Man-Spreading

So, I’ve been thinking-And that is a good thing, because sometimes I don’t think.Really. There are times I’ll just sit pretty, and look thoughtful, but not a thought crosses my mind. Zilch. Nada. Nazing.  For minutes on end. It used to scare me but I got used to it now. I know it seems like I’m busy glorifying this  weird trait, but trust me I’m not, I’m embarrassed-really. I just glow in humiliation.

Before I further humiliate myself, where were we ? Oh, yeah, I’ve been thinking. The key words here being been and thinking. That means that not only have I been thinking, but that I’ve been thinking continuously (I’m I smart or what?). I know it’s a tad difficult to picture me thinking continuously, but please force yourself.What was she thinking about?

Well wonder no more. Man-spreading is what. Picture this. You wake up very early. Who I’m I kidding. You wake up an hour past your alarm. You have to choose between taking a 2 minute shower and fixing yourself black coffee with too much sugar; but because you’re super woman, you manage to do all this in the said two minutes. What to wear? All your clothes are dirty, save for that skimpy black dress which shows too much cleavage.You throw it on and give yourself a 1 second lecture on why you should change and start doing laundry every weekend like the good woman you are.Who will marry you now? But do you ever listen to yourself?

So you throw on your skimpy dress and pray that the Good Lord keeps the perverts at bay. Between your Beyonce concert and not stalking your exes on social media, you realize that you only have 30 minutes to make it to work. Did I mention that you live Thika. No? Must have skipped my mind. So any way, that’s where you live. Beats me why too.You walk-run to the bus-stop, all decency now tucked away some place no one will ever find it. You find a matatu there all right, but there are only two seats remaining. You’re super woman (or is it witch of Eastend?), remember?You use your broomstick to fly to the window seat before your opponents can say ‘ah’.

Quite pleased with your super powers now, you can even afford to ignore the judgmental glares you’re getting from some jealous over-dressed females (Yaay feminism).You’ve just started fake-laughing to Kingangi’s Donald Trump impersonation, when God’s gift to women walks in  and sits beside you. Does he even glance in your direction?Who cares? You’re gonna have his babies some day. You’re busy trying to decide between  pink and peach for your theme colours, when your bony knees suddenly knock, and put a temporary halt to all this. Mr Future Husband is furiously texting on his impressive phone, with his legs wide spread, taking 250% of your leg space.

Maybe you haven’t quite made your presence felt. And make your presence felt you do. From giggling loudly to your whatsapp group messages, to leaning forward and opening the window, to fake-sneezing. Its the sneeze that finally catches his attention. You smile apologetically and discreetly wiggle your knees to draw his attention to his legs. Shrek just shakes his oblong head and further spreads his legs. The NERVE!You divorce him in your head and proceed to plot his murder. ‘Excuse me, unanifinya’. You’re close to tears now. You know how when you get angry, you cry? It’s quite embarrassing because people assume that you’re a weak cry baby. You know those tears are how you express anger, but no one ever gets it.Its happening now. You’re not about to bowl in front of all these judgmental people, angry or not.

‘Kaa vizuri boss’ You really wish you had an Eastlando accent. Homeboy looks you up and down and reluctantly moves his leg a centimeter. He trying to be Jaguar now? You’re not impressed.’Iza joh‘ Whooooah! That does it. Your inner Chimamanda takes over and  you deliver an award winning lecture on just how uncouth, barbaric and flabbergasting( In retrospect, you wish you had used ‘by jove‘ in your rant.) his behaviour is. Is he treating you like this because you’re a woman?Is he trying to hit on you? Because he is so not your type (his wince, your reward). You zone out and go on and on and on. At some point you even start talking about democracy and corruption( I kid you not) By the time you come to, the culprit is long gone(he alighted at Ngara), but you still have an audience. You wait for a slow-clap  but all you get is a ‘Pore madam‘ from a nice old man. Well, you hope the important message got home.

You get to the office 1 hour late.It doesn’t help that you’re dressed like a hooker in your boss’ eyes. You walk to your desk, choose to ignore your responsibilities, and do what you don’t normally do: Think. About man-spreading.

Hey Blondies…

Interviews…Uh-Oh..Before I  learnt how to perfectly fake adulting, I thought interviews would go something like this..

“Nice to meet you, tell us about yourself.”
Well, I just graduated from school and I’m looking for a job. Oh, wait obviously, that’s why I’m here! I binge watched Scandal in campus and it’s made me the person I am today. I wouldn’t be anywhere near as confident or as much of a drunk without my  daily Olivia Pope dose.

“What’s your greatest accomplishment?”
I once went two whole days without checking my twitter and facebook . That was something.

