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.

Visiting days in school

Visiting days in schools were like christmas or mashujaa day. For that day you forgot about classes and the awful subjects. You were allowed to see your parent . You dont know the value of someone until you require an appointment to see them. They felt like honorary chefs to us coming to jumpstart our taste buds from the boiled githeri we ate. They were like the media actively controlling what we would talk about for the next weeks; eating delicious homemade food, drinking soda, new socks brought to you, or meeting a new sibling.

Being a boss in school meant you had a weekly supply of biscuits in your box. You shared your pack of biscuits with people you loved and if they betrayed you, you just wrote them down on the blackboard(goes without saying that majority of us prayed for moments when teachers would forget their chalks in class) . Whoever got the chalk became the alpha of the day. They got enemies and friends on the same day. The haters would say, “Ule anajiskia sababu ako na chalk ya announcements.” Waah kids can be mean. The friends would say, damn I wish I could grab that chalk like you did.

pWhere were we, yes, visiting days in schools. Mind you it wasn’t that glorious if you failed your midterm exams.

“So Kamau, you have become like the grass in the field?”

.

“What do you mean dad?” the boy in shorts asks.

.

“You are doing nothing. You are just here to be stepped on.”

Baba Kamau has one of those serious faces and only carries a gazeti in his travels. Baba Kamau also brought his better half to visit their son, she however is not as harsh and soulless.

“Eeh Kababa” she greets.

.

Photo burnt. Now, there are things that should be labelled as inside nicknames for parents. Some names should only be said in the vicinity of two people not in a playfield sorrounded by your classmates.

People turn their heads and look at big ol you. You are as tall as the girraffes and your beards require 5 rounds work to achieve a clean shave but to your mama, you are just kababa. A tiny little boy who still needs his hand held while crossing the road. You might have faced alot of things in school, like getting 00% in mazematics but being called Kababa in an open ground you can’t recover. You can’t. I know a good therapist though.

Then, there were the parents who never came and that cut deep through some students. It is hard to go more than four months as a child without a parent. I can only hope their reasons were good enough.

Some students like me go the kind of parents that came together for the visits. A fact that am eternally grateful for. Oh and they never called me kamum in the play field, if you ever find me in any therapists office just know am trying to understand why life will not hand me 1 million kenya shillings.

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.

NEIGHBOURS

Neighbours. A five year old would say its somebody who is near your house. Not far from the point, they are the people live close by you. They are the people who know the riff raffs of your house. Also in the some regions, they are the people who know who took you 24inch television set while you were in shags.

Its through neighbours that you get to know the constitution of tenantship and its supremacy. You will hear them whisper to a new tenant-

“They(land lords) say that you should pay rent by date 2 but even huko 20th its just fine.Nothing will happen to you.”

Neighbours show you whose ass you should be kissing if anything goes wrong.”Oh this and this happened, buy John a beer and he will put in a good word with the management.”

Neighbours are also the people who will eat your food and will not wash the dishes (classy). They will enter your four cornered room, find the butter and smear it on their bread.

Some neighbours in some regions have gone to the extent of taking care of our relationship partners.

Now, normally am a big fan of looking the other way but this we cant let pass. It is odd when you visit your neighbour and your partner goes about moving the table here, the chair there, fixing tea and stuff… like hold up, when did y’all get this comfortable?

Door 13 knew you neighbour was sweeping you under the carpet but did not say nothing. The watchman too knew it. Ewoooh even the cats in the neighbour hood new but you did not. Thats neighbourhood life for you.

Neighbours please have our backs.

Because you loved him…

You give him your virginity,right? The mighty purity expected of women who are not yet married. Cautionary tales have been fed to your ears since childhood but you want to take it away because you love him so. Its not like he is going to run away, your friends with his friends, they approve of you and his cousins have heard of you. Besides, he said the magic words; I love you, there’s noone like you, I will marry you some day, I can’t live without you. You default from your principles.

