Category Archives: LOVE, LIFE, FAM

CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE IN NAIROBI: A SURVIVOR’S STORY

I can’t believe I’m finally ready to write this post.

Shit. Fucking hell.

Here goes.

I was at a funeral last Friday. Another one.

Christ, I’ve seen so many families cry this year. Remember my January posts, this one, this one, and this one?

And, this post I wrote about my friend’s passing?

It’s like every month of this year, someone around me died or lost someone they loved.

The month of May was not spared the touch of death either.

My favourite cousin’s father died this month after a short illness, and our whole extended family traveled upcountry on Friday last week to pay our last respects and lay him to rest.

The funeral service was packed, we couldn’t even get inside the church to listen to the sermon. So many of us had to stand outside and listen to the proceedings from the blaring speakers.

He was a pastor, and you could tell that he had impacted a great number of lives while he was still amongst us. It was truly humbling to see that many people come to pay their last respects to a wonderful man.

My baby brother and I were outside during the service, busy chatting with the wife to one of my other cousins. We were just catching up, making jokes. We’d missed her after months of not being together.

And then, out of the blue, with the conversation between my brother, my cousin’s wife, and I getting funnier and louder, I saw him.

He had just walked into the compound, and he was probably looking for a familiar face when our eyes met.

My heart froze. I just looked at him, into his eyes, willing him, nay, daring him, not to come and say hallo.

He quickly looked away as he walked past us, but, I kept my eyes on him for five more seconds.

I was transfixed. I didn’t want to be the first to look away because a part of me wanted to show him I wasn’t scared any more.

Another part was just trying to comprehend if this really was the man that I remembered from so many years ago.

The other part was just trying to mess with his head. ‘Boy, I see you! Run!’

But, I needed to look away because every extra second was becoming unbearable for the little girl inside.

I was a bit frazzled after that, and I remember telling my brother that I was going outside to look for another family member.

Anything to ensure that I don’t come into any contact with this individual.

I think my baby brother understood immediately because as I started to walk away, he followed suit, leaving my cousin’s wife standing there confused by the abrupt end to our engrossing conversation.

Sorry, T!πŸ˜₯πŸ˜₯πŸ˜ͺπŸ˜ͺ😫😫

She probably thought we were so rude. I did feel slightly guilty for dragging my brother along when I was the one with the problem.

Hope she didn’t think ill of my brother. He was just being a loyal sibling and friend.

For good reason too. He’s the only witness to what I am about to tell you.

Our history with this man I was avoiding now dates back twenty years ago.

Our birth mother had just passed away, and we were living with our aunty, Wahu, and her husband (mum and dad as we now refer to them) in their huge house.

At the time, dad’s ailing grandfather was also staying with them. He was a mean old man, but my brother and I (mostly me because I was the cheeky one) always found a way to make him laugh.

Owing to his age, and his deteriorating health, he needed a constant caregiver. We too needed a minder because we were still young, and our adopted parents had full time jobs.

Their youngest son, Sam, had just joined med school, so he wasn’t available to look after the three of us.

That’s when mum made the fateful decision to hire extra help from upcountry. One of dad’s relatives was struggling with school fees for his young kids, so mum decided to hire their eldest son in the hopes that he could use part of his earnings to educate his younger siblings.

He was a teenager when he came to work for the family. I think he was in his late teens at that time.

It worked out well for the first few weeks, if I remember correctly. My grandfather was happy with the arrangement because this was someone he knew, someone he could trust, and definitely someone he could order around (my granddad loved ordering everyone around).

My mum was happy because now there was someone to take care of the old man, my baby brother and I, the house and the yard.

Everyone was seemingly covered, and life became manageable again for my adoptive parents.

But, things weren’t so rosy if you peeked below the surface.

After he had acclamatized to his new surroundings, the nightmare began.

My mind has successfully blocked out most memories from this time, but this is what I do remember;

– the taste of his mouth from him forcefully kissing me whenever he’d find me alone in some part of the house

– screaming myself hoarse and wondering why no one could hear me everytime he’d pin me on my back and mess with my privates until it hurt (usually happened on Saturday mornings- we were home from school, and the house was usually empty)

– how painful it was to take a piss after he’d touch me down there

– my baby brother’s confused and scared look when he’d heard me screaming one time from our room only to run and find me pinned to my back, kicking and screaming, with the houseboy forcibly fondling me (He stopped when he noticed my brother was at the door)

– him twisting my wrists painfully or squeezing my hands everytime that I tried to resist him, or I refused to do as he said (like touch him down there, I was not a fan)

– I remember endlessly kicking him, punching him, scratching him, trying to get him away from me, and he would be smiling and laughing all the while as he held both my hands together tight with his one hand, use his free hand to abuse me, and use his lower body to keep my legs still.

