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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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Featured

NEW BOOK, NEW REFLECTIONS

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My Good People,

Assalam aleykum,,and hi,

I pray that this post finds you in good health and in a beautiful state of mind.

So here I am, with a new book for y’all ALHAMDULILAH. And before we go into the details of the book, I’d like to take a moment to thank you all; for reading my work always, for your constant support, and for being one of my biggest sources of inspiration. Some of you have been reading my work way before my books and blog (10+ years!), some of you have stuck with me ever since I started this blog 8 years ago and some have been around throughout the launch of the 4 books I have authored!As for those who’re new to this blog, thank you so much for taking the time to check out my work. I never take your support for granted because if it weren’t for Allah (Subhanahu Wataala), and then y’all, then my writings would definitely be rotting in a pile of notebooks in my room. So THANK YOU!Please keep reading, keep sharing your suggestions, positive criticisms, and feedback, for I enjoy hearing from you.

Onto our new book, below are the details:

Book Title: Reflection & Resurgence: A Believer’s Journey to Allah Category: Spirituality & Inspiration
Format:E-book
Cost: 600/= (70% of the profit gained throughout Ramadhan will go to charity)  Blurb: A believer’s journey to Allah is never-ending. It is fraught with constant introspection, the revival of one’s faith, and devotion to Him. This book presents a collection of contemplations for the believer who seeks a better relationship with Allah. It is a beautiful reminder of the work we need to put in to acquire His divine love.
Purchase Process: Send 600/= to Mpesa till no 5378403. Then send your transaction message to ‘strokesofmypen@gmail.com’ with the subject ‘New Book’. The book will be sent to you within 24 hours in shaa Allah.

Alternatively, you can pay 5.6 $ via PayPal to lubnah.abdulhalim@gmail.com. Then send your transaction message to ‘strokesofmypen@gmail.com’ with the subject ‘New Book’. You will receive your book soon thereafter in shaa Allah.If you have neither, nenda kwa jirani, hakosi Mpesa 😉***Please take note of the following:

  1. The book is only in Ebook format at the moment. Sorry for the inconvenience.
  2. The book is divided into 30 chapters to make it convenient and a daily read for Ramadhan (although the book can be read whenever the reader wants to). The intention is to make it easier for those who dislike Ebooks like me, to read in smaller bits yet still enjoy the content. I hope that works 🙂
  3. Please let me not come find my book being sold at 50/= pale black market jamani or being ‘forwarded many times’ pale WhatsApp ;( We all know how creatives are always on the verge of starvation, don’t we? Haiya, please respect our work, at least someday I also get to take my parents and siblings to Hajj, or buy an island, or travel to Santorini cause why not? 😀 Semeni ameeeeeen 😀 On that note, if you wish to gift someone else a copy of the book, please buy another copy for them and do not share yours.
  4. Please do not request me to send you the book via WhatsApp or anywhere else. This is because I need to keep track of the sales via email in order to deduct the 70% of profits after Ramadhan in shaa Allah. It is also better for you as a reader, for you get to store the book and its password safely for future reference.
  5. To preserve my energy and time, whenever you have a question about the book, kindly check first if I haven’t already posted about it in previous posts. That will be helpful. Thank you!

I hope you enjoy the read!Ramadhan Mubarak! May Allah make this the month of introspection, purification, and best change within our souls. May He accept our duas and grant us the best of this life and the next. Ameen.Please do include me and my family in your prayers 🙂

THANK YOU!!!

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Creative Non-Fiction

31 HOURS (PART 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broken system. How sad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just wait till I write about it!!”

They’ve been waiting for too long! 😀

***
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Creative Non-Fiction

31 HOURS (PART 1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Wait, what animals?’ I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

‘For emergencies. Like these.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Who said?’ Someone asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Travel

ROAD CRAZE

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Journeys are all fun and thrill until its past five hours on the road and you start realizing all the things you’d rather not. Like the baby who’s been crying sharply. You’ve been actively ignoring it but you no longer can. Or the lady in front of you who eats by the hour. She makes a point that you all know that she is eating, by the sound of the paper bags. Then there’s the man behind you whose legs are too long and keep bumping on your seat. A well-dressed, masculine man by your side is talking baby language and you wonder for a moment if he is someone’s boss. You can bet that they probably have never seen this soft side of their otherwise tough-looking boss. Stereotypes, I know! By this time you have done everything you can possibly do; eat, sleep, watch YouTube videos, chat, daydream, make a business plan, read a book, have a monologue, praise the Lord and eat. Did I mention eat?

There are usually two kinds of travellers in any kind of journey; those who mind their own business and those who don’t. Your current seat-mate is the former.

