“Aunty nipee kobole” a voice said near me.
I looked down to see a young boy, probably nine years old, his right
hand outstretched. I clutched my handbag. Would he snatch it from me? I
kept wondering.
“Aunty nipee kobole nikanunue chai,” he continued.
He was dirty and underfed. It was chilly and windy, the little boy
did not have a jacket, neither was he wearing a shirt. I buttoned up my
coat to keep myself warm as I adjusted the heavy woolen shawl around my
neck. My hands were well covered by a pair of gloves. I clutched my
handbag tighter. These street urchins! I looked away and ignored him.
“Aunty nipee kobole nikanunue food.”
The bug! He was still there. Don’t they learn? I looked at him in
disgust. Couldn’t he leave me alone? I clutched the paper bag that
contained the packet of chips I was carrying for my younger brother who
was at home. The delicious aroma was inviting. I looked at the little
boy again. Yes, he was almost the same age as my brother but he was
smaller, way smaller.
My brother would probably be playing with his newest toy, a
playstation that my mother had bought him for his birthday. He loved
that piece of toy. He spent hours just playing games, inviting his
friends over so he could show them his newest toy.
“Siz, nipee five hundred nikanunue football,” my brother had said to me that morning.
I gave him the money of course. He would throw a tantrum if I did
not. He was not spoilt, he just got what he wanted. I hope he bought the
ball, I thought. The few thousand notes I had in my purse were for
buying a new dress from Mr. Price. I mean, my best friend’s birthday was
just around the corner and I needed to look hot for the birthday party.
“Aunty nipee five bob nibuy supper.”
That was the last straw. I was now angry. A taxi stopped and the
driver hooted at me. I opened the taxi door. The taxi pulled away. I
looked out of the window. The little boy was still standing where I left
him, one hand clutching a bottle of glue, shirtless, the other hand
still outstretched.
Funny, he looked just like my brother.
*This story first appeared on http://daystarportal.wordpress.com/2011/10/29/my-street-brother/
Monday, May 26, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
THE BEAUTY IN ME
(This poem is dedicated to every woman out there. Tall, short, dark, white. We are all beautiful, despite the drama we go through with our hair, body and skin. Take a look in the mirror and say "damn I am beautiful.")
"I AM A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN," I told him.
He looked at me; up down,
And said,
But you are too short, you are too fat,
Your hair is too kinky,your skin is too dark,
I smiled... Smiled at his insecurities...
Smiled because I wished that he knew of the many times that I had cried;
Cried because of other people's insecurities,
Cried because I thought that I wasn't good enough,
Or tall enough, or too dark...
But I cry no more, because I am a beautiful woman...
And I smile when he says that I am not good enough,
I smile because I am not defined by the color of my skin,
Nor the size of my trousers, or the bra that I wear,
My beauty is not determined by the shoes on my feet,
Or the size of my waist; nor the kilos of my buttocks.
I am beautiful because I am passionate,
I am dedicated, I am strong....
I am beautiful because I have been called ugly;
By insecure people...
I am beautiful because I have learnt to smile...
And to rise up and walk...or run...
I am beautiful because I have learnt to fight back...
To see how beautiful I am, you must look deeper;
You must look past my physical attributes,
Past the shape of my body, the curve of my hips,
Past the movement of my buttocks as I walk...
Because when you find that beauty in me;
In any woman, then you have found
A GEM.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
A LETTER TO THE MODERN WOMAN
Dear Modern Day Woman,
I am talking to you. Yes, you with long manicured nails. Yes, you who just stepped out of that big car. Yes, you in long (fake) hair and red lips. Yes, you who wears 6-inched heels and short skirts. You who dines in posh and expensive hotels. You who goes to Dubai and Malaysia for a shopping spree with your 'girls". You who scares the skin out of the male folks in the working place. You who they call a "bitch" because you do not care about who you step on to be able to afford a 5 bedroomed house in Runda. Yes, you woman. You who is enjoying all these things because before you, there was a group of "village" women who fought to have you enjoy them.
