nilichoandika

You know Steve, right?

August 22nd, 2015

Okay.

So, you have that lunch that you’ve been talking about with your friends for years. You pick a restaurant that has free WiFi, yes- it is important to share those pictures on Instagram and Facebook.

You notice that someone has lost weight, another has gained some (but you won’t speak of it, if she asks, you say she is beautiful) and another is growing this bump that she cannot stop talking about. She is the mother to be and then all eyes settle on you, “So when are you getting married?”

And you shrug off your shoulders like, “God’s timing is best,” even though you know that you have had some suitors but are just not interested. So they look at you like you are crazy but say, “yeah, but no worries, you will meet the right guy at the appointed time.”

And you immediately say “Amen!” and look at the menu like an English teacher would mark an essay. They giggle a little and you do not bother to ask because that’s an inside joke among the engaged and married people. The waiter approaches your table and you say, “I will have the mango juice and chips masala.” The one with the bump looks at you and asks, “how do you keep fit with all that junk?”

You smile and say, “I do not eat chips during the week, so why not treat myself today, besides I hear their masala chips is to die for.” She nods and orders the same. The others place their orders and the waiter leaves you in the company of three lovely women whom you’ve drawn apart from and free WiFi. Which one would you pick?

Yes, so you go through your emails and check your Facebook wall for those updates and that’s when you see it:

“At __ restaurant with so and so, having a blast!” And you look up with your eye asking, “really?” But you say nothing because that’s the irony of it all. The person who cannot afford bamba 20 is always posting pictures of Jameson, Smirnoff Black Ice, Jack Daniels or standing beside a Range Rover with the hashtag #turntup #lifeisgood

So, you stop being so judgmental and switch off that new android phone you got with an impressive five inch captive screen and turn to the girls for a conversation. You start talking and listening and you realize that the one who has lost weight is Sharon. She used to sit behind you in class. She was index ten and she is frustrated at work because all the policies she creates are accredited to her boss. She knows so much about investments and even gives you a formula for saving and invites you to this chama she’s in.

The one with the bump is Martha. She is staying at home now, while her husband is working. She loves it because she had been in the banking industry for two years and she hated it. She wants to go back to school but they cannot afford it. She is scared that her second baby won’t be an easy pregnancy. She almost had a miscarriage last week.

And finally the one who has put on weight, well, she just got a job two years after graduating from the university. She had been stressed by her family and relatives desire to get her to move out and settle down. She is not dating anyone because her boyfriend had been sleeping around with the other women in her block. She says that whole “boy next door thing” is so wrong! Those type of guys have a constant supply of women and you all burst laughing. You realize that she is Michelle, and you always chat on twitter even though she goes by a different handle.

They turn to you and you say, you are figuring things out and all will be well. You have had jobs and you have traveled a lot, and most of all you are proud of your family’s support. Then Martha asks you if you are dating anyone. You sigh and say that you were dating this great guy, but you got tired of waiting on him and so now you are single, but not so single…and they laugh.

Just then the waiter comes pushing a trolly and serves you your food and you dig in like the hungry beautiful women that you are! Then Michelle asks Martha how Steve is doing, and she starts, “You know Steve, right? He is working and I do not spend as much time with him as I did before…”

Then you say you have never seen this Steve guy and Martha pulls out her phone. She types in a pin and goes to her Gallery and swipes left for a while until she gets to the picture she wants and then holds the phone in your face, “that’s my Steve!”

“Are you okay?”

“Um…”

“Hey, you look like you have seen him before, do you know him?”

“Um, yes…I think we have met at a training or something…does he work for a CSO?”

“Yes, oh my! It’s a small world!”

You look at your food and feel like someone is out to get you. You keep stuffing your mouth with fries. You know it should not bother you that Steve is the guy! You know?
The Man in the rain.

