ALWAYS wins.

So here we are, at 2 a.m. at the middle of nowhere, bushes everywhere and smoke emerging from our car. There is a deep moment of silence.

‘Hapa ni kubaya,’ (this is a bad area) Farouq says, holding the door handle hesitantly.

‘Ehh lazma tukae chonjo,’ Mullah says, looking at the other two men at the front seats; my brother Saeed and his friend Farouq. Seconds tick away as the men still contemplate what step to take.

‘What is happening?’ I ask from the back seat.

It is obvious. The car has broken down. Heavy smoke is still rising from the front bonnet of the car. My mind is already imagining a group of shaggy looking men with blood-shot eyes emerging from the bushes with pangas and rungus. ‘Ni kubaya’ keeps ringing in my head. Is this how we die? Be attacked by some idle, ruthless, heartless humanbeings and be slashed to be unrecognizable pieces of meat?

‘I can check the smoke while the two of you look out for the animals,’ Farouq says.

‘We have a panga here,’ my brother Saeed says.

‘Wait, what animals?’ I ask.

‘We have lions here…and all types of wild animals roaming around the forest,’ Mullah says.

Wait what?! So now we won’t be victims of a ruthless, idol gang but of wild animals who would carry our helpless bodies to the bushes for a feast.

My elder sister is calmly seated next to me, focused on what the men are discussing.

‘This panga is small,’ Mullah says, ‘and rusted.’

‘Why do you drive around with a panga under your seat anyway?’ I ask my brother.

‘For emergencies. Like these.’

Seems wild. I wouldn’t be able to carry a panga with me around without thinking that it is exactly what will be used to slash my head when I run into bad people. You can’t blame me for thinking like that anyway. Have you watched the news lately?

‘We need water,’ someone says. We pass the only gallon of water left with us.

The three men step out of the car. Mullah is hanging on the doorway with his phone torch looking towards the forest. All doors have been left open, you know, in case an animal emerges out of nowhere and they have to jump back in. But what if the animals decide they are the ones to jump in huh?!

Farouq is pouring the water into the car while dubbing it with a piece of cloth. My brother Saeed is in between watching the other side of the forest and helping Farouq. All the water is eventually used up. They all rush back into the car, close the door, shut the windows and put off all the lights.

‘We just have to wait for the car to relax,’ Farouq says, as we all burst out laughing. ‘It is true. We just have to give it time to relax then we will be good to go.’

‘By the way do you know that a lion won’t attack you if you don’t provoke it?’

‘Who said?’ Someone asks.

‘I know so. Hyenas are the worst. And I hear they are common here.’

‘This is a bad area to stop,’ Farouq repeats.

I am surprised how everyone is staying calm. We are about 10-15 kilometres away from Mtito Andei. All cars passing by are moving at a super speed. The engine won’t start. The smoke in our car won’t stop. My sister is chatting away something while laughing. My mind is distracted. I can point out a hundred things that can go wrong right now.

‘Lubnah,’ my brother calls out my name, ‘you wanted a road trip huh? Here it is. The real road trip,’ he says while laughing.

I laugh nervously. I had just completed my final semester exams the evening before and upon reaching home, my brother suggested I accompany them for their road trip to Nairobi. What better way to treat yourself after a hard paper?! I had been too excited; rushed through the entire packing process because I could not risk being told last minute that they changed their mind or there is no longer space for me. I didn’t want to waste a minute in the house anymore. Road trip huh?!

It is almost half an hour later and there doesn’t seem to be any progress. The men step out once again and this time, Farouq tries to stop the lorries with his flashlight. One lorry seems about to stop but decides it is not wise to stop by a forest at past 2 a.m. Another lorry stops but the driver doesn’t have a rope to pull us to Mtito. Mullah is holding a panga like he is ready for a fist fight with anything coming his way. He is skinny and kinda short. Would he really manage? I admire his confidence though. If he dies, at least he dies a hero.

The three men rush back into the car. A moment of silence. My sister and I are saying all sorts of prayers now from a book we had with us. But my mind is too distracted I tell my sister I will recite whatever I know off head. You should know, anxious people have some six common ways to deal (more like reacting) with situations, ‘panic, cry uncontrollably, over-eat, not eat entirely, over-sleep or have insomnia.’ I can’t panic. I see it in movies all the time. Anxious people tend to make a situation worse 100% by panicking. I can’t panic. I shouldn’t panic. Because now we are stuck just beside a forest with wild animals roaming freely, waiting for free meat. I can’t be the free meat that calls for the animals’ attention. I try to breathe in deeply. And next, I decide to stress-eat the mabuyu we had carried.

People are telling dark jokes now. Coping mechanism I believe. When there is nothing to do, you can try to make it funny. At least if we are dying, we die laughing right? My sister and brother tease my quite silent and tense self. They know what is going on in my head.

It is already 3 a.m. Mullah decides to light a fire just beside the road to scare away the animals and hopefully, make some driver stop and help us. Farouq goes back to waving his flashlight towards the passing cars.

‘This fire is risky. There is so much wind and this is a big forest. It could start a huge fire that we can’t control,’ my brother Saeed says.

‘No it will be fine. This is what will keep the animals away. They can’t come near the fire,’ Said says.

We stay like that for a while and the fire seems to get bigger. My brother decides to push the car behind because it is a petrol car and we don’t really need another tragedy right now.

The fire is making me nervous. What if it decides to spread its wings and conquer the land of the wild? Mullah is guarding it closely but I can’t help but imagine it really spreading, our car catching fire and exploding, turning each one of us into fresh kebabs for breakfast for the animals. The imagination is vivid. I can imagine the headlines in the morning, ‘A huge fire burnt down a big part of the forest and has killed five people beyond recognition.’

I shake my head in an attempt to throw out the thoughts. I can’t tell them to anyone else because anxious people tend to make situations worse remember? Everyone else is trying to stay calm and still making dry, dark jokes. I should adjust like everyone else.

‘Tell him to put it off,’ I suggest. Saeed had already suggested that previously but Mullah was insistent on keeping it burning.

A lorry finally stops several steps ahead of us. All three men rush to it. And finally, they come with a rope. Our hope has now been reignited. Mullah puts out the fire with his feet. Don’t ask me how. He just did it.

We watch keenly as we start being pulled towards Mtito. We say our grace to God. (The driver later tells us that he saw a rhino nearby when he was pulling over to help us. He almost didn’t stop. True Story)

We get to Mtito minutes to 5 a.m. We have our very early breakfast, perform our prayers and get back to our packed car and sleep. Short, restless naps. We can hear people moving in and out of the restaurant. We had two options; either leave one of us with the car while the rest take up another car/bus to Nairobi or wait for another car from Mombasa to take us back home. We weigh our options. We have to go back home.

Saeed and Farouq escort Mullah to the roadside and get him a ride to Nairobi. The four of us are now left. When you have several free hours at hand, is when you take notice of every minute passing by. We chit-chat a bit, eat, eat more, sleep again, laugh at whatsapp videos and memes, eat again. I am busy eating half the time. The overwhelm has to be taken care of somehow. So food it is. I pretend to be a youtuber for a minute and take images of the very aesthetic blue and grey clouds. I am searching for the silver lining I say.

It is only 4 p.m. when help finally arrives from Mombasa. We are extremely tired, sweaty, smelly and sleepy. We get a mechanic nearby who fixes a metal between the two cars so we are pulled back home. You think that is the end of the journey? You are mistaken. The journey has just begun…

To read part 2 click on the following link: http://lubnah.me.ke/31-hours-part-2/

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