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Creative Non-Fiction

HERE’S TO TEN!

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If I started blogging early 2014, should I mark this year as ‘9 years as a blogger’ or should I count it as my 10th year as a blogger? Like, do I count 2023 minus 2014 or do I count 2014, 2015, 2016…to 2023? Or is it all the same thing, just different ways of saying it? Lol yeah right, Maths still is a nightmare. I had to ask three people to confirm that this is my 10th year 😀 Mathematicians, pardon my ignorance but at this point I just need divined intervention 😀

Anywayyyss, this is the 10th year good peopleee! Can you believe it?! It’s been a journey and a half alhamdulilah. Many of you have accompanied me from the very start when I was using Blogspot (old college days!) before migrating to this website. You’ve watched me grow and evolve. You’ve watched my voice and writing style become more distinct over the years. You’ve laughed with me, smiled with me, cried with me, grieved with me, thought with me and watched those thoughts change over time too. You’ve become part of my family, sharing the small and large moments with me. Many of you were there when the blog was nominated by BAKE (Bloggers Association of Kenya) to be among the top 5 creative writing blogs alhamdulilah. You’ve witnessed the blog evolve too; from writing silly moments about my anxiety, Mombasa weddings, exorcism- the Mombasa version, literally having those nightmares about maths lol, my interesting thoughts while walking under-the-bridge tunnel at Buxton, my rejections and work failures, frustrations at the public offices, letters to my better half (my priorities have realllyyy changed by the way 😀 ), World cup and Olympics thrills, my happy people (more to come on this in shaa Allah 😀 ), my beloved family, my weak attempt at writing about travel (I just haven’t gotten to travel moreee) to the more serious topics on mental health, loss and grief, spirituality, and life lessons as the years go by. Alhamdulilah, alhamdulilah!

It has always been intentional for me to make the blog as diverse as possible so that anyone who opens my blog can find something relatable. And it is my hope that more people will continue to find laughter, benefit, inspiration, enjoyment and comfort in this website.

Many of you have supported me endlessly and unconditionally; you’ve read my work, shared it with your networks, given me feedback and positive critique, subscribed to the website and had firm faith in me even when I was going through long periods of writer’s block. I’ve had the honour of interacting with several of you, one on one, and you’ve helped me immensely over the years by giving suggestions, sharing ideas, sharing your own life stories and lessons, discussing life, joking about life moments, and letting me know that my work is being read and enjoyed. We’ve pretty much done life together-stumbling through it all and making our way towards growth. 

Over the years, we were also graced by different amazing and very talented writers who wrote as guests on this blog. Their witty, funny and interesting contributions spiced up this space even more.

For all this, I am deeply, deeply grateful. I have never and will never take this for granted. It is by Allah’s mercy and tawfiq and your support that keeps me going and motivating me to never give up on my dream as a writer.

As we mark this 10th year, I have two announcements to make:

First of all, to commemorate this milestone, I will hold a FREE online blogging workshop on the 28th of January, (2 p.m. onwards) to train 10 aspiring bloggers in shaa Allah. For anyone who is interested, kindly email me at info@lubnah.me.ke. (First come, First serve!)

Secondly, I’d love to invite you all to support me further in this journey. I am introducing a patronage program for the blog where readers can chip in and support in the growth and content creation of this website. There won’t be a standard fee (Don’t worry I am not pulling CBK’s bank to Mpesa charges sort of thing, albeit their failed attempt 😀 ) but rather it will be an open invitation for anyone to give whatever they feel, at whatever time is convenient. One can contribute weekly, monthly, whenever a blog is posted or whenever one feels generous 😀 Any amount is most welcome too! This will assist me to grow this website further, do more content creation, research and maybe even conduct more writing trainings!

If the blog has ever been relatable, a source of joy, smiles & laughter, comfort, inspiration, enlightenment, and made you feel heard and seen, then I’ll really appreciate your support.

Before I share the patronage details, here’s a reminder that my books are also available for purchase:

Reflection & Resurgence: A Believer’s Journey to Allah @ 1500/= (With Ramadhan approaching, here’s a book to consider for the spiritual month)

A Fire Within & Other Stories (by a couple of African writers that includes my short story) @ 950/=

Threads and Faces (by a couple of African writers that includes my poem) @ 650/=

Saida and The Eid Dress @ 230/=

For anyone interested to purchase, kindly text me at 0704 731 560

For your faith this far, I am beyond touched. May God bless each one of you immensely and for the support you grant me, may God bring you forth good people to support your dreams as well.

Below are the details on how to become a patron for our blog. Thank you once again. May your unwavering support be worth the while always, ameen!

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Inspiration

OF BROKEN DREAMS AND FAILING MARRIAGES

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My marriage has been rocky and it feels like I’m in the middle of an impending divorce.

It just happens; the drift I mean. One day you’re married, and suddenly it’s 15 years. And when you’re married for that long, there’s a certain weight of pressure and expectation from you from the society. You’ve been the icon of love for generation X, and the #Couplegoals for the Millenials, you cannot afford to disappoint them with love, can you?!

There is nothing I can pinpoint as the exact reason for our failing marriage. Life just happened. I got busier, and he stopped waiting for me. Meals are quieter nowadays. I see him look at me like he’s expecting me to say something. Do something. But I continue nibbling at my food, feeling like a failure. He sighs and moves away from the table. I can feel him slip his fingers away whenever I try to hold his hand. I can’t even remember the last time we shared a joke, or a bed, or a decent conversation like we frequently used to do. It is sad.

It is sad because I can feel him walking away. Like he wasn’t the love of my life. And the sadder part is that I’m letting him go.

We’ve had our ups and downs. We’ve been happier than ever. We’ve also cried a lot along the way. But we survived, we emerged stronger. But right now? The candle is burning down. The silence is alarming. The future is scary. And this, this right here is a desperate attempt to rekindle what was once a fierce, passionate love.

