I was in a matatu, heading somewhere, and I was seated next to the driver with a friend.

As the driver was driving, he encountered two middle-aged Indian men, kalasingas, as we call them, riding on motorbikes at the speed of like 5 kilometres per hour, chatting, and hence, blocking the road on that lane that we were on.

The driver went ballistic. It was ugly. He started insulting the men, the men insulted him back. It was some seriously foul insults that I can’t repeat, back and forth. Soon they were threatening to fight each other and the driver almost got out of the vehicle to actualize the threats. By now there was traffic starting to build up and curious onlookers and drivers were slowing down to watch the drama. Some of the other matatu passengers jumped into the drama and started yelling and insulting the men: “Rudini nchi yenu!” (“Go back to your country!”,) and other similar sentiments were yelled out to the men.

I have to say, I was shocked (and also a little envious of the two men, who had the fortitude and the guts to keep going despite being outnumbered) that Kenyans feel so strongly about foreigners, particularly Indians. I have heard so much negativity directed towards them: that they feel superior to Kenyans because we are black and they are, well, whatever colour they are; that they treat their employees like slaves; that they treat black people as lesser beings because they believe that we are from a lower caste than they are.

There is so much animosity towards foreigners in this country. I remember arguing with a friend of mine that some of these so-called foreigners are actually Kenyan citizens since they were born here, but she would have none of it.

What’s my stand on this issue? I hate racism, black-on-white, white-on-black, Indian-on-black, black-on-Indian, Somali-on-nywele ngumu (or “hard hair”, as some refer to Kenyans)…it’s all the same. It’s all discrimination.

I don’t deny that some of the claims are true, that some races discriminate against us. I just do not think that two wrongs make a right. I am not justifying the wrong. I just think we need to be above it. It hurts the other person just as much as it hurts us when we discriminate against them; so essentially, we are just playing the same game.

Also, racism is one of those mass-punishment things, you know, like if in high school, the teacher found a few people making noise in class and punished the whole class for noise-making, including the innocents? It was so unfair! Racism is the same to me; we punish everyone in that group for a number of people’s mistakes: totally unfair.

That’s my take. What’s yours?

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• Outcry of a Kenyan

Stella Mwangi - STL

I’m sure you’ve all seen them, the dreadlocked, curly-haired, braided, kinky-tressed (or Afro-kinky-tressed) ladies all over town. These days when I walk around the city centre, or go to any event that has several ladies in attendance, I notice it. More than half of the ladies have some form of natural hair style. Is it a trend? Yes. Is it more than a trend? I think so. I think the natural hair phenomenon is more than a sensation and it is here to stay.

I am one of the natural-hair sporting ladies I’m talking about. After several misadventures with a certain hairdresser, my colored and permed hair started to fall off (or rather, I had large short-hair patches all over my head). It was disastrous! My once pride-and-joy locks were no more!

I must confess I am a perfectionist. I can’t stand half-finished or shoddy jobs. So there was no way I was going to walk around with half-long, half-short hair. And that’s when it hit me. I was going to cut my hair and go natural!!

After a few months of deliberating, while braiding my hair, I decided I was going to grow it out and then cut off the perm when my hair got to a considerable length. For six months, I plaited, undid the braids, plaited, undid the braids… then one day when I was washing my hair and trying to detangle the permed ends, I got fed up. What was I doing? The permed hair needed to go! So I grabbed a pair of scissors and promptly chopped off all the permed hair. The shock! I had short hair the length of my pinkie finger!I have never had hair that short since I was a child. Funny enough, I was so thrilled! I had taken the plunge! Self-actualization!

I’m still growing it and braiding it. It’s like double that length now. Let me tell you, you will never know the true meaning of bad hair days until you sport the true afro kinky hair. Mine is not the delightfully soft ones either, no. It’s the real deal. It looks great as an afro though. I love it. I just need the guts to sport that afro when going to work and not always cover it up in braids.

So, what I love about natural hair is the do-it-yourself aspect of it. I’ve always loved to do hair. I love washing and styling it myself. I’m glad I don’t have to rely on a hairdresser who will have their way with my hair to do harm (clearly still traumatized).

My natural hair is here to stay (at least for a year or two anyway )

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At that point in my life (and even now), I wondered how or why someone would go to school, study, go to university and specialize in a certain course, say, business, do well in it, get a job related to the profession, then a year later, hate it. I mean, literally be bored out of their mind with their work; yet this is what they studied for, for four long years, and probably spent their childhood dreaming about (“When I grow up, I want to study business!” OK, kids don’t usually say that, but for the sake of this story, let’s allow it).

I think I expected that everyone who dreams of being a doctor will be a doctor or will at least never change their mind. I know, life is dynamic. It’s like I always have to remind myself that.

Anyway, where I was going with this is that, purpose is what matters. By purpose, I mean, what you were created on this earth to do, based on your personality, skills, abilities, talents and interests. Keep in mind that purpose can also change from time to time because for a particular season in life, you may have a different purpose from your current goals at another time.

Recently, my sister was telling me how people make money from the oddest ventures. Money is money and work is work, really (all legally obtained, of course). No one will ask you how you got your money when you’re rich so they can frown upon your humble hustle or job that gets you that money. There is a woman who goes home with hundreds of thousands of shillings a week from selling mitumba clothes. Another one makes nearly a million a month from growing some rare herbs and chillies. Basically, what I learned from this is not to judge people from what they do.

At family gatherings, when the young people congregate with the old and are asked what they do, where they are now working, etc, the parents and older generation are always pleased to hear of doctors, lawyers and other professionals, but say you are musician and the uncomfortable shifting and furtive looks that follow will be unmistakable. Why is this? Why is it more prestigious to have a law degree than to have musical talent and prowess? In reality, the musician probably makes a hundred thousand shillings on one gig. How about the lawyer? If he/she is lucky, they earn that in a month.

