When you lie down, think of what it was that you felt when you closed your eyes.
I heard you say, “drifting,” as though I was in Africa while you were in Antarctica.
You said we were not connected, and I thought of an electric grid that none has ever understood its complexities;neurons,synapses, memories,motor skills…I drew a Map of us, a map that was a blank as the look on your face when you finished talking.
“So, what do you have to say?”
I drew a map.
I am certain of it. I drew a very good map.
Tonight as I drift to sleep, I stare at my finger, I cannot seem to close my eyes for this piece of silver might disappear and I may just wake up to “Congratulations,” and that, my beloved, makes me want to have a deep conversation with my shadow at 2A.M.
I was in Turbo today which is roughly 34 kilometres from Eldoret town, and was making my way to Kipkaren- which is ideally 50 Kilometres.
So, there I was looking outside the window counting the endless acres of maize farms and wondering just how vast Uasin Gishu county is when we came to the junction of Eldoret and Kitale famously known as Maili-tisa (9 miles).
This is your simple hotel by the roadside, some place you walk in and get a hot cup of tea, or some warm food before you hit the road. It has no menu just a waitress who is glad you stopped by and immediately sets a cup before you and serves you hot milk tea!
Now, before you say hello, she starts by reciting the menu and then asks “Utatumia nini?”
Woe unto you if you say, “Dakika tano nifikirie” because that’s what I said…and before I could sip the tea before me, the team I was with were already washing their hands and digging into their ugali and beef stew!
I tried to get a better shot, but when you carry a compact DSLR chances are people would be drawn to what’s in your hands, and just when I thought I’d gotten a great shot…this tanker just pulled to a stop blocking more of the hotels, but you won’t miss them.
They look something awesome as this:
And when you drive towards Kipkaren, some 10 or so kilometres, you’ll get to see the Baraka Farm Shop where you can get some milk, and cheese sandwiches if you are into your dairy products 🙂
I stumbled upon an idea. It jolted me out of bed at three in the morning, onto the tiled floor and back into bed safe under the warm duvet. Then I remember my hand gliding across the notepad, scribbles here and there, a rush towards the feeling that denied me sleep.
Once my heart found its pace, I sat back in bed and pulled the curtains to see what nature had in store for me at four in the morning.
I heard cats meowing.
I reached for the power button on the wall and switched off the lights and lay there staring at the net right above me. I wonder, am I the only one who hears mosquitoes even where they are not present? It is too cold for those creatures to disturb my sleep here and suddenly I miss Kisumu.
I miss hearing the quarrels and chants of drunkards from Obunga. I miss hearing the sound of loud unwanted music from every corner of estate pubs- and motorcycles as they cruise through.
I wrote a story about four women each at a turning point in their life. It felt like my awakening, something that reminded me about the power of sisterhood, and what it means to confide in a fellow woman and have them help you pull through tough situations.
When I stepped out of bed at seven in the morning, I reached out for that notepad and all that was there was a line, a phrase that could not even build the sensation that I felt in those few hours…and that’s what writing is, sometimes all it takes is that one sensation, the feeling that this could lead somewhere.
How about that time when those women talked of an ungrateful son, and I thought of a prince and a kingdom?
How about when Grumpy said “okay,” and I thought we were done.
Or when he called twenty times and I did not answer, or apologize?
See, I know how to set emotions ablaze.
Take a pinch of doubt, sprinkle some unmet expectations, let it simmer in your mind for ten minutes then serve while hot.
Take an ounce of joy, you know the feeling of sheer bliss that emanates from a hug, kiss, or assurance, it often inspires you to sing or continuously update your Facebook status. Take this ounce of joy, let it boil for five minutes by scrolling through your IG feed for #baegoals and then have it cool…it is a dish best served with either a warm blanket or a box of tissues, you decide.
I know how to light things up, to set the world on fire with these little sets of dynamite called emotions, for once they are summoned, they rarely leave a party.
Darling, before I sat to type all this, I was ablaze, and nothing beats being in a new town- loving the people, the places, the night life but totally missing the weather you used to own as yours.
It was some time between 7:20pm and 10:22pm yesternight when I asked myself what would I rather be…as light as a feather, or as free as a bird.