I am ashamed because of the women of your generation. I am talking about the mid-twenties to the forty- year old woman. Are you so self centered that you do not care? Are you so blind that you cannot see what is happening to your small sister? Look at you, with your fake hair, spiky heels and mini skirts as you rush to work. You are successful and independent women. You have come from far. You have struggled to be where you are, right?
Wrong. Some other woman struggled for you to enjoy the freedom that you are enjoying right now. Some woman felt that she needs to fight for coming generations, so that another woman can be empowered. That woman went for a convention in Beijing, came back and decided to teach the younger generation on what being a woman is all about. Before you, that woman was just a house-wife, her greatest role was to bear children till her eggs ran out and serve her master. That woman was raped and misused; not given a chance to go to school and work and be as independent as you are right now. That woman decided that she has had enough and rose up to defend herself and women of generations to come. She stood up. She fought. She went to school. She took charge of her life and decided that she will have a say in the number of children that she bears. She stood tall. And that is why you can stand tall too. That is why you find yourself in a boardroom, men listening to you. That is why your role right now is not confined in the kitchen. Yes, that woman is to be applauded.
But what about you, woman of this generation? What have you done that is remarkable? What empowerment knowledge have you passed to your young sisters? Woman, are you so busy that you do not care about the younger generation? Have you turned a blind eye to the wrong path that I, your young sister, are taking? Have you watched the news lately and seen how girls as young as thirteen are getting pregnant? Did you see the worrying numbers of abortions that are taking place? Do you care?
I know you are a busy woman. You probably don't care. You probably have a board meeting to go to. But could you halt a minute and talk to a me? Mentor me? Tell me that twerking is not the new way of making money. Tell me that my body is special and I need to be in control. Tell me that the sight of a camera should not be a cue for me to show my underwear to the world. Tell me that you worked hard to be where you are right now. That a few years back, you also lived in a bedsitter in Mathare but you worked hard to be promoted.
Take a minute and care. Someone before you cared and that is why you are empowered. I know you have a salon meeting, maybe you need to rush to the bank but could you stop and take a minute to tell 16-year-old me that sex is not the solution to my problems? The generation behind you would really appreciate a role model in you. Seriously, could you stop twerking for a minute? Thank you. Now go and be a mentor.
Your truly,
Small sister.
I am talking to you. Yes, you with long manicured nails. Yes, you who just stepped out of that big car. Yes, you in long (fake) hair and red lips. Yes, you who wears 6-inched heels and short skirts. You who dines in posh and expensive hotels. You who goes to Dubai and Malaysia for a shopping spree with your 'girls". You who scares the skin out of the male folks in the working place. You who they call a "bitch" because you do not care about who you step on to be able to afford a 5 bedroomed house in Runda. Yes, you woman. You who is enjoying all these things because before you, there was a group of "village" women who fought to have you enjoy them.
I am ashamed because of the women of your generation. I am talking about the mid-twenties to the forty- year old woman. Are you so self centered that you do not care? Are you so blind that you cannot see what is happening to your small sister? Look at you, with your fake hair, spiky heels and mini skirts as you rush to work. You are successful and independent women. You have come from far. You have struggled to be where you are, right?
Wrong. Some other woman struggled for you to enjoy the freedom that you are enjoying right now. Some woman felt that she needs to fight for coming generations, so that another woman can be empowered. That woman went for a convention in Beijing, came back and decided to teach the younger generation on what being a woman is all about. Before you, that woman was just a house-wife, her greatest role was to bear children till her eggs ran out and serve her master. That woman was raped and misused; not given a chance to go to school and work and be as independent as you are right now. That woman decided that she has had enough and rose up to defend herself and women of generations to come. She stood up. She fought. She went to school. She took charge of her life and decided that she will have a say in the number of children that she bears. She stood tall. And that is why you can stand tall too. That is why you find yourself in a boardroom, men listening to you. That is why your role right now is not confined in the kitchen. Yes, that woman is to be applauded.
