nilichoandika

Stay on your lane

February 24th, 2016

This has been a crazy week for me, got a severe throat infection, a craving for Fanta Orange and sore limbs, plus there has been little time to write being on medication and all.

A friend visited me and as we got to talking she asked me why I was not like Chimamanda, and something in me froze, like I was facing death. She insisted that there were some things I could do differently, like enter major competitions and somehow send my manuscripts to traditional publishers here in Kenya just to get more established and respected like Chimamanda.

Okay, hold your high horse for a second and if you are reading this let me get you in on a secret that’s not so secret:

No, Writer wants to be compared to another Writer.

It hurts, in fact it stinks but I will explain why. When you compare a Writer to another one (in this case, most people do so to a well known and obviously wealthier Writer) you erase or downplay their effort and their voice, style and time writing. It is normal for people to want to compare things and even label them, but just don’t do it. Each Writer has their own style, voice and demons- please do not awaken them in the name of stirring up a conversation!

So, there I was- high on medication and it was hot, she was drinking that juice I offered her and she’d just asked me to get on someone’s lane. I love Chimamanda. I am in awe of her writing and take on women in the society, but I am not getting in her lane. I have my own and at the moment it is filled with rocks, shrubs and lots of diversions, but it is my own lane.

The temptation to look at other people’s lives and think you can catch up or work to be exactly like them is something that my Mother has always instilled in us as the sure way to our downfall. She would say, “Be you, there is no other Achieng’ out there in the world who thinks or feels like you, so don’t try and destroy that.” And there are other writers, especially when you are getting into publishing and having people say so much about your work, who believe that they have to be like so-and-so to make it big. If that’s your goal, then what is your art?

It is easy to sit and wish you were like another Writer, but then who are you? Stay in your lane. Carve your own path. Make your mistakes and learn. Babies crawl, fall (mostly landing on their butt), walk, run, but they never stop. The other Writer you wish you were, started out much earlier or put in much effort to be in the limelight, and you have to put in the effort. Has it ever dawned on you that for there to be a spotlight , every other light has to be dimmed?

Put in the time and effort to tell your story your own way.

Aside for that, I had a wonderful time reading these books-if you know any of the authors, kindly let them know that this recovering Writer enjoyed the company of their books while on bed rest! Psst! Tell Kathryne Kennedy that I fell in love with a certain grumpy dragon in her book called, Ador 🙂
Happy New Year, Walter.

February 20th, 2016

It was another Saturday morning spent rolling kneaded dough, dipping pieces in hot oil and tossing and turning and packing delicacies.

His second order involved moving from one end of town to the other to deliver samosas, doughnuts and chapatis for a chama meeting. The pay had been good but now as he rolled the dough and looked at the time he felt as though someone was pouring the hot oil steadily along his spine.

Things had started out great and he had more orders and more time to expand his business, but the food industry as he called it had challenges. On one side was the desire to indulge but on the other the desire to keep fit and stay lean. There were gyms springing up in every neighborhood and the first thing he saw on TV at 5am was a fitness show.

His customers could always eat and then burn the calories, but Maureen had suggested maybe adding a fruit basket to every order just to let people know he cared. It was lame. How could he say, “have a doughnut and some fruit after.” It was like saying yes when you meant no, which had never gone down well with him. Then there was Ruth, the woman had been calling and sending him messages asking how he was and looking to meet him. She was beautiful, but it was just that. She was something to look at, but not everyday and he wanted to focus on his business because the bank had loaned him money and were expecting a deposit every month.

It was a new year to most people but to Walter, it was the first step into either debt or the successful establishment of a dream.
Waiting for the rain, or an answer

February 19th, 2016

Today was one of those days that felt like a script from those Telenovelas.

I had finished braiding my hair and felt like a short trip to town to check out some new erasers and pens in supermarkets, just because I was feeling like looking at a new eraser and using a new pen.

Some people love to go out clubbing, well, I love hitting up supermarkets and bookstores just to buy stationery.

So, I walked to town and just as I walking into the first supermarket, Ukwala, see- the one that’s between Chase Bank and National Bank in Kisumu. There is a woman right outside who sells some amazing potato crisps that have the most outrageous cough inducing, tear jerking, Lord help me-pepper! I was in a white t-shirt, grey shorts and black flip flops. The only cool thing about me was my phone which was in my pocket, but aside from that I looked like someone who had just gotten out of bed and rushed to the supermarket.