August 21st, 2015

It started out as a whispering. A loud and prolonged hush between the clouds that were drawing nearer the earth at eight o’clock in the night.
She held onto her sweater as she looked at the dark clouds hover above her while whispering.
They hovered and got darker and then just as they were about to merge she saw the flash of lightning bring back some light to the dark night. She looked at her watch.
The bus came and people filled it. It drove off while she was still seated on that bench. She fastened the scarf around her neck but the cold wind still stung her earlobes. She pulled out her phone and saw that she still had 27 percent battery power left.
Jeremy had called her five times. He might have been worried about her, but she needed to do this. The woman at the bridal shop had told her that matters of the heart could mess people up. If she loved Jeremy she had to face Mark. When she told the lady about Mark, the woman scrunched up her nose, scoffed and said, “A man with a four letter name is a player, haven’t you ever noticed how many women cry over Johns, Pauls, Max, and Marks?”
She laughed at this as she stopped to twirl so she could have a feel of her gown. She loved the A-line. The texture was smooth and it did not have too much embroidery. Her wedding was going to be simple, full of love and true. The woman had insisted, “you cannot move on unless you face your past and bury it.”
She stopped when she heard her name. It was a whisper as loud and real as that of the clouds she had been watching.
It was a voice she could never get out of her head just like she would never forget how he treated her. It was a mistake to him. It started with, “let me explain,” and ended with “I know I cheated but I love you.”
What amused her was how often she heard the words and how easily she believed them.
She looked at him settle beside her and braced herself for what he had to say.
” You came…”
She looked at him and then pulled out her phone. Her battery power was down to 24 percent. He had started with an observation not a question. She dug her hands in her brown bag and sighed.
“How are you Grace?”
“I am fine.”
“I can see. So, I hear you are getting married next weekend, is it to that Dentist?”
“Yes.”
“I hate Dentists. You know it really hurts when they extract a tooth.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t be like that Grace, I just wanted to see you and catch up on times and stuff, so don’t just sit there and act like I am a stranger, please don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Grace,do you love this dude? I mean, are you sure about marrying him?”
“Yes, I am.”
“He does not deserve you babe, he really does not.”

She looked at Mark and just when she was going to say something she felt the first splatter land on her forehead. She looked up and those clouds had now formed one large mass of the darkest shade of black and were sending those rain drops down on her.
The splatter increased as the raindrops hit the pavement with vengeance. Mark was shouting something at her about seeking shelter but all she could see were the lights and heard the brakes before she saw the bus come to a stop right before her.
She stood up and rushed into the bus while holding her breath hoping that Mark would not follow her.
The woman at the bridal shop had been wrong. Everything about Mark unsettled her because every time he opened his mouth, she held her breath knowing that her heart was listening to him.
He still had that scent: some musk with a twinge of lime. His hair was still cropped short and he dressed better than Jeremy. It had been two years and he could still rile her up, get her jumping and running after his empty promises. Jeremy always called her “honey,” while Mark always knew that she loved being called “babe.”
It was pouring as she ground her teeth hoping the bus filled up and left the station. It was foolish of her to think that she could still love Mark. He has asked for her hand in marriage. In fact he had been the first man to ask for her hand in marriage. He had also been the only man to make a promise and break it even before he finished saying it.
She wiped the window to look at the people and there; right behind the bench where they were seated was the red saloon car she could spot even in her dreams.
There was a man standing beside the car with an umbrella and he was looking straight at her.
She looked at the tall profile of the man and in that moment, she stood up holding her bag close to her chest and ran out of the bus. She bumped into the tout on the way out, as she ran in the cold heavy rain towards the one her heart yearned for.
Jeremy opened his arms and she walked right into them knowing he had so many questions. They stood there in the rain with the splash of rain, hooting of the bus, ghust of wind holding each other and answering their questions by touch.
She did not care about that, except for the fact that he had drove through the rain to come and get her.

Other blogs in the East Africa Friday Feature :
Love in Nairobi
Flashes of Vice
Jollof Rice, ladies and gentlemen!

August 20th, 2015

I prepared Jollof Rice for lunch. It’s a popular dish in many West African countries and varies from one country to another in terms of the spices used. However the core ingredients are: rice, tomatoes and tomato paste, onions, salt and hot red pepper.

So, I got some of my ingredients and used both Paprika and black pepper because I love black pepper.

