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Creative Non-Fiction


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Creative Non-Fiction

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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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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PIECES OF MY HEART (PART 2)

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Image Courtesy: Ahmed Elmawi

Continuing swiftly from where we left off last time: http://lubnah.me.ke/pieces-of-my-heart-part-1/

6. PURPLE HIBISCUS BY CHIMAMANDA ADICHIE

A beautiful, moving and intriguing story of a teenage girl Kambili and her older brother Jaja who come from a rather privileged and respected family. Their father is very generous and admired in the community. However, he was also fanatically religious and tyrannical with his family. Despite the perfect outward image this cute family portrays, there is a lot of tension within the house, built on deep fear of ever crossing their father’s limits and set rules. A military coup becomes the reason these young siblings get to experience freedom and deep joy when they move to their aunt’s house, outside the city. But when they come back home, the tension heightens. The two young siblings with their mother silently endure the unendurable until they no longer can and someone goes to jail…

It is an emotional roller coaster built upon the family bonds. You will definitely love this one because it is very relatable. High chances you will relate to Kambili and Jaja or you know someone who lives what they’ve lived through. I am very fond of this book I think mainly because it is family based and really moves one to the core.

7. BORN A CRIME BY TREVOR NOAH

Trevor Noah is one of my favourite comedians without a say but that aside, this book is magnificent by its own glory. In his book, Trevor talks about being ‘born a crime’; having parents who are black and Swiss, something that was totally forbidden during the apartheid period in South Africa. He struggles in a huge way to fit in anywhere and he ends up being the boy who could survive everywhere. He learns five languages and how to adapt to the rather racist system.

His mother is a very firm, independent woman who plays a huge role in raising Trevor into being a smart, witty young man. The best part for me is how they develop a tradition where she’d write him letters on his chores and his duties in the house and Trevor would write back to her 😀 And she would write hilarious statements (in their context) like ‘Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child; the rod of discipline will remove it far from him’ which is an excerpt from the bible just to threaten him. His mother is literal goals! Then there’s his beloved dog Fufi who disappears for a while before learning that he actually has another owner. This also became one of my favourite pieces in the book with the moral of the story being that ‘You don’t own what you love.’

This book is not only hilarious but there are many instances where we get to learn from the experiences that Trevor lived. The most tragic one being his mother being shot by his own step father. Intense! I know! However, it is always lovely to know the back story of our favourite people in real life. We get to understand where they are coming from and why they are who they are!

8. THE ALCHEMIST BY PAULO COELHO

You definitely, DEFINITELY saw this coming didnt you?! Paulo Coelho is one of the best authors of our times and his books never disappoint but to date, in my opinion, this is his best work yet!!

The story revolves around an Andalusian shepherd boy named Santiago who travels from his homeland in Spain to a desert in Egypt in search of treasure supposedly buried at the pyramids. This young man is both ambitious and thoughtful. Filled with hope, he follows his dreams and explores the land. He meets many different people along his journey to his quest and learns a lot of lessons. At some point he reaches a dead end with his search and he is robbed too. The different experiences push him to take control of his own life and seek out the spiritual world. He gets to the alchemist; who claims he can turn metal to gold and also meet Fatima who affirms to him the reality of fate and the spiritual forces that align with our dreams, goals, choices and beliefs.

The book is magical in its own way and very intriguing. It makes us readers reflect on our inner world and how our core beliefs inevitably affect our lives. This book is almost always amongst everyone’s favourite books.

9. THE PARTNER BY JOHN GRISHAM

John Grisham is a master of thrillers and mysteries. This is one of the books that at the end, you throw it to the wall and stare for many moments at nothing; dismayed, shocked!

Patrick Lanigan,the main character of our story is a lawyer who decided to steal 90 million dollars from his law firm then proceeded to fake his own death in a seemingly brutal car accident. Patrick manages to run to Brazil where he changes his entire appearance and changed his name to Danilo Silva. He starts everything afresh so as to not get caught by the FBI who were looking for him. However, four years down the line he is arrested by the FBI agents at a small town called Ponta Porã.