But, this is where Karma had the perfect serving for me, as I walked to the stationery aisle, I bumped into an old friend/flame/friend-zone dude/complicated guy. There was a time when he believed we could be more than friends but I could not since he was just a friend to me, and we argued and I told him to just stop calling and bham! Two years later I run into him in a supermarket, when it is thirty three degrees hot and I’m in flip flops!

He smiled and leaned in for a hug.

I stepped back after the hug and asked, “Hey, it’s good to see you, how are you?”

“I am fine, and you haven’t changed, my God, Dora, umekuja tao in slippers! Yaani, you are just the same.”

“Well, I gained some weight, traveled for a while and so far all is well.”

“That’s good! So, what brings you here?”

“I came to check out some of their stationery.”

“You still write! I love that, and aki you have not changed! Maybe we could have coffee some time and catch up on stuff.”

“Um, okay, I will call you and we can work on something.”

“So, you still have my number?”

“Yes, the Safcom one, ama you changed it?”

“No, it’s still the same, but it would have been great to hear from you at some point Dora, you just went and forgot about me, who knew I’d meet you here?”

Now, ladies and gentlemen- behold the power of multiple conversations! At this point all I could think of was, ‘karma!’ Karma knew or the Universe planned this, or just being at the wrong time and place or something- but I was not prepared. See, I had set out to spend a blissful day looking for stationery and buying pens I would use to scribble notes or jot down thoughts in my journal, but meeting him was like walking into a puddle.

See, I miss him. I miss my friend, but if there is one thing that has never worked out with me is being ‘just friends’ after the guy who has been your friend for years suddenly says he loves you! So, since then I made sure to tell all the male friends in my life- get your priorities in order. If you approach me and ask to be my friend, that is all it’s going to be, so better deal with that. I mean, wouldn’t a guy know whom he’d like to have as a friend and whom he’d like to date?

I did not get the pens but opted for ice-cream instead and came back home. Sometimes we make decisions and move on thinking all is well, and sometimes these decisions come back to us like rain, you can see the clouds gather but never know when the first drop will hit the ground…it’s like waiting for an answer, yet you already had it.
10 Things I always carry while traveling.

February 16th, 2016

I love being on the road going to new places and seeing just how different people are in terms of their beliefs, customs and modes of interaction. If getting on the road is somewhere in your to-do-list or that bucket list you’ve been saying you’ll get down to, then let me save you the hassle.
You cannot carry everything with you when you travel. First thing you learn when you are on the road is that your bed is sacred! I mean, if you could probably carry your bed with you to some places chances are you would, but whats the fun in 24/7 comfort? Nothing like a little discomfort to make you appreciate what you got going!
So, I thought why not share some of my go to stuff when traveling?

These are some of the things that I never leave for that trip without!
1. Bag: A good, comfortable traveling backpack is what you need to hold all the things you’re going to use.
2. A pair of jeans, comfy shoes (sketchers or ngomas) and lots of t-shirts. Most of the places I visit are hot, but I learned that I lean more toward white, grey and jungle green t-shirts. I steer clear of black because most parts in Kenya are hot. There is a lot you can do with clothes, depending on the weather and the terrain of the place you intend to visit, but a pair of good jean trousers and three or four t-shirts are a must have!
3. Toothbrush and toothpaste, now, if there is one thing I always pack first it has to be these, because I easily forget my toothbrush and nothing messes up a conversation like bad breath!
4. A book to read
5. My Bible for daily inspiration
6. Body lotion and some deo-spray, nothing too flowery a scent because there was this time I wore Farmasi-body splash and I was stalked by a couple of bees as I walked through a field in Seme, and the faster I walked the faster the wind helped spread that scent, but lucky enough for me, it was a field full of jasmine too, so they didn’t come after me. Since then, a simple deo-spray would do like Aris. Plus, listen scoot closer, a little closer I learned that the more flowery and longer lasting that spray is, the more you kinda stink after a day spent trekking or walking in the heat.
7. Stationery: I carry pens and some writing material and I learned that carrying catalog cards makes it easier for me to jot down things that capture my attention while on the go.
8. Water bottle: Nowadays you can get bottled water everywhere you go but having your own water bottle helps in case you go to a place like Flourspar or somewhere in the Kaptagat forest and you need some water to drink. And conservation wise, having your own water bottle helps with disposal of the ones you buy. Nothing pisses me off like people throwing plastic water or soda bottles along the road.
9. Toiletries because you always need to freshen up.
10. A camera, its always good to take some pictures of places that take your breath away! Like the moon or that hill.