To stop me from screaming, he would be suffocating me with his mouth (his idea of kissing)

– I remember how tired I would feel after every encounter, and how sore my wrists, my hands, my arms, my privates, and my legs would feel. My head would also ache from the screaming and the crying

– I also remember how stupidly defiant I was. I would insult and berate him (with the little English and Swahili I could master back then) after every episode knowing full well he was going to come after me again.

I would fight, and I think that’s where my violent streak comes from (Don’t worry, I’m much calmer now).

This is just the gist of the abuse that probably started in 1999/2000 and ended in 2001, to the best of my recollection.

There was never any penetration. Not that I can remember. I don’t think my mind would have been able to block that out.

I never told my mum. I never told my elder brother. I never told my best friend. I never told a soul until now as I narrate to you what I went through.

I don’t know what, if anything, my baby brother remembers but he must know something. We talk about everything else in our past except those two years this man was living with us.

If I remember correctly, the man left as soon as or slightly before my grandfather died. I was in class five, quiet, withdrawn, and yet highly attention-seeking when I was out of his reach. I think I just wanted someone to ask me what’s wrong.

No one ever did.

When it hit me that he wasn’t in our lives anymore, it’s like I awoke from a deep sleep.

I remember I started making friends in school. I began to actually focus on schoolwork and getting better grades. Like better grades to a point that I started receiving academic awards in class 6 and beyond.

Before that, my grades were sucky, and I would get into my fair share of trouble with my class teachers, Mrs Okumu (class 3) and Mr Nyambu (class 4).

I was exhibiting behavioural issues at this time that no one really latched onto.

But, now that he was gone, I was a whole new girl. Making friends became easier. My studies became easier. I was finally able to flourish.

I pushed the memories of that time down so deep, and for years, I couldn’t allow myself to think about it.

Then I started writing this blog, and I began to see how events in my childhood had almost messed me up completely.

And, I began to realise the power and the healing that comes from writing about them, not so much for people to read, but for me to acknowledge my pain, and to be open and naked enough to show others where the wounds were.

It was easier to talk about my mother’s suicide, my father’s abandoning us, my dalliance with depression, drugs, and sex in my previous posts than it was talking about the sexual abuse.

But, I knew one day, I’d have to. It’s part of the journey in shaping my own narrative devoid of the horrific things that happened to me, to us, when my brother and I were kids.

Yap, that’s it!

In memory of the little girl I was before this, and in solidarity with the millions of children abused in our country, Kenya.

πŸ’œβ™₯οΈπŸ’–πŸ’œβ™₯οΈπŸ’–πŸ’œβ™₯οΈπŸ’–πŸ’œβ™₯οΈπŸ’–

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HI 28!! IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOUπŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œ

I just celebrated my 28th birthday, and it was all sorts of a blast!

Gosh, 28! I had no idea I could grow so old.

28 feels old, but in a good way. Like rustic old, that’s definitely a good thing.

There’s a sense of peace with being 28. At least for me there is.

I am no longer the jumpy little girl of yester years.

Okay, I still am, but, now, that jumpy little girl also has a sense of responsibility for the people around her.

My spirit accepts this responsibility wholeheartedly, and this acceptance gives me peace.

For the first time in a long time, I know exactly where I am going, and I don’t have to sacrifice the people that hold me dear in order to get there.

I have finally figured out how to give myself to others, and still work on myself financially, emotionally, and mentally without feeling strained or having to sacrifice one aspect of my life at the altars of the others.

It’s a beautiful feeling, and I hope this state of being continues throughout my life; adjusting where necessary, but, ultimately always being able to meaningfully balance between work and family.

If I can hold it together like this for the next decade, I might finally be ready for a child.

That’s a scary thought. Children. From my womb, nonetheless.

Wow! I don’t know if I’ll ever mentally get to that point where I declare that I am ready for kids.

I don’t think my vagina wants me to ever be mentally prepared for that.

Maybe as the years continue to pass by, I’ll become more mature about child-bearing and child rearing. Maybe. Just maybe.

In the meantime, I’ll just focus on being more empathetic and loving towards my mother, my fathers, my brothers, my nephews, and the man whose love has ignited a passion inside me, it could consume me whole without me ever realising it.

These people are my responsibilities, and I accept them wholeheartedly.