During the years of his escape, he had a partner by the name of Eva Miranda alias Leah Pires. He entrusts her with EVERYTHING. From covering his tracks to hiding the money, to withdrawals and deposits to disappearing from the world’s existence. She was the perfect partner…until she wasn’t…

I’ll leave it at that so y’all can read it on your own. Nonetheless, it was really captivating and intriguing 😀

10. LAND OF THE LIVING BY NICCI FRENCH

I came across this book by mere chance at second hand book stalls and I was hesitant because I had never read the author. But then I went ahead and took it with me (see? sometimes you gotta give unknown authors to you or new ones a chance) When I started reading, I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN. The books puts you at the edge and the suspense is intense!!

The story is about a young lady who finds herself in a dark, unknown location and quite disoriented. Abbie Devereaux can’t remember her recent past or how she got here with a strange man who keeps promising her death. Abbie stays for long hours alone, imagining the sun and butterflies while still having nightmares;

being hopeful that someday she will make it to her world again. However, a twist of events happen when Abbie finally gets to escape and resume her normal life…but guess what? People don’t believe her story. Her doctors think it is a fantasy merely made up by Abbie. It is then that Abbie realizes that her before life had been destroyed too. She is terrified whether her kidnapper would find her again. Would she ever remember what exactly happened to her? Abbie therefore desperately tries to reconstruct her life, taking step by step into the past to find out what exactly took place and also prove what everyone didn’t believe…Exciting, thrilling, terrifying!!! If you love thrillers, you should consider this.

___
Now something I learnt, people have different tastes in books just like everything else. Been checking reviews od the different books I have mentioned so far and I was shocked to find some of my favourites were somebody’s ‘total waste of time’. Sooo…I am not promising anything but I believe my taste is above average good 🙂 Enjoy!!


Other great books (in my opinion):

-Reclaim your heart by Yasmin Mogahed
-Enjoy your life by Mohammad Al-Arefe
-I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou
-When Breath becomes air by Paul Kalanishi
-I too had a love story by Ravinder Singh
-A walk to remember by Nicholas Sparks
-Nothing lasts forever by Sidney sheldon
-Tell me your dreams by Sidney Sheldon
-The Street Lawyer by John Grisham
-The Poet by Michael Connelly
-The Spy by Paulo Coelho

Local authors (with their instagram handles to get yourself some copies ?)

-The Striving Soul by meeeee (Contact me at 0704 731 560 to get yours now!!)
-Point of deflection by Dr Mohammad Bahaidar (and 3 other books) @dr.bahaidar
-The billionaire sahaba by Suleiman Ndoro @_draudi
-A Painted Inspiration from the Palm-Fringed Beaches: A Collection of Inspirational Quotes by Salma Abdulatif @expressing_through_salummy
-Building a Million dollar business by Aminah Suleiman @wa_kwale_
-Drunk by Jackson Biko @bikozulu
-Too pretty to be broke by Joan @joanthatiah

Among many many other great books!! Pardon me if I forgot to mention your favourite ?

Don’t forget to subscribe below and share!! Thank you!

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PIECES OF MY HEART (PART 1)

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Image Courtesy: https://www.bookurve.com

I am not an avid reader. There, I said it! In broad daylight! (Or rather, in dark nightlight 😀 ) Do nerds do honor killing as well? Coz I could be the next victim of a ‘ruthless word-murder case on twitter.’ It is always on twitter, right? However, I am a big believer of quality over quantity (See my excuse 😀 ) I love taking time with books so that I can really absorb and ponder what’s in it. Also, overthink about everything in it, the sequel if there was any, feel the pain of the characters excessively to a fault and take time to heal too lol. The only books I don’t keep down are the thriller/crime/mystery books (which are my favourites by the way) because I totally love how they keep me on the edge. Sometimes though, we have the reallllyyy moving books that are just too profound to keep down, those too. Otherwise, I’m not rushing anywhere. Quality reading y’all! (P.S I really respect avid readers. I admire their deep commitment).

Good Lord. We have some really A.M.A.Z.I.N.G books out there and picking the best ones is really a task. Nonetheless, here are my top books that I’ve read so far:

Please note that there may be a feeew spoilers here!

1. THE KITE RUNNER BY KHALED HOSSEINI

I LOVE THIS BOOK. I LOVE KHALED HOSSEINI. And to date there is no single book I have ever read that made me feel what I feel about the Kite Runner or even Khaled Hosseini’s works. He is the absolute best writer ever. Don’t argue with me!