However there’s one great tip: Check your health, make sure you are in good form to be traveling. You could always carry a first aid kit for emergencies. Make sure it has pain relievers and some antibiotics.
A maiden for the King

February 15th, 2016

The palace guards stepped aside to let the King and his sister through. He bid his sister goodbye and watched as she was led through the palace by the maiden. They walked like sisters and this alone reminded him of his youth, after all her sister was years wiser and older than him.

He turned to his brother-in-law when he heard, “Who is she to you?”

“She is the one who stands beside me.”

“I see, so when will you make her your Queen?”

“Only time will tell. I still see her whenever I open my eyes.”

“No! You will not mourn for her because you are stronger with this maiden. I see how you look at her, you protect her with your eyes and she in turn does not want to leave your presence, surely if that is not love, then the gods must be sleeping!”

“What if I never get over the one I love?”

“You said it, only time will tell.”

“Let’s go back inside, these walls are lined with gold but if you look close enough you will see the ears and eyes too.”
A mile from the truth

February 13th, 2016

It started with an accident or so they say. The driver and the Minister were making their way to a function when two vendors approached their vehicle. It was at night. They were selling groundnuts according to the Driver’s statement, but he’s not sure. The lights had turned red and they had to slow down. One man hit his side mirror and the he heard a loud bang bang bang bang. When he stepped on it he realized that the Minister was already dead his blood pooling the seat and pieces of glass all over the vehicle.
Geoffrey went through his notes again.
He had a meeting with the Editor in an hour, but he still had nothing to prove his suspicions.
Why did the men ambush and kill the Minister? Why did the Driver go on a trip two weeks after talking to him? He looked at the word document before him, the cursor blinked at him but he had nothing to type. He’d followed every lead he had on the case. He even made a few friends in the police force, but nothing came out of the late night meetings and cryptic whatsapp messages.
The Driver had said, “You should stop looking! Listen, what I know is that he was a good man, an honest one,okay not as much but compared to all those Mweshimiwas we have running around, he was good. And for someone to do that to him was wrong. I have a family and for them to hear I was killed would hurt me, but there’s something else that happened that night. His other team was held up. We had to go to the Civil Society Award function and in the last minute all his guards were withdrawn, like something came up.”
“Didn’t he have his own bodyguards?”
“He did, but since he’d pressed for action about the drug cartels at the parliament,his life was in danger. He said it on TV. Then he got called and he was assigned six bodyguards, now on that night, all six were suddenly called apparently to attend some state function, but the thing is there was no function that night!”
“I see, and who called them?”
“Hey, I have said enough, but those are just my thoughts now please, stop this, because you won’t find anything. Hawa watu watakutema kama mate na kisha wakukanyage kama mende. Go home, let the police investigate.”
“Wait, I have one last question. Please!”
“Okay.”
“Did he ever tell you anything about the information he had on the drug cartels in Kenya? Especially something about the issue at the port last year and the death of a certain Mr. Musila?”
“No, he never told me anything about that, but it’s funny that these people beg for our votes, they even buy our mothers lessos and sugar, and they come home and promise us our own dreams, and when they hold that Bible and cross the podium to sit on those state seats made by prisoners, they suddenly become exterminators. Do you know what they call anyone who questions them? Mende. And you know what you do to cockroaches, so if I were you, I would write about some pastor caught sleeping with a parishioner and wait for my salary.”
“The cockroaches have to be such a nuisance for them to be exterminated you know. Thank you.”
“Good bye, Mwanahabari.”

He thought of their conversation and felt like there was more to it than he got. The Minister’s death was a distraction and now time was running out on the issue he dealt with. The parliament talked of insecurity in the country and the police were called to be vigilant in ensuring no one was attacked in traffic. The Minister had been buried a day his family still mourned, but no one talked about the drug business.
He looked up at his screen and hit CTRL+A then hit the delete button.

The story did not begin with the Minister’s death, it began with fear. He knew he could look into the Minister’s report which had been tabled at the parliament and then pick it up from there. As he opened his browser for details on this story his Editor called him. He smiled and walked into that office aware of the eyes on him and the murmurs. Fear kept them in their seats, but it did not deny them sleep, but for the sake of that Driver who had probably been murdered after talking to him he knew he had to do something.
If he died, at least he shall have tried.
Isn’t that why there were more pawns in the game of Chess?

As he took the seat offered to him, his Editor adjusted his glasses and said, “Geoffrey, I want you to look into a story. A fresh insight might be helpful, there’s something going on in our prisons, and you’re the man for it.”
“Can I do it after the story on the Minister?”
“No, you’ll hand over your sources and notes to Jael.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Sometimes in life you eat sweet potatoes

February 11th, 2016

It’s good to be back home in the city by the lakeside! Kisumu is beautiful and full of surprises but I still get that small town girl feeling whenever I return.