Don’t worry, I won’t forget to take care of myself, I promise.

Perhaps as the year goes on, I can accommodate others into my little love circle; hopefully get out of my cocoon more often.

We’ll see how that goes.

I will also endeavour to be a better Arsenal fan. I’ve been improving lately; no more cussing out at the players, just enjoying the games win or lose.

Speaking of Arsenal, although in no way related, did you catch Tuesday’s amazing Champions League game between Liverpool and Barcelona?

Who knew that Liverpool had the cahoonas to overturn Barca’s goal advantage, and completely destroy them in less than 90 minutes.

Absolutely no one expected this from the underdogs. I don’t think Barca had ever even considered a defeat at this stage to Liverpool, after securing a three goal advantage in the first leg, a possibility.

It wasn’t meant to happen but it did, and that’s what makes soccer, nay Liverpool, so damn orgasmic!

Jesus!!!!!

A big shout out to my namesake (I wish) Georginio, Wijnaldum, Mane, and Alexander Arnold.

These guys made me so proud Tuesday night. If they could defeat Barca with so resoundingly, then nothing that I want for my life is impossible. Nothing at all!!

Still talking about Arsenal, although we still aren’t, kudos to Hotspur’s Lucas Moura for his incredible performance last night. He singlehandedly took his team to the finals on a night where everything was stacked against them.

Beautiful football! Beautiful moments that will last a lifetime.

Love, and kisses from this bombshell May baby. πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–

ILLUSIONS OF LOVE, A SICK MIND, A BROKEN SPIRIT

Once upon a time,

you were the man of my dreams.

I saw my future in your eyes,

I held your dreams in my heart.

Once upon a time,

Your smile was music to my soul,

And,

you laying next to me, asleep in my arms

Felt nothing short of divine.

I felt connected to you,

Honoured to share with you,

Stolen glances

Stolen kisses

Stolen nights.

I say stolen because you were never mine.

Not wholly.

Maybe not even in the slightest.

Everything I thought we were,

The connection I thought we had,

Turns out, Was only in my imagination.

There were no lies, just subtle half truths,

Omissions you didn’t even try to cover up,

And, I, was still non the wiser.

Poor, little, confused orphan girl,

Looking for love,

Looking for salvation,

in all the wrong places

Reading too much into

the way you looked at me,

Into the little time you gave me,

Into the half-hearted attention you paid to me.

I thought this was love,

I thought this was enough,

I thought this was all I could get,

And, this was all I deserved.

Desperate for love,

I clung to the illusion

there was something more,

That we were something more,

That we were something special.

I compelled myself to believe,

That I was in love with you,

And that you were in love with me,

I was wrong.

This wasn’t love,

It was just the creation of

A love-depraved mind,

Looking for somewhere to belong.

But, I thank you,

For taking care of me,

Instead of taking advantage of my weak mind,

And misusing me.

Thank you for letting me be annoyed with you,

When really, it was never your fault.

Thank you for the stolen glances,

The teasing,

The kissing,

And the love making.

For a time, they saved me from myself.

You are a good man, AK,

And the world deserves to know it.

Sincerely,

Your once upon a time lover,

Jiggah!

BETRAYAL- A DAUGHTER’S PAIN

I, Georgina Wangui aka Kui, have been blessed with the opportunity of having two fathers in my life.

That’s two men who consider me as their daughter, as their blood.

There are two grown men at this instant, whom if and when asked to talk about their kids, I’d be part of that lineup.

One man passed on his genes to me, and the other helped raise me.

There’s no denying that each loves me, and that I belong to both of them.

That kind of makes me feel somewhat special. Not so much, but somewhat.

This blessing of having two fathers also comes with its own set of problems.

They are men, and each has done some pretty shitty things that have been revealed to me as the years go by- things that are akin to betrayal from my perspective.

Like mind-bendingly shitty things!

I think that’s why I am not as excited about having two dads as I should be. It’s like being heartbroken twice; a never ending heartache from men I once held in such high esteem.

But, the most messed up thing is I can’t hate them. I can’t find it in my heart to push them out of my life for the dispeakable things they have done.

I can’t say a bad word to either of them.

I smile every time I am talking to either of them.

I am warm and consumed by this warmth everytime I am in their presence, or just talking to them over the phone.

It’s like in that instant, with each individual, they are just my dads.

There’s no anger towards them, just disappointment that, funnily enough, rarely shows itself whenever I’m communicating with them.

Love is a funny thing.

