Nothing beats going through a family library, a collection of books that made an impact on a loved one so much so that they preserved them for years. I shared a set of books I’d set aside in 2015 under “Books for my daughter.” I’ve read many more titles since then especially ebooks.
So, whenever I come across books that move me, I keep them safe, set them aside for my daughter.
I hope she loves reading and does not limit her words to one genre but reads as many books and as diverse authors as possible.
I hope that she comes across a book, looks at it with awe, and asks questions about the book. For, if she asks “how did you come across this book?” I’ll have an answer and a story to accompany it.
And dear heavens, if she is not a book lover, spare me the heartbreak and whatever you do, do not turn me into her enemy when I try to make her read.
It hurts knowing you could call me but you wouldn’t.
So, I sit on the edge of the bed, listen to the songs I played five years ago and drink black tea.
There is a fire inside of me, a raging fire that cannot be quenched by this tea, heaven knows I’ve had three cups already.
I would never admit it, no, we are raised better than that, I am your storm, the wind that knocked the breath out of you, the little hurricane that did not offer a storm warning, the witch from your ancestral land-oh, the one whom you never know where you stand…so you dance around the broken eggshells, cracking up a world unknown to us…
Oh, how sweet you are you wretched soul!
Now, listen…this is my fourth cup of tea and it still hurts knowing that you are somewhere…just somewhere in a world free from my presence…a silence that would fill you up when your guys ask “so where is she?”
You would knock your drink in one gulp, clear your throat, shrug your left shoulder and say “ah, si you know her…she is probably reading or something, she’s different.”
The ones who know you would nod and keep their raging thoughts to themselves.
The ones who envy you will send me a text.
The ones who wish they were you would call and for the love of everything that’s sweet and sour, I know it will be Him.
He will get up, say he’s going to take a piss, or he’s going to get something from the car and then he will walk five feet away from everyone and every little sound that might hide the beating of his heart and he’d scroll through my number on his contact list and call…He would wait, shaking his right leg, humming a tune or simply holding his breath until I pick up and he’d start “Hello…”
Every word, every movement of his tongue, a widening of brown eyes- a smirk here, a dimple there, a drop in his pitch…a weaver of tales.
“I am with the guys.”
“I have been working on this ka-project.”
“Don’t worry, maybe next time, in fact, next time, it will work.”
“Good night.”
“I was calling to check up on you.”
My beloved is gifted in spinning tales, Oh how each word could be like a yarn of gold, I’d have built castles, rented out rooms and earned myself a holiday to Greece.
Photo by Radu Mihai/ unsplash.com
My beloved is a master story teller.
And like a moth to a flame I find myself counting and looking forward to a thousand and one nights.
I love chapati and yellow-green beans. I know this is an odd way to begin a post, but if there is one thing I have learned over the years is that the best of words can actually come tumbling out. Like that first statement. However, this season, brings many memories of how chapati marked our childhood.
I grew up in a family where Christian values were encouraged. This means that another meal was also hallowed- fish! Yes, fish was the dish that made an appearance at the table when we had either a fellowship or a visit from a senior member of the church.
Both fish and chapati were hallowed dishes because they were one, expensive and two, involved a tedious process of preparation. I never had time to scale fish and hated when those scales clung onto you making you stink all through the night. But, I thought about chapati- because over the years, it is the only dish that I can prepare at whim.
Yes, as long as there’s some baking flour and yellow cooking fat, I’m good to go. This thought, like a sprinkle of joy, hit me today as I was watching this Nigerian film and two siblings were fighting over a bowl of soup.
For us, eating chapati during Christmas meant that we could indulge in a very delicious treat and if you celebrated Christmas without eating chapati then you definitely qualified for 20/20 in the next year’s composition “The holiday I will never forget.” What’s odd is that back then beef was readily available, but now it seems that the tables have turned and beef is rather expensive. A quarter kilo of beef now is enough to get me a kilogram of baking flour and what my friend calls ‘mafuta robo,’ enough to cook more than ten chapatis.
Since I mentioned fish as another hallowed dish, I’ll also add, that we always believed that Pilau was reserved for weddings. If you attended a wedding, the first thing your friends would ask “ulikula pilau?” If you said yes, then the next thing would be “na cake?” I once asked my Mom why we valued certain dishes and set them aside for certain events over others and she shrugged her shoulders and said “I don’t know, what do you think?”
I think it’s interesting that we grew up believing that certain dishes were meant for certain seasons and now…now, what do we do during Christmas? What do we eat?
Happy holidays wherever you are. May you be love, show love, give love, receive love and if not…a measure of grace be a sprinkled upon you.
