nilichoandika

Dear Dad

June 7th, 2016

I met someone.
Not someone someone, but I saw a man with his daughter and wife and I thought of you. It was like that time I walked into the wall in our bedroom and got the bump I have on my forehead. So, I was out buying Mala at Fergie’s shop when I saw them. The man was pushing his daughter away from him, “aargh! Enda kwa huyo mamako kwani, nitokee ghasia.”

And the little girl was wailing calling out to him, but he pushed her aside and walked into the night. It was last night, did you see it too? I did but the magnitude of it only hit me when I walked into a Café that has Wi-Fi.

Daddy, it’s been 20 years but I cannot shake you off. Your eyes, touch, smell, voice. You are everywhere. Even the music you loved, but you’d be sad to learn that we lost Papa Wemba this year. We still have Koffi, but you and I know there’s only been one Papa Wemba. Football teams have evolved, they don’t wear those tiny shorts anymore, and you remember that pretty boy who played for Manchester United, well, he retired but they made a film inspired by his kick. It was called Bend it like Beckham. You’d be an Arsenal fan I think, but I have a feeling you would be frustrated by Wenger, but they are trying.

It’s Pep that you’d love Daddy, he paces back and forth like you did when you watched your boys play. He has your height and body weight,it’s just the hair that’s missing, but you’d love Pep and I’d rekindle my love for football again if you were around. Did I ever tell you that I loved you Daddy? Did you know even when you were with us that night? I still see you kicking sometimes, you fought death Daddy,even in that moment you couldn’t let God take you without a fight, and it kept me awake some times. For years, I would stay up every December 18, hoping to get to you in time, but you know how wicked memories are when you don’t want them.

They become nightmares.

I wonder sometimes when I look at Mom, just how lucky you were to get that woman! She’s doing a Master’s in literature I tell you, your woman be a smart one! She can also beat down people and she misses you, but you’d be surprised at Che. She’s morphed into the kind of wine you’d save for an occasion. She had a boy, cute and intelligent named after you. She looks more like Mom, so I’m sorry if you thought she would forever look like you,but good news is, I walk like you, always in a hurry with one shoulder slanting. None of us became teachers, you should see Mom’s paycheck. You’d want to blow up TSC. I know I have thought about it but we both know I am a weakling, so I hide behind my words.

Dad, the first book I wrote and published was about you.
Since then I have written more books, the pay is nonexistent but I can’t shake off the writing or the reading bug, but you’d approve. I know you’d love reading my books because you always loved it when I read the newspaper with you. Did I ever tell you how much I loved you? We all must have even that night when you were taken away, we knew it. We turned out great.

I haven’t met someone. You know life has just done some Abra cadabra Daddy, Nairobi ji lich. Onge chuor nga’to and there are lots of people who are out to date just for fun and not commit. I dread walking down the aisle someday and having the Priest asking “Who gives the bride away?” And turn to see no one like you there. I know for sure that no one will take your place that day and it’d be nice if you could whisper in my husband to be ears, “Fanya fujo uone!” So he knows not to break our vows.

But, that’s not why I am writing this, it’s for the little girl I saw yesterday. I want you to watch over her. Father’s are for life and good ones are for an eternity. Watch over her. See, her Daddy might forget last night but she won’t, she will know that the only man she loved rejected her without a valid reason. I do not want her to grow up with “daddy issues” for she is too beautiful for that. Watch over her, because one day she will sit down and write him a letter but it will be too soaked for him to read it.

Thank you for loving us .
Thank you for telling me to keep my head up and use my brains.
Thank you for calling me beautiful before I could even spell that word. And most of all thank you for choosing wisely, because Mom has kept the faith, and has seen us through. You got a fine woman, finer than this cup of coffee I am drinking, finer than my words.

Now, go and watch over the girl.
Break the rules, live a little

June 6th, 2016

Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.

-Oscar Wilde

Have you ever crossed a line? Not the white chalk on the sidewalk, or the crime scene tapes, but the lines you had set in your mind. These strong boundaries that haunt you when you close your eyes or when you see someone across the street and you cross the road.

Have you?

