She Inspires Me

Today I want to write about 2 powerful women. Two of the strongest women I know. Two women who in my opinion, should have their names written in books of history for generations to come. These women inspire me. Not a day goes by that I don't think about these women, and what they would do if put in my shoes. On the days when I think HB turning his back towards me is temptation for me to smack his head with a chapati pan and plead temporary insanity, I think about these women. And I calmly hug him instead.

The first woman I write about isn't as privileged as I am to still be walking the face of this earth. She, at the tender age of 26 was taken from us... painfully... in a road accident... late last year. I write about the sweet inspiration that is Wanjiru Mburu. I don't know her personally. I never got the chance to meet her. But those that did, were blessed to have encountered such a bright ray of sunshine. She TRULY was a beautiful woman inside and out. I remember accompanying a mutual friend to her funeral. My heart screamed from within when her husband Andy walked down the aisle behind the coffin bearing his wife of three months. Yes, they had only been married 3 months when an accident brought to naught what I believe would have been a marriage worth emulating. I remember wiping endless tears when Andy rose to speak about his wife. "I knew that I was loved. Without a doubt I knew she loved me. We dated for 6 years. And those were the best 6 years of my life. And if God had told me before hand that she would be taken from me so early, I STILL would have dated and married Wanjiru." My heart pounded. Overwhelmed with the grief of love lost. Thoughts running through my head. What if that was me in that coffin? What would my husband say? We were also only days away from celebrating 3 months of marriage. Andy's soft voice rang through the microphone as he sang "I close my eyes, and I see your face, if home's where my heart is, then I'm out of place..." There wasn't a dry eye in the sanctuary. What if that was MY love in that coffin? What would I say? Would I talk about how upset I was with him because he wouldn't let me buy a new set of sofas and how I wasn't even speaking to him at the time?

I couldn't believe I was at another funeral. Crying not just for those we had lost, but those that they left behind. Which brings me to my second woman of inspiration. I have never left a church in as big a rush as I did on that day. The day they served a wedding cake at a funeral. I have never zoomed by so fast, ignoring all the friends I hadn't seen in a while that I would have loved to squeeze and play catch up with. It was July of 2009, about a month to my wedding day, and two weeks to Chris's. Yes, Chris passed on two weeks before his wedding day. Everything was set. Even the cake was baked and ready to go. There was nowhere else for it to go, so a very strong Grace, Chris's fiancee, asked that we have it as we left the service. I just couldn't. I just couldn't imagine having to serve my wedding cake and my fiance's funeral. My stomach knotted with empathy for a bride left at the altar. Not because the groom changed his mind, but because he really couldn't make it to the wedding. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

What do you say to a young grieving widow or widower? What words of comfort do you use? Someone please show me the verse in the Bible that will take their pain away? What song? What poem? How would I put my words so nicely together that they would feel like the world around them is not crumbling? He is in a better place? She is happier where she is? God knows the plans He has for you? All these are true. But spoken to someone who lost a fiance two weeks the wedding; spoken to one who lost  his wife of three months... the sound would outlast a resounding gong.

Then I realized what I could say to comfort these two. It came to me, much later, but it came to me all the same. I could remember to say "I love you" to the man I married, even when he doesn't let me have my corner sofa with a view. I could chose to pick my fights. Who cares whether I sit on a cold toilet in the middle of the night because he left the seat up. Is it worth two weeks of silent treatment? I may not even have those two weeks to make up for my sulking. I could remember to say "I'm sorry. Please forgive me" when I'm wrong. I could remember to tell God each "Thank you. We are alive. We are well."

Thank you Wanjiru, thank you Grace. You inspire me!

Mawazo mawazo

So today I took part in YET another protest at Parliament. I wasn't so much into this one as I was the last, but I know I have to keep the wheel turning for the momentum to stay on. Today, I cannot even talk about The 300. We were more like The 10. We were so few, I yelled myself hoarse trying to cover up for the other 10 million people that should've been there.

This also means however, that the struggle continues and that I am not letting up anytime soon. Nope. Nuh uh. I just have to rethink this. I have to come up with a serious strategy and launch it with vigor. You will be hearing from me SOON!

Just so you know, all this has happened in the absence of my dear husband who texted me from the airport about his arrival from Bali. I know I responded to his text. I just don't know what I wrote. I was chanting "No more cash" at Parliament. Lol. Maybe that's what I sent. "No more cash sweetie!" How is that for a welcome back message? I am glad to have him back. I'm glad I get to pick his clever brain about my next move. I'm glad that he always has my back. Me and my gazillion crazy ideas.