The hairdresser under the tree is still there. She comes and spreads her mat on the ground, positions her bench and waits for clients who need their hair braided. The shopkeeper is also there and he opens and closes his shop as he pleases. Then, there is the barber who always listens to Kiss 100- so I am treated to replays of songs! And who can forget the cobbler who comes to work wearing white linen pants and goes back home without a smear or dirt, polish or glue on his pants! (Goals, I tell you!)

However, I have been unwell since I came home. Mom insists that it is Malaria and my doctor confirms it with a dosage of nasty medicine that I am supposed to swallow within a period of eight hours!

So, with the heat and the medicine I have been doing nothing much aside from reading and staying away from the kitchen but something happened that made me get up and drag my feet to this computer, some bit of gossip if you please.

Mom bought sweet potatoes.

You see, these big sweet potatoes that when cooked they are all white and powdery!

I love sweet potatoes.

We were having sweet potatoes with tea at four yesterday evening when suddenly the piece I had in my mouth seemed to be working against me. I felt my eyes bulge out and nothing made sense or eased the pain, not even the gulps of ginger tea I was taking- and for a split second it felt like that piece of sweet potato would be the death of me!

Mom just sat there laughing! They were laughing so hard that tears filled their eyes and they couldn’t stop. When I composed myself, and glared at mom, she said “Jawuoro!”

Now, allow me to welcome you into my native language-Dholuo. See, there are certain words that can be used to tease or jest or simply insult someone but they have never really been meant as such. Take that word up there! Jawuoro…it’s just, aargh!

I was dying (or it felt like it) and mom chose that precise moment to call me a “Glutton!”

Now, isn’t that sending a dagger to my Luo heart? That piece of sweet potato was stuck like it was a fat cat sitting in my spot reluctant to move. Have you ever tried to move a fat cat off your seat or better yet, have you ever tried pushing a donkey from behind? Ghai!

And I couldn’t help but remember that you have not valued your life until you are choked by two kinds of food: sweet potatoes and pumpkins a.k.a ‘budho”
When patience is taken for uncertainty.

February 1st, 2016

I thought about this post today. Waking up at six and thinking about the words as I did laundry, had breakfast, left the house, finished reading a book. When I turned on the radio or pretended to move, I thought about this post.

You are very patient, aki if I were you?

If you were me, and that’s impossible because there’s none like me and there never will be, but let me indulge your fantasy for a minute. If you were me then what?
Sometimes the sheer boldness of people astounds me. It’s like walking right into incoming traffic or better yet walking in front of an Umoinner, ROG, or those Rongai matatus where exhausts and loud music are nothing if they don’t scare the life out of you!

There’s this book, Last Train from Liguria by Christine Dwyer Hickey that has me going round in circles, digging up ghosts from my past. It’s a story centered around Bella, a woman in her thirties who leaves Ireland to serve as a tutor to a young boy named Alec ( Allesandro) in Italy. Fascism, a war, love and betrayal fill the story that is told from as early as 1924, 1933 all through to 1995. It is the ability of the characters to retain their individuality that stuck with me. It’s like in reading all 392 pages of the story,I never really knew the characters, like they slipped through my fingers and I cannot find them.

So, what? Why would that intrigue me? Well, patience grasshopper, it is an art that I have tried to master and also appreciate and it nagged me so much that I had to call my mentor to seek some closure. Why couldn’t I create characters like that?
His first question was why would you want to create such characters?
I said power. Every character wants something and even those who appear not to, cease to be bystanders at some point in the story.
He laughed. I heard him laugh as though it was a joke, but I was frustrated. When I am frustrated I cry and God knows why tears flow out of these eyes when all I want is to toss stuff and leave everything around me in ashes, but he laughed and then asked me to talk to him about the book. When I ran out of credit, he called back and listened.

So do you see why its bugging me? I asked hoping to have his understanding.
He simply asked, have you read your books? Especially Water, have you read it?
I said yes. He cleared his throat and said I mean really read it, like you were the reader and not the writer editing her work.
I said I haven’t. I could not, not really.
He said, Read it and then call me.

So now, I have to read my own book and suddenly I wonder what I will find in there. Typos, definitely. I know there has to be at least one typo, but what else? Will I love it or hate it and why should I read the second book in the series and not the first?