So what is it really about? Does prestige and cultural norm trump financial success?

I want the financial success. I want the purpose, the pursuit of it, even if it will be unglamorous, because I believe living in my purpose will put me on the path of happiness more than prestige ever will.

Your purpose, when you find it, might lead you down an unlikely path. Wangari Maathai comes to mind, her purpose at the time was saving trees and conserving the environment for a better tomorrow. Was it glamorous? Not really, especially when she was fighting for the environment and leading protests to conserve our natural forests. Did it give her fulfillment though? Yes, I’m sure it did. The satisfaction that she was doing her part in the world and in the greater scheme of things was making a difference must have been great.

It’s really about what is more important, doing your part to change the world, or looking good even though you don’t like what you are doing or couldn’t care less about the financial growth in the last quarter (if you are in the Finance Department).

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.

It’s scary to go where there is no road and make your own path but I’m finding courage to make my own way.

Watch out for me, I’m going to change the world!

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It strikes me as no coincidence that during the festive season, there are so many competitions, raffles, pick-and-win’s, shop-and-grab’s, etc. Why is it that there is an influx of these competitions when the holiday season rolls around?

At every supermarket there is a raffle of some sort. Shop for goods worth 1,000 and get a raffle ticket to win a Vitz or whatever other car they decide to display at the entrance, filling your head with delusions of yourself in the front seat, casually waving at passers-by as you drive with some music filtering out through your car window.

Evil, that’s what I think it is. You spend your hard-earned holiday bonus cash shopping unnecessarily to ‘win’. I hardly ever hear any of my friends or family have won anything. The winners are always people we’ve never heard of. The world is round and small, I mean, really, shouldn’t some of the lucky winners at least be people we know?

The worst are the TV game shows. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against innovative Kenyans coming up with creative ways to make a quick buck. My problem is that they are fleecing poor naive Kenyans. Why not at least make 100% or even 200% profit instead of 1000% profit? Rumor has it that these game show peeps make so much money, the daily 1 million prize barely even pinches their bulging pockets. A friend of a friend told me that some people in the village even sell their goats and cows so they can buy airtime to enter these competitions. It literally brings tears to my eyes.

Sometime around Christmas I was home with my brothers and we started watching one of these notorious shows. I wasn’t really paying attention until one of my brothers asked me if I could sambaza him some credit because his had run out because he kept calling in. Would you believe he had already spent Kshs. 400 and was now soliciting for funds to continue? He kept calling and getting some funny message after which Kshs. 60 is immediately deducted. I think the more you call the more addicted to the game you get. What a gamble.

In the end he didn’t even get the answer right and he had spent over Kshs. 500 in airtime in an hour. I think those games are doctored but it’s still a gamble. Luck is the game, not knowledge or fairness. This is why I have a strange fear of casinos. I always imagine going in there and emptying my purse and when that’s over, running out to the nearest ATM and emptying that too. Afterwards, I call all my family members asking for M-Pesa, after that my friends…and on and on, convincing myself that this time I’ll hit the jackpot. *shivers*

What about those characters who stand at alleys in some streets with some cards on a cardboard table and convince you that your money will be doubled if you play? I still wonder at the fact that there are people who still fall for these tricks. They play and walk away with an envelope filled with a wad of paper. (Hysterical laugh). I’m sorry but seriously? As our grandparents used to say, money doesn’t grow on trees. It can’t be that simple to get your cash doubled. If it was, why would any of us go to work??

To the gamblers out there, it’s a new year; how about a resolution? Don’t give your hard-earned (or hard-gambled) cash away so easily. If life’s a gamble, you need money to play.

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There was a cartoon programme which showed an old lady speaking to a monstrous creature whose dialect I could hardly make out. Is this what kids are watching nowadays?

Monsters, dragons, morphing humans turning into anything from a Transformers-like gadget to a cockroach (OK I may be exaggerating just a little bit)…it’s little wonder that these kids have nightmares and basically have a very different childhood experience from the rest of us born in the 90’s and earlier.

I remember once like five years ago I watched a cartoon where the whole episode was about this family made up of the parents and two kids and how the dad had been working too hard and was always coming home late, leaving his wife frustrated. The wife decided to take matters into her own hands and dressed in a seductive, low-cut top and proceeded to try and seduce the neighbor (or was it her husband’s boss?). This was a cartoon that kids were watching!

I realized things were getting out of hand when I noticed I can no longer watch cartoons (and I love cartoons). If I find them disturbing, I can only imagine the kind of effect they are having on our younger generation.

Other kids’ programmes are not without fault either. Most of them are either about wizardry or super powers. I was shocked when my little 3 year old, relatively shy and quiet cousin spread her arms wide and growled “I’m alive!” What?! Where did she watch that? We can’t have little growling, fighting, seductive kids running around while we watch.

We think that we will filter all the other “grown-up” programmes from our televisions and let our kids watch cartoons but guess what, they (I’m not sure who “they” are in your case but I know who “they” would be in my case) are getting to our precious little ones through that too. Video games are full of violence, cursing and excess competitiveness.

Cartoons, video games, prime-time television and even advertising are all reaching our little ones without any obstruction. Movies and other television shows have strange ratings these days. You will find a PG-13 movie full of violence and “mild sexual situations”,  a PG-10 movie that should clearly have been rated “18″…really, who filters these things?

Cow and Chicken

How can sex sell in children’s entertainment?

Clearly, something is wrong with our generation. Seriously wrong.

