I know not to flee for when I do, your scent assails me wherever I go.
You come to me on your terms and sometimes,
Just sometimes…I wish I could wake you up.
I wish you cared a little more,
I wish you would have told me this before,
So, I would not try to cage you…to grasp you in my hand, in the comfort of my palms pressing closer, drawing the life out of you.
They told you a man had to stand his ground,
They told you not to let me have my way with you,
So, you chose them over a quiet dinner with me,
You chose them because it felt safe not to be mocked by them.
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So, I brought down the walls of the cage I had set up for you…
I took one step back, then two, then three and when you were not looking, I ran.
I did not catch my breath,
17 missed calls…12 texts, 8 missed video calls,
I ran because it was safer to be miles away from you than to stay and let you treat me as your status dictated.
Now, here we are…you are a shadow of yourself and I have no regrets.
You want to speak of everything now, you want to pour it out but at the gate of your heart lies this barrier, the one that still calls me the villain, and I see it in your eyes
Hold me while you wait, hold onto me while you wait,
Maybe…just maybe, you’ll one day find the courage to live on your own terms,
Now, here we are, you are a shadow of yourself and I have no regrets.
You ask…four words, yet upon them hang the weight of a memory, a single occurrence, a thought.
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I do what I do best…I smile and shrug my shoulders and look away.
We’ve been here Stardust.
You seek atonement, I seek freedom.
Release me Stardust, and, you may just find yourself.
The waiter sets a glass of milkshake before me and a cup of black coffee before you.
How is it that you stir your coffee anti-clockwise?
I am here Stardust. I see you and I love this new found space, this new understanding of how flawed you are and that you are embracing every bit of it.
You are wounded Stardust.
I do not care, not particularly. I am astounded at how you choose to beat yourself up for being human…so I am not angry anymore, anger is expensive.
It’s the second last day of August and can I say that 99% of me is screaming with joy because schools open in two days and that means your girl will be out and about initiating dialogue and meetings to set up infrastructure in public primary schools.
This means a lot of travel, field work, engaging diverse views and most of all, it means that I am closer to my purpose- seeking to positively impact the quality of education children get today, one school at a time.
This month’s been an interesting one. I lost three of my friends this month and it goes to show that life is as precious as you live it.
So, I thought of wrapping up this month with some of the most memorable experiences I’ve had this month.
1. I experienced varying degrees of emotion when it comes to love, attention, and intimacy.
If you can please watch this video. It’s one the talks that spoke to me in my phases.
2. My experience one, shared above, led me to check out Esther Perel and after her insights on Red Table Talk, I have watched most of her talks on YouTube, trying to reconcile my expectations versus reality when it comes to love.
3. It is possible to go without coffee for 21 days. I repeat, it is possible to go without coffee for 21 days, but the struggle means consuming a lot of tea and in my case, I had at least 3 cups of black tea every day.
4. Everyone wants something.
5. Everyone you meet has a whole lot to offer it depends on how you approach and engage with them.
If you think you know it all, chances are you know nothing at all and sometimes when you are seated at a table, negotiating terms and working around policies that would impact livelihoods, it’s best to engage silence.
6. There is something exhilarating about taking online classes.
I took 2 courses on +Acumen on: Adaptive Leadership and Environmental Sustainability Practices.
7. People call it a ‘Bucket List’ but Emica Mao, author of, Plus One Plus None, calls it “Do-While-You-Can-List.” So, whatever it is to you, write it and pursue those things relentlessly!
8. We regret the things we don’t do more than those things that we actually do.
I learned this when a colleague approached me with the latest office gossip, and given that I was the heroine of this tale, she chose to tell me that people were saying I was having an affair with one of our associates (who is married). I listened as she spoke and when she finished I asked her ‘is that so?’ and did not say anything after that. In fact, I haven’t said a thing since then and it hurts me that this tale, founded on a lie, hurts me to date. I wish I told her off.
9. Fear is good sometimes, it keeps us going.
I struggled writing my latest book, Sifuna. I wrote it, released it and then de-listed it and edited it and just cast it aside for three months, until this August when I shared it with a couple of readers. It feels good to get positive feedback especially after struggling with a story for so long. It’s more like ‘I’ve still got it.’
10. I’ll end this list with two words ‘stolen kisses.’
I am looking forward to September and what it brings. Hoping to grow more into my own and travel some more.
I dream of the words, told unto my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.
The rustling of her sisal skirt, the walk to the lake, the time spent at the farm and the hopes she had of every sunrise.
But, even these dreams I have are nothing compared to the life she lived…
How would I know?
I dream of eons of folklore.
The world where my great-great-great-great-grandmother danced at sunset,
Her waist a thing of beauty, men could not dare touch it or take their eyes off it,
Her skin, golden, supple and her eyes as rich as the black cotton soil they tilled.
She was the breath of beauty, an epitome of love, but duty and child-bearing dimmed her smile.
How would I know?
I dream of eons of folklore.
The world where my great-great-great-grandmother stood by the shores of Lake Victoria and watched the Queen Victoria ship dock…and she knew nothing would ever be the same.
Her words were not to be uttered for their tongue was better, more approved,
Their god was stronger, mightier and even so, he had a book written about him,
What about Obongo’ Nyakalaga?
How would I know?
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I dream of eons of folklore.
The world where my great-great-Grandmother boarded a canoe to cross the lake and visit her people, but the lake having known how she labored to give love and received none, swallowed her up…and for years her daughter would weep by the shores, begging the lake to send back her mother.
For what’s this world without mothers?
How would I know?
I dream of eons of folklore.
The world where my great grandmother, a thing of beauty, a heart hardened by loss and intimidation would say that everyone in her line, her generation would never have to suffer for being female.
Oh, how she chased the men away, those who came to inherit her after her husband’s death.
Oh, how she slept with a machete beside her. Worked her farm, took her sons to school, or how when she died, it rained for seven days straight.
How would I know?
I dream of eons of folklore.
A world unlike the one my grandmother resides in, where everywhere she looks she sees nothing but pain and knows one book of the Bible better than all the rest: Lamentations.
Her golden skin…I peel for layers of who she was when I knew her,
Her eyes reminiscent of grey skies, dry rivers, drought and waiting…a certain kind of waiting that’s only known to her god.
But, if you see her god, tell her that I would like to talk to her…over coffee perhaps?
I dream of eons of folklore.
A world like the one I reside in that has seen the rise and fall of women, of skins that glow in the dark, thoughts that reverberate through generations, eyes that see the unseen, hearts that bleed over the lost souls…
Oh, I dream and sometimes when I close my eyes, my soul gets a nod from all these souls that have gone before me, and that is enough to scare me awake!
nilichoandika 