Ingredients include :
Onions
Tomatoes (you can grate them to avoid having the husks) and you’ll also use some tomato paste that’s processed.
Thyme
Cayenne Pepper
1 Cup of Long Grain rice
Cooking oil
Optional spices like Paprika, Nutmeg, Black pepper e.t.c

To prepare the rice:
First fry the chopped onions in cooking oil until they’re brown then add the tomatoes and thyme and salt. Stir for a while before adding the tomato paste.
Do not use too much tomato paste because it would give your food a kind of sour taste. To avoid this stir the paste as it thickens and reduce the heat and let it cook for ten to fifteen minutes.

It will look like the picture on the left while cooking. Once it’s ready you can remove some of it and let it cool, (as shown in the picture on the right) and you’ll use this later on.

The next step is to take the rice and add it to the paste while you stir it so the rice can blend in or mix evenly with the paste. Do this for five minutes keeping your heat low so it does not stick to the cooking pan.
After this you can add water while stirring to ensure the rice is soft and we’ll cooked.
Cover the pan and let the rice cook.

When it’s ready you can serve it with fried chicken, beef, mutton, fish or any other delicacy as you see fit.

You could also add some juice for that final taste.
My African playlist: Ten songs I’m listening to right now.

August 19th, 2015
~~I love good music.~~

I love listening to music, and there’s nothing like a song to describe how you feel or get the kind of mood you’re in. The sound of the drums were heard in Africa, and long before our ancestors danced under the moonlight or celebrated festivals, they also blew horns to send word or used smoke and messengers to share word.

But, this is not all about the journey of music- but more about the feeling that music creates.

There have been numerous hits from the continent…I am talking about Femi Kuti, Brenda Fassie, Miriam Makeba and the list goes on, but you’ve not heard it all until you’ve listened to these ten songs!

From my favorite books to the country I would love to visit and now the ten songs by African artistes that are on my playlist, so here we go:
Nothing beats some music you can dance to…now, am off to get some ingredients for preparing Jollof Rice and will tell you all about it tomorrow, wish me luck!
Ghana: The African Country I’d love to Visit.

August 18th, 2015

This is day two of the focus on Africa.
And as #AfricaWeek continues I would have to say that the one country I would love to visit is Ghana.

Here’s why:

The Ashanti Kingdom is first because I love the history of most African countries, especially where kingdoms are concerned. (Haven’t you heard me go on about The Currents Series?)
Kumasi not just the region only but I would love to go to their market

Third, has to be their fashion and culture as evident in the Kente clothing. I love the Swahili kanga and the vibrant colors and sayings printed on them but the Kente is so bright and part of the Ghanaian culture because even their leaders wear it during functions and I would love me some.

I would not end this without talking about the food. So, I would definitely try some stew and yam.

There you have it. Yesterday was about my favorite books by African Writers, and today it’s about the African Country I’d love to visit.

Which African Country would you love to visit?

Note: All the pictures in this post are courtesy of Google Images.
5 of my favorite books by African Writers.

August 17th, 2015

It’s Africa Week here on Nilichoandika.

What’s Africa Week and what will it entail?
My Africa is beautiful and the only way I can share with you my Africa is through the posts on this blog. I have not been consistent with my posts and in my attempt to build up on this, I came up with Africa week. Everyday of this week I will be talking about something that is inspired by Africa and will conclude with sharing some of my favorite blogs by African bloggers. I am talking about culture, fashion, technology, religion, sports and creative writing.

Today, I would like to share with you the five books by African Writers that inspire me.
These are books that I have read over the years and are timeless or as we say – Classics.
Things fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Things Fall Apart was published in 1958 and it introduces the reader to Okonkwo and the beginning of colonization with the introduction of missionaries into Africa. Although it is a classic, my favorite has to be the next one which was published in 1964, called Arrow of God.

The River Between by Ngugi Wa Thiong’o

Published in 1965, “The River Between” tells of the separation of two neighboring villages due to differences in faith and customs with the Mau Mau uprising starting. It’s one of the well written books by Ngugi that have a flow that’s easier to understand and you can read at one sitting.

