nilichoandika

You know you are old

March 8th, 2016
I am having one of those days.

They come once a year and suddenly you are showered with love and lots of wishes, I hear people refer to them as birthdays. Well, happy freaking birthday to me!

So, what’s got me into this mood?
1. I’m stuck writing the final chapter of Earth! It’s the fifth revision and I am stuck!
2. I’m eager to get back on the road.
3. For some reason, I just don’t want to believe that people are too busy and cannot write “Happy Birthday,” but simply opt for “HBD”, I mean, it’s the thought that counts right?
Do not judge a book by its cover, let me tell you what I really like about today:
1. It’s my birthday!
2. I have made it thus far and I’m in good health, plus the exercises I have been doing are paying off, especially that wall-sit!
3. Mom’s got dinner planned (just like when we were kids 🙂 and I can finally have chapati made by her!
4. Three great friends have bought me books and you know me and books, I’d pick them over any conversation or party!
5. It is International Women’s Day meaning that this day is special not only because I was born, but the fact that I was born female and am heading into my womanhood just serves as a reminder of how great life is!
6. It is one of my favorite Writer’s birthday too: Mr. Valerio Massimo Manfredi. Love love love him! Have you watched the film, The last legion? It was released in 2007, but forget that film- he wrote that book, The Alexander Trilogy, Tower, and a lot more historic books.
7. I get to switch off my phone and read “Vienna Blood” by Frank Tallis as I sip my third cup of tea!
8. My throat infection cleared up, well mostly, and I can meet Grumpy for coffee, it’s been a while.
9. Roses and Lies- that novella I hinted about (on the right side bar) is coming along great. Release date: Friday 11 March 2016.
10. All’s well that ends well.
Like my friend Grace says, you know you are old when the stuff you are grateful for outweighs the stuff that bugs you. Well, I am 99% grateful, but oh, that 1% ~~is doing a number on me~~– especially the whole “HBD” thing, really, people, really?

HBD could mean a lot of things:
- Hot black dude
- Hot black dress
- Heavy blue dryer
- Happy big date
- He’s bored dude!
- Harry Bill Dick
- Henry Bob Dylan
- He bought drugs
Seriously, “HBD?” get it off my facebook wall…people, give this Writer a break!
The poem that changed my life

March 4th, 2016

There was a poem we used to narrate in competitions while in Primary school. The first time I stepped onto a stage and introduced myself it was to narrate this poem. I was eleven years old and it was one o’clock. One hour after a bottle of Fanta Orange, a boiled egg and three slices of dry white United bread.

Our teacher Mr. Ayuka was there as I ate behind the Social Hall telling me to be audible, to project my voice and remember my facial expressions. The words had to live once they were out of my mouth. He stuck the name card using an office pin on my uniform and told me to rush to the stage.

It was the first time I was doing a solo verse.

I had been part of the choral verse for two years now finding comfort in the voices of the other girls behind me, but this time I had to project one voice across a hall with three judges waiting for me to slip up. The voice had to be mine, but not the poem. I wanted the poem to be mine, it had to have something about the rain, soft drops of rain, deep brown puddles and wading through mud. So, I walked on the stage and when the judges told me to start, I did:

The wind howls and the trees sway,

The loose housetop sheets clatter and clang,

The open window shuts with a bang,

And the sky makes night of day.

– “A Sudden Storm,” by Pius Oleghe

And right when I was about to start the second stanza, I burped!

Mr. Ayuka looked at me and walked out of the hall. The judges listened even as I continued, but I never could finish, because the burp and the humiliation of it had taken up two minutes of my time. The second judge rang her bell and I walked out of the stage.

As fate would have it, I was awarded thirteenth place out of twenty six participants. Mr. Ayuka looked at me and then looked away. The other girls laughed about my burp but no one talked to me or asked me what I thought. One girl told me not to drink Fanta ever again because I could clearly not handle the gas it gave me and they all laughed.

I went to Mr. Ayuka to apologize but he held his hand up to make me stop. He looked at me and said, “It was the first time and you did well. You could have won, but remember when you slip in front of an audience, you have to keep going. You wasted two minutes, but if you could have continued, maybe you could have got the fifth place.”

I turned and walked back to the other girls to prepare for our choral verse presentation. When they asked about our conversation with Mr. Ayuka, all I could do was shrug my shoulders and so they called me ‘Fanta Mayai’ for the next one year. I also won most school debates, a public speech contest and four solo presentations in that one year.
Why I visit some sites

March 1st, 2016
The internet is like a maze. It holds so much and everyone has some key that opens up a portal they ask for and when they ask for it. In writing there is one thing known as curiosity that is like the flame that can keep you going. The thirst for knowledge can help you spin a good story. My Mentor says that it’s being empty every time and always opening up to enhancing what you know and how to use it.

Aside from checking for updates or notifications on social networking sites, there are some sites that I often visit to read on what other people are writing, get their flow of writing, argue or agree with the opinions expressed…and sometimes just to know that I’m not the only one who thinks of stuff.

Some of the sites that I regularly visit:
- Medium: There’s something about Coffeelicious.
- Freebooksy:For the love of free e-books
- Writing Career: Talk of listings for any competitions, jobs and grants for Writers and this guy posts it.
- Art of Manliness: Now, if only the men I knew could learn a thing or two about say ties, chivalry, history and just find the base where they can have an imaginary beer with someone else.
- Brain Pickings: Great articles, will definitely have you thinking.
- Jumia: This is for checking out items that I could buy online, I mostly check out the phones and tablets and apparently ovens.
- Africa Portal: If you want in-depth news about issues affecting Africans, developments and critical analysis of these things, this is your portal.
What are some of the sites that you regularly visit?
A short story

February 25th, 2016

Allan knew two things as he lay on the concrete floor; he had sinned and he was not the only one. He could see the headlines at dawn. He could see his colleagues lining up to praise him. He could also see his constituents sneer upon the heaps of praises he received. There was a time he could read his wife’s expressions, how she smiled or frowned when she wanted to dispute something he said. She would be seated wearing sunglasses to hide her tears.

He would wonder if she missed him, but his children would. Henry was only ten and yet he knew more about what was right and less about what was wrong. Jacinter was eight, named after his mother, the first woman to look him in the eye and say she couldn’t recognize him beneath all his skin of lies. He had wept that day. Mercy was only five and even then he knew she was the sun that lit his world. He was always Daddy to Mercy. She would jump on his lap and fill his face with kisses whenever he came home. She would use her mother’s phone to call and say how much she missed him. She lived in a world he once believed in.

He would take a bow as ‘Mheshimiwa,’ but even then he knew in reality, there was nothing honorable or respectable about his life. The best thing he had done was to ensure his family never lacked for anything. Mercy would be the Nurse she wanted to be, without his wife-Hilda, worrying about a single cent, but even then, he took from everyone to provide for them. If that was not a curse, then he would surely be sipping red wine in Heaven.
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.”