Deutsche Merc, I have enjoyed driving you for two weeks! Your speed is amazing! I love how matatus refuse to cut in front of me because they are afraid of how much it would cost to repair your bumper. I love how I can make 3 point turns in 2 points. I love how people look at me in my jeans and rugged hair walk into a Merc and try to tie the two. You have served me well Deutsche Merc. I am forever indebted to you. And now as I return you to your wonderful owner, with your fuel gauge warning blaring from the dashboard, I salute you and wish you godspeed. ED, mommy is back!

Building The Nation - The 300

Today I did my share in building the nation. 

I took part in a public protest against the Members of Parliament who have thought it wise to award themselves a hefty pay rise despite the current state of affairs in this country. This pay rise has put them at par with American congressmen who earn about $174,000 a year; the pay hike would put Kenyan MPs at earning $176,000 a year. $2,000 more, but compare the GDPs of the two countries and you will realize that we just can't afford to keep silent anymore. The new pay will ensure that Raila Odinga is the highest paid Prime Minister in the WORLD. Paid 240 times the GDP per person in Kenya. The Prime Minister of Singapore follows him on the list. He gets paid 40 times the GDP per person in Singapore. You get the picture?

I'm reminded of a good friend that I met while in Sierra Leone 8 years ago, just post the conflict that tore the country apart and made headlines the world over. A conflict caused by the selfishness of a few individuals who wanted to control the country's diamond stash. I'll call him Kamara. Kamara was a 60-something year old big shot engineer in Freetown. He was well established and pretty wealthy. If he lived in Nairobi, he would have a ginormous mansion in Kitisuru, Nyari or Runda. He drove an S-Class Mercedes and even owned a yacht. I should have started with that piece of information. Would have saved me 3 sentences of descriptions.

Wait. Did I say he was MY friend? Actually he was a good friend of the Country Representative of the UN organization that I worked for. I was just a plankton then, but the Rep treated me like his daughter and once allowed me to join him for dinner with Engineer Kamara. It was at that dinner that he told us how far he'd come and how far he would have been if it wasn't for the conflict. Because a number of years earlier, he had left Sierra Leone in a canoe, with only his shirt on his back. He left everything behind. His family. His numerous houses. His stocks. His engineering firm. His projects. His ATM cards. His everything. He had left everything he had worked half his life to obtain. He had fled his home. And he was only now, years later,  getting back on his feet; with the help of his sons who were lucky enough to be in the UK when the war broke out.

So with that story in mind, and after a couple of texts back and forth with my girl Njeri, I was in Upperhill where I dropped off the car AND my wedges, put a thousand bob in my pocket and a copy of my ID, and then set out on foot to Freedom Corner, the assembly point for the demo. When we arrived there, we noticed that there were only a handful of people. We found the other fearless influencers that had invited us to this protest on Facebook, and then we set out to think up canny lines to put on our placards that would drive the point home. Mine said "PAY US FIRST - "TEACHER, POLICE, IDPs". Hers said "WHAT ABOUT THE IDPs?". None of us from the Facebook group had ever been part of a public protest by the way. No seasoned veterans. No Stone-throwers. No Nairobi University alumni. Just young angry Kenyans needing to make a point.

Today I played my part in building the nation. Today I braved the chilly Nairobi weather and took part in a protest!

When the placards were done, we gathered together. I wondered where everyone else was. I wondered where everyone who had something to say on Twitter or on Facebook was. Where were all these people who confirmed on the event page that they would be part of the protest march? Where were all those people that had written "Open Letters To The President" in cyber space. I highly doubt that Kibaki has a facebook account that he reads and responds to. Heck, I'm certain Raila doesn't care what's said about him on Twitter. I'm almost certain a large majority of our MPs still use snail mail. Now look, there was what, 300 people at the most making all the noise for an issue that is causing heartache in the lives of 30million Kenyans. But I had no time to worry about that now. It was go time.