But, I am disappointed, thoroughly. I wish they hadn’t done the things they did. I wish they hadn’t caused the level of hurt they have on people I care so deeply about, and on myself as well.

I wish they would have been men of honour, and I wouldn’t have to feel conflicted between anger and acceptance.

I’m mad at myself too. I should be angry and let them know their actions have hurt us. I should be demanding for apologies, rather than acting as if everything is okay.

Why am I so complacent in this?

Why am I not giving them the opportunity to taste my disappointment?

Love is indeed a funny thing.

Maybe deep down, I don’t want to believe the things they did.

Or maybe, I’m just empathetic. They have to live with the knowledge of all the wrong things they’ve done, and how life has humbled them time and time again because of these mistakes.

That is pretty haunting! And, maybe that’s our revenge- us, the victims of my fathers’ hurtful actions.

I think that’s enough for me. Knowing that they are not getting away with it, that their peace of mind is altered owing to the hurtful, fucked up things they did, and possibly continue to do.

Yap, that is definitely enough for me.

So, I will continue being nice. I’ll continue loving them to my heart’s full measure.

I will revel in remaining their baby girl because, a) it makes me happy, and b) hopefully, it adds to their torment.

Sincerely,

Daddies’ girl πŸ˜πŸ˜πŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–πŸ’œπŸ’–

CHRONICLES OF A SELF-CONFESSED LONER – 1

I’m good at many things. Like making myself laugh, washing clothes, watching football, and being alone. I excel at being alone, and find it quite enjoyable.

I’m also apparently really good at writing and singing. These two endeavours have brought a lot of fulfillment into my life.

But, there’s one thing I suck at…

… being close to people.

I can’t count how many people I have ran out of my life because I simply got tired of sharing my time with them. Because I got uncomfortable knowing them further than I already had.

It’s that simple. I just prefer to be alone most of the time, and when people start asking for more of my time, I start to pull away.

It’s like I don’t mind being friends with people just as long as we don’t have to interact more than I find necessary.

That’s just the way I am.

Unfortunately, this has caused a lot of pain for people whose paths I have crossed, for people who genuinely like my company and my weird personality.

I’ve done the same thing to my mummy in the past, pushing her away simply because I prefer being alone.

For the longest time, I was afraid to make friends because I was scared I would only hurt them.

The only friend, other than my mother, that I have been able to maintain till date is John, my best friend.

It’s been a slippery slope with everyone else.

Until recently, I was only making acquaintances and resisting attempts to take it any further because I am all too aware of my main weakness.

And then it happened.

I met a girl, and we became fast friends. Perhaps I believed that I was over my affliction, that now that I was older, I could commit to a friendship that required a lot of my time.

I was so wrong! I’m never growing out of this trait.

We hang out all the time, and soon, it started to eat me up.

I hate phone calls, and every time she called, my heart sunk. It felt like my time alone was being threatened, and this threat had to be neutralised using any means necessary.

True to form, I engineered the end of our friendship by seemingly sabotaging it. And, sabotage I did without even knowing what it was I was doing.

She got hurt I could tell, but, to my surprise, she only backed away slightly.

She didn’t swear that she’ll never talk to me. Rather, she seemed to understand that I needed space, and she gave it to me. She didn’t hate me.

She understood me, and despite my plans to destroy the relationship, she forgave me.

Now we are friends again but with the boundaries firmly imposed, just how I like it.

This experience taught me to woman up and tell people about my affliction rather than just pulling away, and not giving them a reason.

I hope all those people I have hurt before by pulling away from them will one day understand why.

In memory of Margaret Wambui Githendu, a beautiful woman with a lot of love and a lot of vision.

ANOTHER MONTH, ANOTHER PAINFUL LOSS

Hallo awesome people,

I’m back.

With something I would like to share. It’s a bit heavy but here goes…

A friend died by suicide on the 17th of March, and it was such a devastating loss for everyone involved.

I’ve hang out with him just a couple of times after moving back home, and each time was an absolute pleasure.

The last time we hang out, it was in his father’s car at our local grocery shop. I was sitting at the back, his favourite female in the entire world was sitting at the passenger seat, while he, obviously, was on the driver’s seat.

As we waited for the attendants to load the items that were on the list into the car, we talked, laughed, and made fun of each other, and our other mutual friends.

We didn’t have a care in the world at that point, at least that’s what it seemed like. Everyone was okay, everyone was happy.

I left the two in the car as I had a short errand to run for my mum in town.

That was the last time I saw him alive. 5th March 2019.

Before this, he had graciously accepted my invitation to our church’s Valentine’s dinner back in February.

