Love shields us from loneliness, but when it falls apart,the pain is even deeper.
I want to write a story about the people who live above ground and the souls who writhe below.
The calendar seller is not ugly exactly, but there is something not quite right about him. He looks as though he was moulded by a moron.
I’ll write you a story; a good story.
I’ll throw in similes; as sweet as honey, a dark as night, as proud as a peacock and watch you become as gentle as a lamb.
I’ll paint your days dark and color your nights yellow.
I’ll write you a story, yeah, you bet I will. When you hold your phone closer to your face in the matatu, or scroll down your computer screen…you’ll know that it is about you.
Your laugh, smile…how you cross your arms above your chest, how you look at me when I am not looking at you. How you have been trying to decipher me.
I’ll write you not one, but two stories and watch you shed your worries. Is this real? Are you for real? What are your plans?
I’ll write you a story, because I’d rather write than utter,
For I fear I might falter and stutter,
But…but…but, here’s the deal, I’ll write and you’ll read.
You’ll read and these words would sink in,
You’ll read and these words will get you thinking that maybe, just maybe I’m talking to you.
You’ll read and a part of me will be shaken, shaken like a salt shaker,ready for some seasoning.
One day at a time.
It seems like the Procrastinator’s code of life but for someone who’s been through tough times, it’s all that makes sense. I should have gathered this much in counseling, but I am a planner so, waiting it out seems like indecision at times.
The aspect of not knowing where I stand with people and events unnerves me.
I’ve often found myself working on a thing or two and this month’s all about more hours writing and listening to music. I am loving a few things this month and thought since I did a post on June’s favorites why not do the same for July,so here goes nothing;
I have a friend who smelled my hair, like she actually went for a ten second sniff saying my hair smelled like bubble fruit gum and she wanted to eat it. I will admit that having a conditioner that smells like candy is one way of starting out the day with a smile.
I am also munching more on Giant chicken samosas made at Java.
The songs on replay on my list include:
One day a time.
It’s all I’m saying for now. #Ushangaloading
Smile.
You look great. I love your hair.
Smile.
Thanks.
I love your shoes.
Thanks.
Smile.
Wish you’d have a worn black, it’d tone down the colors.
Have you ever thought of having a nice weave?
Is it not a chore combing your hair everyday?
Wait, and have you tried some facial cream?
I know this great soap that helps with rashes.
I also don’t take lots of dairy, it messes up with your face you know!
How can you eat fries every day and not have a pot?
What? Ati you weigh 53kgs? Do you workout?
How come you don’t have a guy?
Don’t you get lonely, like what do you do for fun?
Wait, how come you like motorbikes and X-Men? Guys are into such stuff, I never thought a chick could dig that stuff!
Do you write using a ruler or something? How come your handwriting is so neat?
…
…
Smile.
Walk away…slow steady steps away from the dark to the unknown…slow, steady steps.
Give an eraser time to delete the pencil work before they catch up to the ink.
There are a few things that I refrain from telling the world. These are often phrases prompted by situations. Things like “I don’t care,” and “Really, that’s nice,” and “I’m sorry.”
Most of the times I intend to say the opposite, but for the sake of peace I utter them.
Yesterday was one of those days for me. It’s been four days since I resigned from my position at work and I was stressing about writing when I ran into someone I looked up to in the writing scene. He smiled when I walked into the New Victoria Hotel, the one directly opposite Tuff Foam Mall, and pulled out a seat for me.
“How are you doing?”
“I am fine, thank you Sir. How are you?”
“Growing old, so how is the writing coming along and please don’t tell me you are working on something.”
“Writing’s great and yes, I am working on something.”
“You know, Prof showed me some of the material you’d written and I was taken aback because, well, you have a long way to go and don’t tell me that you are into what these young fools think is the epitome of writing. Don’t sit behind a screen and type things and call yourself a blogger, because that is a waste of time. I see it every time with my students here at Maseno. A student cannot differentiate between ‘there’ and ‘their,’ and he or she is so proud over the number of likes the post has. It’s like they are applauding the disregard of grammar. They like what is full of trash,like the chips they eat every time! Before you say that I am being harsh,let me tell you what I told Prof after reading your book, Fire. I told him to advise you to get a job, work, and do something else because, and I agree with Prof on this one, the world right now encourages folly, a shallowness that your book does not. It needs one who can enter the realm of literature and see beyond the proverbs and sayings of a drunk to grasp what you’re talking about. You do not have that kind of audience. You cannot create that kind of audience. So, forget it and do something else with your life. It’s what I told him and I am glad I met you in person, because you need to hear the truth my child.”
“Thank you Sir, I appreciate your honesty.”
“Do you,really?”
“I do. I really do and I’ll hear what Prof has to say, chances are he won’t utter a word about meeting you or that you read the book.”
“I read all four. It was the third one that really depressed me. Enough about it, tell me, why are you not at work? Prof mentioned that you do something with young girls here in Kisumu.”
“I resigned.”
“Why? Did you get a better offer?”
“Yes, I chose my own. I have a few months before I focus on school.”
“Great, now I am almost done drinking this tea. I hope you heed my advice and that all goes well for you.”
“Thank you Sir.”
We talked for a while and he invited me to talk to some of his students in the coming week. I accepted his business card and jotted down his phone number in my notebook promising to call when the time was right. He left after insisting that he pays my bill.
I sat there looking around trying to see familiar faces because when you are breaking down in public it’s best to know who’s around. The first ten minutes after he’d left were the hardest. He was not just “Sir,” but the one who inspired and worked with the best of the best in the writing scene in Kenya and Tanzania. He had not only read one but four of my books. He found the third book,Wind, depressing! He’d read my books, not just opened a chapter and forgot one,but actually read four of my books!