They would sit gracefully and put their earphones on. They would turn to the side and lay back on the seat. Neither would they say hi nor would they look to your side. You are invisible. Non-existent. They would avoid eye contact for whatever hours you are on the vehicle and play dead. They won’t ask your name or where you are headed to. They are the best kind of travellers in most cases. Well that is until you reach Mtito and you ask them to hold onto your paper bag while you go to the washroom. Then they give you that look of ‘Are you seriously about to leave your very aromatic chicken nuggets with a total stranger?’ There follows an awkward moment of silence; you standing there foolishly with your hand stretched out. Then you give them that look of ‘well you have a point’ and slowly drop your hand in disappointment. Before you leave, they stretch out theirs with no expression on their face. Your only other option is to carry your chicken nuggets to the washroom with you so you decide your cold seatmate is all you got.

The second kind is the super energetic one. The chatterboxes who seem to have been put on a mission to interrogate your entire life. They are all bright and sunlight even when your trip is during the dead night. They will have all sorts of conversations with you; the ‘cliché’ kind of ‘Don’t you feel too hot in that buibui?’ the small talk kind, ‘I am going for a business trip with this huge firm’, the ‘let-me-excavate-your-entire-history’ kind, ‘did your great grandfather migrate to Mombasa by ship during the 19th Century?’ You are too tired to even open your mouth. You try to be pleasant by giving very short answers with an enigmatic smile hoping they get the hint. But do they ever? On a brighter note, at least you know you can leave your chicken nuggets with them and they’d be happy to do it. Plus, it is not like you have anything better to do. If there is anytime boredom could catastrophically kill a human being, it would be now. So you just stare outside, the nursery rhyme ‘are we there yet’ playing in your head.

There is a terrible traffic jam ahead. A lot of dust particles. The driver is recklessly overtaking other reckless drivers. Sweat. Smelly garbage by the road. Exhausted faces. But as they say, life is as you make out of it. Because outside your window, there are zebras and giraffes walking gracefully, the people walking in the vast fields and you wonder where they are headed to, beautiful green lands during the day. There’s a mother playing with her baby’s fingers as she laughs cutely. The couple eating from the same plate. Beautiful conversations with strangers. The break of dawn just as you approach Nairobi. The lights everywhere. The sunrise. A magnificent sight! Huh! Life is not so bad anyway.

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P.S Watch out for this space, in shaa Allah I will be posting all details & FAQ’s of my new book here. Stay tuned!

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“It is on people for the sake of Allah to perform Hajj of his house, anyone who is able to undertake the journey to him.” (Qur’an: 2:196)

Join Al Muzney group for this important spiritual trip at reasonable prices and great package offers. For more details, check out the poster below.

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Inspiration

CURVING MY NICHE

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Almost a week after the publication of ‘Unbroken Wings’, a friend texted me. We were basically internet friends; a fellow blogger and writer and we hadn’t met before. So she congratulated me for my first published book and then went on and said how she wants to be like me someday. After a pause she went on, ‘Life has been so rough. Today I sat in our office toilet crying for like half an hour. It was the only place to run to lol. Part of why I didn’t text earlier…and then the other part is like gosh girl. Look at people publishing books…’ I just listened to her and in my heart I was like, ‘Aww honey…but that isn’t the whole story!’ And I think of how many times we look up to people we assume have succeeded in life, and adore them a lot it tends to make us feel less capable or worthless? I know the feeling…

My first serious attempt to write was in class seven when daily nation had a writing competition of a saga for children. Every week I would take up the challenge but I would just take it to my English teacher to go through it. I went on doing so whilst he directed me and corrected me until one day I said to myself, ‘Until when will I just write for my teacher. Why not submit to the Daily Nation and see how that turns out?’ I did. I never really had any expectations because I was not really one of the best writers in my class. I had the most amazing English teacher who really encouraged us to be storytellers. He would always read the best compositions in class but I wasn’t really one of them. I was somewhere close there but still NOT there. So he would casually mention how my composition was good or sometimes really good but I don’t remember him reading my work in front of the class ever. Yet I still did it continuously, adamantly and persistently.

So my dad delivered my submission at the daily nation offices and a week later, my name was on the newspaper. I wasn’t the winner but they had acknowledged me amongst the youngest writers with strongest submissions. That elated me in ways I can’t define. I was just 12 by then but I decided that this is it. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life (after chemistry and biology shattered my dreams of being a pediatrician 😀 ).