I have betrayed my husband in unimaginable ways- writing. Yes, writing is a lifetime commitment, very much like a marriage. What did you think I was talking about? SMH.

Anyway, as I was saying, life has been happening.

There was a time when I used to write twice a week! Can you believe that? Twice a week! Mashallah mashallah. It blows my mind to think about it now. I used to be the icon of persistence, J.K. Rowling would have been proud. Nowadays I write once a month after many many pep talks and postponements.

I want to blame it on adulting or use my final year excuse card that I am violently throwing around nowadays to any commitment or meeting or my several rejection letters from the literary world that make me question whether I am really good at this.

The most painful thing about rejections is the ‘almosts’. You almost made it. You’re almost there. You are so close to getting a hang of it. But when you’ve been an almost for more than a decade, what does that make you? It really does feel like you’re in an unrequited love situationship.

I however do not want to be ungrateful. I’ve come such a long, long way. I’ve had awesome milestones in my writing. I’ve had great feedback from my close people and people I’ve never even met too. I’ve seen myself grow alhamdulilah.

I remind myself of one of my readers who once asked me, ‘what’s success to you as a writer?’ And I said something along the lines of ‘I want my work to shake the literary world, you know, write something that will be a classic and be read like 100 years after my death.’ And I genuinely think most writers want that, you want your work to be noteworthy with the very sense of the word. I am no exception. I want that too. I want someone to read my work in France or Moldova or a remote Island somewhere that’s unheard of and be speechless for how amazing the book or novel was. I want my work to be translated into 28 languages or something. I do want that. And it’s not about the fame really, it’s about knowing that your work made such an impact, the whole world had to read it. But my reader’s response still strikes a chord, he said, ‘Isn’t it enough that one person read your work and was positively influenced by it?’

And I think about that response often. It should be enough. It doesn’t really have to be the whole world. If just one person is moved, positively impacted by my words, then I should count it as a win. A big one in fact.

I guess as human beings we always want more. We want to touch the sky even when our ladders can’t get us there. And it is not necessarily a bad thing.

I am not saying I want to give up on my dream. I still want my work to someday shake the literally world. Be so mind-blowing it becomes in everyone’s a must-read booklist. I deserve that for all that the hard work into this journey. But me writing this piece is a reminder to myself, and you who’s reading this, that it’s also okay to be where you are right now and I believe that’s what my reader meant by his response. I mean life is life and regardless of how big our dreams are, we shouldn’t forget to appreciate the smaller, bigger wins and the baby steps and the milestones.

I do not want to give up on this dream despite how hard it is becoming for me. I want to remember why I started. Why I never stopped even when life got really hectic and I had very valid excuses to stop. I want to remember why this marriage is important to me. And me admitting that I’m struggling with it is the first step to get back on track.

Dear reader, thank you for taking this journey with me throughout the highs and lows. I never take that for granted. I really appreciate you!

Cheers to being human, to working on our marriages, and to fulfilling our dreams!

P.S: I finally released hard copies of my full glossy book, Reflection & Resurgence. It is 1500/= only. You can buy your copy at 0704 731 560. The copies are limited! Don’t miss out!!

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Creative Fiction

SILENCE

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Silence. Silence is over-rated. Silence is golden, but not so golden. I know silence because I have mastered it. My current read is ‘Silence is my mother tongue’ by Sulaiman Addonia and the last time I talked to anyone is months ago.

As I hit rock bottom and eventually made it my permanent home, silence is the only way to speak. Silence until you hear your own fading heartbeat. Silence until your legs warm up to the extremely cold water as you continue drowning. Silence until it becomes sharp and loud, your body disappearing into the blueness. That’s how much I relate to silence. That’s how much I am the silence.

Staring at my mirror, I touch the strings of my grey, white hair. Wrinkles staring back at me. Cheeks flabby like inflated balloons. How did I get old too fast to notice? If I died in this empty house or went missing right now, no one will notice immediately. The first person will notice a week later at least. In the midst of her shuffling between her busy schedules, it will strike her. Silence is not always good. She will remember. In the midst of her jolliness, she will remember me the way you remember that you left a child all alone at home or when you lose a toddler in a busy supermarket. Sudden. Almost in a panic. God knows she cares.

The second one will notice roughly a month later. No blame whatsoever because that’s how we roll.

My son would be the last one to realize. News would get to him as the stranger he’s become.

I lie down on my bed, hands stretched apart wondering how to do this the right way. He’s leaving the house. He wants to start a new life in a new city with some of his friends. He had said it so casually like I was but a nanny to him. How does one live alone after their entire lives revolved around one person and they left? How does a fifty five year old woman restart her life afresh? How do I break the habit of worrying about his asthma whenever the weather gets too cold? Or cook food just for one? How do I be myself without him?

He has grown now. He wants to go after his dreams. Build an empire of his own. Make new friends. Have a new family. But what does that leave me with?
I know how this works okay. I know. First comes in the distance. Then the busy schedules and less conversations. Then less visits home. Then the small talk, hurried phone calls. Then silence.

I know how this works because that is how it went down with everyone else. He was the only one left and that too, I am losing now.

I don’t want to be the selfish kind of mother. I don’t want to cage him. I don’t want to tighten my grip on him way too much until he slips away in between my fingers. He already slipped though. But how do I let go of him without losing him entirely? Is that even possible? Fathomable?

How do I start self-discovery at this age and time? How do I ask myself what is really my favourite meal after his, became mine? How do I identify what I love about life when I see a drone flying past and I smile because I love what he loves? Does that even make sense?

I don’t have friends. Okay, I have two out-of-this-world friends who have many other friends. That makes me very dismissible. Very much replaceable. I don’t have friends because I thought being a dedicated mother would cover it all. Because his friends became my friends and my sons too. Because I could always expect to walk into the house and see him with a group of them fighting over food. I didn’t prepare for this. No one prepared a single, obsessive mother of the day she will have to let go of not just her son, but her life as well. Because now, how do we untwine all that we have? Our entire lives? Emotions, Books, Thoughts, the pictures in the album, moments. How do we share them between us like, ‘This is mine, this is yours.’ How do I even know what was really mine for my own sake and what was mine because he was in it?