I take a breath. Four breaths. Milcah. Noah. Scott. Sterling. Each breath for each time I believed and fell short, so when he asks “again?” I am somewhere between a storm and a nuclear war. He shakes his head and storms out, but he knocks his knee on the stool beside the door, curses the world and proceeds on his anger trail. Between you and I, I think actors should be punched in the face or locked in a dark room for; one, making us think that a kiss could make your knees go weak and two, for making us believe that when people storm out on us there is this whoosh of air that comes with the door banging.
Photo credit: Daniel McCullough/ Unsplash
It’s the fourth time that he’s banged that door and that “whoosh!” has never announced its presence, let alone make its presence known.
So, I switch the channels from CNN to BBC to NatGeo because Trump’s drama and folly soothes me before I settle down to watching a documentary on animal life.
Sterling.
I chose that name.
I was going to apply coconut oil on her skin. Watch her yawn. Hold her hand in mine and tell her “you are mine.”
The calls keep coming but I do not answer any of them because my world has been set ablaze and nothing they say could put out this fire. So, the ones who know where I live will come, some to confirm that I live and others to have a story to tell people who know nothing about me that they “also have a friend who…”
So, I sit here on this floor and wonder how one word, five letters could wound me this much, how a word that seems to be of no value to any sentence could maim my soul…I need to breathe, but how?
I walk to the bathroom to wash my face, because I am my mother’s grief and my father’s secrets, a masterpiece.
I reach out for the soap and right there…on my left is a bottle of coconut oil. When I reach out for it, I see there are three other bottles, neatly lined up behind it, labeled ‘Scott,’ ‘Noah,’ ‘Milcah’ in his lazy scribble. He too lined up my favorite oil for them and suddenly my feet yearn for the freedom that only my aching heart could give and I remember asking him once “what will we tell our parents?” And he stood there and shook his head once and half smiled to say “I love coconut oil and sometimes when I am alone at work, I walk into the washroom, stuff tissue paper in my mouth and scream and wish that I never had that fragrance in my heart.”
This goes out to my friend, for all the Lillies in the world.
Well, hello Friday! So, if you’ve been keeping up with my words then you are probably wondering where the next installment of 10 Reasons Why is, and you are right. You’ll read about Joyce and Javans’ adventure tomorrow-I for one, would love to know what will happen in Kereita forest.
However, let’s take a look at my week and the events leading up to this weekend.
I finally had my tooth extracted and what a joy it is to finally sleep without taking painkillers every four hours!
I am currently working on this years “Christmas” Edition of Nilichoandika magazine and while at it, I am learning that there is a lot more that I could do to produce quality content.
On reading: I cannot wait to read these titles this weekend:
On writing: I have not done much save for 10 Reasons Why and even as I write it, it’s not lost on me that I am yet to reach out to my mentor and work on a couple of drafts. Writing the final chapter of Sifuna has also been a chore because for some reason- a character that I find futile keeps making it to the end and it scares me not being able to write her off without killing the story’s flow.
This year has seen me listen to various albums and my go to “go get ’em” album is Kamikaze by Eminem and after watching the movie Venom six times, let’s just say that my ringtone had Grumpy asking questions with his eyebrows. I have also had Hillsong’s “There is More” on replay, often starting my day by listening to “Valentine” and “So Will I (100 Billion X)”- and then there’s this group, Why Don’t We, and being a hopeless romantic, I happened to listen to “Hard” and I have never looked anywhere else for a #thathurts kinda feeling, you feel me?
What albums have you listened to this month or this year that you keep turning to?
On my truth: I am learning that it is okay to let go of what hurts me, to look within and be gentle with myself when things do not go as I planned.
I am learning that my kind of love is uniquely my own and to label it, or try and fashion it into what other people expect it to be, is to slowly dim my spark.
I am learning that not everyone will find me successful because they’ll measure my success based on their standards- and my, what a score I’ll get, and how exhausted I’ll be if I keep trying to meet their standards.
Have a wonderful weekend and I hope you’ll drop by tomorrow to catch up with Joyce and Javans’ fun with nature challenge at Kereita forest!
It’s two days to that final goodbye and a part of me wishes I had questions to ask or the ability to show my grief like these people expect me to. I did not know my Grandfather, not as much as I hoped to, but the bit that he showed and constantly displayed I knew and in his final years we’d have conversations if Safaricom airtime allowed us. He would call once in a while and I would cheer him up. When I was in between projects he would wish me well and ask me to be patient, something would turn up, a short term contract, just like I like them. What amazed me was that in those moments we both had a laugh. The stories and insights he’d provide would feel like he was actually there and actively involved in my life.