The Kite Runner is a coming-of-age story revolving around Amir (who longs deeply for his father’s affection), his best friend Hassan, Hassan’s father Ali (who is the servant of Amir’s family) and the very tragic war in Afghanistan. Amir and Hassan share an extra-ordinary bond of friendship and love but the unthinkable happens when Amir betrays his childhood best friend at a very critical moment (no spoilers!) They eventually separate when Amir immigrates with his father to US. The story has a huge plot twist, a very sad one,towards the end of the story concerning the two boys.

This book is very sweet, and heart-breaking, and sad, and heart-warming and very moving at the same time. An emotional roller coaster. And perhaps I love it deeply because the story-line concentrates a lot on friendship, something I really value. It has a special place in my heart and I never lend this book to anyone unless I REALLY trust you because ‘I AM GIVING YOU A PIECE OF MY HEART’ 😀 It is one of those books you finish reading and you HATE that you are done with it, yet you are crying and you hate that it made you cry but you still text your friend and say, ‘You MUST read this book. 11/10 recommend!’

Honestly, Khaled Hosseini is my writing guru. Ultimately, I hope that one day I can write and move mountains within people like he does with his stories (and in real life too!! He does a lot of projects helping refugees!!)

2. A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS BY KHALED HOSSEINI

YES!! HIM AGAIN!! And when you read the book you will understand why.

This book will STING you to the core. The story revolves around two women; Mariam and Laila.

Mariam is the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy businessman which makes her and her mother, Nana as outcasts. Mariam loves her father dearly and yearns to live with him at all times. However, this desire leads to her mother’s death and eventually her forced marriage. On the other galaxy, is Laila, a young girl loses both her parents due to a stray rocket during the soviet union invasion in Afghanistan. Laila loses her best friend too, Tariq whose family decides to move to Pakistan.

An unexpected twist happens when Mariam’s husband decides to marry the young Laila as his second wife since Mariam had failed to conceive. The two women don’t get along at first but they eventually realize they are both on the same side.

The story is about their huge struggles as women, instances where society fails them in a terrible way and how fate brings them together to become co-wives. The story has themes on fate, war, marriage, domestic violence, machoism, the plight of the girl child, culture, family and mostly love; the struggles that Laila and Tariq experience (don’t ask me if they meet again. READ THE BOOK!!), in pursuit of their happy ending. This book will make you CRY (or maybe I just cry a lot lol) but either way you will have that kiazi on your throat in several instances in the book. It is a master-piece. A tragic one but a really beautiful one nonetheless.

You can thank me later!!

3. A TEMPORARY GIFT BY ASMAA HUSSEIN

Amr Kassem a 26 year old man, was murdered in 2013 while going home after a peaceful protest in Alexandria, Egypt.  Him and the many other people were rallying against the mass injustices under the command of AbdelFattah al-Sisi. He left behind his very heart-broken widow, Asmaa and their daughter Ruqaya. The book consists of journal entries of his widow, Asmaa, two years after his death. The book is sweet, heart-warming (concerning the two as a couple), spiritual but mostly heart-breaking. The intensity of it is on another level. I however love how despite the deep darkness, Asmaa was always seeking God and light. She would find the courage to trust that God’s plan is the best.  It is definitely a spiritually uplifting book that will be a game-changer for so many people.

The book talks on love, marriage, fate, death, deep grief, faith, and outstanding patience.

By the way, this is a true story, not fiction. You can check out her page on Instagram @ruqayas.bookshelf or her website: ruqayasbookshelf.com in which this book is sold as well. Help a widow by buying her book y’all 🙂

4. THE BOOK THIEF BY  MARKUS ZUSAK

First, this book is very unique because DEATH is the narrator in the book (Imagine hearing Death’s point of view of people and life!) He tells the story of Liesel, a young girl who has a traumatic experience of losing her younger brother during their journey to the Hans family (which adopts her) and thereafter losing her mother who leaves never to return. Liesel steals several books in the story, thus becoming ‘the book thief’ and it is this deep love of books that eventually saved her from death.

The family that adopted her was of Hans Hubermann and Rosa, who she doesn’t like much at first. The story happens during the world war II in Germany and despite them not being Jewish, they do not agree with the Nazi regime. They then hide a Jewish boy, Max, in their basement to protect him, who thereafter becomes very fond of young Liesel.

Liesel also forms a special friendship with Rudy Steiner, who impacts her life in a huge way. Their bond is highlighted in a large part of the book which makes it very intriguing.

