Wednesday, August 10, 2011

I learnt...

...that sometimes, no matter how much you love people, sometimes you just wanna take out a 9 millimetre and send them to their Maker.

...that I need to stop quoting stuff I see on the net like it's the gospel. The net is like Wikipedia. But worse.

...that I do not believe in shaving, and possibly never will. Come on, now. It's painful. I am not masochistic. It itches like self-inflicted poison ivy. Who DOES self-inflicted poison? It was meant to be there. Unless I have a moustache and back hair (and even then, just get a cover-all swimsuit. Ha.), it is not that serious. *hides from the mob of glamorous socialites who want to lynch me with tweezers*

....that there is such a thin line between adolescence youth and adulthood, between disrespect and backbone. There is standing up to your parents, and there is breaking their hearts, and there is finding yourself, and there is being grown up enough to find a delicate balance. I'm not there yet.

...and on that note, that I am still so very, very young. BOOYAH, BIRTHDAY!! BOOOOOYAAAAAAH!!!

....that it sucks how much small scale problems - like a new pimple or stupid boys and foolish games - takes away perspective from the bigger picture - like Turkana. Humans. Smh.

...that sometimes,even if you're being unreasonable,you just need to get that shit off your chest. This does not apply to crazy people. Disclaimer. Right there. Put down the flame thrower.

...that patience, for some reason, is sometimes harder with those you care for, because you think that they, of all people, should understand.

...that you can sing #1 hit BIG BOOTY BITCHES to I LIKE TO MOVE IT by Eric Morillo and it sounds fantastic in the kitchen when you're doing dishes.

...and while we are still on the subject, this year, I MUST learn the words to Baby Got Back. I will have a void in my heart until I do so. A deep, yearning need.

...that I must eat and make merry, for tomorrow, I may dine in hell, and memories will be all I have left next to what used to be my consciousness.

...that one can find love in the most unexpected yet expected places.

...and that truly, everyone is different. Not everyone loves Michael Bolton, or has an aversion to pumpkins. *shrugs* Go figure.

In spite of its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
- Desiderata


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Happy birthday to me...

Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Monday, August 8, 2011

My mind is a strange place to live.

Last night, I dreamt of San Pedro. And it all seemed like yesterday,not far away.

Not true. Actually, last night my dreams were a bit warped. I dreamt that my parents (or was it the entire world? I feel that would be disastrous) had the power to rewind time. They did so, to when I was 14 and joining form 1. In the dream, this amused me. I do not know why, because going back to form 1 would not amuse me in the least. Anyway, they rewound time so that they could take me to Starehe Girls instead of...the school I went to, to see if the results would be different.

We had a green uniform, and 3 form 1s shared a double bed. The bed was partitioned into three, and literally had to be made like that each morning. The girl in the (our?) middle was called Mwanaume. As soon as she told me this, I burst out laughing. She was deeply offended. And, she looked like a small-faced girl who I went to primary with who I always thought was a bit weird.

After making our beds we went into what looked like an auditorium/hall, thingy, where someone was putting on a play, and I thus discovered I had magic powers. (I suppose it ran in the family) Clearly I'm having detachment issues with Harry Potter. I ended up waking up at 5 because of mosquitoes who would not leave me alone.

Good grief, mosquitoes. Why? Whyyyy? There is no more useless creation. (ok, wait. Maybe politicians and cockroaches.) I was awake till 6:45. They stole AN HOUR AND FORTY FIVE MINUTES OF MY SLEEPTIME. I was too irritated to cry (I take sleep extremely seriously. Extremely. High school was very hard. As is having a job. Lol). At some point, I burrowed under my blankets and stuck out my arm as a sacrifice. I could feel them feasting on my flesh, but still these miniscule monsters were not mollified. They followed me under the blankets!I felt like Osama. What was all that Navy Seal espionage? Eish.

Be kind, rewind. (who remembers video libraries writing that on all their tapes? Heck, who remembers tapes?)


ps. Blogger doesn't do spell check for sh**.
ps. Oh wait, it does.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011


I had a Barbie doll when I was 6 years old. It was given to me by my best friend. I mean, she was pretty and all, but I was never really a doll person (ironic, seeing as I still sleep with a teddy bear). I was more of a books and movies child. Especially books. One day, I was mad at my mother and proceeded to hit the doll on a glass cabinet. Her head fell off.

I was made to understand at the tender age of 12 that a Barbie is someone who isn't 'ghetto enough' or street smart enough to make the cut. Characteristics of a barbie include:

1. A barbie must live in a certain neighbourhood. Living in these neighbourhoods automatically makes you bourgeoise, whether or not you had anything to do with garnering your parents' (often supposed) wealth.

2. Barbies do not take matatus. They cab. They see matatus, but do not really know what they are, and view them as a quaint prop of 'city life' (they don't live in the city)

3. Barbies do not speak any of the languages outside the UN official languages, which are:
-Chinese (Mandarin)
-Spanish (Castilian)
Do you see sheng there? No? Then that's your answer. Swahili? Ati Kamba? Are you serious right now?

There's a bunch of things I've left out, of course, but these are the main identifying factors. If you saw a Barbie in the wild (Westgate/Vima), you would immediately be able to pinpoint the species (Barbiosa habilis).

I get offended when people call me a barbie, regardless of the degree of truth it contains. I don't know if it's because it's (partially) true that I get offended, or because of the way they say it. Like it's a disease. Like I'm the white man who enslaved them for centuries while making them pick cotton. Like obviously the only thing I know how to do is to wait for an inheritance in the back of my chauffeured BMW (I almost wish).

Or maybe it's the labelling. I mean, really, is it necessary? Because more labelling and alienating people and creation of a caste system is REALLY what we need more of in Kenya. Can't I just be...a girl with Barbie-like habits, lol, the way you can be a dude with ghetto tendencies? I don't know why it bothers me. But I will continue to - how do you say? Kasirika? - anyway.

Ghetto characteristics? Hmmmm...


image from