The second month is here, your tummy feels funny. You think it but you dont want to speak it. You try to remember your last red cycle day, you think there is a good explanation for that. You dont want to upset bae with your suspicions- so you keep calm like a hindu cow. You dont want to be one of those crazy girlfriends who men are warned against or are vividly described in the comedy skits. Life goes on as normal; you drink your hot cocoa in the morning, wear your nude lipstick and go through your wardrobe for a fitting dress.

One day when he is a good mood you break the news. He is excited, or atleast that’s what he shows on his face. You think you have it all good. Two years later, problems rise like a fight to revolution. He says, you trapped him with the child, you bewitched him, he wasn’t ready but you did not listen. He’s not even sure that kid is his. Every minute of the relationship is a fight to death; a battlefield. You have scars like a woman who took a bomb to the body.

You decide to leave to spare your one life. Society does not see it that way, you are the woman who couldn’t keep a husband.

#blog, #art

Emma

A text message alerted on my phone as I surfed on youtube. Closer look on the recipient, I dazzled. It had been long since we spoke, something she reminded me of soon as I replied back .

“Last time we met, you seemed engaged in your thoughts we din’t speak much ”

Yes I remember the last we met it was earlier this year on may 2019, at a rehab centre in Chiromo. We shared a mutual relation with the stayee.

“Forgive me dear, ”

“Always ”

The woman on the other end typing was a close friend that I had grown to adore. If I could describe Emma (not her real name) with any element of the earth, it would be water, she calmed even the fiercest of fires. A lady bee who dutifully did what was expected of her and cleaned up after others. It wasn’t in her blood to complain , she had learnt to live with pain. Submerged fear, anxiety ,anger, disappointment so deep thus making it difficulf for the world to see.

“I need to talk to you about something,”

Her type came in .

****

Think of a superhero. The whole epitome- red suit, red gloves , red boots, black cloak. Has a superpower, protects young hearts against evils of mankind. Whispers things such as ,”Fear not, I’m here” to your shy ears.

“That’s who he was to me.”

“Spiderman?” I ask and she isn’t amused by the question.

“A superhero. He did no wrong before my eyes. He was everything.”

Tears flicker in her eyes, the mood in the atmosphere is changed. The lights in the room paved way to see the lines in her under eyes.

“He then left us,” She then proceeds to say, “me and my three siblings. Plus mum. Days became longer, nights even darker.”

There is pain in her voice. A pain that is an overflowing river threatning to break her vocal cords and she tries to speak.

“He just left…. My mama was jobless and I, the oldest was eleven years old. We had nothing with us but prayers. As I grew, a deep bitterness for my father grew with me. I resented him. A resentment I no longer habour.”

“Your siblings were young then, do you think they feel or felt as bitter as you do about him?” I ask.

“Occassionaly, they express their disinterest in him but they have no memories of him. I, on the other hand was left empty and broken. I loved him so much.” She responds.

“Your mum, how did she deal with is?”

She fidgets. Her eyes are glued to the outside, probably holding back some tears.

“There were days of tears but she learnt to accept her position. She has become a superwoman and has helped me with constructive advices on my journey.”

There is a five minutes pause as I let her eat her food. Her chocolate smooth unscarred skin seemed unaffected by all this. Her story though is not on her skin but in her heart and voice.

“You know for the longest time, I felt disavantaged in life. Like I was missing a piece of joy. Like every man that I would date could dessert me like our father did.”

“How did you get over that?” I ask looked directly at her

“Hardly, I developed a defense mechanism where I would try and control my partners , atleast in controlling you are assured of the results.”

She became controlling but not the bad controlling where she demands to see how he spent his money, or demands to know all his female friends, controlling in that he wouldn’t them head the relationship. Something african men dont take lying down. Needless to say, all her relationships have been rocky for lack of better words.

A little girl dreams of heaven with her father. Emma dreamnt of good times ahead. Talking together, walking together, receiving gifts for a job well done in school, spending chrismas together. Now it was all cut short. He didn’t stick around enough for her simple wishful thinking to pass and that tore her little world apart. He quit being her superhero. Rather she demoted him.