Well, you should try it sometime, like telling your neighbor’s girl that he has girls visiting every Wednesday at 3pm. Or kissing your friend when you had clearly locked them up in the friend zone cage. Better yet, you can tweet that your boss is the devil and hope he never reads it. Those are my examples when Grace called to ask me why I am such an angel. Her words not mine.

What is it about rules that bring out the law breakers in people? Why are they even there to being with? Order. Minimize chaos. Get enforcers. Rewards.
I could spin that list following the whole reinforcement and punishment angle of behavioural psychology but you didn’t come here for a pep talk. You came here for creativity. For that burst of genius of wordplay. To be transported to a world like no other, and I’m sorry to disappoint, none of that juice is flowing through me today.
So, I set aside my writing material and started spewing words on my keyboard, just like this, to see where it would take me.

And I believe it’s taken me to this point, where I acknowledge that not every blog post will be planned and awesome. Sometimes, going off the road might lead me to moments like these where I don’t really know where I’m going with my words but all I know is I’m on a roll.

So, have a lovely day! Break a rule you set or two, or all of them and tell me all about it!
How about mass printing in Kenya?

June 2nd, 2016

Kenya is the home of literary giants.
Aspiring writers are often challenged not only to produce quality manuscripts but also to learn and build up on what their predecessors have put out. I recently started working on improving relationships with the writers I know here in Kenya to get us talking about writing in Kenya and publishing and how to change it for the better.
So, I got in touch with Elly and I’m pleased to introduce you to her. Hello world, meet Elly.

At days’ end, on my way home, a boy and girl from a nearby primary school walk home too. The boy has a cast on his arm, so the girl walking beside him is carrying his book bag. There’s a story here, a delicious story, as the girl laughs at what the boy says, then they walk in comfortable silence. I imagine them growing up together, falling in love (or not) maybe falling in love with others. The two going through struggles together, maybe reaching a point in their lives where they don’t know each other anymore, and wish they could go back to the old days and…the story continues in my head.
Of late, it has been a blessing to know I’m not alone in this wonderful sense of imagination. I feel privileged to know people with the same sense of creativity that constantly hangs over me daily, like finding kindred spirits.

Kenyan writers have increased these past few years. Their work is fresh and entertaining it is often sad that the only place to fully read their stories is online: on a blog, or an e-book.

In a not so distant past, I ran a bookstore in a small town outside Nairobi. A young man walked in with his poetry books one day. He had traveled from Uganda, and gone selling his poetry in every bookstore he found. His books were inexpensive, only Kshs. 80. I bought them, paying him for twenty books at one go. We sold those books for Kshs. 150 within the month. He had moved on to Tanzania by then, and he’d sold off his stock by then, but his brand of marketing stuck with me.
Print a large quantity of books, cheaply, sell fast.
So, I want to will a pulp fiction publishing house into existence in Kenya. A publishing house that will choose to publish fiction at affordable prices, so that the everyday Kenyan can afford it. Yes, I realize that the bottom line is important in business, however, no one wants to constantly buy a fiction book for Kshs. 800, that is the truth. We’re all on the streets buying foreign fiction books for Kshs. 100, or even Kshs. 50.

If you can find a way to print fiction on cheap low-quality paper, and make your stories epic and exciting enough to capture the masses, I think we could be in business.

This is my quest. Writing has always been easy, creativity quite available, however, the business side of printing in Kenya is an amazing challenge, especially if you’re looking toward selling affordable fiction. Finding a printer who can help print pulp fiction…in great big quantities, will make Kenyan fiction a bonafide trade/business. One without elitist circles, or prestigious airs, simply fiction with one goal—to entertain. This type of mass printing will nurture Kenyan writers, give value to our constant creative thoughts, create new job avenues, increase readership and inspire more Kenyan fiction into the world.

About Elly:

Elly is a gem when it comes to romance. She loves gardening and knows a thing or two about delicious treats. Hint: Cakes! She is currently writing the Koya Series.

Visit her blog: Love in Nairobi or send her a tweet @ellykamari254

To read her novellas, visit her smashwords page: Elly Kamari
Knots and Circles

May 31st, 2016

We are like knots and circles,

We end, tie up, and come back .

Your words, my words,

Your thoughts, my feelings,

You ask and I answer.