I sat there and for what seemed like ages, let the tears roll down my cheeks. I am sure the people around noticed, even the waiters but no one approached my table. It’s one of the things about breaking down that no one tells you; when you silently shed tears everyone stays back uncertain of when you’ll start bawling. So, there I was, with a brownie and tea cup in front of me,crying because someone I looked up to said that I should keep my pen locked up and get a job.
It’s what stuck with me as I went back home. At some point, I found myself picking apart the words he’d uttered and thinking back to his face then. He’d seen the frustration I’d face writing and was offering me the easy way out, but he also knew for sure that I would not take it. He was asking me to stay down knowing that I needed the strength to keep standing and it was only Prof who told me of this later on as I called bawling my heart out.
Truth is, when someone says anything about something I create, it makes me feel something. Sometimes I feel good, sometimes I feel confused or I feel bad, so in his own weird way, he was making me understand what shutting down felt like so that I’d fight to stay on, and that is one awful way to do it Sir!
Nancy knows why Gina never smiles. She’s got that car loan to pay.
She also knows why Helen is gaining weight; she says Helen is about to launch baby number three. Why? To keep her husband of course.
What about Pam? Have you heard from her? Yeah, I did like a while ago…she nods, sips her juice, connects to the Wi-Fi and smiles…”you won’t believe me when I tell you?”
She throws back the weave that’s clouding her vision of me and grins.
“Don’t you want to know?”
“No.”
“Why did you ask then?”
“I asked about you in the beginning. You told me about Gina, Helen and Pam. How are things going on with you?”
“Great! I just managed to clear my exams last week and I was appraised for a promotion at work. But, enough about me, I have to tell you about Pam because trust me, you won’t believe a word I tell you, aki dunia hii?”
Glass cannot be ignored, not even when the light strikes it at an angle. Nancy knows what should be done when your man is not acting right. She knows whom to call when things don’t seem okay. She knows who needs a wake up call and who needs to straighten out their life.
It is how she says it that brings memories back to life. She’s never been in any of the situations that Gina, Helen and Pam are in. She’s always the observer; the light that illuminates the glass. When she reached out to cover my hand with her own, I knew two things to be true; there was something she was hiding and she was trying to tell me by speaking of her friends.
“What is it Nancy? Tell me what is really happening with you.”
“Hey, I have been talking for the past five minutes, didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“No, I am sorry I did not.”
“What is going on with you?”
Glass cannot be ignored indeed, for when it cuts, it slices the skin in a neat line, leaving traces of red. I sipped my coffee and reached out for a pen.
She smiled and then leaned back into the seat. When I lifted my head to hand her the note, I saw the waitress smiling at me. “Are you okay Miss? Would you like something else?”
“Um…no, I mean, yes…yes, I am okay, thanks.”
“No problem.” She smiled and walked back to the counter. I looked at my note and reached out for my coffee. I wondered how I was engrossed in a conversation with the one who never came.
People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do.
-Isaac Asimov
Friendship is like clay.
You can scout for it, but never come across the fine particles you seek. Sometimes, you stumble upon a nice heap of soft, fine clay that summons the potter in you. Then, without knowing it, you start to knead it, compress it, air it and slowly add water, and color to create what you had in mind.
Friendship is nothing like clay.
Clay receives direction on a potter’s wheel. It endures the heat knowing that it will come out firmer than it was whilst going in the kiln. Clay follows the path set out for it by the potter’s hand, bending, twisting, falling off…all at will, confident that it will be as the potter imagines it.
Friendship is clay.
It is there but few seek it out to sustain it.
Like the Potter, some use it to mold it into what suits them before casting it aside or passing it on to the next person.
I found myself at Omolo Agar Road, at a crossroads, and that is when I saw this neat heap of red clay. I wonder how long it took me to accept that it was not going to be mine, but the thought of molding a pot or a family of four had me smiling all the way to work.
“People know me here.” –A Gesture Life by Chang-Rae Lee
The long holiday weekend is exactly what I needed. For some it was just but an extra day, but to me it was an added day to my leave days. Nothing makes me smile more than buying books and bookmarks, and my short trip to Nairobi proved to be the break I deserved.
I won’t go on about the traffic because we need new tales about Nairobi.
I won’t go on about the way everyone is in a rush, the fashion (shout out to the girl whom I saw spotting white and blue braids, campus life does you a good one), the hawkers, the matatus, the music, the fast food restaurants, the street kids, the buildings, XFM, and the ambition in the people.
I love these eccentricities. I love them because I can treat myself to something different every time I visit and mostly because Nairobi has woven it’s own culture which is different from the one we have in Kisumu.
What I did miss was riding in a tuk tuk. Yes, I yearned for the noise the little critters make and just cruising around town in one.
I snagged three books and I am done with two, which means I’ll have more time to continue writing the next book and travel a bit.
So, here’s to a new week, some travel plans, great times with friends and family and to finally completing a long awaited manuscript.
Two things ring true about Grumpy; he is grumpy in the morning and he is grumpy in the afternoon.
When he called at 9:00am, I looked around before answering my phone, because he always starts the conversation with “where are you?”
Today, he said “I need a drink, have one with me.”
“What kind of drink?”
“Something black, hot, frothy and if it comes with chocolate cake, I’m all in. What are you doing?”
“I am at work.”
“Wait, what? You work on Saturdays? Are you serious?”
“No, I am not but my employer is, so when do we have that drink that you seriously need?”
“I’ll call you in the afternoon or the evening.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I am sure.”
“Okay, see you then.”
nilichoandika 