Wait… did I firmly shut my gas cooker and turn off my water tap?

We all have our fears. Some of us fear death, others running into their vengeful ex (they did not take it too kindly when you smashed their phone to the wall), others fear heights, or sinking into the Bermuda triangle while you are on a cruise ship (no-one’s ever been found)

Some of these fears are short term or long term. They hunt our thoughts like a lion hunts for deer.

My fear is actually a thought. Don’t be quick to dismiss it , you might find we have the same irrational fear and if so, we could form a support group.

Of all the things I could fear in life; child labor, dreams not coming true, being eaten by a bear, spiders, all reptile family, here is what taunts my mind. The fear that I probably did not firmly shut the burner on my gas cooker and there is soon going to be a chaotic combustion.

The fear comes to me in the weirdest of places, while I take a shower, while I prepare to leave to the house, while I have actually left the house. While am done the last staircase of the apartments . Normally I ran into my neighbor who is kind with the greetings.

"Hey you"

“Hey me,” I quickly respond.

“I have been meaning to ask, where did you buy those curtains?”

Profound question. Others in this case would presume that a query on curtains means they are about to be robbed, but not me. Mentioning the curtains only reminds me of how close they are to the gas and oh My God, did I firmly turn it off?

A text alerts on my phone soon as I have waved my kind neighbor goodbye. It reads; Guurl have you seen Sauti Sol’s new jam, it is on fire.

Did she just say , it is on fire. Perfect. It is just the perfect day to reference the word fire.

Sometimes while I sleep late at night worry that I might wake up to fumes of gas and escaped oxygen. Another of my fears is water flood due to tap neglect. I always imagine getting a call from the care while miles away. It goes something like,

“Ms Hinga, hello, I don’t suppose you read the memo I left by the gate about water rationing.(I say i have seen it) Tell me Hinga, what is the 5th code of the tenant agreement… that’s right, always ensure you tap is firmly shut before you exit the house.”

I really do have an imaginative mind. Because sometimes I envision the neglected tap water may flood my apartment and the flood will bring with it mermaids and mermans. They will then re-enact a scene from my hidden script, “The Tale of The Mermaids and Mermans.” In the script the kingdom of the mermaids and mermans is at destruction because the king ordered an execution of any sea creature practicing magic.( I really need to stop watching sci-fi)

Anyway where were we ?yes, fear of gas combustion and flood due to tap neglect. I cannot get rid of it, even now as I type, the thought is embedded in my mind.

What irrational fears do you have?

I think my boyfriend might be gay

beautiful-scenery-8A lot of things can change by morning; our thoughts, ideas, perception in life, or even a benevolent landlord after a few drinks and a monologue of self-respect on debts, finally decided to put a padlock on your door. He decides he’s tolerated your shenanigans for four months and you need to pay up, he’s not in the business of charity after all. Or you could wake up one morning like Marilyn, and suspect your boyfriend of nine months is gay.

As she narrates to me, it all started with an innocent game, Never Have I Ever- a popular game like Truth or Dare, only in this, you must confess the things you have never done in the entirety of your life.

“Never have I ever been suspected of being a lesbian in high school,” one of her friends said.

“Me too,” the sheep of the group voiced in turn.

“Never have I ever been suspected of being a lesbian either.” Derrick, Marilyn’s boyfriend chipped in.

Now games should be in a booklet of what society should fear the most. They’re people who conceived through a game, lost big chunks of their wealth in mindless games of poker and ridiculous bets. While others like Derrick, their sexuality, was under scrutiny.

“Did he say he’s never been suspected of being a lesbian?!” I incredulously ask.

“That’s what he said,” Marilyn says smacking her lips while snapping her fingers, I involuntarily picture the fictional African American character, Madea, doing the same thing.

“What if he was just caught up in the moment?” I inquire. “You know there are guys who say the most ridiculous things in the spirit of the moment. Don’t forget we women have been known to jump into conclusions with our- know- it- all attitudes.” Besides when did gaysim become part of the discussion list with philandering men, dead-beat dads, drunkards, and domestically violent men? I wonder internally. Information is a globalized commodity and our culture is evolving but when did we start accusing our men of being homosexuals? Seems the modern man and woman in Kenya deal with relationship problems their parents never experienced.