But what about you, woman of this generation? What have you done that is remarkable? What empowerment knowledge have you passed to your young sisters? Woman, are you so busy that you do not care about the younger generation? Have you turned a blind eye to the wrong path that I, your young sister, are taking? Have you watched the news lately and seen how girls as young as thirteen are getting pregnant? Did you see the worrying numbers of abortions that are taking place? Do you care?
I know you are a busy woman. You probably don't care. You probably have a board meeting to go to. But could you halt a minute and talk to a me? Mentor me? Tell me that twerking is not the new way of making money. Tell me that my body is special and I need to be in control. Tell me that the sight of a camera should not be a cue for me to show my underwear to the world. Tell me that you worked hard to be where you are right now. That a few years back, you also lived in a bedsitter in Mathare but you worked hard to be promoted.
Take a minute and care. Someone before you cared and that is why you are empowered. I know you have a salon meeting, maybe you need to rush to the bank but could you stop and take a minute to tell 16-year-old me that sex is not the solution to my problems? The generation behind you would really appreciate a role model in you. Seriously, could you stop twerking for a minute? Thank you. Now go and be a mentor.
Your truly,
Small sister.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
KENYA AT 50; WE NEED TO CELEBRATE.
Who said that there is nothing to celebrate in Kenya? We have plenty of achievements and have made great strides in Kenya and we do need 2.5 Billion to celebrate. Sit your behinds down as I tell you of the many achievements we need to celebrate in Kenya.
Firstly, we have the teachers' strike, sorry double-strike. We can celebrate that, can't we? Look at it this way, teachers go on strike, the government flexes its muscles, teachers go back to class then the government withholds their salaries, teachers go back to the streets. See the cycle? What is not to celebrate there? Our government has muscles and has mastered the art of deceit. Don't get me wrong. Being a deceitful one is a good quality when dealing with "unruly" characters like teachers. Besides, we have plenty of private schools around, why bother with a "small' population that is in Public schools? My child is in a private institution, she was not affected by the strike. Reason to celebrate.
Secondly, have you checked your receipt after shopping for essential items? Here is a quick way of knowing how much you will spend according to the items in your shopping basket. For every 3 items that you pick from the shelf, consider Ksh.1000 already spent. Don't believe me? Okay. So, back on track, if we did not have money in our pockets, how is it possible that supermarkets are always full of spenders? Is that not cause to celebrate? That we have money in our pockets?
Our economy can sustain a salaries of legislators who are ranked second highest paid in the world (congratulations Nigeria, you beat us to that). Our economy can build an 80-year old man an office worth 700 Million Shillings and buy balloons for the Silver Jubilee celebrations. Oh, we do need a 50 Million bronze statue to remind us of the former president. Who doesn't know that a statue is more important than doctors' threats to go on strike because they have not been paid their salaries? Have you checked out the public wage bill? See world, we can afford to buy balloons, publicity and a statue for just 2.5B. Stop calling us a 3rd world country. Hello America, your dollar is flooring our shilling? We are not worried about that. Watch our Shilling, it will overtake the Dollar soon. Just watch this space.
Who said that we can't celebrate? Look, the VP went on a tour around Africa by a hired private jet. We have "misplaced' the documents needed to audit the true amount used to hire the jet. It was at a cost of just Ksh. 100M. Pocket change, uh? But then, we have a culture of "misplacing" things. Like when a certain former Finance Minister misplaced a couple of zeros in the national budget. Remember that?
So, ye Kenyans complaining that we do not have cause to celebrate, think again. Look around you. Check out that MP who just passed you on the road in a convoy of 12 cars and a couple of whining motorcycles. Just check out how poor Turkana residents are despite the discovery of oil in their backyard. Check out how mineral rich Kwale is but ignore the poverty of people who live there. Check out our MPs' pay cheques and celebrate as teachers, doctors etc fight to have a few hundred notes in their pockets. Who said we cannot celebrate? 50 years is ground for celebration. Look, we are even demolishing houses to build roads. I mean, do we even care how long someone has saved to put up a house? Can't you see that we need to celebrate the recalling of security details for some leaders? That is a lot of taxpayers' money recovered.