Listen to the silence in my room. In my house. In my big, empty house. It reminds me of my own soul. Lost within all the familiarity.

How do I love without being the enemy? How do I respect his decision of moving on without crying, without it eating me up like wasted wood on fire? How do I deal with nostalgia; the literally painful pangs of missing him without going insane? How do I become the good, understanding and supportive mother without losing my essence? The very thing I was living up for?

Apparently this is how life is. Everyone eventually leaves. Whether it is by travelling, going after dreams, changed priorities, death, unresolved matters, masks falling off…whatever it is, they eventually leave. How then can I hope for love as intense as my own from anyone? At this age and time? How then do I expect to ever get in return what I give out without holding anything back?

If I died or went missing, barely anyone would notice. And now, I am losing the only beautiful thing in my life. Tell me, tell me…how do I love and let go without losing him entirely?

SILENCE.

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Inspiration

FROM WHERE YOU STAND

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You have grown up being told you need to be number one in class. You need to win that competition. You need to aim for world-wide accomplishments. Be a billionaire. Get a house or a palace. Get a car. Leave a legacy that will be remembered throughout the continent. Become  the next Nelson Mandela or Oprah Winfrey or Mother Theresa. You were shown that success means releasing a best-seller book into the market, owning an empire and being invited to important events to give a speech. It means people knowing you and asking for your autograph without you introducing yourself. People would ask for selfies and post them on their snapchat and Instagram on how excited they are to meet you. You were tuned into believing that you have to be the best at what you do  for you to be considered an achiever. Break the Guinness world record. Innovate something. Make the AIDS cure. They never spoke these words to you directly, at least not always, but somehow, the system, the media, the people’s small talk made you believe so. You believed them.

Today I want to tell you a different tale; a different narrative to the same story. It is good to have dreams, to have goals, to aim high. It is good to look up to something, to leave a legacy and have an impact on people. But it is also okay to have a simple yet extra ordinary life.

Dear, you are okay where you are. You are awesome for being the best son in the world. Your soul is terrifically beautiful for helping out your old neighbour every day. You are amazing for being your family’s bread winner. You deserve a gold medal for being a loyal friend. You are admired immensely for being a good husband/wife. You are loved for being the most wonderful mother. You will be remembered for your ever-smiling face. You are appreciated for being a hard-working employee. Your kindness can never be under-estimated. If you die today, someone or more people will miss you beyond measure. All that you do; all these things that seem small and obligatory for you are what actually matters. Keep dreaming, keep moving forward but if the doctor told you you have a few days to live, never under-estimate these tiny yet beautiful actions you’ve been doing all your life.

Who cares if you are not a social media influencer but you are the best gift your mother ever had? Who cares if less people know you in real life but your friends appreciate you a great deal? Who cares if your book isn’t being sold worldwide if it has completely changed one person’s life? Who cares if you haven’t broken the world record if the next-door cats treasure you for the food you feed them? Who cares if you don’t own an empire if you are the sole reason for someone’s happiness? Who cares if you under-performed at school if you are best artist around?

Go big, go far but never underrate yourself for where you stand at the moment. Cherish yourself, value your efforts. You are good enough just as you are.

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Inspiration

THE MONEY WILL COME

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I was seated with a friend; a lady thirty years older than me (By the way, having older friends is one of the secrets to better growth no joke) and during our conversation about my career journey, I blurted out my thoughts aloud with a sulky face, “I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life.” She looked at me with an astonished face, “Do you even know how lucky you are that you got to start your dream journey so early?!”

So she went on to tell me her own personal story on how she quit her job after working there for 19 long years to pursue her goals. It was a crazy move because she was getting really good pay but decided to let it all go so she can do something she is passionate about. I just sat there with WOW written all over my face because she wasn’t someone you’d think struggled that much to be where she is. You know, the kind of people with a high intelligence, great network, wonderful resume, a name and an identity that makes her very respected. And it just marveled me so much because it just confirmed to me what I’ve always thought; that when you see someone you look up to and consider successful, do know they also had to sweat their way up to where they are.

Sometimes, I am sure of what I’m doing, I’m sure it is the right thing, I’m sure this is what I want until someone just comes out of nowhere to remind me what the society expects. So the narrow path the society expects you to follow is Primary school-Secondary school-University-Get a job-Get married-Do your masters-Have children etc etc and this path isn’t always fixed like this. Sometimes one thing comes before another. Like some get married before university, some do masters before they have children and all that. But then in the end, it is all about this common steps of life people expect you to do in life such that when you step out of the ‘system’, something is very wrong with you. It doesn’t make sense why you’d choose the far and wide path yet everyone else is taking the long and narrow one.

Anyway, as we went on with our conversation, my friend said, “Let me tell you something someone I consider my mentor told me when I informed her I am quitting my job. She said to me, ‘My girl, people will laugh at you. They will think you are crazy. They will say a lot of things, but just go for it. Go after what you are passionate about. THE MONEY WILL COME. Slowly, you’ll start getting clients and you will be fine.” So now I’m telling you the same thing. The money will come. It may be a long-term sacrifice and struggle but I believe you will break it through sooner or later in shaa Allah…”

What I’ve learnt is that the criticisms will never stop. You will remain a mystery because people just don’t understand what you are doing. You will make a lot of sacrifices. You will be BROKE. Did I say BROKE? Yes, you will come face to face with poverty. You will question your choices over and over again because those who took the long, narrow path are succeeding and leading good, comfortable lives. Your friends and age mates are already fulfilling their life ‘expectations’ while you are still trying to figure out who to approach to help you with this new project you want to do or who you can borrow some cash from so you can implement this other new idea. And people will think, ‘This one is always trying a new idea’. It will become hilarious for everyone, sometimes including you. You will be tempted to just settle for anything that comes your way and say, ‘At least I tried.’ Please don’t. You didn’t come this far to quit now. Not this time. Not in ever.

