TO HELL WITH YOUR DONATIONS.

“Let’s go to Africa, salvage our slaves,

Let’s donate money, make names for ourselves,

Call local and international media,

Let Africa rejoice, here is their redeemer.”

Well, to hell with your donations!

Oh come fellow slaves, come let us rejoice,

Let us sing, dance, write and recite poems,

Let them take pictures and videos of us,

Playing around with our hopes and dreams.

But I refuse to. I refuse to join in the applause.

See, today I am here, raising my hands to feed my stomach,

With new shoes and new clothes, bales of flour and cooking oil,

With smiles and great high spirits.

Tomorrow, back to the same shack, taking beer and spirits,

The shoes you gave will be sold; my feet know not how to be sole-d;

The clothes will be sold, for my body knows not how to be clothed.

So go, go back to your filthy rich homes, rich and filthy homes, be out of my sight

Out of sight, out of mind, you make me wish I was blind.

Every donation you make, I feel you dancing on my grave.

Without you I will still I see myself together,

Through the holes of my tattered sweater.

I will sew myself together,

Mend my broken and torn life together.

To your face I say; to hell with your donations!

But then again don’t go,

Keep donating food, money and clothes; dig a well.

We’ll take and sell, use to pay bills and settle debts  as well.

But what would be better,

Is if you would make us better,

Empower us with skills and knowledge,

Show us how to make the clothes, how to grow the food,

Then we will make money.

But till then; to hell with your donations!

Befado

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THROWBACK THURSDAY.

Did you catch that? I threw it!! And it was Thursday!! Hehehe, throw back Thursday it is. Now, to begin with; who on earth invented this “throwback Thursday?”  Why particularly on Thursday? I thought if there was a day that one would use to reflect on the past; it should be Monday. You know, with the weekend past and we did all those things during the weekend and…never mind. This is not about Mondays and weekends.

Since this is a Thursday and social pressure (damn you social and peer pressure) has enslaved me; I am obliged to write this. Now, you are in a train, its speeding past the fields, you are seated alone at a window. As the train speeds past a dusty town, you stare mysteriously (you know, like they do in movies....lol) out of the window. You start reminiscing; oh how you miss the past. Memories flash before your very eyes, your train of thoughts and memories is moving so slow, you live in the memories once again. See where you are, now, hold that position. Such is the setting I intended this to be written (unlike where I am now, in an office full of books; not novels and data waiting for me to analyze it. *le sigh*).

I miss the old days, the good old days. Even though poverty was more rampant and food was scarce, I miss the values that we had. You know, (to the younger generation) the days your folks or grandparents tell you about when a 10cents (Kenyan cents) would buy you a loaf of bread, ok not that long ago… days when “bibo” and “juci cola” were a delicacy, days when the alphabet was taught as it is written, not as what children are taught these days. I do miss those days, and here is the reason why;

I miss the days when brotherhood was the norm. Days when looking out for your brother was your first priority. Days when if your parents bought you a bicycle, you would rush to the village (community) kids and exclaim “tumenunuliwa bike” (A bicycle has been bought for us) and you wouldn’t mind sharing it, taking turns to ride it. Days when people lived in actual communities and not “gated communities” where you do not even know and have never seen your neighbor.  I miss the days we would look forward to Christmas and birthdays, because it was a time we rejoiced and sipped juice and bread; unlike the big birthday parties they have these days, with emcees and all…why would you hire an emcee for your child’s first birthday? In my days, you grandpa was the emcee!!

I miss the days when marriage was respected and pregnancy celebrated; when love was real. You know, days when people would go through so much (together) and make their marriages work (ever looked at an old couple and wondered what they saw in each other? I always do), unlike these days when insecurity, greed and doubt fill relationships. Days when pregnancy was celebrated, not as these days where you hear “so and so is pregnant” and the response is “her too? Oh they could not wait?” then the other will reply “I guess not, but her boy friend will have to marry her now”. Sad. These days people get married to cover for pregnancies, the world is full of people who want relationships with no commitment; people who want the “husband-wife” or “boyfriend-girlfriend” experience, with no commitment. Coz if you do, you are too serious with life? Sad.

