Sandals In The Sand - Chapter Two

"Ha! I knew I would find you!" That voice. That voice again.

"I knew I would find you!" That hug. That scent. That warmth. I broke away quickly. Almost willing the effect of it away. Damn it! I should have left earlier. I knew I should have left when I first thought to. I was about an hour too late.


"Hi! How are you finding the place? Have you settled in okay?" Was he speaking to me? Was the guy from the port actually standing right next to me, addressing me?? Stop it heart! Stop racing! Stop it! Move on! "It's alright." I managed. Alright? That's it? Where are my adjectives? I'm paid to communicate. Communicate woman! "Everything okay at the house? Need anything?" I need you! I want YOU! "No, I'm fine." I managed my usual smile. "Thanks". Stop it heart! He can probably hear you!!! C'mon! "Well, I promised your Aunty I'd take care of you while she's away so if you do need anything, anything at all, just ask." Do I get to need you? Can I have you? Do I need to ask for you? "Okay, thanks." 

"Hi! Long time!" I muttered barely audibly. "This is my sister, my cousin, my baby brother and his girlfriend, and my daughter." He went round the circle seamlessly saying hello. He was just as charming as he'd been that sunny day at the port. Working his way around my family with a smile. Just as he'd always done. Only, I didn't really care. It had worn off. Whatever IT was, had long worn off. 

Then, I used every opportunity, every chance I got, to see him. I was the messenger, delivering what could easily have been emailed to him. I sat across from him at meetings, if only to watch as he presented his absolute brilliance to the world. To say I was completely awed and smitten would be an understatement! And yet there was still the little matter. There was still that little piece of jewellery I couldn't get past. I was young enough to build up the thoughts but old enough to know I'd never be able to carry them through. Still I stared. Still I dreamed. Still I imagined.

Now, he looks at me. It is dark, but I sense the familiarity in his gaze. "You are good?" His honest concern almost breaks through. "I'm good. You?" Small talk is not my thing. I'm chatty, bubbly, even a tad touchy. "Yeah. Your aunt insisted I should come for the party so here I am." I could have used a warning! I really should have left earlier. It was late, I'd had a long day, I had my princess with me. Surely I had every reason! "Oh I see, she's right there at the tent." Dismissively. Urging him onward towards her and away from me. "Who's that?" The nosy sister enquires as he walks away. "Remember my port guy? That's him." Nonchalance. "Uuuuuuuh goodness he is CUTE!" She giggles. He IS cute. And bleeding hot! He always had been. It didn't matter now though, did it? Over a decade later, no it didn't matter to me at all. "Come Princess, let's go home." I ignore the whining from all parties present and make for my car. 

"I'm heading in your direction today. Need a ride?" That voice. Would I ever get over just how every word came out of his mouth in a perfect baritone? "Yeah, sure, why not." Yeah, sure why the hell not! Give me a ride by all means. Make it count. Make every minute count. Use the scenic route. Brush against me mistakenly if you must. Do it, and make it good! He opened the door. He ushered me in, made sure I was okay, and shut it. Well I never! "You are good?" Eyes looked right into mine and never for a second broke the gaze.  "I'm good." I smiled and looked away lest he should read my mind. I was safe. I was okay. I was in good hands. Thousands of miles away from my familiarity. Safe. Okay. In good hands. My house was literally a minute away, but it felt like the longest ride of my life! As if nature conspired to stretch the microseconds to allow me to remain in the moment as long as possible. There could have been some small talk then. If there was, I never heard a word! "I'll see you tomorrow then? You have my number, let me know if you need a ride, I can pick you up." Damn that was fast! We were home already. I should invite him in. "Okay, thanks." Or perhaps not.

Why didn't I leave earlier? Hmmm... I should have. Didn't think he'd be here. Why didn't Aunty tell me he was coming? Ah but of course he was coming. They are such good friends. Hmm... I wonder how he ended up dating this other lady. Aunty must have hooked them up... mutual friends. How did he just show up there though? No warning.. I should have left... "Muuuum, muuum, tomorrow I'll be a flower girl at the wedding?" 

My sandals were on the sand.

Sandals In The Sand - Chapter One

 "Hello sweetheart..", the unmistakable deep baritone voice rang through the phone. "Was just headed to bed and remembered I haven't spoken to you today. I needed to hear your voice."

And just like I did all those years ago, I smile. Ear to ear. I close my eyes and try to bridge the distance between us. Amazed at how a feeling so long gone, could be so easily reawakened. As if it had never been separated by time, by space, by events. A feeling so strong it appears to have never skipped a beat from that odd time many, many years ago. I cling to the phone, willing him to draw closer still.

