Remembering my grandmother

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I miss her in big portions. Some days more than others 😦 !

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Before our birthdays nowadays, we (generation Y and Z kids) have this thing we call #birthdaymonth and #birthdayweek. I tell you this because July was my birthday month and 9th July 2018 was the beginning of my birthday week. My grandmother took her last breath on this day-9th July 2018.

Our conversations never had any order in particular, but there was the general flow. That she would see me from as far as the gate and call me by name. That we would exchange pleasantries and then out of the blues she would say…

I am here where you left me waiting for my day, orthis my body does not have energy, my eyes can’t see anymore, my feet can no longer take me to the farm”.

It was always hard for me to believe her. It is difficult to believe that the woman who called you by name from miles away could possibly fault her eyesight.

It’s with this same difficulty that I received the news of her demise.

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9th July 2018- shortly before the clock hits 1.00 pm.

I have many things running through my mind and on my phone. Holding my phone wondering what to do for my 26th birthday in my mind; with my fingers typing… ‘beautiful ideas for a girl’s birthday’. Delete. Retype… best way to spend a birthday-late twenties. I feel pretty grown up with the late twenties bit. It’s  also the hunger-pang hour and the back of my mind is thinking if I should do a decent meal or buy food at the kibandaski I was introduced to last week by Serah missy. I exit google and move to MPESA because I am determined about the decent meal vibe and I need to see if my balance can accomodate my classy hunger.

It’s in this mix that a text comes through- Nathan. First I panic because Nathan and I haven’t talked in a year or so; and because I have previewed the message. I blink pretty fast when I am shocked, and twice as much when I am scared. Right now, I am both! In a span of those few minutes of panic, my body does a full round of goosebumps and my sweaty palms start dripping… Everything stops for a while, my hunger is gone and I suddenly feel like I want to throw up . I start typing but my eyes are misty with tears and my hands are too shaky to type.

So I call him and ask- ‘Mnh?’(That’s the murmur version of what/ati?)…

I know it’s a complete statement because he starts talking. I do not hear much. I remember him saying that the condition was (is) critical, that she had had a really bad attack and that she was possibly gone…

Maybe it is the lump on my throat or maybe it is the rate at which my heart is beating but I just cannot speak. And yet I feel that I have so much to say but at the same time nothing at all.
“Oh”. I say. “Ok-ay”… I add with a broken voice and hang up.

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And for the rest of that day, I fought guilt and pain in alternating waves. It occurred to me that maybe the ‘best way to spend my 26th birthday’ that I was earlier googling was possibly going to be at a burial- celebrating the life of this woman that I so much loved and admired but was ever too busy to visit. I had postponed my visit home for the longest time, something always came up. I had not called to ask how she was doing and if she was fine, I had not even told Tina to put her through for a chat. Not once! I counted all the moments that I had the opportunity to check on her or visit her but I always seemed to have more ‘pressing’ things to attend to- Mostly nuptials. I thought about her asthmatic attacks and those nights when we would wake up in the middle of the night to help her with the inhaler because she was too weak to do it on her own. But by morning she would fine and out basking in the sun. And so I had now grown old thinking that she would always have a way of fighting because that’s what she was- a fighter.

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And even when I broke the news later that evening, I struggled to keep a flat face or an even tone. I felt thrown out of balance for days, spoke less, visited my gallery for our selfies more often, smiled less, deactivated my social media accounts and pressed a pause button on the birthday week/birthday month tumult. I attended an allabastron session, and I created a little bit more time with God. I felt all sorts of fear, guilt and pain in this week. Why, you ask, would a girl two generations down be so shook by the death of a woman she cannot say that she was close to- without flinching an eyelid? I also do not know but it petrified me. Maybe it is because this is the woman who I was named after, my last grandparent living and the woman that I have 80% taken after physically. Maybe it’s because it was a surreal reminder that no one knoweth the hour!