The story takes a slow move at first and takes a while before it catches up speed (It is a big book). I almost underestimated it because I am not a big fan of slow moving stories, however, I am very glad to have given Markus a chance and read his work to the end.

I believe this is one of the most powerful books ever written. Liesel will steal your heart with her innocence, her pain, her love for books and her sweet nature. The story revolves around war, love, kindness, books, friendship and cruelty.

5. TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE BY MITCH ALBOM

This is a memoir of a student, Mitch and his ailing professor, Morrie who is diagnosed with ALS (a disease that causes the death of neurons controlling voluntary muscles). Upon knowledge of his professor’s ailment, 16 years after his graduation, he visits him and spends valuable time with him. For the next fourteen weeks, Mitch visits Morrie every Tuesday and they discuss issues like death, self-pity, family, marriage, aging, and a wide variety of other topics. We get to experience death alongside Morrie whose health deteriorates over the weeks but in the meanwhile, learn very valuable lessons that Mitch learns from him.

I say this is a book of wisdom, especially considering this is a true story. The bond between teacher and student is very beautiful and from the two, you learn truths about life and you are challenged too. This is the kind of book you sit with a pencil or a highlighter because it is a journey worth noting down.

There are many many books I want to talk about and deserve to be talked about but I chose this because I learn a lot from the above mentioned. I also now realize all these are rather ‘sad’ stories, but good news is, it is TOTALLY worth the tears. Enjoy!!

P.S. Part 2 will be more exciting stories I promise! In shaa Allah.

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GUESTS: A BLESSING OR A BURDEN?

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This article (edited version) was first published on ‘Travel Log Magazine’ an insert of Standard Newspaper on 1/8/2019

There is this Albanian proverb that says, ‘Every guest hates the others, and the host hates them all.’ As arguable as this can be, we can all agree that there are certain kinds of guests we detest to the core. However, there are those we long to meet again.

During the last edition, we looked at different kinds of hosts, and now we get to have a look at the opposite side. What kind of visitor are you or what kind have you received?

1. The Entertainer

They come with all the merry the house needs. They will tell endless stories, crack jokes, play with the kids…the house couldn’t be livelier. Once the visitor leaves, you can feel their absence due to their charm and happy spirit. You can’t wait to host them again.

“If it were not for guests all houses would be graves.” -Kahlil Gibran

2. The Worrier

They are constantly worried about all their moves. ‘Is it okay to use their toothpaste or should I have bought my own?’ ‘Am I too loud on the phone?’ ‘Is it appropriate to go to sleep before they do?’ ‘They are whispering…Are they talking about me?!’ The visitor is walking on eggshells and can’t do a single thing in the house without over-thinking the consequences of their actions.

3. The Over-stayer

Prince Philip once said, “ The art of being a good guest is to know when to leave.”
Dude doesn’t know the meaning of ‘time-to-go’. They initially came for a three day visit and ended up staying for three months and counting. They are unapologetic about their over-stay and act totally unbothered whether the host is happy about it or not.

“The first day a guest, the second day a guest, the third day a calamity.” –Indian proverb

4. Lazy-bone

However long their stay is, they still act as a visitor. They wake up very late, leave their plate on the table, never offer help not even a fake, pretentious one. They don’t help AT ALL. You could be drowning with chores and errands to do but they’d still go about with their own business; unbothered. You are alone mate.

5. The Foodie

They eat anything they come across in the house so long as it is edible. You dared leave your pizza in the fridge overnight? It became their midnight snack. You bought biscuits for your children? They needed something to munch. You set aside some ugali for your brother? Your visitor wasn’t satisfied with the initial lunch you offered. The moment you see them, you just put away all the food you have, including the sweet your kid is eating.

“A daily guest is a great thief in the kitchen.” -Dutch Proverbs

6. The messy one

They expect you as the host to do all the cleaning. That includes making their bed after they wake up, clearing their messy room, washing their dirty clothes that they intentionally left mixed up with yours. In short, you are there literally at their service.

7. The nosy gossip

They have a keen eye to details. They know which part of the house needs some cleaning, how your child is a total failure at school and when last your husband came home. You won’t even know how much they know until after their departure and your other gossiping aunty at the village, miles away, will inform you of what they heard. Funny enough, despite all they’ll say about you, they won’t be ashamed to come over at your place again. They act totally innocent and oblivious of their actions and even bring you some other gossip when they come around.