I reminisce. I smile. I close my eyes. He is closer to me now than he ever was. I can feel him. My heart races. I am living out a romance novel word for word!

I'm taken back to that first time I saw him. Young and impressionable. Far away from home. Life just beginning to happen. He, standing at the port, hard at work, counting, interviewing, noting. I, sent to pen it all down. My first real assignment. Trailing my new boss up and down trying to get the story done. And then I saw him. He was literally tall, dark and handsome, and in all sense of the words. I continued on, working... and staring. Amazed at how composed he was amidst the madness of the day. He'd done it before numerous times. I was only just getting one foot in to the system.

Was that a ring?

I wondered how one person could be so well put together. I studied him. Something about him seemed different from all the guys I'd known. He had a sort of manliness, strength and confidence about him. Something about him spelt warmth, comfort, care. You knew just by looking at him, that you'd be lucky to have him on your team.

Damn it! Was that a ring??? Did I spot a ring?!

He weaved his way through the crowd seamlessly. Hundreds of people stood there that day, but I saw only him. Your eyes truly do see just what they want to see. I would turn my back, talk to someone, write something, consult the boss. I would turn back and in an instant I'd have him locked in sight. Like a drone waiting to fire a shot, my target's position was fixed. For a moment there, I imagined he saw me too. I imagined he noticed me. I imagined he felt me there. For a moment there, I thought beyond the happenings of the time. I imagined him clasping my hand in his as we walked along the beach. Feeling the coolness of the ocean water sweeping over my feet. Leaning in. Gazing up. Soaking in. I imagined the perfect sunset and a gentle breeze crowning the beauty of the moment as I dug my sandals deeper in to the sand. Not wanting that moment to pass. Never wanting to let go. I stood there dreaming. He worked.

Darn, that's definitely a ring he's rocking! Could be just one of those rings right? Guys do that as well right? Smack on the ring finger no less. Left hand? Is that his left hand? He is wearing a ring on his left ring finger!!!

How did I get here? I sink deeper into my bed, pulling the covers over my shoulders as I try to mimic the warmth of his embrace. How did he do it? How, all these years later, are my feet solidly planted in the emotion I felt that day, years ago, when it all began? Why am I staring at my phone, waiting for it to buzz; his name flashing at me in bright yellow? Why am I holding my breathe, composing myself before I finally pick up? How did he get here? How did he get me here? The longing, the dreaming, the wishing.. all so real once again.

"Have a good night dear. Let's talk tomorrow." The conversation is coming to an end. Long before I'm ready to let him go. "I love you.."

And just like that, my sandals are stuck in the sand once more.

You Went To A Funeral and then You Went Home

You heard some bad news from a friend, relative, social media, church or maybe in a gossip circle. However you heard, you immediately felt bad, asked how to help, donated time, food, money or prayers. Whatever you did, the family was grateful, even if they didn't say it. They were blessed by your gifts.

Life goes back to normal. The family sits on your heart. You pray, you ask, you follow the updates. You did what you could.

One day, you heard the really bad news: Death won and a family lost. Forever.

Once again, you prayed, you helped, gave what you could. Even if you didn't know it, the family was thankful for you, your help, your prayers, your love and your support.

You attended the funeral, cried some real tears, laughed some real laughs, enjoyed the memories of the one who is gone. Finally, you hugged the ones who lost the most.

Once the funeral was over and the day was done, you went home. Back to life, back to love, back to those who make your world complete. You went to a funeral, and then you went home.

We all lose, but someone that day, went to a funeral and didn't want to go home.

Someone that day, drove home to the couch, the bed, the house that is forever empty. Life is not like it once was and never will be again. Where there was once laughter, sits an empty chair. The couch is bigger, the blankets and pillows are extra. There are empty shoes, clothes, toiletries that might never be used. Bags sit. Drugs disposed. So much to do and SO MANY MEMORIES left to be remembered, processed and grieved.

Time passes and the wounds are not healed. Sometimes, life feels normal and OK. Then a birthday, holiday, celebration occurs and the loss is real all over again. Sometimes life is normal, and for no reason at all, the LOSS comes right back, like it happened again.

There is loneliness, emptiness and tears. "Public faces" put on a show, and comfort the ones who interact. "Home faces" are real, raw and honest. There are headaches, stomachaches and countless mistakes made all because the grief lives in place of the person who completed a family. Not to mention the questions, the hurt, the anger that sits because it is hard to face.

Days pass, holidays pass, milestones completed the grief lives, despite how the family looks in public. Remember, it's a face, a show, an act, it's not always real; however, it's not always fake.