I have never heard so many church songs converted to mock MPs. I was tickled for most of the march to Parliament. Njeri and I yelled and shouted and took pictures of ourselves at our first-ever protest. It was fun for most of the trip. Things however changed when we got to Parliament. It got emotional. A woman with a baby strapped on her back wiped tears as she yelled at how little she gets paid. An elderly woman shouted in her native language, I couldn't understand, but I knew she was bitter. A middle-aged man shared his financial troubles with me. And then the emotion started welling up and I could feel the tears of anger welling up in my eyes. Tears for the child strapped on a back, that will never own a piece of this beautiful country. A child stuck in a cycle of poverty. Tears for the policemen and women who give their lives selflessly and yet are paid almost nothing for their hard work. Tears for the teachers who educated these greedy selfish MPs, teachers who are now being laid off because the government cannot afford to pay them.

The hot tears caused me to shout even louder and to dare to move closer to the gate of Parliament and yell at the top of my voice "WEZI!!!!!!!!!" "BUNCH OF THIEVES!!!" "GREEDY SELFISH MPs!!" I couldn't stop yelling. I needed someone to hear how displeased I was. I needed to drive the point home. The few MPs who dared to come and check out the action smiled. Dry sarcastic smiles. I later came to learn that parliament was actually in session as we were causing a raucus outside the gates. A session during which the dishonorable parliamentarians argued that if they were to pay taxes on their handsome salaries as proposed in this year’s Budget, they would have to each part with Sh8.7 million between now and end of their tenure. They added that this would be unfair to them because their pay has already been committed in such personal conveniences as car loans, mortgages, and other long-term plans. (Standard Newspaper)

Sarcastic smiles. Like they knew they were safe behind those gates and that there was little we could do to harm them. They knew we would shout and leave, and they would go back and make their selfish decisions anyway. They probably thought we couldn't represent the views of the majority of Kenyans. There was only 300 of us after all. Not so scary huh? But they need to be scared. They need to be so afraid that they don't sleep at night because they people in this country SCARE them. The people in this country are so united that it scares them that we could make decisions that would be written on the pages of History books for a while yet. They need to know that what they resolve today will determine their successes OR failures tomorrow. They need to know. And we need to let them know.

I put it to you that if you and I don't start protesting. If you and I don't take time off our gisty jobs to go and drive points home. If you and I leave it to violent hired gangs to carry out violent protests in this country, it is you and I that will suffer. Our cars will be burned, our houses ransacked, our jobs gone, our investments will crash, our families will be displaced, it is us, the young upwardly mobile individuals of this country that will pay the price if our country goes down. I don't know about you, but I would prefer not to leave my country on a canoe with only the shirt I have on my back to my name.

I played my part in building the nation today. Play yours.

Building The Nation

Today I did my share
In building the nation.
I drove a Permanent Secretary
To an important urgent function
In fact to a lunch at the Vic.

The menu reflected its importance
Cold bell beer with small talk,
Then fried chicken with niceties
Wine to fill the hollowness of the laughs
Ice-cream to cover the stereotype jokes
Coffee to keep the PS awake on return journey.

I drove the Permanent Secretary back.
He yawned many times in back of the car
Then to keep awake, he suddenly asked,
Did you have any lunch friend?
I replied looking straight ahead
And secretly smiling at his belated concern
That i had not, but was slimming!

Upon which he said with a seriousness
That amused more than annoyed me,
Mwananchi, i too had none!
I attended to matters of state.
Highly delicate diplomatic duties you know,
And friend, it goes against my grain,
Causes me stomach ulcers and wind.
Ah, he continued, yawning again,
The pains we suffer in building the nation!

So the PS had ulcers too!
My ulcers i think are equally painful
Only they are caused by hunger,
Not scrumptious lunches!

So two nation builders
Arrived home this evening
With terrible stomach pains
The result of building the nation -
- Different ways.

Henry Barlow.

A 90K Wife

Lately I've been wondering about how good I am at being a wife. I finally picked up my ring from the ring shop. Yes, me and those rings again. Not my upgrade, no. Just my old ring back. I spent 2 hours less than I usually spend at the ring shop. Normally its half an hour of jokes with Jayesh, followed by an hour with Smita trying on rings I could never afford, and then its 45mins of negotiating with Jayesh for rings I could never afford, and then about another 45mins of catch-up with Smita where she tells me who has stopped by to upgrade his wife's ring, and who will be by next week. We still did the same cycle... no need to change a winning team now is there? Only it was on fast forward because I had a business brunch at Java to dash to.