“A guest sees more in an hour than the host in a year.” -Polish Proverbs

8. The Chef

They love cooking and are too good at it. They always offer to make themselves helpful at the kitchen and everyone can’t wait to eat their meals. They will prepare full course meals from starters to dessert and you couldn’t be a happier host. In fact, you want to suggest they move in with you. These are the kind of blessings you need to keep, aye?!

9. The over-compensator

They feel highly indebted for all the host is doing for them so they try all they can to ‘return the favour’. They will wash the dishes, pick your child from school, and buy gifts for your family every time they leave the house. They will do chores even when it is uncalled for. This is their way to say thank you only it is more of THANK YOU in bold, capital letters, underlined being screamed at the top of their voices.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, ‘The ornaments of a house are the friends who frequent it.’

10. Non-commenters

As a host, you could go out of the way to please them and make their stay as comfortable as possible, but your honourable guest will always be expressionless about everything. They leave you guessing all the time because you never know when they like something or not, what they prefer and what not. They don’t give comments, suggestions or criticisms even when you ask them. It may be hard to make them happy because you don’t really know how to…

11. The Demanding one

They don’t really care how your ‘pocket situation’ is or whether it is beyond your means, but they’d always make demands. They’d ask for special meals, special tours or even want some of the objects/materials in the house for themselves. They will, without shame, ask for these favours and sometimes make the host feel guilty for not meeting their needs, or rather, their high demands.

“The guest who seeks special attention muddies the host’s tea.” –Japanese proverb

Truly, guests make our home more beautiful, livelier and lovelier. We just have to ensure to know our boundaries and be more sensitive when staying at other people’s homes.

“The house that receives no guests, never receives angels.” -Turkish Proverb

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8 KINDS OF HOSTS YOU ARE LIKELY TO MEET

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This article (edited version) was first published on ‘Travel Log Magazine’ an insert of Standard Newspaper on 5/7/2019

Do you remember that one family that you stayed with and you decided to never ever stay at someone’s home again? Or perhaps that one warm family that treated you too well this one time you visited, you now have a permanent suitcase at their home ‘in case’ you need a bed for the night. I bet we all have memories of the places we’ve been to and the different kinds of hosts we’ve met. Some are pretty lovely, some are weird, disgusting, and entertaining…the list is endless. Here are a few examples of the kind of hosts you’re most likely to meet:

1. PANIC MODE:

From the moment you make that phone call on your visit, they become on a panic mode. An emergency general clean-up of the house will be done even when the house was already clean enough. They will over-stock the fridge with all kind of groceries because ‘how will I know what they love?’ They will stress over the ‘master piece’ drawings on the walls done by the children. They will worry about the seemingly old bed sheets. They will overcook for your entire stay. Ask you a hundred times in the least if ‘you need anything’. They will be on their feet as early as 4 a.m. in the morning to ensure breakfast is ready by the time you’re up. It doesn’t matter if you’re a very close family member, a friend or even a colleague, they’ll still overstretch themselves to ensure you have a comfortable stay.

2. VISITORS MEANS FEASTING:

They are the literal example of ‘mgeni aje, mwenyeji apone’ because now that we have visitors, we have the perfect reason to over-spend and over-eat. They will break their piggy banks, pull out the hidden money under the mattress, and withdraw all their savings from the bank just to make the best out of the situation. They will put a pause to their diet and FEAST on all that they couldn’t eat in the past year because now ‘I can’t leave the visitor eat different food. It doesn’t seem good.’ They will go for fancy shopping sprees, spoil the visitor thoroughly while spoiling themselves too. ‘You Only Live Once’ becomes their new daily mantra till the stay is over and they’re left with an empty pocket, debts and some extra kilos of body fat. ‘Welcome back to reality pal!’

3. YOU ARE NOT A VISITOR:

It doesn’t matter what your relationship is with the host or how long you plan to stay but you must play a role in the house chores. They will ensure you help around whether it is by washing the dishes after meals or even picking their child from the day-care in the evening. So long as you eat and sleep in this house, you won’t be favoured in any way. Keep working!

4. THE INTRUDER:

Don’t leave your phone for a second and they’re already deep in the photo gallery, or even worse, replying your messages. They will randomly open your suitcase to peep at your clothes, or use your laptop without your permission. They have no idea whatsoever on how to give one their personal space.