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Coming from someone who has always known what she wanted from life, this is scary, to say the least. Further studies, well, those have been put on hold as I decide what it is I even want to do, if there is anything I even want to do!

My job, well, let’s just say me and Job are not so in love anymore. Somewhere along the way, my love for dear Job faded. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t think fondly of Job. I don’t look forward to seeing and hanging out with Job. In fact, I confess, I’d rather hang out with Bed and TV than Job.

Moreover, I am at a stalemate with my career. It’s gotten to a point where I am even wondering why I studied what I did. It’s like some strange sort of epiphany that I am getting: was this really what I wanted to do with my life? How can I change my mind so fast when ever since I was a teenager I knew what I wanted to do? How can one year change my mind, my perspective, make me question my whole plan for my life?

At this point, nothing is appealing, well, except back-packing to Italy to become a writer and painter who plays guitar on the streets for extra cash. Seriously.

Then there is the guy area. Well, there really isn’t anyone in the horizon. Well, there are some…one I don’t feel anything for, and one I feel loads for but clearly he doesn’t feel the same way. It’s disappointing to lay all your hopes and dreams at the whim of a person then it turns out that you had it all wrong; that those hopes and dreams should not have been pegged on him, or on anyone for that matter.

Maybe this is why I feel so disillusioned. Or maybe not. I don’t even know! (Refer to the first sentence I wrote).

How does one get out of a quarter-life crisis? Is it like the mid-life crisis where a middle-aged woman suddenly wants to wear skinny jeans, go out all night and take impromptu road trips? Or like when a middle-aged man suddenly wants to chat up young girls young enough to be his daughters, pierces his ears and sags his jeans?

What do you do in a quarter-life crisis?

Photo credit: andrewatla

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As it is, I am not exactly shy about buying certain things in a supermarket. Haven’t you always wondered why when you buy sanitary towels or tampons they have to be wrapped so tightly with three pages of old newspaper as if they were a banned commodity or harmful to all who view it? Seriously, the wrapping takes place so frantically and rapidly until you wonder what crime you committed by buying the “forbidden” commodities.

Anyway, yesterday I passed by the local supermarket to buy some things and, as usual, I started looking around at other things that I hadn’t intended to buy. So I came across some pretty underwear and it was so cheap! Who am I to ignore a bargain? So I took the brightly coloured unmentionables and promptly walked to the counter with my other things, waited in line and soon it was my turn to be served.

Now, I had noticed that there were only male cashiers in the supermarket but that didn’t really faze me (I have bought underwear here before J ) When it got to me, I put my things on the counter and to my amusement, the guy broke into an invisible sweat just by seeing them. I could tell by the way he held the garments so gingerly that he was wishing the ground could open up and swallow him (I’m getting ideas for weapons of mass destruction/distraction. Just show up with a handful of colourful underwear and you will render all such men helpless and weak).

Unfortunately, when he swiped the barcode reader thingie, what came up on the screen was “Item Not Found” or something of the sort. Now the guy really started to panic. The guy had to manually search for the item in the database and watching him try to write panties with a shaky hand took all my self-control to try and muffle some hysterical laughter.

He finally found the accursed panties and must have breathed a massive sigh of relief, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. All my purchases done, I gave him my cash. This day was definitely not this dude’s lucky day coz now the machine malfunctioned and the entry refused to calculate. He couldn’t record the sale and he couldn’t give me my change.

The guy now looked at me with the most stressed and cornered look on his face and told me to go to the next counter. I was not amused coz I could now feel many eyes on me. His partner offered to count the items for him but he refused saying “Eh…..kuna vitu zingine hapo….wacha aende hapa pengine” (There are some things there…let her go to another counter) and proceeded to direct me to the only female cashier, who quickly counted my items, gave me my change and I was good to go.

You’d think underwear is some secret commodity that no one ever uses or sees. Sheesh! And why stock underwear if your cashiers are too embarrassed to sell it?

I buy supermarket underwear, do you?

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Ok, I have a confession to make. I never really did stick to my tried-and-true remedy for rashes. I am quite lazy when it comes to beauty treatments. I honestly can’t picture myself waking up an hour earlier than usual everyday to apply makeup and do all those things that women with perfectly flawless skin do to maintain their complexions (OK, for some it’s just their genes, show-offs!)

Anyway, of course this time I took the initiative to ask about some beauty treatments because I gotta look awesome for my sister’s wedding.

So my aunt had this to say
Apparently I have oily skin on my forehead hence the rashes. Thankfully, there were some other ladies with the same dilemma as I did, thank God. So what she would recommend (and it works, I’ve tried it; I just need to keep at it!) is:

Orange juice

1. A cleanser of orange juice
Take an orange, squeeze some juice in a glass and use cotton wool to apply all over the face as a cleanser. It leaves your skin feeling fresh and rejuvenated.

2. A facial scrub of lemon and sugar
Cut a lemon in half and apply some sugar on it. Use this to rub all over the face as an exfoliating scrub.

3. A facial mask of natural yogurt
Apply the yogurt all over the face and leave to dry. Wash it off and moisturize. (This works the same as the milk mask, only it is better because of the cultures found in the yogurt)

Ok, truthfully, I have done the scrub and the cleanser semi-regularly, and it definitely leaves my skin feeling so fresh and revitalized. I haven’t had the chance to use the yogurt mask, but I have been using milk which also works well.
I am hoping to keep at this and maybe show you a before and after picture…NOT!
Try it for yourself and let me know.

Note:

• For dry skin, substitute lemon for avocado.
• For normal skin, you can use honey and maize flour as an exfoliating scrub.

Clearly natural products is the way to go (plus it’s loads cheaper)
Try it and give feedback please!