You dial, I receive,

But…we never hang up.

We are like knots and circles,

Like circles and knots,

We love and lust,

We touch and trust,

Your words, my words,

Your feelings, my thoughts,

But…we never hang up.

We are like knots and circles,

Moments held together,

Fears bound together,

I think I love you,

You already love me,

But…we never hang up.

Like knots and circles,

One is continuous and the other is out to put a dent,

A stop, a break, a knot…

But we never hang up.

I hope you never hang up.
Every piece of you

May 23rd, 2016

There is something about a moment, a glance, a touch. Something that defies my use of words. I have spent years using my words carelessly, walking up and down the busy streets paved with dreams and ambitions that to have one touch stop me is like a spiral.

Down and down I tumble, falling and smiling and laughing. So, when I found myself yearning for a word from you I thought of my best friends, I thought of the journeys we have traveled over the years and decided that it was time to read…one word, two, or more anything to stop me from free falling.

I'll get just one book, and five minutes later! 😣😉 pic.twitter.com/DOX4lRUAUa

— Archie Okeyo (@achokeyo) May 18, 2016
Blossom

May 16th, 2016

I had a story to tell,

And rhymes to spell.

Each word would quench,

Your thirst and mine.

So I tried,

I wrote and wrote,

I thought and thought,

But when evening came,

Not a single one survived,

Oh, how I thought…

That I had a story to tell.
Out and about in Bungoma

May 7th, 2016
What’s not to love about Bungoma with:
- Boda boda rides (you can go for the motorbikes or the pedaled ones)
- The way the people talk with gestures, it’s like the words are forced out of their system, something my friend calls “They emphasize,” and can be great action movie commentators.
- The hotels never run out of tea and mandazi. I have had so much tea here, I think my body will demand more of it when I leave.
- It has six sub-counties: I’ve been to Sirisia, Khanduyi, Kabuchai, Webuye West and I am still looking forward to going as far as Mt. Elgon. I think I have two sub-counties to visit: Tongaren and Webuye East!
- There’s Webuye, a small town after my own heart- wouldn’t you love seeing this!
View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dora Achieng' Okeyo (@suchakenyan)
- The infant mortality and morbidity rates in Bungoma have been a concern for the Ministry of Health, and with this the county has had help from the First Lady’s “Beyond Zero” Campaign, where I came across this mobile clinic which is essentially a theatre on wheels!
It’s been a great place to be in and I learned that Chwele is the second largest open-air market in Kenya, the onions, pineapples and potatoes sold here could make my Mother believe in Heaven!

Who can leave Bungoma without taking at least a picture of the big stones you see? Here’s one!
Rise and Fall

May 2nd, 2016

Have you ever had time to sit down and really be honest with yourself?

Listening to your conscience telling you the truth of who you are in a still voice, almost like the look your mom gives you when she wants to say ‘cut the crap!’

To say that I have had that kind of time is like saying smartphones do not exist, but let me tell you how it happened. I have been in Western Kenya for a while now, and my latest anchor point is this town called Bungoma where every hotel serves a cup of tea and mandazi from six in the morning to eight o’clock at night. You can not walk into a hotel and ask for a cup of tea and be told that they’ve run out of it, smashing, aye!

I have this great opportunity to visit health facilities and understand the challenges that come with management and resource administration of these places that we go to when our bodies are ailing. I had just come from a facility and witnessed a woman in the final stage of labour and her wailing followed me like the skin I wore all the way to our meeting point. Sometimes when I close my eyes at night I can see her, and the only question that comes to mind is ‘will I have to go through the same pain to bring forth my Aurora?’ It is easy to have an imaginary daughter when you are single and young, but when it comes down to actually conceiving and going through the whole 9 months journey, I discovered that I am scared. I am so scared that the mere sight of a swollen belly on either a man or woman freaks me out. I managed to step on my colleagues foot- getting mud on his new suede shoes and even spilled water on a chair.

We settled down for the meeting at six in the evening. I ordered a cup of tea and as I bent down to take my first sip (because they filled my cup to the brim) I heard a voice. It was this voice that reminded me of high school and friends who ate the same cold serving of rice and beans and took a bath with me on some cold slab in boarding school. True to my goosebumps, it was my friend from high school and after so much squealing and hugging I learned that she has two kids and I told her I would visit. After she went,I met another friend who asked me about my Prince Charming.