Marilyn seems lost in thought. Poor girl. Who would have thought such a game will create such confusion?

“Have you subtly tried throwing hints to catfish it out of him?”


“Yeah, right!” she scoffs at me, “you don’t just walk up to a guy and ask that. These are our African men; they don’t even go for a prostate checkup because they don’t see how some stranger can touch them down there. How then, can I expect him to admit to being gay? He will probably turn it against me and accuse me of being insecure or the homosexual one.”

We seat quietly. Marilyn rings her fingers in frustration. I watch the fast rhythm of her breathing as she steals glances outside the window, her movements heightened with the raw sadness reflected in her eyes.

“You know, he is not interested in any kind of intimacy,” she mumbles after a long period of silence.” Not even once has he ever held me in an erotic manner that could lead up to coitus.” She confesses. “I really care and respect this guy but I don’t know what to do.”

Some would laud this guy for respecting the hell out of Marilyn. But that is not the case. Her man stares dreamily at pictures of men. His wonderfully sculpted art book is full of pictures of perfectly drawn, good looking men. He spends a tad bit more time on the mirror than an average woman, loves beauty products, has gone to the extent of proposing to situate acrylics wraps on his nails since he’s curious of how they would look on him. As if that is not enough, they decide to be exclusive only for Marilyn to discover he is actively following Ghanaians gays on Instagram. These men are hot, can contour their cheeks after flawlessly blending foundation and admirably pose for pictures. Marilyn is an insecure girl. She wonders if she can compete with the beautiful gay men with the immaculately drawn eyebrows. She now harbors uneasy feelings towards his boyfriend’s friends, scrutinizing every little detail that will lead her to one solid unbeatable answer, he is gay.

“The thought that my guy may be gay is killing me. It has created a rift between us and every time we fight, I feel my emotions being replaced by this void of sadness and desperation.”

I wonder why she is still clinging to the relationship. Many girls in her situation would have probably left by now with philosophical statements, ‘I am loving the woman am becoming. Time to fall in love with me again.’ But here she is taking one step a time. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. She plans to wait for a tangible reason. An un-opposed truth that he is gay.


How did you write your name as a child?

Sometime ago, I went through my nursery school files and I saw something that made me chuckle. My name Warukira I had written it as Warka. I don’t even know what Warka means. Oh my tiny hands, they must have been so tired trying to complete the long w-ar-u-k-i-r-a word so they decided to settle for Warka. My brain must have been somewhere else probably wondering when we kids would take a nap. The teacher though should have been happy I did not write the petname kamummy or kashushu (she was not. I can tell by the big wavy red line under Warka).

You ask kids these days what their names are they respond with Shiko wa mum or Alvin wa daddy.

“What’s your mums name? ” you indulge them.

They stammer with the heavy soft tongues then say, “mum anaitwa mum.”

Warka is good trial.

Whats not a good trial is the nicknames I have accumulated over the years. Wa asubuhi(Warukira has nothing to do with the mornings), Wariua, for starters needs constructive surgery. And men when you whistle, thats kindly not my name. The brown chica is sexy, I implore others to use it.

My brother Mathew once wrote his name as Mathiu in class, something we remind him all the time. If I want to him to read my blogs I blackmail him by saying,” If you read my blog I will never tell your son you once wrote your name as Mathiu.” He believes me( am not fowarding this blog’d link though).In future I might be a terrible sister but I will be a fabulous aunt because am telling my nephew that story. He is going to love me until he discovers a new app- the ig of that time.

My dad loves to poke fun of English names and also tells me of how it was agonizing for them to spell thier names in class. For one, there was a boy known as Aruberito Gichungi (Aruberito means Albert), Ifurahimu (thats Abraham), Anyesi (this is Agnes) Sharothi ( Charles). My cute nephew’s name is Ryan but some people call him Lion, well he is a king alright. Wait for this one, I recently became an aunty to a beautiful baby boy some few weeks ago and his name is Brayson. Cute right. Well his grandmother calls him ‘prison’.

Note bene: We can no longer trust kikuyus to not put adequate water in the food ( I mean they will pour 10 litres in one cooking) and also they will not be allowed to pronounce complex English names like Roman Kai or Brayson wa mum.

