In Case of Emergency by Barrack O (@bar_rack )

Now, now, now, before you start thinking that the POTUS wrote this, let me remind you to Keep Calm and read on. The author(bar_rack) *lol, notice how he plays around with his name? You, Judge Judy, gerrrarahia*, is one interesting being. 

Imagine that you are walking in town one Saturday afternoon. Either alone or with a friend in tow. Let’s assume the second option – you are strolling in town with a friend, W. You talk about the weather and how it’s been behaving. How the week was at work and at home. You talk about everything that you can possibly talk with your friend. Then, suddenly, in the middle of that you start feeling ill. At that moment you realize that there is something terribly wrong with your body and you cannot really figure it out. You assume and keep on talking. Suddenly your friend realizes there’s something terribly wrong, but they too are clueless. Things happen so fast that you start losing your sensory abilities – you cannot feel the spoon that’s in your hand and you fail to coordinate the digits on your hand but nothing. Before you know it, a sharp migraine fills your entire head causing you to slump on the table, weak and helpless.

Across the table your friend looks at you, helpless. Prodding with questions.

“How are you feeling?” W asks.

“Pins and needles,” you respond. Google that if you don’t know.

“You were just okay,” W says, confused. “What is up? Do you 

have anyone I can call?”

“I have to think,” you respond, gasping under the intense pain clouding your head.

Then you realize that you almost have nobody in your “In case of Emergency (ICE)” list. Then the wildest thoughts start swarming your head.

“What if I was alone and I collapsed in town?” A thought crosses your head.

The People in Our Lives

That’s what happened to me a few months ago. A small incident that shook me a lot. It made me think about the people I could reach out in case something goes awry and I needed someone to be there for me when I couldn’t help myself.

I was shaken because things went from good to bad then ugly in a matter of minutes and lasted about four hours. I was hanging in there – in a body that was caving in to what felt like nervous failure and a headache from hell. Yeah, that’s what happens when you overwork yourself for almost three straight weeks.

I was also shaken because, had I been alone in town, the experience would have been unimaginable, or so I thought. I would be alone in this city where expression of concern is considered rare.

Before I go  on, I happen to be on W’s ICE and that is why we were in town in the first place. W had landed herself in a technical mess the previous evening and I knew the right person who could fix her problem. People who watch movies on their laptops while tucked in bed need prayers.

Back to this moment when my nervous system has decided that I will feel nothing and do nothing.

“Here’s my phone,” I groaned. “Unlock it and call E”

E was not in Nairobi. He called his brother who was closer. As close as Rongai! How close! I was in CBD. How helpful!

“Who else can I call?” W, who is also my partner in crime asked.

“Try my cousin, C,” I said. “He works around here and he can be of help.”

“He says he’s away upcountry,” W said.

“Okay,” I muttered. Trying to think and getting the sharp headache, needles and stings under control. 

“Call J, he’ll call a doctor for me.”

This is the part where everybody you need is away and you are almost alone.

In hindsight, I have learnt the importance of having people who know what to do when they get that call telling them that you are not okay. It is very possible to have over 2000 friends and acquaintances on Facebook, 2000 followers on Twitter but zero people on your In Case of Emergency (ICE) list. It is a frightening thought to say the least. And by that, I exclude parents. No parent who is miles away wants to be told that their child collapsed in town while taking a walk. I am talking about friends who will immediately pause their lives and rush to where you are and see what they can do.

Interestingly, like on this particular day, ambulances also proved quite hard to come by. Dialled 1199. They took their sweet time. Called St Johns Ambulance. Nada. But that’s when that cab guy you befriended a while back shows up immediately and joins you, helping W to handle the emergency situation that I had become. All he asks is for you to tell him what hospital he can take you and not to worry about the cab fare. He coordinated with W in communicating with a doctor friend and eventually we settled on a hospital.

“W, you have to go home,” I said. “I am in good hands now”

“Weeee!,” W retorted. “Then what happens?”

“I can take it from here,” I responded, like when the CIA and FBI folks in movies tell the local cops.

“Cow!” I was told. I laughed quietly to myself. All this time popping in and out of hospital reception. A head scan here. Medication there. A doctor asking what’s stressing me up.

“I said a prayer for you in that waiting room,” W mentioned much later.

Buses, Lifts and Fires

Many weeks later, I have learnt the need to constantly evaluate the accessible people around me. Who knows where I live? Who needs to know where I am traveling to? Who needs to know where I am late at night especially when stranded? Not everyone. But people who I think matter and who will, in turn, make a difference should anything happen. Or just for the sake of knowing.