“You summoned me here and spoke of an important message,”

Emma giggles at this probably pleased by the fact that she controlled how I spent my friday. You better cook me some chapati and beef stew, I had told her before I rushed to the shower.

“Yes, because you have blogging alot lately and I want you to teach women the value of self love through your writing. Women should cut on comparison. All I saw when I looked in the mirror or social media was how I lacked something and other girls had it. I did not have a father, a job, a good relationship, not the prettiest in the world, everything was wrong. The reality is I have achieved more than I hoped. I have a good job. I pay my fees and bills and I manage to take care of my siblings.”

Drum rolls now,

“I have spent a long time looking at life through the lens of an absentee father whereas all I had to do was look at it through who was present- my mom.”

Awww 😍😍😍😍, I gasp. What about love for you now?

“Story for another day”

Data bundle below 2mbs.

Hi guys welcome to my blog channel. So alot of you have been asking about how to write the conjuction ‘and’. I know, I know, its difficult. Most of us can write exfoliating, derriere, duodenum, racial decidendi but ‘and’ is a complex term, worry no more I’ll help you with it. What you do is; one, don’t listen to a kikuyu they will say ‘ad’ ;two, just read my blogs. I know very few conjuctions thereby using ‘and’ alot. If read all of my blogs you will practice the use and pronunciation of ‘and’.

I have exploited ‘and’ to the point that if it were a mineral , it would now be an extinct ore. By the way-

No-one:

Absolutely no-one:

Not even the chirping birds:

Terry: Read my blog or I will put a curse on you.

Also,I have found a new excuse in life. I am going to use for all its worth after all, you can’t tell what not to type. The excuse is, my data bundle is below 2mbs. .

“Terry , mbona hukam kunisalimia?”

“Oops sorry, walking data bundle iko below 2mbs. Thats why.”

I will rince life out of that excuse and make it a daily routine.

“Haiya we mbona umechelewa kufika?”

“Mmh sikuwa nmerecharge time keeping bundle.”

Its a genius excuse I think, as a matter of fact I should take it to shark tank.

Person: I sent you a message, why did not read and reply to it?

Brain cell 1: Don’t do it T.

Brain cell 2: we have had a meeting about this. Don’t do it.

Mouth: my eyesight data bundle was below 2mbs.

Boom! Picture burnt.

Anyhu here we go; and, and, and, and, and, and, ad, and. There you have, your first English class on my blog channel.

I was gonna write a long blog but my bundles zinachezea 2mbs.

In grafiti

Nitaandika jinako in grafiti.
Juu vile nakupenda hio graph iko fiti. Nafall for you everytime, mind you hakuna gravity.
Na ukifa nazikwa nawewe mpaka grave itii.

Pole pole ndio mwendo
Nikupublish kwenye gazeti kihillary ng’weno.
Niandike story book ki ngugi wa thiongo
Najua words hazina instrumental
But I’m hoping the theme makes it sentimental

ningekuwa scientist ningekwambia to me your the whole solar system
ningekuwa linguist ningekwambia kwangu we ni metaphor
Coz unameta meta from a far.

Machos tu!

😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢

Who came up with machos tu and do I have to pay them royalties for using it? If they decide to sue me for everything I have (500 bob mbele na nyuma) I’ll just cry. I can’t afford a lawsuit… machos tu!

Dead dreams. I remember there was a time I wanted to be Kenya’a very own beyonce. Winding my body to rhythm of my international music. Dating my own Jay-z and becoming a power couple. Answering questions to the press of what inspired my song that is currently a hit in all the continents.

“So Terry, tell us about your album.” A reporter catches us with me.

“No comment,” I respond.

My agent probably coached me to say that or I just said it because great artists have said it.

“Terry is it true that you and your partner are splitting?” The reporter is aggresive.

I turn around very frustrated and tell her she should focus on my music and not my dating life. Funny thing is, she just asked about my music and I said no comment.