I miss those days when innocence was celebrated; days when cartoons, animations and comedy was something to watch with children and laugh about; not some mischievous and evil plan to throw in some dirty words…I mean, these days even cartoons and animations kiss and have “friends with benefits” relationships, in our days, only Cinderella had the privilege to kiss her prince charming! Days when novels were interesting, not some porn on paper! Days when writers had good content to write about, after serious consideration and days of writing; not based on a certain pornographic fantasy they have.

Of all, I miss those days when Christians had values and stuck to them. Not spend days drinking and the next minute they are leading worship in church…days when we had “Sunday best” dressing out best; unlike these days when we use the “…for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart….” (1^st Samuel 16:7) scripture to defend our lacking clothing at church or anywhere (its good to read the whole chapter and see why Samuel said that).

And though those days are far much gone, I strive to re-live them and ensure my children will have a taste of those days and these memories.

Now, get out of that train (of thoughts) and continue doing what we were doing. Let’s ensure that our children have a life they look back at and miss.

Twitter: @deekareithi

 Google plus: Dorcas Kareithi

*ION, May the soul of Dr. Maya Angelou, renown poet and inspiration to writers and poets, rest in eternal peace*

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I SEE YOU

I see you,

Crying at the street corner,

Tears that no one will see,

With a story no one will believe.

Passers-by pass you by,

With judgmental glances,

Peeking under their glasses;

“She’s one of them, swims in pangs of pity, She knows not the mystery that is purity”

They hiss in hushed tones.

I see you,

You went to the gym each day,

Thinking if you stayed thin, he would stay.

But then these lasses,

With judgmental glances,

Peeking under their glasses;

They could go to Katmandu overland,

On a limping camel for all you cared;

But your life they stripped!

I see you,

Misery emanates from you,

Like radioactivity from plutonium.

Waiting to die, sitting alone,

In your own cell, regretting all you’ve done.

Daily you huskily howl, from deep inside your soul,

“Help me, I want to go home”

I see you,

Longing for someone who mends; heals,

One who feeds; gives meals,

One to clothe; tops and heels,

He who owns a thousand cattle upon hills.

“Come to me, with your heavy burdens;

Lay them at my feet”

I see you,

I will take you, feed, clothe, mend you,

I will not judge you, for what you’ve done

Or what you have become,

I will love you for you.

Come; my child come.

Befado

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THE THINGS PEOPLE DO FOR LOVE

As I write this, the rain outside is pounding, the freezing wind blowing through the office window. I am freezing. I play list some classical themes and pour myself a cup of hot cocoa *ooh the warmth*. The contrast of what I feel inside and what is happening outside is sharp. Now that all is set; I start typing...

On my way to work this morning, it was raining cats and dogs or as my mum would say, elephants and hippos (you know, coz then you can be sure its heavy…you see cats and dogs are not that heavy). Anyway, if there is a time when men (read Kenyan men) expose their gentleman-ness is at times such as these. I spot several couples (older coz you know the youngsters couldn’t be caught dead awake at 7 something in the morning and on their way to work). I see the men jealously shielding their women from the rain…you would think that rain has some male genes and is trying to steal the woman from him….lol.

 I lift my umbrella and see another man picking up his lady (I assumed) from the gate, from the cold of the rain to the warmth of this cool red Mercedes *swallows a glint of jealousy* and I immediately wish SB was there. Now, this made me think of the many things people do for love…I mean Valentine’s Day was just the other day and people did crazy things for love. Some dug their way into deep debt (shame on you), others wiped out their savings (SMH), others did some special things (;-)) and others, well, did nothing (majority fall here).

It also made me think of the many sacrifices and things people do to make the other (significant or not) feel special. The crazy things that we do to make our loved ones feel loved and appreciated; things that you cannot put a price tag on. *le sigh* then it made me think of how we feel if the love is not reciprocated or if our efforts are taken for granted…sad right? You feel like you were taken for a ride and used; like the k in knee (ok, that was lame but trust me, it sounded so funny in my head).

I get to work and the place is almost full and everyone is in a good mood. Everyone is smiling like they inhaled small amounts of laughing gas but just can’t laugh. Then it hits me….aaah the long holiday is coming. Speaking of long holiday; don’t you love how this holiday is four days long? I mean that is like a whole week off *yey* Thank you Jesus!! This reminds me the reason for this post.

Now people do so much for love; but this cannot; can never and will never amount to what one man did a few thousand years ago. The perfect act of love; something that till this day no one has ever and no one will ever attempt to do. I am not talking about titanic silly (though that too has never been repeated he he). I am talking about the reason for this long holiday; the death of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ on the cross. He died for love; because He loved us so much. This act of dying on the cross for the forgiveness of our sins breaks me down each time I think about it. And the way we (I included) at times take this act for granted, take his love for granted. But His mercies and grace are never ending; He is always willing to take us back (as opposed to attempting to take human love for granted…you would get silent treatment for the rest of your days on earth).

A singer I love so much; Vicky Beeching sang these words (more of a prayer) in her song, Wonder of the cross:

“O precious sight, my Savior stands,
Dying for me with outstretched hands.
O precious sight, I love to gaze,
Remembering salvation's day,
Remembering salvation's day.
 

Though my eyes linger on this scene,
May passing time and years not steal
The power with which it impacts me,
The freshness of its mystery,
The freshness of its mystery.

May I never lose the wonder,
The wonder of the cross.
May I see it like the first time
Standing as a sinner lost,
Undone by mercy and left speechless,
Watching wide eyed at the cost.
May I never lose the wonder,
The wonder of the cross.

Behold the God-man crucified,
The perfect sinless sacrifice.
As blood ran down those nails and wood,
History was split in two, yes,
History was split in two.
Behold the empty wooden tree,
His body gone, alive and free.
We sing with everlasting joy,
For sin and death have been destroyed, yes,
Sin and death have been destroyed.”

Of all the things we do for love, this was greatest thing done ever. During this Easter break and season, as we take the break, take a moment to reflect on this act; the love of Christ; and what you are doing to ensure you reciprocate this love.

Happy Easter my friends. :-) :-)

Twitter @deekareithi

Google plus Dorcas Kareithi

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AN ARREST ( MY FIRST EXPERIENCE)

Ever been arrested? Either for the right or wrong reasons? Well if you have never, I beat you to it. Last evening to be precise. You may wonder why I’m so happy to write about it, just wait and see.

So, it’s Saturday evening, Skater Boy and I have come from training in Thika, we are now in Nairobi. We go at a hotel to have an afternoon snack as we watch a game. Here my already bad day got worse. See, I’m an arsenal fan and I had so much faith in Wenger’s boys for this game. Skater boy is a Manchester united fan (yeah makes the perfect couple). If you all watched that game you know too well how it went down. So, as we linger in there a bit longer as I drown my sorrows in food (we ladies know that food works so well, despite the source of sorrow). 

By the time we leave, it’s a bit dark. We decide to head to Central Park, which is at the center of Nairobi. The flood light at the center of the park is shining bright and the place looks too tempting. Wrong thought. Skater Boy and I are quite crazy, you see, so we agree to stand below the light and we start dancing. (Blame this on the “dance like no one is watching you”). It is a park, right? And people are walking past the park hurrying home. Us; no we had to. The day had been long and hard and laughter and fresh air was all we could think of.

We all know that all movies and books/novels list chasing each other across a field as a moment of…well, you know; a perfect moment.

Well, not in this one. We challenge each other to the nearest pathway and the winner gets to buy the loser some ice-cream (I was hoping to loose, but he beat me to it). At the end of the finish line that is the path, we find some people, cuffs at hand, waiting for us; talk about a bad victory reception. Just imagine Usain Bolt finding such a party at the finish line….sad.

So that is how we got arrested. We cooperated and they did not cuff us (thank God Skater Boy did not get very aggressive, you see, he is also a professional boxer). So we are taken under a tree where we find about 50 other Kenyans, some in cuffs. SB (Skater Boy) and I find ourselves a bench and we await the vehicle supposed to take us to a police station. We are all told that we were arrested for being in the park at “ungodly hours”. We are informed that people are not supposed to trespass the park past six; as he speaks, people are still passing by, but it seems like they had arrested enough people.

They tell us we will be taken to a police cell, expecting the men to resist so that they find a reason for arrest. Strangely enough, we all agree and we state that if the arrest is legal, we would like to record statements. They panic. See, these men introduced themselves as policemen warning us that they will fine us all. A lady at the back starts crying saying that her guy is not Kenyan, that he does not know the rules in Kenya. SB and I laugh. We take out our phones and start recording everything. We knew those guys were people extorting money from naïve and innocent Kenyans.

We pass by Kenyatta avenue round-about and our fears are confirmed. See, if you are to be taken to the police station/ county council cells, you do not turn right, as we did, and headed to Uhuru Park. Several of us started asking which police station we were being taken to and all we got was a “kuna wengine huku, mtakujiwa na lorry hapa” (there are other people here, a police lorry is coming to pick you up).

So we get to a place and find other 50 like so Kenyans sitting there, also waiting for the police lorry to come. Now, the retards that SB and I are, we go around greeting people asking them why they are there; all this time recording (thank you Sony Xperia for having a larger internal memory space). So by now it’s around 8 pm and no uniformed policeman has come. The leader of the gang tells us that they are willing to help anyone who does not want to go to jail. Here you see Kenyans who do not value their hard earned cash. Why do I say this? Some were giving bribes as much as 20, 000 to be let free. SB and I are still recording all this.

One of the “police men” suspects that we are doing this and asks us to sit in a secluded place. Thank God for friends who have friends in high places. I get the number of one of the anchors in Citizen TV and explain our situation and where we are being held; in a gated store area at Freedom Corner. The reporter gives Nairobi OCPD my number and he calls me. I explain the same thing and in a few minutes uniformed policemen are at the gate. Our other police panic and order us to get out, while those who want to “get assistance” to remain behind. We decide to go with the group that wants to be taken to jail.

Now we are two groups, half remained to “get assistance” and half of us knew our arrest was false and we wanted to get justice (and finish our recording). We demand to be taken to a police station. Instead of being taken to a police station, they start taking us upwards, towards All Saints Cathedral, several of our group run away and the fake police leave them. Now, funny is the conversation I heard between the uniformed police and the “police” who arrested us. This was actually a deal between the two!!! The other police even had walkie talkies that communicated with the actual police. Sad.

All this time I am informing the OCPD where we are being taken, and he gives an order for all of us to be released. Half of the group being “taken to jail” is let go. SB and I choose to remain behind. SB and I tell the remaining group not to give any bribes; our escorts hear us and we are pulled out of the crowd. At this point, we have gone round Uhuru Park and we are at Parliament road.  One of the “police” gets us aside to question us; why we were arrested, if we want any assistance. We tell our tale. He tells us he is forgiving us because we look innocent; we laugh.

He tells us to disappear and not get caught again, but we were not going to let him go that easily. We demand to see his police badge and he suddenly gets busy and his arms start shaking. SB and I look at each other and smile. He gets tensed up and gets his wallet out. He starts explaining to us that he is busy calling and we tell him we are patient. Now its a few minutes to nine. The uniformed police are busy taking bribes from other people in the group we were picked out from. The guy starts explaining how I don’t know who was killed where in the park, who was sleeping where and gibberish. We remind him that we are waiting to see his badge; he pulls out a number of cards and picks one out, one with his blood type, no name and no police number.

SB and I laugh and tell him that we know what they are doing and that he should let everyone go if he wants to be safe. Realizing that he has been busted, he gives an order to his people to let our group to go. They do. As we are leaving; His arms are still shaking. I tell him to be careful, some Kenyans are watching and they are talking. Our recordings are with us, a reminder of what innocent Kenyans go through.

It’s now 10 pm; SB and I walk into a hotel for coffee. Now his Manchester united game is over; and we never watched it. But they won, damn!! oh and I lost my precious ear rings in the process :-(

Now I am left to wonder; how many other people walk around masquerading as police men, extorting money from innocent Kenyans, as much as 10 to 20 thousand per person (real police men included)? And us Kenyans, when will we know our rights? Stop giving bribes for crimes you did not commit!!

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A LESSON ON HUMILITY.

“A great man is always willing to be little.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I write this I am in a hurry, in a hurry because I am supposed to attend a seminar by some scientists in a few minutes. Now, a few minutes ago it was tea break where I work. Well, I have been here a few weeks so I am still getting accustomed to the place and the people. Where was I? Tea break. See on Friday mornings, they give free tea and snacks. For the past few weeks, I missed the FREE tea and snacks. This week I vowed not to (I even set a reminder and an alarm at 9.50 so that I begin my journey to the cafeteria at that time). so I grab my tea and the snacks provided and sit by myself at a certain table. For these who know me well, when I find myself in an environment where I do not know most of the people, I prefer to sit by myself and have a chat with my many imaginary friends (I know you do too).

On this day, they served some boiled maize (which I love by the way) and I am there, waiting for the weekly brief by management. As I am sited there, a young (well, she had a few grey hairs, she is not that young) casually dressed woman comes and sits opposite to where I am and we start discussing the maize that has been served. I praise the cob I was holding so much that she decided to get herself one. She is not taking tea, I observe. She gets back to our (yeah, now its ours) table and starts eating the maize. A few minutes later the cafeteria in charge brings her a plate with a few other cobs. In my mind I register she is one of the many visitors that frequent the place and we listen in on the brief, which has started by now.

As the briefing went on, someone made a report and the easy lady across me becomes tough and makes tough comments. At first I am surprised but then I tell myself that it must be the open door management policy of this place, and I start making mental notes. After the brief, the lady leaves and I go back to my conversation with my imaginary friends. Someone next to me says to me “I like how DG is tough”. Oh, so that’s her name, DG. What could DG mean? In my mind I make up the funniest of names that DG could mean (Danielle Grant, Densely Gael and many other names). “She’s DG?” I ask him. “Yeah, Director General” he says. 

 *Brain Freeze*

 

You mean DG means director general? She is the apex in the organization? I couldn’t believe it! I was chatting casually with the boss, and I am just an intern!! How can she be so humble? Can you imagine, the “top boss” sitting at a table chatting with a two-week old intern? Where? When? If it were some of us, we get a little power and we ensure everyone knows who we are. We go bossing around people, addressing people as if you are the reason they work there, giving people the “do you know who I am?” look as you walk around. Sitting in secluded places with “special seats” that no one dares to sit on because “It belongs to our boss”. Surely!! 

Humility and success go hand in hand. If you want to rise, lay the first foundation that is humility. After all, “Pride makes us artificial, humility makes us real” – Thomas Merton.

Have a humble day now, won’t you. :-)

Twitter: @deekareithi

Facebook: Dorcas Kareithi

Google plus: Dorcas Kareithi

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WHERE ARE WE HEADED?

Recently, a controversy broke out about a church poster that was termed as “not fit” for not only Christian viewing but also general viewing.  There have been talks, debates and all that hullabaloo about it. The church came out in defense of their youth course (though I did not hear them support their answers with scripture as is expected of any religion follower accused of going against their faith). But that is not what makes me angry.

 

“What brings you to church” I asked a youth man in an un-named city church. The young man laughs and glances around before saying; “The hot girls, of course. I realized that it’s actually easier to get sex in church, because many of these young people are rebellious, they come here to mask their behavior. They are the wildest group I know of; most are just pretenders,” he confides.”

This was an excerpt from a local daily that was investigating on the same. Now, before you get judgmental and all, I am a born again Christian, who believes in certain values, and above all, HUMAN. This does not mean I am “holy”; I do make mistakes, I do sin, but by the grace of God keeps me safe from most evil and sin.

Now, back to my anger. I am left to wonder where our Christian values, those values our parents taught us, and brought us up with; where are they? Where are we headed as a Christian nation? We are at a time and age where gospel artists no longer give content that is based on the scripture (and none of them seem to care). Where a Christian artist goes ahead and gets models for his video and publicly says the sees nothing wrong in appreciating beauty (as they dance erotically). Where worship leaders spend the night at drinking parties and in the morning they are leading worship. Where we Christian youth are getting married to cover up some pregnancy. What happened to no sex before marriage? Where dancing styles like “bend over” are danced in church, at the pulpit mind you, and the church leaders just smile and say “the youth are dancing for Jesus” and “our youth are talented”, as they look at the congregation with pride seeing how young people have flocked their church.

What explanation do they give? “We are attracting the youth to church”. “Times have changed; we have to give something that is attractive to the youth, to lead them to Jesus”. 

“¹I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the compassions of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, [which is] your intelligent service.² And be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of [your] mind, that ye may prove what [is] the good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” Romans 12:1 and 2

Where are we headed? Where have our Christian values been buried in the name of “attracting people to Jesus”?! Call me old school, but such are the values that we need back. It is as such moments that I echo my colleague Dickson Otieno’s words; as he put it here. 

If there was a time we, the youth needed prayers; it is now.

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THE STRENGTH OF A MAN by Anonymous

It is still the month of love and it is in that same mood that I post this. I came across this short piece and thought is should share it...  :-)

The strength of a man isn't seen in the width of his shoulders.
It's seen in the width of his arms that encircle and protect you.
The strength of a man isn't in the deep tone of his voice. 
It is in the gentle words he whispers.

The strength of a man isn't in the words he speaks.
It's in how he keeps his word.
The strength of a man isn't how many buddies he has.
It's how good a buddy he is with his children.

The strength of a man isn't in how respected he is at work.
It's in how he is respected at home.
The strength of a man isn't in how hard he hits.
It's in how tender he touches.

The strength of a man isn't in the hair on his chest.
It's in his heart....that lies within his chest.
The strength of a man isn't in how many women he's loved.
It's in whether he can be true to the ONE woman he's trying to love.

The strength of a man isn't in the weight he can lift.
It is in the burdens he can understand and overcome.
The strength of a man isn't in the weight he can lift.
It's in the effort he puts forth when you are unable.

The strength of a man isn't in how he makes love.
It's in the understanding that there is more to making love..than making love..

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THE SILENT LOVERS

Well, well, well, it’s here again; the month that all irresponsible (yes, irresponsible) men dread, evil (yes evil) women maliciously await and lovers look forward to. The month where red is the “it” color, the month where chocolates and flowers sell most and most unfortunately most hearts are broken. It’s February, the so called month of love.

“Be emotional!! You are Human!!!” my pastor’s word’s echoed in the halls of church on Sunday (yeah, I was quite surprised but pleased too…I mean, if I get emotional; I have the go ahead from spiritual authority *Thank you God*) now, ladies and men, let us be clear on one thing; being emotional (and sensitive) and becoming a hysterical person are two different things. Getting mad to the point of scratching your lover’s car with a knife just because they did not get you what you wanted does not classify as emotional (and sensitive). Wailing out loudly at night disturbing the peace of the night because your heart was broken and you had to drink it out does not classify as emotional. That is hysterical. Are we on the same page now? Good.

Well, today I talk about a character that loves silently (note, not secretly). I just love the silent lover. Maybe it’s because I fell in love with one as such, or maybe I am one. They are not shy, they are not timid, they are not reluctant, and they just love silently. To them, saying the words “I love you” take some work. Don’t get me wrong, they will write it down and most importantly show it by actions, but they rarely say the words “I love you”. Saying these words to them, you may not get why they remain silent and not say it back to you, but if you know a person well, you will know why they will not.

To them the phrase “actions speak louder than words” carries more meaning than “If you love them, tell them”. This type of lovers will hold your hand in the most sensual way, they will look at you in ways that will steam you up, and they will listen in a way that amazes you. They will touch you in a way that makes you forget anyone has ever touched you. They will spoil you with things that make you smell the “love in the air”. They will hug you tight till your worries disappear. They will gladly show you they will be there, that they are there, that they love you; when words fail them.

They are the silent (I repeat; not secret) lovers. If your love is a silent lover; well, open your eyes and see past the words. Experience love in their way. They do sacrifice to experience it your way; right?

Show your love the best way you know how to. Forget not God’s love this season; (He is kind of a silent lover huh). Spread the love this month, don’t spread “seeds”. Share the love, and keep some for yourself too.

Happy Valentine my dear friends.

@deekareithi

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JUST BECAUSE

Just because you can sing in church,

Just because you quote the bible much,

Just because you plant seeds, good deeds, don’t do mix and match,

Doesn’t make you more of a Christian,

Let God be judge

Just because he calls you daily,

Just because he takes you to parties, buys you panties, makes you smiley, daily,

Just because he says he will pay your dowry,

Doesn’t make him a better lover,

Let the heart be judge.

Just because you perform in gigs,

Just because in you mix English, Swahili, sheng' in your jinx,

Just because I’m quiet, perform in syncs,

Doesn’t mean you are a better poet, artist,

Let the words be judge.

Just because you live your dream,

Just because, it seems like I dream my life,

Just because I day dream, and insomnia works on me at night,

Doesn’t make you a better dreamer,

Let tomorrow be judge.

Befado

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STARTING IT HIGH

Excuse the heading…by saying starting it high, this does not mean the “high” where one is drugged or drunk (by alcohol or the Holy Spirit)

Well, happy New Year y’all!!! Well well well, the New Year is here and this is a chance to yes, make another difference in your existence as a human being (yay!). Last year, 2013 is so gone and here is another year. I know we all got our resolutions; speaking of resolutions, I know people claim they write some down, either due to social pressure or otherwise. Anyhu, whether we write them down or not, we all have goals or targets that we want to achieve in the New Year.

As I think of writing this, I am in a salon. Well ladies, we all know how entertaining salons are; this is one place where some women think they have gone for therapy sessions. Gossips, updates, praise, judgments, those juicy details you would never hear anywhere else, you will hear in a salon. Anyway, this day I decided to change where I have my hair made. So as we are getting our hair done, this woman goes ahead to rant about how 2013 was a fail for her, how she failed in this and in that, how her heart was broken…and as expected, how broke she was. *sigh* she went ahead to state that she does not expect anything to change in 2014, that she will be more miserable in 2014, with VAT and cost of living so high. I shook my head. Believe you me, that will happen to her (yeah, I’m a prophet of doom on this one).

In life, they say, aim for the stars…no, the moon, so that if you fall, you will fall on the stars. (is that possible in reality?) Most of us set targets that are too low for us. The fear that we have of failing or of not achieving our goals makes us set goals that we can easily reach. Come on; challenge yourself!! Last year, I heard someone say that he had vowed to buy themselves a phone worth 20 thousand shillings. He outdid himself actually, and bought one 28,000/=.

 What is my point? This year, as we start, challenge yourself. Set goals that are high but attainable. OK, don’t aim at buying a Mercedes yet you live in your mother’s house, or aim at getting married this year and you are single (lol). You get me?  In statistics (yes, I had to chip in something statistical he he) they say that standard deviation decreases with increase in the number of trials. For those not statistically inclined, this means that the more you try, the higher the probability (there I go again), I mean chances of you getting closer to what you want.

Don’t be afraid of getting disappointed, you never know, you just might get there; if and only if, you focus and balance your life. With that said, welcome to 2014, lets aim high, let’s start high and make this a year of difference!!

To a great year ahead *cheers*

@deekareithi

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BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

When yester-mid morning I met up with some great friends for a hike, I did not know it would be an experience that would forever remain in my mind. Three friends and I embarked on a hike in the not so famous Njukiri Forest, Kirinyaga County, Kenya. The forest is known (to those who know it) for a river, river Rupingazi which traverses the county coming from Mt. Kenya. A quick fact about this river, it is the boundary of Kirinyaga County and Embu County and is quite wide and deep.

I regress. All we had in mind was a hike in a bid to sit under a waterfall along the river or at least behold its beauty. We walked a few kilometers to the forest and a few hours later we were lost. As we passed through the foot paths of the forest created by people who felled trees in the place, I couldn’t help but feel the spirit of adventure rise in me. Finally after a few slides, several pricks by thorns, crawling through thickets, we finally made it to the bottom of the valley where river Rupingazi flows. At first the feeling was exciting, as I had found a safe place (despite there being no mobile reception), a place where all you could hear was the river’s water angrily hitting the rocks creating waves…this is the safest place on earth; or so I thought. The place we had descended was quite far from the waterfall so we decided to wade our way through the river waters, upstream to the falls. This is where my series of events started to unfold.

In a span of four hours, I was to be reminded thrice that my life is dear. As we were starting our wade, two of my friends ambushed me and pretended to throw me in (a joke that I told them never to play on me again). They held my feet and let me slide on a rock, my head touching the angry waters of the river…they burst out in laughter amid my screams for help…I stared at the water below and started shedding tears…at this point; I shut my eyes and said a prayer as I thought of how people would find my body, in case one of them let go. I thought of most of my loved ones. They pulled me up and I honestly felt like throwing them in!! A few meters into our wade, I slipped on a slippery rock and fell. I hurt my hip and landed on another rock…as I sat there waiting for the pain to subside, I looked at the waters all around me then again, I saw myself being carried away by the waters, and them finding my body downstream. I said another prayer…this time, a confession.

With these two shakes of life at the back of my mind, I joined the others in the fun; we took pictures, laughing and smiling, oblivious of the fear creeping up. At this point, our pairs of jeans are wet and we are hungry. We identify a wide rock upstream where we would sit and eat the snacks we had carried. We were almost there when we decided that the water was too deep and moving too fast. The men found their way there but we the ladies declined to risk, so they came back. As we were having the snacks, I joked about it being the last supper (since there were some red liquids involved). I was quickly corrected by my friends and we stuck to the first supper. As soon as we had had the last glass of berry juice, an old tree a few meters away fell from the walls of the valley into the river; we look at each other in disbelief!! It had fallen on the exact same spot where we had said we would eat at. At this point I was shaken…we look at each other again and the fear is evident…we could have been on that exact spot, had we not turned back. At this point we agree that we should be on our way up. We were shaken (one of us was literally shaking). The place I had thought was the safest place had thrice turned to a place where I saw my life flash in front of my eyes.

On our way up, I was so determined to get to the top, to get away from all the darkness at the place. We climbed up with so much energy; we got to the top in a record 20 or so minutes. It was not until I got home and took a shower, that the throbbing pain in my hip came back. We never got to the waterfall, but I left that place with a changed mindset. And looking back at it, I wanted an experience that I would never forget…well, now I know why they say “Be careful what you wish for”

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THE SON OF AN AFRICAN MOTHER.

At dawn, I rose, and headless we were.

Mother said he ditched us,

Went to look for greener pastures,

Pastures greener than the green card he had;

So manly of him!

Leaving his seed as well as the whole farm,

Giving up what he called his fam.

“You are the first born” he said

“A boy child, proof of my manhood;

Don’t ever shed a tear, African men don’t cry

I never did, and don’t ever ask why”

Pooh! Please!

“In my absence you are the man of the house”

You're damn right I am!

I will never leave my village,
I love my village,

You live with dignity, though your pockets are empty;

To hell with the city!

Its people are poor and backward,

Pulling each other down so that no one moves up!

I will find myself a girl, a woman.

A village girl, a village woman,

I will marry her, make her my wife,

Be the man my father never was!

I am the son of an African mother;

The man of the house;

They look up to my hands, huge rough hands,

Hands that polish handles of spades, knives and hoes;

Hands that dig yams, carry bunches of bananas, handle foes.

Hands soaked with sweat, hands full of tenderness.

Hands that provide; manly hands,

Hands of the son of an African mother,

The man of the house.

I work at the farm, as the wind moans, 
As the moonbeams cast shadows,

I work to feed my family, our family.

I feed, I keep. I protect, I own. I discipline;

Things a man ought to do.

Things my father never did.

I am the son of an African mother,

The Madiba of my Africa,

The man of the house.

 Befado

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COFFEE FUNS

Ladies and gentlemen, I am in coffee rehab and have been trying to avoid coffee for the fear that I am drugged :-D. Anyhu, I came across these two photos about coffee and thought, why not share them?

This one got my attention though. I ain't saying you should take beer though. :-) :-)

Have a caffeine free week :-)

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YOU SAY, YOU DO

You say you hate publicity,

But when a bunch of girls call,

You drive all the way to meet them.

You say you love indoors,

But each evening, each afternoon,

You can’t talk coz you’re driving.

You say you love chatting,

But when in my excitement I text you,

You reply one hour later.

You say you love spending time together,

But when I’m in town,

Your phone goes off.

You say you love me,

But clearly,

You’re in love with another woman.

You say many things, many promises,

I hear you, but no longer believe you,

Because what you say is not what you do.

Befado

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