But then, I ask myself: Am I in anyone’s ICE list? Will I be able to stop my life to attend to a friend’s need till late in the night? It takes a handful of people to make a difference when all fails.

Buses have huge writings at the back glass window (is it a window really?): Emergency Door: In Case of Emergency Break Glass.

Lifts have stickers plastered: In Case of Emergency Call These Numbers 07XXX. Just in case you get stuck in a lift and you need the world to know where you are.

Some buildings have a fire alarm installation with a key: In Case of Fire Break Glass for Key. The key will always give you access to an emergency fire exit and you’ll be safe from the fire.

It is also a requirement in some of our workplaces for us to provide the details for next of kin. Same applies for life insurances and investment chamas and the likes. Just in case something happens to you at work and they need to know who your family is.

In case of emergency, I hope the 5 people in my ICE list will be the reason I will be in the ICE list of 5 other people.

This post was originally posted here

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WHAT IF WE: KINDNESS

Sunday morning; it’s after the first service…I missed praise and worship (damn you lazy bug). So I am here waiting for praise and worship for the second service before I leave (they sing the same songs anyway). I am reminiscing the days I used to teach Sunday school while in campus. Kids are so wonderful to teach…ooh the joy I would get; planting seeds of the word of God in their tiny hearts and laying foundations for them was oh-so-fulfilling. But when I moved to Nairobi; I tried to inquire if I can join the Sunday school teachers team…the requirements I was asked to bring! Oh my God! What did they think I would teach them; hunting? Even mentioning that I taught sons and daughters of Moi’s relatives at Kabarak Community Chapel did not yield me any success…these Nairobi churches! Tsk! You should have seen how pissed I was on that day! I regress

Where was I? Oh yes; waiting for second service to start. I reminisce as I send some sweet message to my one and only. I look up to see this guy and his sister (I assume) coming up to the row where I sat. You see, this I why I love sitting in the balcony seats…you get the luxury of choosing who will be your neighbor; unlike down there where the usher does it for you. They guy is smiling at me so hard. Typical me; I look behind to see if it is really me he is smiling at. There is no one behind me. Keep calm Dee. Try to remember who he is or where you met. I get nothing from my memory. Oh boy (scratch that)..Oh God; please don’t let him be a weirdo or a pervert or a member of #TeamMafisi. 

I quickly smile back and go back to my message. By now it has lost the mushiness I drafted it with *damn you guy-walking-up-the-stairs-with-your-sister*.  He taps my shoulder. What is wrong with this guy? Is he planting a bug on me? Is he drugging me? In church? Oh the nerve he has! My mind goes back to one woman I  sat next to on a bus ride to a wedding reception and the tout told her she was exquisitely dressed. Boy you should have heard the exorcising words she uttered! You would have thought the devil himself resides permanently in the man’s body. Or the song “umejivalia ngozi ya kondoo” song was dedicated to him. I mean…she did look good. I’m sure one of her goals when she dressed that way was that people would notice and she would be “outstanding”. The young man just complemented her dressing and was practicing some kindness. What did he get in return? Exorcism!

Back to the guy tapping my shoulder. “how are you” he says; still smiling. “I am great” I say “Have we met?” I quickly ask before he assumes that I know him and before he starts asking me “siku hizi uko wapi?” and “ulipotelea wapi?”. “No,” he says. Look at this one now. I remember hoping that God had not told him ati the first lady he sees in church would be the one sent to him;the one he had been praying for! “It’s my random act of kindness” he explains as if he had read my mind. “Thank you. I’m great” I reply as I smile.

 

The campaign dubbed #ForMyCity led by Poetry Spot Kenya made me think about this situation. There is a lot of spite and heartlessness going on around. Kindness has become extinct. Gone and rare are the days and people who would lend a helping hand to people who need a hand without demanding recognition or a thank you. We are in a bid to change that. And it begins with me and you. It’s never too late to start practicing a little kindness. Making the “random acts of kindness” real. It will make a change. I am doing it for myself, for that person who may need a shoulder; for my city and for humanity. 

What if we all practiced kindness?

Facebook:  Njeri Kareithi

Twitter: @deekareithi

Facebook:  Njeri Kareithi

Twitter: @deekareithi

Facebook:  Njeri Kareithi

Twitter: @deekareithi

follow the #ForMyCity talk on twitter here

Facebook:  Njeri Kareithi

Twitter: @deekareithi

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IT’S THE SIMPLE THINGS THAT COUNT

During the Mashujaa Day public holiday I visited my grandpa…not only was it a good chance to surprise the old peeps whose eye sight is worsening, but it was a chance to drive and not get caught (my license expired). As mentioned, the old man’s eyesight is diminishing as well as his memory. Now, I followed his trail to the farm since he was not home and I had spotted his signature black birika(kettle), which as young tots we had all drank from, brewing some strong tea. When I find him, he is sitted on the ground in his Mbaki (tobacco) farm, paper and pen at hand, drawing a cartoon of an old man (he was a teacher in the colonial government). I laugh at the cartoon and he notices someone is beside him.  I introduce myself. 