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I see a man, heavy laden, dragging a mkokoteni (hand cart) along a road filled with cars hooting at him for causing an even greater traffic jam, regardless of the fact that whether or not he was there, the traffic pile-up would reduce by, what, a centimetre? Anyway, the man’s body is young, but his face is filled with worry lines causing a grim expression way above his years. He looks hardened by life, like someone you would never want to meet on a deserted dark alley. But look behind his eyes.

Again I turn around and see a woman carrying a load on her head, one child strapped to her back and the other being dragged along by the hand. She is in a hurry, God knows where she is going with such haste. She moves mechanically, stops at a bus stage and comforts the fussing child she is carrying without even looking in its face. She disciplines the one whose hand she is holding without even thinking; its almost something second nature to her. Sighing, she gets  into the bus and sits, carrying both children and her load because she can’t afford to pay for an extra seat. She looks tough and ready to deal with whatever life throws at her. But look behind her eyes.

I’m in a rowdy matatu, passengers are being forced to sit in excess and being pangwad (arranged) like cabbages in a truck, and as we stop at a bus stop, I see a group of young men…rowdy youths by any outward appearance. They look like the famous Mungiki adherents, what with their rowdy jostling and loud laughter. They look up to no good and you almost wish a truck bearing the dreaded GSU would descend on them and have them removed from your line of sight in an instant. But this time, I look again. There is something behind their eyes that breaks my heart.

It’s desperation.

Henry David Thoreau wrote: “the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation“. How right he was. Everything behind their eyes is desperation.

The mkokoteni driver is desperate for a better life, for him and the family he obviously has. He didn’t choose to do this thankless back-breaking job that he has to do to support himself and everyone else who depends on him. He would like a better job; an office job perhaps or a good thriving business. He’d like to be someone his wife and kids would be proud of.

The young mother would have loved to go to college, study whatever she wanted, enjoy her single life and achieve her dreams before she decided to settle down and start a family. But life dealt her a different hand.
The rowdy youths would love to be in college or high school, learning about things that impact the world, having dreams annd aspirations, being young and living right. They would love to have loving parents, better role models, a better life. They are desperate for it.

I guess all of us are quietly desperate for something. But I realized that I am lucky. My dreams are at hand. I don’t have a thankless job and constant suffering as my shadow. I can speak for myself, support myself, have the things in life I need.

If only we were all so lucky.

Take time to look into someone’s eyes today. Do something to alleviate their desperation if you can. If you can’t, at least appreciate all that you have. That’s the least you can do.

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Everyone around you was jealous and sick at the same time.

But, though you barely noticed it, it’s gone now. You can’t even remember the last time you missed him/her.

Or you met a kindred spirit. This girl understood you and finished your sentences. You had the same taste in clothing, movies, shoes, food. You knew who to call when you needed a shopping buddy or just to vent. You knew who to call when you both had no dates Friday night coz you could just hang out and have fun together.

So when did she start getting on your nerves? How come you never noticed how annoying she can be sometimes? How come you avoid hanging out with her nowadays and seek out other friends? What happened?

How about the girls from work? You carpool some evenings and sometimes go for drinks together after work. You catch up on office gossip and laugh at Bill from Accounting who hits on every creature in a skirt. You evaluate your monthly earnings and strategize on how you’re going to ask for a raise. You give each other tips on surviving office politics. You have intelligent conversations together. You’ve found other friends who you can relate to at work.

How then, did you start being jealous of each other? Why did you start noticing how Jenny is too close to her boss? When did you start turning on each other as if you’re all competing for the same prize?

There’s a phrase for this condition (coined, partly, by me): The End of the Honeymoon Phase.

The Honeymoon Phase IS where everything looks rosy and beautiful. Everything is alright with the world. You’ve never felt happier, more understood, or fit in better. It’s a great feeling.

But then the beauty starts to wear off. Reality starts to set in.

I guess in that phase you don’t really see things as they are. They’re obscured somewhat, I don’t know by what….denial perhaps? Hope?

I dislike the End of the Honeymoon Phase. I guess I dislike reality because it’s cold and hard. I like the warm fuzziness of the Honeymoon Phase.

How to deal with it?

I have a few theories:

1.    Accept it. It was bound to happen anyway. It’s life, and we all know it’s NOT perfect.

2.    Embrace it. Yes, so you learnt your partner is not such a good listener after all. He merely stares as his mind wanders and you yap away. You can use that to ask him for all the things you want and then use it against him because he was just nodding senselessly. See? You both win. He didn’t have to hear all your drivel and you get what you wanted. It’s win-win if you ask me.

3.    Learn from it. So the girls from work aren’t really going to be your BFFs. That’s OK, you have other friends, right? Guess it’ll just make you appreciate the true friends you have more.

Now, to go follow my own advice.

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I know this because I am one.

We are emotional, loving, caring, tough, nurturing, strong, beautiful, complicated beings…hardly a simple combination. We cry, laugh, shop, talk for hours, eat, try on clothes, clean, cook, work and try to stay sane.

We fight, love, care, seek and try to please everyone.

Somewhere in each woman is a little girl who never got over the beauty of a rainbow, pretty butterflies and flowers. The little girl in her seeks to be beautiful, noticed and loved. It’s true of every woman.

Truth be told, though, many women are hardly these things. Deep down they are, but on the surface, they are tough. They are unemotional. And they couldn’t careless about the colors of the rainbow.