He came, and obviously, he was the life of the party.

Here he was, trying to explain what he looked for in an ideal partner.

Before this, he had been playing with an adorable three year old princess, distracting the speakers with how much fun they were having together.

He tried his best to tone it down, but the little girl was having too much fun, and he just got sucked into it completely.

You should have heard the child giggle as they played on the grass. It was the cutest thing ever!

On the afternoon of 15th February, he, along with our two mutual friends, and Sammy, had come to help me with the preparations for the dinner that would be held that evening.

The conversations were endless, and again, everyone seemed okay. Each of us seemed happy and content just being there with one another.

And now, he is no more! He’s gone, and by his own hand, nonetheless.

It just goes to show that we never really know the extent of the darkness that lies beneath our glowing smiles and hearty laughs.

And, it’s no one’s fault.

It isn’t our fault- despite the fact that we were his friends, and could have caught a glimpse of this darkness once or twice, but couldn’t do anything more for him than just laugh with him, and make everything seem okay, albeit for just a couple of minutes.

It isn’t his family’s fault either – I know they tried to show him love and support the best way they knew how. I’m sure they went above and beyond for him, and somehow, it still wasn’t enough.

Sometimes, love is simply not enough.

You can love somebody so much, with every being in your body, but still be incapable of saving them from what is eating them from the inside.

Sometimes, love isn’t enough.

Sometimes the darkness overpowers your will to go one more day.

Sometimes the thread that holds you to your loved ones becomes too miniscule compared to the monster growing inside you.

To quiet the voices, to drown the pain, you choose to do the one thing that would crush your loved ones’ hearts.

But, at least, finally you get your peace. And, eventually, you hope, that they’ll find peace in knowing that you are finally resting.

I am in no way condoning his decision, it hurts, and I can’t possibly imagine what his family is going through.

But, every time I put myself in his shoes, or in my own mother’s shoes, I can see how the battle can become overwhelming, and no amount of talk, love, or support can stop the disease, this darkness, from taking over.

Recently, (literally two days ago), we were ranked the sixth most depressed nation in the world.

That means hundreds of thousands of us are depressed, and our suicide rates are skyrocketing especially amongst our young men.

I think the best thing we can do is to be on the lookout for the earliest signs of depression in our family members, and act upon it immediately.

We need to help people fight their demons way earlier on before the disease spreads farther, and our love, support, and listening ears can’t do much to help.

It’s like cancer – early detection is the only way we can circumvent the effects of the disease.

And, depression is a disease. A serious one, and I’m tired of people my parents’ age not understanding this point, and behaving as if all those that are depressed are a bunch of entitled brats!

Some people are born predisposed to depression.

Others fall into it because of the poisonous societal conditions we’ve managed to create over the years, and seem unwilling to change at least for the sake of our collective mental health.

Right now, I’m at peace because my friend is in peace. He was so young, but somehow the disease had progressed to a point nothing we could do or say would have changed the path he chose to find that peace.

But, I know that in order to stop such a tragedy from happening again, I need to be extra ALERT and pick up on the earliest, smallest signs of depression exhibited by the people around me.

My conversations and interactions will be more meaningful, more insightful. It’s going to be me listening more rather than talking, and allowing my loved ones to be as free as possible around me.

I hope that somehow this helps, and I hope that you too, dear reader, get to do the same for your loved ones.

Anyway,

Goodbye until the next time I have something to tell you.

Kisses πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

MAKING THE FIRST MOVE

Hi everyone πŸ‘‹πŸΏπŸ‘‹πŸΏπŸ‘‹πŸΏπŸ‘‹πŸΏ,

I’m back!

I haven’t posted anything in the last month, and that has me feeling a certain type of way. It feels like I am letting my spirit down for not writing my personal thoughts as often as I should.

So, here I am. Writing.

What should I write about?

My last three posts (this one, this one, and this one) were detailing the death and agony that was going on around me throughout the month of January this year.

January was a tough month all round.

But, February came with the much needed reprieve.

No deaths, no burials, and very few heartaches. Life slowly went back to normal.

The youth group in our church organized a Valentine’s dinner for the 15th of February. Entry was free; there was a buffet dinner, amazing music, great ambiance, great lighting and powerful speakers/relationship experts.

Of course, I had to sing a song to the audience that night because as I have told you before, dear reader, I can actually sing! The crowd loved my singing, but I still have a hard time looking at the crowd as I sing. On that night, I found myself looking up at the sky as I sang.