When you go to a funeral, and are allowed to go home to life, remember that at least one person goes home to a new life that was NOT asked for, but handed to them. Give those people more than sympathy or judgement; give them an endless amount of time to grieve in their own way. For that one act of kindness and grace, they will be forever grateful for you.

Courtney is a mom, teacher, photographer, writer and dreamer. Visitwww.oursmallmoments.com.

But With God

There's been a running commentary in Kenya since the recent emergence of a number of advertisements by Unilever for their food additive Aromat. The words of the days these days are "But with Aromat..." life is made all the better, sweeter, nicer. You can add Aromat to your bad day and suddenly you will be walking on sunshine. Add Aromat to your fuel tank, see how fast that tanks up! Add Aromat to your payslip and join the board of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Add Aromat to a bad dress day and see a fashionista emerge instantaneously. But this Aromat has been overdone for sure. (Just so you know it has good amount of MSG so add Aromat at your own peril! Chema chajiuza!) But I'll tell you what we need to be talking about right this very minute.

But With God!

There seems to be a group of Christians that make God comparable to Aromat! An instant solution provider for all your needs, problems, everything! They make it look like that "Yes" to a life with Christ will suddenly make everything better, sweeter, nicer. "Just give your life to Jesus", they say. "Pray about it", they urge. "Talk to God about it", they insist, "You will be JUST fine!" And please don't get me wrong, I am signed, sealed and delivered by Christ and my very existence here on earth, I've realised, is to do God's work, God's way. And I find great joy in my salvation.

I'm also very real. Saved by grace and relying on His mercy every day. 

Depression is stupid! But with God... How people judged a young church girl who committed suicide some weeks back. Almost like they couldn't tie together how someone can be saved and serving in ministry and then CHOOSE to end her own life. "How was her walk with Christ?" they ask. "Has she been in a bible study?" they press. "It's important to pray about these things" they say. They speak completely oblivious to the torment and the pain that people with mental illnesses and those related to them go through each and every day. Think of the worst day you've had ever. Now make that every day. Now make those days endless. Now judge. 

"She's pregnant???? I thought she was saved??!!!" they question. As if salvation keeps your feet from walking into that bedroom and taking your clothes off. Or the reverse. "Dear Jesus, please don't let me get pregnant! Pleeeeease don't let me get pregnant!" Turning the Most High into some form of morning after pill. I put it to you, that sometimes it will take your head to dull out the lies from you heart and shout to your feet to walk away from a bad situation. God is not Aromat. You can't just sprinkle him last minute onto your toxic relationship. I assure you. I know. Most of the time, it will be a decision YOU will make to walk away. And yes, you can pray about it, but far be it from you, that you imagine the cherubs and seraphs will be sent to pull you away from that affair. Use your legs. Walk away.

I remember when, after a long hiatus, in 2007, I began once again to live a life worthy of the calling I received. The one thing I can never forget is how I had debts from hell to high heaven. I owed everyone!! I even owed my nanny money! That was the year I stopped taking calls. Because it was always going to be someone from the bank, or a friend asking when I'd pay. And I had a job then, go figure. Was living ten time above my means and very flashy about it. But didn't even have the peace to sleep soundly. I remember when I finally made the turnaround, making endless prayers to God about my debts and hoping, just like in the bible, that my creditors would find it in their hearts to cancel them. My favourite hymn at the time being "Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe..." To Him. Not to the bank. 

Debts will kill you, but with God..... No. Take it from me. They only go away when you pay them off. No Aromat solutions here! I remember sitting down with my then boyfriend, now husband (bless his heart) and writing down the list of everyone I owed. The first list was a serious edit. I was still trying to impress the guy. But by the time I got to the 4th revision, he knew I was in trouble. Needless to say a year later, I was debt free. More thanks to him and of course to God through whom all blessings flow.

There are no Aromat type solutions with God. Yes, He will help you, guide you, give you wisdom. But He is not a magician. In your walk with Christ, you're going to have to learn to use your head and your feet whenever you get into trouble. You might need to walk home instead of to the bar. Don't land in the bar and ask the Lord to lift you out... kama yeye ni Mungu! You will need to burn that porn yourself. You probably will want to call back that guy and tell him you changed your mind and don't want him to come over to your place. 

But with God... walk away. 

Rock Bottom

Ever felt like your life was spiralling out of control? Like it had a life of it's own? Yes, like your life had a life of its own. Yes. That feeling? It probably was or is.

