Tying my lesso

We need to feel safe despite how we choose to dress.

What I remember about that night were the sounds. The scraping of the bed being dragged across the floor. The insistent pounding of fists at the door. The thudding of my heart echoing in my ears. The muttering of prayer tumbling out of my mouth in a stream of whispering.

They had come after me.

Earlier that evening the driver of the matatu I was travelling in kicked us out slurring, ‘nimechoka. Tokeni.’ Though we tried to protest, his erratic swerving had left us jittery and we felt we were safer walking than being at the mercy of this drunken driver. So several hundred metres away from Oyugis, we started walking. I was on my way to a funeral and was carrying a huge white box overflowing with flowers, stuffed with the wreaths I had been asked to bring from Kisumu.

The walk is a blur to me, but I…

View original post 1,620 more words

The Fear.

We all have fears whether we admit it or not, and what I fear most is losing someone I love. No. Not breaking up. I will get over that shit with time. I am talking about when someone loses their life. No matter what you do, they cannot come back. That’s the thing that could break me.

A very close friend of mine lost her mother recently; I am still in disbelief, she doesn’t know it. It’s been a month now but it but it just won’t settle. The mother suffered a cardiac arrest and just like that, no second chances, she went to be with the Lord. My friend has probably accepted and moved on, or so it seems, but the day she called me up with the news keeps replaying in my head. Like a bad dream. In the blink of an eye she was gone.

Light a candle for a fallen Soldier.

I probably cry a lot more than most adults but it helps me deal with the things I’m going through, I can’t help it but I feel way better when I’m done. That’s just how I am. My friend on the other hand hardly sheds a tear. The entire time I have known her, I don’t remember a single day she cried, but I remember several times she was so mad she trembled. So the day I pick her call and she is sobbing uncontrollably, it had to be something real bad. She is a strong one. She managed to tell me in one sentence.

I don’t like it when my friends cry. This time my friend wasn’t crying because of a bully. Or some guy who broke her heart. It was beyond everything I could do. When I went over to her place, we talked about the crazy things we did in the past and all the reminiscing we could. I didn’t know how else to comfort than to divert thoughts. Everything was different on the burial day. It is the saddest of all because you are saying goodbye indefinitely and all you will remain with are memories. And photographs. That’s when you know for real nothing will ever be the same again and you better start believing.

Recently I had a scare. We had gone out with a few friends and when the night was done we went to sleep over at our other friend. I tucked my friend on the couch because that’s where she blacked out. On the next morning I couldn’t find her on the couch, but in another room. That wasn’t bad; at least she didn’t run out of the house or something.

I tried waking her up on several attempts but she couldn’t move. Are you thinking what I was thinking? I thought she had died. Her body wasn’t as warm so I thought she must have died a few hours ago. I shook her again, panicking, tears gushing, head spinning, this time desperately than before, and she pulled up her covers weakly. She was alive!!!!!!  I asked her to wake up and slap me because I wanted the reassurance. She probably thought I was being dumb but I really needed her to punch me real hard. I ended up slaving for her that entire day, and a few days just to show her how much I adored her thinking of how bad I would’ve craved that if at all I lost her.

Well, we are all mortal beings. I mean human-beings, (If God is reading this blog too id be thrilled, please drop a comment below, or just share with the angels, thanks.) If and when we lose people dear to us may God give us the strength to carry on and may He comfort us. It is a fear we can’t run from, but must be prepared to face. My condolences to all of you who have lost loved ones, now or far in the past. If you love the people in your life let them know that for sure because you could blink and the are no more and you’ll wish you told them that a lot more.

In Front of the Camera – The Behind [ #FinishtheStoryFriday ]

mmmmhhh cant wait for Nov 28 for the ending. Interesting.


Whenever Zukiswa was in front of the camera, everyone focused on her behind. It didn’t matter that she had an arts degree from the country’s prestigious university. It didn’t matter that before taking on any role, she read psychology papers and studies about people who displayed qualities similar to the character she would play. That she meditated before recordings each morning, to assimilate Zandi, the character she played, also mattered very little. They could only see her behind.

The first week she appeared on The Show, social media was flooded with comments and posts about her figure. The flash writing had attached itself to hashtags and littered every timeline. She sat in her chair in the dressing room, and slid her fingers over the comments she read on her phone.

I will never miss an episode of #TheShow now that Zandi is on – one post read.