So Long a Letter by Mariama Ba

This has to be the longest letter to date written by a West African Woman, and though it was published in 1979, I still find the struggles of Ramatoulaye and Aissatou very relatable. I first read this book in 2003 in my second year of high school, and loved it. It was not a course text though I wished was and I remember reading it in 2007 as a freshman in campus, and reading it four more times before graduating and writing a project paper on it. It has been translated into numerous languages and I’d say if you know any woman going through some tough times or one who always exhibits such strength and faith, this book would be an ideal gift.

The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born by Ayi Kwei Armah

Ayi’s book was published in 1968 and the main theme of the book is on new African states a few months or years post independence from their colonial masters. The main protagonist known as “the man” is given a tongue lashing by his wife after he tells her that someone approached him with a bribe at the railway station he works at and he turned it down.

Maps by Nuruddin Farah

Maps tells the story of an orphan Askar who after his parents death and his adoption, he finds himself yearning for a place where he truly belongs and it’s the onset of civil war in Somalia and he finds himself caught in between the need to belong and to have and create hope for the future. It was published in 1986 and it’s the first book in a trilogy.

These are my top five books and you will notice that I slipped in an extra book as I talked of “Things Fall Apart” and that’s because I love Chinua Achebe’s writing.

There are many more classics but to mention all of them would make this blog post longer than the list of number of people who follow me on Twitter.

What are your favorite books by African Writers? Which ones would you recommend?
My favorite place to be.

August 14th, 2015

There’s a place I know where you can fly or fall with your eyes closed.
No, it is not a pub or a bar.
No, they do not serve you changaa, sheesha, weed, or offer you a shot so you can soar to the clouds.
It is a small place with beautiful ocean blue walls and two windows that reveal the world to you. These windows are square and if you try really hard you can squeeze your hand through one of the square meshes and reach out to feel the raindrops it your palm. The window on the right side is my favorite.
You can lift it up and set it aside because someone broke the hinges and it has never been fixed. It reminds me of choices we make in life. Sometimes we wallow in our thoughts so much that the door to a good opportunity remains out of reach to us. Like the window, sometimes you have to lift yourself up and step up to see the view that is your life.
But, it’s not just the windows that I love in this place, it is what a mole would call heaven or their sanctuary.
Sometimes depending on the day of the week and the time of the night, you are treated to confrontations and shouts of joy.
Last week at 3am, I heard Mercy (that’s what he kept calling her) yell at “Babe” for cheating on her with a girl who wore a cheap weave.
“Babe, seriously, what the hell! Kwani hauna taste, I mean, look at me and then her, like her weave is so cheap and you lie to me that you are watching the game, and Babe Kwanza there’s no game… Back off! “
I walked to the window and right there under the moon were two silhouettes, one with hands all over the place and the other trying to hold onto the moving hands. I watched not expecting to see their faces, but to simply listen to their voices.

If you wake up at 3am, do not go back to bed when you’re here.

You’ll miss out on the pub closing it’s doors at 4am and as such fail to see how gravity tortures the drunkards.

You’ll also miss out on the boda bodas who wait to carry these people home. Have you ever seen a drunk person sitting on a motorbike at 4am while singing the National anthem at the top of his voice?

You will also miss out on the young boys, maybe ten or eleven years old who walk home after selling boiled maize all night to people at the bus stop. You will miss their chatter and wonder just when children started being the breadwinners of their families. And as you ponder about this, you will notice that it is almost 5am and there is a school bus making it’s way down the road picking children.

You’ll also miss out on the two trucks that pass by at half past 5am. The first one supplies charcoal to the local establishments and it always plays the BBC Radio Swahili news, reminding you that things are happening in the world as you sleep. The next truck is painted blue and white and it delivers fresh milk for that morning cup of tea that you’d not start the day without.

