AQUA PHOBIA

I would rather be caught butt naked, literally, in my house the whole weekend than go out shopping or have fun. My kind of fun is a clean house, enough nibbles and a good book or movie topped up with endless sessions of sleep. There might be a little social media moment. If I have to sacrifice all this bliss to attend a function invited by someone who is not a very close friend , then out rightly , I really need a human being presence or in dire urge to discuss football. Sometimes , it also feels good to be around a good number of cheeky young men swarmed by quite good pair of million dollar boobs and butts , waist fat straining hard against waist trainers , 6 inch heels being balanced on by what one would think are day old calves and that human being with more than five accents . If lucky enough you might spot fake Brazilian hair strands and hints of cellulite neatly tucked under stockings. There will be a handful super brains that will get one guessing whether these women were born or delivered (heard there is a difference) , with tailor made outfits that attracts every eye, even the bees feel their important yet flowery presence .

This most likely would be a barbecue party. At one table, would be this tipsy lad in his late 30s with a nice baritone engaging a group of four. They will all look quite engrossed in the Volkswagen failures talk or a Ducati prowess while in real sense, no skirt will go unnoticed. At some point, the natural beauty with the “illest” pair of denim pants will show up and replenish the drinks. I will continue digging into my red meat while listening and keenly observing their eyes. It is a cheat day so the meat will be my greatest company even with the impending joint pains. Darn, I will have the meat, so soft and sumptuous then drown few painkillers later after a scalding shower .All will be well my feet.

It is football international break so one will be in a hurry to leave. At 7:00pm, the tipsy will be a little drunk and the music will be slightly over the top. To many of us, this is that suburb we work almost 14 days a week to afford. Though the sun will have gone down, the heat will suddenly rise and swimming costumes forked out of those tiny clutch bags. How now?? How can so much fit into such small thing! Plus who sent the bikini memo? I never got one, not even from B who looked at me with her big begging eyes to be her date while right now, and she might have already won her 2nd 50m backstroke! It is sad, right? She just wanted help to balance on her heels to this place. I however got the meat without someone reminding me of the pain later on, so I guess it’s a truce. The aqua phobic in me comes out full fledge, the running nose is inevitable. I huddle my freshly replenished plate of meat and the third can of energy drink (NEVER advisable) and move closer to the fire. My jacket is zipped up and that is how the cookie crumbles; I lose the boob game battle, which I thought of all the games, has a chance of being ranked top ten. I mean, it’s time to dress down and here I am adding more clothes on. I give up and join some of the guys enjoying the sight from a distance.

The woman in me will notice the cup A and D, the stretch marks and cellulite. I will separate real human hair ( tihihihi!) from fake one ;both will be from the same vendor at river road . Woe unto the tattoo guy who won’t let me confirm real eyebrows on the fleek. I will sit there and imagine what some use to scrub their ample derrière. They are supposed to be darker than the rest of the body, right ? But these ladies have it all same skin tone as the rest of the bodies except the face. Because I do not know how, another heavenly piece in my mouth and I will suddenly spot Zoey, trying to race against none other than host .When my parents almost fought because they couldn’t settle on Shaniqua or Heather (these names feature on the worst female name lists 😏 )  , her parents had already settled on Zoey. I look closely and realize how perfect she looks and I imagine the last time I worked out. It breaks my heart and I comfort myself with another piece of meat .I try to look at all others and thankfully I notice that we women are so different. Even the perfect one has this funny knees ( lol) .

At 9:00 pm I am so tired of eating (you can’t blame me, blame where I come from) and I will walk around the pool imagining myself at the deep end. That quickly fades too. Almost everyone is singing at the top of their voice, some music I can’t even identify the genre.