5. THE WARM HOME:

They will make you feel very welcome and ensure that you have the best time at their home. They will entertain you and feed you well. They will sacrifice their time and energy to give you company whenever they can. They ensure you’re comfortable enough to feel free and do as you please in their house.

6. FOOD AND ROOF ONLY:

It is like you’re in a hotel but only difference is you have some ‘company’. They’re present but it’s like you’re non-existent to them. Everyone in the house is busy doing something of their own and the only time anyone talks to you is to call you for a painfully silent meal. Pretty much like those boring hostel roommates at college. You can’t expect anything more from them apart from food and roof. But at least you have that, can you complain really?!

7. AIRING THE DIRTY LAUNDRY

These people will not pretend to be jolly when they’re not. They won’t wear plastered smiles to please you. As long as you’re in the house, you’re in it. You will hear them shouting to each other, throwing abusive words, as you stand by your room door with your mouth agape. You will hear something heavy fall. Someone screaming. Perhaps a chair or the small wooden stool has been thrown. Becomes even worse when it is not just a couple but a family and now everyone is throwing words at everyone and you have absolutely no idea what to do. Should you stay in your room and pretend you see nothing, you hear nothing? Or should you walk out and try calming them down? What do you do at the dinner table when it is all tense and extremely quiet? You have an entire two weeks to figure that out. All the best with your stay though!

8. HINT DROPPER:

‘So when are you planning to go to the City?’
‘When did you say your friend will be picking you up?’
‘My sister has been waiting for me so we travel to Dubai together. I am just here because of you. Ni sawa lakini.’
Your hosts will not fail to drop you hints that it is high time you leave because well, isn’t it high time? They say ‘akufukuzaye hakuambii toka’. So please get the hints and find another place to crash in.

Reflecting back, what kind of host are you? Have you ever thought whether your visitors would ever want to stay with you again or are you the nightmare that made someone’s child despise visiting any home entirely?!

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THE BLACK CROW

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This article (edited version) was first published on ‘Travel Log Magazine’ an insert of Standard Newspaper on 6/6/2019

Anywhere you go outside what you consider home, you will experience culture shock. Different races, languages, accents, weird behaviours, unique looks, interesting concepts. That is not unless you are a Muslim hijabi woman then YOU are the culture shock. Even in the twenty first Century where human rights activism is like a cup of tea for anyone and everyone as long as you have a bold, loud voice and an active twitter account, you will still be viewed in a peculiar way.

As soon as you walk into that international conference at the registration desk, the first thing the receptionist will do is view you head to toe. They will give you the ‘are you sure you are at the right place?’ look, frowning and perusing through the pages of the names of attendants. You get it. You are a typical mshamba looking Muslim lady. At least that’s how they view you; backward. You are in full black like a crow of doom. You probably remind them of that widow at your village who wore full black for an entire six months after her husband passed away. The woman would wail and weep and grieve hysterically every day at the worship area, the villagers started avoiding prayers entirely. Yeah, you my friend remind them of the Dark Age where women had no say and their only place was the kitchen. You are an ugly dejavu.

You humbly say your name and creases form on their forehead, ‘Ati?! …I can’t find that name here’ they’d say as you patiently wait. She takes forever before your exotic, out-of-this-world name is found.
‘Aha! Here is your name. Sorry for the delay,’ the receptionist murmurs as they struggle to give you a smile and your wrongly written name.

The minute you walk in, you’re invisible. You immediately drown in the crowd. Everyone is talking to somebody. Laughter. Intense conversations. Introductions. No one is interested in knowing who you are. Why you are there or even bothered by it. You just don’t matter. You don’t fit in.

You try to start a conversation with that sweet looking lady next to you and just when she is about to respond, she is pulled aside by another lady who probably thinks what she has to say is more important.
People will actively avoid you, ignore you. Well that is until the conference begins and you get to officially introduce yourself. The look on their faces is priceless when you mention your credentials. The ‘Ohh! I didn’t see that coming’ look. The ‘Wow’ expression on their faces. And you think to yourself, ‘Huh! On your faces!’ Suddenly, they value your opinion. Suddenly, your thoughts matter. Suddenly, you are the one being pulled aside for questions and connections and future deals.