The problem came in when we were born in a world that is hardly a paradise. In an ideal world, women would be the lovely, captivating creatures lovingly nurturing their children and heaping love on her spouse, because she is satisfied and knows she is loved. And she would be secure in her femininity, creating beauty wherever she went ,and not trying to be a tough cookie…because she wasn’t made to be. Her man was supposed to be the tough one, and I’m not saying women aren’t tough…they are incredibly strong and can go through unbelievably hard times and come out victorious and even stronger. I mean the tough exterior, the manliness. The “I-can-do-anything-and-will-get-there-no-matter-who-i-hurt” attitude.

Femininity is tenderness and vulnerability. It’s confidence and beauty, from the inside out. This is who we were menat to be.

Unfortunately, the world took over. Demands on our time came in. broken homes resulted in insecure children, and the insecure girls grew up to be insecure women. Bad people met these insecure women and made them even more guarded, stealing away their femininity.

Femininity is precious. It is attractive. It is prized. But it is at a cost. Trust, vulnerability, confidence. These are high prices to being an ideal woman.

Where am I going with this?

Being a woman isn’t supposed to be this hard. It is supposed to be a delight. People should delight in us, in our femininity, beauty and womanhood.

And another thing, true femininity brings out true masculinity. And vice versa.

You probably haven’t met a man who was a true masculine man. A lot of things are wrong with our world. But chances are, he didn’t get a good example of masculinity to follow. Absentee dads, over-bearing mothers, life in general. It’s hardly close to perfect.

It’s a vicious cycle.

I guess what I’m trying to say is if we re-discovered ourselves, both men and women, and lived as we were created to, meant to, designed to…relationships would be easier, life would be easier, we would worry about greater things like world peace and not whether he is going to call or if he is going to leave me or if she is cheating on him….or whatever. You get the drift.

I’m re-discovering my femininity. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Maybe you can try and do the same.

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See, I am your average church girl. I grew up in church, I go to church, I am involved in church, I talk about church…really, I am a church girl.

This is not necessarily a good thing, according to some. Family members and random acquaintances used to warn me…as much as you go to church, watch out for those church men.

Huh?

Why?

I have never dated one and the guys I have dated or “dated” have never been church guys. And granted, they were nothing to write home about, many hurt me and with many I found out we had nothing in common and nothing worth building a future on, after all the pixie dust and starry eyes had worn off and grown dim.

So what could be worse, church guys? I think not!

Anyway, so I met a church guy. Boy, was I excited! Finally I get to meet someone who speaks my language!

NOT!

Suffice it to say I learnt that not all church guys are really there for church. Some are there to score. Period.

My dear fellow church girls, watch out.

I have even heard crazy stories of guys who, once they have their eyes set on a particular focused, church-going, devout mamasita, go on to volunteer for the worship team, intercessors fellowship and Bible study ministry.

I once heard of a guy who borrowed his girl’s Bible once and proceeded to highlight  all her favorite verses that she had highlighted in his own Bible. So the next time they met and the girl happened to look at the guy’s Bible, she was more than overjoyed to find that they shared a love for the exact same Bible verses. It must have been fate, nay, divine intervention!

Yeah right.

I’m not saying all church guys are fake. Some are really devout and serious. Sadly, those ones are either married or engaged.

I’m just saying, the myth that there are girls who are dated and those who get married is not a myth. It’s a cold truth. That’s why strange guys are “converting” and flocking in churches nowadays.

Somewhere along the way, all we can do is hope that somehow God transforms them, even in their deception.

Meanwhile, church girls, watch and pray!

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• Bad Boy meets Church Girl – Part 4
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• Bad Boy Meets Church Girl – Part 2
• Bad Boy meets Church Girl – Part 1
• But…what if he likes me?!?

Why do we hate each other, spite each other and bring each other down?

Why do we use bad words on each other…the B word, the WH word, the S word?

We are all the same, we go through the same stuff, we have the same emotional make-up, we look pretty much the same inside…so shouldn’t we stick together?

Girl 1: “That B stole my boyfriend!”

Girl 2: “How could she? She just looks like something the cat dragged in anyway.”

Girl 1: “I gave her a piece of my mind though. I told her he will always be my man and I am going to get him back!”

Girl 2: “You go girl, let her know what she is messing with. That guy deserves better and that’s you.”

Hello?? Anything wrong with that conversation?? The MAN cheated on you. It’s more his fault than hers!

“I deserved that promotion more than she did. She probably slept her way to the top.”

“What the hell is that she’s wearing? Somebody call the fashion police!”

“That woman’s house needs to be on How Clean Is Your House. Have you seen it? It’s so filthy! She has kids and works two jobs but please…that’s no excuse. I can do better.”

“No wonder her husband left her. Look at how she dresses. And she sure has put on the pounds.”

And on and on and on.

Why do we do this to each other?

Women are the only ones who can best understand each other. They are the only ones who can understand the pain a woman goes through in any situation because they are made the same emotionally.

Only  a woman can tell a fellow woman where to get he best hairdos, the cheapest clothes and the best house helps.

Only a fellow woman will know that dark-colored clothes make you look slimmer than lighter ones. That getting cheated on makes you feel, more than anything else, less of a  woman. That having kids and raising them is a full-time job, leave alone cleaning and maintaining a home. That sometimes all you need is a good cry without anyone saying anything but just being there while you bawl your eyes out (men, take notes).

That sometimes women need to be appreciated…no…all the time.

And the last thing we need is to destroy each other.

Look at the men.

They are always supporting each other.

Listen to a conversation involving men taking about some guy who was caught cheating with someone’s wife. You won’t even hear them berate the guy, they will look for every excuse to support the guy, moreover will even congratulate him on his conquest. And that’s when the guy is on the wrong.

But look at us women. Even  when one of us does something right, jealousy takes over and we annihilate her actions and drag her reputation through the mud.

Are we so insecure in ourselves?