After that conversation, the phrase ‘The money will come’ kept ringing in my mind. Not because the money is the main objective of going after my dreams, but because it would mean I have finally reached the level of being the achiever I want to be. And I wanted to share this with you because I know I am not alone. The free spirits amongst us who are hungry to lead exceptional lives. So here I am telling it to you, ‘All these sacrifices you are making now? They will pay off. Everything will fall into place if you keep walking. Look at the horizon; the long-term benefit not what is just ahead of you. And yes…the money will come! In shaa Allah. And i’m leaving this with you so you can pass it forward to anyone who needs to hear it.

Dare to be different. Be unique, be brilliant. And keep praying. Someday, you will be real proud of yourself and your journey.

A toast to all the go-getters!

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Creative Non-Fiction

THIS PART OF MY LIFE IS CALLED UNCERTAINTY

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It is 3:47 a.m. I am lying in a twist such that my upper body is facing a different direction from my lower part. Yogis would call that the supine twist. I am staring at the shadow of the circling fan on the right wall. I am gazing into the nothingness; blank space. It reminds me of my own brain; tabula rasa. A clean slate. Back to square one. I pick up my phone and reply some messages. In the morning, one would ask, ‘But what keeps you awake at 3:47?’ Uncertainty… This part of my life is called, uncertainty.

I have been here before; this uncertainty phase. It always finds a way to catch up with me. But maybe this is what makes my life interesting. The uncertainty. The not knowing of where you are headed to or even what you want. It reminds me of this famous gif on uncertainty. I smile.

My boss had said, ‘We are caging this bird. We need to let her fly and grow her own wings’ referring to me. This is the only permanent workplace I have worked for nine months. If it was a marriage, I would be having a baby. But I don’t have a baby. It was a comfortable place, perhaps too comfortable for me to have any baby by the end of it all. Then the other day, just on an impulse, I walked in to my boss and said, “I feel confined. I need to grow.” I am not good with confined spaces. Must be the claustrophobia. But I can’t really say I just acted on a whim, I had thought about it for almost two months yet it still feels like a reckless move. My manager sat me down for that ‘goodbye pep talk’ and I asked, ‘so how long do I have?’ She said, ‘One week.’

One week. I remember when it got to the seventh month, I thought to myself, ‘wow…am I really doing this?’


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‘I have no plan.’ I was talking to myself more than I was, to her.
‘I absolutely have no plan.’ And suddenly, I could feel the heat at the pit of my stomach. For the first time I was terrified of my action. How was I going to learn how to start flying within a week without leading myself to starvation? Uncertainty.

It is also just two days ago that I realized my side business was an NGO in disguise. We were doing charity instead of business. I need to go back to the drawing board…this means back to square one. Did I just throw away my last straw keeping me afloat on a stormy night? I curl up in my bed. Uncertainty.

A mentor recently told me, ‘You are already successful, you just haven’t realized it yet.’ And I said, ‘There’s something i’m looking for that I haven’t found. I don’t know what it is but when I find it i’ll recognize it. I still lack utmost satisfaction in me.’ Then he said, ‘That’s where our different definitions of success comes in. Everyone has their own.’


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I now lie flat staring at the ceiling. I am not sure whether I am abnormal, too ambitious or simply living an illusion.A friend told me, ‘You can’t just make an abrupt decision. You need a contingency plan.’ But a contingency plan never existed in my dictionary. So ironic for an over-thinker I know but then not having a plan always pushed me to the edge. So the plan has always been ‘not having a plan’ and i’d just spend hours over-thinking my lack of a plan. Nonetheless, this made me explore all fields I could get myself into. It seems like an adventure and I love adventures. There’s the thrill and excitement that comes with it every time I tried something new. It’s terrifying. So terrifying. The uncertainty. Not knowing where life is pushing you into.

Sigh. Perhaps i’m in the wrong planet or perhaps i’m taking longer strides than my legs can stretch?

I have known failure far too many times to not know the feeling of uncertainty that comes with it. But I never regretted any impulsive action I ever took. Like the times I cancelled contracts just because my clients or bosses were crushing my self-esteem . Who does that really? But my peace of mind is my priority and I just decided i’ll stick to that even when i’m starving to death. If you can trust me with your vision then you might as well trust my abilities. Or the times I started new courses without really thinking ahead or even whether I had the time and resources to do it. My best friend says I’m becoming a risk taker. Risk taker sounds good. I’ll gladly take the title.


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I’m uncertain of what i’m doing, or what I want or where i’m headed to. I just know I have big dreams and goals bigger than myself. I am back at the starting point and doing this all over again but what’s the worse that could happen? Me staring at the ceiling at 3:47 a.m. Not so bad. This too shall pass.

I am still staring at the white ceiling and for a moment, I assume the wall is life. And I say, ‘Surprise Me.’ Life has never disappointed with surprises and the electric shocks that awaken us. But so does God. He never disappoints. My eyes are getting heavier now. I slowly drift back to slumber land. I still have one more week to plan my new adventure…

I still haven’t found what i’m looking for…

Kindly don’t forget to subscribe on the bottom right end of the website if you haven’t already! Thanks in advance 🙂

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Creative Non-Fiction

MY OTHER HALF (Part 2)

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Read part 1 at: http://lubnah.me.ke/my-other-half/

Photo Courtesy: Salem_Beliegraphy

It’s been exactly…wait, lemme count…from February 10th, 2015 to date; 11th of May 2017, how many days are those? 1,2,3…Ah too bad I am terrible with math. Anyway, it’s been all those many days since I first wrote to you. Ages right? I knowww! I almost forgot you ‘somehow exist’. Lol, i’m kidding. *silly grin* I’ve mostly been pursuing my dreams; both the daydreams and the literal ones 😀 But I’ve been planning to get back to you..and *drums rolling* here I am!