“What can you bring to the company that other interviewees can’t?”
I would have to say social skills. I was waiting out there at the reception with everyone else and I swear I was the only one mildly entertaining. Clearly no one else has mastered the art of small talk.

“What’s your greatest strength?”
I can shotgun a beer faster than some guys. Like, not all guys, but a few. Or maybe that wasn’t a guy. I don’t know, but it was fast.

“Weakness?”
I would have to say that my biggest weakness is that I have no weaknesses. I’m not just saying that either. I honestly can’t think of anything.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
Oh, well at that point I’ll easily be married. I’m not dating anyone right now. Well, not yet. I’m working on him. You know how men are. We’ll get a place and go on family vacations together.

“Why do you want to work for our company?”
I stalked the company Instagram page and I really like all the philanthropy and service hours you complete. Oh, and I stalked a few employees’ Insta feeds and they had some serious likes and participation in happy hours. I feel like I would fit in really well.

“Are you willing to relocate for a position?”
Depends where. And how good the malls are. And if I have any relatives there…

“What past experience do you have that qualifies you for a job with us?”
Well, my internship last year was at my dad’s friend company. I really didn’t have to do much. Actually, I only went a few days a week. Sometimes I would organize spreadsheets, but most of the time I just read Bikozulu articles.

“Tell me about a time you handled a difficult situation.”
I got this. So about one hour before our Project event started (in Campus), we realized that we didn’t have enough participants to reach our goal. So I texted my guy friends (boyzz) and told them they *had* to be there or else I wouldn’t be at their party this weekend. They all showed up and basically I single-handedly saved the day.

“Tell me about a time you made a mistake.”
How about I just tell you his name.

“Okay, that’s all we need right now. We’ll be in contact.”
Do you think you’ll be calling me? Because I’ll have to let you know when I’m free. My schedule is really busy right now..I have like 90 episodes of NCIS to catch up on.

If Your Boyfriend Was Actually Perfect…

I  don’t mean to brag, but I’m friends with a lot of really fucking annoying people on Facebook. The girl with the handbags obsession, the chronic over-sharer, the selfie-taker — they’ve all got prime spots on my newsfeed. And being the ever industrious gal I am, I’ve begun to notice and track a pattern with all of these people (Being psychic and all, I can spot a personality disorder from miles away).

They all brag about their boyfriends. Constantly.

“Best dinner date with my best friend! Tim is sooooo perfect! He even bought me flowers and chocolate #loveyababe #preengaged #6months”

But here’s the thing, Melissa. We all know Tim isn’t perfect. And not just because of his weirdly receding hairline. No, we know Tim isn’t perfect because literally no one wants flowers and chocolate anymore. Tim didn’t even try with that gift. His inability to think outside the box and come up with a thoughtful, unique way to show he cares actually shows precisely the opposite.

You see, if your boyfriend was really perfect, he’d be perfect. And by that I mean he would’ve shown up to your dinner date with what you really wanted: non-stick lipstick and those light-bulbs you’ve been meaning to buy for weeks, but keep forgetting to put on your list. He would then proceed to take you to your favorite restaurant for dinner: Pizza Inn. As you place your 2k-ish order, he would not judge. No, in fact, he would admire. He would think to himself: “Damn, my girl is sturdy.” He would promptly drive you back to your apartment because he knows, just as well as you do, that  hogging super sized pizzas is depressing as fuck. You need the comfort of your tiny house to really enjoy the pregnant elephant feel. He would just get it.

Later in the evening, he would not roll his eyes when you brought up Real Housewives for the eleventh time that day. In fact, he would agree with your opinion and successfully parlay it into a discussion about the intricacies of Jane and Justin’s relationship on Jane The Virgin. He would solemnly nod his head when you reiterate, perhaps for the millionth time, that Justin is a sociopath. Your boyfriend would know that Justin is the worst, because he, himself, is actually the best.

And then later that evening, as you drift off to sleep, your boyfriend would know to not spoon you because you overheat easily. He would instead keep a solid foot of distance between the two of you. You would get the best sleep of your life.

In the morning, he would know to not speak to you for the first hour you are awake. He would understand that even the slightest sound or yawn he makes will irrationally fill you with an all-consuming blackout rage. He would get out of your way as you make coffee. And by “get out of your way,” I mean he would just straight up leave. He would not text you for a few hours because he would not be needy like that. He would be a man.

Later, when he texts you about lunch, he would be totally fine with the fact that you, L, D,  J and M already made lunch plans. He would not make fun of the fact that your lunch plans are to get chipo mwitu. In a word, he would be, well, perfect. .

