I promised a post every Monday, but my psyche had other ideas. And I decided not to fight it.
So I will let you in on another Monday project that you might be interested in. Every Monday morning (or just before the deadline passes where you can legitimately call it a morning), we send a weekly compilation of an NSE markets overview, crypto and the latest investing and financial news that caught our eyes — news that we think might interest you too and help you make better financial decisions. We like to call it Digipesa Tea.
January is over! Haiya. Anyway, in the spirit of keeping tabs and dropping a few nuggets every time I ascend into another year of my life — from the third floor, here are thirty things I learnt or validated from my 30th year.
So, a few minutes ago I was lying in bed, stalking someone I bumped into on the streets of Nairobi today. Stalking them online. I have a reputation for that. Eventually I landed on my blog and thought I’d read some old posts. Then I started editing some typos from months back. Then I ended up on my ‘What’s in My Bag’ post from 2016. And then I asked myself, what excuse do I have for not writing a 2017 version? After all, I think showing what’s in my bag this year might lead me to tell you all something I should have told you if I was writing as expected. So here we go.
A friend of mine claims this space is gathering digital dust. I have never gone this long without writing. Over three months. So how about I kick this season off with some excuses, right? (Yeah we’re calling it a season now. Next level. 😀 )
If you know me and my digital communication habits, you know that if it’s a weekday, I will not reply to your text or even pick your call unless you said a prayer before you rang me. I will reply to your text at the end of the day, probably in bed. And if I do, it will be a very short reply because I want to be polite. You took your time to text me. I know you are also busy but you still took your time. Sometimes, I will not reply because you just said “hi”. I do not, for the life of me, understand why someone would just text anyone “hi” without another message attached. Like where in the world is this going? Sometimes I forget to reply completely until the next day. I am on a secret WhatsApp number, which for some strange reason, people just decided to be sharing with random people, so I uninstalled the app a few days ago too. So imagine, if I cannot text back because of how intense my weekday is, how will I even sit down and start blogging? This is a strong enough excuse, right? Well, not really Shiku, because you were not idle the past few years either.
Let’s get right down to it. But before I tell you about that, what have I learnt this past week?
1. Mungu Pekee – Nyashinski
Awesomeness. That is what I am feeling right now. I was feeling real good today. On a Monday. I had cleared up a lot of work last night so I kinda knew I was going to have a good day today. I had all the time in the world to focus on all the work I love doing, you know, content and stuff. Then toward the end of the workday, I discovered this YouTube video/track today, at 5 PM. I cannot stop playing it. YouTube displayed it on the Trending section and I was like, why not? I have heard of Nyashinski before but I cannot tell you any of his songs. I had a feeling he was part of Kleptomaniacs or something of the sort. But who cares about that when there is an awesome awesome track coming through your eardrums? When the “Mungu Pekee” chorus came on, I knew I had heard it somewhere recently. Maybe Kubamba Radio. Not too sure. I did not fall for it then. But today, it’s like my brain opened up. And then, you know what’s more awesome, it has a lyric video! A Kenyan song has a lyric video!!!!! That is super amazing. I only see this with American music videos, tobyMac, MercyMe, Matthew West, name them.
Yaani I am so amazed, I cannot stop talking about it and telling everyone in the house about it. I even brought a little JBL speaker from the office to play the video on repeat. LOL. So deep. Rich content. Awesome awesome beat. Feel-good words. What more can you ask for? The song is making me repeat the word awesome and break so many grammar rules but again, who cares? You get the message, right? Question is, are these Kenyans songs available on iTunes? I want. And if they are not, why are they not? I would expect to see a link to the track or album in the YouTube description.
Oh, I just Googled. I was kinda right. They were Kleptomaniax. I saw Collo on The Trend on Friday too. I never watch the show after Larry and my brain broke up. But that Friday, I saw those kids dancing and I sat a little longer and watched. He was part of that group too, right? Good stuff.
Have you ever used something over and over again and not asked yourself what some parts of it do and never bother to find out? Well, I do that all the time. Last week, I learnt something new that made me feel very stupid. Thankfully, my stupidity gave birth to a new section of this blog. So here we are. Every week (so help me, God), I will write what I have learnt that week. I realize I learn so much and then it goes to waste without me sharing it. I discover things too, but only share them when it occurs to me that someone needs them. Sometimes, it’s just a reminder of something I had either forgotten or not taken too seriously. You know that Dead Sea analogy, if all you do is take in and never give out, you turn into a lifeless thing. I refuse.