If anything, let’s take a lesson from the guys. Let’s band together.

Speak well of every woman you meet.

Compliment each other.

Be there for each other.

United we will be a force to reckon with. And we all know we have something extremely special to give to the world right? Something uniquely ours.

Let’s do it. Let’s change the world. Together.

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We judge and sneer at those who indulge in it, but we haven’t been there…at least those of us who aren’t married. I watched (well, not the whole of it but nearly half of) a movie called Derailed starring Jennifer Aniston and Clive Owen and I saw the reality of cheating. It’s so easy to look elsewhere when home is no longer a peaceful place to be and your spouse no longer the angel you married. People have problems….sick children who drain every ounce of energy from their parents making it nearly impossible for them to have any alone time together causing their marriage to suffer. Or when one spouse is always away working. Or for whatever reason because marriage is hard work.

So you meet someone, a chance meeting even. You click, he/she gets you. She/he likes the annoying music your spouse doesn’t like. He/she gets your sense of humour that your spouse has never appreciated. He/she is a breath of fresh air; a haven amidst all the drama in your life and family.

So, as a human being, what do  you do?

You pursue happiness. You want more than you can have.

And so you keep meeting this “breath-of-fresh-air” more and more. You “work late” more and more. And the guilt increases but you’re in deep.

And  the rest as we know is history.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not advocating for cheating. I get stark raving mad when I even hear a boyfriend cheated on his girlfriend, so leave alone a spouse.

I’m just saying it can happen to any and the best of us. We are just weak and human like that. Forbidden fruit tastes sweetest.

But using the example of Adam and Eve and the forbidden fruit, what did God say to them? He told them there was a tree in the centre of the Garden of Eden and not to eat from it. He did not point at it and say “see that lovely tree over there? The one with the enticing, succulent fruit? Those fruits that look so deliciously mouth-watering? Don’t eat those.”

No.

I’m guessing they had never even seen the tree.

He just warned them not to eat from it.

So, I’m thinking, don’t go there. If it’s drama at home, get away…alone, if you must.  Don’t look around for better because, if all the stories I’ve heard and all the couples I have seen are anything to go by, adultery is never worth it.

It may be delicious at first, an adventure with all the thrill of not-getting-caught, but soon the truth all comes out and you ruin everyone’s life involved forever.

And the forbidden fruit does taste sweetest, but no one mentions the bitter aftertaste left in your mouth.

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When you are unemployed, you get to have free time to reflect on your life and where you want to be, your dreams that you had let go of, what you really want from life, etc. You get to relax and unwind and rediscover the beauty of nature and the songs of the birds. You notice when the walls at the back of the living room couches needs a good scrubbing. You hone your skills and talents because you are thinking like an entrepreneur, and you actually discover what you are good at.

For those with families, you have more time for your kids and spouse. You actually listen to what they are telling you, the mundane details of their days, what their worries and stresses are…because these are more interesting than whatever you did all day.

You get to give back to the community: you can volunteer, you have time to take your friends shopping, or run their errands for them, thus building better friendships and relatonships.

The downside is that you have too much free time on your hands, you feel the pressure when everyone else is going to work and you aren’t, you feel the shame when people whisper “what a bum” behind your back, you are humiliated when it seems that everyone knows who to call for babysitting services (free of charge of course), errand-running, cleaning the car and other such tasks.

When you are unemployed, you have to keep asking for money for basic necessities from your spouse, or parents, or any other unlucky soul who can support you. Being met with irritated stares shouting “not again”, heavy sighs or blatant comments like: “what do you need that for? I gave you money yesterday!”,  gets old, fast!

Well-meaning people keep sending you job applications to places where you would never work or are even qualified to work. A marketer is told to apply for a lawyer’s job because “it’s pretty much the same thing: convincing people”.

Now, when you are employed, you have a sense of purpose. You wake up early in the morning knowing you are going where your services are needed, where you are impacting society, where you are changing someone’s life for the better. When you are employed, you have money (how much is debatable). You can self-support, you are self-sufficient, you feel confident because you have the means to support yourself and your family.

When you are employed you can have intelligent conversations about the influx of low-quality commodities in the local market and how it is affecting the high-quality production of essential goods at your company. People look up to you. People ask you for references and to “hook them up” with a job. You feel important.

Now, to the cons; employment can suck the life out of you. You forget how to have fun. Your idea of fun is sitting at your computer at lunchtime checking your Facebook. Or sleeping in on Saturday or Sunday because you woke up at ungodly hours the whole week.

Your social life disintegrates slowly. All you do is work to meet this deadline and that one. You never have time to just relax and unwind. You don’t have time to meet your friends for lunch because you have to finish that proposal for that presentation.
Being  employed at a dead-end job saps the energy out of you. You are overworked and underpaid and unmotivated. When you are employed, even in a dead-end job, everyone assumes you have a lot of money and is constantly asking you for hand-outs, or loans (optionally repayable, of course) or to be the Guest of Honor at their pre-wedding or fundraising (meaning you will contribute the most, only an amount worthy of a Guest of Honor)

My point is, it seems I can’t win both ways. I am employed and unhappy. If I get unemployed I will be unhappy.
What to do?
Start a business!
But I’m sure it has it’s own share of woes, like….ok, don’t get me started.
Bottom line: appreciate your unemployment/employment dear readers, while it lasts.

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A Lesson On Heartbreak

• You will make a wonderful wife/girlfriend for some lucky guy
• Whoever you end up with will be one lucky guy
• Don’t worry, his loss…you will meet someone better
• You are an amazing woman and you will make some guy very happy

WHEN??????!