I've felt this way for a long while now. Not years really. Months maybe. Like every decision I made was taking me deeper into the abyss. Like the consequences of my choices were lining up waiting to gobble me up one by one. Like any deeper, would be the lower ground floor of rock bottom.  A friend recently said to me, "Who knew rock bottom had a basement?" And no statement has resonated with me like his did. I mean who knew there was worse than rock bottom. 

I surely have been sinking into the abyss for a while now. On the surface I'm just the same old funny girl. Inside, I'm a shell of what I used to be, could have been, want to be. I wonder how many other people are living double lives like I am. Smiling and waving to the crowd; all the while dying inside. I cannot begin to explain it. But I know someone somewhere knows what I'm talking about. At the very least, God gets me. I definitely do feel like I'm caught up in hell. And every move I make, every wince, every grimace, only serves to push me further into hell. 

I am out of control. At least I think I am.

It only every occurs to me just how bad things are, when finally in the dead of night, in the silence, long after everyone has fallen asleep, long after the buzzing of my chat messages has stopped... in those moments, do I truly begin to reflect on what dish life has served me and how I've chosen to munch up every bit of it. Almost without a care. Almost without a second thought. Savouring every bite of madness that's on offer. Enjoying every bit of the self-destruction, the self-pity, the self-loathe. Enduring... nay enjoying every hedonistic bite. Falling asleep, not because I want to, but because I have to. Surrounded by the sounds of whatever music is coming through headphones that I now can't live without. Watching a few random episodes of a series. Or just thinking.

And waking up. Only to realise that status quo remains. The consequences continue to pursue me. The fear numbs me. The pain awakens me. The heart deceives me. I trudge slowly onward. Unsure about what lies ahead. I make a feeble attempt at a prayer. I seek to speak to someone, and yet, no one quite wants to listen. But God. Like David, I toss myself at Him. He who judges every so harshly and yet remains Abba. He whom David trusted more than man. 

2 Samuel 24:14

New Living Translation (NLT)

14 “I’m in a desperate situation!” David replied to Gad. “But let us fall into the hands of the Lord, for his mercy is great. Do not let me fall into human hands.”

I'm in a desperate situation. But let me fall into the hands of the Lord, for his mercy is great! Please do not let me fall into human hands. 

Rock bottom has a basement. I own it. 

Where My Heart Is

I left a piece of my heart in West Africa. 

COTE D'IVOIRE

The moment I got off the plane in Abidjan 12 years ago, I felt at home. Looking over the city from my hotel room I knew I was right where I needed to be. As we drove through the streets, the warm gentle breeze hit my face as if to say welcome home.

The Abidjan Skyline

I vividly remember feeling on top of the world. Literally! My hotel room was closer to the sky than the ground. For a young 22 year old, just out of university the experience was heavenly. I spoke my little French from years yonder in a bid to communicate with those around me, asking which was the best place for me to go and see. They called me a taxi and sent me off to the mall. Before the coming of Junction and Westgate mall, you know all I had to compare this mall to was our little Sarit Center. I walked in and out of the shops in amazement; my absolute favourite being Woodin and Vlisco. Surrounded left and right with tonnes of colourful fabric. I was in kitenge heaven! Still that wasn't my first buy. I walked into another shop and bought myself a pair of jeans. 23 dollars. That's what it cost me. (Toi Market would be ashamed). It wasn't even all that, BUT I was alone and had pocket money. Surely I could splurge on a random pair of jeans right? I remember taking the cab right back to my hotel room and watching countless hours of french TV too afraid to venture out at night unaccompanied; young and impressionable. I bid farewell to Abidjan two days later and proceeded to what would soon be my new home for a the next 6 months. 

SIERRA LEONE

River No 2 Beach In Freetown

Landing in post-conflict Freetown, I wondered what could have caused the wonderful people of Sierra Leone to turn on each other in such brutality. Of course years later in 2007, my countrymen did exactly the same and I understood the selfishness of leaders in Africa inciting their people against each other. Before I digress. The office sent a vehicle to pick me up and drop me on Wilkinson Road. A beautiful three bedroomed apartment was to be my home during my time there. I shared the apartment with another Kenyan lady and a Nigerian gentleman. Bintu, our wonderful house help would wake me up to a breakfast of champions each morning and send me off to bed with a chicken meal or other. Beef is rare in West Africa. It's all-you-can-eat chicken or bust! I spent my days being revered at the office. Madam Janet was my title there. Ignore the fact that I was at the bottom of the food chain of all the international staff there. A former tennis champion who was rebuilding his life working as a driver, helped me wile away my evenings learning tennis at the club and woke me up every Saturday for a jog along Lumley beach. One of my favourite days was spent watching the Sierra Leone Boys Band rehearse and later on attacking a lobster meal off of River No 2, by far the whitest sand and bluest ocean I've seen. Most notable (to all my single friends) was just how loving the men (generally in West Africa) are. They'd pick you up, open doors, cook the meals and make you feel like a queen. And it wasn't just because I was this hot Kenyan mama! (Okay, maybe a little). Walking barefoot in the sands of Number Two beach in Sierra Leone.. gazing over the clear blue waters of ocean... enjoying the magnificence that was life in Freetown.. I've never felt more at home. I left a piece of my heart in the friends I made, those I lost and those who refused to let go.