So Jayesh gave me back my ring, after 3 unsuccessful trips to the shop to get it back. I should be happy. I'm not happy. Neither am I sad. I am content. Really I am. I have so much more to be grateful for; bigger things to wish for. So then I started thinking about these men who buy their wives rings because they had a baby. Two rings if they had twins. I thought about the guy who just bought his fiancee a 90,000Kshs ring. What was going through his mind? And why doesn't he share a mind with my husband??!! Lol.

Then I thought, maybe I haven't got to the point where my husband treasures me enough to invest 90K in my transient happiness! Maybe he doesn't deem me worthy. Could it be? Could it be that in my husband's eyes, I have not done anything deserving of a 90K ring? Or maybe we just can't afford it right. No, that's too obvious. I am melancholic, I have to analyze everything and look deeper into it.

So I thought about these 90K wives and fiancees. What do they do to make them so deserving or these precious metals that cost a FORTUNE! (By the way if you are looking for  ring please buy one from Jayesh and Smita they promised me a commission :) But what do they do, that I don't? I must confess I haven't taken this wife thing very seriously. I know women who bend over backwards for their husbands. Boy oh boy do they bend ALL the way back! I know women who make tea from scratch and heat food on the cooker. Forget my microwave tea and teabags. I know women who brew that tea for a certain number of minutes, because it's what their husband wants. I know women who serve their husbands on their knees. Okay, forget them. I know women who don't ever sulk; women who replace missing buttons while ironing and feeding the baby. And then there's me. I'm just me. He liked it, he put a ring on it, I suppose I couldn't get worse, but do I ever go out of my way for this man that I absolutely love?

Ponder.

Google is my friend. And so is the Bible. So I searched for the most scary book, chapter and group of verses. I've always ignored this section because to me, the standards were unattainable. Like this part ¹⁵ She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls. Seriously? While it's still dark? Is that really necessary? But I read through it and then researched more about it's translation in modern times. And it really isn't that scary. Because it also says ¹⁶ She goes to inspect a field and buys it; with her earnings she plants a vineyard. I like that part. I like that it gives me permission to inspect land in Kitengela and to BUY it and then plant a vineyard.

Ponder.

And then it hit me.. Proverbs 31:10 A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. I confess, nobility is not my strongest virtue. Perhaps why I am not yet at the 90K ring point. I am not, but I will be.

Proverbs 31:10 Who can find a virtuous and capable wife? She is more precious than rubies.

Proverbs 12:4 An excellent wife is the crown of her husband, But she who shames him is like rottenness in his bones.

Proverbs 19:14 House and wealth are an inheritance from fathers, But a prudent wife is from the LORD.

no·ble  (nbl)

 Having or showing qualities of high moral character, such as courage, generosity, or honor:

The Green-Eyed Monster

I try to live the simple life. Really, I do. But people keep getting in my way. 

So I got married a little under a year ago. It was a glorious affair. I wasn't as much into the wedding as I was into the prospect of being married to the man of my reality. Man of my dreams would be a cliche unworthy of my husband. He is my reality spark, as you will come to learn if you follow my blog. Anyway, a grand part of getting married for me was my wedding ring. See, I have always been a firm believer in acknowledging meaning. I don't do things "just because". Save for my late teenage years when I bowed to peer pressure, I never wore rings on my fingers "just because". I needed any ring I ever wore to be a meaningful ring. And I looked forward to the day of the meaningful ring. And the day came. And I got to pick my meaningful ring that cost a meaningful price. And now, less than a year later, I want a meaningful upgrade to my already meaningful set of rings.

So what is fueling this sudden 'need' for an upgrade? Are my rings too tight? Too flashy? Did my Rottweiler mistakenly swallow my rings confusing them for doggy biscuits? Maybe the fell into the garbage disposal... I don't know. Who is behind this urge? I have a name, Envy. Simple. I said when I started this post that I try to live the simple life. 

It baffles me that we can be so consumed by something someone else has, that we immerse ourselves in trying to obtain that one thing, ignoring the innumerable things that we have that they don't. Like how I absolutely enjoy driving my 1996 Toyota ED, but will pull out my calculator each time I see the 2008 Subaru Forester, or a Tribeca... heck, I've been known to pull it out for a Noah! And suddenly I will find everything that's wrong with ED and come up with a pile of reasons why I should acquire a new car. It's not quite because I need a new car. Nothing wrong with the old one. But envy makes us desire what we can't have.