Granted, these statements have all come from guys I rejected who later moved on, and from well-meaning friends, but that is not the point. My point is, why is everyone hooking up and I’m not? Am I too choosy, too independent, too needy, too boring, too innocent, too wild,….and the list goes on.

I’d like to console myself that we have all been there: single and longing to mingle. Everyone around you seems to be hooking up.
No more dates with the girlfriends coz they have dates with their boyfriends. Too many pitiful glances thrown your way when you talk about how lovely it is to be single.

I have been single for quite a while now and I believe I have dealt with my ghosts and baggage.
Hurt, broken, but stronger.
So I decide that I’m ready.
Ready to venture into the mysterious world of relationships and dating – The Field.

And I meet a guy, we click, talk, meet several times, go on a date.
Then…nothing.
He isn’t doing or saying anything particularly relationship-y.
He says he likes me but….nothing.

Then I find out he has a girlfriend. Who he has had for a long time but didn’t have the guts to tell me about. And he tells me when he is a million miles away, actually, after he drops large hints at her existence…all this while he is away. So I of course erase him from my life and, hurt, again, come out stronger.

He apologises and I forgive him. But he is still off limits and I know that. And I begin to wonder what I ever saw in him.
And a good friend tells me that if I forgave him that fast then I didn’t really like him that much in the first place. Hmmmmm…

See, the thing with heartbreak is that it’s like this painful toothache that you can’t get rid of unless you get the tooth removed. The tooth in this case is your heart and we both know that’s not gonna happen. I’ve had my heart broken a number of times before, and they are all the same. The only difference is the duration…how long you wallow and cry and hate men and eat ice cream and chocolate daily and cry some more. (In case of the guys, I have no idea what they do when they are heartbroken)

This one was short. It barely lasted a week. And I believe my friend. I’m thinking I didn’t really like him that much, meaning if we had hooked up I would probably be bored out of my mind by now. I dodged a bullet!

So I decide not to wallow in it and decide not to loathe all guys. I decide I will get back out there, albeit wiser. I’ll risk heartbreak again if all my past rejected lovers’ words hold any truth. That I will make an amazing wife/girlfriend for some lucky guy who will be deliriously happy to be with me is worth the risk, don’t you think?

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So it came as no surprise that one matatu was smack in the middle of the road as we were driving. The car ahead of us was being driven by a man who apparently could not take such behavior lying down. So he decided to firmly place his hand on the car horn and leave it resting there. This seemed to irk the matatu tout and the driver who of course did not move an inch. The man continued to hoot and finally drove up next to the matatu to hurl insults, I presume.

No sooner had he done this than a war of words (which I couldn’t hear, thankfully) ensued. The matatu driver proceeded to hit the man’s car with his fist several times. At this point I thought the driver of the saloon car would get out and start fighting, but he didn’t. After his car received several fist blows form the matatu driver, the matatu tout, who was on the road, opened the man’s passenger car door to challenge him to a duel or something. I don’t know what the man said but the tout proceeded to close the door and kick….yes, KICK the man’s car on the passenger side, several kicks by the way, some even on the passenger window. My mouth was agape all this time because I couldn’t believe the nerve!

On a different day, I was in a matatu with a friend. (All the drama happens in matatus, I see a trend!)
There happened to be a white man in the matatu who seemed a little off (his feet were resting almost on the passenger seat next to him) but we ignored him and continued our conversation. Soon it was time for the matatu tout to ask for fare from the passengers and no sooner had this guy been asked for his fare than he pointed his middle finger at the tout and proceeded to accuse him of trying to con him because he was white. The rest of us couldn’t understand this since we were all paying the same amount.

However he continued to rant about his troubles as a white man in Kenya and all he has to suffer. I couldn’t take it anymore and promptly got his attention and told him we were all paying the same amount. His argument was that the tout had told him a different price only to change it when he entered. I couldn’t argue with that; having not been present then and also largely aware of the fact that most touts do that anyway.

I guess this was fuel to his fire and since he had found some unsuspecting listeners, he proceeded to lay all his grievances at our feet, telling us how many women are after him thinking he is rich, but if he was rich would he be riding in a matatu?, he asked us. He kept flashing his Kenyan ID card to further prove his point. This was the first time I had met a bitter white man in Kenya. I mean they are always praising Kenyan hospitality and affability so this came as a shock.

Basically, there are very many angry people around. It’s understandable, I mean, that matatu driver and his accomplice would drive anyone mad. The white man’s grievances are also valid; I can only imagine what he has had to go through with false assumptions about his wealth.

However, thinking back on these incidents, I realized one thing: anger and rage never helped anyone. It’s just a waste of energy, really. I mean, the angry saloon driver just got a car battering for all his road rage and, mind you, the tout and matatu driver didn’t give a hoot about him. They probably laughed all the way to town.

The disgruntled white man, after complaining and proceeding to insult the tout, got dropped at the wrong stage, all because he was not courteous to the tout despite not knowing his way around Nairobi very well (which begs the question of his Kenyan citizenship for five or so years, as he claimed, but I digress).

If you have road rage, matatu rage, tout rage, bad-customer-service rage, people-bumping-into-you-in-town-when-you-are-in-a-hurry rage, you need anger management techniques. Breathe deeply and close your eyes for ten seconds. Think happy thoughts. Go to your happy place. Or just enroll for anger management classes.
I know I will!

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Frustration is when you are at the supermarket queue and one of your items is suddenly three times what you thought it was worth and you have to tell the cashier to deduct the item, causing hold-ups at the counter as the cashier calls the head cashier to unlock and enter some code thingamajig so he can deduct it. This is all amid sneers and snide comments from the shoppers on the queue behind you.