It’s along the road, and near a public primary school, but what I love most about this place is the fact that it’s been with me for years.
I can always leave but coming back is like being in heaven.
I have met Prince Harry (yes, the one and only Harry, Prince William’s brother) here and we have gone out on dates. I have also met monsters, the headless ones and screamed my lungs off. I have also taken part in the fashion week by dressing up and taking the most glamorous outfits. I have met Leila, Maxwell, Jack and Zora here and sometimes when I think of them, all I have to do is make my way to this place and with time they too will find me.
This place has five plastic storage containers stacked with books that you can read as you wait for breakfast. And when it rains you walk in a zigzag motion so the tiny cold drops that make their way past the roof do not hit you.

Sometimes when I am here, I can see my cousins – Amanda and Jackie getting ready for bed right above me, and Leah fighting with Georgina over which side of the bed she should sleep on. I can see my sister Cheryl covering herself ignoring us and the racket we are causing. And when I close my eyes I can hear my mom saying we had better wake up early for school!

I had to bring you to the one place where I discovered that I could align words to share a moment, voice an opinion, confess a feeling and tell a story. I had to bring you to my bedroom.
Thank you for stopping by, you can leave now…

Seriously, you can leave now (or leave a comment to show you visited)

Check out these blogs in the Friday Feature :
Elly in Nairobi
Flashes of Vice
Coincidence is Cancelled
The lady who sang at 5:09pm

August 9th, 2015

She walked into the lounge at 5:09pm.
I know because I was chatting with a friend via whatsapp when I caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like a florists shop at dawn when the windows were swung open to let the fresh morning breeze in.
She made her way through the room her black trench coat spreading her scent around the room.
Her hair was cropped short, but she had braids falling on the right side of her face, revealing big eyes that did not meet anyone’s gaze.
She settled at the front and picked the microphone.
The patron stood up rushing towards her.
She did not flinch, but she stared straight into his eyes and he stopped then nodded at the Deejay who turned up her microphone.
And as I sipped my coffee, her voice started with

So this is my apology, for saying all those shady things, I wish didn’t really mean, I’m sorry I’m not sorry

Then she took a deep breath and held the microphone a few inches from her face, and as we watched, her hand dropped and she stayed there, her head hung…I held my breath.
My friend pushed me, “Is she crying?”

Uh?

I turned to face the front with my phone in my hands waiting. I looked around the room, there were people who had stopped drinking and chatting who were as mesmerized as me.

She sniffed, and brushed the braids off her face and continued singing Kelly Clarkson’s Someone and she had us listening but what I could feel was her bleeding heart.

And when she was done, she stood and walked out the same way she walked in. The difference was that instead of her flowery scent, the room was filled with the pieces of her broken heart.
It started with a bump…at the bus stop.

August 7th, 2015

What do you get when you are at a bus stop, there’s no bus and a long queue of people are waiting to get onto one? Disillusioned. Yes, you walk all the way to the back of the line. You count your steps because, one there’s no bus, two the chances of getting into the first one is nil and three you are just eager to get home so whether you are first or last it does not matter, all of you will wait.

But, that is a dull way to start a story, so let’s start over.

What do you get at a bus stop at 6pm when a handsome guy bumps into a lady from behind? A story.
No, first you get a scream! “Ouch! Watch it!”
Then you get a moment, call it Chemistry or a spark- but as long as you are looking for a name for it- we shall call it L.A.F.S better known as “Love at first sight.” The guy found his arms wrapped around the lady’s waist to prevent her from toppling over as he apologized, “Sorry, please forgive me, I am very sorry.”
The girl took a deep breath and said “Let me go, its okay.” The guy let go. He tucked his hands so deep in his pockets you could see fists. What about the girl? Well, from where I was, I could see her trying her best not to turn around and look at the guy. She ran her hands into her pockets and sighed in relief. Her phone, fare and makeup were still in place. I looked at them once more as the bus slowly made its way to the bus stop and as I was giving up on them, I saw the girl turn.
It was a swift swoosh as her braids added to the dramatic flare that was her curiosity.
So, I know that’s also not a good way to start a story, but since we are almost there, let me continue. She said, “Why did you bump into me?”
The guy said, “Someone pushed me. I think he was being chased or something. Look, I did not mean to do so. I am sorry.”
“It’s okay. My name is Helen.”
“Mark. It is nice to meet you, so where are you headed to?”
“Home”
“What’s your stop?”
“Greenstead. What about you?”
“Lighthouse”
“So, we are practically neighbors, just don’t bump into me again.”
“I’ll try my best not to.”