However, he constantly talked about getting to finally close his eyes and being done with this world. I mean, who wouldn’t, but if you’ve led a polygamous life and had to content with sore joints and a trachea that was closing up, then even then no one could convince you otherwise.
However, there is one person that I long to sit down and give the benefit of the doubt.
I would like to ask her “how do you cope, burying not one, but five children in your life time?”
I would like to ask her “how do you cope, having your sister as your co-wife?”
I would like to ask her “what happened to your cheerful spirit, your welcoming personality and your resilience? Did life knock every fight out of you and when did you realize that you were better off staying down than getting back up?”
In short, I want to ask her “what happened to you?” and sit there and listen to her talk because a part of me dies slowly and like a light that’s growing dim, I feel her slipping away right in-front of us. What surprises me is that I am not hurt or shocked or sad about it, rather, I am accepting what’s coming to pass before it’s even passed and what does that say of me?
There are events in life that mark you.
My sister says that life knows how to brand those whom its dealt a pack of cards.
I was marked when I watched my father take his last breath. I was marked when my teacher slipped away into the night. I was marked when my uncle slipped away. But, the greatest of all was being marked during the day, having this short nap and dreaming of my grandmother with my uncles laughing, only to wake up and get the call from my mom that she’s gone. It’s two years since her passing but it still hurts and like my dad’s passing I immortalize her in words. Sometimes, I call out her name and smile but it never reaches my eyes before their banks break. Once when I was out and about, working, I heard a song and broke down. My colleagues did not know what to do, but none of them could bring her back- and sometimes when I sit back feeling like nothing is going my way, I see her face and it hurts because I always thought she’d live forever.
It’s the good ones.
It’s always the good ones that hurt.
So, I sit here listening to So Will I (100 Billion X) by Hillsong, drinking my first cup of coffee of the day and I cannot bring myself to ask questions. I cannot ask these questions because I am not ready for the answers and I never will.
One thing I am certain of is that my Grandfather’s finally had his wish and he’s going to be resting peacefully away from life’s troubles, but still I wonder, the five minute conversations we had…
And I said, “You are like tea, I can have you any time.”
unsplash.com
I do not need you, but I choose to have you in the morning, at ten o’clock, at noon, a few minutes past two in the afternoon, at five and at night before I go to bed.
You are like tea. You are good black, strong, with lemon, iced or with milk. You are good with a pinch of cardamom, ginger or cinnamon.
You go down well with cake, cookies, mandazi, bread, chapati, boiled maize, roasted maize, pancakes, eggs.
You are like tea, is what I said.
I should have explained it better or made you see you the way I see you, but you are never one to stick around for an explanation. Just like tea you cooled down when left to your own devices.
For, how do I make you understand that in all, you are from the earth and take a while to understand, just like brewed tea?
Oh, how my words fail me when my heart is in knots.
You my love have proven to be like simmering strong black tea: rich in color, appealing in aroma, tantalizing in flavor, but a sucker punch in temperature.
It’s a calm Saturday for me and this weather calls for staying indoors and reading a book or two as I drink from a bottomless coffee mug. So, what have I been up to? A little bit of this and that is what I’d say, so here’s a summary of my weekend in ten points.
One: I have written 10,000 words for NanoWrimo. This is my fourth year as a participant and somehow I find myself relaxed and unmoved by the desire to meet the target. We’ll see how it goes.
Two: I just checked my Netgalley dashboard and I’ve got 22 books to read. So, I hope I can finish them by 14th December, then take a break from reviewing books.
Three: I am looking forward to reading 4 titles by Wednesday.
Four: I can’t stop listening to:
Valentine by Hillsong Worship
So Will I (100 Billion X) by Hillsong Worship
Five: I’ve been dancing to this song this week every time I pass by the mirror, it’s so weird, but I guess by now I am officially weird.
Six: I received some insightful feedback on my book Fire, this week and I was too excited I bumped my knee on the table.
Seven: I’ve been off dairy products for thirteen days now and my Mom’s worried that my caffeine intake would probably be detrimental to my health because (a) she does not understand why I drink coffee before I go to bed and can sleep peacefully and (b) she does not get why I wake up at 4am to write. However she is glad that I do not wake up at 2am anymore.
Nine: I’ve been reading The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell and is it just me but once you read one of his books you want to read all of his works? I only felt that with Chinua Achebe and Khaled Hosseini.
Ten: I’m dreading doing laundry. So, I end this post right here and go and make another pot of coffee.
nilichoandika 