DADDY.

My daddy. I cannot even count the number of times I’ve written, and deleted, and rewritten and re-deleted..you get the drift.My dad is simply the most important human being in my life. Always has been, always will be. He was my very first love. The first guy to ever say ‘I love you’ to me. The first guy to ever make me laugh my guts silly.The first guy to ever make me feel oh so special.I could go on and on about all the “firsts’ that my daddy gifted me,but I could never exhaust them in a million years.

Growing up, daddy was practically my best friend. I was your typical daddy’s girl through and through. If anyone even as much as breathed in a way I deemed irritating,they’d have my dad to answer to. Heck, I even reported my mom to him on numerous occasions. It was the assurance that he would deal with anyone who dared tamper with his little girl’s peace of mind that made him a demi-god to me.

All through my childhood,I always knew daddy had my back, come what may. He would praise the littlest of efforts I made, and boy would that make me glow with pride.I remember hoping on the sofa and painfully twisting his hair in a bid to make him look beautiful, and he never once winced. There’s this other time I applied red ink all over his lips and toes and fingers while he slept, and when that darling of a man woke up, he took me shopping for nail polish. Of course my mom was not in the least bit amused by all this, but she let us be. I will never forget our special Saturday dates, just me and him. I’m tearing up now at those beautiful memories. He raised the bar. He showed me how a man should treat his special girl.

Come teenage-hood, hormones did back flips and somersaults on me. The boy craze hit me real good. I’d go out with guys (basically walking around town,him buying me lollipops, sweaty palms semi-intertwining, lots of giggles, and blushes..you get the drift..) and I’d find myself comparing them to my dad. If you didn’t make me laugh, or didn’t read 10000 paged novels, or got offended by my sarcasm (Sarcasm was and still is the official mode of communication between me and my dad), or weren’t as tall as my dad,that would be it for us. High school guys just didn’t cut it for me. That really terrified me. Then came along a certain guy in my hood who was all that and a cherry on top, and I fell head over heels for him.Coolness was his middle name. I thought the world of him. I outgrew my dad. I started bailing out of our Saturday dates, claiming I needed to go for Maths tuition, just to see Mr. Cool Guy Who Goes To College and Makes Me laugh.

Then one day, my  Knight went and broke my heart. I was devastated; crushed. I ran to my daddy like I always did when I grazed my knee, and I cried my heart out. I did not tell him what had happened, but somehow he knew. He held me, and told me that boys would always come and go, but he would always be there.And he said that it would kill him if  I ever came to him again in tears because of a stupid boy. His words.Something shifted; the bar had been set. That is all I heard,all I needed to hear. True to his words,boys have come,boys have gone;he is still dad.I have cried a few times over some undeserving guys  of course, but that’s only because I have my adorable mother’s heart (I think.)

Dad is that guy I call when I see something hilarious, or something irritating (so that we can be irritated together). That guy I’ll talk with on the phone for a whole hour and not even notice it. That guy I’ll call when I need a morale boost.One of the very few people I’ll exchange books with. He’s the only guy who’ll text me a response two months later and I’ll not even get irritated. My one true constant friend.He’s that guy who cheers me on every damn time because he sees potential even when I don’t. Our private jokes run from here to Timbuktu. Our code names for people are hilarious (genius).We’ll talk about you when you’re standing right there and yo’ll never figure it out. I cannot wait to have him walk me down the isle someday.

I pray every single day that my daughter(s) will get to experience with their dad, what I experience with mine. He may be imperfect in many areas of his life, but he is perfect at being my dad. He is the best dad in the whole world. I hope he reads this and realizes how much impact he’s had on my life. Because of him, no guy will ever walk all over me. Because of him, I know my worth. May God bless him with good health and long life.

He will make a fine grandpa.

 

 

DRACULA.

MY JIM.

 

Tales from my village.

I’m seated here by the roadside,waiting for my Jim. It’s been a good 15 hours,but I know my Jim will show up. He always shows up.My sister Eva thinks Jim doesn’t love me enough. Jealousy will be the death of her. Just because Jim is a little more busy than the average village herder doesn’t mean he does not think the world of me. Eva says she saw him the other day ‘tuning’ Ati. Ati is this very well endowed snobby girl that throws herself at every man.Shock on her! My Jim has class.

It’s almost 9 pm now and my Jim is a no show. I know deep down that something really  terrible must have happened. Like that time lions invaded his house and he couldn’t take me to the dance. I understood. Or that time his very distant cousin died and he couldn’t meet by the river because he was mourning. I understood. There’s this other time I wanted to show him off to my doubtful girlfriends but the chief sent him on an important errand. I understood. I always understand. My Jim never stands me up without good reason. But Eva and my friends don’t understand. That is why they don’t have wonderful boyfriends like my Jim.