Zandi’s #PowerAsset is…

View original post 849 more words

Finish the Story Friday


BWBL Slides-page-4 (1)

Storymoja and the #BlackWomenBeLikeSeries are pleased to present Finish the Story Friday – a series of the stories between the lines of stereotypes about black African women.

On the second Friday of each month, a new story by a writer from a country in an African region the #BlackWomenBeLikeSeries is celebrating will be posted on the Storymoja blog.

The second Friday after that, another writer from a different country in the same region will complete the story written by the previous writer, by adding 750-1000 words to that story. Extra bonus points for introducing a new lead character, connected to the previous story’s one!

This will continue bi-weekly and regions are celebrated quarterly. All the stories written in each three month period will come together to make one nuanced story about the black African women of that region.

We’re presenting and looking for stories that challenge us and the current…

View original post 263 more words

Hairdresser Chronicles.

The customer is always right and the secret about this is no secret at all. The customer is right. Business depends and thrives on that. When I walk into your premises and you start telling me what I want without asking for your opinion I get infuriated. You know the type I’d turn red if I was a couple shades lighter. If I did not know what I’m looking for I wouldn’t be looking in the first place.
 My blood boils but I constantly remind myself jail is never a wonderful place or experience at that. Plus two thirds of your “friends” will not visit, even if they do, you will not be at liberty to spend all the time you’d wish to. No phones, decent meals or fresh air: and internet (God bless the internet). It’s like boarding school all over again only worse. You get my drift though? I wouldn’t risk jail for people who aren’t worth it. So someof the times when I’m super mad, I’ve learnt to smile and no, do not be deceived, I’m not anywhere close to being amused, maybe by the level of stupidity, but not because there’s a chance of the person being funny. Most of the times if I have a choice I walk away, its way better than causing a scene you agree. Some of these situations do not need reactions anymore so my other option is ignoring. However once in a while I while I speak my mind.

All this is about my hair. Women and their hair. In as much as we have that one go to hairdresser who gets you and can deal with your madness, there’s always a thing or two they don’t get so you will ask around who does what best. I love to braid because it needs the least amount of work and I can style them however whenever. Every once in a while I’ve had someone do a good job but when you go back niggas don’t have a clue what you are talking about. So I switch from time to time. You know the problem with that? They say better the devil you know but I got to take my chances. This time they flopped, ass up.

My sister referred me to a certain lady who made her hair about three years ago.  This should have been my cue, too bad I didn’t ask. The woman asked me if my sister had delivered and my sisters’ daughter is three years old now. Of course she had delivered, it’s been three years or so? Or are there people who are heavy for more than 9 months? I showed her pictures of my adorbs (adorable) niece. She is like “oh amekuwa mkubwa” and I’m there thinking to myself should she be crawling in diapers after all this time? Right there people, that is the reason I am not a fan of small talk.

Well, being the perfectionist that I am, I showed them pictures of exactly what I wanted to look like at the end. First, her assistants were over there trying to convince me to do what they know and I was there like “I don’t want what you know and what you always make, I have made myself clear now do me a favor and tell me if you can do this or not!!” but in the most courteous way possible. After a little bit of back and forth I got overwhelmed and wanted to walk, then they calmed down and agreed to my style.

Usually, rather what they know is that they empty close to 15 packs of braids onto your head, I don’t roll like that and I told them. I don’t want to leave the place leaning back like I’m literally carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I sat there patiently being braided. Somewhere in the middle they say they are out of braids. My brain stops. I’m not certain how this is going to end but I choose to keep calm. There’s nothing much I can do but add another packet.

Long story short in the end I don’t look anything close to what I wanted. I feel like crying because my whole head hurts from the pulling and the acres of my forehead have been highlighted with what looks like a cactus plantation. I was running late for something else so I couldn’t undo them. Then to add salt to injury, my whole other issue was the length of the braids. She went on and chopped them. Give me a moment I need to wail!!

When you ask God to give you a sign, He does, most of the time. You will not hear a voice from above nor will a dove sit on your head, it is there right before your eyes. It is clear to me that He wants me to tie turbans, embrace bad hair days or chop it off altogether. I have chosen to listen. Before I do, anyone who knows some obedient hairdresser who knows how to listen to their client and make the best box braids please halla at a sister. I am done with the shady ones.  Now excuse me as I go kill some puppies and walk on needles.