But that is never the end of it. There must be the interrogation session during the tea and lunch breaks. They will always have questions for you. Not about what brought you there. Not about the super-intelligent response you gave. Not about your ideas. Not about your mind-blowing project or pick your very smart brain. Rather, it is about your very amusing choice of dressing. They’d ask why you don’t shake hands with male after they had initially concluded it as an act of racism. They’d ask whether you’re married and have kids because ‘what better do Muslim ladies know other than marriage?!’ They’d ask about how non-Muslim men can successfully marry into your religion and tribe.
They’d ask about your very black buibui and scarf. They’d ask sarcastically if your religion and culture prevents you from wearing heels too since you’re wearing your very comfortable sneakers. Some lady might even be kind enough to give you ‘first impression tips.’

“You are very intelligent I see. You need to come out of your cocoon if you want to grow further and achieve even more.”
“Come on, don’t be like an old mama…your face deserves some spice up…”
“You know, if you want people to take you seriously you need to make some changes here and there with your wardrobe. Like that over-sized, over-spacious buibui that you wear could fit two of you, why don’t you take it to the tailor? Or even better, why don’t you wear a coloured dress, it doesn’t have to be immodest. You can still wear long sleeves and full length wear?”

And of course that is something you can do. You can wear a long modest dress because buibui originates from the
Coastal culture and not exactly religion. You do respect women who wear differently and appreciate them for what they bring to the table. Why then shouldn’t the respect be reciprocated?

You try to explain it to them. That the purpose of hijab is to make a woman be inconspicuous, not in terms of having a voice, not in terms of being educated, not in terms of being empowered or having a job but in terms of physical outlook. In terms of concealing her beauty except for the right individuals. If one’s personal choice to be modest is wear black, why should it bother anyone? Why does the world preach ‘My dress My choice’ and still have double standards about it? Why do we say that ‘No one should tell a woman what to do with her life’ yet still judge the woman who intentionally chooses to make her brain and her behaviour the more important aspect of her life rather than the size and colour of her dressing? But you already know how this will roll. Questions, heated discussions, more questions. The men simply don’t get it and the women feel you are caged. Even after your lengthy explanations, they still won’t change their fixed mind-set of you or your backward choices.

You sigh loudly and have an enigmatic smile on you. You’d expect that stereotyping and discrimination would be less in an international, intercultural, seemingly open-minded audience. Yet, here you are!

You sit calmly, listening to all their suggestions, jokes, and mocks, unaffected. Because you’ve heard it all. You’ve heard the same things over and over and over again, you’re amused at the extents people can go to make you feel small. They will remind you over and over that for you to be a dignified, successful lady there must be compromises to be made. There must be some adjustments. You must spice up your principles so as to fit in.
So here you are, with all these thought-provoking conversations, all these brilliant ideas that will rot in your head because everyone is worried about your choice of dressing, your cooking methods and whether you’re married or not. What a disgrace.

You are now thinking of starting a Black Crow hashtag and movement on twitter with your 237 followers. Your bio will probably read something like, ‘If you don’t value my brain, you don’t deserve my time’ then have that famous little, smug goat meme as your profile picture.
And now you’re ready to roll.

‘I am the Black Crow. Unstereotype Me.’

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Creative Non-Fiction

IF ROLES WERE REVERSED

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Have you ever looked at the house help at home and thought, ‘Did he/she ever have a dream to become something in life? Or do they still want to become that thing? What is their story? Do they have a family? If something happened to them, do we know their next of kin? Do we know where they live? Whether they ate yesterday evening? Did they have an education? Or did they start school then dropped out because of finances? If they were given a chance to be whoever they want to be, what would they choose? What do they feel about their current job? About working for you? About spending time with your children?’

What about your garbage collector? Or the man who fixes your sink? Or the lady who babysits your children? Ever thought about their feelings, their goals in life, their thinking? If roles were reversed, would you be satisfied having a boss like you? Would you be happy with the pay you receive? With the workload given to you? With the treatment given? Would you be okay about the leftover or almost rotten food given to you alone while they feast on the table with all kinds of fresh, tasty food? Would you feel discriminated, underestimated, unappreciated?

Most of us never think about that. We never take a minute to just think about these people who work and toil for us. Sometimes we openly mistreat them or insult them or be so harsh with them for humanly mistakes. Sometimes we publicly show them that they are not in the same league/class with us. Sometimes we don’t even treat them like human beings. Sometimes we think, we worked hard to be where we are in life and they didn’t. They didn’t work hard enough, or they were just lazy or unambitious. Sometimes we forget that it is but a blessing to be this comfortable with our lives. Sometimes, or most times, we never think about them entirely?