Envy has three stages; Disappointment, Dislike, Destruction. Envy destroys peace and will distract you from your purpose. As I have learned recently. Remember that ring problem I was having earlier? I followed through on it. I actually went to a ring shop and got coaxed into ordering a third ring that I don't really need. An expensive ring. One that I will spend the next four months painfully paying for. PAINFULLY! Very painfully. At the expense of more serious things I could have done with that money. Like putting a child through 2 years of high school, or contributing towards a feeding program for orphans in Tiriki. I've turned down an intern at church because I didn't have enough room in my budget to support her, and yet here I am paying for a 3rd ring that I don't need. I'm paying for a 3rd ring, others would praise God in heaven if they even got their first.

But I'm learning. I'm tempted to say I've learnt. But I cannot conclusively say that. I'm learning. I've taken bold gigantic steps in the right direction.

Forget the rest, play your game.

That's what we learned in church a couple of Sunday's ago. This isn't the first time I'm hearing these words. My facilitator at Parenting Class taught his son this; Do what you have to do, let others take care of their feelings. So that's my motto from now on. People who play their game are; Focused, Grateful and Gracious. That is going to be me from now on.

en·vy (ĕnˈvē)

noun pl. envies en·vies

1. a. A feeling of discontent and resentment aroused by and in conjunction with desire for the possessions or qualities of another.
   b. The object of such feeling: Their new pool made them the envy of their neighbors.
2. Obsolete Malevolence.

Servant Quarters

Boy I miss those SQ days.

When did we all grow up and have babies, and become wives, and have monthly shopping budgets and mortgages? When did life become sooo..... serious? When did we start needing to have fruits after dinner? What happened to Mama Mboga downstairs who perfectly cut our mbogas and tied them in a ka-small paper bag? We only needed two onions then. Now we buy them in kilograms. Counting them carefully to make sure they last through the month and praying that it's not our turn to host Chama as this would reflect negatively on onion supplies for the month.

Boy I miss those days.

I miss sharing a room with a roommate you didn't get along with most of the time. I miss getting upset over who's turn it was to cook, and who's visitor left mud in the living room or who's little brother came for the weekend and refused to leave. *Sigh*. Now I'm all grown and married, now I'm paying school fees and preparing packed lunches, attending sports days and dropping off kids at Sunday school.

When did we become so serious?

What became of those days, when we jav'd to every place and knew the spots where it was 10bob less to catch a jav to town? Now we calculate how much distance per litre our cars travel. Back then, if you had a car, it was either borrowed or stolen. Okay, so it was borrowed. It was a rundown Toyota that your folks let you use to 'tarmac'. Huh. Tarmacking. Boy was I young. Back then all I needed was to make 5k. 5k was enough to pay my share of the rent and bills. 5k would get me a jav to and from work 5 days a week. And I could catch a movie at Kenya Cinema once a month if I wanted to. Now my feet can't even find their way to Kenya Cinema. We don't walk that side of town no more do we? We do Silverbird Westgate. Preceded by dinner at Art Caffe. Back then it was Kenchic or BUST! Now, Java is the new Kenchic.

Today I'm having a 'meeting' with my househelp. I have a fully LIVE-IN househelp! And we have 'meetings' to discuss her conduct, or more aptly put, her misconduct. Goodness! Things have spiralled since those SQ days. Back then we had a Mama Nguo who came in once a week to wash our knee-length blazers, faux silk tops and hipsters. Thankfully I don't do official wear anymore, but when I did, it was serious power suits, enough for me to wear for 4 weeks straight without ever having to wear one outfit twice. Our lives have since been cluttered by needing to keep up with some guy named Jones.

Those SQ days were really something. We had one hard mismatched sofa that we inherited from our folks house, and a couple of dining room chairs. Mismatched. Also inherited. A run-down coffee table, a 1000 bob carpet from Ukwala and a tiny winy 14-inch television (with no external aerial). We had a Meko, and no fridge; you buy, you cook. We had a double-decker bed; very space friendly. Look at us now. I have a fund to save up for a corner-sofa and would have loved to be able to afford one of those hang-on-the-wall plasma tvs. Come in handy during future Barcelona-Arsenal games. But I have bigger priorities now. I have monthly shopping and school fees to pay. I have investments. I've got things to do. From time to time I find myself with a good amount of month at the end of my money. (Trust me I've come a long way, I'm not as bad as I used to be. Tee hee hee)

Still, I miss those SQ days.