GHANA

And then years later in 2013, I rediscovered my love for West Africa when I got an opportunity to do some photography in Ghana. When the guy at immigration looked at my surname and said to me "it sounds very Ghanaian", I knew I was home again. Our host for the duration was as warm and as generous as they come. My dear Stephen whom I betrothed via long distance to my younger sister, is my friend for life. The first time I offered to pay for our lunch he quickly and firmly said "My sister, your money is no good here!" and proceeded to sort the bill. Travelling through the inner towns of Ghana, Koforidua being our base, we received the same warmth. Learning came to a standstill at every school we visited. Water was delivered promptly to quench our thirst. A quick meal of whatever was available was prepared and we gladly enjoyed the tastes of Ghana in every way possible, ending our trip with a meal of grilled guinea fowl! Yum! Forget quail! And as I walked through the streets of Accra, surrounded by pomp and colour, I remembered what I fell in love with 12 year ago. The warmth, the laughter, the music. The food! The people. A piece of my heart lives on in Ghana. In Accra before we left, we walked through the market looking for gifts for friends and family. It was there that I bought my mum an authentic Ankara fabric that she wore during the last family event she attended before she passed on. She loved it, just as much as I love my second home. West Africa.

I left a piece of my heart in West Africa. And I'm coming back for it. Look out for me Dakar. You are next on my list. As does The Gambia, Benin, Togo and Mali. I'm not done with you yet West Africa!

The Gift of Silence

Never have I imagined in my life, there'd be that one thing I really want to talk about.. NEED to talk about and I just can't!

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm the True North for all things sanguine. And boy can I run my mouth! (And recently my fingers). But yes, I'm generally a life-of-the-party type of girl especially when I warm up to people. People rarely take me seriously, well because, I'm never that serious and never is IT. Where IT is x, find x. I'm also that girl that you can tell ANYTHING. Anything at all. Nothing fazes me. Oh you had sex with a dog? Oh wow. How was that? (Okay please don't confess your beastiality to me. I. Will. Faint). But yes, I've heard about everything this world has to offer in terms of stories. People for some reason, find me approachable; they reckon I'm that person that won't judge them. And once in a while I do offer some great solutions to their problems... assuming they are at the point where they actually consider they could have a problem.



Alicios Theluji sang this lovely song that is the theme of my life right now. Well not really the theme, because it's been a while since I had to iron HBs shirt and he threw it back at me or snatched money from my wallet. But just because she seems so conflicted! Here is this guy that she likes okay. He treats her like absolute crap! She's tired, she's had it with him.. but she's still there. Taking it like a girl! Sucking it up woman style. Again, no relation to me. I just love the Zouk beat in it and the video is absolutely lovely.

Back to me.

So I'm definitely that girl. I've had the benefit of living life longer than the 33 years I've walked the face of this earth. I definitely have been there and done that... I've had issues, subscriptions and nearly won lifetime awards for the drama that has been my life. I say benefit because life has been tough, but God has been good. I kid you not, but for God I'd surely be dead now... not entirely a bad thing, but I still have work to do in these parts. I say benefit, because I've lived a full life, and now I have a real life example for nearly every situation that people throw at me. Boy have I been there! You can't read it from my near-perfect poker face and smile. But I have lines beneath my eyes and scars in my heart that read different.

So now that I'm the one that needs a me... What happens? Do I talk to myself? Do I fix myself? Can I trust myself with me? Can I convince myself to do what I tell me to do? Will I listen to myself? Take my own advice as if I were giving it someone else that I care about deeply? Am I too full of myself to even want my own advice to begin with?

I never would have imagined being where I am right now, this April of 2014. I have been tamed. Brought down to my knees quite literally. And in my usual signature way, I have bent over several times and cried tears that felt like they were being manufactured in my toes and needed to travel painfully through my body to reach my eyes! It's unbelievable but I'm quite literally standing in a pit of quicksand, unable to get myself out and with no one to help me out. I'm actually standing by and watching myself sink in so deep, I'm not certain I will ever be able to get out.