Luckily I am not alone. Three more are experiencing “ I can’t fit in this kind of party “ syndrome too . Maybe because we fear swimming pools so much; we carry so many bad memories of water masses. We just can bear the fact that people can stay under water for more than a second. Noooooo! For another maybe it is because he lost his girlfriend at the first such kind of party he attended. The other I guess it is because he outgrew and for the last one, maybe his religious position doesn’t allow. We all have played our part by honoring the invites.

Lucky has it that someone is leaving; at least I can hitch a ride to CBD then to my lovely escape and warm bed. 12:45am, a few painkillers and hot shower later, It is time to re-watch Black Coffee Movie (I watch it at least once every week) . It is a beautiful night

I Am Not That Girl.

Have you ever read a post and stopped midway just to confirm if you knew the author ? This was me today ,thanks to Kanyiva .I almost thought is a very close friend who knew me too well to pen such .Maybe he/she wanted to tell the world about this annoying ,using 1st person as a way of hiding the identity . The original post is here

I am not the kind of girl they sing about in the music videos or write about in the great love stories. We all know that girl with the long legs and the symmetrical breasts that hypnotize men from a mile away. The kind of girl that has something to say about both football and shopping. The one that one that is crowned prom queen today and class president the next. The girl that all the girls want to be and all the men want to be with. I wish I was but I am not.

My kind of girl is the one that cracks the awkward jokes that no one laughs at the table. The one that leaves one sock at the door and the other one in the kitchen when she is tired. The one that dances on the street when no song is playing. Or laughs out loud when nothing funny has happened. There are days I just want to stay in my pyjamas and cuddle with my tub of ice cream because the week did not go as I had planned. Or lose my mind because I hate not being in control. Diets sound appealing to me but I enjoy my chicken wings too much to go the healthy route. That is the reason you will probably never see a thigh gap in my jeans or find me in jeans at all. I honestly don’t remember the last time I sat up right and crossed my legs because I like to be more functional than aesthetic. More comfortable than beautiful. Disgusting, right? I am just getting started.

I get angry too fast most of the time. It was annoying to my exes but I will probably not stop anytime soon because I find it hard to suppress my emotions. Especially when I feel like I am being treated less than I deserve. I fall in love too fast and take way too long to let go. Never knowing when to be cautious or who not too trust. It’s just in me to see the best in people and be hopeful in grim situations. I enjoy to take on traditional roles in the home like cooking for my husband every night just as much as I would enjoy chairing a board room or running a Republic. In fact, I cannot wait till I can be that kind of wife. I know it’s 2016 and my feminist sisters will devour me alive for saying this but the idea of submission to my future husband warms my heart.

My breed of girls are not only too loud, too opinionated, too complicated and too rush but also too smart, too creative, too strong, too kind, too loving and too beautiful. Always… Too Something. That is where the problem comes in. Clearly,I am not the perfect kind of girl. Not even close. I was not made to be loved by everyone. Not too sure I was made to be loved by any one all together. However, there’s a split second where these imperfections become stunning. Where every broken piece comes together to form art. And just like art, one person will look at it and see trash, another will look at it and see a pure master piece. Whatever your view is, the piece of art remains a master piece only to be appreciated by a selected few. I apologize if I raise my voice at you or if I am too quiet. I apologize if my bold opinions offend you or if my confidence intimidates you. My grammar might fall apart some times. My i’s may not all be dotted and my t’s are almost never crossed. I am truly sorry if my highs and lows confuse you but this is me.Both Clerk Kent and Superman; the strengths and the weaknesses coming together to form a rare breed of super heroines. No matter how many times I try to be Miss. Perfect, I am not that kind of girl.

I DO NOT WANT TO BE TIRED

Dr. G and I have known each other for a very short period of time, about five months . We met at an entrepreneurship forum ,ICT related to be precise . We happened to sit next to each other and somehow just started talking, way a lot for him. I liked how easy he was and over time we have  been talking. Dr.G isn’t that doctor who cuts open your stomach or head, no. He is a psychiatrist and mostly works with education institutions .

