The Women in My Life

I suckled for only 3 months. TMI. I know. After those three months, my mother endured a ride that probably took 12 hours to Kamato Village in Lambwe Valley. Chances are you have no idea where that is. But that is where my grandmother raised me for those first few years. I later joined my bro in Nairobi-about 3 years later.

Mathe would endure the 15 km walk from the main road to get to my Dani’s place. She would carry my bro and I would walk. I was the elder one. Plus you did not argue, or attempt to, with my mum. You did not nudge at her dress for sweets or toys. If she wants to, if she can, she will buy it. If she doesn’t then there is a good reason for that.

If you made a mistake it was the slippers. That blue Bata slipper was more painful if it was already worn out with the lose straps hanging.  Kinda like a whip with many strips.

I lived with my aunt in Bungoma between class 3 and 6. To me it still feels like a lifetime. She was mistreated at work because she was from another tribe-not one of them and a woman at that. She therefore saw men get promoted and get pay rises. She had her own Chill (who was special) and Austin was on the other way.

She was unmarried. 

Yet she struggled to keep it all together. I never saw her cry. I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve never seen my mother, or even my grandmother cry. 

So my aunt raised her sister’s kids and her own. 

We later moved to Nairobi and stayed with a couple of relatives. Being a single mum who has been sacked from a government hospital because you are a foreigner has its downside.

Mathe hustled for jobs(locums). A jobless doctor. Yap. She spent time walking through ministry doors and private hospital corridors trying to get there. But she couldn’t answer the one question. Why were you fired? Ok, she could but you know how jittery employers are.

She turned to prayer. My mother prayed. This is the only time my mother cries. She would visit us at my aunt’s and takes us for prayer walks. We, I would treasure these moments. They were random. Sometimes after every 3 months, sometimes after 8.

Am I whining about my life? No. I was a playful kid. I would be at the football field in Nzoia Sugar Primary School till my body couldn’t take it any more. I would ‘steal’ a cane or two from the many plantations.

Back to her. So, as she hustled we lived. I only heard her mention yesterday that she used to walk from Bukembe to Nandolia-then to Upperstaff when she visited.

She feared we would ask questions. I did ask once when I was in class 2. I felt the pain and even more the confusion in her voice and decided to spare her the agony. Maybe later on.

At Mama Alus’s place my cousins were the ones who defined my life. To me the place was far-flung. Ruiru. Enehu, their own internal workings formed me. Betty, Val took care of the house and the rest played. Even Dorcas and Florence.

Mathe finally got into M.P Shah and the family reunited. The story after that is for another day.

I can’t end without mentioning Pet, my deaf aunt who I loved and still do so much. She cooked omena daily for us during the 1996/7 famine that ravaged the country. My aunt was admitted at the time. Pet was in high school.

Val has been like a younger sister that I consider my agemate sometimes. She matured fast. I guess it’s a first born thing.

Barbra could/can sing. She opened me up to a different world musically by being herself. Musically expressive.

Jackie. Well, about Jackie I will mention if/when she says yes to my proposal.

There are more. To all of them, Happy International Women’s Day!

Why They Vote for a Ukrainian President

I have to switch the music player before I start typing this. #np Emeli Sande-Read all about it. I used to think I work best with music in the background till I started doing late nights. I then discovered that my mind involuntarily listens to the lyrics and can’t therefore focus on what I type.

The country voted yesterday. We are waiting for results. As expected, all our talk of a non-tribal Kenya is not reflected-as expected. Question; is that really a bad thing as we claim it is?

Allow me to use two arguments or ways of looking at it.

My uncle, Chris, once mentioned that some professor explained this to them when he was still in campo. You know those professors, old with some well-nurtured goatee and cynical about anything and everything? Yap, those ones. 

Le professeur had this to say. Think about it, before the scramble and partition for Africa, what we call tribes were actually nations. Minus the partition that meant we now had Kenyan Somalis and Somali Somalis, Kenyan Luos and Tanzanian Luos etc, with time they would have formed states-as countries like Europe did.

The point being; the tutiny fragments of land called countries in Europe are ‘tribes’ in the African sense. We wouldn’t have to worry about tribalism if we had a Kikuyu country and Buganda country etc. 

Map of Europe

The second way of looking at it is based on this other story my other uncle Jim will tell you (probably repeatedly) if you ever end up discussing early Kenya. Tom Mboya is the one who went to this Kadu guy...ummm...Ronald Ngala (my former house) and convinced him last minute that the nation needs to vote for Kanu/Kenyatta.

What he told them was, ‘One, you guys are going to lose either way. Two, therefore join the winning team and we discuss the issues you raise.’

My understanding of this ‘meeting in the dark’ is...

Who best understands the needs of people in Eldoret? Ruto, the farmer who grew up there or X who did not? When going to campaign to the different tribal blocs, methinks a leader should convince those people that he will take care of THEIR issues. Not national ones.

It doesn’t matter whether you are campaigning on a non-tribal ticket, just show that you understand/can sort out the issues of the sugarcane farmer in Bungoma much better than Wetangula can.

People vote on tribal basis because it is tribal leaders who speak their language understand them. Otherwise hii mambo ya voting based on national issues ni kudanganyana till next year but 10.

P.S. You guys voted on my birthday :-) I honestly don’t know why that makes me happy.

Simplicity

I have never done a simple piece. You know? One where I just upload this video and decide to sit back and relax as you watch it. That band right there is called Lele Ngoma. They describe there music as eclectic urban Afrosoul. I know, I know, but I wouldn't want to mention that here, would I?