Her Eulogy was everything nice. I tend to think that she led her best life and achieved her purpose.It was by the way that she led her life, and anyone who had the honour of knowing her at a personal level can attest, that she imparted life’s most important lessons. She remained impartial in disputes and quietly distanced herself from chaos lovers. And when I marvelled out loud how a woman could stay so undisturbed by obvious wrongs and fracas surrounding her she said- ‘Of what value is a battle from which you gain nothing?’…

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There was something idyllic about her interest in technology. She questioned stuff…How her face was inside the phone whenever we took selfies or how the voice of someone so far could sound so near whenever she spoke on the phone. On some days, we would cross over to catch something on Teli. The walks were slow, with me holding her hand trying too hard to slow my pace to match her baby steps- and God knows she would complain the entire journey about her legs. But they were pleasant walks, I enjoyed holding her hands and watching her steps more than anything else. She appreciated all these small gestures with a warm smile or on good days, with words of blessings. I miss how she thanked me for stuff I thought was ordinary, how she never spared a positive word or the smile that ran from the sides of her (mostly tightly closed) lips through to the edges of her eyes.

Something else I enjoyed was how she would ask me questions about everyone who appeared on T.V- where they lived, what they did, if they were my friends back in the city😂… Oh did I not feel like a legend answering those questions- truthfully and liefully in equal confidence?!

On the day that I asked her about her arranged marriage at such a tender age, whether she was happy and if she grew into loving him; she said that she was happy. (She was a woman of few words and selective responses as you can see). As long as you submit and do what you must, she said, you will find peace in yourself and in your marriage. The submission part was pushed to the back of my mind for the future, but in my mental notebook I jotted that peace with yourself precedes any other peace/happiness that you will ever get.

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But if there was anything that pissed me off to the last nerve with her, it was her tireless reminders that I was and I quote- ‘embarrassingly thin’. We never had one single conversation where my weight issue did not come up. With time, I resigned to the fact that we would always have this conversation and I would have to find a way of understanding that it was her beautiful way of saying that cared about me-wholesomely. No one seems bothered about about my weight nowadays and I miss those days that I would look away from her in dismay thinking- oh don’t start already….

Fondly remembered ❤ ❤

Perfectly imperfect matches…

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The experiences here may be personal, but the truths are universal.
For the girls waiting on their men, the girlfriends trying to keep their men, the married women tolerating their men, the divorcees who got fed up with their men; and the hopelessly enamored who can’t get enough of their men… For our men, the ones exhausted of trying too hard to please their women, the clueless ones riding in the tide trying to figure it out and the ones who found their perfectly imperfect match…this is to you!
The six stages of relationships…

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Quarter steps

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In the village where I was born and raised, being 25 was synonymous to ‘when I grow up’. After 25, therefore, the script was meant to change from ‘when I grow up I want to be XYZ’ to ‘I am that person I used to dream about’. There is the general delusion that between 25 and 30, life is about breakthrough after breakthrough, gaining identity (Both individually and by extension), happiness, success and every dream come true.

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Nothing close. This age bracket is about excelling in your side hustle as the chief-chef of wrong choices and about perfecting the art of serving yourself with humble pies. Remember those childhood/campus days of ‘who? Me? I can never do that, my pride cannot even let me think of such a thing and stuff like that? This phase makes you a master/mistress in the art of eating that pride with quiet manners.

Quarter life crisis…

Dating: If you are not already married or dealing with baby daddy/baby mama issues; you are most likely stuck in your love life.

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The lady drivers’ corner

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The news that I had decided to buy a car caught Mom Tina more by disbelief than delight. She looked at me disapprovingly and asked if I was ready, already😏. ‘Is that how someone, your own mother, should react to big news like this?’ I thought in disappointment.

“I think I am, I have been planning for it for some time now”. I said cautiously, with a considerable emphasis on planning- to pass the message that I had thought about it; and slightly less emphasis on think- to leave some room for her opinion. But Tina is not a woman to leave you in the ‘I think’ zone. In an attempt to convince me otherwise, she tabled all the other options where I could use my money, challenged me to consider investing the cash instead and maybe get the car when I had a stream of other incomes, presented the challenges that come with owning a car and started telling me the story of how her own husband had only gotten his yellow Peugeot when they were at a comfortable place financially. I zoned out; with my left palm unable to make a choice between presenting itself to my mouth for nail-biting or scratching my now itchy forehead. They say that the two types of people that you cannot advise are 1. ‘A woman in love’ and 2. ‘a man with his money’…But have they met a woman with money who thinks she is already in love with how she intends to spend that money? I doubt it!

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Eventually, when I could not pretend anymore, I took a long breath and cut her short…”Moooom, I was just telling you that I am buying a car…not asking you if I can buy it’! And that ended there- with a shocked mother who had just discovered that it is like she had lost a daughter to financial shortsightedness and a daughter who felt that she knew better.