Let’s play with our imagination. (what if only women existed)

Suppose is there is an actual battle of the sexes. An open season for war is declared- men abandon their tuxedos and put on the loins cloth, the women abandon their designer clothes, Gucci handbags, versace necklaces and trade them for knee-length leather boots, furry jackets, and bows and quivers. The rule is very plain and concise; one gender must survive so terminate the other.

The two antagonist must meet at the fighting ground which is situated next to a river Hope, that is deep and muddy. The banks of the river are covered with penetrable thickets of bushes. Here each gender will meet its fate .

As prophesied by the wizard of third order, once the moon the reaches its peak , aided by the magic of peaked moon the women would win. And so there it was- a peaked moon and dominion for country women.

There are battle wounds like- lipstick smudges, one braid fell off and left its sisters, one heel broke, data bundle depleted because before the battle you were instagramming live and you forgot to go offline. No, seriously though, the battle ship is wrecked and it has to be left behind on the island. It would forever be a record of fatal voyage.

Normally I would say if you are having these kinds of thoughts just lock yourself in a room and wait for the drugs to wear off. But if you are interested in where this is going let’s proceed-

Let’s have a comprehensive review of the world we have predisposed ourselves to-   

Well at first times passes pleasantly. Everything is gold and ivory. The inhabitants are flattered by their achievements; no dirty socks littered around, no rambles on why you wore a short dress , you forget about the tedious hours of waiting for him to get home, no howling on the streets,no curfews. Everything is as expected- perfect.

Then in due time, this begins to happen;

For one, some professions would not live to exist while others would be blooming. Take an instance of a security officer, what would be their use? You can insult other women by calling them names or body shaming and they will avoid you and your bank, so no theft .(While we are at it body shaming should not be encouraged in real life).

Some professions like guidance counselors or self-development educators would be making kingly sums.

Two, low football viewership. Some of y’all women don’t care two cents about football or what the Arsenal goal keeper did. Yes you don’t. If you did you would know some of these female footballers by name and the clubs they play for. But you don’t because you watch men football for the adrenaline.

Three, replacement of traffic lights colors to nude. Ever since the nude hue was graced to fashion, it has been used to the point of extinction. A nude lipstick, a nude nail polish. Imagine being at an intersection of traffic lights , still running your car waiting for the hue to change from nude to nude.

It’s even way worse when everyone is stranded at the intersection. The cars are waiting for the go ahead, the pedestrians all waiting for the go ahead… the nude light glares. Huh, so is it go for the car or the pedestrian?

Four, Men perfumes are arguably deeply and better scented. Be honest, we tend to show inordinate preference to them while at the shop stalls. Surely with the thinning ozone layer and hot sweaty days, we need this perfumes.

The universe unfolds itself in each of us and an end to primal life is a huge blow to the universe. There needs to be procreation to give rise to another generation.

The positive effect is that women will finally have a heart to heart to conversation since they are stuck together. 

There will be no , “This is why I hang out with the boys, they gat no attitude” lament. By force by fire women will have a peaceful coexistence.

Also minimized accusations of malpractice. Over the course of years there has been revelations on the objectionable behavior on women get ahead in workplaces by sleeping their way to the top. There would decline in this graph. And people would actually have to put effort to up their odds of making it.

In hindsight, there is irrefutable proof that women aren’t perfect neither are men. But in tiny little ways each gender is important. Accepting each gender despite their flaws and remembering they’ve been helpful at some point is counterbalanced.

A broad view of the demise of gender brings me to the conclusion that assuming on gender is better than the other is a faulty judgement. Some of the biggest contributions in life were made possible by men. Including the contribution of you being in existence.

Am thinking of Thomas Edison with his invention of practical electric light bulb. The poet Rumi with amazing quotes such as “Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today am wise so am changing myself”
.Mark Zuckerberg with the creation of Facebook app. Elon Musk, Alan Watts, Nikola Tesla, Dedan Kimathi, Ronald Ngala, Nelson Mandela. Am thinking of every dad who has been part of his child’s life. Every uncle, brother, who has brightened your day at some point. Remarkable men who changed the course of history.

Genders are interdependent, intertwined , to ascertain this fact is to be halfway there in recognizing every life on earth is important.

Next time, a taking us on another bewilderment, an imagination of a world with men only.