My mother will surely kill me today. I left the  homestead at the crack of dawn without telling a single soul where I was going. You see, my Jim and I only meet four times a year-That’s quarterly for you stuck up snobs.He insists that we meet at our special spot deep in the forest where the nosy villagers cannot interfere. He’s a very private man,my Jim.Before I met him,I used to be terrified of the dark, and of forests. My Jim cured me of that. If he wants to see me at 2 a.m in the middle of the Amazon,he will find me there.

Thoughts of him make me smile sheepishly as I bump into my fuming mother. It takes three hot slaps to bring me back to reality. She does not even ask me where I’m coming from at this time of  the night. Now, when my mother gets angry at me or my sister, she shouts the air out of her lungs until  the whole village congregates to know what all the hullabaloo is about.Today she is as calm as the fields of heaven. That really scares me. “What was that for?” I ask,trying to sound as bewildered as possible. That earns me a painful arm dislocation. Not a single word from her.

I know for sure that this will be my last day on earth. The very woman who gave me life will be the one to take it. I hope they’ll record my story and tell it to generations to come…’The girl who died for love’,nah,that would be too plain…’Our very own Romeo and Juliet’..’Love Heroine’…The possibilities are endless. My Shakespearean thoughts are rudely interrupted by the loud wails coming from our small dimly lit house.That is undoubtedly my sister’s shrieky voice.She had to find a way to make all this about her,huh? Typical Eve. “I will kill you both”, my mother mumbles under her breath. Thanks for the confirmation,mom.

“Eva if I hear another sob from you you will know me today!” Alas,the woman speaketh. “Tell me where you were before I fracture every bone in your body!” She is back to her usual self and that is comforting. I do not have the strength or courage to lie to her. Besides, my love for Jim is not something to be ashamed of.I tell her everything about my relationship with Jim. I tell her how much I love him. I dare her to go ahead and kill me, because I would rather die than lose my love. Her reaction is totally unexpected. She laughs, almost hysterically, as she hi-fives herself and slaps her knees repeatedly. I’m confused. I s it that she is extremely happy for me or is she losing it? “So he loves you,eh?” She manages between shrieks of laughter. “Yes ma, he’s going to marry me one day”. “Let him marry you in your dreams.If I even suspect tat you’ve gone to see him I will disown you,okay?” She asks as she fondly inspects my dislocated arm. I can barely manage a nod. I make up my mind to convince Jim to marry me secretly and elope with me to that city people are always talking about.

My Jim in all his glory.

 

 

MY AUTISTIC JEWEL.

“He never listens to anything I say to him. I just can’t deal with him.”Says his teacher in frustration. The rascal in question is Elvis, my seven year old cousin. It’s only his first week in the new school. He has already been to three others schools in a span of two months.The story is always the same. He is ‘difficult’ to deal with. His parents are frustrated. Why can’t he just behave and be good?

It all started seven years ago when God brought this bundle of joy into our lives. To me, he was the sweetest baby cousin alive. I always looked forward to baby sitting him.Ofcourse none of us noticed then, that he could never maintain direct eye contact with anyone, not even his mother, or me, his ‘favorite ‘baby sitter. It also never occurred to us that he didn’t crave our attention like most babies did.Infact, this is what made baby sitting him so enjoyable. The fact that I could chat with my friends all day without any unnecessary disturbances.

At the age of two, the young lad was an uncontrollable ball of energy. He could run for hours without breaking a sweat. He would also climb on top of any elevated furniture without losing his balance. On top of all his ‘athletism’, he would break any breakable object that crossed his path. I can not even count the number of times we came home to a house full of broken glass. You’d think all those activities would exhaust him and have him sleepy by 8pm.Think again. Putting him to bed at 8pm was futile, as he would stay up till the wee hours of the night. The once sweet bundle of joy had grown into a mini ‘monster’. I will never forget the day he sneaked into the kitchen and poured liquid soap into a meal I had just prepared.

By the time my aunt decided to take him to a children’s specialist in Kenyatta National Hospital, he was uncontrollable. My aunt came back that evening bearing the news that my favorite kid in the world had autism. Google was my friend then. I had never heard of autism before in my life. It took a lot of convincing from the doctors and other people who knew about autism to realise that its not a mental illness. Autism is a neurological developmental disorder with a biological basis that unfolds over time. Basically, autism is a complex issue where processing of information is cognitively impaired.