I pictured the whole thing; recieving my 20 awards and becoming a mentor to this young artists. I would tell them,

“Nothing was handled to me. I worked my ass off for what I have. Young people don’t want to put in the work but want to be overnight sensations. The world doesn’t work like that… I come here to you with my favourite quote from Beyonce-”

Before I’m done with it, the crowd cheers and applauds because everything I do is international. When I remember that now am reduced to begging people to read my blogs and occassionally threatning to put a curse on their villages…machos tu. Tears.

Lets go back to day dreaming-

“The winner of the best female artist of the year goes to Terry Hinga.”

More clapping. I head to the stage to pick my award but most importantly give my acceptance speech,”My fans I couldn’t do this without you. My producer, my director and also me. I wanna thank me for my creative songs, for being there when no-one else was, for reaching the heights of success in a male dominated field. I am amazing.” More clapping.

Reality now-

“Es-cuse me Terry, but mimi am not into reading thats why I dont read your blogs. So quit fowarding them to my inbox.” 😢😢😢…machos tu.

“By the way Terry, have you ever considered another career. You know genuinely writing inaisha fashion.” 😓😓😓 machos tu.

“Terry, I saw you fowarded your blog post. Sisomi, come and beat me.” 😂😂😂… machos tu.

“Terry, I have bought the 2GB telkom bundle but still I will not read your blog. I won’t . I’ll use those bundles to tag you in my photo on ig but you will comment on it.” 😂😂😂. The confidence.

So before the day is over I check my views and… machos tu 😢😢😢.

#blogart

TYPOLOGIES OF TEACHERS

I know I talk about teachers and schools alot but in my defence people usually advice me to let go of the pain in my heart through speech. 99% of that pain rotates around the whooping I got in school and the people who administered it. So….. here we go. The types of teachers-

1. Dora the explorers

“What did you learn during the C.R.E class?”

“By the way what did you guys do on the weekend?”

No, no , no mwalimu just teach your subject. Dont worry about what mr so and so said, worry about your subject.

2. Comparing teachers

Some teachers are like african moms, always comparing us with other children(students).

“You know I’ve never had this problem with other classes”

“8 west is a better class than this.”

Ama its me huwa nawekwa classes za wanafunzi non-serious.

3. Accent teachers.

I love accents so this my personal favorite.(If I ever pursue a career in acting am definately doing a kikuyu accent). I love trying to comprehend what these teachers are talking about then write my own things.

“So the botassiom bicabornate..”

“Did you guys get your utuma number? (Huduma)

4. Whooping teachers.

Hmmn, some teachers I think just feel better when they whoop you. Its comes off as theraputic in this hard line of work.

“Where is my chalk? Sambody tell me where I put my chalk, okay you don’t know, let me go to the staffroom and get my cane maybe that will help you remember.”

Ewoooh! Jesus is Lord.

“Why do you students look sleepy?, let me get my cane and come send away the sleep. Its not you I will be caning its the sleep”

When I remember some of this things teachers told us before they whooped us, my knees weaken. I should be a motivational speaker and tell people that no situation is permanent.

5. XYZs . Funny teachers.

Some of this funny moments arise when a teacher gives real life examples that utterly describe you or your friends. You know them examples- mention them in the comments.

6. Mathematics teachers.

This is a category on its own. Heeey! I swear mathematics has its special place in hell. I mean why do this to us because we can’t understand you. Your so difficult ooh.

Funny thing is mathematics teachers were lovely and kind beings, the subject singly was the hard part.

7. Man of the people teachers.

Some teachers are like pudding, every one loves them. They are not the funniest , the most beautiful or the smartest but they zing with everyone.

Kind of teachers that you would buy a car for.

Kind of teachers even the students who have sworn to want to no affliation with the faculty seem to like.

The man of the people teachers.

8. Teachers who ended up in the wrong careers.

Now this happens in every proffession, someone ending up in a work field they did not want to be in . Sometimes due to circumstances.

Some of this teachers accept the role and do what they have to do to bring out the best out of their students. Big up to this teachers.

I haven’t mentioned all of the teachers because you know, tommorow is another day and I will be required to blog about something. That will be the ‘something’.