There’s just been something in my mind lately and I thought of talking it to you. By the way, talking to you almost seems like monologue or like me talking to the wall or some ghost in the room because your existence at the moment is delusional but we can always talk about that when you become a reality right? in shaa Allah 😉

So back to our topic, oh wait, speech alert: This is going to be a long monologue :p

A friend of mine posted this a few days ago:
{“The thing about hitting rock bottom is that the only way to go is up.” I’m having a slight problem with this statement. Okay yeah sure maybe, but what if rock bottom is as wide as the Sahara and before you go up you’re gonna spend a heck of a long time moving sideways? Some people hit rock bottom, and stay rock bottom, and move sideways for the rest of their lives. How miserable.} Those are the ramblings of an insomniac and well what do you expect from an insomniac than a critical out-of-the-world thinking?! But then ever since I came across this, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

For a matter of fact, I do know several people who hit rock bottom, stayed there for as long as the memory lane can go down and died just right there; at the bottom. Now for a perfectionist and an empath with anxiety, hitting the rock bottom is beyond normal. It is a norm. And as much as it scares me that I might stay down there forever, it scares me more that I might never live up to the expectations of coming right back up.

You know, there are just some days you can’t really be the hero or someone anymore and you just need to survive. And survival is what all of us are working for. But also, survival has always been for the fittest, and sometimes, being in the least bit fit let alone being the fittest is totally out of the dictionary. There are days you wake up you can barely breathe, your heart is heavy, all aspects of failure are rubbing on your face but mostly, its like sand paper being scrubbed on your fragile beaten-up heart. They say the scrub only makes you shine brighter but in the meanwhile, it hurts, and it will hurt a lot more.

What I got to learn is that you can never really be prepared enough to face anything or armed enough for a war. They’ll always be a lesson to be learnt in between the cracks of your heart. You can protect yourself all you can but the day you let down your guard for one single second is the day world war 3 happens; when all hell breaks loose and when you have to fight for your own survival. This kind of reminds me the story of Nabii Musa and Firaun. See how God downplays the best twists?! Firaun demands all male children to be killed after being foretold that a boy will be born and takeover his kingdom. But when his wife Asiya (R.A.A) picks Nabii Musa (A.S) from the river, she is able to convince Firaun that the boy could be beneficial and a son to them. Yet he turns out to be the one to takeover the kingdom. He protected himself from every boy he considered a threat, yet he welcomed the threat with his own two hands. Yes…fate. You can do all you want in this world; you can build walls around yourself, you can be vigilant and firm, you can be superman for all you wish, yet if you are meant to hit the rock bottom, you’ll just go right down there; for as many times as it’s written for you. But the thing is, everyone hits rock bottom, and the real test is how everyone finds their own way to get back up or stay below forever. People will put the blame on you for taking up the wrong choices, for making mistakes, for not working hard enough…yet they forget, it only happens for a reason.


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I’m still finding my way up and i’ll tell you this, it’s tough and really rough. Plus being a millennial only makes it harder. Sometimes I feel I was born in the wrong Century for not relating to my peers. They say i’m an old soul. And when you are an introvert you just have no option but to turn to books and tv, to get out of your world. Some friends the other day were joking that people like us, ‘the outcasts’ should start a group and call it ‘chama cha wanyonge’ 😀 😀 Idiots! or I know someone else who would call it ‘chama cha washokaji’ Not wachokaji, WASHOKAJI. Hilarious how the world views us; the introverts, the artists, the weird, the empaths…right? But maybe i’ll one day really start the group, but of course with a fancy name dah! Or maybe it could be a movement, and we could help people move from rock bottom 😀 Or maybe that’s where i’ll meet you who knows 😛

I’m not sure if you really do exist or maybe you don’t. They say soulmates don’t always occur in this life, maybe in the next…but if you don’t, I have a plan B of going to live up the cave. I would say I will be with my 60 cats like its always the assumption with people but pets scare me (The introverts will disown me for this). So maybe I will be with my scarier dolls like Chucky from Child’s play or Annabelle from The Conjuring filling up the entire house. Plus I got this brilliant idea from a meme of writing it on the wall outside: COME SEE MY DOLLS..and that’s how the horror movie begins *silly grin*

Well, I said what I needed to say. Thank you for being a wonderful listener. Plus please do remember to pray for me; to rise like the phoenix from the ashes. Ameen? I really don’t want to stay rock bottom, who wants anyway?!

P.S. You are the hope i’m waiting for 🙂

Until God decides our fate, take care.


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TELL ME YOUR DREAMS

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Photo Courtesy: https://c1.staticflickr.com

Tell me your dreams,
Tell me what makes you tick.
Tell me what makes you stay awake late at night,
Tell me what takes you to cloud nine and what makes the stars shine a bit brighter.
Tell me your dreams…I will show you people who’ve mastered the art of dreaming

Perhaps the best thing about my career is meeting new people. But then this is quite ironic for an introvert because meeting people is such a struggle for me. I have to contemplate the whole thing a million times before I finally make up my mind to meet the person i’m to meet. Yet when I think of it, coming out of my shell and my comfort zone has rarely ever made me regret. All I ever had to do was filter their objectives, my objectives, their agenda, my agenda and for those I did eventually meet, I learnt a lot. My perspective has really changed a great deal from listening to people, to their stories, to their dreams…oh, their dreams, you see the spark in their eyes as they tell you their goals and it is just amazing. I met such a lady yesterday and not even my words, can explain the enthusiasm in her voice as she narrates her dreams.

Amina Yusuf is the typical Nairobi Muslim lady; learned, focused, super-ambitious, determined and brave. While she was leading a comfortable life in Nairobi with her three children and husband, in her own home, with a good career, she decided to leave it all to come to Mombasa. The main aim of the migration was to get her children into tahfidhul qur’an and give her children an ideal childhood in Islamic neighbourhood. Upon arriving here, she joined madrasa for one year and up’d her education. It was while she was in madrasa that she noticed how the girl child in the neighbourhood were being left behind; uneducated, child labour, poverty issues, family issues, neglected orphans…and she decided she must make a move.