Okay, now what would you do if you were me? No, I would not push the guy again and cause another bump. I’d stick around and that’s what I did. The girl was in those tight things girls in Nairobi can’t stop wearing and boots. She had a black trench coat and a brown bag which I thought was supposed to match the color of her boots, but something about the shades threw me off. Her braids were neat and long. They had the “pull me” effect on me and so I focused my attention on the guy. He was walking beside her now with his hands out of his pockets. He was wearing a gentleman’s bracelet and a wrist watch with a black leather strap. His hair was short, well trimmed by a barber but not well maintained by the owner. His jacket was as black as my thoughts. His eyes were brown. I know most people have brown eyes in this city, but have you ever seen a shade of cocoa in someone’s eyes? Well, me too…but there was something about his eyes that made me stop and wonder, where all this was going.

If he asked her out on her date, would she say yes?
That’s too fast, right? I thought so too. But what if he asked to sit beside her in the bus and then asked for her number before she alighted? Makes sense, right? But, love has never made sense to the single people…it’s as insensible as the lovers themselves.

Wait, who said this was a love story?
I am getting ahead of myself, back to the story. They walked beside each other until they got to the bus and the guy let the girl go in first. She took the seat next to the window and tapped the seat beside her. He settled in as she wanted and waited for the other passengers to fill the bus. She looked at him while he looked at the people walking past him and smiled. It was a slight tremor of her lips and the way her eyes said things that only her mind could confide to her heart that had me staring. She looked at him until he turned and locked eyes with her. She smiled and turned to look outside the window. She had seen the Bata shop. She had seen the ‘jobless corner.’ She had seen the street lights and people and curio shops before. She had been boarding the bus here for four years.
I stared at her.
He stared at her wondering what she was seeing and why it was more interesting than getting to know him. She had a chance. She had this great shot at what might be. Why wasn’t she talking to him or looking at him like she did a while back? The bus started moving, but the girl still had her eyes outside.
I turned to her and shouted, “Hey, would you please talk to him! The suspense is killing me!”
I heard people laugh…and turned to look at the woman seated beside me. She was laughing while pointing at me. The guy and girl looked at me. Everyone in the bus was staring at us. I’d just been caught staring and nosing around in someone else’s business. So I pulled out my earphones and listened to SautiSol aware that I was pining for an ending that wasn’t mine, and writing a story that was not mine to chart.

Other blogs in the Friday Feature:

Flashes of Vice

Love in Nairobi

Coincidence is Cancelled 🙂
Wind: Book Three of the Currents Series

August 5th, 2015

Writing a series is the best way to test your determination, discipline and focus as a writer. You write the first book and as you release it, your mind is on the second and the third…and sometimes there’s always doubt knocking on your door trying to convince you that you’ll never make it.

The greatest challenge has to be consistency and also retaining your reader’s attention, and trust me when I say that’s hard to do especially if it takes you a long time to release the next book. Why?

Well, hundreds if not thousands of books are published daily. If your reader gets bored they could always look for something else to read. If they find something and love it, they can easily forget your work.

So, that said: I am working on Wind which is the third book in the Currents Series. I am constantly learning as much as I can about the experience of those who have read the first two books- Fire and Water, and it’s much appreciated.

I have to admit that it’s taking me sometime to write this book because two characters are introduced to the story and weaving their background and seeing them fit in the story is what I’d like to perfect, but until then here’s a sneak peak at the introduction and the cover preview. I’d love to know what you think, help a writer out.

When the wind blows, even the strongest of trees sways.
He felt it while he was at the training grounds.
The people who witnessed it said they had never known the wind to have such anger that it brought down branches of the strongest trees to fall on their roofs.
When he felt the wind on his face, he put down his shield and ran right into it.
The people who saw him wondered why he would do such a thing, but he knew where he was going.

He was Wema.
He was going home, back to Leo.