“You two were so cute, what happened?”

“Stuff happened, but he’s doing great and so am I. So how are you and my niece doing?”

“Great, come say hi, plus I am like four months along with baby number two.”

“God! You are not even showing, aki am so happy for you. Salamiana!”

When she had gone, I went back to my tea and this sound in my head like someone grinding maize on a cold morning. A day that had started with a woman in labor ended in a reunion with friends who could share nothing new except for their babies- and it made me think of sitting down to a good book, like Archangel’s Consort by Nalini Singh. Seriously, that woman can make you want to fall in love with an Archangel!

So, what was it about this day?

Later on, as I checked into my room and started going through my reports, I realized it is the feeling that I am missing out on a lot. It is like I am running but there is no audience to cheer me on. I am on my own lane finding my way while looking at other people’s lanes and wishing I was on theirs’. Truth is, I cannot, I wanted their status but not their struggle. It does not work that way.

I have always worked for what I have and that day I discovered a part of me that I thought did not exist. It was slowly making its way through my bloodstream like an infection and it was during my journaling that I rid myself of it. The next day, I met this great boda boda rider called Wekesa who was my guide around Webuye town. We visited the Webuye Water falls and somewhere along the way he told me “sio kila mtu anaweza hii kazi ya pota pota! Kuna wa kubebwa na wale wa kuiendesha.”

I am learning that it is the rise and fall in life that makes it worth living, the ups and downs that remind you of just how far you have come and how far you’ll go. I am also grateful that I get to travel and can speak up and be heard by policy makers in my field. I guess I’ll get to have my Aurora or Raphael when the time is right, but in the mean time I am sticking to my lane and learning and sharing with those I encounter daily, and sometimes life brings you a smile like these cute boys I captured on a rock.
Expert Opinion

April 23rd, 2016

Why is it that when you have a room of five or more experts, one question can take half an hour to understand?
Lemons and Lemons

April 17th, 2016

It’s good to be back home, and if you haven’t noticed, I am on wordpress.com again. Working on site upgrades will take me some time and money, and it’ll be done as soon as I settle down.

Have you ever felt the sudden need to slap people senseless in a vehicle? To unfasten your seat-belt and start giving everyone a piece of your mind using your palm, like pow-pow-pow and then settling back into your seat and plugging your earphones to the cool sound of Sauti-sol and Micasa? It happened to me on Friday and yesterday.

I traveled from Kisumu to Nairobi on Friday and this driver kept playing some rhumba music. I have my tastes but why would anyone want to listen to sleep music while driving non-stop for six hours? To make it worse, the CD he was playing got stuck on replay when we were approaching Naivasha. It played the same song until we got to Nairobi! I had some chords stuck in my mind way past midnight as I tossed and turned in bed.

When I got into the shuttle for Kisumu yesterday, it got worse, I was hit by the scent of lemons! Look here, I love lemons. They are green beautiful devils. They can be used to detox, to sanitize, to add flavor to food and drinks. Anyone who loves tequila can attest to the love they have for a slice of lemon, or lime and salt- but hey, I digress.Lemons are adorable little things, you can squeeze them in your enemy’s eyes and feign innocence. But too much lemon in the form of cologne is a complete turn-off. I was hit by the scent of too many lemons gone bad. It was like someone was rubbing lemons on my nostrils while another was forcing the nasty little creature down my throat. The seat I had chosen was next to the door and the guy who was killing me was seated right beside me! It does not matter how cute you are, but if the scent of you drives me to my grave, you are being exorcised like the demon you are. Six hours of that revolting scent, and when I thought my day could get better, the driver turned up the volume, filling the vehicle with the same CD I had been treated to on my first trip.

The best part was I had enough leg room to stretch out and sleep! I did wince whenever he hit a bump or two, or slowed down for the police, but the urge to slap everyone was so strong, it made for a great dream, because I would not do that in real life. The guy seated beside me could definitely hit back and send me to the morgue.

The first rule of war: you always win in your dreams, in real life, you can be slapped senseless!