Without over-thinking, she decided to start an education centre by the name Al Reyhan girls education centre with the little amount she had. She went for shopping and started buying the basic necessities she would need for herself and the girls. She had a special target on which girls she needed to join her centre so she would personally move from one house to another, interacting with family members, befriending them without anyone knowing her intention. It was only after weighing each family’s situation is when she’d recruit the girls; orphaned girls, neglected girls, girls from very needy families who can’t afford to take their children to school, girls who live with their old grandparents with no one to take care of their education needs…until the number of girls got to 97, 52 of which are boarders.

The school system is such that, the entire morning the girls are taught tahfidh and basic Islamic knowledge then in the afternoon, they have the secular subjects. Amina wasn’t going to let her girls feel any less than fellow girls in academies. She would fish for money in her own ways and buy them books, stationary, colours, pads for the older girls, she’d cover the books herself, ensure they eat good food with a fruit at least each day and meat once a week. She’d take them to outings occasionally, give them pep talks, go play with them at the beach early mornings, interact with them and at these times, she says, is when you get to know of the deepest secrets of the children.

 

“I want to mould and shape these girls into ambitious educated women. I want it that some day, the girls at my centre can have quality education such that there is no difference between them and the students at Light Academy. I even told my thirteen year old daughter about my dream and my goal; that if I die like right now, I want her to continue with my legacy because this is the legacy I want to leave behind,” Amina says.

“It’s been tough for us here. I run this place entirely by myself and by God’s grace. Sometimes I push family and friends to chip in but otherwise we have no other way of income. I have rented these two buildings; each having three rooms. I stay in one of the rooms with my three children too. We currently just have three beds, the rest we just lay mattresses in this one room and the girls sleep here. It gets too hot and stuffy sometimes, but what can we do…we need to survive here until we get a bigger place.”

One room being her own and for her three children, the other two being classrooms in one house. The other house which also has three rooms; one belongs to the caretaker and teachers who help around, the other room contains the three beds while the last room is the classroom during morning hours and the place to sleep in the night. I can’t even come to think of how these 52 girls fit into the two tiny rooms.

“We’ve had pretty bad days too. We once had a tv, we had to sell it at some point. There was a time we were all locked inside the house because we had really delayed with rent. The agents wouldn’t let us out. I had to frantically start calling friends and family for help, but alhamdulilah some good group of friends managed to raise the amount in good time and saved us. And sometimes, we have good Samaritans coming by to greet us or bring us some things; sometimes it is university student groups, sometimes just individuals or charity groups. We really appreciate it but then sometimes we have nowhere to store the things. Like someone may bring two cartons of milk and we have no freezer to store. Sometimes I go to neighbours and leave a few in different homes but then it gets to a point I feel burdened to ask that from them anymore. I can’t keep doing that forever. Sometimes people don’t say they are fed up but you can feel it yourself that you can’t ask for favours everyday. So I end up sharing it to the day scholars too so that the milk doesn’t spoil. Or sometimes someone brings a goat, we slaughter and have a feast for lunch and dinner, but since I fear that what remains may get bad, I choose the most needy of families and give them it.”

With all this, Amina still strives to make her centre better and greater.
“As much as I use 8-4-4 system to teach the girls, I decided to give them extra life skills that would help them when they grow up. We have cooking classes at least once a month, tailoring classes, sometimes we make juice, sometimes I come with my small laptop and show them how to use. We have very limited resources but with such a fast developing world, I wouldn’t want them to remain unaware of what is happening around them. I teach them how to be as ladies; the etiquette and manners. I discourage them from going outside past maghrib times (sunset) and sometimes parents come to complain why i’m making the girls be disobedient by refusing to go outside past sunset but I tell them about matters of time and how we need to protect them. I also teach them about women in Islam; the history and of modern world (like Yasmin Mogahed) because if European girls are empowered why not do that for ourselves too? So I give them history lessons of how Muslim women impacted the society. We even have our library we call it ‘maktabatul Aisha’ (Aisha’s library) since she is one of the most educated women in history. We call our sports section ‘Nusaiba’ since she was a brave warrior during the prophet’s time. We call our accounts section ‘khazinatu Khadija’ for she was a successful business woman. And the point of all this is for them to realize the power and importance of a woman in the society. They too can become these women.”

In both two buildings, only three rooms are used for studies. One is the class for toddlers and KG 1. The other room is for KG 2, 3 and class 1. The third room has class 2 to class 6. Every teacher hurdled in a corner with her numbered girls. It is hectic no doubt. Imagine having three teachers teaching different classes, all in the same room. And here, it is like ‘whatever will be will be’. They teach regardless of the limited space to comfortably talk to the girls or for them to bend down to take some notes.

“It’s been 9 months now and I thank God that we have survived until now. Sometimes I sit with these girls and just talk to them. I ask them what they want to become when they grow up and you’d hear one say, ‘I want to get married’. When you ask her ‘why so?’ She says, ‘My family already planned for me to get married to my cousin.’ And this is just a thirteen year old girl. She has no focus, no goals whatsoever because she, the girl child, wasn’t given the knowledge to understand what she is capable of. We have very young children nowadays, as young as 3 who will tell you that they want to be a doctor or a pilot or a teacher. Why then would some girls have such goals in life at such tender ages while other lack any goal at all?”

As we move around and Amina shows me the students of each class, I notice a big girl at KG 3. Immediately Amina says this is class one, I see her quickly sink down and bow her head not to be seen. She is ashamed, I notice.
“What’s her story?”
“Long story. She lives with her step-mum who’s been mistreating her. Sometimes she comes here and slaps her for maybe some minor she hasn’t done or something like that. She’s been neglected, with no education…and she’s been working as a house girl. I didn’t even know that that was her step-mum until lately. Currently, i’m trying to transfer her into our boarding here, so she can study well with a peace of mind. She is just 13 but talk to her and she sounds like 35. She speaks like an adult…”
“That’s what tough life does to you…”
“And there are more of these girls. They need help. They need somewhere safe to go to. There is this young girl here, she’s just four years old but she’s seen a lot. Her mother is a divorcee and a drug addict, she uses bogizi. The young girl has both asthma and sinus. She keeps getting the attacks regularly but the mother is never around or very high…so she stays here with me at boarding. All I want is for her and others like her to have a good life…But I can’t take any more here. I don’t have space for more. We need a bigger place and reach out to more girls.”