Or when you thought it was Terrific Tuesday at Galito’s and invited your girls for an afternoon of catching up while munching on delicious pizza slices (your treat, of course), only to get there and find the offer is over.

Sadly, all the above have happened to me.The last happened to my friend but I was one of the girls getting the treat. Yeah….that didn’t go so well.

Frustration is an everyday occurrence. And what I just wrote here are the best ones. As in, the least frustrating incidences (you can only imagine what I’ve been through)

So what did I do?
For scenario one, I just continued walking (not so elegantly), got into the first matatu I could get, stumbled home and threw the shoes to the back of my closet where moth and dust shall surely destroy.

For the second scenario, I just ignored everyone, quickly popped a rock CD into my brain’s CD player and even proceeded to shake my head to the music, imagining the other shoppers stares (I couldn’t see them, I was too busy enjoying my “music”)

I can’t remember what I did for the pizza mishap, something about shaking my fist at the Galitos (then Nandos) staff and feeling sorry for my friend, but even sorrier for myself at having no pizza.

Anyway, frustrations will come and go. It’s part of life, sadly. Just grin and bear it. You’ll laugh about it one day. See, I’m laughing at mine, inside. I’m laughing on the inside.

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Seriously?

How can they even ask that?!

The thing is, shoes define a woman. The classier, the better. The more unique, the more impressive. Hence the seemingly endless search for the perfect pair, and a tremendous accumulation of other near-perfect pairs in the process.

A pair of shoes can transform a boring, plain outfit into a striking ensemble. It can transform a normal gait into a stately walk, reminiscent of a supermodel on a catwalk.

Most importantly, shoes, good ones, give a woman confidence. She stands up straighter, walks majestically and generally feels good about herself. And as we all know, confidence is what really brings out the woman’s inner beauty. Confidence is attractive, and every lady wants to be and feel attractive.

Not just any old pair of shoes will do. It has to be “in”, classy, stylish. High heels are preferred. They tend to look classier and bring out the woman’s figure and posture better than low heels.

Comfort is not the issue. The look is what’s important.

I have heard several snickers behind palms: “How is she able to walk in those heels? Why would she do that to herself?”

She does it because she can! Power to the shoe-loving woman!

So, the next time you see women crowded in a little shop furtively trying on shoes, don’t judge. They are merely in a valid search for self-actualization. Or something.

Aren’t we all?

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Suddenly she is grabbed by her arms, shoulders, hands, and even her poor tired legs. Her first thought: “Oh no! I’m being kidnapped! What was that I saw on CSI? Pepper spray…nope. Kick the attacker…” But alas! Her legs have been grabbed!

Slowly she snaps out of her reverie and hears: “Madam, thirty bob! Thirty bob!”. She cannot free herself from their grip. She ends up being dragged into the matatu with the strongest tout.

That’s kidnapping if you ask me. I mean, being grabbed without your consent, then dumped forcefully into a strange vehicle? Why can’t they just sell their services (they can yell all they want) and leave poor law-abiding citizens alone? Like I said, this happens to me nearly every day.

So I have started coming up with a few remedies or tactics, if you may. So far, they have been 50% effective 50% of the time. (Hey, I’m a woman against five or so strong men, cut me some slack!)

• Always carry an mp3 player and listen to it when at the matatu stop (your radio-enhanced phone will also do). This gives the illusion that you couldn’t care less about what the touts are saying. Your player may be off; it doesn’t matter since they can’t hear it. It would help to bop your head to the “music” and have a faraway look in your eyes.
  Disclaimer: this will not prevent forceful grabbing but it will prevent further conversation and forceful “pleading” by the touts
• Be very adept at flinging your arms every which way when touched. This will show the touts that you are a fighter who won’t take kidnapping lying down. It will also buy you some time as you analyze your attackers’ strength and ability and come up with an on-the-spot getaway plan.
• Have a stern look on your face when approaching the matatu stop. It may not prevent “kidnapping” but it will buy you time as the touts rush towards the peaceful-faced happy-looking victims
• Speak harshly with a slight (or exaggerated) sneer. This is effective as touts are generally afraid of confrontation and embarrassment.
  Disclaimer: only do this if you are sure the cute guy in your neighborhood doesn’t use the same stop as he may see your sneer and vicious behavior and avoid you for the rest of your life
• Stand discreetly next to a burly man at the stop. The touts may mistakenly think that you are together. Even if they don’t, they may avoid you for fear that the man may get irritated and come to your defense.

If any of these points worked for you, please let me know…so I can try them too!

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(Then, after my meek explanations) “You have a dinner this week and you can’t go like this! Okay, don’t panic. (Who’s panicking??) Just go and apply a milk mask.”

My best friend interjected at this point. “Or yogurt. You could try yogurt.”
Enter my dear aunt again. “No, yogurt is processed so it’s not ideal. Just apply milk on your face at night and let it dry.”

Excitedly, me: “Then I wash it off?” (I’m just not a big fan of milk). My aunt, again, “No, silly. You keep it on overnight, then wash it off in the morning.” (Euuuww, seriously??)

I answered, “OK.”

As I thought about my big-deal dinner and my not-so-presentable face, I decided to try this miracle-cure of hers. I duly applied the milk on my face, waited for it to dry and went to bed, veeeeery skeptical about the whole thing.

In the morning I woke up, my face was feeling taut and dry. I washed off the mask and, what do you know, my face was noticeably smoother and felt brighter! Really, just milk? I asked myself.

So I did it again for the rest of the week and my face continued to improve. Arguably, by the date of the dinner it was looking better than it had in weeks.

So, go ahead, try it. It works. But of course, give it a few weeks.

Oh, and listen to your aunts. They have a wealth of experience and advice (well, not always good advice, but advice all the same)

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