And all this just after Easter. I should mention that the crucifixion and resurrection though an integral part of my walk with Christ has also been for me the toughest to absorb. I accept it. I know Christ needed to die that I may be saved (from myself), but I've never quite understood just why He NEEDED to die the way He did. I've never ever truly felt that my sin was so horrible, it needed to be beaten, pierced and crucified for me to get a chance to enter into Heaven. Well, now I know. Now I know, that there was no other way God would have accepted me for me. Definitely not now. I go to sleep every night and whisper to God to remember mercy. Because never have I needed His mercy more than I do today. I could have overdrawn on my grace, so I must cling to mercy.

So here I am. Talking to myself.

A Bed of Roses

I talk about marriage a lot. A whole LOT! It's something I'm passionate about. Passionate enough that I plan to do an MSc in Marriage and Family Therapy. So here's to another post on marriage!

So you know how when you are planning to get married, every piece advice has something to do with roses, thorns and work? "Marriage is no bed of roses!", "You must find the roses among the thorns!", "Marriage is NOT easy, it's hard work!!!" You haven't heard those lines? Okay, I am a wedding photographer so I do get to hear my fair share of marriage thoughts; nearly 40-50 times each year actually. It's amazing how the bride and groom smile and jump the broom anyway. Walking off into the sunset with confetti in their hair and a gait in their step. Ready to take it on!

I remember my confetti moment; now MERELY 5 years ago! I could hear the music play, I could hear people speak. I sensed the excitement, but to be honest, that entire day was a daze. I remember bits and pieces of it and there's a video somewhere that recorded it all but it was all so cloudy... literally and figuratively that I honestly have no recollection of how it all went down. I do however remember the "Marriage is hard work!!" "Talk to each other or you will die!!! Go to sleep angry and you will be annihilated! May Armageddon come upon you if you don't date or share a car!!!" Okay, I exaggerate, but that's what it sounded like.

I remember the first morning of our honeymoon waking up still starry-eyed next to what I thought at the time was a Demigod of a husband! "Good morning husband!" He half-smiled... would have preferred something more like what I watched on whatever soap I was following at the time. I sat up, pulled out my journal (yes I'd been told at a shower to make sure I capture all my memories in a journal as a young wife) and told him I'd like to spend the morning writing down our favourite memories from the wedding. He got up and muttered as he walked to the bathroom that he'd prefer to just have breakfast and relax by the pool.

ARMAGEDDON!!!!!!!!

Was he serious??? I'm his wife!!!! I come first!!! Memories have to be written down in my journal!!! How will we remember? What will our kids find wrapped in an old cupboard long after we've gone??? I have faaaaaaaiiiiiiiillllleeeed!!!! My first real tears of shock and bewilderment were to be shed on that day.  Only a day after the confetti and magical dress I'll never rock again. Needless to say that journal today makes a good book for my shopping lists. I tear off pages without blinking.

You know, when someone who's been married 20 years tells a starry-eyed bride that marriage is hard work, as a newlywed, it's only as hard as where I am at. My first year of marriage I thought was hell! Did he actually just squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube???? Is he seriously just going to sit there watching telly while I'm SLAVING here making dinner?!! I thought I would die! This is it! I can't take a lifetime of badly squeezed toothpaste tubes! I would cry and google and subscribe to yet another marriage newsletter. You should see my bookshelf; The First Five Years, The Marriage Dance, When Two Become One, The Act of Marriage, From Roses to Dishes, A Diamond in The Rough, His Needs Her Needs, The Power of a Praying Wife.... are you seeing how the trend was going.

A few years into marriage you realise that the toothpaste is the least of your worries. That's probably when you decide to bring to life those gifts that are non-returnable and don't come with a manual. I call mine the Waluhyas. And suddenly you realise you might have a bit of a problem. You notice that the old telly advert where a baby is crying in the middle of the night and the wife says to the husband "It's your turn!" and he begrudgingly wakes up to go and settle the baby in the NEXT room; is a lie from the furthest corner of HADES! In fact you most likely will be sleeping in between two babies. The wailing one on one end and the one that's playing dead on the other end! Lol! And at that point you probably imagine, that is what those women were saying. This has got to be as bad as IT gets!!! Surely I will die if my husband doesn't do at least 50% of the baby work!!!

Oh but you were just getting started.

