A UNITED Kenya - Kenya28Feb

The Mission: 28th Feb 2011, 1pm, 1 nation, 1 people, 1 anthem, united in 1 prayer for 1 Kenya.

Simple huh?

So simple, that people are still looking for a catch. A behind-the-scenes. A the-making-of. A whats-in-it-for-me.

So simple, that people... not just people... but young and upwardly mobile Kenyans, refuse to participate. What good will it do? Okay so we all sing, then what? Will Kibaki and Raila become friends? Will fuel prices go down? And then there's the classic, "Like, OH EM GEE, I can't just stand up in my office and start singing the anthem. Like, GAWSH! What will people think???"

I've heard the phrase, you can't win with everyone, but Kenyan YUPPIES have turned the phrase into a lifestyle. Perfected it and owned it! Who can compete with us? Who can match our love of convenience?

What do Kenyans do when one day they come out of their houses and find the roads outside their houses flooded after heavy rains? They buy gumboots!! We need to learn to create solutions for our country - Muriithi Wanjau, Mavuno.

I was greatly inconvenienced last year, when I took a morning off work to go to Uhuru Park, draw placards and march to Parliament to protest the MPs pay hike. That was not so simple. When I spoke about it on Facebook and blogged about it, a big chunk of my friends gave me the Kenyan YUPPIE default response "GAWSH! You didn't tell us, next time please let us know we goooo pamoja."

I did.

I did it again a week later. Instead of doing my usual lunch time round of Farmville, I took a matatu into town (and if you know me, a matatu is as bad as it gets) to form what was to be a human chain around parliament to protest again. I used the words "what was to be" because what we ended up forming fell very short of a chain. Of my THEN 828 FB friends, only 4 showed. While standing there yelling outside parliament, some other YUPPIES on their way to lunch walked by us and aired their views while at it. "Good job guys, ebu tell them!" "Why are you making noise, just vote for the new constitution all our problems will end" "Wazi! Wazi!"

When I got back to the office that day, I realized that I needed to work out a way to get us YUPPIES to participate without the INCONVENIENCE of having to leave our high flying jobs and Key Performance Indices to pull an Egypt, or a Tunisia on what I feel is a ridiculous system of governance in this country. So I googled and came up with an online petition that I hoped would reach the masses of online 'protesters' and which I would in turn send to anyone willing to listen.

Last I checked, I had collected all of about 400 signatures. FYI The MPs 'had a change of heart' about hiking their pay so that ended that.

But wait, a little bird once told me that there are about 5 million internet users in this country, and about a million of those are on Facebook regularly! (By the way I don't do statistics so, my little bird could be off by a couple of millions). So why didn't people respond? Okay, so maybe my marketing is a little off. But there is another online petition right now, that is being given MASSIVE airtime by Caroline Mutoko and KISS100. How's that for marketing. Last I checked they were at about 10,000 siggies.

So recently some Kenyans on twitter, came up with the KENYA28FEB concept. I think its GREAT! I think, what better way than to get everyone focused on KENYA; not on useless politics and politicians, impunity, land grabbing, all the things that are not working in this country. How about we focus on KENYA for a change.

It was... it is such a simple thing to do.

Then why come we have some YUPPIES going on about what effect it will have or why this or how that or whatever. I put it to you, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TODAY TO BRING CHANGE? Or are you wallowing in the CONVENIENCE of hiding behind a name and a photo on the internet, bickering about how bad things are but not moving a finger nail to do something about it.

I say this, I gave it a shot. I did what I thought I could do. Now the SIMPLE folk at Kenya28Feb are doing THEIR part. The sooner you get off your behind and do something, or be a part of something that's already BEING done, the better for you. The better for us. The better for Kenya.

Simplicity is divine. BE the change.

28th Feb 2011, 1pm, 1 nation, 1 people, 1 anthem, united in 1 prayer for 1 Kenya.

Tummy Contact

Ever wondered why it's so easy for one to conceive BEFORE they get married, but how it becomes rocket science AFTER you get married?

I have.

Only today actually, I thought long and hard about it. These thoughts disrupted my usual morning routine of snoozing and shower singing. I really thought about it. But why Alejandro, you may ask? Well, of late, I've realized that my relatives on both sides have started addressing my tummy. Talk of tummy contact! I have deliberately stopped talking about Nia's terrible threes because of the line that follows soon after "You know if you have another one, she'll straighten out". Then I reason, what happens when this "other one" hits two or three? How many other ones do I need to have to fix the previous ones?

