nilichoandika

What I learned by playing music on shuffle

February 20th, 2019
I put my playlist on shuffle yesterday at 7:43pm. I was writing a meeting plan and thought why not just click that icon that looks like a pair of scissors and let it entertain me?

Well, world, there’s something intriguing about shuffle. So, the first ten songs that came on were:
1. I’m not the Only One by Sam Smith
2. September by Daughtry
3. Wanderlust by James Bay
4. L’Origine Nascosta by Ludorico Einauchi
5. Romantica by Il Volo
6. Unconditionally Bae by Sauti Sol & Ali Kiba
7. No Scrubs by TLC
8. Calypso (Remix) by Luis Fonsi
9. Sexy Dance by Fally Ipupa
10. Not Over You by Gavin DeGraw
When Fally Ipupa’s song came on, I was on my feet dancing till I spilled some of the tea I was drinking on the floor and it didn’t help that the lights went out right when I’d gone to fetch a mop from the bathroom.

But, that’s not why I am writing this post. I am writing it for a host of reasons aside from vanity.

I am writing it because I learned that:
- I have a lot of albums that I have barely listened to.
- Playing songs on shuffle mode is like taking a stroll, you don’t know where the trail will lead you but you cannot help but take in every moment, enjoying every new thing that comes your way.
- Songs can distract you from work and shuffle follows no theme or order, one song is melancholic the other is upbeat, it just plays as it goes.
- It’s been three months since I listened to any song by One Direction and in my world that means that I have been of sound mental health for their songs are what I go to when my mood needs lifting.
Have you ever hit the shuffle button on your player? What’s your experience been like?

In other news:

I am currently reading: You vs You: 12 Ways to Kick Your Own Ass and Win by Todd Cahill

I’m drinking: Tea

It’s: 28 Degrees Celcius here in Mbita.
Smitten

February 17th, 2019

Kinky Friedman, a songwriter, once said “Find what you love and let it kill you,” but the world attributed it not to him but to Charles Bukwoski and ever since then…generations have come to believe those nine words as gold from Bukwoski.

Ieva Vizule/Unsplash.com

You say I come undone when the world sleeps,

You do not believe what I say but rather, you’ll wait to read what I post on my blog and sometimes, mull over it for days before you finally ask me about it.

I write, you read in between the lines.

Oh, you sweet pain…you are like a hot shower in summer,

Like being stopped by a traffic policeman the day you changed purses and your license is in the other brown bag in your room.

It’s like the persistent facebook message from that guy who is constantly saying “hi” or “hello” for a whole month.

So, I sit back and let you soak in the sun of your enlightenment.

You look at me and smile and then you ask “who is he?”

We both know that you are right, but suddenly the beating of my heart wants my mouth to stay shut, but the fluttering on my stomach won’t allow the butterflies to stay still. I sip my juice, look at the lake, swing my right leg, anything but look at you.

“He must be something.”

I want to speak but my words fail me and so you cover my hand with yours. “I would be the happiest man alive if you finally said ‘yes’ but I do not want your pity. If you choose me, I want it to be because you really want to…and maybe some day we can laugh about this and tell our kids how long it took us…”

“Hey…can you see that ferry over there?” I ask.

“You would make a great Mom. You love to read, write…and I see how you are with babies, remember the time when my niece couldn’t stop crying and you walked up and held her and just like that, that siren became silent. My sister could have married you that day.”

“The ferry is coming back this way…it’s almost six.”

You nod and then drink up what’s left of my juice. It’s the one thing I cannot resist about you. How well you know what to finish up and what to leave unto me.

“I hope he lets you be.” You say and pull me into another one of those hugs that remind me of the little things I miss about home. As we walk towards the docking station, your grip tightens and I let you…because for once I am smitten, and he’s unaware of my infatuation or should I call it interest, but this little spark cannot dim until I know where I stand with him.

If he’s not then this little spark of mine will dim and maybe, just maybe I’ll finally find the courage to let you see, what it is about you that scares me so much I’d rather run into you than away from you.

So, if Kinky Friedman is right, then maybe…just like my way with words, we’ll finally find our way to each other.
Inspired by a telephone conversation

February 15th, 2019

It is 1:00pm as I write this and the sun is having a family re-union here in Mbita. How are you doing? How was your Valentine’s day?