Being the psychiatrist he is and I being the nervy enthusiast I am ,always, we have severally talked about me accompanying him to one of those mass sessions. I thought these were normal sessions where one talks to adrenaline  oozing teens . I never asked what he ever did in detail , which may have been good ignorance .

One Tuesday last month, he sends me a text that he got a session in Nairobi that he thought might be interesting . He knows from our talks how I would die to sit in a male only session and that is all I need to confirm my availability .  I am so engrossed in thinking how the boys would ask about puberty, dating, sex and money . I am so certain that it will be a thrilling session listening to a confession of a 16 year old who suffers a boner everyday during the English lesson because the teachers’ hips don’t lie 😉 .

Fast forward G picks me up in town and we head to a middle class suburb rather than the informal setting I had thought of . We are welcomed to rather large compound by a relatively young couple .At this point, I have no idea what to think . I just follow blindly offering forced smiles . We hardly get time to catch up but get ushered to  the leaving room where 21 boys/young men between 13 and 17 are seated . Very well dressed ,good looking and actually looking so happy . They are nibbling on crisps and strawberries . joined by two other males and three females we sit and get introduced . Apparently this is the first time the boys are meeting .  The parents have met before, either through work , church , hospital or school meetings . These innocent looking souls have at one point tried to commit suicide , and not once! The bombshell hits me so hard that I barely get tit bits of the first story. Am in daze. Hurt but I don’t know why .

The second story is of a 15 year old in form one. When he was in class seven, he tried to make a pass at girl who embarrassed him publicly . Being the first time, this hit him so hard that it sent his self esteem to zero . The started to perform poorly and the pressure from the parents did not make it better . By class eight , he would spend the whole day in his room in bed but not sleeping, his eyes shut though . His mum only took notice when the house-help raised the issue . He was transferred to another school but maybe was the worst mistake. New environment did not make it better . He attempted suicide in the school art room but luckily was found and given medical attention . What appalled me was that he used a PENCIL to inflict injuries on him and even tried to pull out his tongue out !!!! Due to this, he did not sit his KCPE exams and had to resit the following year .

The second time was immediately after class eight exams . He banged his head on the wall until he passed out ! He survived but with quite a damage to his brain. Third time was a week after he got admitted to form one  and his stuff got stolen . He slashed his wrists open  and watched them bleed.I just could not take it . I just would not wait for another testimony. I lied that I had to attend to an emergency went out and cried my heart out . Not because of the boys but because of me . I have not attempted suicide but I just couldn’t take it .

A few days before I met the boys, I was breaking apart mentally . I did not know why but I would never leave the house from Friday evening to Monday morning. I would switch off my phone and just sleep . I was just tired but not of life .

I really wanted to stay but I just could not . I could not face those I would call my little brothers who are tired of breathing and have no dream. Their dream was to fly with the angels . I left and had a whole large Pizza, crying myself to an okay state , of course my phone was off .

Dr.G called immediately I switched my phone on . We talked about the *emergency * . He told me that I liked complaining a lot and he just wanted me to learn something . The lesson was mentally and emotionally brutal but I am ready for the third session since I missed the second . I know now more than ever that I want to know how this gender called male is still human. I wish to meet their parents at some point . By the way, G told me that the hosts lost their two Children to suicide . The first born killed herself after rape and the 2nd one couldn’t handle the death so she drunk herself silly,got into the family car and drove into ditch; she did not survive.

There are many things I am tired of, like lies, fake friendship, being taken advantage of , men raping their daughters,women cheating on their husbands and the fact that I cant walk in six inch pumps ( yes that bothers me a little too much) but am not tired of tomorrow. I am not tired of fighting. I am not tired of dreaming of tomorrow full of love. I am not tired of planning for a vacation just for me and my son and teach him that good men still live or a spa date with my daughter gossiping on how we can convince the next investor into our company . Every day , I pray that many of us human being beings are not tired . If you still are alive, not by choice, God has not ye finished what he started in you.

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.