I digress.

Anyway, so I started toying with the idea of having "another one". I sure ain't getting younger and if I'm to accomplish my dear husband's KPIs for childmaking, then I best get started no? So seeing as google is my friend, I googled "myths on conception" and WHOA!!!! What??? I wasn't prepared for how IMPOSSIBLE it is to have a baby when you actually WANT to have a baby.

Let's sample some of the myths I found off of gettingpregnant.co.uk;

Sex is sex - we don't have to change anything Not true. While the basics of sex will remain the same when you're trying to conceive, you could make some minor adjustments. Don't have oral sex or use regular lubrication, since saliva and lubricant can kill sperm. SERIOUSLY??? There is such a thing as sperm killer? Like the terminator of sperm?? I could swear before I got married, that the very thought of having sex could get me pregnant. Now I would even need to choose what sex I have.

Certain positions are better for conception Most of the time some ejaculate will fall out, no matter what position during intercourse. However, your cervical mucus when you are ovulating becomes a special texture - one to hold in sperm so chances of conception are greater. Therefore, you don't need a special position to keep the sperm in. However, sperm deposited closest to the cervix will have the best chance of fertilizing the egg, so using positions that allow for deep penetration won't hurt and neither will tilting your pelvis upward. Okay, so I ABSOLUTELY remember in high school, the True Love Waits folk taught us that if you so much as shared a towel with a boy, you would get pregnant. There was a story of a virgin girl that got pregnant with her brother's baby because of using his towel. TRUE STORY! Well that's what they said. So what is this about pelvic positions and keeping sperm in again??

Hot tubs, briefs, and douching: all no-no's As far as hot tubs are concerned, high temperatures kill sperm, so avoid them as well as steam rooms and saunas if you want to get pregnant. Here we go again with the Sperm Terminators! The movies lied. Unbelievable. So besides all the other things, if you want to get pregnant, really, you need optimal temperature conditions as well. Who would have thought Mombasa in the 'summer' was not a good place for babymaking? Hmm...

I just think it's AMAZING how before I got married, I thought looking at a man would get me pregnant, and now after, when it's okay to be pregnant, I need Dumu Zas conditions to make a baby. How warped is that?? It's really sad to hear stories from friends of their struggle to conceive in marriage, while some 21 year old somewhere conceives multiple times without really 'wanting' to and has abortions. Quite sad.

As always, just thinking.

WAACHA TU!

I really love this quote from Oscar Wilde:
“The world has grown suspicious of anything that looks like a happily married life.”

I would hope it's not true for the bulk of society but it seems like so many are skeptical about the long haul of marriage and immediately question it if a couple appears to be happy more than six months out from their wedding day... Shouldn't happiness be the default for the scores of people who take the plunge each year? Not being lukewarm, feeling stuck or drowning in misery...

I've been married for close to two years now *applause* and the two words I can use to describe my experience thus far are WACHA TU! It's been crazy, madly exciting, inspiring, mind boggling, solemn and to wrap it all up WACHA TU!

There are days when I could L.O.S.E. I.T. My husband and I are fire and ice. Literally. I'm the happy-go-lucky "I'll take it!" type and he is the excel-sheet "priorities" type. This loosely translates to a number of possible ways that we could kill each other. And we did those first few days. Until we discovered that our differences are what make us a team. Our business is thriving because of these differences. He'll never be spontaneous, and I'll probably never be able to perfectly execute anything the way he does, but that's why two get greater return for their labor. Innit?

Marriage is made to be for life and if two aren't happy together, don't truly enjoy each other and aren't willing to shoulder a storm every now and again because they both realize that joy is waiting on the other side, I don't see the point. Life is too fleeting to spend it being neither here nor there about who you wake up beside each morning... Marriage gets a bum rap and it makes me sad because it can be a really great adventure. No other relationship is designed to be as intimate, as honest and as lasting as marriage is.

Thank you, God, for seeing that it wasn't good for man to be alone. (Tiffany Parks)

Rebranding

I've re-branded my blog for the umpteenth time in about 2 days and now I can finally settle down. Now that business is picking and Pixell8 is becoming a household name, I'd hate for clients to be able to read my mind. That can't be helpful. You think?