A little after that just when you've signed the mortgage contract and enrolled the first child in GEMS, signed up for Pilates because now you're a full-time mom wanting to raise your young family... He decides to go into business. Or maybe he just loses his job. And you move from two huge salaries, to one huge salary, to one promise of a salary if 'business goes well'. And suddenly you are having to find creative ways to prepare lentils for dinner. Ndengu fry, ndengu curry, ndengu stroganoff... Hahaha! And you think that perhaps you still may be welcome, with your brood of course, back at your parents home. They who've been married 40+ years, have a house the size of your block of flats and what was your bedroom is about the same size as they house you now live in.

And when you look at your parents, still going strong in their marriage all those years later, you imagine their worst fight was about toothpaste, or who's turn it is to cook, or diaper changes. You see them smile and exchange private jokes. You see them hold hands at your wedding as they give you away, and you imagine all they ever fought about was mortgages and lack of finances. You see that because that's where you are. You don't see another woman or man. You don't see the loss of a child. You don't see a life threatening illness.

And that's okay.

But the next time someone who has been married 20 years tells you "Marriage is hard!", acknowledge it with them, but don't pretend you know what they are talking about. Say yes, it's hard, but seeing you married means it can be done.

Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart

My mother died of a broken heart. She did I tell you.

Never have I had something occupy 90% of my time like I have my mother's passing. By God were we played. But even the thought of her being in a 'better place' or our ability to get on without her hasn't been able to calm my aching heart. No amount of crying has dulled the pain. I look at everyone who's lost a mother and wonder how they are living so normally. How do they do it? Are they pretending? What is it that was so precious about my own mother that I cannot bring myself to think of her as dead? Is there a percentile of people who just cannot cope with death? Am I it?

She definitely died of a broken heart. She who had never been so much as admitted in hospital since she had my brother in 1988. It was too much for her to take.

I remember when I had my 2nd child through emergency C-section, my mother was so apprehensive. She and my aunt sat outside the theatre and nearly flipped a nerve when the nurse wouldn't let them see my son after the delivery. I was still in recovery. My husband was miles away in another country working. A nurse left theatre with the little man, rushing him to the nursery and my mother let her have it. "We have to look at him! We have a right to see him and confirm that he's ours!". Boy did she let a nurse have it! And see the baby, she did. She made sure to note all his features "Lest they decide to switch him with someone else's". I eventually awoke from the operation and was taken to my
room, my mother in tow. There with me, alone, she sat till I was fully awake and on till she was sure someone else would be there with me. She offered to spend the night, but I declined. My mother didn't drive. She was frugal. Choosing instead to use public transport. I was in a hospital in South B. My mother lived on Thika Road and it was about 7pm when she eventually left the hospital.

It must have broken her heart that night in that God-forsaken hospital. It broke her heart so bad, she chose to die!

Let me help you understand just who my mother was. She was quite literally EVERYTHING to EVERYONE. She sacrificed so many things to make everyone comfortable. If I had a shilling for everyone that's come to us with stories of what my mother did for them, I'd probably be heading toward the 1000 shilling mark. Not much for money, but in people, that's a helluva lot! And I thought
I was the friendly one. Mum visited every sick relative in hospital, sent money for every harambee, attended every graduation, wedding and funeral. We knew an unexpected phone call from her would probably end in us contributing to buy a church pew or for someone's chemotherapy. We were so used to it. She'd say "I have this much, how much are you adding for me?" And "I'm broke" was not something you'd say to her. "I don't have a job, and I manage my money in a way that I can still put away some, you what are you doing with your money?" That was the response you'd get. We soon got the hang of it.

If there's anything we learnt from my mum, it was to give. To give and give and give. To give even to those who didn't deserve it. Especially to those. I can count off the top of my head a number of undeserving recipients of my mother's giving. Those that she gave her life for and who later spent their years trying to bring her down in word and deed. And yet, she kept giving. One of our latter visits upcountry before she died was to bury a young man in whom she'd invested so much in... despite a sour relationship with his family. She practically adopted him, right to the end. All we got from them when she died, was a text to say sorry. But that's alright. Now she knows. Doesn't she?

In a moment of deep heartache, my mum decided she'd had enough. How much more could she bear?

In her moment of deepest need. When she needed someone asking the hard questions like she'd done for us over and over again. When she needed someone to reach for the bell or call the nurse. When
she needed someone to call her doctor and consult him on whether all was well. In the moment that she needed someone asking if she was okay, if she needed a glass of water or wanted to use the bathroom.

In that aching moment of need, we walked away. We turned around and went home to sleep. We put our need to sleep, before her need to have us there. With the promise that we'd return the next day to do those very things.

She didn't wait around to see us live up to our promise. My mother died of a broken heart. Alone.