So let’s take a moment to think about all the manual labourers that work for us or with us or those come across. If roles were reversed, would you want to be treated the way we or you treat them? Would we want to be paid the same amount we pay them (sometimes despite having more than enough for ourselves)? Would we want to be given another type of food while everyone else is eating special meals? Would we want to be ignored like we ignore them until we have a need? Would we want to be shouted upon for every humanly mistake we make?

Do we respect them? Do we honour them? Do we listen to what they have to say? All these people with low-paying jobs, do we ever appreciate them?

Manual labour is considered noble in Islam. Abu Hurairah RA reported: The Prophet (sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam) said, “No food is better to man than that which he earns through his manual work. Dawud (alayhi sallam), the Prophet of Allah, ate only out of his earnings from his manual work.” (Bukhari)

We have a perfect example of how the prophet peace be upon him mingled with the slaves and the poor people. Here’s an excerpt from http://www.reviewofreligions.org/2876/the-life-character-of-the-seal-of-the-prophetssaw-part-4/ on the prophet and his slave, Zaid bin Harith.

“Hakim bin Hizam, the nephew of Hadhrat Khadijah(ra), was a merchant who constantly moved about with various trade caravans. Once he purchased a few slaves during a trade expedition and gave one of them as a gift to Hadhrat Khadijah(ra). The name of the slave gifted to Hadhrat Khadijah(ra) was Zaid bin Harithah(ra). In actuality, Zaid(ra) belonged to a free family, but during a plunder he was taken captive and was forcefully enslaved. Khadijah(ra) found Zaid(ra) to be wise and intelligent, so she entrusted him to Muhammad(saw).

It was always the practice of the Holy Prophet(saw) that he would treat his servants and slaves with immense love, like his own kith and kin. Hence, Muhammad(saw) was affectionate to Zaid(ra). Since Zaid(ra) possessed a sincere heart, he also developed love for Muhammad(saw). Meanwhile, Zaid(ra)’s father Harith and paternal uncle Ka‘b came to Makkah whilst looking for him. Both of them presented themselves before the Holy Prophet(saw), and with great humility requested the freedom of Zaid(ra), so that he may return home with them. Muhammad(saw) responded; “Absolutely! If Zaid wishes to leave with you, I delightedly give him permission to do so.” At this, Zaid was called upon and was asked by Muhammad(saw), “Zaid, Do you recognise these people?” “Yes,” responded Zaid(ra), “they are my father and paternal uncle.” Muhammad(saw) said, “They have come to take you. If you wish to leave with them, I gladly give you permission to do so.” “I shall not leave you on any account,” answered Zaid(ra), “To me, you are far dearer than my own uncle or father.” Zaid(ra)’s father reacted with great anger and grief, “What? Do you give preference to a life of slavery over that of freedom?” “Yes,” responded Zaid(ra), “for I have witnessed such virtues in him that I can now give preference to none above him.”

When Muhammad(saw) heard this response he immediately stood up and took Zaid(ra) to the Ka‘bah. There he announced in a loud voice, “O People! Be witness to the fact that as of this day I free Zaid(ra) and make him my son. He shall be my heir and I shall be his.” When Zaid(ra)’s uncle and father observed this sight, they were astounded. They happily left Zaid with Muhammad(saw). Since then, Zaid bin Harithah(ra) became known as Zaid bin Muhammad(ra).1 However, after the Hijrah, God revealed a commandment that it was unlawful to take an adopted child as an actual son.2 Upon this, Zaid(ra) was once again given his original name, Zaid bin Harithah. Nonetheless, the loving conduct of the ever-loyal Muhammad(saw) remained unaltered with this ever-sincere servant…”

Imagine a slave loving their master to the extent they wouldn’t want to go back to their family. How amazingly well do you think the prophet peace be upon him to make Zaid may peace be upon him, cherish him that much.

So here’s food for thought for all of us…if roles were reversed, would you be pleased working under YOU?

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Reminding you of our creative writing classes coming up soon in shaa Allah. Register as soon as possible or if not, sponsor a student, sadaqa jariya for you 😉 Check details in the poster below.

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