So, let's all join in celebration. Let's not make noise dear Kenyans because we can fund the celebrations. 2.5B is pocket change. Teachers, doctors, the military and everyone else are just noisemakers and celebration-resistant people. We really need to celebrate. It is good for Public Relations, right? Besides, as we fill our stomachs with food and watch the balloons fly high, we will hug each other and smile because, Kenya is 50 years old; we have moved from being a colony of white people to a colony of black brothers.
As I raise my glass of water (I can't afford wine), here's to my country. Happy 50 years.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
THE NETWORKING PROBLEM AMONG WOMEN
I had to ask what they were talking about so I took my curious self to where they were seated. They were discussing business and prospective money-generating activities that they can engage in in Kenya. You should have seen them talk, they looked like they had known each other for a long time. I looked around the club. Most of the women were gyratting on the dancing floor, moving their hips in provocative ways as they seduced their men, most of whom were left seated on the table, sipping their drinks. A few laps around the club made me realize that men were talking, occassionally lifting their heads to glance in the direction of their wome, who would in turn move suggestively and "vibrate" more.
As I sat down with my "girls" after a dancing session, one of them observed that women would never be equal to men in the economic world because men have a strong powerful weapon that most women do not possess. MEN SEIZE EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO NETWORK. I started to disagree, but I had to hold my tongue when I noticed that the men we were seated with had already exchanged contacts with four other men seated on a different table. What about the women in the club? Oh, we danced and eyed each others dress and commented on the shoes that "that girl seated on that table was wearing" or the way "that girl was dressed in a short dress which did not flatter her body shape." Did I forget to mention that we were on the look-out for that woman who would dare come near "my man"?
So, are women really their own worst enemies? Do we seize opportunities to network and build business relations? Or do we size each other and refrain from making important contacts just because we are women?
That was an important lesson on that day. Business relations can be formed anywhere, at any time. Be it in a nightclub, in a salon during manicures, or in the toilet taking a leak. Have you ever considered that the person seated next to you in a salon might be a C.E.O of a company and may offer you an internship/job? Or do you stare at her hairdo and silently pray that the relaxer burns her scalp?
I do not believe that women are jealous of each other, I just think that we pass up many opportunities to network and be great. No wonder, there are very few women leaders in the corporate world as compared to men.
Picture courtesy: Source.
Monday, May 13, 2013
OF DOGS, GIRLS AND THE SHILLING.
There is a story whispered in Kenya of a couple of college girls who were "lured" into acting a porn movie by a foreigner. Now, it is further whispered that a dog (an actual dog) was involved in this drama. To make it even juicier, there are louder whispers of the girls being offered a measly ksh.3000 to take part in the show.Furthermore, someone had the decency of posting the names and photos of the young women on the internet. Their parents must be so proud of their little girls.
Okay, away from the whispers, it is a sad occurence when brilliant and beautiful girls are lured into such an act for pay. And it is even sadder when we get to laugh and ridicule them without looking at the wider picture. I believe that the whole society is to blame here. And I am not talking about their and our parents/grandparents. Rather, I am talking about the younger, hippier and "swaggered" section of society that worships money and anything shiny. How many of you have looked down upon a fellow college-mate or workmate just because they have not "chanukad"? We talk about lanes people want to belong in acceptable lanes, right? The lane of glamor and beauty.
The media is awash with beautiful, well-adorned women who look so polished and pretty. Right from the hair (which is fake by the way) to the painted toe nails in stylish high heels. Plenty of college-going girls have expensive possessions, some you would not expect a college student to have. Like, how does a college student afford and maintain a Ksh.15,000 weave (again, it is a weave, not their real hair). Or how do you explain a college student who is lounging in Watamu this weekend and eating fish along the shores of Lake Victoria the next one?
We have let money and glitzy possessions define us and where in society we belong. And we have put the pressure on our young sisters to be glamorous as their ticket to be accepted in society. Many have done things to be among the "accepted" in society. These girls, whom we condemn and ridicule behind the safety of our computers had the misfortune of being caught, so we laugh.