I’m asking because the last time we talked, I briefly touched on traveling to Homabay County and the possibility of relocating to the county for work. Well, my Valentine’s Day was spent on the road.

I took a matatu from Kisumu to Homabay town and then boarded another one to Mbita and let’s say my first night was hot and humid. For a town that’s bordering the lake, I’ll say that the day is hot but so far my tour of the place is limited.

Mbita, courtesy of Google Maps

The transition from Homabay to Mbita took one hour and I remember sitting in the matatu wondering just how I was going to get to Mbita by 2pm and clean the new house, fetch some water ( because Homabay county and water shortage is a one side coin), get some yoghurt and sleep. Yes, I was craving yoghurt whilst seated in a matatu and the gentleman beside me had this big green X-Tigi power saver phone and he couldn’t help but keep his conversations on loud speaker.

So, the man on the phone asks him “where are you?” and he answers “Nyangweso,” and for the love of all lies, I burst out laughing. He turned to me and smiled then the other man asked him “are you drinking again? why is it that I can hear a woman laughing?”

He clicks and sits upright on his seat then answers “I am seated next to a King’s daughter and you are talking about drinks and women? What is your problem?”

The other man laughed and apologized but by this time, the tout had already started shouting that he needed two more passengers before leaving for Mbita. I looked back and the fact was he needed three times the number he’d shouted.

Oh, the number of things hawkers wanted to sell to me as we waited, I almost bought super glue!

So, when I got to Mbita, I took a stroll in the evening and captured a two photos during the onset of the sunset. A little birdie taking a rest from flight and the clouds.

As dusk settled in, I managed to have some of the yoghurt I’d bought and watched Plan B, a movie that’s just got the right amount of serving for any hopeless romantic and it was airing on Lowladee’s Youtube account.

I am looking forward to quite a long weekend and I hope I can go exploring to see what’s great here.

The good news is that I have two huge rooms- a single mattress and my books and it’s gotten me writing again and trust me, you’re up for another short story series, once I get the details of the guy penned down. [Have you ever had a persistent dream involving a guy you randomly met? If you have help a Writer out, I think I have a crush on someone who I do not think I will meet again.]

Have a lovely weekend!
Aki si I have been quiet!

February 9th, 2019

Can we just take a moment and appreciate this moment right here? Happy Saturday world, or should I say blogiverse? Well, it’s been a minute (as Kenyans, Nairobians in particular love to say when they haven’t seen you over two years) and I have so much to share and adventures on the road that involve Chinese contractors and a bit of conversation around politics and whatsapp.

I visited Homabay county last week and in my stack of cards it means I’ll be relocating to the county to work with various communities as scheduled in my time frame. So I boarded a matatu from Kisumu and settled in the front seat right next to the driver. He was chatty and threw in a few jokes here and there but as were approaching Oyugis, this guy just slowed down and turned to me and asked “Mrembo uko na shuka?”

I shook my head as aggressively as I could because hey, I have seen to many Nigerian and Bongo films to know that no stranger is allowed access to my personal items, what if I start doing handstands in supermarkets? Or worse off barking like a dog? Eh, gaki!

So he says, “Hawa wa Chinese wanatengeneza barabara na vumbi iko hapa, hata mimi naiogopa.” I released the breath I was holding and told him not to worry about it and he does his best to shut the windows even though his window doesn’t go all the way up…he drives off and let me tell you, there’s nothing as interesting as stepping out of a vehicle and spitting dust! If there’s anyone from Oyugis…please, drop a comment, ease my tender soul and tell me to suck it up, it’s just dust!

So, that was the beginning of my short visit and turns out there’s a lot that Homabay county could serve but hey, you know a place that’s in need of a shake up, because it’s like a sleeping giant, well…that’s how I felt and still feel about Homabay.

I loved visiting the Mbita Tourist Hotel because the fish+kachumbari+sukuma is to die for and the view, amazing because I’m a water sign and a daughter of the Lake, so water’s like my feel good, peace out, chill out vibe.

My view from the restaurant, it was a bit cloudy.

Now, it’s been 21 days since I wrote anything and my manuscript progress report could easily be scored as an F, but I am not so worried about it. Given how much time I’m spending on getting things done at work, I feel too drained to write anything coherent and will have to work harder to build up on my process and schedule writing time.