Most of the girls come from families with very huge baggage. 60% of the girls are orphans, 30% are needy, 10% are abled. The 10% are the only ones who pay fees which is 1700/= per month. But it is more than worth it because Amina feeds them and provide stationary for them too. We even have break time tea twice a week and porridge three times. Because the aim here isn’t business, it’s to give the students a chance like other children have. So from what the abled students pay is what helps in paying teachers and catering for other needs. By ‘abled’ we don’t mean ABLED. We just mean students who are a bit better than the rest.

I look at Amina and say to myself, ‘This human being right her; she is making a difference.’ I look at her eyes sparkle as she talks of how much she wants to do for the girls, of the sighs between her sentences like she is desperate to reach her goal, of the endless ‘Thank God’…I look at her and marvel. We have made idols and role models from people on social media who do nothing other than make noise, have aimless posts, put up many photos of themselves then call them ‘influential people’. But how did they really influence us? In what did they influence us? Was it ever something meaningful? I doubt. Then there are people like Amina, who’ve sacrificed their good peaceful lives where they could live happily without a worry just to make a difference and bring change in other people’s lives. These are the unsung heroes. The very few who do something great not so as to look great but to create some other great thing. And here now I call for your help to help Amina achieve her dream…

On the 2nd of April, Amina is organizing for a fundraiser food bazaar. She is calling for people to assist her in any way possible. You may donate some food that will be sold, or you may sell your own food on that day then share the profit, or you may just volunteer to help around making the event successful or even come sell any of your other businesses and agree on how to share the profit. The aim of the fundraising is to get money to buy a freezer which is quite necessary for them right now. But there are so many other needs for them.
The girls at boarding sometimes are to go home and they refuse with the say, “Ustadha, at home I can’t have pads. I will just be told to use a piece of clothe.”
So yes, these girls come from very desperate situations you don’t want to imagine. They also need a bigger space/home of their own to move to because that is what will ease a huge burden of rent and congestion. Donate with whatever you can. Volunteer. Or even share this post as widely as possible. Let us make her dream come true. Let us make a difference in these children’s’ lives. The event is also going to a fun day at the same time i.e. a food bazaar plus fun day for children. Entrance is free. Kindly avail yourselves and make this work in shaa Allah.

If you want to assist in any way and would like to talk to Amina, here’s her contact:0797641346/0733341574. God bless you!!

Special thanks to my best friend, Husna, for supporting me in all my projects. God bless your soul always 🙂

Tell me your dreams, I will show you people who have mastered the art of dreaming

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Future LOVE? (Part 3)

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By: Abdulqadir Mahmoud via http://selfcharge.blogspot.co.ke/

Photo Courtesy: Pexels

 

I used to believe in love.

Now, am not so sure.

Recording…

“It’s been uumm…it’s been a while since I talked to anyone…even a longer while since everyone disappeared…The last person I remember talking to was uuh, was a traveler. He was part of a small group I stumbled upon. He had to leave. The others followed soon after. Something about surviving this wave. Kinda like what am trying to do right now, with all this, in all this. And frankly I don’t know if am doing a good enough job, you know… It’s been so long ever since; I’ve lost track of time. It’s been so long I think I might be losing it, I mean, what’s real, anymore? I can barely tell what’s right from wrong, whether to feel or numb…I don’t know when I am myself anymore, like falling in and out of consciousness but with life, and what happens in it. Everything’s a blur now. Time is but a word, a reason, an excuse for me to say day, night, because none of them make sense to me now; a mere black or white as life passes by, numb, soundless. And every day I watch myself slowly fade, some part of me, of who I am, disintegrating like the floating dust as it mingles with the air, dispersing, disappearing, leaving me emptier with every dawn of day. Maybe it wants to help. Maybe it has hope of bringing them back. Maybe, just maybe, this part of me believes…Maybe. I do not know, of it, of me, I do not know.

We used to be so close my friends and I, hanging out, having fun, forgetting the world in those moments as we made our own, and just for those split precious moments, we lived in it…I remember we used to have these inside jokes that whenever we were in class, or a room and we would hear them, we’d look for each other among the crowds and just giggle or laugh when our eyes met, and we would savor that moment because it was just us who knew what they meant, in our little small world…It was perfect, until that day when the advert aired.

I wasn’t interested at first. It was like one of those promos you’d see on billboards and newspapers when going back home or surfing the analogue way (1). Promos like those never stuck around for long. They’d usually be replaced by some other advert for towels and children all in one picture, probably for a super market promo. But this one, this one never left. Its image grew on us as time went by. We’d even joke around with its catch phrase. ‘Let’s Change together’, it said. Within no time it was everywhere. Kids, teenagers, adults, everyone wanted one. It became the new toy, the new Black, the smart choice….They said it had the ability to transform the world…yeah, for once the adverts actually were true to their word. But no one knew how much…

We all had heard about how my neighbor’s aunt used this technology to do incredible things, how she’d make an interaction in a split second that normally would take days or even weeks to make. It was unbelievable. It was amazing. It was impossible, she said. And now it was our turn to rock the new Black. With a few mummers, requests and a lot of aunties, we finally got ours. Everyone was excited for the other. We had all these new techs in our hands, I mean, we were living the dream. The cool kids, you now. It was awesome; the attention, the wonder in others, the super workload lifting, we could use it to do almost everything, all we had to do was a few taps and swipes of the finger and, voila…we were transforming the world,our world…Then it all begun….