We laugh at their exposed "closets", because our sins are locked away. A lock is just that, and maybe one day, the clothes and junk we pile in the closet will be too much for a flimsy lock and all may come tumbling out. Therefore, before we point fingers at these college girls who engaged in unacceptable acts, let us point a few fingers our way.
Our young sisters are getting lost in murky waters of seeking fame and a few coins. Are we not the ones who have celebrated and made famous women who pose nude and termed them "socialites"? Are we not the ones who have defined lanes according to how many photos that I can post on instagram traversing the country? Are we not the ones who have said that it is okay to look glamorous, and that we do not care how or where you get the money from? Are we not the ones who have folded our hands and encouraged our little sisters to try out the new "bendover" dancing style and clapped as she bent and twisted? Are we not...
So, while we stand there and adopt the holier-than-thou demeanor, just remember that that girl found committing a bestiality act with a dog may have been your sister or cousin or friend. Just what example are you setting to your sibling. Is their self worth less important than a few coins in the purse?
Okay, away from the whispers, it is a sad occurence when brilliant and beautiful girls are lured into such an act for pay. And it is even sadder when we get to laugh and ridicule them without looking at the wider picture. I believe that the whole society is to blame here. And I am not talking about their and our parents/grandparents. Rather, I am talking about the younger, hippier and "swaggered" section of society that worships money and anything shiny. How many of you have looked down upon a fellow college-mate or workmate just because they have not "chanukad"? We talk about lanes people want to belong in acceptable lanes, right? The lane of glamor and beauty.
The media is awash with beautiful, well-adorned women who look so polished and pretty. Right from the hair (which is fake by the way) to the painted toe nails in stylish high heels. Plenty of college-going girls have expensive possessions, some you would not expect a college student to have. Like, how does a college student afford and maintain a Ksh.15,000 weave (again, it is a weave, not their real hair). Or how do you explain a college student who is lounging in Watamu this weekend and eating fish along the shores of Lake Victoria the next one?
We have let money and glitzy possessions define us and where in society we belong. And we have put the pressure on our young sisters to be glamorous as their ticket to be accepted in society. Many have done things to be among the "accepted" in society. These girls, whom we condemn and ridicule behind the safety of our computers had the misfortune of being caught, so we laugh.
We laugh at their exposed "closets", because our sins are locked away. A lock is just that, and maybe one day, the clothes and junk we pile in the closet will be too much for a flimsy lock and all may come tumbling out. Therefore, before we point fingers at these college girls who engaged in unacceptable acts, let us point a few fingers our way.
Our young sisters are getting lost in murky waters of seeking fame and a few coins. Are we not the ones who have celebrated and made famous women who pose nude and termed them "socialites"? Are we not the ones who have defined lanes according to how many photos that I can post on instagram traversing the country? Are we not the ones who have said that it is okay to look glamorous, and that we do not care how or where you get the money from? Are we not the ones who have folded our hands and encouraged our little sisters to try out the new "bendover" dancing style and clapped as she bent and twisted? Are we not...
So, while we stand there and adopt the holier-than-thou demeanor, just remember that that girl found committing a bestiality act with a dog may have been your sister or cousin or friend. Just what example are you setting to your sibling. Is their self worth less important than a few coins in the purse?
Friday, May 3, 2013
A letter from a voter who is a thief.
Dear Hon. Adan Duale,
I hear that you called me a thief, yes I am a voter and I am a thief. You see, Dear Adan Duale, I do agree, I am a thief and I am deeply ashamed of myself for having stolen from MPs.
I am an ordinary Kenyan who woke up at 5am, no, I slept at the polling station so that I would be among the first in line to vote for you. Unfortunately, by 11am, the polling station was not open yet and I still braved the scorching sun and waited for the polling clerks to finish their slumber and open up the stations. That day, you comfortably sat in your house, arrived at the polling station in a Prado and proceeded to the front of the line to vote for yourself. You are a Mheshimiwa and I am a thief.
