So I’ve been writing short posts, shorter than you were used to before we began the new year. A lot has changed between now and then. For one, I stopped talking about men all the time. This is a good thing, right? But apparently not for this joint. Secondly, everything about my days changed and I had to adapt with shorter blog posts. I did not realize I was doing this until a mini-coup was initiated with my last post.
Thoughts and Stuff Posts
Another week down. Lots of lessons learnt. Lots of food for thought. This will be short.
You harbour dreams of scaling the corporate ladder or birthing a very successful business. You dream of being able to drive the best cars and provide for your family. But do you ever think of the responsibilities that come with more? The responsibilities that come with a raise or a promotion?
Today has been usual. Nothing to write home about, until Betty nominated me for the Bible challenge on Facebook. Then pieces began falling together. I am a believer in things coming together for a purpose. Case in point:
I loved that series. Early Edition. Anyway, here is the thing, my writing is too erratic for anyone’s liking. For that reason, and to reduce the number of times I apologize for not writing consistently in 2015, I will be writing this weekly piece just to make sure the blog does not grow cobwebs. No one likes to walk through cobwebs, at least I don’t. Here goes:
I’m listening to that song because it’s awesome. Matt Maher is awesome. If you don’t believe me, listen to the song. I’m in this matatu that has pictures of all the vice presidents of Kenya plastered all around the windows. The four presidents are staring at us from the windscreen. The thing about Shiku nowadays is that she can only write on board stuff. Thoughts and Stuff. That’s the stuff of late. The stuff that inspires me. I honestly didn’t have content for this post but then I remembered all it takes me to come up with content is just letting my fingers do the walking.
I come from a family that prays a whole lot. We pray before leaving the house. We pray before eating at a hotel. We pray 100 times at an extended family gathering, courtesy of dad.
I’m seated in this room, my swivel chair positioned right where the A/C fan blows its good stuff. I’m listening to this insurance guy. A new friend. Maybe friend is too big a word. Acquaintance. That’s it. He is telling me about life insurance. The first person in a while to convince me that I need that incomprehensible thing.
I won’t lie to you. I have never been sure about insurance and every other thing adulthood has been throwing my way. Anyway, he weaves a neat story about it. And I am almost sold. But not in between thoughts about how I ended up here in the first place.
I’m in Mombasa.
Inspiration. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Nothing.
Why? Because I have been quite happy the past few weeks. I got used to the status quo. I got used to my commute, my job, my everything.
By Nyanjui Ndung’u
One can say that gents and ladies are wired differently and some argue that one gender is better than the other. My take is purely on what perspective you bring into play as the genders seem to complement one another e.g. ladies tend to be more emotional about stuff whereas guys seem to be all macho and most have a tear limit theory that withdraws tears from a duct that is only filled once an year so the tears only flow when stakes are high. Okay, onion cutting is an exception but hey maybe that is the reason most guys avoid this because they would be indebted to the tear gods. I digress but oh well, I guess that is common for both genders to just take the ball and run with it every now and then.
As H_art the band say in their song “Uliza kiatu” which is Swahili for “ask my shoes”, the only piece of attire that knows where one has been is the shoe
No, this is not about Valentine’s. Breathe out. I did not do my monthly preacher piece in January. For that reason, I will do two in February. This will be short and straight to the point.
Bata Shoes…
Today I listened to the story of how Bata entered the African market.
I am full. I am tired. I am chatting a million people. Lol. Lie. I am chatting five people. One is hormonal. The other is still at work. The other is from shovelling snow. The other one is complaining of too much work. The other one is lamenting over unpaid work. Millennials. We have problems. I want to sleep. But I won’t until I do this.
The past few weeks have been pretty intense. I moved jobs thus I had to change my commute. I miss the glorious Waiyaki Way, full of splendour and roadworthy public service vehicles. I had never taken it for granted — the fact that the Waiyaki Way commute was awesome. But now I think I should have appreciated the matter a bit more. If you know me well enough, you know I was the girl who said she would rather not work away from Westlands. I would leave the house anywhere after 8 am and arrive right on time. Well, the universe has a funny way of making a point. I was thrown smack in the middle of Karen.
Right where it would be hardest to commute. But then again it was not the universe. I would have chosen to stick to Westlands just as simply but I made a choice. A choice to get out of my comfort zone. Here are eight things that January commuting has brought my way.
I have written this for the longest time possible. In my mind. I didn’t know I was doing it. The pieces just came together. Slowly. One day at a time. Bringing together memories and thoughts from the past and from the present. Building up dreams of the future too. My brain has been full of activity. This story and that story. This thought and that thought. This memory and that memory. Fragments here and there. Piecing up together. Joining each other like Lego. Coming to birth.
Four years ago, I lost my childhood friend. She was twenty. She wore a wedding dress to her funeral; a poignant reminder of one of her cherished dreams. I don’t remember what I wore on the night that I was told we had lost her. I don’t remember the day itself; what I ate, what I was, what I thought before I woke into her absence. I remember falling on my knees and crouching to my ankles. I remember the ache that began gnawing deep inside me, its manifestation in the way I scratched my legs till they bled, a vestigial habit that I would slip into when I did not get what I want, in this case, her healing.
Hello people. I am sorry. I am sorry for not writing. We good? No? Okay, here is the thing. I should have written like four posts by the time January came to its middle. I didn’t. Why? 1. I am getting used to a lot of new things between my 9-5. They include matatus whose parts are held together by chomelea and God-knows-what. Those are like two whole blogposts for another day. Or three. Or four, depending on how sensational I am willing to get.
Guest post by Anonymous
There are many mistakes that you could make as a woman regarding love and relationships. We may choose to blame it on ‘broken hearts, YOLO, or on the a-a-a-alcohol’, but a mistake is a mistake. The good thing with making them, if you are smart, you will learn and avoid them like the plague. However, if you refuse to learn, it will become an unpleasant cycle that will taunt you and you will turn into a miserable old lady no one really likes.
Here is my story: