Huh? Ati?

by

Mama Bear came out today but I reined her in kiasi. Let me explain.

I have a new nanny. She started about a month ago. When I compare her to my holy grail of nannies (Betty took care of Austin from when he was about 7 months to when he hit 2 years and 4 months), she was okay. I learned that I should not expect her to match Betty in effort, initiative and activity so I was open to seeing what her work ethic and deliverables would be.

Today, I stayed home and worked from home. Well, truthfully, I spent most of my day decluttering my room and arranging Austin’s clothes properly. Austin piped up at some point that he wanted to go to the playground. I asked him to ask his ‘auntee’ which he promptly did. She told me she was going to take him for a walk. I said okay because last time they went for a walk, they went around the block. I had previously warned her to avoid the main road because of crazy drivers and too many cars; it is a busy main road.

They left.

I continued my decluttering efforts. Continue reading →

Oddest

by

Thoughts of you patter through

this darkened, shadowed mind

at the oddest of moments.

I was pattering away at

this slowed, aged keyboard

when you crossed my mind

You crossed it so casually,

in almost complete slow-mo

turning your dazzle of a smile at me.

I crossed myself very un-casually

in perfectly fast motion

turning my upturned lips down

The religion of wanting you

fighting against the faith of

feeling for you and your everything

The science of muscle-memory

embracing the art of

our first kiss and our last one

and colliding in my memory banks

and firing up fireworks where

none should be after the last burn.

 

Water

by

Today he said water like a Kenyan. The letters of the word sliding and colliding into each other, the hard t leading the onslaught.

‘Mummy, I’d like to have some woh-tah’

I looked at him and asked him to repeat…

He thought perhaps I was asking him to ask politely and he repeated: ‘May I please have some woh-tah’

He is three years and seven months old. He has lived in America since he was two years and six months old and we just got back three weeks before he hit the three year-six month mark. Facebook sent me a reminder pic from when he was 7 months old. The one featured in this post is from before he knew how to say Mama or Worrah or anything close to it. He was 9 months old and was a faceful of smiles and no language.

He had that flat Californian accent when we arrived back in Nairobi from our time in Los Angeles. Worrah is my marker for his accent. When we were in the City of Angels, he was Worrah-ing all over the place, buoyed by his Monday to Friday stay at Ms. Banner’s daycare and surrounded by other Americanos. Yesterday, he was saying worrah even as I put him to sleep at bedtime and today, a holy day, his tongue has suddenly unrolled and folded around and about the words and letters and decided to showcase his Kenyan side. Woh-tah.

He says other things too. He says ‘Chafu’ and ‘Taka-taka’ and, my personal favorites, ‘Chapa’ and ‘Chuna’. He throws in ‘Moshi’, ‘Vumbi’ and ‘Pikipiki’ for good measure. He still can’t say Ugali; he used to call it ‘Ugaya’ and now it has become ‘Mu-gali’ (perhaps he is linking this to Uncle Bob in Zim, who knows?). He seems to Continue reading →

Oyunga Pala’s Workshop: The Art of Becoming A Writer

by

I attended my very first creative workshop this weekend. It was a full day affair punctuated by great snacks and food; my own personal measure of event worth. I met 6 ladies and a gent who were charming, endearing, sensitive, funny, poignant, honest, quiet, exuberant and all things writers can be. Our master of ceremony, our teacher, the Yoda? Oyunga Pala. Many of us in the room came to this simply because of his name. And the title of the workshop? The Art of Becoming a Writer.

Now, you may say that I have been writing for years, decades actually. Why would one attend this class? Aren’t you already a writer? How do you get taught how to become when you already are and you have the science of writing down? Valid questions. But have you ever thought about what it takes to write? There is a science to writing, a formula. Our teachers in 8-4-4 taught us this science but this course by Oyunga Pala introduced me to the art of it. Yes, I can sit down and take a mundane phrase and weave a story around and about it. For me, the science of how I write is a formula combination of [ideas or topics + imagination or research]. x + y = z. Solve for x or y and your story (z) pops out. Some other sub-requirements to give this formula life may include, for me, the ability to step outside of self, life experiences, an amount of time to think up or create storylines, a suitable writing tool (preferably a beautiful pen and crisply white paper) and the availability of Cadbury’s milk chocolate. But that is not a necessary part of the scientific formula though it is an infinitely better choice than a glass of Hendrick’s and Lime every time I write. Then there is what you need to subtract because it is not always about addition. You can have x + y – bx – cy =z. bx could be fear as attached to your x, your ideas or topics. cy could be procrastination as attached to doing the research you need for your topic or the lack of motivation to really imagine up a scenario for your protagonist and all his or her friends.

For some people, their science is that they can simply look at a person walking by on the street and type out their imagined story of this person’s background and all the incidents, events, situations and happenstances that give him or her that gait.  Yes, it takes Continue reading →

Ok. 2019.

by

The year opened its eyes lazily, slowly. Unfurling itself in a violet-tinged haze that seemed to want to hang onto 2018 in an attempt to make things right before letting go. Before I could snap to, the year had already kicked my butt in a tense final goodbye. The year started with an unbelievable sadness. Joy had been driven from these streets and as the fireworks went off and the countdown began, gleefully for some, there was a bit of melancholic indulgence and looking back in wonder at how 2018 was survived. Continue reading →

Walking Wounded

by

I met a man with a broken heart. His eyes, if you looked closely, were sad. He dropped the veil as I looked at him, my own tears threatening to erupt. I realized there are many people walking around wounded. I was not the only one.

His dance moves hid the pain etched within him. As much as he later told me his heartbreak was over and done with, you could still see the scabs of where this wound had festered. His smile was not as wide as it could be, his face not as devoid of emotion as he thought.

He held my hand in his, stroking his thumb over mine in a mindless but repetitive motion that seemed to say it would all be okay. For anyone who knows me, a show of tenderness is my Achilles’ heel; I felt the tears well up, tiptoe to the edge of my eyes and, as much as I internally threatened them, fall over and trip over themselves getting to my chin. I looked down, looked up in vain. No amount of blinking could stop them from their southbound journey. Continue reading →