So I have aptly renamed it to "Salamu Za Hewa". Loosely translated to mean "Greetings in the Air". Swahili isn't exactly one of my strong points. I tell you the truth. The origin of the term Salamu Za Hewa (for my non-Kenyan friends) is mainly from a church setting where a preacher cannot personally greet everyone by hand and instead chooses to send them greetings in the air.

I ramble. Now let me blog.

An Alvaro and a Cup of Tea

Note; I wrote this story on the anniversary of my first date with my now husband.

A year ago, while going about my business at an upmarket shopping mall (read Le Toi), I received a phone call and an invitation that only God knew at the time, would change my life. Heart racing, brow sweating, lips praying.... I dropped all my bargains for the day and made a dash for my car, saying a silent prayer that the empty tank, would at least get me home without having to attempt an uphill drive on neutral. Yes, I can teach you how to do that. I talked to Ed, my car, "Don't let me down now! Work with me! I promise to fuel more than a litre next time."

See it was a difficult time in my life. That day also marked the day my contract at the UN was abruptly terminated without proper notice. 7 days was all I had to get myself ready to be unemployed. For anyone else, this would be a challenge but not as distressing as it would be for me. I was single-handedly raising my 1 year old daughter and living from paycheck to paycheck. Actually it was more of living from paycheck to debt to paycheck. My bank account had become accustomed to a minimum balance of -ve 750. That meant that I couldn't even afford to pay the ledger fees, and also that by the 30th of every month, 4 days after pay day, I was broke. Most of those times, I hadn't even paid rent. But I had a plan. I had learned that as long as I had airtime, I would always be able to find money somewhere. Borrowed money. Money that I never did know when I'd pay. I was completely caught up in a vicious cycle.

Back to that July 7th day. I raced all the way across town trying to make my way back home. I only had about half an hour to get everything in order. I needed the universe to conspire WITH me, and for Murphy to remain dead. We are talking Ngong Road at rush hour, and then Mbagathi way. With no fuel. No amount of short-cutting would save the day. At the same time I had all these thoughts going through my head. What if? What if? Is this it?

See a number of months prior to that phone call, I had finally made THAT decision. You know that right decision everyone needs to make at one point in their lives. The decision to be part of the fellowship of the unashamed. To be a fearless influencer. The decision not to look back, let up, slow down, back away or be still. The decision to accept that my past had been redeemed, my present made sense and that my future is secure. The decision to be done with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, cheap giving and dwarfed goals. The decision to ditch my toxic relationship and start over with just God and I, believing fully that in His time, He will make all things beautiful. The decision to join Mizizi, despite me not 'feeling' it. The decision to attend church every Sunday, and not just so I can meet up with old friends. The decision to answer God's calling to the alter, to confess and repent, and enjoy a personal relationship with Jesus.

That was a couple of months ago, right now I needed to get home fast. And get home fast I did. Then came the most difficult, earth shattering decision I ever had to make.... WHAT WILL I WEAR?? I threw out all manner of clothing onto my bed, trying them on, changing tops, wondering what could make the best impression and present me in the best light. I tried them all on. Dismissing everything, eventually ending up wearing some of my recent acquisitions from Le Toi (the upmarket shopping place, remember?). Just as I was slipping on my shoes, my phone rang again. "I'm through with what I was doing at Strathmore, are you ready?" My palms sweated. A cold shiver ran down the back of my neck. "Yes, I'm ready". I replied in my most collected voice. "Where is your house exactly?" Oh my goodness, you can't come to my house!!! You can't see me for what I really am!! "Its hard to explain. Just pick me up on the side of the road next to the Coke distributor." And so he did.

In retrospect, there really is something about life and death lying in the power of the tongue. See I always justified my toxic relationship by stating categorically, that no man ever married a single woman. And then there is that classic one, better the devil you know, than the angel you don't know. And how about this one, if you're not with the one you love, love the one your with. Oh wait, there's another one; all men are the same, they are all dogs, they are all bound to be unfaithful so it doesn't matter. Then there is; marriage is hard work anyway, regardless of who you end up with. But God countered me once through a friend, and that once was all I needed. She said to me, how dare you limit God, how dare you put God in a box, how dare you imply that the all-knowing, all-powerful, ever-present God, who has plans to give you a future and a hope, how dare you insinuate that He cannot find a man to marry you. How dare you.

