It’s Sunday. Sunday we preach, or rather, we used to preach when we were in tiptop shape. It has taken me days to build up to this post. Sometimes I think I will come up with a strict schedule, like Kariuki does at Kisauti, you know, drop a post, say, every Sunday. He drops his every Wednesday without fail. Also, his e-book is out, that’s how driven he is. He is that serious. I could do that, you know, write regularly and everyone expects the post at a certain time of day, so that if I miss out, I am accountable. I really could do that. It builds a great culture of discipline and passion cultivation. But I don’t. Why?
Well, today, like I said, is Sunday. And Sunday I preach. For a long time, I have not done so. For a long time, I have not done anything right to my spiritual self. I have not been growing. I have found myself in this routine of sorts every Sunday. I struggle to wake up, I make tea for everyone, do dishes (if I feel like), go back to bed again, wake up again, take a bath, go to church, teach Sunday school, scream my heart out at a 100 below-six-years-old kids then get out wondering why I feel drained. Scratch that. I always know exactly why I am drained. I am not supposed to teach every single Sunday without getting a break to recharge. For a long time, we had many teachers in my class, teachers that would teach on schedule, but along the way, things fell apart and became a matter of begging people to teach. I thought I could do it. I thought it would be selfish of me to just act like everyone else and jump ship, so I didn’t. I hang in there.
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.
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 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.
Sema kuchoka. Yesterday was a big day for mum and dad. 25 years down the line, they were at my cucu’s (mum’s mum) for ngurario or gutinia kiande. Relax, I will proceed to tell you what the ceremony involves and why I could not write about it yesterday. It is basically the last ceremony in the dowry paying process.
I wake up fully at 10:00. It is a Saturday and it is not my wedding day, so I do not see why I should have woken up earlier. Mum dropped by the room and left instructions before this. Someone had tried to wake me up with a text at 08:43 and I told him to try harder. Someone else tried waking me up with a call at 08:47. She laughed hard when she realized I was in bed. Do not call me before 10:00 on any Saturday from now on. Thanks. The only reason I get out of bed is because mum calls at 10:02 and asks if we are up (and that I am to water the cabbages in the garden since she has noticed they were dying lol). Also, Claire finally stirs in the other bed. I cannot let the eight-year-old roam the house alone.
I love Sundays. Sundays are the days I just chill out and enjoy the freedom. On good Sundays (most of them are good), I am lady Shiku. I don dresses. And heels. Just to remind myself how it feels like to be a real girl. And it feels good. This Sunday, I wake up later than usual. Mum does not wake me up with a phone call as usual. No, I have not moved out. Yes, she calls me every Sunday morning from the other side of the wall. When phone calls act as alarm clocks.
I am so sleepy. Why, sun? Why couldn’t you just rise a little later today?
I am back with some more Kikuyu songs/rhymes from my childhood years. I noticed lots of you loved them and keep searching. Seriously, that was the life. I made mum and dad sing them and they did, joyfully, to the amusement of my baby bro and sis who have never heard most of them before. Needless to say, I had forgotten some words. I am old, people. You should see the white hairs on my head.
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