I hear that they call you Honourable, and I shall call you thus. So, Hon. Duale, I am the thief who left her sukumawiki kibanda to come and cast my vote for you. I am that thief that owns a motorbike but decided that voting for you was a better venture that day than toiling for that 200 shilling note that I take home every day. By the way, how much is a 200 shilling note to you? I bet you do not even know how that note looks like. I have seen you count your money and you only handle millions, right? Besides, half a million pay is meagre pay to you. How do we, Kenyans, expect you, Mheshimiwa, to survive on a half a million shilling budget? Oh, and the car, house, entertainment etc allowances. Those are too little and cannot support your Honourable expenses.
So, let us talk about this half a million salary that cannot support your lifestyle. I wish that the thief in me could lay a hand on such an amount. Do you know what I would do? Oh, Honorable MP, I would expand my kibanda and open a duka, I would send my child to secondary school, I would buy myself a nice pair of shoes so that I do not go barefooted, my mother is sick but I cannot afford her hospital bill, I would finally be able to. I have always dreamt of owning my own 1-roomed house where my children would call home, I bet that I can have that with half a million shillings.
This letter is to apologize to you, oh dear Honourable MP. I have realized that I am a thief and I sincerely apologize for robbing you of a comfortable life. But I know what you can do so that the thief in me does not interfere with your lifestyle. We can switch roles, spend a day being me and get to experience how a thief lives like.
You see, Honourable MP, I am the kind of thief who steals Museveni's cows and bundles them all inside Parliament Buildings to huddle closely and plot on how they are "going to protect the Constitution." I am a thief who had no sense of judgement before I decided to steal all 300+ cows and put them under one shed. What is it they say about a cow being a cow even if dressed in suits and sitted at the back of a sleek limousine?
Sincerely,
Kenyan Thief.
I hear that you called me a thief, yes I am a voter and I am a thief. You see, Dear Adan Duale, I do agree, I am a thief and I am deeply ashamed of myself for having stolen from MPs.
I am an ordinary Kenyan who woke up at 5am, no, I slept at the polling station so that I would be among the first in line to vote for you. Unfortunately, by 11am, the polling station was not open yet and I still braved the scorching sun and waited for the polling clerks to finish their slumber and open up the stations. That day, you comfortably sat in your house, arrived at the polling station in a Prado and proceeded to the front of the line to vote for yourself. You are a Mheshimiwa and I am a thief.
I hear that they call you Honourable, and I shall call you thus. So, Hon. Duale, I am the thief who left her sukumawiki kibanda to come and cast my vote for you. I am that thief that owns a motorbike but decided that voting for you was a better venture that day than toiling for that 200 shilling note that I take home every day. By the way, how much is a 200 shilling note to you? I bet you do not even know how that note looks like. I have seen you count your money and you only handle millions, right? Besides, half a million pay is meagre pay to you. How do we, Kenyans, expect you, Mheshimiwa, to survive on a half a million shilling budget? Oh, and the car, house, entertainment etc allowances. Those are too little and cannot support your Honourable expenses.
So, let us talk about this half a million salary that cannot support your lifestyle. I wish that the thief in me could lay a hand on such an amount. Do you know what I would do? Oh, Honorable MP, I would expand my kibanda and open a duka, I would send my child to secondary school, I would buy myself a nice pair of shoes so that I do not go barefooted, my mother is sick but I cannot afford her hospital bill, I would finally be able to. I have always dreamt of owning my own 1-roomed house where my children would call home, I bet that I can have that with half a million shillings.
This letter is to apologize to you, oh dear Honourable MP. I have realized that I am a thief and I sincerely apologize for robbing you of a comfortable life. But I know what you can do so that the thief in me does not interfere with your lifestyle. We can switch roles, spend a day being me and get to experience how a thief lives like.
You see, Honourable MP, I am the kind of thief who steals Museveni's cows and bundles them all inside Parliament Buildings to huddle closely and plot on how they are "going to protect the Constitution." I am a thief who had no sense of judgement before I decided to steal all 300+ cows and put them under one shed. What is it they say about a cow being a cow even if dressed in suits and sitted at the back of a sleek limousine?
Sincerely,
Kenyan Thief.
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