The sky was so beautiful that night, and yes, I am working on maintaining eye contact with the crowd throughout my performance.

Oh, which song did I sing, you ask?

Well, if you must know, I sang a rendition of the truly iconic love song, ‘Can’t help falling in love’.

I used the cover done by Jules Aurora for inspiration. She is such a talented singer!

Anyway, my performance was awesome, and I got some pretty amazing reviews after that.

Here I am performing (just in case you didn’t believe me, and need photographic evidence):

I invited literally everyone I watch football with at our local pub. So many of them came, and we had an exceptionally wonderful time. Who wouldn’t when there is free food and music?

John, my best friend, came all the way from Kilifi just for this dinner, and to hear me sing (that’s a lie; I know he came to see hot girls). Here he is eating πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

But, the most incredible thing about that night was that I actually had a date!

A date! A real date for Valentine’s. Colour me shocked because this is so unlike me. I never date. Never! I don’t go out on dates, or celebrate Valentine’s as a romantic holiday.

But, this year I did, and I am so glad.

And, get this, I’m the one who asked him to be my date. Yaaaaaaaay to girls making the first move!!

I almost died when he said yes!!

We had such a wonderful evening, and we haven’t looked back since.

He is now my boyfriend, and I am having the time of my life getting to know him better.

He makes me laugh. Hard! I’m always laughing when he’s around, and that is a beautiful thing!

He’s natural in every possible imaginable way. He doesn’t exaggerate who he is, how he feels, and there are no mind games. What you see is exactly what you get.

He’s into art and music in a way that is so captivating and enthralling, I’m just compelled to like him even more.

In these few weeks since we started dating, this man has opened me up to a world of Kenyan art and music that I had no clue existed!

Oh My God!!

We live in a capital full of orgasmic talent, and most of us are oblivious to it. We are letting little pieces of heaven slip us by. What a shame!

I was oblivious to it too for the longest time, but now that he has exposed me to this world, I feel awakened and hungry to hear, feel, see every artist’s body of work.

It’s a beautiful feeling!

Now, I can honestly say that I know authentic Kenyan artists, and that I have a favourite Kenyan band (it’s Yubu and his gang just in case you are wondering, check out their performance this previous Saturday at Dagoz Artists’ Bar below)

These guys are beyond amazing. My boyfriend sent me a link to some of their songs a couple of weeks ago, and asked me if I would like to see them perform.

I said yes, because they sounded amazing. During their performance that night, they dedicated two amazing songs to me, and for the longest time, I was breathless.

Ah, it was a beautiful feeling!

He also loves my voice ever since he heard it at that Valentine’s dinner. Because of his encouragement, I have performed thrice at Dagoz, even in front of Yubu and his gang, as well as some legendary acts like Dave Otieno, and Fariji.

I would have never thought of doing something like this. I am so glad he’s here to push me to dream even bigger.

My last performance was this last Sunday at Dagoz. I had never sang in front of such a big crowd before, and everyone there was a stranger, except my boyfriend, and my friend, Deborah.

He just asked me out of the blue if I could talk to the band to see if I could perform when they took their break. I did just that, and they said YES!!!

The crowd was mammoth, but, I wasn’t scared for some reason. It felt great being up there, and listening to my own voice was amazing.

Watching the crowd get stunned as I hit those notes is probably the most exhilarating experience I have had in my adult life. Wow!

And then, just after I had completed that number, even before the applause and the cheers had died down, they started demanding another song. I just had to do one last number for them, which they absolutely loved as well.

Oh, which songs did I perform that night, you ask?

1. Sweet talker (acoustic version) by Jessie J

2. Can’t help falling in love – Jules Aurora cover (it was still fresh in my mind)

The band members were blown away as well, and they are looking forward to jamming with me in the coming weeks ( I’ll keep you guys updated, I promise).

Honestly, all that mattered is that he loved how I performed.

I think I found my biggest fan, whose not just a fan of my voice, but of my entire essence.

I am so glad I made the first move. It has been an absolute life changer.

Goodbye everyone, and have yourselves fantastic weeks.

JANUARY 2019 III- WHEN TERROR STRIKES

And here comes part 3 of the series on deadly events that have transpired around us in the first month of 2019.

A TERROR ATTACK!

It sounds surreal even writing about it, like, did it really happen, or did we imagine it?

But, it’s true. It happened. It was not a dream, and 21 people died, just like that.

On the 15th of January 2019, 21 innocent people walked/drove/were driven into the Dusit D2 Complex on 14 Riverside Drive, and never came out (alive, that is).