I know nothing about similes, it’s just that when you have the phrase “as…as…” you simply want to compare two different things.
So, give me a second or better yet give me a minute,
So I could tell you about what I’m feeling, in this very minute.
Stocksnap.io
Let’s go for seconds and soak up all there is to this life,
Late nights thinking of where to go with a story,
Early mornings dreading what the day would bring.
Let’s go for seconds and soak up all there is to this life; the pain, anger, lust, fear, hope and resilience…give me something as long as it’s a serving filled with hope and resilience, and who knows maybe you could whip up some anger for dessert- because there is a certain kind of power that comes with rage, and I need that…something that would consume me enough to destroy me, just to remind me that I am human.
Give me a strand of compassion, one that I can weave as I please for in this world, we need love and there is plenty of it, but nothing melts the heart as compassion…so save me a strand, just a strand is enough to keep me awake at night and to get me to stop watching the news and losing sleep over how much the ammunition and pharmaceutical industry rakes in every second.
As light as…if only I had the comparison for this, something that would give my wandering mind some peace, then I’d grab a litre of blueberry ice-cream and watch Beauty and the Beast!
And…you say that my love is like a raging fire, flashes of yellow, red, orange and a twinge of blue, flames that light up your world and burn it down to grey ashes…
You say…it’s hard to tame me.
A lion cannot tame the one who hunts and brings home the prey…a lioness
You say my heart is as cold as June in Nairobi, but hey, Nyeri’s always been cold, but even Nyaru’s never gone beyond 17 degrees Celcius, do the flowers die?
You say I am not like the other chics…now, I know nothing of the other chics, for what I carry around are my dreams, emotions, and this body that goes on the two legs that seem to get me miles away from what you say…
I say my version of events do not thrive on your validation neither do they cease to enlighten me when you choose to shun me away.
Oh, but what do I know because though I stand my ground, I still come back to you, begging and pleading and staying up late waiting…for you, my dearest blank page, are the one who consumes my thoughts, my feelings and desires, now with this heartfelt plea, would you let me be and let these words flow?
I hear the whispers, see the questions in their eyes, meet their concern in their lips, feel their pity in their footsteps. Have you ever been at something for an eternity with people constantly wondering when it’ll come to be?
Like that business you always talked about starting.
Or the trip to Mombasa that was meant to happen, then you got fired, lost someone, had to move to another apartment, got another job miles away from where you stay, started sending money home…the baby started walking…daycare lessons…
Let’s talk about every time you see her talking about the release of a new book and you go, “You know I have always wanted to write a book?”
Let’s talk about running into the noisemaker of your high school days, driving that Toyota Harrier, talking to you while twirling car keys as though you are blind to the fact that he drives and you still have to sit on a sambaza and negotiate with the tout on fare before boarding a matatu.
Better yet, that girl you always thought would be a Professor, and now she’s selling Insurance- constantly posting about Insurance plans and you just want to shake her and ask, “what happened to your dreams?”
Then it hits you that Potential is unreliable. If you bank on he’s got potential to be or she’s got the potential to be…you are no different than the one who is playing lotto, putting in some money and praying every day that they get a million, it could go great or extremely worse…that’s potential!
Press on…for it is easy to dismiss a blank page, but even Writers know that the greatest asset is a blank page, because it is screaming “fill me up, bring me to life, bleed on me!”
Thank you Stocksnap.io
When you see people who are living the life you wish you could trade with your current situation, you see pages that have been written on. You see the paragraphs and chapters they choose to flaunt. You see their version of events, but even you should know something incredible…you see your work as unfinished, so go ahead and finish it. Carve your own path. Carving involves work and sweat and determination…carve away until you have a product that you’ll be proud of.
And one more thing…saying it is not all there is, saying and working towards it is a start. This is for when it seems as though you are working hard but not seeing the results, this is just to remind you that somewhere, at some time, there’s a girl with chubby cheeks who has been staring at blank pages since she was 12, and she knows that it can be done.
PS: Hawajui is a Kiswahili phrase which translated into English becomes “They know not.”
nilichoandika 