In other news, I can safely say that following (10 reasons why I’m not fit to be a Fashion Blogger) I have since become a better sister, keen on the instructions my younger sister gives me while she’s taking photos of me. She’s still peeved that I do not wear make-up, my attempt at wearing a red-lippie still didn’t cut it.

I think I aced this pose, but Jackie thinks not 😦

On reading, I’ll say that I read Sidney Sheldon’s The Silent Widow and that book gave me shivers. I’m looking forward to reading Grit & Grind by Rhonda Vetere to get my mind in the frame of hard work, passion and goal pursuit.

It’s all good world, have a lovely weekend and I’ll probably share some village chronicles once I settle down.
Forgiven: Nuru

February 3rd, 2019

Our people say that you should not curse the land you walk upon.

They are right. They are wrong. They have no say on where you step on, but I heard about her. For every time I blink, I imagine what she would look like, her laughter, her touch, her hair…her teeth, her footsteps.

When they are not watching, I walk down to the river, sit on the big rock by the bank, talk to the water, ask it to bring her voice my way.

She was a rare beauty.

She was a lovely soul.

She had the moon in her eyes, the sun in her smile and the wind in her walk.

I listen and send my pleas to the river, how the water flows…miles and miles away, taking our stories, hopes, dreams, fears and pain down a path unknown to us. Where does the river end her journey? I once asked and Father told me to go and ask the river, it might give me an answer to my question.

How do you live your life as a shadow? I’ll tell you…you take a breath when the world is asleep, look not into people’s eyes but stare at the steps they leave behind when they walk away from you…and finally, you visit the river every day asking her to bring back to life the sister you never met.

For like the stars, she shines brightly but is so far away that if she were to come closer…then maybe, just maybe, you would take a breath when the world is wide awake, and finally they’ll get to see you.

unsplash.com
Forgiven: Baraka

January 31st, 2019

Our people utter proverbs when the truth is heavy on their tongues.

How easy it is to roll out lies, like someone casting groundnuts into their mouth, one goes in, then another, and another…and in between pauses, words are uttered, but no breath taken. These people could turn into ashes and I would walk over them sizzling hot and grey.

They say I drink.

You see the women scrunch up their noses whenever I approach them on the road. One path for the drunkard, another for the righteous gossip. The one who wags their tongue faster than their breath for it’s better to talk about your neighbor’s woes than it is to lend a helping hand.

I dream of ashes.

I dream in grey.

My Salama…my beautiful piece of the moon, cast away…bloated, pale and never to smile or call me “Baba.” Oh, these ashes call my name…‘Baraka!’ they taunt and chant and whisper in the dark and I drown them with the one thing that works.

Mnazi.

Oh, this is the best gift these ashes ever made…they act like people, demand to be treated like gods but are ashes, piles of grey…oh how my feet yearn to trample on them simply to behold my Salama.

Our people say that the forgiven are free.

Our people forget about the ones who cannot forget.

They say that memories weigh us down like sacks of maize on our backs. Salama went to the river to fetch water but of those whom she walked past, greeted, fetched water with…no one can tell me how it is that the same river swallowed her up without them seeing.

Forgiven?

Who is to be forgiven when everyone here says they never saw or heard her cries? How is it that the river, this river before me…brown, raging but always still…how could it swallow up my moon while the sun was shining?

I dream of ashes but most of the time alI I see is grey smoke…I have lost her eyes, smile, smell…the seasons come and go but nothing remains of her. Every season takes away bits of my Salama, now I have her voice but even holding onto that does not stop me from seeing grey smoke.

Mike Ko/ Unsplash
Forgiven: Salama

January 30th, 2019

Our people say that whatever weighs you down is what you hold on.

They have been through many seasons, our people, but still their words have never moved their sons and daughters into living. For how could they have known that war, deceit, time and self would build a bridge so vast that even their sons and daughters would never behold each other?

I wonder what they’d say if they knew what happened with Salama.

For there are tales of sorrow and those of sheer evil and Salama’s is one that tops what the devil would claim as his masterpiece. It is told when the world is silent, when the leopards come out to hunt and the hyenas stay close by…laughing, awaiting a tasty meal.

Salama was born when the time was right.

Her skin was coal, her eyes, the moon and her touch, a soft whisper of the evening wind. Wherever she went, eyes widened, glances turned into stares and those who knew her have never answered one question…why, why it happened to her and most of all, who did it?