Their families are devastated, their destinies having been forever altered by the actions of a few deranged, brainwashed, mentally unstable, backward individuals who have not yet realized that they are being used as pawns by powerful people, who by the way, place no value in their lives.

700 people were rescued, which we are grateful for, but, we might never fully comprehend the emotional scars they carry with them as a direct result of this terror attack.

They will morph into completely different people as a result of their experiences on this day. For many, the change will not be for the better.

In cases like this, there is also the trauma faced by the rescuers and first aiders, plus the individuals who live and work around the area where the terror attack has occurred.

It is literally a 15 minute walk between our city home, and the complex that was attacked. I pass this area everytime I am going and coming from home. Ever since the attack, all I keep thinking whenever I pass here is that it could have been me.

Or it could have been my parents.

Or one of the guys I watch soccer with at our local every weekend. Or one of their loved ones.

Or one of my friends from Church. Or their parents. Or their siblings.

It could have been any of us because of our proximity to the place, and we would have never known that our end was coming.

Sadly, the end came for those 21 souls. People who had plans for their days and for the rest of their lives.

People who had nothing to do with the war in Somalia. People who had done nothing to deserve the ire of Al-Shabaab.

They were just normal people, leading their daily lives, exercising their full human rights.

Words cannot even describe how senseless this attack was, how senseless every terror attack (including the ones orchestrated by the West) is.

We created this problem ourselves; all of us as a collective.

There are those of us who participated directly in fueling the flames of religious extremism (mainly for economic gain political dominance), and, there are those of us who stood idly by, pretending that we could not see the monster being created, pretending that we had no power to stop it.

WE ARE ALL TO BLAME! Each and every one of us, irrespective of religion, or nationality.

I personally feel like I am responsible. Like there is something I should do or should have done to help fight terrorism authentically without all of the political nuances and intonations.

Like there is a better way to handle this catastrophe, and it’s my fault for not working hard enough to figure it out. For always putting it at the back of my head because it does not affect me directly in the past.

But now it has affected me directly. And, it has been a wake-up call for me, and I hope for everyone else affected by this terror attack to put our individual efforts in solving this problem.

Whether it’s paying more attention to our surroundings, alerting the authorities of any suspicious activities around us, refraining ourselves from engaging in exclusionary practices based solely on religion, intervening before a loved one is inculcated into an extremist group, or choosing political leaders that promote rather than reject diversity, we all have a part to play.

There is something you can do today that can stop a terrorist attack tomorrow.

We owe it to these 21 Dusit D2 fallen souls plus the millions of innocent victims of terrorism all over the world.

You owe it to yourself and to your loved ones.

Stay safe!!!

JANUARY 2019- THE SAD, UGLY, AND DOWNRIGHT DEADLY II

Hi there,

It’s me, again.

Here comes part 2 of the series of sad, ugly, and deadly events that have transpired around my parents and I in January 2019.

Event 2

We had barely come to terms with my elder cousin’s deadly diagnosis, when a death occurred in our church congregation.

Just last Sunday, a week after my cousin was transported to Kenyatta National Hospital for emergency treatment, we were informed that the son to one of our fellow congregants had died suddenly in his sleep.

By all accounts, this was a healthy man in his late 30s living a healthy lifestyle, and yet here he was,….gone and never to be heard from again.

He was at the peak of his life, based on testimonies from friends and family, and now, he was no more.

The saddest part is that he died an ocean away from home (he was working and residing in Australia at the time of his death).

It’s so sad that his parents and sister never got the chance to say goodbye. Or maybe they did, but they just didn’t know that that would be their last farewell. That’s even sadder.

It’s devastating to think about the pain the family is going through right at this moment, and even as we keep on going to condole with them at their residence, the shock, for both us and them, isn’t wearing off.

We were told that he died in his sleep from a brain aneurysm. The assumption that most of my fellow congregants are making is that he died peacefully without any pain. If this is true, I hope it gives the family some form of comfort.

We are waiting for the full medical report from the coroner abroad so that we can begin the process of transporting the body back here as well as the funeral arrangements.

I have never met him, but I can tell how loved he was by the grief that we are all experiencing and the pain we are feeling on behalf of the family.

You can literally see the turmoil in their eyes. His sister has lost a dear friend, a confidant, a companion…an only sibling!

His parents have lost their first born child, their only son. An unbreakable bond that’s been dissolved before their very eyes.

The three of them were so used to having him as part of their life; his presence was guaranteed. For 39 years, he was an intrinsic part of their tight knit unit. How are they supposed to move on from this?