It is not a disease, but a developmental issue that may happen during conception, and then be triggered by factors such as environment and food substances, so that it becomes ‘full-blown’ .Autistic symptoms can therefore be controlled through dietary interventions. With time, we’ve come to learn that Elvis can not cope in a regular school without first being rehabilitated. Through intervention, we’ve learnt that its possible to maneuver his brain, know his special skill, and help develop it.

Autistic kids are usually physically attractive but they lack social skills. For instance, they don’t maintain eye contact, and find it hard to interact with others. This explains why Elvis only enjoys playing with himself most of the time. They also have disturbed sleeping patterns, and are very hyper active.
It has not been an easy journey since his diagnosis. We’ve had to alter many things, which we do not regret, to accommodate him and make his life more comfortable. For instance, he is now not supposed to take any dairy products, sugar, wheat products, and some fruits, since they make him hyper active.
Instead of scolding him and getting angry at him when he does something he is not supposed to, we try and understand him, because that is the only ‘normal’ he knows.
He attends speech therapy sessions regularly at KNH and he is making good progress. The day he first said mama will forever remain ingrained in my mind. I know he’ll learn my name next. The journey of a milestone begins with one step.
Through my daily interactions with Elvis, it has come to my realization that very few people have heard about autism in Kenya. People often confuse it with cerebral palsy or mental illnesses. The stigma that Elvis, and by extension his family, has had to deal with is overwhelming. People will point fingers at him in the shopping malls when he throws tantrums. Or when he breaks into a run in the isles making incoherent noises. People judge, mummer and stare, but only because they don’t understand.I used to act like them too before God opened my eyes and brought this special jewel into my life.

At only seven, Elvis has had to overcome more challenges than most people at twenty five have overcome. I don’t think I would have loved him any better if he was what society deems normal. He is my go to person when I need a sloppy kiss on the forehead to make me feel better. Sometimes I forget and allow myself to get angry at him. Like that time he banged my brand new phone on the wall, or that time he made my laptop his bouncing castle. Those are my moments of weakness, but thankfully they never last long.

Elvis is not the only Special Jewel out there. He is only lucky that he has an understanding family who fully support him emotionally and financially. Nairobi alone has approximately 500 kids with autistic tendencies, yet Kenya is ‘still discovering the condition’ and currently has no autism specialists. It is my hope and prayer that the society will be more accommodative of such kids , and go out of its way to embrace them and make life easier for them. They are jewels among us.

Of Flirts and Confessions.

Me:Hey guys there’s something I’v been struggling with for a very long time now.I really need to share this.Im coming out of the closet.

Audience..*audible gasps..Don’t worry sweetheart you can always share ..I knew it!!Si I said!!..Eeh I also heard…We will still love you hun..It can’t be that bad doll..Join my club sweetheart..Therapy will do you wonders.

Me.:Aw wow.Thats overwhelming guys.Your support means the world to me.(Hic hic, sniff sniff).Iv been keeping this inside me for so long .Its been eating me slowly.I’m I’m (sobs uncontrollably.faints.Regains consciousnes..Picks mic again.).Guys I’m a FLIRT.Yes.There.I said it..(Refaints as a result of the great releif.I’v finally let it out.

Audience.:Gasp gasp. Shock. Horror.”That is public knowldge ,mscheew”.”Get a life”.”Mwangalie!!! Bitch, you stole my boyfriend”…”And you wondr why it nvr workd out between us nkt”.

So, yes people I’m embracing my condition.The stigma is overwhelming.Are you there?Are you struggling with the uncontrollable urge to just lead people on,have a good laugh and then act all shocked and surprisd when they announce their feelings for you?Do you have terrible withdrawal symptoms when you dont flirt for almost two decad,,,errm days??Has it gotten so bad that you find yourself chatting up the random grandpa in the bank queue?Are out there thinking this is soo me??Worry no more.We are many.United we stand.We can beat this.I propose we form support groups,where we only flirt with each other and leave the normal,innocent non-flirty people in peace.

Innocent non flirty people,please embrace us.Show us love.Be kind enough to engage us in some flirting now and then.We’re your sisters,your brothers,your daughters,your sons,your spouses,your parents.We live among you.We did not make ourselves this way.Things happened.Those things could happen to you too.You are not immune.We are suffering in silence.Do not wish ebola on us.Appease karma,flirt with us kidogo tu.

Government,form a committe to look into these issues.Address our grievances or we will expose several governers who are flirts like us.We are out to name and shame.

Those of you leading double lifes.Accept yourselves.Its not the end of the world.

We’re just overly social beings who enjoy charming our way into as many hearts as we possibly can.We mean no harm.Your relationships are safe.I beleive we’ve saved some of them even.

Applause.