Going into secondary school, I would write every.single.day like a maniac who could only survive by letting those ink drops fill the paper with words. I started writing my first short story, then my second short story then my third poetry collection. I was always writing. Classmates coming by everyday to my desk so that they can read the next paragraph of my story. Soon my friends would have to book to read first before anyone else because the readers were becoming many and it soon spread out to other classes. And despite all that, every time I would take part in a writing competition, I would go to the notice board, scroll down through the names one by one. My name would never be there. My heart would shatter and sometimes I would just sit down and let it sink in, cry, wonder…but why…’If my work was liked by my friends and colleagues, what was I doing wrong?’ I never found out.

I spent those years up and down trying to find publishers for my short stories. I was young and naive. I wouldn’t know who to go to or who to trust. Yet I still tried. Approaching publishers before they disappeared with no word ever again. So I just opted to bring in my friends to help me critique and edit my work. I was always changing, correcting, perfecting; too busy in the editorial club. One time while I was the editor in chief of the editorial club, I met my English teacher who also happened to be my class teacher, on the corridor. She asked me what I was working on and I said some school articles and she said, ‘If you’d put that kind of energy in your studies, you’d be very far in your performance.’ Now, I wasn’t a poor performer. I was an average student who almost worshiped the staff room from the number of visits to make inquiries. But I also knew what I wanted. I wanted to make an impact and my pen was my biggest tool I wasn’t going to give up on, any time soon.

During my final year, our editorial club patron literally had to beg for me to get the ‘Best Writer Award’ because they had entirely left it out. And when that was granted, my assistant was so pissed off and confronted me because ‘her work was better than mine and she deserved it more than I did.’ I went to take that award with a lump in my throat and my heart so heavy. I wasn’t even sure I deserved it.

After high school, everyone wanted me to do something else. ‘Do teaching, do business, do accounts…’ no one really cared that this was the path I had chosen. Having been raised in a county that barely appreciated talent especially writing and who weren’t avid readers, I struggled to block all the negativity being thrown at me (I am glad this is quickly changing now; has been for a while actually.) Yet I still went on to do Journalism and mass communication and managed to come out with First class. During my university years, I was always either making calls, or sending emails or discussing with teachers on how to create a career out of my writing talent. My job application letters to newspapers never got a response for a long while, at one time three of my classmates found me at the library writing another application letter so one of them said, ‘You’re always writing application letters. We are going to finish uni, get jobs and you’d still be writing those letters.’ They all laughed. It was supposed to be a joke so I just smiled. And don’t get me wrong, these were very close friends who helped me a lot before and even after this conversation. But then many people thought it was pointless trying too hard. My university colleagues were enjoying their youth while all they ever saw me do is write and send applications.

Well I did finally land an internship at Coast This Week paper which later on became my job for a year or so…before the paper died. Well it’s a long story but many MANY times after that, I got contracts and I was told I wasn’t good enough. Not creative enough. My work being rejected. My applications being rejected. Not winning competitions etc

It was only after nine years of trying to get my work out there that Unbroken Wings got published. I have been so familiar to failure, to being jobless, to getting soo close to success yet still not succeeding, to being clueless on how to move ahead for too long.

I made sure to meet this lovely writer and we talked for long hours and days. She is very talented this is not even a courteous gesture. Her writings are deep soul food I honestly believe she is a better writer than I am. I wanted her to know that everyone has their own journey. I might have reached here because I started way earlier but everyone gets to their destination in a different way, in a different timeline. Some get lucky and are recognized immediately for their work. Some get lucky, have some connections and make their way easy up there. Some have to struggle and others have to struggle more than others. Don’t look at someone’s achievements. Look at their journey. Ask for their untold stories. Talk to them of their failures and achievements. Yet still, never compare yourself to how far someone seems to have reached.

The truth, this is just the tip of an iceberg. I am not yet where I want to be. I am still struggling to be who I want to be. I wouldn’t have made it here if it weren’t for Allah then the many people along the way who gave me abundant support and love, I can’t thank them enough. As Paulo Coelho says, ‘And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it’.

I really hope whoever wishes to be like me becomes better than me. I hope God grants you the will, the ease and the strength to soldier on in whatever your goals and dreams are. Not necessarily writers only. All the best in your way up there 🙂

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That aside, as I continue to curve my niche and pursue my goals, I have decided to start doing writing skills training for the Coastal population. Should I promise you it’s going to be educative and fun? You bet! In shaa Allah and the fee is very reasonable too! Check the poster below to have an idea about it.

P.S Jack Ma’s said: I told my son: You don’t need to be in the top three in your class, being in the middle is fine, so long as your grades aren’t too bad. Only this kind of a person (a middle of the road student) has enough free time yo learn other skills…) Now students/workers don’t get me wrong. Work hard in whatever you need to but all i’m saying here, don’t let what keeps your heart alive, die…Go after your dreams!!

Please do share the poster as much as you can and don’t forget to subscribe 🙂 Thanks in advance!

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