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I did, I do, I will…

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Welcome on board, I am more than glad to have you.

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I have just finished transferring ALL my posts from the other side. Earlier today I gave myself a ted talk on attachment issues, letting go; and about being open and willing to start all over again. To step out of the comfort zone and start something new…

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When I first stepped to the blogosphere, I worried if I would strike my readers as an intelligent enough newbie, worthy enough of the online space, driven enough and with content solid enough to get a community in a world that was crowded with wordsmiths, orators, brilliant writers, professional ranters, love doctors: People who sound better on pen than on voice… I worried if I would find my niche and if I would ever find my voice in a space where I was one in a million, billions possibly. I second guessed myself on so many occasions, put virtual stop signs on uncountable instances and warned myself enough times. I started the journey only certain of my uncertainty. And then one day I came across this brainy quote that ‘great people do things before they are ready. They do things before they know that they can even do it’… So I stepped to the blogging world anyway. I did!

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Dear Daughter…

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My intention to write this is as old as time! (How cheesy!).

I have typed and deleted this post not less than sixteen times in the last three years… Unsure, unprepared, feeling ‘not good enough’ and afraid of letting the world tread into my own battles. I go through tough times and think that I should let my daughter know that this path leads nowhere, she should try another route. I go through thought provoking sessions with a nod, occasionally smiling to myself and thinking ‘Wow, I’d love my daughter to know this; it would help her’. And for every wrong turn I make as a daughter, I take a mental note for my future daughter. I somehow have always found myself in this state: of taking notes and making hushed wishes for a child unborn. But with a life as flawed as mine, I have always held my thoughts for the fear of sounding like a botch too conversant with the script, obviously trying to make up for her mistakes by defining the path for her daughter: which would be utterly unfair.

But I feel ready today, more like I feel ready now!

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Gratitude series…

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Confession! Number 8 was reserved. But I have taken it for me. Not myself really, let’s call it a note from the editor in chief-ess.

When I heard the first Christmas Carole on the last day of November, it hit me that the baby in 2017 had grown to old age real quick and would soon be down, possibly in a grandiosely attended requiem mass to celebrate a life well lived…How time flies!

The gratitude challenge is my way of saying thank you.

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To the people who add value in my life, whose presence makes me better every day and whose work continues to make the world a better in the own special ways. To the people who journey with me in my daily life, through the highs and lows, the pain and the gain; and have believed in me in immense ways. To associations and institutions which have trusted me enough to accord me responsibility in one field or another.This is me taking a challenge to let people see themselves in my eyes, and to take the back to moments in time when their actions or words made a whole of a difference. To let them know that I bookmarked those moments and once in a while, I revisit them; with nothing but a grateful heart. This is me telling you that if I ever stood at the pulpit for you, ‘this is what I would say’.
(8 of 31- About the challenge)

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Freckles

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firstTo tell the story of happy endings without the struggles and choices that ultimately lead to the happy ending is elusion at another level. To tell the story of loving deeply and believing in the promise of an endless passionate love without appreciating and understanding that young love can be tragic and heart-breaking is deception. And yet as we grow old and grow up, we learn that we cannot avoid exposing ourselves to the tragedy because  love is as much a basic need as food, shelter and clothing. While some of us are lucky enough to keep spark of the young love all the way to the alter, most of us go through heartbreaks and tragedies that, even though injure our hearts, mold the same hearts into understanding the dynamics of loving and the routine of selfless love. Of acing the struggles and challenges of our relationships and living together ever after. (Possibly happily). We learn that in love, getting it wrong is part of getting it right…

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I digress.

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There you are

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It has been a minute! For the peace of my relationship with my blog and my readers, I’ll simply blame it on procrastination. We (Procrastination and I) have been in good terms, until earlier today when we parted ways amicably and I decided to devote my time to my one true love :-)!

 

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I was in campus, young, aggressive and ambitious! I sat across my then mentor (still is) in utter amazement; wondering what people did and how they did it to achieve half of what he had in twice his age. He had landed a dream job in a dream company right after his undergrad studies. And he was the type that bloomed wherever they were planted. He loved his job and his job and the bosses loved him too.

th“Are you just lucky or do the stars simply align for you wherever you go? I mean how do you manage to achieve so much, so effortlessly wherever you are…”

I asked with a slight pinch of intimidation. His success story could easily intimidate anyone.

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