So, when I look back, I see her in strokes of color, splashes of blue, sparks and splotches of orange…a spark that died too soon and when I finally come to know of the woman she might have been…I think of forgiveness…our people say that they forgiven are the lucky ones, the ones who understand rebirth…in Salama’s case, I wonder, who are the forgiven?

Steve Johnson made this/ Unsplash
Confessions

January 26th, 2019

“What would you do if I die? I wonder…like would you tell everyone you and I were close? What would you say if they asked ‘how close?’…I hate this…”

I look at everything in the room but you.

You have been here for two days, red watery eyes, blocked nose, a pounding headache, a certain loss of flavour but even then you still ask me the questions I would rather not be asked.

“Hey, I am sorry…my ears are buzzing, can you get me some painkillers, like strong stuff! No, get me a drink…kuna CM hapo kwa jikoni…karibu na gas…please”

“You cannot mix your medication with alcohol. Yaani homa tu na unakufa!”

“Hey, please…I know you love seeing me like this, but truth is, you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“You are not going anywhere, especially if you adhere to your doctor’s instructions, sit up, I got you some Dawa from Java.”

“You should marry Java, you breathe, eat, sleep and drink a Coffee House. It’s no wonder you haven’t made anything of our situation.”

“Sit up!”

“Now, don’t be harsh Love. I’ll have the Dawa and I promise I won’t ask you stupid questions, but really…you know what, my old man, Baba Phillip used to smoke before and after every meal. He’d joke that he had to heat up his system before and after a meal, so one time he went to the hospital and never came back. I was in class three I think, but Mom never cried, sometimes, I wonder if she ever did miss the old man.”

Ali Yahya/ Unsplash

“You are not your Father.”

“Well, I spent all my life running away from him only to realize that I could not outrun what I already was, so, you never know…but look, if anything ever happened to me, would you cry?”

“Did you take some truth portion?”

“You always make me laugh…it’s hard being around me, but if you ever write about me, tell them how handsome and moody I am, who knows, someone might want to cast me in a movie and I can be famous.”

“Like you’d care…”

“If it’d make you say ‘yes’ then I would…give me that Dawa. You can go home, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay here and look at you…you never know, one day maybe just one day you’ll figure me out.”

“I already did Love, it’s you who is yet to give herself room to bloom…”
Vision

January 24th, 2019

Juan Manuel Merino/Unsplash.com

You caught my eye,

I know I was looking for something vibrant; a red rose, a pink one, or maybe just a snapshot of enough coffee to make my day.

But then I scrolled down and you caught my eye…not as subtle as it felt, but more like a full grasp, like “hey you!”

So here I am thinking of all the things to say,

Something that could maybe get people to sway,

Or have the readers stay,

But it doesn’t change the fact that you caught my eye.

A vision to behold.
In the Quiet

January 18th, 2019

My biggest mistake is my inability to keep my innermost thoughts to myself. Sometimes, it is adding one spoon of sugar to my coffee instead of just sticking to two spoons.

So when I told Grumpy, “I like it when you don’t talk to me,” it was meant to fizzle out in the thick air of silence that he’d created, but the thing about words and intent is that they never align.

It’s like shaving your head in winter.

He looked at me, straightened his trousers, took his car keys and left.

unsplash.com

My greatest strength lies in my child-like ability to bounce back from a few disappointments. My threshold is three disappointments a week.

So when it felt like I could not breathe for two days and when nothing seemed to ease me out of the web of worry I had weaved around myself, I resorted to prayer, but even that did not seem to help. I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. I tried but choked on my tears, silenced a scream and for hours…the beating of my heart threatened to wear me out.

I have never known such fear…and that’s when Grumpy called.

It was not his call I was expecting.

At such a time…but I answered it nonetheless…

“Hey, I know I am hogging the line when you want to hear from her. She’s fine. God’s got this and even if he doesn’t, he’s sent a great team to see to it that she makes it out alive.”

So, I held onto my breath…paced up and down in the dark, and sometime at half past five in the morning when it was too hot to pace and I was lying on the cold cement floor, I got a text from her.

It was not enough and it was until I heard her voice that finally…the beating of my heart reminded me of the sheer calm after overcoming a storm and it was there, in the quiet that I knew love is my only strength and on the opposite side, across the street, lies worry…and she’s a crazy catalyst.