Fatherhood

Freddy, Jamhuri High School (99) made me believe High School was fun. He is now a religious brother. However, it is his escapades then that made me realize it wasn’t as bad as it was made to sound. In fact he made me have an inkling of what high school was all about. Instead of guiding me through puberty as my mum requested of him(being a single mom), he just put it out there that he din’t struggle through adolescence. The funny thing is, I did not either. I believe since he made it such a small deal, I din’t see the need to stress about it. True, I could see class 8s and form 2s go through their hormonal moments. I did not.

After KCPE is when you find out you have no clue as to what the next stage of life is all about. At least in my case. I had, and still do, lived a contained life. My interactions could not suffice to provide such knowledge as is gleamed when boys hang out with bro ya Kamash. Ergo, why Freddy stands out. His stories, and dyed hair are what gave me an idea of what it entailed and that made all the difference.

I am that kind of person. I want to have an idea before I leap. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t take time to hear the details, the basics will do. I will ask you about how to operate the parachute when we are mid-air. Ask Ujo.

Call it quarter-life crisis but due to my choice to concentrate on music, and writing, I have been rubbing my folks the wrong way. Sometimes one gets through such moments, knowing that their fears (I spend time with other people’s daughters every night and not at studio as I claim) are far-fetched and irrational.

Other times however, it hits you that they could be right. That your friend who you met at the Junction the other day is now about to be promoted to PR Manager for Harun Mwau simply because he started off the blocks immediately after graduation while you were still trying out this writing/music thing.

At such moments I begin wondering where my baby(small, tiny, baby) will sleep and what he will eat when I am 30. I wonder what my wife will think of me when this dream proves to be just that, a dream that I need to wake up from.

Pssst! Most of the people I graduated with are now going through that stage. Where you see photos and updates on facebook-engaged, married, with baby etc. No,I am serious. It starts hitting you that you are next. My 35-year old uncle is yet to marry though. Some consolation. He keeps my grandmother too worried to start throwing those hints. Plus he is breaking the psychological barrier.

I digressed, (hence the psst) There is no salvation at that point, just some few cling-ons that keep you sane as you try to figure out what to tell yourself to soothe your spirit.

I however bumped into Biko Zulu’s blog. He provides those once in a lifetime moments when you realize being old can be cool. Last time I felt that, I was reading Wasonga’s article on Pudding. Before then, it was listening to Jamo on Hopefm. 

These people make you realize, it can all be taken in stride. Which you know, just that you tend to forget. If I have never asked my readers to do anything (buy tickets to a Lele concert or read Sharon’s blog) then do read this blog. For the sake of fulfilling your psychological need for credibility, it was nominated for a BAKE Award in the same category as Crazy Nairobian. It is read by great bloggers a la Karaymi and Mrs.Mwiti.

Think of the people who helped you move from one point to the next and be grateful. Later!

Writers Lie

You see that shady chick in class everyone agreed on her shadiness? Yap, the one who even teachers thought was off. I am not saying blondes are not human too, but you think back to this girl and she defined that. 

Now I want you to think back to how Ngugi wa Thiong’o or Tolstoy described women (especially in first person) who their characters fell in love with. You remember how vivid it was? What am I driving at?

It has always bugged me how writers can make you wish you married that village girl-think of Okot p’ Bitek’s song of Lawino. Kitambo I used to think it is because writers have good, nay great taste in women. Then one day it hit me-the only reason why I never met women who fit their description is because....they don’t exist.

That whole beauty and beholder thing is SO true, holds truer for artists, and in this case for writers even more than anyone else.

maogo!

 Side comment: Everyone becomes an artist when they fall in love. Expressions of love/emotion are all poetry. Sweet nothings, they call them. It is quite fascinating really. Think of high school love-letters with perfume and moshaino. In fact, I dedix this song to you the reader-it’s by Jason Reeves (related to Jim Reeves). It’s called Old Fashioned Letters.

Back to writers-it is unfair! They can convert something so mundane and flat and make it seem like something you would desire. Related in a way, are musicians. Kevo has beef with artists who impress with how they technically pull off their twists and melodic vibratos but cannot chuck the emotion needed in a song. 

That last sentence is out of the blue, don’t worry about it.

For your homework this week, Class...I want you to read Ngugi wa Thiongo’s a Grain of Wheat. We will discuss it next week. Kamau, don’t forget to bring the answer sheets to the staff room at 4 o’clock.

Another One of the Many New Year Blog Posts...So Don't Bother

Happy New...

That was a weirdly rainy December. It’s supposed to be hot! Who knew...who knows what the year holds for us?

The texts...My Goodness! Enehu, before I step on toes (including Bev who has an issue with my two-dotted ellipses) let’s discuss the new year.

This new place is apparently going to be filled with Fog around June and the sinusy me will have to hope high school around Ngong taught my body how to survive in such pleasant weather.

P.S. Jackie thinks Buru gets duog at times (dust and fog).

So, let’s toast to the Lele album, a monthly BusinessMind mag and peaceful elections!

Oh, and bytheway I need to get my eyes checked. Finally, I admit it. You don’t get it; I honestly don’t mind staring at the screen closely or not seeing you as you pass me in the streets thinking I am a snob. I don’t mind most of the things people find important. But if I can’t see the cards when playing a game of poker, that is serious! It is the epitome of bad eyesight.(myopia to be specific).

One last thing, may your ciondos be filled exceedingly abundantly...in Rongai as well as in the cities.

...Year!