“Guka, ni Njeri” (Grandpa, its Njeri). He looks up and asks me “Njeri wa uu?” (who’s daughter).

Well, you have to blame our African parents for naming us all after one person…90% of my female cousins are called Njeri (which when translated means “traveler”), and the male cousins are called Murimi (which when translated means “farmer”). We were all named after our great grand parents who had the characteristics represented by our names.  Back to my tale.

“Njeri wa Kareithi” I said. His face lit up and he started asking me about how Nairobi life was. We chatted for a few minutes before I remembered one of the people I had worked with told me he knew him and asked me to say Hi when I see him. I told him about the man. You should have seen the joy on he face as he started narrating to me how they met. At the end of the story, he was so happy, he was almost on his feet (he is quite old; he keeps reminding us that his legs are so weak). The joy he exhibited just brought a smile to my face. He kept on saying how happy he is that someone remembered him; how that was the best news he had received in a while.

 Fast forward a few days ago…I saw a man in town carrying a bouquet of flowers rushing to an evening bus, pulling along a big suitcase. “wow, that wife/girlfriend must be really lucky” I whispered to my inner self. I figured out that the man had just arrived from a long journey (based on the size of the suitcase and the weary face), but he knew that something as small as a banquet of flowers would make his lady happy and appreciated.

This made me think about how we treat our significant others. Some of us try so hard to do big things, go out of our ways to please them (I’m not saying its wrong), while all along; it’s the simple things that count. What simple things? You may ask. How will I know? You may ask. I once asked my mentor’s husband he makes sure the wife remains happy. “Observe; be attentive. I started doing this from the first day I saw her. That’s how I won her over” is all he could say. I asked my mentor (his wife) what she does to ensure that the husband remains happy and feels appreciated. “be alert and attentive, see the small things” is what she kept repeating.

I later came to understand what they were saying. Being attentive, concentrating, observing your partner makes you know them and pick up little things that make their faces light up. They are not the big things, they are actually small and simple things that one may be taking for granted or as ordinary. We are all different. Each of us has distinct things that make us feel appreciated. Be it that flower you buy for them, that tie you buy for them, that piece of chocolate, that message or call at the end of the day, spending time together, visiting somewhere new, that game he/she loves to play, that movie he/she likes to watch, taking dumb photos (this is my favorite); it differs from person to person. Some of these things don’t cost anything.

 

As we celebrate this festive season, a time to be with family and loved ones, be attentive, open your eyes and mind. You may just see the simple things that count.

Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2015. See you then fam!

 

 

@deekareithi | Njeri Kareithi

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THE SHADOWS by @wanjiru_wanjiku

The shadows in here converse;
Low grumpy conversations,
Gesticulating and pacing,
With their fingers growing long each passing minute,
Embracing my neck-
Squeezing and soothing.

I had known how to silence them,
Let them watch in awe as I practice a smile,
And a gait so blissful when I carry the wind on my shoulders.

Now I observe them with tight lips and a heart so torn that the sun rays go right through it,
Let them dance on the chandelier of hope laying somewhere in the room,
Gaze as they squeeze the very last ounce of light from my eyeballs.

What I know about living
is that pain is never just ours,
After a while we learn to dance to the music of our hearts again,
Wishing on porch lights like they were stars on cloudy nights.

But they wake me at night,
Howling again and again
that my heart has just skinned it knees...
A worse day is yet to come...
That maybe tomorrow...
is just an illusion.

So I toss forcefully closing my eyes,
Mumbling to the darkness that girdles me,
To the voices in my head...
To my soul hovering somewhere...
To these walls that have become friends...
To the spirits in here throwing stones
forcing me into an introvert's shell.

I had mastered the art of sealing lips and ignoring pain,
But the sea inside me is so full of bottles it no longer tides,
The messages taking on bipolar tendencies-
Some read "live"
Others " just how much water do you need to keep the pills down!"

So if tommorow really is an illusion
Let the world know I tried
But when I thought I had hit rock bottom
It hit back so hard
That the thread holding hope together snapped.

All rights reserved Shiru Wa Mum 2014 

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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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