The Fallacy Of The Wedding

Today I reflect on the fallacy that is a wedding.

By God don't I feel cheated! My 3,000 bob manicure and 40,000 bob dress did not in any way open up my eyes to the entire fallacy of the day. When I walked down the aisle in my mother's arm, all dolled-up, I was convinced that that wedding was a perfect reflection of what would be my perfect marriage to my perfect man. And what a great start it would be!

Boy was I cheated.

I still think God chuckles at every bride wearing a 21,000 bob Brazilian weave imagining that the biggest of their problems will be a toilet seat left up, toothpaste squeezed from the centre of the tube and a tissue roll wrongly placed. "Yes, I know marriage is hard, but we love each other, we'll make it through TOGETHER." Nothing about that wedding prepares you for the day your husband in a fit of rage packs all his things and walks out on you and your two children. No perfectly crafted wedding cake will sort out a wife who constantly puts you down and spends her days killing whatever little is left of your dignity.

I was so not prepared.

My husband and I's very first fight would you believe it, was on Day 1 of our honeymoon. Oh for a heart to be a runaway wife! The thing is, I really didn't see IT coming. All the dancing and merry making of the previous day did not provide an inkling into what I thought was a fight deserving of a trip to a marriage counsellor followed by a visit to the lawyers to see what my options were. Boy did we fight! What did we fight about? I being the writer that I am, wanted to spend an hour or two after breakfast, journaling our favourite moments from the wedding while they were still fresh. Who doesn't want to sit on a porch facing the ocean, wind blowing the white curtains back and forth, 40 years later, reminiscing about the wedding while going through our journal? So I read to many Mills and Boons. Sue me! But who does not want that? My husband. He looked at me with that look that I now refer to as the Are-You-Out-Of-Your-Mind look of his, turned over and went in for a mid-morning nap.

Boy was I NOT prepared.

Are you KIDDING ME?? Is he serious!!! Who can I call? Should I call someone? He CAN'T do this to ME on OUR honeymoon!!! Should I text someone? Oh wait, we are supposed to be 'out of circulation'. What will they think of me? OF US?? Oh my God, WHAT did I just marry!! Needless to say, the back turning and going to sleep thing has since become a bit of a kawaida thing in our house. I do it, he does it, we both do it. Never that serious. If I don't like what you are saying, I turn my back on you and sleep. Suck it up! Dr. Gary Chapman would be so disappointed in me. In us! Oh my goodness, did I just say me? I meant US, WE, OURS! That's what the wedding tells us write? We hold hands the entire day with the cake lady screaming "Don't let go of her hand! From now on you hold that hand." I truly think that could have been the last time my husband and I held hands except for the occasional handshake. Yes we shake hands. No we don't hug at every opportunity and we most definitely do not kiss the bride!

Sigh.

If marriage was a true reflection of the wedding, then perhaps we'd all have near-perfect marriages where we sail in a maze of fresh flowers everyday (big up yourself if your husband brings you fresh flowers every day). We'd eat buffet meals prepared by top-notch chefs. We'd run late and find a smiling husband waiting for you in the car telling you how beautiful you look. And yes, oh yes, we'd drive off into the sunset soaking in the love and romance of the days to come. But you spent your first Christmas washing an endless assortment of dishes and cooking another ugali a size of which you'd never experienced in your life? And he spent his showing of his less than perfect wife to his family, right in time for her to ask "Gosh! How do you put on this paraffin lantern?? You guys don't have elec??" Hahahahahaha.

Nothing perfect there.

And yet there is no need for perfection in marriage. No pressure really. Where does God step in, if your husband doesn't occasionally slam the door behind him when he leaves, so angry that his lazy wife couldn't be up early enough to prepare him a gourmet breakfast. Where is God if his wife, doesn't click and make a face, imagining if he'd survive the non-stick pan making contact with the back of his head? His strength must be made perfect in our weakness. And through His grace, most of us get to fight another day, and another, and another...

And another.

The fallacy of the wedding. And yet the wedding is the single most important thing you'll do for your marriage. Because it is the wedding, amidst the song and dance, amidst the horse and carriage, amidst the something borrowed and something blue, that you vow, NEVER to walk out, never to give up, never to say it's over, until you die! Now you may get lucky and die right when you discover the man you married is a monster in disguise or your wife is Cruella D'Evil. But to be honest, you'll most likely have to live through that for the rest of your life. And that, my friends, is the truth! The fallacy of the wedding is imagining that you, can in your strength, a good budget and some excel sheets, work out a perfect marriage.

Maybe by His strength. And maybe not today. Hang in there.