The not writing was getting toxic, so I am back to writing as often as I possibly can. Last July, I wrote a similar post. Can you believe it? It’s been a year! Then I just read it and realized, boy do we change! Just wait and see. Also, this is now, officially a yearly post.
1. Quarter-full bottle of Stoney Tangawizi
Depending on how you look at is, that is. It is three-quarter full if you subscribe to that school of thought. I am not a fan of soda, but sometimes, I insist. This is from Friday. Imagine. And it’s still fizzy.
Takeaway: Plastic bottles are not that bad, they keep stuff fresh. Just dispose them of correctly.
This is still here, as was last year. Only a different notebook. Kartasi. More or less still new. My other bag has one that I used for sermon notes yesterday. Paper Factory brand. Those are the cutest notebooks!
I would wonder what it’s like to be a woman, to do nothing but wait for a man to come knocking. That’s what you men think we do, right? Nothing but wait for you? Yeah? Well, if I were a man, I’d think the same too, so I don’t blame you. I’d think deeply before making my intentions known to any lady, because I would know that she would go ahead and tell her friends all about what I did and said on our first date. If I were a man, I would not pretend to understand women and their cycles. I would not play hard to get. Why would I do that when the woman is also playing the same game? I would know that’s how people end up in the friendzone. I’d pay for dates. I’d let her pay if she really insisted on doing so and near caused a scene. I’d not pull chairs or open doors for her. They have hands for this. No point having awkward situations because she’s not used to it. I would, however, give ladies way, and general gestures they are used to.
Depending on whether you live in a cave or not, this may or may not come as a shock. It started as a bluff. Everyday I’d wake up and joke about it. I’d comb my hair different just to see what people would say. During the combing, half my hair would fall to the floor of my bedroom. It was just sad. A visit to the salon would make me feel stupid. Nothing would change despite leaving money behind with the hairdresser. The pixie cut lost its form. A colleague asked me if I go to the salon at all because it looked bad. And that was the end of me and that pixie, in my head. Everyone thought I didn’t care about my hair. That was bad. I stopped going to the salon. I would wash am treat my hair myself at home, contemplating my next move.
Don’t you just love the feeling when you get home and loosen all your clothes and feel free to be you? You know, get rid of that annoying bra that you only notice is tight at 7 pm? That pair of pants that gets real tight at the tummy when you sit in your swivel chair after lunch? That pair of shoes you bought this weekend that only became tight when you walked out of the shop? I know you know what I’m talking about, girls. I don’t know about the boys in the building and whether they ever wear things they can’t wait to get out of, but hey, who knows, right? Maybe they will tell us.
Sometimes I get mad. Real mad. Super mad. Very angry. Most times, it’s not even the big things that drive me up against the wall. Nah. It’s the little things. When people insist on talking rather than doing. When someone does not do their work and I suffer for it by doing it on their behalf. There are times I get ticked off for a second. Like when my brother opens the tin of jam and leaves it open. Or when he leaves a completely clean kitchen littered after one food adventure. Or when mum keeps calling out my name while I’m on phone. Or when dad misreports something I did to mum. Or when my sister won’t sleep and finds all sorts of reasons to move around the house at 11pm banging doors and visiting the loo ten times. Or when my other brother decides to not do what I say. Yeah, big sister syndrome. I will shout. I will shout louder. I’ll make sure everyone in the house knows I’m mad,including the cats. But I forget I was mad a few minutes later.
I am seated on my usual chair in the living room typing this. My brother makes fun of me about this chair. He says it’s like I was cemented here, on the dining table. Anyway, it’s been a quiet weekend. I wanted it that way. I was rather irritable at the end of the workweek. It was a crazy one. I just wanted to shut everything out and move on to February. So far, so good. I remembered to write after reading Murithi Mutiga’s piece today. It’s been a minute since I read him, or anything in the newspaper for that matter. I like how he argues his points. Very legit. He will say something you disagree with and somehow you will just nod your head along. He wonders why there is no street named after Jaramogi in Nairobi. The other piece I read this weekend was pushed to me by B, this week’s piece by Ciku Muiruri. It’s about her name or rather our names. Names. Names. Names.