So I made my way briskly across the road, noticing the parked car on the side of the road, near the Coke distributor, hazard lights turned on. I prayed my wedges wouldn't betray my lack of high-heeled-walking prowess. I prayed he wouldn't notice my fresh from the shelve jeans. I prayed that I met his standards of Godly dressing. I prayed my roll-on was truly the 24hr antiperspirant the label said it was. I made my way into the car, and once again used my cool, calm, collected, shivering voice to say "Hi" and threw in my cutest smile. Did I brush my teeth? Too late for that now. "Where do you want to go", asked he. "On our honeymoon?" I thought. "I don't know, you decide." is what actually came out. And there began a long list of decisions that he'd have to make. So we went to Tamasha at Uchumi Langata Hyper, we watched airplanes take off and land (amidst what I would term as a grueling 'interview'), and there I had an Alvaro and he had a cup of tea.

Psalm 103
Of David.
1 Praise the LORD, O my soul;
all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

2 Praise the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits-

3 who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases,

4 who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion,

5 who satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

Her Name Was Sharolid

"Abiria wote wa Maseno, Mumias, Migori, ingieni kwa hii basi ya Kisumu. Hakuna basi ingine inakuja, hii ndiyo itawapeleka". The obviously Luo voice rang over the microphone. I’m allowed to say that. Mimi ni mmoja wao as I came to realize sometime around the last general elections. The announcements were followed by a string of other efforts at humour. "Tafadhali usikubali kukula chakula kutoka kwa mwenye humjui barabarani. Mtu akitaka kukupatia sambusa hata kama uko na njaa aje, usikubali. Unaeza kuamkia Sambia." Yes Sambia, the country somewhere in Central Africa.

See a week ago, my grandmother had called me and given me the description of the 20 year old who'd be sharing my house for a while. I was told to look out for a slender girl, with lines braided towards the back, wearing a purple skirt suit and carrying nothing. “Dana, onge gima oting’o?” (Grandma, carrying nothing?). Yes, carrying nothing. Apparently her ‘husband’ had discovered that she had acquired a city job and being against her leaving, he’d grabbed her bag, and she’d only just managed to jump onto a matatu for the trip to the bus stop in Busia. She was coming on the Busia bus. Easy Coach. She'd be arriving at 4pm. I needed to be there because she had never been to Nairobi. Never been to Nairobi? I'll take her!!! I can mould her into anything I want her to be, I can get her to become the best in the business. The endless possibilities. She never would need days off. She had no family to visit. And the biggest one, all she had asked for as her monthly wages was 2k. Two thousand Kenyan shillings. Heck! I gave her a welcome to Nairobi raise on the spot. “Nitakulipa 2,5." Two thousand five hundred shillings. As I planned the vain expenditure I’d incur with the extra cash I was now saving from my house help salary budget line. I like that. I like her. And her Never-been-to-Nairobi. And so I picked her up.

"Gosh, don't be a victim like me!" Then they burst into their peals of laughter AGAIN. "Me I was used and then dumped. The stress!  You’re not seeing the way I've lost weight. I'm looking nice ya?" said the thinner taller one. I'll call her Dama. She looks like a Damaris. "Enyewe you look hot, your so thin." replied the shorter chubbier one called Shiro. She talked like a Shiro. She picks up her phone and checks her text messages impatiently. "Nowadays I'm wiser. Me I've found a bank. I'm going to milk him for everything he has. No more dating losers." I wondered if there was anywhere else I could have stood in the expansive bus park. Why on earth was I torturing myself with Dama and Shiro. But I couldn't budge. I stood still, and so did time. I wanted the jang’o guy to say it. Just say it. Add the bad jokes, but for crying out loud, just SAY IT! “Gosh how long have you been around? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Dama replied sweetly, “Aki sweetie si you just know the way I am. Sipendagi kusema.” And yes, they laughed again. A happy duo these two were.

Allow me to take you back a little. See I had this other househelp called Sarah. Well that's what we thought she was called, but really her name was Serapia Pascal Mlanga. She was my high maintenance expatriate househelp from Tanzania. She was the best. I thought. She could whip up some mean herbal chapatis and mandazis. She was easy on the eyes, and my baby absolutely adored her. When I got home from work, I was greeted with a polite curtsy, “Shikamoo Mama Nia”. She was sent straight from Househelp’s Paradise and I loved her to bits!! Still I blame her. I blame her for Nia's perfect Swahili and two words of English. I also blame her for making my child one of those estate children. You know the ones everyone knows. The barber, the charcoal guy, the kiosk guy, the bamba50 guy. See, I discovered that Serapia had fixed her eyes on the textile industry and was only just transitioning in the domestic world. And in my absence she had been hawking lesos door to door, Nia in tow, all over the estate. So sadly, the herbal chapatis and Serapia had to go.