I couldn’t figure why I felt lost, at first. Why my life felt like an act, a pretense, a routine; planned and laid out for me to follow. I couldn’t understand what was it I liked in humor, in heart, in taste, in others. I couldn’t remember what deserved to be felt, be understood, what was okay or absurd, what needed my attention and what could wait. I had no idea of how to feel anymore, how to judge, when to judge, who to judge, should I be judged? I could feel myself scare. I could feel the confusion, the anger, the rage, the breath living my lungs without flowing back in. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t understand. My friends seemed fine. They were fine. Why wasn’t I? What was happening to me? Why am I feeling all this…this darkness…this rage? Why was I in so much pain? Bleeding….weeping….

Then I saw.

Everyone was leaving. Up and leaving. Leaving everything behind. Leaving their families behind. Just like that. They told me to come with them. They told me People were coming. They told me the smart people, the uh, the scientists had abandoned them. They told me Humans were dying. Dying a cold death in Life. Dying to be reborn into People, into a specie of no depth, of no emotion, no lives; into a specie of pretense, of confusion, of rage; into a specie of loneliness…and their Humanity, their Humanity dies with them. They told me to run, for the technology  the scientists granted upon us has unleashed a pandemic so deadly it corrupted their Norm, our Norm, and we Humans are paying for it, paying for it with our lives, our selves, our souls…we Humans are paying for it with our essence…with our Humanity…and being turned into monsters, into slaves of a corrupted Norm, a whole book of it as we slowly, but surely, sell our souls to it so my boy, Run! Run and save yourself! Because we all know, there is nothing anyone of us, can do for the other. Run!

You can imagine how shocked I was. I didn’t believe them because no, my friends were alright. No, my friends seemed fine so it can’t be true…I screamed in their faces, begged for their attention, tried for their care; but they were gone. It was too late for them…I was too late for them…and now,I was alone…now I am alone…And you know what is the most painful thing of all? Watching them fade away whilst their eyes cry for help, until they don’t.

One might think this place am in is a ghost town. Well it’s not. It’s full of People who follow what they are told to be right, believe what they are told to be true. It is filled with People who laugh by cue, live by routine; a planned schedule of day and night. This place is filled with People who call life by what they are given and like in it what they are told is likeable, hate what they are told to, no choices, no questions. This is indeed a ghost town; one bereaved of Humans, and filled with People. This is why I am here right now, talking to this screen. Hoping. Hoping that this will reach someone; reach anyone…Hoping that maybe they aren’t too far gone…Hoping that their eyes open their minds and free their bodies…hoping….hoping….

And now, here I am. Alone. Fading away, like them. Sometimes I wish I had their fate. Not ideal really, I know, but still free from all this, the pain, the sorrow, the helplessness…the loneliness…I don’t think I’ll last for long after this anyways, because, without any other Human around, I’m slowly giving up hope…giving in to the silence. There was a time I used to believe in friendship, in the unbreakable bond; in people…Before all this, I used to believe in Love.

Now, am not so sure….”

STOP.

Key

1. Reading the Newspapers.

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DEAR FUTURE HUBBY

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By: Anonymous

Photo Courtesy: pinterest.com

Dear future hubby,

Assalam aleykum, how are you doing? Ok to clear the air, this letter is not meant to make you show up earlier, you can take your time. Besides, we have heard enough weddings recently already. People need a break, let weddings be out of fashion then we can bring it back to fashion with our wedding 😉

I am not going to narrate to you how our married life is going to be or how I would like it to be. The truth is that, there is no really knowing what to expect when it comes to marriage and I know nothing about marriage coz obviously I have never been married before. I am not sure about you; with the number of proposals I have been getting for second wife position, I have reasons to think you might know something about marriage. Anyway I will tell you something about being single. Being single is fun, freeing, finding yourself, less responsibility and much less consequences and duties; but it gets lonely sometimes and you find yourself writing letters to some virtual unknown individual.

After reading loads of wattpad muslim romantic story; I have thought of you in differect perfect ways. But then I just realized, perfect and imperfect don’t suit each other, don’t look good together and also I really want to get married to a human not a robot. (Though robots aint perfect either, they are ugly and have robot hands). And now I think of you as you. I have been trying this technic of seeing you in me. I try picturing you with my imperfections, which you may or may not posses and I have concluded if I can live with me, then I can definitely live with you. I can live with a pool of water all over then sink and dirty laundry carpeting my bedroom, I think. Coz I have seen many happy marriages and what they will tell you is you learn to accept the others faults that can’t be changed.

So it will be a learning process. I will learn to love you, to accept you and to care for you in the best way possible. And I can only pray that you will do the same for me. The phrase being used too often is, marriage is not a walk in the park. As I can totally understand that living with another human being from a different back ground can be challenging, I like to believe that marriage is not like climbing Mt. Everest in slippers. In our single lives we have challenges that we deal with every day, some which may be harder than living with a stranger; that is life. We are constantly being tested and facing challenges; thus I don’t expect my marriage to be any different. There will be tests in different forms and shapes, I hope every difficult will bring us much closer as oppose to drawing us apart. I pray that the challenges, just as they make you stronger in life, will make our marriage bond stronger.

I always joke about getting married to a tall guy. And the other day the optician told me I should consider someone who does not use glasses if I don’t want to end up with blind kids. Now the latter one is of concern. My point being, physical attraction is important in marital relationship but there are far much important things to look at. So I hope you are a struggling muslim like I. Someone struggling to know Allah and constantly finding ways to get closer and closer to Him. To earn His love, His pleasure, His Jannah in shaa Allah. That is what will make me be attracted to you the most before your height. Height is just a bonus.

Well I don’t remember again why I was writing to you, may be just to let you know that someone is constantly praying for you to show up so that she can have a best friend of her own, someone to share her dreams, hopes, fears and laughter with. Whether near or far, may you reach me at the right time, through the right channels in shaa Allah. I will be writing you more letters when I get to know who you are, I just love being old school.

Signed with love,

Your future wife.

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