How?

They’ll be no getting over this for them, and even for us as a church community because three of our members will forever be hurting. When one of us is hurting, we are all hurting.

This is our pain, this is our loss.

——————————————————————

YESTERDAY, COME AGAIN by Kui

If only we could go back to yesterday,

When I could hear you speak,

When I could hold you,

If only we could go back to yesterday,

When your smile lit up my heart,

And we talked and laughed,

If only we could go back to yesterday,

When I was sure I would see you forever,

Ah, yesterday, won’t you come back again?

And if we could go back to yesterday,

I would hold you, and not let go,

And I would pray,

Pray,

That that lonely tomorrow,

That tomorrow that’s without you,

Never should I have to live through it.

Yesterday, won’t you come back again?

Rest with the angels, our dear son πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

JANUARY 2019- SAD, UGLY, AND DEADLY (PART 1)

I hope wherever you are reading this from, you are having the best January of your life.

Too much of a stretch?

Okay, let me try again.

(Clears throat)

I hope wherever you are reading this from, your January 2019 is unfolding much better than mine is.

(Is that better? I hope so).

You can tell by the title of this post, that this January for me, and for so many people around me, is nothing but pure HELL.

It’s only the 17th of January, and I feel like I and the people I care about have lived 10 years within these first 17 days.

Let me explain.

Whenever we usher in a new year, we hope and pray for prosperity, health, success, promotions, wealth, love, and so many other desirable things.

We do this every year, and usually for me, January is a quiet month with very few surprises. Everything is moving slowly as we try to adjust ourselves to normal life after a long month of festivities.

But, not this January.

Nope! This one we’ve been hit by deadly surprises one after the other, and I can barely catch my breath. It almost feels like we are being cornered as we watch the invisible hand of death pick from all around us.

It’s only human to ask, am I next? Is someone I can’t imagine life without, next?

She’s hitting so close to home, and a pattern is forming, at least in my mind. And, I know I’m usually the paranoid one, the worrier, the overly anxious one, the overthinker; so maybe my concerns are baseless. Or are they?

So, what exactly has been happening? What’s got me so frazzled?

I’ll tell you. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

Event 1

On the first weekend of 2019, my elder cousin was transported from a town called Nanyuki to Nairobi, our capital city, for emergency treatment.

She arrived at the wee hours of Saturday morning at Kenyatta Hospitality (our public national hospital), and my parents drove there to help with admission and stuff.

I went there during the day on Saturday, and I was shocked at how ill she was. She couldn’t swallow anything (she still can’t) because there was something blocking the food and water from passing through. She was so emaciated it was hard to believe it was the same woman. And, she’s in so much pain.

My parents and I have been taking turns visiting her since the day of admission, but it’s getting harder now to see her because her condition is getting worse every day.

This week they finally told us that she is suffering from throat cancer, and it is at the advanced stage. The doctors are not very confident that we can beat it.

This is not the only life-threatening disease that she has. She has suffered from epilepsy all her life, and these epileptic attacks have caused her to suffer so many physical injuries. For instance, during one of these epileptic episodes, her leg was severely burned when she kicked over the stove, and it burned her. To this day, several surgeries later, her leg still oozes pus sometimes, and her mobility is diminished.

She’s also suffered from chronic nose bleeding for years, and this has resulted in further complications.

This is not the first time that we as a family have experienced cancer. Both my maternal grandparents died from cancer. My maternal uncle and aunt also died from cancer. My real mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a year or so before her death, and this must have contributed significantly to her decision to take her own life.

So, we’ve been down this road before, we know the outcome. Yes, there are better medicines now, and better equipment, but my research indicates that the survival rate for late stage throat cancer is still quite low in the country.

But, I’m not going to think about that. I’m going to think about her, her mother, her children, and her children’s children. I’m going to think about her healing, and I’m going to think about how we can reduce the pain.

I’ve seen her laugh a couple of times before and after the diagnosis. Seeing her laugh gives us strength; it gives us hope, and renews our spirit.

I’m also going to think about her eyes. She has these incredibly innocent white eyes. They are so beautiful, so childlike. I have never seen a middle aged woman with eyes like those, so clean.

Wherever this journey takes us, we shall walk together, for each other.

Did you know that Kenya is in the African Eosaphagal Cancer Corridor, which means we have the highest incidences of throat cancer in this region? We are basically a hotspot for throat cancer. Shocking!!

Part 2 and part 3 of this series are coming up shortly.

Try and have yourself a wonderful January, for my sake πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–