He said, well, people think that it is the first step that makes all the difference but it’s the second step that actually does because it determines whether you’ll go back to where you were or proceed with your journey.
Earth: Book 4 in the Currents Series

January 29th, 2016

“The sun shines but it does not burn itself. It is like the rain for it has someone to fall and rise for. The sun rises and falls for the moon, whom do you rise and fall for My King?”
—-Ulioko.

It’s been a wonderful journey in writing this series. What started as an idea grew into not one but three books and this morning I stared at myself in the mirror and asked why couldn’t you just write one book?
The truth is I couldn’t. Each book depicts a phase in Prince Ustawi’s life and to have it all in that book would be to overload the reader. There are books that do that to you. I did not want that.

Secondly, I had to grow in my writing and to space them out in four books was my way of achieving that.

As I take my time with Earth, I also pick up on where I lean on as a Writer and its a process that has me going back to the first book, Fire, to see how it all adds up. Every character wants something. In The Currents Series it all started with a vision and as we come to a conclusion did it come to pass or not and how have the people of Leo changed? What can we learn from them? What about monarchy and democracy and betrayal? Where does a ruler draw the line between truth and treason? How does he rule?

There is also a focus on marketing and book distribution. I was to draft a plan and email it to my Mentor, but so far I have nothing and before he calls me up to ask about it, I will sit down and come up with a working draft.

Until then, it’s more writing and editing until the book’s ready.
An audience of sorts.

January 27th, 2016

Our love is a story for an audience.

It was the little things that made me stop and wonder like whether you could find the perfect person in a book, underneath a coffee mug, when you toss and turn a chapati or even when you listen to a love song at 4am. I have done worse, trust me.

So, I’ll drink some water and tell you all about my journey to and away from love. I believe that a sip of cold bottled water is my remedy. I would have had Scotch, or Whisky and twirl it around like Alejandro or Don Juan- or that guy who just got kicked out by his wife at the bar but I’ve never had a drink. I do not know the burning sensation or pleasure of cool alcoholic drink, so I’ll stick to what I know best like water.

My journey to love started when I was young. Growing up there was always the question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

There were always the answers like: Doctor, Nurse, Lawyer, Surgeon, Neurosurgeon (thanks to Think Big by Ben Carson), Pilot, Air Hostess, Teacher.

Then there was the game “cha-nyumba” where you’d act like a family and everyone had roles. There would be the Father, Mother and kids. I loved this game because I was always the kid and could get presents like a clay version of a bike, or doll with hands that stuck to her sides.

This grew when I started watching Disney Fairy tales and watching programs and reading books. I was introduced to Shakespeare and Margaret Ogolla as a child, and their way with words brought out some hope- a belief in love being eternal. I still believe that love is eternal.

However, when I say that our love is a story for an audience, I am projecting a girl’s view on love in the bus today. She was asked by her friend, “how are things with you guys?” She paused and then replied, “I don’t know anymore, he’s nice and sweet sometimes when we are with other people and sometimes I never even hear from him, yaani, I don’t even know.”

I thought, “would you listen to that?” I pulled out the book I was reading and got down to it because there was this conversation in my head that brought back memories of someone I thought I loved. It’s been years and to have someone express a feeling that was a deal breaker for that relationship took me back to a place I never wanted to revisit. It was the absence and non-existent communication that made me end things. I felt like a car that was bought and left to sit in the garage because the owner didn’t have any use for it- and for a while I was angry. For two hours before sitting my exam I was angry and I remember my room mate telling me to call his number and say hello because chances are he was having a rough time at school too. I called and found the same response, his room mate saying he was unavailable and I remember sitting back in bed and asking myself “Did you really love him? Like did you really see a future with him?” And then the answers starting coming in: he drank too much, he laughed a lot even at things that were non-existent, he was intimidated by me,he was barely there. I was not hurt by him but more by me. I had held on thinking things would be okay, and that hurt me and so a year after going my way, I wrote a novella about it. (Yes, I Swifted him- and you can read it here)

To say that I was shunned from love by that incident would be a lie, rather it made me seek out love more and I met great people, places and books over the years. I found out so much more about communication and desire and trust in different times and occasion.

There is a lot to love and it starts with oneself. It’s like blossoming from the inside out. It takes time, understanding and experiences to get you there.

I have since discovered my love for writing romance.

But back to that girl in the bus, though I had promised myself that I’d stop following people’s conversations in buses, I hope that she does find what she’s looking for and if it is love that the only audience that ever attests to the script of that love is her before it hits the biog screens.