But back to now. "Now why isn't this guy replying. He is supposed to Mpesa me some cash. I gave him some fake story about how I need 2K pronto for some college thing." Insert Hi5's and more laughter here. "But today I'm going to kunywa till I drop!!!" Laughter again. Dama seems to admire Shiro's sneaky gold digging ways. I'm looking at both of them and wondering almost out loud, "Who is your mother?!!!". Shiro continued, “Unajua niliamua kuachana na Jeff kwanini? Imagine he used to share with his mother everything. Imagine ata ma sisters wake walikuwa wanajua everything about us.” “Acha!” That was me in my head. But Dama’s answer couldn’t have been more predictable, “Anaezaje kufanya hivyo, kwani what’s wrong with men nowadays?” And on and on they went about these men nowadays and their shortcomings.

So back to that day, the Busia bus came, and I picked up my cornrowed purple-suited unbagged girl-child and we drove home. Then came the interview. “Uko na miaka ngapi?” She was 20. Wow! I did the math. She could give me uninterrupted years of hard labour for another 10 years. “Umesoma?” She had somad till Form Two. Good, so she could read the menus and chore schedules I had painstakingly prepared on Excel the day before. “Umewahi kufanya kazi na mtoto?” And the answer came, “Pia mimi niko na mtoto wa 3 years.” Drat. I had to recalculate. Now she’d need Christmas off to go and see her child. Instead of accompanying us on a trip to the Coast, where I’d relax and she’d work, chasing after my spirited toddler. Sigh. Maybe if I gave her 3K she wouldn’t need to go see her child? You think? And then we got home. And then the games began. "Mama Nia, unawasha hii aje?" That was the gas cooker. "Mama Nia, unatumia hii aje?" That was the toilet. "Mama Nia, unafungua hii aje?" That was the tap. "Mama Nia, unafunga hii aje?" That was a diaper. "Mama Nia, hii ni nini?" That's the television. "Mama Nia, hii kitu ni ya nini?" Thats the iron. I had to remind myself, that eventually it would pay off to have a loyal, never-been-to-Nairobi househelp. It will be fine, it will be fine.

"Abiria wote wa Kisumu, Maseno, Mumia, basi ndio hii." The voice rang over the microphone again. Scaring me back into reality. "Sharo, usijali. Tukishamalizana na hii mambo ya harusi, tutakupigia urudi." I lied. It was just one in the string of lies I had told that evening.

We had been doing the "hii ni nini?" routine for about 4 days now, and it was becoming apparent that my bid to develop Loyal Househelp 2.0 was failing. My patience had run out and I'd had it with eating boiled sukuma wiki. I wanted my herbal chapatis and chinese rice. But not with Serapia the Hawker. There had to be another way. Maybe I could take my purple-suited girl to cooking class. But then we'd still have to overcome the flushing the toilet part. That morning, my 8am sleep was interrupted by Nia's screams of "Moto! Moto!" I jumped out of my bed and ran to her direction. No, not a fire. Boiling hot water, and Nia in it, apparently taking a bath.

And that was it. Hours later Nia was safely on her way to Grandma's, and I sat down with HB and delivered the news. "Sharo, tumeamua tukuachishe kazi. Tuko na mambo mingi sasa za harusi, na Nia ameenda kuishi na Nyanyake, kwa hivyo hatukuhitaji. Panga vitu vyako, tukupeleke kwa basi." Her countenance changed in a split second. I didn't know what to expect. "Sasa nitapanga nini, na sikukuja na kitu?"

"Basi ya Kakamega, abiria wanaoenda Kakamega, saa mbili basi yenu ndio hii" rang the now familiar Jang’o voice. I swiftly made for the bus with her in tow. Forgotten are the stories of Dama & Shiro. She was first on the queue, and I was happy. They checked her ticket and she boarded. I told her I'd call to make sure she'd arrived safely. I lied. Again.

Her name was Sharolid.

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!